Scott and Stiles took me home after giving me a crash course in supernatural activity in Beacon Hills, starting from when Scott first became a werewolf (bitten, not born), up until about an hour ago. They barely stopped the car for me as I got out, shouting something about going to find the kanima (who was apparently Jackson, though somehow the thought of him being a giant snake seemed fitting) at me through the window. I waved goodbye, telling them to be careful, though I doubt they heard it, tearing down the street as if their lives depended on it.
Well. Maybe their lives didn't depend on it. But the life of others certainly did. I turned my key in the door, trying to be quiet. It wasn't too late, but I hadn't talked to my parents all day, and I knew they weren't going to be happy.
"Ryan Marie!" My mother's voice echoed from atop the stairs and I instinctively cringed at the mention of my middle name. "Where the hell have you been?"
"I was making friends…" I said slowly, hoping that my mother's desperation for a normal daughter would win out over her anger.
"And just because you made friends you think that's an excuse not to call me and let me know where you've been?" She raised her eyebrows, doing that thing mothers do when they think they're right and no matter what you say you'll probably end up grounded for a month.
"I'm sorry, okay? I forgot. But I'm fine. See?" I spun in a circle, gesturing to myself with my hands. "Completely in one whole piece." My mother sighed angrily, shaking her head.
"How was your first day of school?" I set my bag down on the table as she passed me on her way into the kitchen. I followed, shrugging.
"Fine." I grabbed a mug from the cupboard, opening the top cabinet and grabbing a pouch of hot chocolate.
"Fine? That's it? What did you do?" My mother crossed her arms, leaning forward on the island in the middle of the kitchen. I reached for the kettle sitting on the stove, pouring the steaming water into my cup.
"I don't know." She made an aggravated sound, pushing herself up and taking the kettle from me.
"Well how did you make friends?"
"I don't know, they were friends of Lydia's." My mother nodded, even though she didn't really know much about Lydia aside from what I had told her on the phone last night.
"Well I'm glad you're making friends. See? I told you you'd be able to move on." She gave me a tight smile, smoothing down my hair. I ducked out of her reach, biting my lip. I knew she meant well, but she always said the wrong things at the wrong time.
"I'm going to my room." I heard her sigh behind me, but I didn't look back, climbing the stairs two at a time until I was in my somewhat small bedroom. Compared to Lydia's anyway. The walls were painted a periwinkle color, light and pastel like. My mother said it was supposed to help keep the light in my life. I had a full sized bed in the middle of the room, the white wood headboard pressed against the wall. A nightstand stood on each side, along with a matching desk pressed against one of the windows. Include the closet, dresser, bookcase and bay window, and you have my room in a nutshell.
I set my cup of hot chocolate on my desk as I dug out a pair of black leggings and a big baby blue button down shirt, trading my dress and sweater for the more comfortable combo. I grabbed a book from my bookshelf, tucking it under my arm and grabbing my hot chocolate, before trucking back down the stairs and outside onto the porch. We had a small bench outside with oversized cushions and a small table beside it. I set my mug down, sitting down on the bench and tucking my legs up to my chest before opening my book.
It was about a girl who had accidentally killed her boyfriend in a car crash, and after reading for about five minutes I had to put the book down, not wanting to finish it. I lifted the hot chocolate to my mouth, taking a generous sip before I heard laughter and a door slam.
"I'll call you later mom!" I turned towards the familiar voice, Danny strolling out of the door to the neighbor's house. He walked towards the car in his driveway, glancing up at me right as he was about to climb in. We made awkward eye contact and he broke out into a grin, waving at me. "Ryan!"
I lifted my mug in a half wave, smiling. "Hey." He wore a tight dark blue shirt and jeans, as he hopped over the invisible boundary between the houses.
"I didn't know you lived here." He smiled brightly at me, leaning against our porch railing.
"Oh well, you know. It's kind of a recent occurrence." I nodded glancing back at the house. He laughed, glancing at the book in my hands.
"Lovely, Dark and Deep?" he raised an eyebrow and I shrugged it off, smiling.
"You know you shouldn't judge a book by its cover." He rolled his eyes, looking me over for a minute, making me slightly uncomfortable. I shifted on the bench, clearing my throat.
"Well you look like you're adjusting to Beacon Hills nicely." He said, the sarcasm thick in his voice.
"Oh ha ha, god forbid a person read a book for pure entertainment purposes." I countered, mocking him.
"Hey, hey, I never said you can't read for fun. I know lots of people who read for fun. I read for fun!" He took the book from my hands, reading over the back of it. "But, wanna know what's even more fun? Going to a club." I inwardly cringed at the thought, visibly shrinking before him. "Aw come on, you don't go clubbing?"
"Not often." I stared at my hands, the dark nail polish chipping off already, despite Lydia's attempts to paint them the night before. The last time I had been to a club was with Casey. And it hadn't ended well for either of us.
"Bad experience?" Danny asked, reading my face. I nodded, taking another sip of my hot cocoa. "Well then let me help change that! Come on, it'll be fun! I could use a wingman." He nudged me with his elbow, winking and I squinted at him, confused.
"You want me…a girl," I clarified, gesturing to myself, "to help you pick up more girls…?" I cocked my head to the side and a laugh erupted from his throat.
"I'm not going to the club to pick up girls." I stared at him for a moment with a blank expression, confusion clear on my face. "It's a gay club, Ryan." He chuckled, as I felt my cheeks burn red. I sat there watching this conversation crash and burn and I desperately tried to hide myself in the rubble.
"Oh." I said, my mouth forming a small 'o' shape. "I feel stupid now. I have horrible gaydar." I explained, scratching at the back of my head.
"It's okay," he laughed again, clearly more amused than offended, to which I was grateful. "To make it up to me you can come! Come on, I'm leaving now." He began backing away, walking backwards towards his car.
"I'm not even dressed to go clubbing!" I whined, anything to get me out of this.
"Are you gay?" He stopped suddenly, a small smile on his lips.
"No." I blinked at him, startled by his bluntness.
"Are you looking to change that?"
"…No?" I answered slowly, my brow furrowing.
"Then it doesn't matter what you look like." He shot me another smile, his voice suddenly serious. "You look fine anyway. Now come on." I groaned, grabbing my book and mug and trudging inside, hopping that my mother's strictness would actually come in handy for once. I wanted to have friends, and I knew I was in no position to turn down this offer when Danny was clearly making an effort. But clubs entailed more social interaction than I was ready for.
Not to mention bad things happen at clubs. Like kidnappings, and rapes, and almost-murders. I felt a shiver crawl up my spine, as I walked into the living room to find my parents watching tv. Sitting on two separate couches. No surprise there.
"Uh, hey guys. My friend Danny, he lives next door, wanted me to come out with him tonight, but if you want me to stay in that's cool too." I pulled my lips in, taking in their expressions.
"Not tonight, you have a lot of sleep to catch up on and not to mention schoolwork and-"
"I think she should go." My dad cut in, as my mother shot him a dirty look. "You've been doing so well with making friends, go on. Have a little fun. Just don't be back to late." He smiled at me and I gave him a tight smile back. Pulling on the ankle boots I had at the door and a leather jacket in attempts to spruce up my outfit a bit, I left the house, running over to Danny's idling car in front of my house.
"Took you long enough." He grinned, popping the door open. I climbed in with a heavy sigh, waving my hand towards the road before covering my face with it.
"I can't believe I'm doing this. Just go."
"Come on, I'll make sure you have fun." He squeezed my shoulder, before placing his hands back on either side of the steering wheel, navigating through town like a pro. I needed to invest in a map. Or at least a more reliable GPS.
It took about 20 minutes before we were actually inside the club, and let me tell you something, I had never been more upset about not being a gay male in my life. Attractive boys littered the dance floor, more than half of them shirtless. Men hung from ribbons strung to the ceiling along the outskirts of the room, a disco ball hanging low in the middle of it. I stood by the entrance pursing my lips, watching how the strobe lights danced across heads and bare chests and the small visible slivers of floor I could occasionally see, appearing and disappearing like waves across the dance floor.
"Come on!" Danny shouted by my ear, taking my hand and dragging me through the crowd to the bar. He ordered us two coke's, smiling at the bar tendered as he eyed me a little warily.
"Moral support." I explained in answer to his unasked question. "Not together." He nodded, handing us our drinks as I hopped up onto one of the bar stools. Danny leaned back against the bar, slowly sipping his own drink.
"You didn't look like you were in a good enough mood to be here on your own anyway." He laughed, and I smiled reluctantly, looking away.
"That obvious, huh?"
"Only a little." He laughed, offering me his hand. "I'm Ben." I took it, nodding back at him.
"I'm Ryan. This is Danny." I felt him stiffen beside me, quickly turning back around, his head down staring intently at his hands on his drink. "Hey, you good?" I nudged his arm quickly, bending my own head down to look at him.
"You're better off without him." Ben smiled encouragingly, and I looked over my shoulder to see a guy in a white cut off t-shirt smiling triumphantly at Danny, grinding his hips together with another man.
"Still doesn't feel good." Danny mumbled, his shoulders slumping. I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, glancing over towards the bar tender for help. I was still new at the whole "looking out for others" thing.
"You know what will feel good?" he offered, as Danny slowly met his gaze. "That guy." He pointed behind us to a very attractive shirtless man, eyeing Danny up and down as he sipped his drink. Danny looked at me apprehensively before I shoved him away from me and towards the dance floor with a roll of my eyes.
"Go." Danny didn't ask twice, smiling at me as he made his way over.
"Two beers!" I knew that voice.
"IDs?" Ben asked, turning towards his two new customers. I shook my head, leaning down to take another sip of my drink. They dug out their IDs from their wallets, slipping them across the bar. Ben took a second to look them over, before laughing and handing them back. "How about two coke's?"
"Rum and coke? Sure!" Stiles tried, in his best 'I'm-legal-give-me-alcohol-voice', which was actually a little sad. Ben's smiled dropped, and Stiles bit his lip rocking forward a few times in what I assumed was supposed to be a dance move? "Coke's fine actually. I'm driving anyway." Well I had to hand it to him, Stiles definitely knew how to make an awkward situation even more awkward.
"Your driving is scary enough when you're sober." I teased, as both boys leaned around the pillar dividing us, staring at me with a look in between confusion and horror.
"Wh-what are you doing here?!" Stiles hissed, pulling me by my arm over to them.
"Making friends…?" I tried, gesturing over my shoulder to where Danny was presumably dancing somewhere behind me with the mystery hunk.
"Making fri-? No! No!" He shook his head furiously, both hands going to his head. "You're trying to get yourself killed, that's what you're doing here!"
"If you already knew the answer, then why did you ask me?" I raised my eyebrows at him as he seethed.
"The sarcasm is reeeeeally getting old." He deadpanned as Scott choked out a laugh.
"What's the matter Stiles, can't take what you dish out?" I smiled, reaching across the bar to grab my drink.
"Okay, dude, so unnecessary."
"So what are you guys doing here?" I cocked my head to the side, raising my cup to my mouth. "I thought you were hot and heavy with Allison," I pointed to Scott, as his mouth dropped open and his eyes tripled in size. "And I thought you were in love with Lydia?" I pointed at Stiles, cocking an eyebrow.
"Wh-wh-what? Where did you hear that? Who said that? That's-that's not…entirely..accurate." I popped my lips together, nodding at him with narrowed eyes.
"You're a terrible liar."
"We're here for Jackson." Scott said in a hushed voice, glancing around the room. "He snuck in here. I think he's after Danny."
"What? I came here with Danny." I sputtered, glancing around the dance floor in alarm.
"I didn't know we were at that level yet, ya know, when we tell each other who we like." Stiles continued, gesturing between the two of us as if he had lost control of his hands. I closed one eye, scrunching up my face.
"I…I did save your life."
"Yes. Yes you did." He sighed defeated, his hands falling limp at his sides. "And I have a feeling I'm not going to forget it anytime soon, am I?" I grinned, shaking my head. "Awesome."
"That one's paid for." A shirtless bar tender with blonde hair set down the drinks, motioning to Scott's, as he turned behind him to glance at the young gentleman in a striped tank top, who watching Scott like a hawk. He lifted his beer towards us, a smile on his face. Scott couldn't help but smile, as Stiles took his drink bitterly.
"Aw shut up."
"I didn't say anything." Scott crowed, still smiling.
"Yeah, well your face did." Stiles countered, sounding very much like an angry 4 year old. I let out an amused laugh, going back to searching through the crowd for Danny. I heard Stiles drop his cup onto the bar, all business again. "Hey, I found Danny."
"I found Jackson." One look at Scott's face, and the color had completely drained from my own. The seriousness to his tone instantly reminded me how very real this all was, and how very dangerous as well. Stiles and I followed Scott's gaze to the ceiling, where the very dark and reptilian monster clung, setting his sights below him. "Get Danny."
"What are you gonna do?" Stiles mumbled, but I was already gone, pushing my way through writhing bodies.
"Danny!" I heard Stiles call out behind me, as I strained my neck to find him once again in the crowd. I spotted Danny just a few feet away, and pushed my way towards him, barreling into him and knocking the breath out of me.
"Woah, hey!" Danny caught my arm, steadying me as his dance partnered looked me over, confusion flushing his already clammy face.
"Danny, we have to go." I urged, pulling him backwards with me. He held his ground though, laughing a bit.
"Hey, where's the fire? What's wrong?" the room began to fill with smoke as they triggered the fog machine, and I tugged even harder on his arm.
"Danny, let's go." I heard the hissing, and felt my heart rate pick up, glancing around me in a panic. I heard a thud, and then another, bodies falling to the floor in a paralytic shock. "Danny!" I screamed, jumping towards him as I saw a scaled arm reach for him. I felt a prick on my neck, a sharp pain shooting through me, then a shiver, before I felt nothing. I fell to the ground, frozen. No matter how much I tried to move my arms or my legs, or even just wiggle my body in a sad interpretation of the worm, it was futile. Danny fell beside me and I let out a string of every profanity I had ever heard in my entire life.
"Jackson!" Scott's voice was far away and muted, but I heard it nonetheless. Jackson was making his way towards Danny and I saw his face close up, unable to stop the gasp from leaving my mouth. He paused, temporarily disinterested in Danny, to study me, cocking his head to the side. Jackson barely knew me, and I barely knew him, but it was clear that whenever he was this kanima thing, he was unaware of it. Danny was his best friend, and as cold hearted as I thought he was, I knew he'd never hurt him. The knot in my stomach tightened, realizing that if Jackson wasn't aware that that was Danny, he could really hurt him.
"No," I choked out in a whisper, letting my eyelids fall. I heard a loud roar, and peeled them open again, my body shooting up in shock. I saw Derek slash Jackson's throat, and he scampered away, leaving a trail of a black fluid behind. I stared down at my hands, studying them, before trying to stand up. To my surprise, I could. Completely. Without any problems. I took a few steps, making sure everything was working the way it should, and took off to the bar, jumping over the counter and finding the phone. My fingers shook as I entered the buttons, people scattering across the dance floor screaming.
"Hello, 911, please state your emergency." I heard a calm voice answer on the other side of the phone.
"Hi, yes," I started, my voice as shaky as my hands. "We need an ambulance. Actually we need like six ambulances. A bunch of kids, they can't move." I gushed, panic taking over my actions. I couldn't think straight, couldn't get my words together. What was I supposed to say? How did someone make a 911 call?
"Okay miss, calm down. Where are you?"
"Uhh, a club, a club called…" I shut my eyes, desperately trying to remember the name of the place. "Jungle. It's called Jungle. It's towards the outskirts of Beacon Hills?" I tried, hoping it would be enough.
"Okay ma'am, a unit has been dispatched, they should be there shortly."
"Thank you!" I breathed, slamming the phone back down onto the receiver.
"Hey! What are you doing back here?" the shirtless bar tender from before shouted, making his way through the crowd over to me.
"Called the cops! Leaving now!" I shouted over my shoulder, jumping back over the counter and heading for the back exit.
"Scott?" I called, walking around the parking lot aimelessly.
"Shh, over here!" I heard a voice call back. I ran over to where him and Stiles had a very naked and very human Jackson lying on the ground, Stiles's sweatshirt thrown over his private region. "We gotta get him into the jeep. C'mon." Stiles tossed me his keys, as the two of them heaved Jackson up, quickly shuffling over to the blue jeep. I unlocked the car, opening the backseat doors as they maneuvered Jackson into it, trading Stiles's sweatshirt for a blanket.
"I'm gonna go check on Danny. You two stay here, keep an eye on him." Scott explained, rushing over to the club entrance, where the ambulances were arriving. I let out a breath of air, my hands knotting my hair up into a twisted bun over and over again, a habit I'd had since I was little.
"Shit," Stiles muttered, sinking down in the driver's seat, as cop car after cop car pulled in.
"What?" I asked, glancing from Stiles to the cop cars.
"If anyone sees me I'm toast. I don't know how they're here so quickly." I drew my eyebrows together, staring at him, my hands holding my hair atop my head for the moment.
"Well usually when you call 911, their job is to get there as fast as possible…"
"Yeah, I'm aware of that, thank you, what I meant was I don't know who called them so quickly. I figured we'd at least have a solid ten minutes to split."
"I did."
"I'm sorry, what?" He asked, turning his head towards me.
"I called them."
"…you. You called 911?" He said slowly, drawing his lips in as if he were processing the information. "Why?! Why would you do that!?" he shouted, his arms extending toward me. For a brief second I wondered if he was going to strangle me.
"Well what was I supposed to do?!"
"Wait until we left! Hey wait, what's on your neck?" he asked as I let my hair fall back down in a sheet against my back.
"What?" I asked, pushing it out of the way. Stiles trailed his fingers along the base of my neck and I winced, feeling sore. He drew his fingers back, lightly stained red.
"Did Jackson cut you?" he asked dumbfounded as I nodded. "But then…how…?" The passenger door opened, and I scooted over as Scott climbed in.
"I couldn't get anything out of Danny." He sighed, shaking his head. "I told him Stiles and I were taking you home though." He turned towards me and I nodded.
"Okay, can we just get the hell out of here now before one of my dad's deputies sees me?" Stiles shook his head, focusing back on the task at hand as he turned the key in the ignition. Jackson sighed from the backseat and I glanced over at him, making sure everything was okay as flashing lights danced along the interior of the car. A loud siren sounded, and Stiles froze, his hands raising as the cop car pulled up directly in front of us.
"Oh, ooh my god! Oh my god! Could this get any worse?!" Stiles exclaimed, looking towards me and Scott, his voice rising an octave. A low groan erupted from the backseat as Jackson stirred, and Stiles spun around, completely exasperated. "THAT WAS RHETORICAL." He turned back towards me and Scott, taking a deep breath, his lips pulled tight.
"What, is that your dad?" I asked, motioning towards the car in front of us.
"Get rid of him!" Scott leaned forward, gulping.
"Get rid of him? We're at a crime scene and he's the Sheriff!" Stiles leaned forward in his seat as well, and I sunk back, watching them argue above me.
"Thaaat's your dad." I muttered, answering myself.
"Do something!" Scott flailed his arms around, narrowly avoiding smacking me in the face. Stiles flailed even more, whining before throwing open his door and jumping out of the car. I slid over into the driver's seat, cautiously throwing another look over at Jackson. He began to sit up, mumbling things in a low, groggy voice.
"Scott…" I warned, my eyes doubling in size as Scott turned towards the back.
"Jackson, Jackson be quiet." Scott urged in a whisper, pushing him back down onto the seat.
"What are you doing here?" Stiles's father spoke with a quiet authority, crossing his arms as he interrogated his son.
"What do you mean what am I doing here? What, it's a club! It's a club, we were clubbing. Ya know? At the club." I groaned, letting my head fall onto the steering wheel. Lord help us all. Beside me, Scott began to chew on his fingernails.
"Not exactly your type of club." The Sheriff glanced behind him, before turning back to Stiles, eyes narrowed.
"Uh…Well, dad. There's a, conversation that was need t-"
"You're not gay."
"Wh-I could be!" Stiles defended, looking extremely offended.
"Not dressed like that." The Sheriff eyed him over shaking his head, as Stiles looked down, observing his outfit. I pressed a hand to my mouth to muffle my laugh.
"What's-" Stiles started, as his father took a step towards the jeep and me and Scott froze in our places. Stiles lunged for his father, sputtering for words. Jackson began to sit up again behind us, grumbling some more.
"Jackson, be quiet!" he pleaded, and Jackson fell back down onto the seat.
"This is the second crime scene that you just happened to have shown up on. And at this point I've been fed so many lies, I'm not sure I know the kid standing in front of me, now what the hell is going on?" The Sheriff's voice rose, until the two of them stood before us, father scolding son. Stiles's mouth opened a closed a few times, as he tried to find something, anything to say.
"What, what's happening…?" Jackson sat up, and I shot Scott a nervous look.
"Uh, Jackson, I'm sorry but…" He pulled his fist back, releasing it so it made contact with Jackson's jaw. He fell back down, unconscious, and I let out a sigh of relief. I turned to look back out the windshield as Stiles and the Sheriff stared back at us.
"Dad, I just-"
"The truth, Stiles!" He yelled, and I felt my heart constrict. Watching this was torturous enough, but hearing how hurt the Sheriff sounded, accompanied with the look in Stiles's eyes?
"Be right back," I whispered to Scott, opening the door and sliding out. The Sheriff looked towards me, and I began breathing heavier, reaching out an arm towards them. "Sheriff…?"
"Ryan what are you-" Stiles started, taking a step towards me.
"I don't…where is…" I started, closing my eyes and picturing her face. All of their faces. After everything. Casey. Her family. Our friends. At the funeral. And I did something I hadn't done in public for the longest time.
I cried. I let the sobs come, racking through my body so violently it brought me to the ground. Stiles and the Sheriff both lunged for me at the same time, each of them holding me up on one side.
"Make it stop. Make them stop!" I whined, as the Sheriff shushed me, smoothing my hair back in attempts to calm me down.
"Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay, you're safe. It's okay." After a few minutes I quieted down, as Stiles introduced me. I heard him whisper the part I was hoping he would, that I suffered from PTSD. I kind of hated myself, for using such a terrible illness like this, but I figured after all it had put me through, it deserved to be abused. Stiles talked to his dad while I sat on the hood of the cop car, the Sheriff's jacket across my shoulders, as Stiles explained that we were there to support Danny. Which wasn't a complete lie, since that is actually why I was there.
"Alright, uh, I'm gonna go and uh, take Ryan home." I heard Stiles babble, making his way over to me. I shrugged out of the police jacket, handing it back to the Sheriff.
"Thanks so much. I'm really sorry about all of this." I looked down sheepishly and he put a comforting hand on my shoulder.
"Hey, don't even worry about, okay Ryan? If you need anything, just go ahead and ask Stiles. We'd like to help out in any way we can." I gave him a warm smile and thanked him again before Stiles ushered me back towards the Jeep.
"That…that was…" Stiles started as I turned the key in the ignition for him.
"That's what you did the other day in class. For Lydia." Scott said, sounding newly enlighted.
"Correct." I nodded, fiddling with my hands in my lap.
"What? You mean you just…you just faked it? So people would stop talking about Lydia?" Stiles pulled out of the lot and hit the road, gunning it.
"Yes, yes that is what I did now are you trying to get a speeding ticket or is that just gonna be an added bonus…?" I asked, bracing my arms on the dashboard.
"You know, I'm just gonna start ignoring all of your sarcastic comments, and instead I'm going to pretend they were nice little compliments. So thank you Ryan, I really appreciate that." Stiles answered somewhat hostile.
"Guys, focus! We need to think of what the hell we're gonna do with Jackson!"
"Uhhh, what about your house?"
"…Not with my mom there!" Scott's voice actually cracked, and I again glanced behind me to make sure Jackson was still passed out, Stiles's aggravated sigh making me jump. "We need to take him somewhere where we can hold him long enough to figure out what to do with him! Or long enough to convince him he's dangerous."
"Thaaat's gonna happen." Scott shot me a sideways glare and I smiled at him politely. "Sorry."
"…I still say we just kill him." Stiles winced beside me, trying out the option.
"We're not killing him!" Scott maintained immediately, causing Stiles to let out a frustrated groan.
"Okay, okay." I kept my eyes on the road, as both boys sat beside me, equally exasperated. "I got an idea!"
"Does it involve breaking the law?" Scott asked hopefully.
"By now don't you think that's a given?"
"I was just trying to be optimistic."
"Don't bother."
"WELL, it has been lovely seeing you two again, butttt if you would be so kind as to drop me off at my house before you go and start your illegal shenanigans, it would be much appreciated. One murder is all I can afford in one lifetime, I don't need to be a convicted felon too." It slipped out before I could stop it, and I feel my breath catch in my throat, the tension in the car becoming visible.
"A MURDER?!" Stiles shouted, swerving the car. "WHO DID YOU MURDER?"
"Stiles, calm down! A minute ago you suggested killing Jackson, you're really in no position to criticize!" Scott shouted, reaching to turn the steering wheel straight again.
"It wasn't like that! Just relax! Christ!" I breathed, as Stiles got the car back under control. "I was the cause of someone else's death okay? I didn't mean murder literally." Why had I said that? What did I think that would accomplish?
"Well you should probably SPECIFY NEXT TIME BECAUSE PEOPLE TEND TO TAKE THAT LITERALLY." Stiles shouted, glancing sideways at me. He must have noticed my sudden paleness and the look on my face though, because he slowed down, and sighed. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you."
"No, it was my fault. I brought it up in the first place." I shook my head. Why had I even brought it up? My emotions were on a rollercoaster. Too much had happened within the past 24 hours. How was I supposed to cope with it all? I wasn't even sure how a normal person would cope with it, never mind me.
"Hey." Scott caught my hand, smiling at me. "It's okay." I looked down, back at my lap and he gave my hand a squeeze. "You're a good person Ryan. A really good person." I gave a half-hearted smile, looking back up at him.
"Thanks." Stiles pulled up in front of my house, giving me a nod and a tight smile.
"What Scott said." I gave a small laugh, climbing out of the jeep.
"Thanks guys. I'll see you later I guess."
"Hey, wait!" Scott grabbed my arm as I turned towards my house, halting me. "Give me your phone." I obliged, digging it out of my jacket pocket and handing it over. He took a minute punching in a few numbers and handed it back. "There. Now you have my number, Stiles's number, and Allison's number. If anything goes wrong, and I mean anything, give us a call, okay?" I nodded, shoving the phone back into my pocket, my words absent for the time being.
"I know it sucks getting dragged into this and all," Stiles started, glancing out the windshield before looking back at me. "But you're in it. And clearly you are more than capable of taking care of yourself." He held his hands up as if I had him at gunpoint and I choked out a laugh, looking down sheepishly. "But you're not alone in this." He finished softly.
"We've got your back, okay?" Scott added, and I felt myself tearing up. I wiped at my eyes before anything could fall, giving a small sniffle and backing away.
"Don't get all sappy on me guys. I'll see you later." I shot them my biggest smile, in hopes of convincing them I was okay. And I guess I was, really. I had friends again, people who cared about me, were going to look out for me. It felt nice.
But why did I feel so guilty? I went straight to my room, kicking off my shoes and jacket and falling face first on my bed. I fell asleep in minutes, welcoming the blackness washing over me like an old friend.
Her laughter filled the blank void around me, and I cringed away, clamping my hands over my ears in an effort to block out the sound. The laughter ceased, but was replaced by her voice, strong and clear.
"You're moving on without me."
"No, no I would never-"
"You are Ryan. I'm dead and you're not and you're moving on without me." It was her voice, but I felt as if what she was actually saying, and what she was trying to say were two separate things, two strands of the same string, pulling in opposite directions. I felt a cold come over me, and I blinked, suddenly back in the lake. I couldn't stop shivering, forcing my eyes open as they burned against the water.
I saw Casey dive in, and I screamed for her to stop, to swim back up, to save herself. But my screams died in my throat, swallowed up by the raging water. My skin began to burn, as if my veins had been set on fire. I briefly wondered if this was what it was like to drown, a mind numbing icy cold, followed by an obliterating heat. Like when you get so cold you start to feel hot. Smoke and bubbles surrounded my like a cloud, and my hands began glowing, like a nightlight in the dark. Casey reached me finally, grabbing my arm to pull me up. But as soon as touched my skin, it all fell away, and I blacked out, screaming.
I awoke to my father shaking me awake, my screams filling the air. My mother stood at the door, a pained look on her face. I blinked the tears and the sleep away, processing my surroundings. I was shaking, still cold, and I reached for a tissue on my nightstand.
"Do you want to stay home tomorrow?" my mother asked, leaning against the door frame. I nodded numbly, as my father rubbed soothing circles on my back. "Okay. Go back to sleep. Get some rest." They both left my room silently and I laid back down, willing an emptiness to come over me. It never came though, and I threw the covers off of me bitterly, stalking over to my laptop on my desk and punching the power button on.
The clock next to my bed read 3:56am, and I inwardly groaned, rubbing my eyes and wishing I could just sleep through the night. But since I couldn't, I might as well be productive. I read every article I could find on werewolves, and even spent a bit of time researching kanimas, with very limited results. I read and read until I eventually read myself to sleep.
I woke up with one tear stained cheek against the keyboard of my laptop, my back hunched over my desk in a way that wasn't uncomfortable until I decided to try and sit up. I quickly dabbed at my eyes, tears still welling up in them, and stretched upward, making my way over to the bathroom. My eyelashes stuck together with tears, and I blew my nose, noticing how flushed my face was. I grabbed my brush off of the counter, trying to pull it through my half damp hair, wondering how much I had cried in my sleep. I couldn't even remember what I had dreamed about this time.
My bare feet padded across the polished tiles, to the warm carpet of my room as I sat down on my bed, staring at the walls. These walls. I had only lived in them for a few weeks now and they had already seen so many tears. It was like this house bred anxiety, and I suddenly felt heavy, my head aching and my chest heaving, longing for something I could not give it. I wish I could blame the house.
But I knew it wasn't the house that made me anxious. It was me. I felt this way in every house. With a deep breath I threw my closet doors open, making a decision. I had no idea why I felt like this was something I should do, but the urge was there and I wasn't about to pass up an excuse to get out of the house and possibly outrun my memories.
I grabbed my gray New York t-shirt and a pair of high waisted shorts, pulling them on over my sheer black tights. I fished out my oversized cream cardigan from the depths of my closet, along with my combat boots, lacing them up and grabbing my purse. I quickly threw my hair into a messy bun, too lazy to do anything else to it. Besides, no one was going to see me where I was headed anyway. I grabbed the notepad on the table by the door, scribbling a quick note to my parents as to where I was, before opening the door and slamming it shut behind me.
The walk was quicker than I thought it would be, gravel and dirt crunching under my feet. The Beacon Hills Preserve, home of supernatural beginnings. I wandered through the forest, feeling particularly small beside the towering trees. In a way, I liked it. I felt less like the world was balancing on my shoulders, and more like I was balancing on the world. Both were tricky though. Balancing the world on your shoulders is tough, tiring. At any given moment the world could fall, and you would be responsible for it. But balancing on the world, that was a different ballgame. You were responsible for yourself and only yourself. And that was how I liked it.
It was a double standard and I knew it. I loved having other people to rely on, to help me and look out for me, but I hated having other people rely on me. I just felt like there was no way I could live up to their expectations. Like I would inevitably just let everybody down. I began kicking up leaves, hearing them crunch under my boots to quell my thoughts. I kept walking until I found what I was looking for, and again it was much easier than I anticipated.
The Hale House.
I stood staring at the massive house in ruins, feeling a strange urge to go inside. I let my fingers trail along the rotting wood of the porch base, the railing completely obliterated, feeling slightly comforted by the state it was in. It was broken, damaged, just like myself. Flickers of images crossed my mind, of the house up in flames, and I briefly wondered what it would have been like to burn alive rather than drown.
It seemed much more painful, but maybe the flames would have done what the water did not. Then again, thinking of Derek's uncle Peter that Scott had told me about, maybe not. Maybe I would have been worse off. The thought still plagued my mind, of how had I survived. I had been under the water much too long, and why had Casey been covered in blood if she had simply drowned saving me? How did she save me but drown herself? There were so many questions I didn't have the answer to and they haunted me at all times. I wondered briefly if my nightmare had actually been the truth, a flashback as opposed to a dream.
To be honest, I couldn't even remember all of the details of the whole thing. The doctor's said it was a side effect of the PTSD, but none of it made sense to me. It was like I could hear what they told me, but I couldn't process anything. I heard the crunching of leaves and I spun around, startled, as a crow hopped along the ground at the base of a tree a few feet away.
I let out a breath, trying to relax myself. You didn't come here to think about Casey. You came here to escape it. I went back to studying the house, debating on whether or not I had the guts to go inside. What do you have to lose really? I took a step forward, and that was when I heard him clear his throat.
Derek stood off to the side, arms folded across his chest, studying me with a cautious expression, like he thought I might lunge at him and attempt to bite him. I backed up against the column of the porch, trying to repress the fear I wasn't supposed to be experiencing. No. Don't let him scare you.
"What are you doing here?" I choked out, clearing my throat immediately afterwards and mentally scolding myself. He raised an eyebrow, looking at the house behind me.
"Well, this is my house."
"Scott said you didn't live here anymore," I countered, my voice stronger and steadier.
"That doesn't change the fact that it's my house." He took a few steps towards me and I instinctively tried to back up, climbing the three stairs to the porch. He sighed, looking down at his feet. "Can you just…promise not to freak out?"
"Depends. Am I next on your hit list?" I swung myself around the thin column, peering at him from the other side of it. I felt confident and relaxed, and I smiled at him, though it was meant for myself. The truth is I was proud. It wasn't a glorious act of defiance, but I was holding my ground even though I knew my body would have been one hundred percent on board with running as fast as I could in the opposite direction.
In terms of fight or flight, I had always opted for flight. But I was tired of running. And people actually needed me for once. Lydia needed me. And I wasn't going to abandon her. I would right all of the wrongs in my life. Starting with this. Derek rolled his eyes, moving closer to me, so that he was about a foot away.
"No. I just want to talk." With my added height from the porch, I actually had a few inches on him. I cocked an eyebrow, bending down so we were eye level.
"Then why did you bring back up?" I whispered, glancing at the dense forest behind him. I didn't know how, but I knew he was there.
"Just a note, werewolves have superhuman hearing. So, the whole whispering thing…" Isaac stepped out from behind the trees, approaching us with a wave of his arm. "Kind of pointless."
"I liked you a lot better when you were unconscious on the floor."
"Oh I'll bet." I narrowed my eyes at him as Derek let out a snarl. I flinched, but recovered quick enough.
"Enough. Isaac came on his own behalf. No matter how many times I said I'd rather go alone." Derek clenched his teeth, rubbing his temple with one hand. A laugh escaped my lips and he looked up, giving me an annoyed glare.
"Sorry. But that's what you get for turning a bunch of teenagers."
"I see Scott filled you in on some things."
"Scott filled me in on everything." I held a hand up, clarifying. I sat down against the edge of the porch, kicking my legs idly in front of me.
"Great." He seethed, clearly displeased.
"Well Scott wouldn't have needed to fill me in if your little guard dogs hadn't barged in and tried to kill everyone."
"Excuse me, we were just trying to kill one person. And anyone who got in our way." Isaac grumbled behind Derek, locking his jaw in annoyance.
"So, everyone." I nodded, my eyes widening at him.
"Careful Derek. Better make sure there aren't any portable kitchen appliances within the vicinity." He sneered, as I grinned, blowing him a kiss. Derek sighed heavily, rolling his eyes with a flare of drama I didn't know he had in him.
"Isaac, in the house." Derek jabbed a finger towards the door as Isaac stood there, looking very much offended.
"Wh-what? What am I supposed to do in th-"
"In the house." Derek gave him a glare, and he reluctantly marched inside. "Anyway," he turned back to me, still slightly hostile, but seeming more open to discussion. This was his decision to talk to me anyway. "So you know about werewolves."
I nodded, pushing myself back until my back was against the wooden post, my lips stretched into a tight line. My rush of confidence and bravery had faded, and the more he spoke, the more I wanted him to go away, leave me alone with the thoughts threatening to burn me down to the ground. I was a wildfire, and there was no controlling me. I couldn't even control myself.
"How have you been Ryan?" he asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. My head shot up a bit suddenly, surprised by his question. My confusion read across on my face, as he amended himself. "Have the hallucin-?"
"I'm fine." I replied quickly, cutting him off with a glance back towards the door of the house. I didn't need Isaac to have more ammunition than he already did. The less he knew, the better. Derek's brow furrowed, eyeing me suspiciously.
"Really? Because that's not what I've been hearing."
"Well I haven't gotten worse, if that's what you're implying." I spat, my voice thick with as much venom as I could spit out. I narrowed my eyes at him, anger welling up inside my chest. I didn't like it when the shrinks my parents sent me to did this, I definitely wasn't taking it from him.
"But you're still-"
"What do you want Derek?" My voice held a frustrated edge that I couldn't quite get rid of, no matter how much I tried to calm myself.
"I want to help." He said, equally as frustrated, maybe a bit more annoyed. "Help you."
I actually laughed at that one, though I lost the edge in my voice. "I don't need another psychologist Derek." My voice was softer than I expected, and he looked at me with pained eyes, like I was someone he once knew, now eternally damaged. My thoughts and emotions were raging, and I had never felt more bipolar, angry one minute, calm and collected the next. Who knew, maybe I had recently developed bipolar disorder. Psychiatrists would have a field day with me.
"What if I told you I might know a way to make you better?" He looked almost uncomfortable, staring at his feet for a minute before meeting my eyes.
"What, you mean like a cure?" I raised an eyebrow, slowly shaking my head. "Derek there is no cure. It's not curable."
"This isn't exactly a conventional cure. And it'd be a shot in the dark. But there's an 85% chance that it'll work."
"There was an 85% chance that Casey would have survived too but we both know how that story ended." My voice is cold, distant. Just like that. I feel myself tossing back and forth inside of myself, as if I'm rolling down a large hill, tumbling through my emotions as they come on. This is a dangerous slope I'm on.
"Ryan…" Derek sighed, his patience still there but wearing thin.
"Is this cure supernatural?" I asked, as it suddenly dawned on me. He said nothing, staring at my feet crossed in front of me. After a few moments of silence, he met my gaze again, and I locked my jaw, held my head high.
"The other day, at the school? I had…" he trailed off, trying not to sound annoyed. I was beginning to realize that was a difficult task for him. "I had come to offer you the bite."
"Offer me the bite?" I repeated, skeptically. It was like it was a new free sample they were having at the supermarket. Hello ma'am, how are you doing today? Can I offer you the bite?
"Isaac and Erica, they were supposed to be playing nice." Derek repeated, slightly louder than necessary, and I heard a muttered I was playing nice from inside the house. "As future pack members and all." He finished.
"But…why? Why me?"
"You're a force to be reckoned with Ryan. You may not see it yet, but I have. Casey had."
"You mean I'm dangerous?" I laughed, throwing my head back against the pillar, drawing a hand over my eyes.
"You are," Derek started, taking another step forward and leaning against the porch. "But not in the way that you think. I figured I owed it. To Casey. To look out for you." He stared at me through stubborn eyes, almost like he was reluctant to admit that someone might have meant a lot to him.
"How did you know Casey?" I asked softly, beginning to feel that dizzying feeling, like I might float away.
"I'm not sure you're-"
"How did you know her Derek?" I repeated, stronger, more insistent.
"I'm not sure you're ready for that conversation Ryan." He stared at me carefully, as if I might break apart at any second.
"What does that…what is that-supposed to mean?" I struggled to get the words out, as sparks of white light danced across my vision, the world spinning before me like a carousel.
"Isaac!" I heard him shout, as he leaned forward to catch me as I fell sideways, off of the porch and onto the ground. He was so close, but he sounded light years away, and he wasn't fast enough, as my body slammed into the ground. But I didn't stop there.
I went through, as if breaking the surface of water, falling down into oblivion. I landed with a thud onto a white hospital bed, the room smelling of antiseptic. I blinked and tubes were attached to both of my arms, and I let out a wail, screaming until a few nurses came running in.
"Take them out! Take them out!" I kicked and pleaded, tears streaming freely down my face until finally I was unhooked from my prison. "Where is she?" I demanded, and the nurses shot each other a severe look, a look that I knew meant 'don't tell her'. I jumped out of bed, barreling through them as they tried to stop me, hold me down. I kicked free of them, shrugging them off and managing to make it out into the hallway.
I saw Ava sitting outside the door a few rooms down, staring blankly at the wall, dried tears staining her face. She looked up at me, but it was as if she couldn't see me. Like I was just another wall ornament. She made no sound, looking back down at her feet. I opened the door, her parents stood at the foot of her bed, her mother brandishing a tissue. Both of them sobbing, hysterically. Sobs so loud and weighed with more pain than I ever thought could be imaginable.
And there she was. Lying on the bed. Trails of blood from her mouth, drying on her neck. Blood caked around her fingernails, her hands. The heart monitor beeping in a way that said it was giving up.
"She was trying to save you, you know." Ava's voice was small and quiet, as I saw the last bits of life leave my best friend's body.
"This is all your fault!" Her mother screeched, shaking her tissue at me as her husband ushered her back out into the hallway. More sobs.
"Why couldn't you have tried to save her?" Avery was only a few years younger than us, but she always just seemed so young, so little, so in need of protecting. And I had taken her protector away. Forever.
"I tried-I didn't mean to-"
"Derek, what did you do?" strong hands set me down, his voice sounding quietly angry, worried.
"I didn't do anything. She's have a hallucination. A flashback. I don't know how it works."
"How what works?" I opened my eyes and sat up, their voices growing farther away. I was lying on a table inside the house, the only piece of furniture that still seemed intact.
"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder." I shut my eyes, feeling my heart sink. It was quiet outside, no one saying anything, until Derek broke the silence again. "Keep an eye on her. I'll be right back." I heard footsteps circling the house, growing closer and then farther away again, as I crept back towards the door, peeking my head out. Isaac stood in front of the house, pacing back and forth, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other on the back of his neck.
"So. Cat's out of the bag." I said, crossing the porch to sit down.
"So it's true?" Isaac's head whipped back, turning to me, his blue eyes full of questions and…concerns?
"I'm not crazy." I swallowed, feeling the lump in my throat choking me dry.
"But you do have PTSD." I said nothing, staring at him through wide eyes, unsure of what to say, how to make anything better. He ran a restless hand through his hair, letting out a gush of breath. He shook his head a few times, almost as if he was ashamed of himself. He sat down quietly next to me, pulling one knee up to his chest. "How'd it happen?"
"I thought you knew." I answered, my voice dead. I felt very far away, as if I was watching a movie of someone else's life, played out before me.
"No." he shook his head slowly after he spoke, staring straight ahead. "Derek only told me about Casey, how you two were friends. He never said much else." He looked at me through his lashes, and I turned towards him, acutely aware that I was staring, but unable to help myself. I felt so small sitting there next to him, looking up at him with doe eyes, ugly brown staring into a blue so deep I felt like I was drowning in them. He licked his lips and I quickly turned back to my knees, heaved up to my chest. I pulled my lips in, thinking of the best way I could answer him.
"I was a mess." I felt my voice shake, so I stopped, took a deep breath. Started again. "A time bomb, seconds away from detonation." I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "She saved me. My life. And I couldn't do the same." There was a hollowness inside me, growing as the words fell from my lips. There were times when I felt all of the emotions at once, all of the pain and anguish. And then there were times where I felt nothing at all, like nothing more than a walking corpse. I couldn't tell you which I preferred more. Both of them made me wish I was an actual corpse. I knew that was the only way I could tell this story though. Without feeling.
"I was drowning. I had gone too far out into the lake. I still can't remember why. There was just something pulling me towards it, like I had no choice. I let myself sink. She jumped in after me, tried to save me. But I had been under so long and I-I-" I took another gulp of air, letting it out slowly through my nose. He sat there watching me, not saying a word, but listening so intently I thought he might be trying to read my mind, see inside my head.
Lots of people wanted to see inside my head after they found out what a horror show it was inside here. I didn't know why though. Most times I wished I could stop seeing inside my head. "Something happened. I don't know what. I can't remember what. But she tried to pull me up and I blacked out. Woke up in the hospital and she was bloody and bloated and on her death bed. She died about three minutes later." I finished, staring down at my hands, half wishing the rest of the story would come to me, half wishing it would never come. I waited for the sneering, the jabs, the mocking.
"And you think you killed her?" was all he said. I turned to him slowly, surprised and baffled.
"If she had supposedly 'just drowned', like all of the cops and doctors said, then why was she so bloody?" I whispered, tilting my head to the side eyes narrowing. "I did something. I know I did. I just don't know what." The last part of my sentence came out as a strangled sob and I covered my mouth, turning away from him.
"Hey," he placed a hesitant hand on my shoulder, turning me back towards him. The chaos of my mind instantly quieted and I looked at him slightly confused. Was that another werewolfy power? I prepared myself for the barrage of 'it's okay' or 'everything's fine' or 'it's not your fault' that I had heard so many times before. And while it was comforting for a bit, it never stuck. Because I know that it was not okay, everything was not fine, and it was most definitely my fault. "You're not a monster."
I blinked at him, taken off guard. That wasn't what people said. No one had ever said that. I stared at him for a long time, unable to speak, for once not because I couldn't find my voice, but because I just didn't know what to say. He stared back at me, his eyes darting all around my face, as opposed to just staying set on my eyes. Normally it would have made me uncomfortable, but instead I just felt a deep calm settling in my stomach, a kind of warm sensation you get when you're little and your parents tuck you in at night. I pressed my lips together, glancing at his hand sliding from my shoulder down my arm, and tried not to smile. Isaac glanced behind my head and cleared his throat, releasing my arm and standing up, as Derek approached, a Hershey's bar and a bottle of water in his hands.
"You passed out so…you don't want low blood sugar." He said, thrusting the candy bar and water bottle at me, his eyes to the ground. I felt my mouth turn up into a lopsided small smile, and I took them graciously.
"Thanks Derek." I opened the candy bar, breaking off a piece of chocolate and shoving it into my mouth. I offered him and Isaac a piece, to which they both declined.
"Are you feeling better?" He stood in front of me, hands clasped behind his back. I gave a small shrug, looking straight ahead before turning back to him.
"I've been worse." He nodded, getting back to business.
"So, about my offer." He wasn't one to beat around the bush, was he? I pursed my lips, glancing down. He really was just trying to help. Me anyway. But was I willing to do this? And everything it came with? What would Scott, Stiles, and Allison think? Would I technically be one of the bad guys?
"I'll think about it." I said, looking down, playing with my hands as if they somehow held the key to everything. Derek studied me a moment, before he drew his brows together.
"No you won't." I looked up at him curiously, Isaac mirroring my expression. "You don't want this Ryan, do you?" I looked back at Isaac, and his words rang in my head. You're not a monster. I shook my head.
"No." I said it slowly, like I was still working through my decision. His eyes glowed red (red eyes meant alpha, or at least that's what Scott had said) before he closed them, nodding.
"Alright. My offer still stands if you change your mind." I nodded as he turned around, motioning toward Isaac to follow. Isaac shot me one last glance, almost as if it were a recognition that what had just happened was something that was never to be spoken of again. He smirked at me, lightly chuckling before turning around and taking off after Derek.
A/N: Helloooo! Okay, so I recently started my new semester of college, so it may take a bit longer to get my updates up, but I hope that their ever growing length will make up for that!
Also as a side note, I figured I'd throw this out there. While I don't have PTSD, I do suffer from severe anxiety, so writing Ryan comes pretty naturally to me, because I know how she's feeling. Panic attacks are tricky things, and there really is no one way to stop them aside from letting them run their course, or getting a person distracted enough to stop it before it really gets going. Just in case anyone was wondering why no one can really help her when she starts having one. :]
Once again thank you to all of my beautiful readers for favoriting and following the story, and thank you to Guest, BrittWitt16, Janedoee7, BriancyyD, artificial-paradises, Guest, kaljara, WhatsGoingOn, and LionHeartMisfit for your lovely reviews! Reading them make me so happy that people actually care about this little story, so thank you!
I hope you enjoy this next chapter! Let me know what you think!