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Track 01 - She and Him by Omniflux
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{Saturday: Mid-Morning - BHHS, deep in the Tree Line pass the Lacrosse Field}
After Allison's emergency call to her Mom, her partner Bennet showed up as first responder on the scene. He arrived within minutes on his preferred KingQuad ATV, zipping through the foliage effortlessly. He hopped off the bike and left the engine on to race to her side and assess the scene. Once he verified the blood on her face wasn't hers and the fight that went on didn't physically involve her he became civil about things.
Then he called Victoria on the SAT phone gave her the lowdown, confirmation that he'd found Allison and things were relatively 'All-Clear'. By that time Victoria was nearby in the mini-van; there was only the matter of carrying Isaac to her.
Her Mom turned up minutes later with a med kit in hand, equipped with sedatives and splints galore. While she tended to Isaac. The Hunter partner of Allison, Bennet, backtracked to the field meeting her at a halfway point. She looked anxious to walk away from where her Mother kneeled beside an unconscious and vulnerable Isaac Lahey.
"We've got a couple more markings here I think," he analyzed some lingering scraps embedded in trees.
Allison went over to help, used her ring daggers to obscure and reshape the markings. She had an artistic talent with stripping bark. Bennet kept at finding any evidence along the ground that could look remotely like blood or claw marks and he catalogued them then made them disappear. This was the sort of basic Hunter work they'd been doing since they could walk and now they could manage this mastery in 5 minutes or less.
"Done," Bennet chirped. He had a hand on her arm, assuring her before she wandered off for a third look. "We've got everything, Allison."
"But what if-"
"Definitely everything, so maybe you should chill and come with me to the ATV," Bennet smiled kindly, his eyes were steady on her when she looked uncertain, but she resigned herself to trust him.
"I should have known," she said while tying together poles and a tarp to create a makeshift stretcher.
"What?" Bennet grinned a little cheekily, sensing Allison shock had started to slide away.
"You told my Mom about the Werewolves at the school?" she let out a huff. They gave a three count and then lifted one end of the stretcher onto the end of his ATV.
"Well," Bennet felt remorse over one thing, "I thought the Werewolves figured out you were a Hunter. I should have known you knew there were Werewolves in the school and had it handled." He dusted off his hands and gave her a side glance. They stayed leaning against opposite sides of the KingQuad to catch their breath. Bennet cracked his knuckles out of nervousness and started to wonder aloud, when it was they stopped checking in with each other. "I miss my partner."
To Allison that word had been reinvented several times lately. Despite that, she knew what Bennet meant and she felt ashamed. "I know. I miss you too."
"Was I wrong to-"
"No, I shouldn't have put you in the position to report the Werewolves at my school-" although the statement was true she didn't know what the alternative would have meant.
"They're right. I should have enrolled in the High School with you." He groaned and exchanged a knowing glance. He kept his voice easy to hear but low anyway. "I should have been there to have your before things got out of hand."
"That's stupid. Bennet, don't change your mind," Allison shoved her hands in her jacket pockets, kept her head low and moved around the bike to stand close beside him. "You wanted field work. You wanted to be put to work and to learn techniques from people who aren't going to keep you under a glass like your Mom or your Dad."
"Yeah," he said, still unconvinced.
"You've got my back right now. That's what counts," Allison bumped shoulders with him and her dimpled smile melted his anxiety. "I can trust you to help me smooth this over with my Parents."
"Oh, sure!" he rolled his eyes dramatically and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. He gave it a squeeze hard enough to make her squeak. "Now she checks in with me!"
"Bennet, I'm serious." Her smile dropped incrementally. "They're not going to trust that I know what I'm doing. But I do. I do know."
He didn't say anything. He just watched her and waited.
"I need you to trust me too. That guy, Isaac." She quickly amended, "when he wakes up he'll be surrounded by Hunters. I need to be the one next to him, not them. I'm not just going interrogate him the moment he wakes up, because there's a big difference between being a Hunter and a friend to him."
"I get that, but you figure they are going to interrogate him first thing?" The smile that was on Bennet's lips twisted out into a long line as he gave it some thought but his arm around her shoulder still gave her comfort.
"Of course," she was loathed to admit it. She briefly leaned her head on his shoulder and heaved a sigh before she stood to walk away.
"What do you need me to do?"
"Run interference. Just like we used to."
Bennet nodded and climbed onto his bike once more. Allison secured the ties that bound the stretcher, then climbed behind and wrapped her arms around Bennet's waist as he drove the ATV over to where her Mother was concluding her intricate work.
Isaac looked better. Or at least he had more color in his face and all his open wounds were covered up. The evidence that she and Scott had performed some daring rescue had been cleared away and the area where he had nearly been crushed to death looked only as though a tree had accidentally fallen over.
Despite their years of experience, Allison and Bennet had yet to learn how to clean scene at quite that level of expertise. But Victoria was on a different level, considered a polymath and they were just acolytes there to catch and carry a body through the woods. Not that Allison minded riding the bike backwards, watching Isaac's body rattle with every bump and swerve through the woods to the minivan.
It was 6 minutes without traffic from the High School to the Argents' home. It took them an additional 3 just to lift Isaac into the mini-van and they managed to get every red-light along the way. After the 12 minutes it took for them to finally get home, it felt like years had been shaved off of Allison's life, she barely had enough time to breathe before the negotiations started on where they would place their 'guest'. It was the way Chris said it that frightened Allison and threw her off her game, but Bennet had her back.
"Allison's room of course." The stares that aimed at him were lethal (with the exception of Rumy's which was laughable). "As far as he knows she only knows he's a Werewolf at this point. But he doesn't know we know. And if he doesn't know we know he knows, she knows how to question him better than we know."
'Bless his heart.' Allison stared at him in abject adoration as if there were no one else in the room. There was little other argument after that.
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Track 02 - The Long Shadow by Barn Owl
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{BHHS, Courtyard}
An hour earlier, as lunch had shaken up Stiles watched Isaac storm off toward an uncertain threat. He stayed back, feeling unsteady as his extrasensory perception stretched to great lengths. Isaac's exit left a tight feeling in Stiles' stomach. Combined with his Dad's kindness, he felt smothered.
"Is everything okay?" his Dad came up behind him, his voice smooth.
Stiles jumped slightly. He'd half expected a predator despite knowing his Dad's scent so clearly now. He breathed it in before he turned around to center himself. He gulped down one breath, then another.
He thought about what Isaac said, about keeping the next kid safe. It made Stiles prioritize, losing an anonymous kid would be a dark mark on his conscience but not at the expense of his loved ones; his Dad counted high on that priority list as did that idiot Isaac. He would see to them one at a time and then- and then he'd do something good.
When Stiles looked down to be certain his hands weren't claws, and he felt certain any affect his eyes might have given off had left and they were their natural brown.
"He's just being his usual competitive ass," said Stiles. He knew his Dad would assume her meant lacrosse, but Isaac was often the first idiot to run into the fray. That is, when he wasn't peddling his Zen bullshit.
"Well, Scott's on the team, too" his Dad reminded, with a bemused expression. "Maybe he'll teach him some good sportsmanship."
"Yeah, you're right," Stiles didn't make the connection earlier and he prayed that were true. "Dad, I think I should go check on them." He started away without giving his Dad much of a choice, "I promise I'll check in later, love ya!" he remembered their agreement and shouted back while disappearing behind the double-doors.
On the other side he stopped and listened for his Dad to make it to the cruiser.
For a moment Stiles felt like running after the car, making sure his Dad had all the safety and security against the Monster 24/7. Thinking about finally being at home in Beacon Hills all he could wanted was to keep them in his mind's eye, but there was no way of protecting that except by removing its threats. Once he could no longer hear his Dad's car he spun around and ran full pelt through the halls.
Stiles followed Isaac trail through the sub floors via the locked equipment room. At which point Isaac could have accessed the locker rooms, any of the gymnasiums or the swimming pool, the basketball court or he could have peeled right through and headed to the open field. But by the time Stiles reached the sub floors another presence washed over him.
The world became so overwhelmingly full up with noise and hurt, everything turned into white noise. Doubling over in pain, Stiles clutched his head to try and steady his vision as the world began to melt from his sight. Breathing heavily, he stumbled against the walls through the open doorway to the bathroom for a place to collapse.
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Track 03 - Corpse Road by Keaton Henson
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{BHHS, Natatorium, Poolside}
The world tasted of chemicals and smelled of harshness. When Lydia breathed it felt like breathing in bricks until she coughed, and everything was air again. She felt cold and clammy and trembled all over and when she opened her eyes the room was draped in darkness. Her coughs echoed in the emptiness of the school's pool and when she felt a little more clearheaded she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Her breathing felt quicker, something in her panic made her feel like she would never feel okay in her skin again.
It was unclear how she ended up on the side of the pool. It was foggier to think on what caused her to drown to begin with. When she replayed it in her mind she only remembered shadowy images and sounds that were impossible to connect to swimming. The longer she lay still and waited for them to settle the more she remembered a vision of Isaac dying with tears with chlorine water kept cold on her face and a guilt weighed her down for what felt like hours.
Finally, a bell sounded reminding the change of periods. It wasn't a regular school day and if there was a changeover there was a good chance she might get locked into the school. It took a great deal of strength to turn onto her side and try to stand. She cried out as a sharp pain shot through her right arm when she tried to lean on it. She crumpled under her own weight and curled into a ball. After a minute or two of full-fledged sobbing Lydia climbed up onto her knees then stood at a stumble. She aimed with all of her strength toward the girls' locker rooms. It was a blurring mystery how she stripped from her swimsuit and slipped into her dress. She abandoned the idea of a coat, however light and draped a cardigan over her shoulders, hugging her designer bag under her good arm. With the strength of sheer and stubborn will power Lydia made the slow and steady trek to her Beetle. To any passerby she might have seemed a little stressed rather than injured which was less embarrassing and she could live with that.
After fishing her keys from her bag and stabbing one of them into the lock, Lydia leaned onto the wheel. Weariness claimed her into sleep but until then she cried from frustration. She wanted to know the truth about what happened to Isaac. Was she really too late in helping to save her friend? Was she really too late in making things right with him? When she felt him going under how could she not have thought of something better to do than run away? How had she gotten herself from the bottom of the pool? Why was she even alive at this point? Why was she always so goddamn weak?
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Track 04 - The Weight of Us by Sanders Bohlke
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{BHHS, Lacrosse Field}
On the field when Scott rejoined his team, and he noticed some significant changes. Stiles had reappeared from nowhere, as did Jackson and they'd definitely took note of each other with the menacing looks they were throwing around. Not to mention his Mom looked particularly disgruntled to be in a full-on high-volume arm-flailing conversation with Coach. It might have been worth it to stay in the woods with Allison and Isaac.
Practice looked called to a halt, players were disgruntled. Scott figured he was one of the deciding factors for this. That and Jackson's lateness, but from his freshly showered appearance and the disorientation he sensed pouring off of him, Scott figured it couldn't have been helped. But there wasn't a sicknote you could hand in that explained 'Kanima is acting up again.' Stiles wasn't faring any better, covered in sweat he looked ready to explode from his seat. He gnawed through every nail left on his left hand after having chewed through his right and glared murderous daggers at Jackson.
Given the options of which fire to put out first Scott knew where his duties lay.
"Mom," he put himself between her and Coach, "what going on?"
"Where have you been?" she asked, her eyes skirted over him from top to bottom taking in the signs of blood and mud still caked in some places. "Are you okay? What's going on?"
"It's okay. I'm okay," he assured her with a soft tone, his crooked smirk and a gentle hand on her arm. She wasn't buying it.
"See, he's fine," Coach waved his hand dismissively. "He can handle body blows-you get used to them after a couple dozen in a row. It's continuity that builds character." With that, he smacked Scott on the back hard enough to make him wince, handed him back his helmet and lacrosse stick before disappearing to yell at some other student.
"Scott, one minute you're here and then you're gone," Mellissa's worried face hardened. "This is why I shouldn't work so many hours. It's fine until it's like we're living two vastly different lives and you get hurt and don't come to me first."
"Mom, no! You love your job. I don't want to mess that up for you," Scott insisted. His feelings churned. Scott sensed riling between Stiles and Jackson, and it was drawing him away into that other life she worried over, their anger and disquiet baiting him to lose it. As troubled as he felt, her worries were real, realer than their ugly unaired squabble. He focused on her alone, on their life and their home and the value he placed on it because without her as his touchstone everything else spiraled out of control. "It's just a misunderstanding. I ran into Allison on the way back from the bathroom. It's not that big a deal. You're upset about me, I can see that, and you can check me this blood isn't even mine."
It was scaring him how good he was getting at lying. But the little bits of truths thrown in there would help her see what she wanted to see. He dropped his equipment and hugged her, she whispered into his shoulder that he was an idiot and lingered when she held him back. When the Coach whistled for all the players to rejoin on the field Scott was fairly sure, like 95% sure his Mom flipped the Coach off behind his back.
As he walked his Mom to her Chevy Malibu, Scott needed to trust Stiles would keep his temper a little longer. When he gave her the car keys she lectured him a little, the meaning was there but there was little heat in it. His Mom banished his bike for sure and insisted he take the bus for a week. He gave no argument at all. She included that he clean the house and take on cooking duty, he nodded along silently. And when she asked that he not point out when she repeated herself when it came to punishments he grinned a little. She tacked on that when she had double shifts again he was absolutely to bring her food at work, he agreed but right before she slipped into the driver seat he hesitated to ask a favor.
"Actually, more like a complete adjustment in our lives." He knew it was now or never. Their lives couldn't afford to be split any longer. Desperation must have read in Scott's voice because she drummed her fingers along the steering wheel as she waited him out. "It's about my friend Isaac. He might need a place to stay for a little while."
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Track 05 - Who Are You Really? by Mikky Ekko
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{BHHS, Boy's Locker Room, Changing Rooms}
Even as Jackson stared and recognized the detail, the perfect cheekbones, crystal clear blue eyes and $55 haircut, he couldn't recognize what he saw staring back at him. He gripped both sides of the sink and held fast as though he were pressing it downward into the ground, he could acknowledge only one truth. He had no control.
He'd lost another gap of time and came to with grime on his hands, skin under his nails and when he looked in the bathroom mirror he wore only a towel. If he stared too long and tried to speak he vomited snakes. Jackson knew it wasn't real, he knew it was a delusion, but he knew whatever happened in those gaps weren't fake. What shocked Jackson most was he wanted to be held accountable. After reawakening in the hospital with a new understanding; he discovered there were times and ways he could regain control at times. It was just time to figure out the truth.
But every time he looked at himself in the mirror, every time he felt like he came close to the honest truth, his blood boiled, not in a metaphorical sense at all. His blood would surface black and oily and drip from his nose or eyes or ears, drowning out his chance to sense something real. The snakes, however, they were new. The snakes that choked out his yell of frustration, spilled from his mouth, slid down his arms, wrapped around his hands like cuffs and kept him from touching the mirror, the same snakes that came from inside kept him from reaching the Jackson in his reflection, the one unaffected who watched in suppressed disgust and disappointment.
In a blink it was over as behind him came an unsteady moan from the other end of the line of sinks where Stilinski rose from unconsciousness. In an instant they went from confusion to anger, ready to come to blows with little to any reason.
"You," Stiles accused Jackson. Quite sure whatever Stiles said next he could have been guilty of, Jackson had no assurances otherwise. "Where did you come from? Where the fuck've you been? What the hell did you do?" Stiles looked him up and down. He stumbled back while taking to his feet, his sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor as he came to stand.
Jackson didn't have answers for that and while he wanted answers for those questions, he definitely didn't want to answer to Stilinski. In fact, he kind of wanted to rip the guy's head off.
At that point they were interrupted by another lacrosse player, Greenburg, who had been sent on a busy errand. Coach didn't think he'd actually find any missing players, he just meant to keep from having to look at Greenberg face while the players were delayed but it was enough to break the two apart before their tempers got hot enough to tear apart the bathroom.
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Track 06 - Everyone Who Knows You by Royal Forrest
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Minutes later-
"What the hell is going on?!" Stiles yelled in a red-faced, strained small voice. His hands were gripped like crab claws, ready to tear apart the air and Scott gently pulled them down.
"Allison's got it. Isaac is healing and she knows how to take care of it," Scott made his voice as soothing as possible but he could sense Stiles' nerves twisting around.
"It was Jackson," Stiles insisted.
At that, Scott gripped his friend's hands tightly before he took chase. "You don't know that."
"Do we know what Kanima attacks look like?" his eyes flashed, his bared his teeth without fangs.
"Well, no-"
"Do we know where he's been?"
"Uh..."
"Do we even know who is controlling him? How had he healed so fast? How powerful he is now?" Stiles snapped his hands out of Scott's hold, his voice raised to the point of shouting.
"Stiles!" Scott moved to stand in his line of sight with Jackson. That didn't keep him from casting an occasional glance to Jackson also. "We don't know the answers to any of that, but we do know that Isaac needs our help right now. We need to be calm. And think."
"You didn't see him before in the bathroom Scott. He's crazy." Stiles huffed, looked down and kicked the toes of his sneakers into the ground. "Not like athlete 'I'm on 'roid so let's riot' crazy. I'm talking 'I wanna eat my own face' crazy."
"Shit." As Scott ran a hand through his hair, he tried to imagine what it was like. When his nightmares were at its wildest and he lived in someone else's skin, at worst he woke up 3 miles into the woods, worried he might have vicariously attacked a rabbit. He couldn't fathom walking through the light of day as someone else's puppet.
"A Kanima only loses more control over time," Stiles pleaded but came up short of an argument. He suddenly couldn't bring himself to lecture to Scott, not after he might have gone through something similar without even knowing after his collapse in the bathroom.
"We'll figure it out," Scott insisted, maybe if he said it often enough it would just happen. "We can ask Allison about that later when we check in on Isaac. Right now, let's just be thankful things are okay and enjoy it for a little bit."
Stiles stepped back, then stepped back again and balked at him. "What does that mean?"
"Eat. Shower. I dunno, rest." Scott shrugged looking baffled that he couldn't make this any clearer. "Isaac is healing up. Allison and her family have already cleaned the scene. Jackson looks like he's already headed home. There is nothing we can do for now."
"Are you kidding me?" Stiles' eyes were wide in disbelief and his voice low. "You just want to go home," he waved his hand in the air as if to openly display the concept in all its absurdity.
Pressing his lips together in a failed attempt not to smile, Scott gave a nod.
"Never heard anything so irresponsible in my life," Stiles grumbled and left in a huff.
Grinning, Scott shouted after him, "I'll call you later."
Still sulking, Stiles waved over his shoulder.
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Track 07 - Play Dead by Bjork and David Arnold
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{Noon - BHHS, Student Parking}
An impression was left on her face when Lydia had sat up from lying against the steering wheel. The day had matured in hours. The bone-tiredness that plagued her earlier had halved but oxygen deprivation still left her feeling like she had been hit by a car.
The sun wasn't overly bright, in fact overcast skies were her friend but it felt torturous anyhow. Her iPhone chimed with the notifications of missed phone calls. Lydia groaned toward it with all the contempt she could spare. Rolling her head against the steering wheel, she looked toward the phone. In doing so, she felt her head loll about, and dizziness came with the act. Lydia took in a deep breath and with every sense of conviction she could muster, she sat upright. Aligning her spine took pressure off of her lungs and after some slower 'breathing techniques' she felt better in control.
But her phone continued to chime inconsiderately and when she opened her eyes again the sun had slid significantly lower. Lydia assessed the situation again; her body felt sore, but her mind felt clearer, she felt in control. She turned on the car and waited a minute for it get comfortable while she checked her messages. There were a few urgent texts from Allison but nothing detailed. She missed two messages from her Mom asking when she would be home to which she texted back immediately. (She texted because she didn't trust the steadiness of her voice.) Lydia explained she was still at the school (which wasn't a lie) and needed to pick up her car, (which was little bit of a stretch but she had to say something to misdirect) and wanted to check in with Allison before she headed home. She shook hard as she tried to text, it took three times as long and that made her want to cry more than anything else. Then there was a voicemail from the florist, they just said to call back. That felt like the more pressing one.
The florist felt like the petty and pretty distraction she needed. It felt like real life because it felt like normalcy, no drama, no dying, no monsters, no mayhem, just a box of overpriced chocolates and the biggest most beautiful purple foxglove Lydia had ever seen in the most awful arrangement she'd ever seen. When they tried to overcharge her credit card, she talked them down because of their god-awful arrangement, and even so Lydia knew she would have to struggle a while to pay this off it felt stressful. It felt normal. Something finally felt right.
After picking up the flowers, in the parking lot of the mall Lydia sat and ate the chocolates. It didn't heal her bruising she felt worsening her arm, but it helped her grumbling stomach and her depleted sugar levels. When she pulled the hem of the cardigan away from her right arm she discovered the swelling formation grapefruit-sized discoloration on the collarbone leading toward her shoulder that gave off intensely sharp pains when she carried the flowers to the car, coupled with finger-shaped bruising on her bicep. If she had to make an educated guess it looked like mild ligament damage, verifying she definitely couldn't have pulled herself from the pool. It looked like whoever rescued her from the depths of the swimming pool yanked her out hard enough to separate her shoulder. Not that they thought to apologize or even leave a note after the act. Not like she could cover this up with a few well-placed accessories or owned enough cover-up makeup.
Lydia came back around the trunk, the only space large enough to keep the arrangement without it tumbling over or crushing itself. And she made an executive decision; 1) after digging around for a bit to find shears floating among her roadside supplies, she was going to take out her frustration on the gross flower arrangement and 2) she was most definitely going to finish all the chocolates.
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A good twenty minutes later, Lydia felt accomplished. She also felt better for having eaten a meal of containing fistfuls of chocolates and ibuprofen washed down with a coffee from one of her favorite gourmet coffee shops. Admiring her work, she sipped slowly from her cup in her left hand and tapped her phone against her thigh. She nearly got through convincing herself she was ready to emerge into the messed-up world. Lydia hadn't gotten another text from Allison for hours and Scott hadn't checked in since before practice, with an ambiguous 'we should all have a meet-up after practice.'
Somehow their angst felt less of a priority on her list of things than discovering who pulled her from the pool. Surely if it had been Scott he would have been straightforward and said or texted as much but there was radio silence there- of course there might be something keeping him away. Lydia doubted it was Allison because she wouldn't have abandoned her at the side of the pool and left her to her wounds and questions. An ambiguous sense told her Isaac was an unlikely candidate but- Stiles was a more likely candidate since she hadn't heard from him all day. She worked in her mind to figure out what circumstances would leave them so divided but before she could figure out who to call first, her cellphone came to life in her hands.
"Stiles?" she asked, maybe it was a confession? Already tossing her belongings in her bag, slamming the trunk shut and she rushed toward the driver's seat before his voice came through. "What's going on?" instinct told her not to rest just yet.
"Are you doing anything right now?" he asked sounding strained. In fact, he sounded strained with the act of trying to sound laid back.
"Stiles," Lydia's voice went harsh, cutting through his façade and she listened impatiently. Without even a direction she began to drive, her aching arm forgotten as one arm went over the other with the wider turns of the steering wheel.
Stiles let out a breath, part relief part anguish. "I think I might have gotten myself in over my head. Literally."
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Track 08 - Overtime by U.S. Girls
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{Afternoon – Argents House, 2nd Floor, Allison's Bedroom}
"Well, I came through the front door this time instead of the window," Isaac mused weakly.
Allison did not find him funny at all, she squeezed his hand intending to convey as much but forgot both of them had been injured to the point that had he been an average guy, a double-amputation would have been likely. He winced and drew in a sharp breath that reminded her as much.
"Crap." She eased back along the edge of her queen-sized bed. "Crap. Crap."
"No, come back," he whispered. "Talk to me. I don't want to keep thinking."
She tucked her hair behind both ears, sighed deeply and scooted forward. Allison had an idea of what Isaac meant but she prayed he didn't bring it up because as much as she could keep up the façade, she still had trouble processing the act that brought him back from death's door.
"What do you want to talk about?"
"What did your Mother say when you picked me up?" Isaac looked half amused half terrified. Allison gave a little laugh.
"Not much," it was now or never, "she had a good idea you were a Werewolf already."
"Oh," he leaned back into her headboard, he looked ready to laugh a lot, but his lightheadedness needed bracing.
"I slipped up," she bit her lower lip, her face scrunched up with her whispered admission. "That's why I was so pissed at you this morning."
"Because you slipped up?" his brow went up in disbelief.
"She suspected I had a Werewolf friend."
"Uh-huh," he tried to cross his arms, but the effort just left him with his arms placed straight forward on his lap.
"I confirmed I had a few," Allison said and her voice went up a pitch when she did.
"Which pissed you off at us," Isaac smirked.
"Somehow," Allison let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Isaac looked away, deep in thought for a split second then came back to her, his tiredness made his voice sound all the more sagely. "Do you really think you were upset at being caught or do you think you are upset to be friends with us?"
"What?!" she scooted further toward the head of the bed. The pain in her voice surprised Isaac to the point he bumped his head into the headboard. She stopped to think straight and rubbed at her head to think clearly, "I was pissed because I failed. For one moment I lost sight of my values and I failed all of you. I didn't know how I could look you guys in the face. I still don't know how to make it up to you and I'm not sure my family will give me the chance to-"
"Well, saving my life is a pretty good start," Isaac said with a quiet firmness and a hesitant smile.
Allison eased off her babbling. "Isaac, I would never- I was just really disappointed in myself."
"Don't be," he shrugged, and it took a little bit of effort. "The town is full of Hunters. It was bound to happen." He moved his hand and dropped it onto her in an attempt to hold her hand. "At least with you keeping an eye on each of us, Allison, none of us ended up as a statistic."
"I don't know what's going to happen next," her relieved sigh came out as a little laugh.
"Hey, me neither," his brows went up with a little humor and with it his bandage dropped. She reached up and adjusted it. "You scared?"
"No." Allison found she didn't have to give it thought. "We're going to figure it out."
As Allison explained to Isaac, Scott promised to text later, probably after he got away from his Mom's watchful gaze. Once she got an idea of what her Mom found from the scene of Isaac's attack, she'd let them know without upsetting Isaac and his recovery. Before they could cover anything they were interrupted by Bennet's polite knocking, playing out the tune of 'Shave & a Haircut' against her bedroom door.
"Isaac, this is my friend," Allison explained, then she scooted backward. She quickly took her hand away from Isaac's hoping Bennet hadn't seen. She gestured toward him cordially and wore a bright and genuine smile across her face. "My partner, Bennet" she corrected.
Of course, Bennet noticed the closeness but said nothing. Instead he came to the middle of the foot of the bed so that Isaac could see him fully. He wore a perfectly average grey quilted hoodie with a red crewneck underneath but still smelled of dirt and gasoline from driving Isaac safely out of the woods. He gave a cheerful little peace sign and a weak smile, his tiredness ran throughout. Bennet looked like any other student who would sit alongside him in Algebra I. Like Allison, the gruesome reputation of Hunters Isaac had been sold throughout his youth did not fit him.
"Hate to disturb this peaceful moment but the 'rents are asking for you." He looked to Allison with dark brown eyes soft in apology.
"Well, this was going to happen eventually" she heaved a sigh and slowly stood. Allison looked between the two, her mind started to race. "Can you please stay here with him?"
"You want him to babysit me?" Isaac miraculously found the strength to sit upright.
Considering it, Bennet looked at Allison skeptically "no, she wants me to guard you." Isaac became quiet and the room turned very still after that.
Finally, Isaac spoke up, "what did you cook?"
"What?" Bennet scoffed and turned to look at him. Allison nibbled on her fingernail and didn't pretend her nerves weren't getting the better of her.
"At the dinner the other night, the pot-luck? What did you cook?" Isaac became insistent, his smirk spirited.
"The bacon-wrapped-shrimp," Bennet answered cockily crossing his arms. If there was one thing he was proud of learning from his Father, it was learning how to cook.
Isaac eased back against the headboard once more, tiredness catching up with him. "Alright, I trust him," he breathed a little easier. "For now, anyway, but try and hurry back."
Bennet laughed lightly and turned to Allison, while she hid her red face behind her hand. "He's right. 1) you should hurry up, 2) my food is awesome." With that Bennet gripped her shoulder and spun her around gently pushing her toward the door.
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Track 09 - Falling (feat. Ralph of To Kill a King) by Bastille
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{Afternoon - BHHS, deep in the Tree Line behind the Lacrosse Field}
"Stiles, what are you doing?" for a moment, she kneeled at eye level, she eyed him critically.
"Oh, you know just hanging out?" his hangs hung limply on the side of his head.
"Stiles, it looks like you found a tripwire," Lydia observed as she came to stop a few feet from where he swung in the air like a pendulum, his right ankle wrapped up tautly with a cord that disappeared high up into the leafy canopy.
"Could you have walked here any slower?" Stiles' sarcasm was strained through clenched teeth.
Taking care not to dislodge her bag, she stepped gingerly over torn earth and roots as she came around the area full circle ignoring his complaints. The more upset Stiles got, the more the cord that held him swung back and forth like a metronome. Once he realized that exhausting himself trying to swing around to face her, he gave up and suspended his hands like a rag doll from his efforts.
"I'm looking for any other traps," Lydia explained touching the trunk of a tree for balance as she hopped over a stone and landed with an imbalanced wobble.
"Well, there's got to be a release somewhere," Stiles explained. He lifted his arms from their dangling position and crossed them, while a smirk placed itself expectantly across his face. "So, can you get me down?"
Lydia stopped her wandering and gave him a withering look.
Stiles face was bright red from all the blood that rushed to his face and gave a huff to calm down before he added, "Please?"
After a thoughtful pause she nodded. "Just give me a second to figure out how." She continued circling the area, looking mostly up at him but also at the strangeness that meant someone set up this comically archaic trap over the branch of a tree and stabilized it to a weighted point somewhere.
"How did you get up there anyway?" Lydia asked as she climbed slowly around the terrain. She noticed a deep hole dug in the ground made from the collapsed tree nearby. But it seemed suspicious that the tree would land so far away. It looked more like it had been thrown.
"I came here to investigate something." Stiles said cagily.
"This is where Isaac was attacked," Lydia answered sitting on the end of the fallen tree looking mournfully into the ditch. She knew this place too well.
"Yes, actually." Stiles said. "How'd you know?"
Lydia didn't answer, just stared into the depth of the ditch and wished she didn't have a feeling that going in there would feel as familiar as drowning underwater.
"Never mind," Stiles interrupted, his voice sounded half apologetic and half encouraging. "So, I'm pretty certain I finally heard you scream this time around."
"Oh," it was her turn to look apologetic. "But I tried not to," she said incredulously, admitting it to herself for the first time.
"Well, if that was you trying not to scream, you nearly blew a hole through my skull," he scoffed and from the troubled look on her face he knew he overstepped. "Not literally, of course. It just teaches me to be more specific about what I wish for," he cocked his head to the side, watching her for a better understanding. "I should have requested adjustable frequencies for your Banshee scream so I could hear you easier." She smirked in response then rolled her eyes and looked away.
"I should get you down," she turned back around to the safer side of the fallen tree and shoved off onto the ground. "I think I figured out how. Just hold on a minute."
"It's not like I'm going anywhere," Stiles replied.
Grabbing the gardening shears from her bag Lydia held the sticky cord with one hand and cut through it with the other. Before Stiles could protest he dropped the 18ft to the ground, tumbling the additional 8ft into the ditch.
"What the hell was that?!" Stiles voice came at a garbled yell while he dizzily clambered out with the loose dirt sliding beneath his grip.
"Word of advice Stiles, next time you find a tripwire don't trip it," Lydia smiled, placing her convenient although mildly mucked up shears back into her purse.
Stiles looked like a madman, his hair wild in a crown of spikes and eyes dilated. He stood at a crooked gait with a massive limp, entirely covered in a sheen of sweat that made the fading red in his face glow like a beacon, dirt coated his front but none of his back. While more obviously his right leg still wore the tripwire tightly wrapped like a sausage binding cut through his pant leg, not that he took note.
"I guess I'm supposed to thank you for dropping me in a ditch of death," Stiles gestured toward the hole in the ground. "The ditch! Where death happened!"
"Stiles, you're not dead or dying," Lydia rolled her eyes, reached out and grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away from the possibility falling back into said ditch. "But I do think we should probably get you away from here."
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"I don't know what those Hunters wrapped that thing with, but it stings like a mother!" he groaned intensely. Without intending to he leaned more weight onto Lydia's shoulders.
There weren't more than a few yards from the ditch to parked car, but his limp was worsening with each step. While Stiles wasn't willing to accept his weakening state Lydia definitely noticed the coloring in his face go from red to ashen.
With each of Stiles whiney descriptions, Lydia could recall bits and pieces of what she learned of Wolfsbane poisoning, (their types and the effects on Werewolves) but he'd get anxious at her silence and whined again like an infant.
"You can't keep running off idiotically. What were you doing out here alone anyway?" she grit her teeth and kept her tone controlled.
Stiles assumed the tightness in her voice was annoyance and he was tried to discourage it, but his answer sounded uncertain, "I had a backup." He looked down at her, while giving her a light hug/lean onto and clearly anticipated her look of skepticism.
Only she didn't rise to the bait, her focus was on her footing, perfectly measured left then right, followed by left and oh, what was that? Ah, here comes the right.
"My grandmother could go faster than this. My grandmother's grandmother could go faster... but then rumor was she was a drift car racer," Stiles babbled, his voice quieting and rising in random intervals.
"I am going as fast as I can without supernatural-strength," Lydia grunted and shifted her weight. She tried her best to mask the pain that pierced through her clavicle when Stiles stumbled against her. The only way to keep him from stumbling, to keep her steady and cause less agony to her bad shoulder would be to walk slower. Of course, the only way to explain why would be to over-explain and it wasn't the time or place. Which made Lydia feel very bitter toward someone she felt genuinely concerned for, both things that she hated, "You try carrying 147 pounds of dead weight and sarcasm, at 5'3" wearing 4" heels through the woods!"
Stiles looked contrite but it didn't prevent him stumbling. "Good point," he mumbled when she hauled him further upright by the waist, he tried his best to stay upright but that only lasted three steps before Stiles needed to lean onto Lydia's smaller shoulders.
"Its fine," Lydia assured him, tugging his arm to keep him leveled. "It's okay."
"What was that?" this time Stiles paused and caused her to stumble.
"Nothing," she insisted, her voice had gone strained, a little above a hiss.
"It's not nothing, you winced," his gaze narrowed, penetrating hers and she had to look away.
"It's nothing. I thought I twisted my ankle earlier, but I just stepped wrong," she tugged his arm along once more. With a tilt of her head she motioned that the car was near. He looked over her head and could see the color of the roof of her car, but something felt off.
"That was your other shoulder," he withdrew his arm, his tone was firm.
Lydia looked back at him, her expression helpless and her stance stiff with agitation. She considered the fact that Stiles would sense a lie off of her, but he couldn't see the pallid color his skin had taking on. Maybe he could hear her heartrate, but he couldn't read her mind.
"I would feel a lot better if we weren't anywhere near here, Stiles."
Stiles glared, his nose flared with a huff and Lydia knew he would have stomped off if he could.
"Okay," he looked off toward the car, "I'll go with you, but I'd like it on the record that I'm not pleased about this whole keeping secrets thing."
"No secret, I just had a slip up with the Swim Team. Now?" she put out a hand for him to hold and left no room for him to refuse.
Knowing her swim history, Stiles looked disbelieving and this time she looked away first. Biting his lip, he said nothing else but took her hand and limped very slowly alongside her to the car. Every time he winced she looked like she wanted to 'Fireman Carry' him the rest of the way to the car. Instead, Stiles pressed his lips into a strained smile while keeping his eyes on Lydia's face instead of looking ahead, or looking down, but absolutely determined to stay following her lead.
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Track 10 - The Enemy by Mumford and Sons
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{Later – McCall's House, Lakewood Neighborhood}
Scott had fallen asleep on the bus ride home. His legs turned heavy and his head had gone light with exhaustion and he so nearly missed his stop. When he hopped off he stumbled and his walk along the street to his door was sapped of all strength.
Once he kicked off his sneakers, shifted off his jean jacket he dropped back onto the couch and ended up taking an unintentional 3½ hour nap, it was exactly the recharge he needed.
It would have been on Scott's schedule to make the afternoon cram session. But even if he hadn't slept through the first half of it he would have skipped it, he was too preoccupied. Not that studying didn't make the cut. He was failing two classes and promised to do better, and Scott couldn't go back on his word. He spread out his schoolwork on the kitchen counter and considered his options. He didn't have Stiles' scorched notebook or Lydia's heavily notated iPhone, but he knew if he obsessed over it, the material they'd collected would drive him mad. What he could do was distract himself for a few hours and then come back to it more focused. He had learned from study group that it helped sometimes to switch off subjects to change focus and come back to a problem with a rested mind and a clear perspective.
World History was something he normally found fascinating but for the time being Scott found troubling. It seemed a joke to study a time when Monsters weren't the cause of the world's problems. He moved on to English Lit were he seemed to have a grasp of the knowledge but struggled to put it on the page. Eventually he pulled the play Hamlet off the shelf. It was suggested reading off the syllabus just like it he had been the same in middle school, but he never found it interesting enough to get pass the first Act anyway. Now, it seemed common knowledge too, everyone else did and he could totally cheat and Netflix Kenneth Branagh's film which the internet suggested as the most accurate version but if everyone else went through this rite of passage he might as well.
After reading it, Scott stared off along the horizon through the window toward the direction he knew Allison lived, where he could sense her even over the distance. Where he knew his restlessness stemmed from the most.
Hours earlier Scott demanded that Isaac come back to life and somehow Isaac had. But he didn't feel like it was something he did on his own, he felt like Isaac had let him in and it was something they wanted together, and it made them strong enough to do something impossible. Scott deliberately avoided thinking about it all day. The effort of to avoid thinking about it was exhausting. He was avoiding it because of the look on Allison's face. Scott couldn't- Scott wouldn't have been able to do something like that if she hadn't been beside him, but afterward for a split-second Allison stared at him like he was a stranger.
It made him think about the play; when Scott was younger he tried to identify with the lead but now he was convinced the guy was an idiot. He was also convinced of something else. The "Monster" was his Alpha.
When connected to Isaac, for a moment Scott was afraid that incredible strength came from his Alpha and maybe that was where Allison's doubt came from. Scott knew differently now because his Alpha gave him dreams of death, not of life. Scott knew differently because he felt without a doubt the draw of being part of a pack, it made him unafraid to consider even while under his Mom's grounding, that both her and Isaac would be safe under the same roof.
In the play it started with a guy who listened to his dead Dad, his absent maker. And then ran around trying to avenge him at the cost of the lives of everyone in his kingdom. When Scott merged with the mind of his Alpha, he too felt a rabid craving for vengeance. Of course, when he woke clearheaded he felt the responsibility to fix it and like Hamlet he didn't always tell his friends the truth of what that ephemeral Monster motivated him to do. It wasn't till Scott read the play that Scott realized one of the files in his hands, the dead girl- through his Alpha's eyes, he dreamt of her and it was on the list of victims by the Monster. It was as if his Alpha were mocking him.
The realization seemed so obvious and simple. He figured out an identity (sort of), even a motive (sort of) even if he still couldn't predict his Alpha, but this was a big leap forward. He needed to tell his friends because it could mean their deaths. After all, if his Alpha still had its hooks in his subconscious and vengeance as its motivation, then there was no knowing who it would go through to get it. Or who it would try to use. Possibly Scott.
And stupid Hamlet maybe didn't think to be honest with his friends from the outright to stop it, but Scott had no intention of being that much of an idiot or a downer. Despite that it didn't mean he knew how to tell his friends.
A shower helped a little and by the time he got out he had a second chance to do what he said he would. To better merge his divided life. His Mom texted with a tone of light amusement.
· It's just a late shift. Nothing extraordinary. ( ˘ ³˘)
Scott microwaved two frozen hamburgers. He threw together the last of the chopped salad, heaped it onto the burgers and deemed it deluxe. He packed it in a Ziploc box with a banana squeezed in for good measure. He rode the bus and texted Allison while en route. When he texted Allison that he wanted to see her soon the message didn't go through. It worried him for a second until he thought about where she was, and he thought about the "Meeting Room." Instead left a voice message that said extraordinarily little because he then remembered her parents probably listened to them. So, all he said was that he missed her at the second cram session but finished reading "Hamlet." Scott said he thought it would have been better if Horatio, Golden-Rosen whatshisname & Ophelia had been in on it from the beginning. It would have been over in half the time and the kingdom probably would have been ready for the actual invasion at the end which was totally more interesting than the lame King. Then he hung up forgetting to say goodbye because he didn't know how to say that without saying he loved her.
When he realized he hadn't seen her since this morning's two brief drive-by, which didn't sit well with him, Scott texted Lydia next. She blew him off with a one-word reply saying she was 'fine.' but Scott felt like he could come by, he wanted to come by. He remembered how insistent she was to have a face-to-face after her theory that none of them should be left alone in case they were susceptible to manipulation. Of course, it made sense now, just like all of Lydia's theories made better warning signs then suggestions, but they didn't have time for them. He asked again if he could come over, see that she got home okay and to apologize for not checking in earlier.
· Not right now, Scott.
Well, that seemed fair. He wouldn't press for now, but Scott made a mental note. He was going to check in with Lydia more often. A big part of him even wanted her to be the first he told his theory to. Not just because he wanted Lydia to know her theory was probably right but because together they could be better at not being crazy.
Scott didn't text Isaac because he wanted him to rest. And Scott definitely didn't text Stiles because that was a conversation he wanted to have face-to-face. Also, he was a little afraid to get blown off, especially after the way they left the last conversation he wanted to make sure any unreasonable flailing would be translated within reaching distance. Okay, so maybe talking directly to his friends was something he was going to have to grow better at.
Once he got to the hospital there was a lull at intake and his Mom was able to take her break right away. For the first time in a long, long time they were able to have a conversation without conflict, although there was a little wrangling over who got the bigger half of the banana as they shared a meal together the first time in nearly a week. It felt surreal to feel normal and he would fight tooth-and-nail to keep hold of it.
Playlist Available: 8tracksDOTcom / bhanesidhe / 19-were-you-relieved
Playlist: have been transferred over to youtubeDOTcom / bhanesidhe / playlist