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Track 01 - Fuel to the fire by Agnes Obel
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{Thursday: Early Evening – Argent's House, Westwood Neighborhood, BH. CA}
Despite the dark that draped the town, the Argent home stood out, lit up with private generators. Without the limitations of Beacon Hills' town grid, they wouldn't have to stick to the roads or timetables the authorities would provide.
Between Chris and Kate, their teams split in 2 directions; the first into town to save face and provide support with the Sheriff's Department and the other to shadow investigate the source of what would cause the electrical outage. More rightly, to speculate the suspicious origins of the outage.
Victoria drove the Hatchback with the tinted windows to the Sheriff's Department in town to help coordinate while Chris took a team on ATVs and drove back toward the school, to offer aid from his 'Cleaner' services to keep the roads clear. Meanwhile, Kate drove her team on ATVs through back roads toward the source of the outage.
An hour later Allison braved leading a Werewolf through her family home into the garage full up with weaponry. Isaac didn't necessarily appreciate the décor.
"I know that you guys are Hunters, but you look more like one of those separatist gun-nut families," he stared, gap mouthed at the wall units that framed the garage.
"We also sell firearms to law enforcement internationally. We have to make money somewhere," Allison smiled nervously while she unlocked her Aunt's Range Rover and pushed him into the passenger seat. "It does make life a little easier to carry weapons in a tight spot."
"Allison, unless you're offering me handgun, this is a waste of a hard sell," Isaac raised a hand, splayed his fingers, and displayed a set of claws at the tip, "I've gotten pretty good with these."
From the driver's seat she gave him a cocky smirk and jerked the car into motion, Isaac launched forward, he barely caught himself before his face smacked the dashboard. "Ohh," her brows peaked with mock concern, "you should probably put your seatbelt on. Claws and fangs don't protect from everything you know," she condescended sweetly and peeled out of the garage at a wild speed.
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Allison had less practice with the tactical driving, never mind late at night and without lighting. She hoped she could rely on the preternatural talent of her partner, Isaac.
"I'm not putting my head out the window," Isaac gave her a warning glare.
"Seriously?" Allison gave him an incredulous look. She felt too tense for humor.
Isaac sighed, "Stiles would try to break the tension. I'm sorry. He's back exactly a day and already missing."
Allison faltered, she glanced over and noticed the way he leaned forward on the seat, ready to pounce straight through the windshield. He tried to hide his worry behind failed jokes and cool Werewolf effects but if he readjusted his scarf once more, he was likely to strangle himself.
"We'll get him back," she assured him, "and he'll be cracking so many jokes you won't get him to shut up, I swear." For Allison, her nervous gestures married easily to her preparedness routines and instead of a scarf she readjusted the harness under her cropped jacket, counting off small knives with the tips of her fingers. Isaac pretended not to notice. Allison pretended not to notice him noticing.
"Alright, where do we start?" Isaac cleared his throat.
"Isaac, think like Stiles."
"Like a hyper-active spaz? That is one scary thought."
"Alright," Allison switched around to drive left-handed and with bottom of the steering wheel propped against the tops her knees. She reached between them and fumbled through a compartment on her quiver as she strapped it on.
"I'm going to make an educated guess," she explained while she pulled out cloned phone that she blinked in and out of life. "And say that wherever Stiles is it's with Scott. And wherever that is, it's with Lydia." As she ran through practiced 'Emergency' commands, the power throughout the car flickered as well. Fortunately, the further they moved from town, the closer toward Lydia's phone's last location, the less often it happened.
"Do you think so?" Isaac sounded rough, he looked doubtful.
"Definitely," Allison she couldn't leave room for doubt, "she did text for everyone to meet at her house afterschool."
"You think they'd go there even after the library incident?" Isaac's eyebrow arched critically, he was entirely unconvinced.
"They did," Allison said with quiet conviction. "I'm sure they did. I know they'll find each other in all this."
"Would they?"
"Wouldn't they?" She said and spared a glance, noticing that ache. "They used to be friends. Best-friends." She had seen that expression before in Sheriff Stilinski's house, when Scott and Lydia sifted through Stiles' things. Isaac struggled again to understand connections between people, people who weren't blood or pack but somehow...what was the word Scott chose to use 'Entangled'?
What had Stiles said, pack meant something closer than family 'like losing a limb'? But a 'Best-Friends' connection, would Isaac ever understand that if he had no connection to it? He'd seem so desperate for connection where did he stand with everyone anyway?
"Yes," Isaac conceded, and he shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. "But what does that make them now?"
Allison considered Isaac's standing; with Stiles had a begrudging unquestioning kinship to Isaac. With Scott it could be brush of as more Werewolf business, but there was something more. A growing mentor and friend. But with Lydia's he'd hard earned misaimed affections, that helped Allison make a deciding vote. Lydia summoned Isaac to Allison's window after all, straight into the Hunter's Den. And he obeyed. Therefore, Allison could see him as a friend. He was more secure than he realized.
"It makes them traceable," Allison said steadily. She returned her attention to the road slowed down and veered roughly over terrain, through another creek, up one slope and down another. She faced forward but her words were somewhere else already, "Lydia might not pick up her phone but it's out there."
"What the hell is out there?" Isaac ignored the unstable outside and focused only on Allison's words, if he kept her talking, he would not despair. Did Hunters always have that conviction in their tone or was Allison always about making the plans and going full send?
"Are you kidding?" She didn't mean to take a higher pitch, but she scoffed a little. It made him laugh almost, half-in shock and half-distaste. Hell, she would take a laugh where she could get one, "That's the abandoned patch of private property. The old Hale property."
"Hale? Like...?"
"Hale like 'Hale', yes." She nodded. After a second she handed him the cloned phone to get a better grip on the wheel and drive with better control to maintain their speed. She could even maintain better eye contact although that wasn't strictly advisable. "He's your Alpha and you didn't know his namesake originated in Beacon Hills?"
Isaac sat upright and his face went animated, not exactly brightened but certainly excited. He leaned nearer to her and held the phone so that the 'Find My Phone' app was mildly readable.
"Derek didn't exactly encourage us coming this way. I remember the words 'forbid' and 'across your dead body.' I guess he didn't want us to know the truth about what went on around here."
"Which is easy since there's nothing here since the-" she tracked the conversation and the terrain.
"-Fire," Isaac cut her off and dropped the phone.
"Right," Allison swerved away from a tree but didn't slow down "there's been nothing there since the fire."
"No," Isaac sniffed through the passenger side window, despite saying he wouldn't, "Allison, I smell fire. And not a little one."
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Track 02 - Youth (Daughter Cover) by Katrina Cunningham
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{Crossroads}
From nothing to awareness flooded his senses and Stiles felt a struggle to breathe, he felt a piercing pain against his shoulder as well as pounding in his head and a sense of horrible familiarity.
× Between a rock and a hard place.
When his focus returned, he loathed his weakness and his concession to the inevitable, to death and desertion.
× Between a mess or big trouble.
When old enough to understand terms like 'separation anxiety' and 'survivor's guilt,' he felt it nowhere near described the trauma that paints the subconscious, and covers the mind like a canvas, absorbs every detail.
× Between the devil and the deep sea.
As the definition nightmares or memories became interchangeable then the identities of 16-year-olds overlapped 10-year-olds meant nothing by comparison to their downfall.
× Between the ceiling and the floor. Strike that; the door.
They practically dangled off Cliffside, suspended by seat belts in the backseat of Claudia's Honda. Stiles lay with a cracking window pressed underneath his right shoulder, with Lydia pressed against his left waist twisted severely with arms limp, while Scott collapsed half on top of her, half off because of he's partly dangling from a shoulder seat belt. Their joint weight compounded on Stiles, and he could barely breathe, but what he could breathe in smelled only of pungent earth and death.
Then Lydia should wake first with a start, and she would silently cry. Once Lydia noticed Stiles watched she would try to plead with him, textbook bargaining. Lydia convinced him of escape theories and angles while any deep breath made the vehicle sway a little. Sure, she made some fine points but essentially wrong in applications and in a few minutes her terrified screams would break him apart more than the fall could.
Scott always woke up messier and made Lydia outright sob when he crushed her with each motion, but the sound of metal creaking would stop him still. Exhibiting the absolute best characteristics that a best-friend should, with humor and patience he promised they would get out of there perfectly fine, textbook denial. While Scott tried like hell to keep everyone else from bursting at the seams his eyes read things like "it'll kill me to lose you both. I would die before I let go."
Stiles felt certain if they swapped places the outcome would be different. Maybe if he wasn't the pillar of support, something genius or brave would have happened to save them all.
Instead, Stiles could only come up with something desperate and he found the strength to shove them clear from the wreckage. The skinny arms of a 10-year-old can propel pretty far when fueled with adrenaline and altruism. He wished at the time he knew that meant he would never get them back. If there only had been some sign of warning.
The funny thing about conviction is it takes fuel to preserve it, pride or rage or affection. Without any of that his conviction boiled down to stubbornness. He would never let himself regret but it only took one variant in this endless cycle to realize 6 years isn't routine, it's a prison term.
So, it began once again, Lydia woke first this time without crying. Instead, she groaned and awoke slow, he felt her tremble under his touch, but she hardly seemed fearful when she searched his face with steady unblinking bright green eyes. She clutched to him, balled a hand at the throat of his hoodie and wrapped an arm around his neck. This was no childish remembering where she tried to plead her way out of the inevitable collapse. She pressed her lips together as she put that same analytical mind to the scenario. Even in their closeness, with her breath against his cheek and he couldn't recognize that desperate 'bargaining' looks of hope. Instead, she reached back determinedly, and yanked Scott awake.
Their weight as teens, not children, caused the car to shudder something fearsome.
Still half-asleep, Scott stretched out against Lydia's back, but the shrill creaking sound of the car still got a rise from him. In unprecedented action Scott continued moving, to twist and come closer crushing Lydia. As the car shifted, she kept with its cadence and curled herself as small as possible. Although Scott smiled, he didn't try to be funny, instead he was brave. He reached around grabbed Stiles by the shoulders and didn't make empty promises. He said such heroic things; 'you're my brother. So, if you're going do this, then you're going have to take me with you then.'
Stiles' resignation somehow couldn't match their resolve. And when Lydia started to repeat his name, in surprise, as a question, in anger and it means hello and goodbye, Stiles was too busy trying to figure out why the dream changed to guess how different the dream will be.
The rock face gave a warning slide; Scott gripped the back of the driver's seat with one arm and planted the other firmly into Stiles' left arm, leaving divots in his bicep while between them Lydia tied anchor knots into Stiles' seatbelt. Perspiration ran down Scott's self-assured face, his sneakers squeaked against the backs of the seats while he strained to keep perfect balance.
With nothing holding onto her, when the car suddenly dropped gravity pulled Lydia away. She slipped from the guys grasp and landed against the door hard enough to leave her dazed. She faced Stiles, lifted her head from where the cracks in the window splintered. She blinked at him, with a weak smile assured "Stiles, I'm fine" just before the window gave way and she disappeared through it.
Scott assured Stiles it wasn't his fault and not to give up, never to give up. And while Scott talked a blue streak his voice sounded thinner and further, as though he were talking through a long tube, although it was clear on his face he was shouting.
The car tipped further, and Scott looked to Stiles with an expression he had seen before they made it to the Mad River, Stiles remembered thinking how much cooler it was now that they were bigger, but Scott had grown to be bold. When the car reached a virtually sideways tilt, Scott's face showed no fear as he shot past Stiles and followed Lydia's through the wide broken window.
In this nightmare, in the millions of times he watched his friends drop away, Stiles usually would be on the descending side of things. Never before had Scott thrashed or smacked against branches and rock face before hitting the ground with a shallow thud. When it echoed, Stiles realized he had been too resigned he never moved, not to save himself that he had deserted his friends.
When voices above arrived too late to help anyone, they threw down ropes to help and Stiles decided he could still act. Genius and brave might not be his thing but stubborn determination he could manage. When the cord came through the rear window, he pulled and collected more than needed. Then used a window shard as a saw to cut pieces. He knew Lydia's handiwork would be better than his, so he kept where she'd used the seatbelt to harness him and pulled apart the backseat. He copied her anchorknot technique and tied the nylon cords together to the seatbelt before repelling himself through the shattered window.
The humid mist below was all there was, which made it not only hard to see but to smell or hear or even think clearly. Along the way he felt his faith tested; it would have been easy to climb up toward open arms and the ready voices of safety, but instead he descended into nothingness.
Eventually he was met with growl of wolves. Wolves only growl when they fight, and they were likely fighting over dead meat. But he still wanted it and fueled by stubbornness moved below because he'd rather join what's left of them than leave them behind.
To his surprise the cord extended unending. He ignored snapping jaws, scraping claws and the through the choking mist he wrapped an arm around each friend. Unafraid, he held fast as Scott and Lydia began to transform; one red and one brown nearly among a pack of sleek black wolves. Even as they turned and begin to attack him, he refused to let go.
Rescuers above started to pull them up from the snapping beasts, through the mist, through the branches, against the rockface, between scraping glass and twisted metal. As they neared the lip of the cliff, the terrain turned from woodland to road the wolves he held returned to people. Exhausted, Scott and Lydia clung to him, Stiles said he missed them, he cared for them, he needed them, and he made a promise to never let them go.
That had certainly never happened before.
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Track 03 - Breathe by FKA Twigs
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{Back at BHHS, City Central}
The night sky was a light show of thunder that chased lightning and it left the air full of retained energy. The police roped off the area surrounding the source of the power outage in the range of a mile. Even the Argents knew to stay back from the source site until someone from the electric company declared it safe.
The Yukimuras didn't subject themselves to the same restriction. They drove West away from traffic, away from the roads and into a cul-de-sac where she parked their car outside of a house for sale and, without guile or restraint, Noshiko lead her husband through the backyard where alarms did not go off thanks to the black out.
"Isn't thunder supposed to come before lightning?" Ken asked, his wife answered him with a look of disapproval. They cautiously climbed along the pebble-strewn shoreline into knee high creek water. Using a branch as a staff to keep the current from carrying them downstream, they moved along as the current carried them downstream under the radar of the police towards their goal. More rightly she used a branch as a javelin, stabbing the creek bed to stabilize their route and pull them along their path.
"There," Ken pointed out a silhouette pacing overhead by the metal traffic barrier along the end of a bridge. Noshiko put a hand on her husband's arm to keep him from calling out, in bafflement he couldn't help insisting "but she's right there."
"I know my love," she agreed, confidence exuded in her tone of voice and through the touch of her hand. "We have her now. Now let us go get her, safely." He paused and took a deep calming breath. With a hand on his wife's shoulder, he let her guide them further downstream along the wake of a car crash.
As their shoes slipped, Noshiko continued to stab the surface shale to keep balance as they climbed a path upward. Before they reached the top, Kira sensed their presence and spun to meet them, the relief in her face quickly disappeared to an expression of panic. She cut herself off from running toward her parents to doubling back to Jackson's motionless body on the pavement.
"Did I kill him?" she blubbered. They could barely make out her words.
They looked toward each other for a moment before they rushed into action. Ken took the calming tone he had a career of practicing although just under the surface he felt a world of hurt for her. As he came towards her, Kira met him at a run, while her Mother moved toward the body on the floor.
"Everything is going to be okay," he cradled his daughter's head against his shoulder, as her breath turned into little gulps. She didn't have the heart to ask him how that could be, just as he didn't have the heart to ask why there were rope burns on her wrists.
"Kira, he's only unconscious," Noshiko said from the ground. She kneeled over the prone body with a hand examining his face, opening his eyes and the other touching the pulse at his throat. She looked up at her husband and daughter with a little smile of assurance and Ken took that as a sign to hug his daughter a little tighter.
"See," he grinned smugly, "everything will be alright."
In a manner more demanding Noshiko came beside them and took Kira by the hand, she turned her around looked her in the eyes.
"Kira you will calm down now," her voice wasn't demanding despite her words. She said things like this quite often, things that sounded like a demand but were guidance. She breathed deeply and held both of Kira's hands in hers. When she smiled next Kira matched the mannerism. They breathed together, from the diaphragm and slow in exhale. "Calm," she said once more as a mantra and when Kira's pulse began to slow a crack rent the air in half. Ken shuddered to feel it ricochet through his spine only his wife and daughter hadn't reacted at all. They continued holding hands and breathing together when suddenly a heavy rain fell from the sky as if a bucket had been dumped onto the earth.
When the electric company gave the 'All-Clear' for the Sheriff's Department to examine the accidental utility pole that destroyed the towns powers supply, they found the Yukimuras sat together on the roadside barrier, their daughter propped between them with a sizeable gash on the side of her head.
Medics recovered the nearly dead Jackson Whittemore and whisked him away to Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. There were questionable specifics as to how he managed to get from the car to the bridge, but Deputy Clarke agreed to put off questions until Kira got medical care. Not unexpected, someone from the Argent volunteers asked if they could speak to the Yukimuras. Deputy Haigh was mildly less interested in the dynamics of baby-sitting yet another useless direction when he could be exploring the scene.
"If they don't care I don't care," was Deputy Haige's exact reply.
Once approached, Noshiko stayed with her daughter and Ken walked off with Rumy.
"Hey guy," Rumy lightly punched Ken in the shoulder, "gotta say, I'm pretty surprised to see you here. I'm sure there is a story about it." He gestured toward the mud clad suit fashion Ken Yukimura wore. The rain might have explained a soak, but not the grimy evidence of both Yukimura's exploits, but Rumy's trained eye picked up on it right away.
"Oh," Ken paused in surprise and moved to wipe at it but Rumy caught his hand. He shook his head at Ken to wordlessly tell him, 'not now.' Back on track, Ken answered the real implications; why were the Yukimuras 'here'? "Noshiko went to Argent main house, and no one was there."
"Sorry about that," Rumy sighed and wiped back the sopping hair from his eyes, despite the dark they stayed a penetrating light grey. "We have our own story unfolding tonight but if it's okay by you we can reschedule."
Ken shifted to half-turn to watch his wife and daughter. Kira no longer wept but her exhaustion and confusion read clearly, she looked painted of pinky-red blood along her brow and jaw, as the rain wouldn't wash away matted bedraggled dark hair tangled against her face and neck that framed her. In a line of drastic contrast Noshiko waited with a severe expression, her fierce eyes trained steadily on Ken, while her delicate hands stroked the lines of their daughter's arms, infusing her in warmth he could sense from across the divide. They looked like something the ancient Zen Painters could only have begun to grasp. To Ken they were far more precious than any ancient could begin to understand.
"I don't know," he sighed and shook his head. He smiled and it was the sort of smile that masked a million worries and looked toward Rumy who shared a similar expression.
"How are they?"
"They're good. They're safe." Ken assured him.
"Maybe that's enough," Rumy's smile lengthened.
Ken pinched the bridge of his nose. He figured he should have seen reverse psychology as the next tactic, but the sentiment was honest. The Argents valued family in the same venue Ken did, maybe even more so in the way they made it very evident and how they adopted it in their code.
"We wouldn't be in Beacon Hills if that was enough," Ken sighed. He dropped his head slightly, his shoulders dropped with the weight of an unnecessary guilt.
"I feel you," Rumy put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. He glanced up and noted the police were nearing the crash site and Ken sensed the shift in attention. Rumy grunted in annoyance and shook his head before grinning back up at Ken. "If you're going through hell-."
"-keep going. Churchill." Ken smirked, as a World History teacher he liked a good historical quote thrown around every once and a while. The Argent's envoy knew him well. Ken shook his head and tried not to laugh, "I'm fairly sure he was a masochist."
"Aren't we all," Rumy shoved his hands into his pockets and started to head over to the crash site, "Hey, whatever Chris or they say, you don't have to attend." He looked over toward Noshiko and made sure she heard, "you never had to. You're just meant to. I mean, I'm meant to brush my teeth. I swear it's been like 10 years," with that he gave a Cheshire grin, spun around on the spot and marched away.
Ken chuckled low and it was masked by the rain. His wife didn't laugh at all. Kira watched the stranger head off into the crowd of officials and looked to her Father and Mother for some explanation, but none came. Noshiko shook her head looking unamused, but Ken answered her with a raise of his brows and a slight smile of assurance.
"Everything is going to be okay," he repeated to his daughter and kissed her forehead before retaking his seat beside her. Within minutes a second ambulette made it onto the bridge to take Kira to the Hospital for a full exam. Her dazed demeanor made them suspect she had a concussion from the car crash, possibly something worse. Noshiko opted to ride with her daughter, and they remained silent the whole ride, while Ken set off to find their car.
The car at the crash site was barely recognizable as Jackson's Porsche; from the license plate and the position of the seat they could assume he was in the driver's seat. Despite the traffic commencing Rumy with Deputy Haigh remained and took photos for their inspection (notably not an investigation).
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Track 04 - Make This Go On Forever by Snow Patrol
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{Crossroads}
The scrape of fiber rubbed her lower back raw and hands clamped around her ankles were the only things flooding her awareness. Lydia felt both asleep and awake. She felt cold and hot. She felt wet and burnt. The world around her seemed to crumble. When she would catch up again, she would get captured and concussed. It would happen again. It had happened again.
Things would happen in three folds; she would reach out for a handhold and caught hold of a stairwell banister. She would reach out for a handhold and caught hold a fistful of the moistened earth from the lacrosse field. She would reach out for a handhold and caught hold of the roots of a sacred tree stump; the Nemeton.
When she would roll onto her stomach, she kicked her attacker. Her sneaker-clad foot hit home only for the Monster's grip on her ankle to tighten. Her second self kicked, more assertive but artless, which broke off half of her 5 ½ Donatella Versace heels into her attacker's thigh, ruining them wholly having slowed the Monster marginally. A third attempt failed, when her bare feet were tangled up and restrained by the roots of the woods and a mystical tree.
In the empty corridor of the High School, she heard people floors above, a baseline of mumbled voices behind closed doors.
In the lacrosse field she saw shadowy figure yards away, blurred against the floodlights.
In the forest she sensed animals in the dark, their eyes glowed and their teeth gleaned.
She was exposed, with her fears realized they were laid out on display. Firstly, the assault, being cut down and dragged away, being abducted, and then torn apart. But more than these things combined, she feared giving up. When Lydia thought of the victimhood, she envisioned procedurals; she understood the physiology of acute responses, but not the indulgence. She had always been gifted at compartmentalizing.
Whenever she doubted herself, a Monster hissed in her ears "Lydia Martin is not only beautiful, not only incredibly intelligent…. she is immune." It wasn't flattery. It was conditioning and if she didn't drown him out it would corrupt her soul.
With the air between them, as casual as coffee Stiles said "Oh. Lydia, you're really smart." She felt his voice like a blow, he accepted her at face value, scars, and all. He had seen through the gossamer, like they had some unspoken connection, and it solidified her resolve.
When she crawled through the dark the Monster hissed in her ear "sometimes the people closest to you could be the one holding you back the most."
Secreted away among classmates, she could make out Scott's voice, low but not a whisper "You're a survivor. You're amazing." Even in the tangle of roots, or the crowd of students she could make out his yellow eyes and she was not afraid. She learned to look to her friends.
However relevant their voices were, Lydia knew hers was stronger. She was a strong girl and would not let fear be used as a currency to control her actions. But she liked the sense of her friends among the glowing eyes in the dark woods.
Things occurred in three-fold; she walked the halls of an empty school and heard the Monster run at her from behind- instead of running she stood her ground. She reached for fistfuls of pitch from the lacrosse field- and digs her heels and knees into the moistened earth. She reached for the roots of the Nemeton and pulled herself onto the plateau and she rolled onto her back, running her fingers along the bloody wound on her side she stared up at the bright full moon.
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Track 05 - Guns and Horses by Ellie Goulding
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{Arriving at The Hale Estate, BH Preserve}
"Allison! Allison!" Isaac grabbed her arm hard to swing her back around to the Wrangler. Thankfully, she looked more confused than livid. She was in no way an idiot, so he had to pick his words carefully, "you've gotta see this is a huge trap?" he gestured up and down at the Hale House which already had significant structural damage. Now its front face lit up like a Christmas tree.
It was a stupid comment. Allison, thankfully, looked at him with a pitiable expression rather than an angry one. The sudden onset of rain was on their side and putting out the fire quickly, but it wasn't helping them find their friends any quicker and that didn't make climbing into the wreckage any smarter.
"But they've got to be in there," Allison said. She wasn't winning any brownie points at being clever or original either. By process of elimination, certainly their friends had to be there. Isaac could sense once they neared the Hale House Isaac things had gone dangerously erratic. The property felt warped, disconnected, and strange. Although Allison acknowledged Isaac's concern as a marker for danger she sped toward the fire. They stopped at the brink of the where the wind kicked up the smoke and debris, to the brink where they could barely breathe.
"Sure, our friends are in there," he conceded having little evidence other than instinct to say so, "but where are they? Second Floor? In the back to the West Wing? In the basement?"
Allison's lips quivered as she tried for words, she looked from Isaac to the house and back a few times. Her body tensed and she rocked back onto her heels ready to snap. "What do we do?"
"I was hoping you'd tell me," Isaac answered with barely the raise of a brow, he played with his fingers and thought for a second. "We should really take a minute before running in blindly."
"How can you be so calm?" Allison stepped toward him and struggled not to hit him. The only real reason she hadn't was the time it took to rattle of the list of weapons she had to choose from.
"Allison, today I was paralyzed by a lizard and maimed by a bookcase. Right now, I feel my abilities virtually neutered by some dust in the air. So, take it on some good authority when I tell you this smoke is poisoned," Isaac huffed in annoyance.
Allison stared at him in surprise at the admission. He shrugged, lifted his scarf over his nose and mouth pushing further toward the house. She didn't have the availability of a convenient fashion accessory to use as a mask. She watched him approach the house with a strident ease common only from when Isaac took to the lacrosse field. She rushed through the heated smoke, came to his side and pulled him back to face her.
"Isaac, are you okay?" she remembered not too long ago when all the supernaturals she knew collapsed on the field. Back then Isaac assured her he was fine, and she believed him. He then told her Scott was too and she believed him. He had a tone of confidence that made her want to believe things would be fine but now she wondered if he ever really kept his welfare as a priority. When he nodded to answer her question, it only infuriated her. "Isaac! You've been breathing poison?"
"Just hallucinating dead people. The usual," his tone was muffled behind the scarf, but he sounded sarcastic. She wasn't certain that he was. After a moment he refocused and from the way his eyes squinted a bit it was obvious he smiled as he gave a light shrug as if none of this mattered.
"Well, are they telling you anything useful?" Allison tried for levity.
"I wish," Isaac snorted. "That would just be worth it, wouldn't it?" he looked around the damage. The rain doused the flames to the point that only the toxic cloud remained, revealing more of a dilapidated estate. "Look at this crap. Where do we even begin?"
This time even Allison heard screaming.
"Oh my god! Is that Lydia?!" Allison asked stumbling back.
Isaac kneeled on the ground and cradled his head in his hands. Despite the suddenness, Isaac was grateful to Lydia's wailing. For all its aching it gave his brain clarity in the noxious fog.
A rather logical idea occurred to Allison, and she hurried to the back of the Wrangler and climbed over her Aunt's spare tire, toolbox, and go-bag. Underneath she found a large emergency kit the size of an Ice Locker. It took all of her strength to yank it out through the hatch of the SUV, unlock the latches and scour through the items. What an Argent considered emergency material didn't quite fit the same pedigree as what pedestrians would.
Along with her regular accoutrement she brought along claw headed arrows, a 50ft nylon cord and a med-kit. Isaac gave her a nod and pointed towards her mouth.
"Wolfsbane doesn't have the same effect on me," she reminded.
"It's still toxic," Isaac shouted but it still came across muffled through the scarf. "I know you like your poisons, but don't you think this might be too much?"
Allison hefted up her new toys for display, "that's why I've got these to help, and you've got your claws." She grinned, with a tilt of her head motioned for him to follow.
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Track 6 - What The Water Gave Me by Florence and the Machine
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{Crossroads}
Scott couldn't move forward or backward only he was not paralyzed. That would have been a fortunate outcome. He remained suspended, battered, bloodied, and burnt. His clothes were torn and falling apart, with bits of glass through his arm and scrapes from trees and stone but he no longer felt physical pain. Only panic.
Above, blinded by breathtaking light he could never reach.
Below, venomous pitch black that would rise to consume him.
Stuck in the in-between, he struggled and cried, he screamed and thrashed. He lost track of time even, and became fierce and feral, a yellow-eyed beast but it made no difference.
This wasn't a Monster dream, he owned this tragedy. He built himself up from nothingness, he spewed rust from where his claws should have extended, and rot filled his mouth from where his fangs should have been. Fear, like clamps, weighed down his limbs and the air reeked of panic, strangling out his lungs but his eyes remained his own. Correction, with glowing eyes what he could make out in the shapes and vibrations of silhouetted things in his peripheries.
He didn't dare look from side to side though because different versions of himself, younger and older, bloodied, broken, crying, laughing and all of them mocked him. They mocked him because one way or another they had moved forward or backward and left the real version of him stuck; they had left a husk behind. Over and over again, his own body betrayed him.
Among the menagerie were the tiny voices of a girl and a boy bickering. They said critical things, but they didn't just anger him, maybe even amused him. Not at all like the voices that made him want to die but these voices made him want to roll his eyes. To think, he used to fear closing his eyes in case he might not be able to open them again. Instead, they turned from fierce and feral to dark brown, creased at the edges with amusement.
"Shut up, you nerds" he groaned, with the rot dislodged his voice was raw from lack of use.
"Come make us," they said teased with voices that rose and they fell like a wave.
When Scott struggled to move again it felt easier because he wasn't trying to move for himself alone but because he wanted to move toward others. No, not just for them but for him to become part of 'them'. Rust fell away and his hands became his own, an arm moved at first like a swipe but without strength behind it.
Their jibs changed from antagonizing to encouragement, from goading to pleading. Scott heard them drown out his thoughts. Their shouts turn to pleas for him to try harder, pleas to reach out for them, pleas to not give up. Scott's voice turned from the whine of "Stiles! Lydia! Please! Don't! Stop!" to "Please, Stiles, Lydia! Don't stop!" and it became louder. It turned from crying out to something nearing a roar until it shattered the dark. When he opened his eyes, the world was a mix of both light and dark because of a billowing smoke and he had finally hit the concrete basement floor of the Hale House.
In vagueness his senses were slowly returning to him and through the haze he could make out the shapes of his friends. In something close to anger but a more intense feeling, not possession but devotion changed the color of his eyes, and he could see clearer. Lydia thrown her coat stretched out to cover them from smoke and Stiles, face blackened with ash, he lay stretched out beneath them with his arms locked through each other's at the elbow. With clawed hands Scott carefully pulled them closer to him, tighter beneath the little cover of her wool coat gave them from smoke and ash. Through the poison that he felt eat at them he focused on the sense that truly mattered; Stiles' hair gel, Lydia's kiwi lip gloss, the smell of fear and the smell of trust.
New voices called out in through the haze; new voices called for Scott. They called from different directions, from the future and from the past. The voices called for him to come away and they called for Lydia, and they called for Stiles too.
One of them reminds him of the sort of smile you want to smack but you kind of just can't help but like to laugh with too, and from that the voice reminds him "focus on your nerves... When you're upset try to visualize each nerve, individually inside of you. Not slowing them down or separating them, just being there. Because once you know that 'there' is where you are, you don't have to worry so much about losing control. Even if sometimes you still will. Be here Scott ... with us. Come on Scott! Come on!" he felt his muscles tense, the impulse in him came alive, whether it was posturing or engaging it only mattered that he wanted to get out of the haze.
The other voice spoke less but said so much more "you're not a monster Scott. You aren't lost. There's hope. There's always hope. Don't we become a little more monstrous if we stop believing there can be saviors?" she could have been saying a fairy tale the words sounded so right but they were tailored to his soul. "I want you safe," she said plainly with promise "I'm coming for you," she added it might as well have been a threat, but it was as intimate as a touch. Allison. She loved him. She said it a whole bunch of times even, the thought made him grin sharply.
Scott could only begin to imagine what the voice must sound like to Stiles and Lydia... yanked tight against him Stiles and Lydia remained with their limbs twisted up together to guard against the currents of madness, protected by Scott's iron-grip. They didn't struggle, they would soon be safe and when he felt confident enough of that he drifted off again.
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Track 07 - In Flames by Ruelle
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{Outside of The Hale House}
"How many chances do you have with this?"
"Chances?" Allison answered haughtily and she straightened her long bow. The toxic air was dizzying. The anchored arrow weighed so much more than she had expected, and the rain added calibrations she had not expected. She took a calming breath before she aimed and shot. And then shot again, and after the third time Isaac scooted nearer to her on the ground.
"Allison," he said in a low tone so as not to interrupt her.
She didn't look but Allison envisioned his cloth had been pulled back because his voice rang so clearly in her ear. Isaac's presence neared and left a warm impression. His hand cupped beneath hers on the hilt of her weapon and steadied a tremble she hadn't even noticed. She opened her eyes and stared straight ahead, clear-eyed, and clear-headed.
"You got this," Isaac said low enough she may as well have imagined it.
When Allison exhaled, she released the arrow. It sailed through the air, through the plume of smoke, over the incaved porch, through the front doorway and into ceiling beams before latching into place.
"Wow," Isaac breathed out, and while the trailing cord zipped by, he caught it to keep the spool from flying over the edge. He stabbed a camping spike deep into the ground, tied the cord off and hopped to his feet with a dramatic flair.
"Like they say 'where the need goes'," Allison smiled and then reminded, "Isaac, your scarf."
With that they came to stand as near as they could without touching the smoky area; Allison breathed through the crook of her arm and Isaac through his scarf. Though muffled, they called the names of their friends into the darkness but got no reply. There hadn't been a response since the initial scream. Aside from a confirmation of "Hale House: Front Hall" there wasn't much to go on. And yes, that was a lot but that was also poison bomb central. Whatever mess their friends had gotten themselves into, it was a royally big one. If either were to dare to jump down through the crater in the doorway of the home, it would be wise to do what they knew was the safest, nearest, and quickest way in and out. Mind you, there would still be arguments over who would be allowed down the toxic crater since both had a burning hero's complex.
"Do we play rock paper scissors?" Isaac put forward.
"We don't know where to look down there. It just makes sense that I go," Allison crossed her arms and smirked. From where she stood, slightly up hill she had a clear run toward the opening. "The Wolfsbane affects me slower, and I'll have more time to search for them."
"In a place that will probably fall down on you the moment you climb down that rope? I don't think so. I have better vision-" Isaac explained, slowly nearing, aiming to outstretch her with his long legs and lacrosse build.
"You said it messed up your vision," Allison cut in and started to move.
"-and if I get hurt, I'll heal quicker-"
"You said it messed up your abilities."
"-and I can carry them up-"
"You can pull them up from above without even getting exposed."
"Allison, I can't let you go down there," he stood before her, the slope made it, so they saw eye-to-eye.
"You can't stop me either," she paused and looked him over. She seemed angry, but he couldn't be sure what she felt without all of his faculties. Her dark eyes burrowed through him, she scolded, "you keep putting yourself in danger. I can't let you do that again. What if this time it isn't something you can just shrug off and walk away from?"
"And you can?" he didn't want to lose another friend. The poisoned smoke brought hallucinated voices from dead friends to the surface, and he'd enough of those memories. He didn't want to add more.
"I can do this," she stood taller, her chin held higher. She turned to step around him towards the porch steps. Nearing the blast hole, the fragrance of the poison it began to hit her fully, it smelled lovely. "I'm trained for this... kind of."
"And I trust you, kind of," Isaac admiration of her conviction never wavered despite the terrain, yet still.
"Well, I don't" Kate Argent announced her presence as she trudged down from a different slope, "And I'm pretty sure I've said that already."
Kate wore light body armor, held a high-powered rifle in one hand and a compound bow in the other. She marched forward with intent, Allison jumped back a few feet as Isaac stumbled away from the porch steps. Allison changed her position to step in front of Isaac, putting herself between him and Kate and in case she got aggressive. It was an instinctual move that got a brow raise out of Kate.
"And I'm pretty sure Isaac also knows letting my favorite niece dive into a basement of poison negates our agreement."
"Favoritism doesn't mean you should underestimate her," Isaac replied, back on his feet while dusting his pant leg off.
Allison smirked.
"Oh, I don't. Which is why I'm suggesting this," she tossed over an arrow with a grapple as an arrowhead. Allison snatched it from the air and examined the smaller, flatter and squared-out version than the one she had used. "Shoot at your rope without breaking it and you have a lever. Attach a harness and no one has to go down when they can bring themselves up."
Isaac tugged down his scarf and leaned toward Allison's ear. "Can you do that?" he hadn't meant to question her capabilities. He meant was it possible. Allison turned the arrowhead around in her hands, admired the blunted edges that weren't meant to cut, and the easier springs designed to sink into the ground rather than pierce through wood. She thought about it, the plan wasn't very different than climbing on the banister and tying climbing rope to do the exact same thing, except it would expose them to less smoke.
Allison nodded numbly, but her eyes looked worried. "Can you do it?" he asked again, this time he wondered if she could aim that tiny grapple at their small climbing rope through a poison smoke. Her face said she asked herself the same thing.
"Of course, she can," Kate said nearer. She handed Allison her crossbow.
.
Once more, Isaac stayed a way off with a peg and the cord, only at the end of this cord a harness was attached. He prepared for his part, while she shot the stabilizing cord, he would aim the harness and drop the cord through the poison cloud and down to their friends. But if their friends didn't respond right away then he wanted to jump through with a second harness and bring them up one at a time. That was if the beams, held the combined weight of more than one person for the several times it would take to get the lot of them.
A few yards behind them Allison kneeled beside her Aunt in the dampened ground while she stabilized her aim for the compound bow.
"You got this," her Aunt encouraged but as Allison watched Isaac from behind, she felt a keen awareness that came with hyper-vigilance.
"Aunt Kate," she held her arm tense as well as her voice, "what are you doing here?"
Kate glanced at her side-eyed and then back toward the house. "I had a feeling the fire was the place to be. What are you doing here?"
Allison let the arrow go. It cut through the air and caught onto the cord as efficiently as if she had reached out and caught hold of it with her own hand. "I'm saving my friends," she answered.
The arrow went through the air nearly quicker than his eye could see, untouched by rain or smoke until it clasped their first cord.
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Track 08 - Death Magic by RBTS WIN
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{Inside of The Hale House}
Then Lydia had screamed. The rooms vibrated and doorframes shook apart. The ground of the lacrosse field crumbled under the clutch of fingers. The Nemeton held her up instead; the forest shuddered, tree limbs trembled, brambles crumbled away, crackled and screech sensing the pressure she applied. She became an instrument keened to cut through the worlds. In them she found her friends, their quiet voices now a part of hers. Louder and louder, becoming howls in tandem to her scream.
Lydia's green eyes flew open, bright, and aware.
"We're here!" her voice sounded out clear despite the smoke. "Allison!"
Lydia would go in and out on consciousness in the smoke. In the darkness she found them, Stiles splayed at a broken angle, and slow to heal with Scott half on top of him.
Scott had crawled over onto him through the dust cloud and flames, collapsed half on him and dug his nails into Stiles' arm deep enough to leave divots. Lydia had pulled off her coat, used it as a cover from the falling debris. Every falling thing terrified, but the sound of Scott's wheezing frightened her more. She put her coat over them to protect them as best as she could, but the small thing only went so far. She heard voices calling from above but when she tried to answer them her mouth would fill with ash. When blinked closed her eyes, she felt the floor come up to meet her.
When she opened them again, she felt the pressing weight of his limbs against her. She recognized familiar yellow-gold eyes in the dark and felt the ragged fingertips of Scott's hand positioned cautiously around her, so she curled safely into the space between him and Stiles. She groaned slowly, and later awoke to notice the harness on the ground beside them. She lopsidedly locked it to Stiles and tied the rope as best as she could through the both of them, hoping it would keep all of them tightly. The fire had nearly drowned out and the air had begun to clear.
Assured that Stiles was fastened, wound to her like roots, and attached by throbbing sporadic pains, their combined weight pressed the air from her. It didn't deaden her senses to the world around her, the smoldered and collapsing basement and their floundering rescuers. Lydia focused a calm into her diaphragm, she didn't need air; she had power and her friends safe.
"Guys! Allison! Isaac! Come on!" when she blanked again, she hoped her specialness afforded her a few more things. She hoped her immunity meant she could withstand the smoke a little longer. She hoped that, despite it not being very logical, it meant her lungs would not choke up. And she hoped it meant she wouldn't give up until she knew her people were safe.
When she woke again, she felt like her arm would twist off. It had gone mostly numb twisted behind her, knotted with Scott's left arm, and speared through with Stiles' right. There would be no disentangling without dislocating her shoulder, of that she was certain. She scraped her nails into Stiles' scalp, clutching at him as she wrapped her right around his head.
"Scott," she rasped, and he responded with a tightening of his grip around them. "This time don't let go," she asked. He responded with a nod she that felt as his chin pressed into her shoulder, she felt it clearly while every digging discomfort slid away. Before she blacked out again, she screamed for help one last. She went unafraid of the scratches, binds, claws, and glowing eyes as this time she disappeared into the dark.
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Track 09 - Monster by Conner Youngblood
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{Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, City Central}
"By all rights, this kid should be dead," Doctor Geyer explained. "Being exposed to a surge of electricity so close to the power station should have microwaved him."
Melissa McCall stood at his side and looked at the test results with him. The EKG read normal but and the EEG read as if Jackson's nerves were still at rate of hyperactivity. In fact, it read as if Jackson were still being electrocuted. The skin graft showed a burn mark severe enough that there was no doubt Jackson had been struck by lightning, possibly more than once. Except he didn't get hit by lightning, he had gotten hit by the electrical surge from the power station. Big difference.
The Sheriff nodded his understanding and didn't make mention of his disappointment. The Yukimura girl gave a story about sitting on the metal guard after the car accident, waiting to get their rescue and how it must have attracted the lightning. It wasn't implausible and he didn't know why it felt suspicious, but it did. He wanted to talk to Jackson but more than that he wished the kid was okay.
"This kid is lucky to be alive," Sheriff Stilinski said heading toward the hospital lobby.
"I don't know about that," Melissa added, "Exposure like that can cause any number of health problems like nausea, chronic migraine headaches even cancer. He will definitely have irreparable nerve damage all over that will affect his mobility."
"Are you saying it would have been better if he had died?" the Sheriff stopped in the hall by her station, leaving her to long hours and long lines of patients.
"I don't know what I'm saying." She sighed and shook her head, "I just can't stand it. Our kids are either disappearing on us or turning up like- have you heard from them?" her thoughts ran fast and furious. She looked unhappy but determined it was the sort of look she wore often.
"No. But I got a call from one of the volunteers. They're being brought in," when he said it, it sounded officious, like he talked about criminals on the run. He smirked afterward at her furrowed brow. "It helps to have friends in dubious places."
She reached out over the counter and caught his hand, "it helps to have friends." She smiled genuinely, no customer greeting there.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Victoria Argent stood in the center silent as a shadow, her smile artistry. "I just finished speaking to someone in the electric company who had a lengthy explanation as to why the phones still aren't working across town. But SAT phones work."
"That's great news," Sheriff grinned and Melissa let out a sigh.
"So, you can probably contact the Argent volunteer directly about bringing the children," Melissa insisted, "will they bring them to the Station? To the Hospital or escort, them home?"
"Well, since it's not an officer and the Sheriff's Station is full, I'd like to asked if you could just bring them to their parents directly," he shrugged. It was unconventional and selfish, but he wanted to see his kid if he could.
"Yes, of course," Victoria rubbed her forehead, and her smile lengthened a gesture that could be interpreted as relief. Honestly, she can't say she was that surprised. "I'm going to go prepare for that."
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Track 10 - A Real Hero by College
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{Outside of The Hale House}
Kate clicked off her SAT phone and hooked it at her waist. Allison gave her a bewildered look.
"In case we don't make it out, I figure let them know where to look for the bodies," Kate's brow lifted in ill-timed amusement.
"Aunt Kate, we don't know how long they've been down there," Allison readjusted her quiver on her shoulder and ran her fingertips along her hidden knives to keep her calm. "And the longer we've been here, the longer we've been exposed-"
"Don't worry; the rain has cleared up everything. Look, we've still got some gear. We'll do this one more time," Kate stopped when she saw Allison's distress.
Kate went forward stood just behind Isaac.
"Real motivating words you had there," Isaac grinned without any scarf or coat closed up high. His full face shown, and he made certain she could see his resentment.
"What can I say, I am here to help." Her eyebrows rose in amusement, and she grinned in return.
They both took the rope in their hands and pulled with all their might but as they did so she saw and heard the change in Isaac. His grunts turned to growls and her grip on the rope began to ease when his got stronger, when he wrapped more rope around his fist, keeping it clenched closed with claws. Still able to tap into that strength and keep control of himself, he was definitely getting better at using 'claws and fangs' as an asset. Between Isaac and the ATV, the three friends were yanked out of the Hale House in one large, cradled piece. Kate moved out of the way. Allison abandoned the vehicle leaving the motor running, to get to their side and see to their wellbeing.
"Stiles! Stiles, you're going to have to release Lydia's from your death grip and let go of Scott's head sometime," Isaac chuckled, his nerves made it hard for him not to. "Or else I'm not going to be able to get the piece of banister out of your shoulder blade."
Stiles coughed and watched Isaac for a long while from the bottom of the pile up before he seemed to recognize him. Allison stood over them in shocked silence.
"What?" he mumbled and refused to relinquish his hold, "what piece of banister?"
"This one," Isaac smacked it lightly and Stiles howled in pain. "We've got Scott and Lydia. Let me get this."
Reluctantly Stiles started to ease off, but it did little, Scott had dug his claws into Stiles' arm and Lydia had not only wrapped her arms between theirs, but she had also strapped her wrist into the harness.
"Jeez," Isaac muttered.
"What is it?" Allison dropped to the floor, worry made her legs unsteady and her hands were over her mouth waiting for the worst.
"They're completely tangled up. This is ridiculous," he groaned.
"Of course," Allison's hands stayed on her mouth but she started to laugh outright. "Of course, they are." Flooded with relief she dropped to all fours and examined them closer. Even though unconscious Scott still held transformative features; she had never known those to stay when someone was unconscious.
"Scott, you have to wake up now," she said softly and tilted her head toward his, "you're safe now. I promise, it's okay to let go. They're not going anywhere."
Slowly his eyes opened, and they retained the glowing yellow as she suspected. In all the time she spent with Scott she had never seen his features so fully transformed and certainly not without him in an angry emotional state. Instead, he looked calm, he looked content. He focused slowly and when he saw Isaac above him and Stiles trying to sit up from under him, with confident smiles he could sit up and let go. Allison dipped her head toward him and kissed him, put at him ease with her touch he changed to himself once more.
"Hey, I'm pretty sure your friend isn't breathing," Kate interrupted.
For a split second all eyes were on her in bafflement at what a ridiculous conclusion that could be before everyone rushed into panic trying to grab Lydia at once. Stiles shot upright to shake her awake only to fall back, yelling in pain from the piece of wood still in his shoulder. Realizing his physical position was part of the problem Scott scrambled away and Allison caught him. Isaac rolled Lydia onto her back, listened for her heart rate. It was weak and steadily weakening. But she wasn't taking in breath. Isaac knelt by her head, placed his hands on her chest and started compressions. It only took second for her to start retching and gagging out the poisoned air.
Scott and Allison watched on in terrified relief, holding hands in the dirty rain. Stiles watched on in silent shock. He hadn't even noticed that Kate had pulled out the wood plank until he heard her toss it away.
"You good?" she asked.
"Yeah, yeah." Stiles dismissed her, ignoring the feel blood seeping down his back.
.
While catching them up on the half-town shut down due to the power outage, Kate handed out fire blankets to help keep them warm in the onslaught of rain. Oddly enough Lydia demanded to have back her wool coat.
"It's Italian," she argued.
"Babe, so are these boots," Kate mocked her, pointing out exactly how mud clad and destroyed everything was. "And now it's just covered in dirt and ash just like the rest of us."
Lydia glared and snatched it back. Allison petted her arm sympathetically before insisting Lydia take an inhaler from her to use while she still wheezed. Lydia always listened to Allison's directions and calmed a little, while Allison wrapped the coat around her shoulders rubbed warmth into her arms.
"Better?" Allison asked by her ear after she had processed the strange chest burning relief of 2 puffs.
"Yes," she answered a pausing to look down at the asthma pump she suspected to be Scott's. She looked over to where he sat half in, half out of an SUV. Stiles stood propped just beside the door like a centurion, both looked like a building dropped on him. Which essentially it had. They gave a weary smile and waved in near perfect unison. She rolled her eyes but smiled and shoved the pump into her coat pockets.
Kate asked if they all had a safe place to stay after this and the answers, she got were ambivalent. Lydia covered it up with, "well, the town is shut down. So, what qualifies as safe?"
Stiles smirked at that, he appreciated seeing someone else on the receiving side of Lydia's snarkiness.
"Looks like she's feeling better," Scott whispered and they both laughed quietly.
"The Sheriff says," Kate raised and waved around her SAT phone as evidence, "that I should get you all someplace safe. Some place preferably with family."
Scott looked to Stiles. Stiles looked to Scott. The knowledge that last time they had seen the Sheriff was from the back of his cruiser stood out firmly in their minds.
"But how 'bout I take you guys to the 24-hour Diner for now," Kate offered.
"Sure!" Isaac said cheerfully, "I get dibs on the ATV." Kate made a skeptical face. "So, I can have Lydia ride with me. She could use the air."
Lydia had been leaning on the back of the ATV for the entire time they had been talking seemingly disinterested. She looked to Isaac, and he gave her a stupid grin that she wasn't sure how to translate, "whatever". She was not only too tired to argue but she wasn't sure how to turn down the man who just saved her life.
"Well, I'll lead the way in the SUV," Kate traded off the keys and went off.
"Ready to ride off with the Hunters in the Hunter's car," Stiles mocked Scott. "Maybe we'll get to do some Hunting."
"You're hilarious, did you know that?" Scott sounded less than amused, "they risked a lot-"
"I get it," Stiles cut him off. He reached up to rub at his neck but winced instead, "didn't risk as much as you though." Scott stared in confusion and Stiles rolled his eyes and spoke very quickly very low and turned his hand in a gesture that meant 'move along.'
"I mean sure we came with Lydia, but she wouldn't have set off that trap if I hadn't been obsessed with digging up that corpse and maybe it might have been the side-effects of Wolfsbane but if you hadn't knocked us out of the way we would have died from the explosion so thanks and stuff, yeah."
Scott smirked and stared quietly.
"You're just going to silently gloat, aren't you?" Stiles glared.
Scott shrugged.
"You Ass!"
"Stiles, do you need help getting in?" Allison came over to his side after say a brief 'see you later' to Lydia.
"That-That's really nice of Allison," Stiles said with an exaggerated flare for his gratitude.
"You mean for a Hunter, don't you?" she looked at him skeptically, before breaking into a grin.
"I wasn'- no. I wouldn't say that... out loud anyway. She's kidding right, I take it back. I take it back you're not nice at all."
"Oh," she feigned disappointment while she ignored him to instead help Scott settle into the backseat comfortably.
"She seems pretty nice to me," Scott corrected Stiles' assessment. Allison let the 2 of them settle in the back while she and Kate returned to retrieving all evidence of their presence at the boomed site.
Isaac went to the SUV quick goodbyes to Allison, and then went to Scott before and lastly around to Stiles before they separated.
"What the hell did you actually find here?" he whispered to Stiles. He knew he would only have these few seconds in an overly fond goodbye. They wouldn't get it if they shared a ride with Kate or even with the others. As members of the same pack, they owed each other a little honesty.
"There was a dead body in front of the porch, but it wasn't Derek's." Stiles whispered. He grinned and clapped Isaac on the back, as if he were thanking his best-friend for sticking around, as if they were just two bros chillin'.
"What dead body?" Isaac worked to keep his fake grin. Stiles had given up all pretenses of good-naturedness, instead he looked pissed-off as he looked back toward the Hale House.
With the porch nearly torn through that left a hole like a hell mouth, the front door hung from its hinges with a revenge insignia and the front lawn was burnt up, peppered with contaminants being washed away by the rain, while pools of mud accumulated in a shallow grave.
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