Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf.
An: I wrote this in one setting while watching Stephen King movies. He makes me want to write...Teen Wolf Fanfiction. I'm sure he'd be touched. So I got some pms about the Isaac/Lydia story. So if you want it up, tell me! Its not anything like this one though... its...idk. Its different than anything I've ever really written. Deff an M rating. Writing Allison in this chapter was hard. Really hard. Its why its all so short. I had to...get it out, you know? Enjoy.
.
...
She wanted answers. She wanted whys and hows.
Why did this happen?
How did this happen?
Why her? Why her family? Why her Mother? Her mom... How did this even happen? How did her Mother even get bit? It didn't make sense. It didn't add up. Her Mother...she didn't go hunting. She was home the night of the Rave. Derek...he was at the Rave.
Her mind was spinning. She couldn't think. Not anymore. No more. She didn't want to. She couldn't. Her head hurt. She dug her nails deep into the vinyl of the waiting couch underneath her, listening for the satisfying 'pop' of the material giving way. Breaking. The sinking then filling as air rushed into the holes she created. The ruins she caused.
She wanted to break things.
She wanted to ruin things.
She wanted...she wanted to hurt things.
Hurt things like she hurt. God, she hurt. Her chest felt empty. But full. Full of pain. Of sadness. Of the emptying echo of her heartbeat. An emptiness that pulsed in her in a way she knew would never truly go away. Never. It would follow her ever where. It would never go away.
Her eyes went dull, sinking low into the cushion as an idea filled her. A need. She wanted to get even. To end this all. All the pain she felt. The ache in her chest. The choking of the sobs in her throat. And the burn of tears in her eyes. This was stronger then all that. This need. She wanted revenge. She needed it.
It wouldn't fix anything, she knew. It wouldn't bring her mother back. It wouldn't make Scott human. It wouldn't stop the monsters. But...it would make her feel better.
But it would make her a hunter. An Argent.
Her Mother had died for them.
.
...
Lydia grabbed Scott's arm, pulling him back sharply. Before the other girl saw them. Stiles stumbled at the sudden stop of the quick pace they'd been keeping. The near run. He followed them into the hallway, looking confused at the pause. Allison was right there... sitting on some couch, alone. She needed them. Her mother was dead. She needed her friends. Someone, anyone.
Lydia was wide eyed, pushing them back as she leaned over the edge. Allison's face, her expression...she shook her head, turning on them. She pushed Scott back, further down the hall. "Go." She whispered urgently, she kept peering behind them. Over her shoulder. She pushed them again, frowning when he didn't budge. "Go!"
Scott shook his head, trying to side step her. Lydia pushed him back, hard, as he tried to head down the hall. His eyes flashed yellow. A growl on his lips. She paid it no mind. "No! Allison she needs-"
"The same thing the rest of the Argents are going to need." Stiles cut him off pulling his best friend back by his elbow, he pulled him further into the hall. They ducked into an empty room. Scott met his eyes and he looked away. He knew what the Argent's would want from this. "A bad guy." He shook his head, a frown on his face. This wasn't going to be good. The Argents. Allison didn't know, she wouldn't understand. She'd lost her Mother. There was no pain like it. He absently rubbed his chest, remembering that hollow feel. It never went away. Never.
Lydia stepped closer to him, shoulder to shoulder. Blocking Scott's path. He looked down at the contact, at the top of her strawberry blonde head. "They'll want a monster." She said quietly, watching Scott with a small frown on her face. She didn't expect it to be like this. But then it had hit her. All of it came crashing down. All this mess. This wasn't a normal death. This was something else. Something they could blame others for.
Scott didn't understand. Couldn't understand. He loved Allison. She needed him now. Didn't the know? Didn't Stiles understand? "I can't leave Allison." He couldn't. He wouldn't.
Lydia stepped forward, a cold look on her face. "You go in there and they'll have you on the table next to Victoria, got it?" She spat sharply, poking him in the chest. The boys flinched at the words. The cruel tone of her voice. She was serious. "I'll take Allison." She said, digging in her jacket pocket for something. Her keys. She handed them backwards, to Stiles. She looked over her shoulder. "Take my car. Go tell Derek Hale to get the hell out of Dodge. You two do the same." She tacked to the end, her eyes softening just the barest hint.
Stiles caught it, and her hand. His grip was tight and she turned to face him. He was worried, she could tell. A set to his mouth that shouldn't have been there. A furrow between his brows that she wanted to wipe away. A shock went through her at the thought. A frown almost reaching her mouth. "What about you? How will you get home?" He asked, not yet letting go. Not taking the keys. Her hand was warm in his, small even wrapped around the keys. She looked up at him with far away eyes, like she didn't quite recognize him.
Lydia shook her head, tugging her hand away. He frowned harder, letting her take her hand away. His fell heavy to his side. "I'll have Scott's Mom bring me to his house." She told him, stepping back. Out of reach. She laid her keys on the table in the room, walking to the door. Lydia held onto the know, her grip on it tight. She bit her lip. "We'll talk there. Decide how to handle all of this."
Scott watched the girl go, pocketing her car keys. He couldn't focus, but there she was. Running the show. "Maybe Derek was right." He told his friend, a frown pulling at his face. He wanted to be with Allison. He wanted to go out there with her so bad that it hurt. But they were right. It was dangerous. The Argents, they'd... "Maybe Lydia is better at this than us." He said quietly, lost in thought.
Stiles leaned against the wall, rubbing the back of his neck. Something didn't feel right here. Like the moments before the storm, when you could feel the heaviness in the air. The crackle of electricity. The knowledge that the dam would only hold so long. "I'm not so sure."
.
...
Lydia held the paper cup of hospital coffee, stirring it with the little red straw. Two sugars. Two cream. Like Allison liked. Just enough to hide the metallic tinge. Just enough bitter with the sweet.
She sat down on the vinyl couch next to the brunette offering up the coffee. The silent girl took it, taking a sip with a blank face. Her eyes dull and stuck on the pale grey wall in front of her. She was a zombie, lost in her own mind. Her eyes glazed over and dry tear tracks silvered on her face.
Neither spoke for a long time. Ten minutes, twenty minutes. Lydia watched the clock move. The morgue's waiting room was silent. The words 'dead silent' came to mind but she ignored them. She couldn't handle it. The eerie silence of the grave that filled the space like a cold fog. Suffocating. The only sound the light tick of the second hand and the harder tock of the minute.
Tick, tick, tick, tock.
It was almost two in the morning when she finally spoke, her voice raspy.
Allison took a long sip of her coffee, buying time. More time. Never enough time. "You know?" She asked quietly, blinking her eyes heavily. They burned. She didn't look at the girl when she spoke. Staring at a spot on the wall. "You...you knew?" Her voice was rusty, gone.
Lydia frowned looking away. She didn't know when she'd developed a conscience, but guilt filled her stomach like acid. Turning it over and flipping it inside out. Clenching it as if she were about to throw up. "Yes." She admitted quietly, so quiet she wondered if Allison even heard. She wasn't going to repeat it though. She couldn't. Her throat clenched, blocking the words.
Allison blinked, drinking the chilling coffee to wet her raspy throat. It hurt to talk. She'd cried for so long that is hurt to breathe. "Why didn't you tell me?" She asked, another drink. A longer sip. Slower.
Lydia bit her lip, hard. Her shoulders came up in a shrug, she didn't know how to answer. She couldn't answer. But she had to be strong. She had to. "We were protecting you." She whispered, closing her eyes. She didn't want to see. "We didn't know that this was going to happen." She watched Allison drink. A long drink. Good. She checked the clock again.
Allison was quiet for a long moment, her eyes closed and her head against the wall behind her. "You all knew..." her voice was hurt. Choked. It was painful to hear. To hear the bitter betrayal in it. "You all knew." She was wiping the tears from her face now. Lydia wondered if she even knew that she was crying.
Lydia threaded her fingers with the girl's free hand. It
Wouldn't be long now she thought, a frown pulling on her lips. Allison had her eyes closed. "Drink your coffee." Lydia said quietly, feeling the girl's hand go slack in hers. Allison's head was on her shoulder and she felt a pang of guilt. She brushed it away as she moved the hair from her friend's face.
"I'm so tired, Lydia." Allison whispered, pulling her legs underneath her. Her blinks were getting longer, slower. Her eyes heavy.
Lydia felt the girl's breathing even out. The empty coffee cup falling to the floor. "We all are, honey. We all are."
One layer to help you get to sleep, one layer to keep you there.
.
...
Lydia made it to the other end of the hospital easily, dropping the roofied coffee cup away. She'd left Allison asleep on the couch in the morgue wing, a pillow under her head. She'd dropped her own coat over the girl's still form, tucking her legs up. She slid to the nurses desk, leaning in it heavier than she wanted to admit. She was tired too. Melissa McCall looked up at her, confused.
"Lydia." The woman said, her brow furrowed. She checked her watch, it was almost three in the morning. Far past visiting hours. Far past a decent hour to be up and out. "Hey. Can I help you?" Her shift was almost up.
Lydia shrugged her bare shoulders and Melissa caught sight of the pink scars. The girl had smeared them with makeup, but they were still visible. Melissa remembered them easily. The wounds that wouldn't heal. The coma they'd causes. "Your son has my car." Lydia said, folding her arms on the counter top and leaning on them.
Melissa frowned, weren't her boys supposed to be at this girl's house? Her birthday party? "Did he at least ask first?" She asked, rubbing her brow.
Lydia nodded sleepily, her head down. "Mhm. I gave him the keys." She answered, her voice drowsy. "He and Stiles had something important to do. They dropped me here."
"Okay." Melissa didn't ask what the boys had to do. Or why they had to take her car. Or even my Lydia had to go to the hospital at three am. She just put her pen down, leaning back in the chair. "Would you like me to bring you home to wait for your car? My shift is over, I've just go to clock out."
Lydia straightened up, brushing the hair back from her face. "Yes please." She smiled wide, following Mrs. McCall as they took the back route to the employee lot. Mrs. McCall needed a code to access the door. The air outside had a cold bite and Lydia rolled her shoulders against it. The night was still, the full moon lowering from its peak. She looked up at it with a frown on her face.
Mrs. McCall looked at the girl as she slid into the passenger seat, a far away look was on her face. "I heard Allison is here." She said, backing out. "I heard the Argent name, but nothing else." That wasn't true. She'd heard it through the morgue. A DOA on a thirty eight year old woman. Her mother.
Lydia turned, watching as Melissa's face appeared then disappeared in the lights lining the road. There, then gone, there, then gone. "Victoria Argent stabbed herself." She said quietly, her hands tightened to fists on her lap. The sharp tips of her nails pricked her palms, leaving four perfect little dents. The pain faded quickly. "Suicide."
Melissa rubbed her hand against the steering wheel, shaking her head. Leaving a little girl like that, on purpose? It was inexcusable. She couldn't imagine it. She resisted the urge to close her eyes against the thought. "I remember when Stiles' Mother passed." She said to the silent interior, Lydia looking at her with those dinnerplate dahlia eyes. So big. She was shocked. Melissa continued. "He was young, but he understood." She remembered it well. She'd been a nurse even then. She remembered the night easily, and it aftermath. "He'd have these panic attacks..." she trailed off, shaking her head. Stiles was like a son to her. He was one of her boys, just like Scott. She remembered it all too well.
Lydia stiffened in her seat, her mouth parted in shock. She licked her lips. She didn't know. "His Mother is dead?" She asked quietly, her breath crushing out in a shocked exhale.
Mrs. McCall frowned, her brow furrowed. "You didn't know?" She asked. She'd thought... Scott had said that the two of them were joined at the hip lately, that Stiles had finally gotten his girl. She'd thought she knew. "You two have been spending a lot of time together, I thought you knew."
Lydia frowned at the windshield, biting her lip harshly. "I thought she'd left." She whispered, she swallowed thickly. "Divorced."
She tried to deny the sudden catch in her throat.
.
...
An: And there it is. I need sleep now. See ya friendships.