So… the craziest thing happened. I was checking the Teen Wolf tag on Tumblr and someone WROTE ABOUT MY STORY. Can I just say I love you guys?! It was seriously the nicest thing. I fangirled for the longest time!
Hopefully I'll be able to keep this up for you guys – all your notes and these lovely surprises are just the best! Now, not to keep you waiting any longer… let's get started!
Chapter 7
What Has Hands, but Cannot Clap?
"I really could get into a considerable amount of trouble for that."
Ms. McCall hands the sheriff a coffee, rubbing his back gently. He stiffens at her touch, but gives in a few seconds into it. It's been a while since he's felt this sort of comfort and he isn't sure how he should be reacting to it. It should feel this nice to have someone, when his son is lying on the bed in front of him with a breathing tube in his mouth.
Mr. Stilinski looks at his son. In all respects, it merely looks like he's sleeping. His face is more relaxed than he's seen it in days. Reaching out, he grabs Stiles' hand and rubs his thumb back and forth, a small part of him wishing that it would awaken something in him, even though he knew logically it wouldn't. Stiles remains still.
That's the worst part.
Ms. McCall huffs. "We all know he deserves it." She states, peering out of Stiles' room to where Agent McCall was angrily talking on his cell phone.
"Well, there's no arguing that," Mr. Stilinski mutters. "I've been wanting to do that to him for years – ever since I got that crying phone call from Scott when he left the first time."
Ms. McCall bows her head. Her and Scott have turned the Stilinski men more times than she cared to admit. But they were always there. Unlike her first husband, the Stilinskis were always there. She peers at Stiles and closes her eyes. Always there.
That was the problem, though. She never entertained the idea that one of them might not be there anymore. That was a constant in her life: the Stilinski men. Stiles made a key to her house, for goodness sakes! And here they were, Stiles running the risk of not being there anymore. The thought gave her chills.
Mr. Stilinsk groans. "It's just, I was him, you know?"
Ms. McCall frowns. "How do you figure?"
"I was the one in the dark for such a long time." Mr. Stilinski says, frowning as Agent McCall hisses into his phone. "I was the law enforcement official who knew there were more pieces to the puzzle, but didn't know what they were or who would be able to tell me. I kept trying to figure things out and failing because I didn't know the entire chessboard."
"So what are you saying?" Ms. McCall states. "That we should… tell him?"
"God, no." Mr. Stilinski snaps. "I have no desire or need to tell him. I just understand his frustration. By all accounts, he should be frustrated. He doesn't have the whole picture. The whole picture is so much more terrifying than he could ever imagine."
Mr. Stilinski squeezes Stiles' hand, but the heart monitor remains constant. He presses his forehead against the back of his hand, wincing at how cold it feels. "Come on, kid," he whispers into his palm, feeling the threat of tears rising up. "Come on, you can't leave me here. You can't leave me here by myself. I can't be the last one. I can't be alone."
Ms. McCall looks away from this intimate moment, wiping a few tears from her cheeks. A parent should never have to watch their child die. Especially one that has already watched the end of his wife.
A nurse walks into the room and both parents leap to their feet. She hands Ms. McCall a folder. "His lab results." She states, before bowing out of the room, pity shining in her eyes.
They open the folder quickly, scanning the documents. Mr. Stilinski's eyes narrow. "Just because I understand his frustration, doesn't mean I still don't want to kick his ass." He snaps, shutting the folder. Stalking out of the room, he approaches Agent McCall. "You happy now?" He shouts, waving the folder in front of Agent McCall's face until he takes it. "Go on, there's your proof."
"I'll have to call you back." Agent McCall states, putting his cell phone in his pocket. He scans the documents and mutters, "Negative. How can that be?"
"You want to say that louder?" Mr. Stilinski shouts. "Negative. My son's screens came back negative for drugs or alcohol. You arrested an innocent teenager in the middle of school in the midst of a medical emergency. Now my son is in the hospital, unable to wake up. I'm putting that on you." Mr. Stilinski waves a finger in Agent McCall's face and he flinches, stepping back. "On you."
"Something is not right with your son, sheriff." Agent McCall says. "I don't care what the screens say, he wasn't having a panic attack when I saw him. Something is happening. This must be incorrect data."
"Now hold on," Ms. McCall states, contemplating stepping in the middle of the two men again, but struggles because she genuinely thinks her ex-husband might need another punch. "You have your proof. There's no reason for you to be in this town anymore. You had your investigation of the sheriff – he wasn't fired. You arrested his teenage son – he wasn't on drugs. I think the best thing you can do at this point is leave."
Agent McCall runs his hands down his face, scowling. With a frustrated sigh, he points at Stiles through the window. "There's something wrong with that kid. And I'm not leaving until I figure out what."
The sheriff's eyes grow dark. "I thought I made myself perfectly clear." He saws low, but dripping with venom. "You stay away from my family. You've done enough. Melissa's right. It's time for you to go home."
"Now listen here, Stilinski. My jurisdiction clearly states—"
"Oh my God," Melissa breathes, her hands trembling as she peeks through the other results in Stiles' folder. The two men stop their advances on one another and face her.
"What is it?" Mr. Stilinski snaps, rushing to her side. "Is everything alright – is my son alright?"
Ms. McCall pulls a scan out of the folder, holding it to the light. "Oh my God, somebody call Dr. Harmon!"
"Melissa!" Mr. Stilinski pleads. "What is going on?"
Ms. McCall stares at the boy's terrified father. "I-I'm not the one who can be making this calls. I'm just a nurse. I need to get a second opinion before I—"
Mr. Stilinski grabs her wrist. "Melissa, please."
A few tears roll down her cheeks as the scan shake in her hands. "I think he might need surgery."
XXX
"I can't do it," Allison states, pushing the papers away from her. "I can't keep reading these. They're… they're just too horrible. I can't see anything, I can't see any patterns. They're too much. It's too much."
"Imagine living in it," Isaac mutters, rummaging for a few more. Allison throws him a nasty look, which hurts because they seem to be running a pre-relationship marathon, but he can't help it. "Look, I'm sorry, but as much as it sucks that we're here, I think we need to remember that Stiles was experiencing these nonstop. The least we can do is try and figure out what we can do."
Everyone stares at him.
"What?" Isaac says, frowning at all their reactions. "What's with all the looks?"
Scott coughs. "All you and Stiles ever do is argue."
Isaac shrugs. "So? Doesn't mean I want to see him die. And besides," Isaac purses his lips, his voice growing small. "He saved you two." He states gesturing to Scott and Allison. "And I don't have a lot of people in my life, but you two are probably the most important. So, I guess I'm just really grateful for that. Not a lot of people would accept a life-threatening darkness for others and I'm glad Stiles cares enough to do it for you two. I would have no one if you two died. It's purely selfish."
No one says anything after that.
Derek walks into the living room, scowling at the mess before his feet. "You know, this could've been a lot simpler if he just told you guys what was going on and asked you if that was real. It'd be a lot cleaner too."
"He tried that," Lydia pipes up, holding out a couple of sheets of paper. "Twice. He brought me here one time and Scott the second. Both ended up being not real."
Derek's features tense. "This is all very… infuriating."
Scott looks up at him. "Have you ever dealt with anything like this before? Anyone you know have this happen to them?"
"Personally?" Derek asks. "No. I have heard stories of similar instances, but they don't end in ways that would make you feel any better."
"There's got to be something—"
Slam.
Everyone grows quiet. Derek whirls around, his eyes flashing a vibrant blue. "What the hell was that?" Derek says, rushing out of the room.
Everyone follows, sprinting after him as they peek through the house. Derek leads everyone, placing his hand in front of Scott and Isaac when they try and push past him. He shakes his head, surveying the area.
Everything looks the same. Technically, the house appears untouched. Except there is a chill in the air. A… darkness.
Derek takes a cautious step forward, the slightest bit of hesitation plaguing his movements. The house feels like ice and every step echoes. "Whoever's there, come out." Derek demands, moving down the hallway. No one answers.
The lights flicker until they extinguish. Derek can smell the fear coming from the kids behind him and he knows that they're scooting closer together. Even though he's alone and technically Scott is the 'Alpha,' he can't help but feel the desire to protect them. They're his responsibility, regardless of the color of his eyes.
There's crackling.
"Do you smell… smoke?" Isaac asks, turning his head.
Everyone turns back around. There's an odd light coming from the living room. An orange and red light.
"Oh my God, it's a fire!" Lydia shouts.
Derek's insides freeze, but only for a second. He can smell the smoke and hear the faint crackle of the fire and a layer of sweat breaks out over his forehead. Scott's already sprinting down the hallway, followed by Isaac. He shakes his head, desperately trying to expel the fear from his mind, tearing down the hallway until he sees the fire blazing in his living room.
It isn't big; in fact it only takes Scott and Isaac mere seconds to smother the flames with a few blankets nearby. But once they remove them, everyone gasps.
All the papers. Incinerated.
Lydia hesitantly steps into the room, her hands shaking as she reaches out for a pile of singed papers. They break off in her hands, the ashes trailing at her feet. "Oh no," she breathes, tears welling in her eyes.
Derek steps close to her, resisting the urge to comfort her. That would be strange. Not to mention, it would connect them. A hand on the shoulder. Comfort. It's enough to connect people forever.
And make it more difficult when the world tears them away from you.
He sincerely hopes 'mind reading' isn't one of Lydia's many unusual powers.
"It's all destroyed." Lydia breathes. "All of the letters he wrote. They're gone."
"Who would do something like that?" Allison asks, her voice quaking.
"You're asking the wrong question," Derek states, moving to the back of the room when something catches his eye. He doesn't know why he didn't notice it before. How could he have missed the smell? How could he have missed the anomaly in the room?
He bends down when he reaches the corner of the room, picking up a ball of cloth. "What question should we be asking, then Derek?" Scott asks when Derek doesn't continue.
Derek grimaces, unfolding the ball of cloth. It's stiff, a dried liquid permeating most of the fabric. He unfolds it, wincing at the smell of dried blood.
He's seen this shirt before. It's basic – a white shirt with dark blue trim around the sleeves and neckline. He's seen Stiles wear it before.
Except now? Now it's coated in dry blood, splotches staining the fabric.
"We should be asking what would do this."
XXX
Ms. McCall looks at her watch. 6:38. "They should be here by now," she breathes, trying to ignore Mr. Stilinski's crumpled form in the corner of the room. She can barely keep herself together, let alone comfort the man with the dying son. So instead she continues to check her watch in hopes they'll show up.
Fortunately, the group of teenagers – plus Derek Hale for some surprising reason – comes bursting into his room. "We're not late, are we?" Scott asks, out of breath. He peers down at his best friend and instantly closes his eyes and looks away, as if he forgot what it was like to see him. Ms. McCall reaches out to grab his arm, pulling him close. Scott can't look at her.
"No, it's not 6:46 yet," she says softly. "But there's something else we need to discuss."
"What now?" Lydia whimpers, leaning against the back wall.
Ms. McCall takes a breath. The pain of it takes the words out of her mouth. She's already had to explain it to the doctor and then to the sheriff. But these aren't simply medical words anymore – it feels like a death sentence. "We got Stiles' results back. Because of his state, we did a full scan of his body – the toxin screen, a CAT scan, the works. We got all the results back." Ms. McCall winces.
"There were irregularities in his CAT scan."
"The darkness?" Scott asks.
Ms. McCall shakes her head. "Actually, for the first time, the supernatural isn't involved in this one, sweetie. Stiles has… I mean, for a while now… he…" The words are lost in her throat.
"Stiles' brain is bleeding." Mr. Stilinski finishes, his voice cracking into a sob.
Scott blinks. "B-Bleeding? W-What, I don't understand."
Ms. McCall sighs. "It appears that it's been happening for a while. It's been such a small, minute injury that it's gone unnoticed. And with everything that's happened – all the headaches that one would assume with the injury—"
"He assumed was from the darkness." Isaac mutters, shaking his head.
"He's going into surgery at 6:55." Ms. McCall says. "I don't know what to expect at 6:46, but I don't want to find out with him open on the surgery table."
"B-But how?" Lydia asks, moving over to Stiles. She grabs his free hand, her eyes focused on the rising and falling of his chest, as if she's afraid if she doesn't watch, it'll stop. "How did that even happen?"
Ms. McCall sighs. "Without Stiles, I'm not sure we'll know. With all the stuff that goes on in Beacon Hills, it could've been a myriad of different—"
"The car crash," Scott says, his eyes widening.
Mr. Stilinski straightens in his chair. "What car crash?" He demands.
Scott chokes, aghast. "On his way to get you guys, he crashed his Jeep. I helped him push it out of the mud. H-He said he was fine, he said that the biggest problem was the dent on his car. He said not to worry—" Scott cuts off and he closes his eyes. "He said not to worry about it."
Mr. Stilinski gets out of his chair. "You mean to tell me that all this time, my son was walking around with a brain injury that everyone knew about!"
"I didn't think it was a big deal! He said not to worry about it!"
"Just like he said that he didn't do anything with the doors, I suppose!"
"Stop yelling, this isn't helping!" Ms. McCall shouts, but Mr. Stilinski is past the point of hearing.
"Are you guys insane? Do you actually expect me to sit here and—"
Beep.
"Oh my God, he's flat-lining." Ms. McCall breathes with Stiles' monitor starts to make noise.
6:46 P.M.
Stiles' body starts convulsing, his hand jerking out of Lydia's grasp. She retreats against the wall, her hand going up to her mouth as tears run down her face.
"Help me get him on his side!" Ms. McCall shouts and the sheriff runs over, twisting his son's body until he's propped up properly. "Come on, Stiles, come on. Back to normal, sweetie. Just give us enough time to get you into surgery. Back to normal."
The convulsions stop.
But so does his heart.
XXX
Stiles looks up to the empty sky. He doesn't know how else to describe it. There aren't any stars or clouds, sun or moon. It's just gray. Nothing else, nothing more.
His limbs are heavy, but filled with pain. It's so constant, he barely even registers it. He's shaking.
"Row, row, row your boat," he chokes out, his voice weak and crumbling. "Gently down the stream."
He can't even lift his head. All he can do is look at the empty sky as it darkens, transforming into a vast blackness that chills the blood in his veins.
He's lying on top of the Nematon, the darkness swarming him.
He can't move.
All he can do is wait.
"Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily," he sings softly, unable to control himself.
The darkness continues to creep, overtaking everything in the area. He finally turns his head slightly, only able to see the indentations of wood from the Nematon. But even they are slowly filling with darkness.
"Life is but a dream."
A/N: What do you think? *shivers* Way to make a childhood song creepy as hell, Teen Wolf.
So I brought in some pieces that I've always thought were important: 1) the much talked about shirt! The one that Stiles has worn every episode and HAS to be something. 2) The car crash! I still refuse to believe that he can get a head trauma and then it never be spoken of again. I HAVE to believe that it's going to be revisited/a part of Stiles' mental deterioration on the show. (girl's gotta dream about continuity, right?!)
Please leave a note if you have the time! They always make me smile so much!