Scott can't stand the tension in his muscles. It feels like he's folding in on himself. In a way, he thinks he is. His pack is falling apart. His desperation has turned him reckless. Accessing Corey's memories could have killed him and he did it without a second thought. Who was he turning into? What was he willing to do to stop the Dread Doctors? His own mother came home to a dead body. Sheriff Stilinski involved the law. Kira had abandoned hope, leaving Beacon Hills for the time being. Stiles was hiding something. Liam and Hayden could have been killed. Lydia didn't confide in him anymore, after he ignored her dream about Allison….
Allison.
Everything went wrong after her death. The world turned upside down and everything changed. Scott was losing control. Lines are blurring and they can't trust anyone anymore. Apparently they can't even trust each other. Scott lies down on his bed, the moonlight reaching through the window to turn his tanned skin into a frosty shade of silver. His mind drifts to Allison again. Part of him feels guilty; he should be thinking of Kira. But the other part of him feels a deep sadness knowing half of him will always rest beneath the ground. It feels unfair that he can't ever give himself entirely to someone else, that a piece of his heart will always hold onto what he and Allison would never ever have again.
Scott's chest begins to heave. He rolls over and squeezes the pillow beneath his cheek, a familiar feeling stifling his breath. Only when he starts to feel dizzy and faint does he finally reach for his inhaler, sucking in the medicine. Scott throws the container to the floor angrily, hating that he feels so weak. The more he thinks about it, the angrier he gets. His claws begin to unsheath themselves. His teeth grow into fangs and his eyes glow crimson. Blood trickles from his palms where his own claws have stuck him and a roar unleashes itself from his throat before choking off into a sob.
Lydia tosses and turns, trying to force herself to sleep. Her mother gets home and goes immediately to her room, shutting herself away from Lydia's world. Loneliness seeps into her bones as she drifts to sleep, her eyes damp with tears.
She hears a clicking noise, loud enough to wake her. Lydia stirs slightly and tries to roll over, but her arms catch against something cold and rough. Her eyes fly open and she yanks her arms forward and tries to kick her legs, but she can't move more than a few centimeters. This is a nightmare. It's nothing but a nightmare. She tries to relax, squeezing her eyes shut, but nothing happens. Her heartbeat quickens and she feels panic at the edges of her mind.
"You can stop struggling, Lydia. I'm not going to hurt you." A familiar voice sounds out behind her. Lydia lies very still, her eyes tightly shut. Please God no. Please don't do this to me. Please don't do this to her Lydia silently begs whoever is listening.
They must not hear her prayer, because suddenly there she is. Tears hit Lydia's eyes like a hurricane. They pour from her eyes although she doesn't make a sound. It's too much. She begins to shake, her heart goes into overdrive.
"You're dead. You can't be here. You're deadyou'redeadyou'redead. It's just another dream."
"Lydia, I'm right here." Allison purs. She sits on the edge of the table where Lydia lies, her face turned away, face damp with tears and sweat. When Allison reaches out to touch her, Lydia flinches, but Allison doesn't seem to notice. She strokes Lydia's cheek with the back of her hand, her skin like ice.
"So, Lydia, tell me, how is it that I wake up and yours is the first face I remember?"
Stiles paces in his room, again. He begins to worry that he'll wear a hole in the carpet. His mind feels stretched and sore from wracking his brain, trying to understand everything that has happened in the past week. His shoulder smarts and he rolls it, trying not to wince.
"You okay?" Malia asks, looking up from her homework. She's trying so hard to keep living as though everything is okay, but they all know it's not. He can tell by the hard line of her mouth that she's as tense as he is.
"Yeah. Fine." He answers, stopping to rub the back of his neck. "I just hate waiting around for the next thing to happen. I hate not doing anything while people are dying. We're so out of our league here. We don't even stand a chance against these guys, Malia."
Malia chews on her bottom lip, but she doesn't offer any solace. "You should probably do some homework, Stiles."
"Homework? Are you kidding me?" Stiles says incredulously.
"Look, there's nothing we can do right now. Okay? Nothing. You don't think I've tried thinking of something?" Malia says, brows furrowed. "I've laid awake listening to your heartbeat and smelling your anxiety for weeks now. I'm just as worried as you are."
Stiles sighs and walks over to Malia, gently rubbing her shoulder. "I know...I know you are. I'm sorry." He leans down and presses a kiss to Malia's cheek, but something feels different between them.
"Stiles, have you heard from Lydia at all today?" Malia asks. If it were Scott she were talking to, he would hear the erratic beating of her heart, but this is Stiles and for now, he suspects nothing.
"No. Nothing all day. I called her like 3 times though." He flops backwards onto the bed.
"She's probably just busy."
"Scott said she seemed really off when he talked to her last. He said she wasn't making sense. Something about Allison." Stiles says, looking at the ceiling. He sits up quickly. "I need to go and check on her."
"Hey!" Malia says. Stiles is already slipping his jacket on and rummaging for his keys. "Stiles!"
He looks up at her, his eyes full of worry, dark circles a bruise against his pale skin. Malia stands up and puts her hand on his arms. Her eyes are dark and determined. "I'll go. Okay? You need sleep and I can get there faster than you can."
"Malia, I'll be fine." Stiles says, trying to step past her, but she blocks his way and crosses her arms.
"Please, stay here. I'm sure she's completely fine." Malia says, even though she can feel the lie beneath her own words. "It's getting late. Just let me go and see her and you stay here and get some sleep. You need look like shit. And you reek. You need to relax."
"You're so sweet. Just, I don't even know how you do it…." Stiles says, rolling his eyes, then pulls her to him. Their lips press together in a kiss, but Malia's stomach doesn't do the same backflips that assaulted her belly when they first started dating.
"Shut up." She says with a small smile. "Back in a flash."
Before Stiles can respond, she's gone.
It only takes Malia 15 minutes on foot to reach Lydia's house. The lights inside are off, but Malia creeps carefully to the window Lydia keeps cracked for her, just in case. Her eyes adjust to the pitch black and she allows her other senses to take over. There is nothing to hear save the soft snores of Mrs. Martin, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, and the hum of a ceiling fan. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Perfume, soap, cherry wood, laundry...it all hits her nose forcefully. Something smells wrong amidst the familiar scents, but Malia can't quite detect it. She leaps up the stairs, taking 2 at a time as quietly as possible.
The door to Lydia's room is cracked open. Malia stops in her tracks at the sight of the door; a hole has been punched through the wood, small but dark and ragged around the edges. Something is wrong. The scent of fear and sweat hit her, followed quickly by the acrid smell of chemicals. When she opens the door, the room is devoid of any life. Everything is in it's place, the sheets of her bed are rumpled as though she merely left them only moments ago. The whole room is organized and clean, just as Lydia likes to keep it. If Malia didn't know Lydia, she wouldn't have noticed the absence of a small detail. She looks at the empty wall mount where one of Allison's silver tipped arrows normally sits and her heart flutters like a bird trapped in a cage. The arrow is glaringly absent and suddenly something seems very wrong. Malia leaves quickly and quietly, shutting the window behind her. When she's some distance from Lydia's house she pulls out her phone and calls Scott. He sounds different, his voice rough and sad.
"Scott, something's wrong. Something's really really wrong." Malia says into the phone.
"What happened?" Scott asks, his voice suddenly alert.
"It's Lydia. Lydia's missing. Scott, someone's taken Lydia."
Scott's silence feels more like a roar.