Several weeks later…
"It well may be, that we will never meet again
In this lifetime, so let me say before we part:
So much of me is made from what I've learned from you.
You'll be with me, like a handprint on my heart.
And now whatever way our stories end,
I know you have rewritten mine by being my friend.
Like a ship blown from its mooring by a wind off the sea,
Like a seed dropped by a sky bird in a distant wood.
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But, because I knew you…"
The line faded softly, dispersing before it could bounce off the stark white hospital walls. Instead, all that remained was the hum of machinery, the steady beeping of the heart rate monitor. People were talking in the hallway, but it was hushed and indistinguishable. It'd been the same soundtrack for weeks, never ending. Only shallow breathing and the occasional full-volume voice of a doctor or a parent coming in to check on the situation. The same monotonous routine ever since formal. And I hated it.
"Come on, Lyd," I urged. "Your turn to come in."
I ran my thumb across the back of her stiff hand. Her bruises had faded slightly, and the color had returned to her skin, but the limb was just as still as it had been through the entire break. No sign of life beyond a pulse and the slight rise and fall of her chest. I'd never gone so long without hearing Lydia Martin's voice, and after sitting by her bedside for so long, its absence was slowly breaking me.
"Lydia, please," I begged, cupping both my hands around hers. "You can't just miss your cue like this. Don't leave me hanging."
Lydia's eyelids twitched slightly, and I held my breath, but it was no use. She remained unresponsive. I sighed, and for the millionth time since we'd checked in, felt my eyes prickle with tears.
"Lydia…you need to wake up. I need you to wake up. And…it's not just me. My mom needs you to wake up. Your mom needs you to wake up. All the kids at school. I mean, who's gonna be Queen Bee if you're not there? Who's gonna be the—the envy of all the girls and the wet dream of every guy, huh?"
I tried to force a chuckle, but the sound came out weak and broken. If anything, the weak attempt made my eyes water even more.
"There's just so much we need to talk about. I mean, you're causing an uproar, as usual. Everyone's worried sick about you. Even Jackson came to visit—not that he came when I was awake, or left anything for you. One of the nurses just said they saw him hanging around. He's still a jackass, but I guess he saved you, so…"
I paused to glance at the heart rate monitor, still beeping steadily. I wanted to say that he'd saved her, but we couldn't be sure of that yet. The doctors said that she was well on her way to healing, that she would wake up soon if everything went according to plan, but the doctors still thought this was a mountain lion attack. I knew better. For now, she was stuck somewhere in between. She wasn't up and talking, but at least she wasn't…
"I have to talk to you about Scott and Allison too," I said, changing the subject that only I had been thinking about. "They're back together now. Or at least, I think they are. They were dancing a lot at formal, and they kissed, so…guess that means they can go back to being giggly and sickeningly adorable together, right?"
Lydia's eyebrow twitched, perfectly conveying an emotion she should not be able to feel while she was unconscious.
"Oh, come on. Don't look at me like that." I glanced at the open door, biting my lip before I sighed. "Truth is, I don't know where Stiles and I are right now. I mean, we danced and he almost kissed me, and then I did kiss him, but…it already feels like forever ago. That's why I need you awake. You…you said that my love life was a hundred and ten percent your business. I mean, I just had my first kiss and I don't know what I'm doing or what I'm supposed to say to him or…"
I paused, staring down at the sallow, lifeless face on the bed in front of me, with sunken eyes and chapped lips. Her hair had been carefully arranged around her, but the strawberry blonde curls just looked dull and limp. This was barely a shadow of the real Lydia Martin.
"I…I just need my best friend back. I'm not gonna be able to do anything without you, Lydia. You can't just…you can't be…"
My brain wouldn't let me finish the sentence. That tiny voice of guilt was still screaming in the back of my head, the way it had the very first night: "This is my fault. This is all my fault." Lydia had only been outside because I'd run out of the dance. Lydia had only been attacked because I hadn't let Peter turn me. Lydia had been oblivious to everything going on because I chose to lie to her about everything. If she'd known what was outside, maybe she wouldn't have come. She wouldn't have run after me, unaware and unprotected, if she'd known there was a psychopathic, murdering Alpha werewolf on the loose.
She deserved to know just as much as I did. She was friends with me, and Allison, had been attacked just as often as I had. Hell, werewolves were the reason Jackson Whittemore broke her heart and kicked her to the curb, because he wanted to be some supernatural lacrosse star. I'd thought that I was protecting her, but if that were true, Lydia wouldn't be the one lying motionless in a hospital bed. It should have been me. I was the reason she had gone out there, so if…if Lydia died…it was going to be my fault.
I'd started crying again, warm tears slipping down my face faster than I could stop them. I was almost surprised I could still cry, frankly. Somehow, my eyes just refused to dry out.
I took a shaky breath, retracting my hands and clasping them in front of me.
"Lydia," I begged again. "Please wake up. I'm—I'm so sorry. It's my fault and—and when you wake up I promise I'm going to fix everything. I'm gonna tell you everything, okay? No more lies. I—I'll tell you about the murders and Peter and—and Kate and Allison's family and Scott and Derek and everything. I'll tell you what a fucking dumbass Jackson is and about the video store and the formal. I promise! I'm gonna tell you, I just—God! Please, Lydia! Please, please, please wake up!"
The machines continued to hum. The heart rate monitor continued to beep. Lydia's chest rose and fell at an even pace. But that was the only response I got.
I let out a strangled sob as I began to cry openly once more, my head falling into my hands so I could knot my fingers in my hair. I rocked back and forth in the chair, trying to keep my sniffling quiet until I could stop the tears. Then I just sat there in silence, raw eyes staring at the floor, the last few tears dripping off the tip of my nose and down onto the tiles below. I watched with mild interest as they collected on the floor, falling slower and slower until they finally stopped. I felt hollow, somehow. Like I'd shed all my emotions and thoughts with my tears, let them all splatter at my feet and become a shell of myself. God, I was tired.
A hesitant knock at the door made my head shoot up, fingers quickly wiping at my eyes. My assurance that I was fine died on my tongue as I turned to the door. It wasn't a nurse or a doctor, my mom or Natalie. Instead, a very apprehensive Scott McCall stood in the hallway, one hand still raised to knock, the other shoved deep in the pocket of his sweatshirt.
I swallowed thickly, sniffling and running a hand over my hair to erase any evidence of my distress. But I knew it was useless. Scott could probably hear my crying from down the hall, even if he couldn't smell the salt of my tears on the floor.
"Hey, it's fine," he assured me. "If anyone's got reason to cry right now, it's you."
The statement alone felt like a punch to the gut, and I bit my lip hard. Scott's eyes went wide as he backpedaled like an Olympian.
"No! No, I just meant—she's your friend and—uh…sorry…sh-should I just come back later…?"
"No, it's…fine…"
I nodded slightly and Scott edged into the room. He shut the door behind him without asking, looking around in a would-be-casual sort of way.
"You got a haircut," I observed, raising a feeble hand to point at his head. His mop of brown hair had been cut short on the sides, trimmed so it no longer fell in his eyes. He looked older, more mature with his clean-cut hair and forest green sweater.
Scott smirked, bobbing his head in agreement, but narrowing his eyes. "Uh, you remember that time you made fun of me for asking about your clothes instead of asking the obvious question? Cause…that's kinda what you're doing right now."
That coaxed a smile out of me. That had been the first time I'd visited Scott's house, right after I'd found out he was a werewolf. The grin slipped off my face as I remembered that I'd been in a sling that day. That was the first time Lydia and I had been attacked by Peter. And now it had happened again.
"What are you doing here?" I asked softly.
Scott's face quickly became serious, getting back to the matter at hand.
"I wanna try something." He rolled up his sleeves and took a few steps toward Lydia's bed. I opened my mouth to protest on instinct, but he sent me a reassuring look. "I promise, I'm not gonna hurt her. Exact opposite, hopefully."
At his insistence, I bit my lip again, perching myself back in my chair with a twinge of worry still etched on my face.
Scott took a deep breath before stepping up to the hospital bed. Cautiously, he lifted Lydia's left forearm, wrapping his hand around it as gently as he could. Then his eyes fluttered shut and there were a few seconds of silence. I barely suppressed a gasp when the veins on his arms suddenly began to swell. I could see them pulsing through his skin, pumping what seemed to be black blood through his body.
"Scott…"
"It's fine," he mumbled, eyes shut tight in concentration.
I grudgingly held my silence, gripping the arms of the uncomfortable hospital chair for all I was worth.
Eventually, the veins ebbed away one more, leaving Scott's tan skin completely smooth. He pried his eyes open and set Lydia's arm gently back on the blankets.
"What the hell was that?" I asked in concern. "Are you okay?"
Scott shook out his hand, flexing the fingers experimentally. "Yeah, fine. I just took some of her pain away."
"You…what?"
"Took some of her pain away," he repeated with a small shrug. "Just a little bit. Apparently, it's another perk of being a werewolf. First time I've used it on a human, though. Deaton's been teaching me to help animals down at the clinic."
I let my eyes slide back to Lydia. There didn't seem to be much of a difference. Her skin was still sickly white, her limbs still, her heartbeat steady, but that small crease between her eyebrows did seem to have faded a bit. I cleared my throat.
"Wow. Well…um…thanks…"
He waved off the praise, sidling around the end of the hospital bed to face me. "How are you?"
"Fine," I said, far too quickly.
"How's your shoulder?"
"Stiff." I glared at the thin padding that still stretched the length of my right shoulder. The stitches had come and gone, but there were still lines marking the place where Peter had slashed me with his claws. "They're giving me ointment and everything, but I don't know what it's doing. I just try not to move it too much."
"Well, here," Scott offered, raising his hand and taking a few steps in my direction.
"No!"
Scott halted immediately, raising both his hands in surrender. Almost as if he was on the wrong end of a gun.
I grimaced, and cleared my throat. "Um…no. Really. I'm fine."
It didn't lessen the confusion on his face. He lowered his hands, his eyes narrowing at me as he took in my hunched position in the chair.
"Something's wrong."
"Yeah," I laughed feebly, rolling my eyes. "No shit, Sherlock. Take a wild guess."
I gestured to Lydia's bed, but Scott shook his head.
"No…it's me."
"Scott—"
"Sadie, I am so sorry that all of this happened." He spoke resolutely, without room for argument, his voice grave. "I mean it. You've been so great and helped out whenever you could, and I am so sorry. And—and I know that the other night was crazy, and that—that everything sort of became real, you know? Because you hadn't really seen me or Derek like that, but…if you…if you don't want to do this anymore…I get it. I'm really sorry you got hurt. And Lydia. And…I'm gonna make sure this never happens again."
He stood in front of me, playing with his hands as he waited for some kind of response. The only thing I could do was stare at him, my mouth handing open. Scott seemed to take that as some sort of silent of agreement, because after a few seconds he nodded and shuffled back.
"Right. I'm just gonna…"
"No!" I said quickly, stopping his retreat to the door. Scott turned back, his big, brown puppy dog eyes so downtrodden that it sent a pang of guilt through me. "Scott, it's not that. God, it's not that at all. It's…it's me."
"It's not you, it's me?" he asked skeptically.
I rolled my arms, crossing my arms over my chest. "Yeah, it's just…I'm…I'm the last person you should be helping right now. Not after what I did."
"What?" Scott blinked, looking positively dumbfounded. "Sadie, what are you talking about?"
"At Derek's," I said weakly. I was almost afraid to say the words out loud. "With you and…and with Kate…"
It was all I could bring myself to say on the subject, and I quickly ducked my head. I hadn't had occasion to talk about what had happened that night at the Hale house, but the scene had played on repeat in my head for weeks. Whenever I wasn't crying over Lydia, I was crying over that. Whenever I closed my eyes, I was staring down the barrel of the gun. Sometimes, it was Scott's face on the other end. Sometimes, it was Kate's. The spark of satisfaction I'd felt after shooting her felt like it had scorched my insides, leaving the nerve endings damaged. I felt dead inside, and I didn't know how to fix it. I didn't know if I deserved to be fixed.
Scott pulled up a spare chair without invitation, sitting down next to me. I didn't have the strength to look at him. I just stared at his shoelaces as they dragged on the white tile. He really needed to wash his shoes.
"If this is about me…I don't care," he said softly.
I looked up at him in bewilderment. "W-what?"
"I heard everything that she said to you. Kate got in your head, but when it came down to it, you didn't do it. You didn't shoot me."
"I—I almost shot you, Scott!" I balked. "I had a gun pointed at your leg, and I almost pulled the trigger. And for what? Some—some sick power trip? If you don't care about that, then…you're insane."
"Maybe," he said, as casually as if we'd been talking about lacrosse. "I trust you. You didn't shoot me. Even if you had, I would've healed. But you didn't, because that's not who you are."
"I wouldn't be too sure about that…"
I could feel him watching me, but I was already doubled over and avoiding his gaze. Short of running out of the room, there was no way I could hide any more than I already was. He just looked at me, and this time, he didn't do me the courtesy of breaking the silence. I was going to have to do it myself. His eyes drew the words out of me, almost the same way he'd drawn the pain out of Lydia's arm.
"Scott, I…I killed her…"
"No, you didn't," Scott said firmly. "Peter killed Kate."
"And what if he didn't?" I demanded, glaring at him. "Huh? What if Peter hadn't shown up? What if I'd shot Kate in the leg, and then the shoulder, in the middle of the woods, miles from town, and Peter had never shown? Would she still be alive? Or would she have bled out on her way to the hospital? I—I shot her, Scott! For no reason! Just because I was angry, and scared, and because…because she said that I wouldn't. God, I—I was just trying to prove a point…that I was strong and powerful and…and…how does that make me any different from Kate?"
I let my gaze fall back to the floor, too ashamed to look at anything but the scuffed toes of my shoes. For weeks, every time I'd closed my eyes, it had been another nightmare, and if it wasn't Scott or Kate at the end of my gun, it was Peter and his peculiar smile.
"You practically gift-wrapped Kate for me. Thank you."
Scott could talk semantics all he wanted. Peter might have struck the final blow, but I had Kate's blood all over my hands. The what if's had been plaguing me day and night, with every waking and sleeping moment. What if Peter had never shown up? What if Kate had bled out? What if Mr. Argent had put Kate down first? What if he'd shot me for shooting his sister? What if I'd never shot her at all? Would she have been able to fight off Peter? If she had her gun, and her arm, and her leg, all in working condition, would she still be alive? If she'd lived, would she have killed Scott? Derek? Did someone always have to die?
The whole situation made my head spin. But at least it was out in the open now. No one could whisper it behind my back, have hushed conversations about when I was going to snap and go off the deep end. I knew that I'd fucked up, that I was fucked up. Scott didn't even need to yell at me. He could just get up and walk out. He'd explain to Stiles, and that would be the end of it.
"Do you remember that night we got locked in the school?"
I blinked away my fresh tears, trying to get a better view of Scott's face. He sounded utterly calm, even though his voice was quiet.
"Um…yeah," I muttered. "Yeah, I…I remember…"
"So you remember how I almost killed you? And Stiles, and Allison, and Lydia, and Jackson. I wolfed out, and…and I wanted to kill you."
"Scott," I said in disbelief. "That's…that is not the same thing. You're a werewolf."
"And? You know how to fire a gun. That's what makes you dangerous. Being a werewolf makes me dangerous. And I've almost hurt you a lot more than you've ever hurt anyone else."
"Almost," I reiterated irritably. "Scott, I shot her twice, point blank. If you hadn't stopped me—"
"And if you hadn't taught me how to control myself, I would've killed you at the school. You and Stiles stopped me from killing everyone."
"No, Scott—it's not the—that's not how it—stop!" I could barely complete a sentence, baffled and furious that he was trying to argue with me. "Peter was controlling you! With a supernatural bond! You didn't have a choice! I did!"
"Peter was controlling a part of me," Scott countered. "Being a werewolf is a part of who I am, but…I think everyone has that side to them, you know? Something dark, that makes them dangerous. You have one, and so does Stiles, and Allison. And I think after formal, maybe Kate was just like Peter. She brought out your dark side."
I shifted in my chair. I didn't like that idea. I didn't like that idea at all. The Sadie Bennet that had left Menlo Park would not have been capable of shooting someone, no matter how many murders that person had committed. Had I really changed that much in just a few months? Or had I always been some power-hungry psycho hiding behind a mask? Maybe that's who I'd really been all along.
"Sadie, you didn't kill Kate," Scott promised me. "You can't worry about what could have happened if things were different. All you can do is decide what you're gonna do next time. Everyone has to learn to control their dark side. And if I did it, then you definitely can. You're loads better than I am."
He gently bumped his knee into mind, and I almost smiled, but the muscles in my face felt just as dead as my insides. I folded forward again, resting my arms on my knees.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but…I don't know. I mean, they thought Anakin wasn't gonna go dark side either, you know?"
"Who?"
There was a beat of silence as I lifted my head to stare at him.
"Anakin," I repeated expectantly. "As in…Vader…"
"What?" Scott asked, looking even more confused than before.
"Seriously? Scott, how do you not know who Darth Vader is?"
"Oh!" His eyes brightened in recognition. "That's like, the black robot from Star Wars, right?"
My jaw dropped. A moment later, I had to clap a hand over my mouth as I burst into laughter. I laughed until my muscles ached, sore from disuse. I hadn't laughed in days, in weeks. I couldn't remember laughing since I'd been sitting on the bleachers with Isaac and Erica, talking about how ridiculous Mr. Harris must've looked as a child and which boys on the lacrosse team were too dumb to know the difference between left and right. I laughed until I had to wipe tears from my eyes, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't mind crying.
"Oh my God," I wheezed, clutching my stomach. "I'm gonna pretend I never heard you say that."
"What?" Scott asked, laughing right back at me. "He is right?!"
"No! He's—he's a Jedi! He's just a guy. He was this really great guy, with friends, a wife, a lot of power, but…it went to his head…and he got scared, and…used it for all the wrong reasons. And then it turns out he was a lot more dangerous than anyone expected…"
The laughter quickly died away as I remembered what we'd been talking about in the first place. I bit my lip hard, but Scott nudged me again.
"Well, I don't think you're dangerous. Maybe the protective kind—I mean, I wouldn't mess with you—but you're not evil."
"Is it possible not to be both?" I asked helplessly.
Scott decided not to answer that. He just looked at me, but the answer was there. He should have been yelling at me, or horrified by the sight of me, ready to turn his back. But instead, he held my gaze, sitting next to me without fear of what I was capable of.
It hit me after a few seconds that this must've been how Scott felt the first time I'd visited him. I didn't have the excuse of some supernatural bite. I was completely human when I'd hurt people. Maybe I didn't have superpowers, but I still felt like a monster. Scott didn't see it that way. Instead, he was just as willing to help me with my human problems as I'd been to help him with his furry one. As long as I was willing to do better, he didn't care. And he probably couldn't see it, but to me, that was even more amazing.
"Hey," he said after a few seconds. "Would you, uh…not tell Stiles about the Darth Vader thing? He'd probably kill me."
I giggled, shaking my head at him. "Yeah, absolutely."
"Thanks."
"No, I mean Stiles would definitely kill you, and it would be painful and bloody. To be honest, you say that again and I'll probably help him."
I'd expected him to pout, make some joke about how teaming up on him wouldn't be fair. But Scott's face morphed into a wide smirk, and I felt my stomach drop.
"So," he drawled. "You and Stiles."
"Shut up."
I tried to elbow him in the ribs, but Scott grabbed my arm before I could make it.
"Hey," he offered, rubbing his thumb across the back of my hand. "It's gonna be okay."
I allowed myself a small smile, and Scott grinned back. I knew that he couldn't actually know things were going to be okay. Lydia was hospitalized. Derek was an Alpha. Allison's family knew that Scott was a werewolf, that I'd attacked Kate. There was no telling what was going to happen to any of us. But I was too tired to dispute the lie for now.
My right arm began to tingle slightly. I looked down, only to find that the black veins had reappeared on Scott's arm, the one that was holding my hand.
"Scott," I scolded, wrenching my arm out of his reach.
"See?" he asked proudly. "Don't you feel better?"
The truth was that I did. I hadn't exactly been in pain before, but this was still an improvement. My arm felt lighter, less itchy and cramped, but I was too annoyed that Scott had tricked me to give him the satisfaction of knowing it.
"No, actually. I feel gross and terrible and diseased. And I probably reek of wolf."
Scott rolled his eyes, but before he could reply, the door swung open and my mom strode into the room, balancing paper bags in her arms.
"Hi, sweetie, so I got you—" She paused when she noticed Scott, and dropped the bags onto one of the hospital chairs. "Oh, sorry. Sweeties plural."
"Hi, Mrs. Bennet," Scott chuckled, brushing off his pants as he stood.
"Scott," she replied with a smile. "I didn't know you were coming by. Are you staying for lunch?"
"No, no, I was just heading out."
"Oh, well, if you're sure. Tell Allison I said hi."
Scott paused on his way to the door, almost imperceptibly. I noticed for a moment that his smile seemed forced, and he gave a tight nod. "Uh, yeah. Will do."
"Hey," I called him back. For the first time in days, I got up from my chair without necessity. I crossed the room and pulled Scott into a hug, the best I could muster with my arm taped up. "Thanks for coming."
"Hey, no problem," he said, squeezing back. "Couldn't let Stiles pull all the weight, right?"
I pulled back and bit my lip, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "How…how is he?"
Scott smirked, earning himself a solid glare.
"He's fine. Dead asleep in the waiting room. Just waiting on you." He raised his eyebrows suggestively and I smacked his shoulder, making him laugh. "Okay! Okay, I'm going!"
"I'll talk to you later," I added with a probing glance. I wanted to know why he was so hesitant about Allison, but I had a feeling it was a conversation we couldn't have around my mother. Allison might have been fine with dating a werewolf, but something told me that none of our parents would feel the same.
Scott nodded in understanding and ducked out of the room. The door had been shut for less than a second before my mother went off.
"Would you please just go out there and talk to him?!"
"No." I grabbed a bottle of water out of the shopping bag and returned to my chair. "I have to stay with Lydia."
"Lydia's not going anywhere, sweetheart. She'd want you to be happy."
"Mom, I'm fine. If it were me—"
"Don't say that."
"If it were me, Lydia wouldn't leave either."
"And would you want her frozen by your bedside, looking as tired as you do?" Mom snapped back. "You know if she could she would be the first person to kick you out of here. You don't even have to leave the hospital! Just go talk to Stiles."
"It's…" I hesitated, taking a shaky breath. "It's not that simple, Mom."
"What's not simple about it?! You kissed him and he kissed you back!"
I shook my head, stalling for time by taking a sip from the water bottle. I'd told my mother everything I could about what happened Friday night. I couldn't just not tell her about my first kiss. That wasn't the way our relationship worked. So I'd given her a highly edited version of the story, one that lined up with the story we gave Sheriff Stilinski.
Stiles and I had danced at formal. I panicked and ran out—at which point my mother had looked ready to smack me—and then Lydia and I had been attacked. When I'd bumped into Stiles in the hospital, he and Jackson had taken me out so I could breathe. Jackson had pissed off on his own, leaving Stiles and I alone to talk things out. He'd tried to calm me down and, in the haze of my distress, I'd kissed him. He'd kissed back, but we'd both decided we should stop. I was injured and emotionally compromised. And that was close enough to the truth that I didn't feel too bad about lying.
But I couldn't tell my mom the whole truth. I couldn't tell her that I was petrified of what Stiles was going to say when I saw him next. Had Scott already told him what happened with Kate? Had Allison? Was I going to have to explain to him that I'd had a hand in Kate's death? Scott was ready to forgive me, but I couldn't be sure Stiles would do the same. He might never look at me the same way again. So, just for now, I wanted to preserve the memory of the last time he'd looked at me, when he'd been so sure that I was a good person, the saint that kept him sane. If he never looked at me like that again, I wanted to make sure I remember what that felt like.
Mom had continued to push the subject, just the way she had all through break, but eventually she gave up. I held her at bay with a refrain of "it's complicated" and "I'm fine," until she was too tired of listening to argue with me. I knew she wanted me to be happy, and that she loved Stiles to death. She was excited to watch me go through all of my firsts—kiss, date, boyfriend, sex and whatever. I was just too busy worrying I was going to fuck it all up.
Natalie joined us a few minutes later, smiling tiredly and taking the seat on the opposite side of Lydia. They talked for a but, trying to distract themselves from the reality of the situation, but I tuned them out. What food was talking when Lydia was comatose?
I gave up on my food and returned to my usual position, head resting on the bed with Lydia's hand clasped in one of mine. I was just waiting for some sign that she was going to be okay, something more than a pulse or a twitch. The first few times her fingers had moved in my hands, I'd freaked out and waved down any nurse or doctor I could. They kept telling me that it was completely normal. Lydia was unconscious, but her brain was still firing on all cylinders. Sometimes she was going to twitch, her muscles responding to stray commands from her nerves. It didn't mean she was going to wake up. So the first time her hand twitched in mine, I thought nothing of it. When her fingers bent in my hand, I disregarded it. It wasn't until her whole hand tightened around mine that I lifted my head.
"Lydia?" She didn't respond, but I felt her fingers wiggling in my hand. I jumped out of my chair, my forgotten sandwich falling to the floor, our mothers starting in surprise. "Lydia?!"
"Sadie?" Natalie had had stood up too, mirroring my position on the other side of the bed. "Sadie, what is it?"
"She—she squeezed my hand. I think she's—"
Lydia let out a quiet groan, her head lolling to the side. Natalie gasped, hands flying up to her mouth as she stared down at her daughter. My mom batted her on the arm and backed out of the room.
"I'll go get the doctor."
"Lyd?" I repeated. I had to restrain myself from squeezing her hand tight enough to break it. "Lydia?"
"Hm?"
Lydia hummed, returning the pressure on my hand as her eyes fluttered open. She seemed completely normal, as if she were waking up from a long nap rather than a coma that had lasted weeks. Her mother swooped down on her, smothering her face in kisses while I collapsed forward and face-planted into the bed, laughing and crying from relief. She was alive. She was okay.
Lydia was thoroughly unamused by the fuss we were causing. Generally, she loved being the center of attention, but at the moment, all she wanted was to pretend nothing had happened at all. That meant repeating to all of us that she was fine, and that she wanted to go home. The doctors had tried to make us leave the room while they checked her condition, but I'd point blank refused. Lydia didn't seem to mind my insistence, though. As the doctors reviewed her vitals and inspected her wounds, she reached out and grabbed my hand again. I knew she was too proud to say anything, but we both wanted some kind of reassurance.
In the end, the doctors decided there wasn't much to be done. The bite in Lydia's side was holding up, and had done a considerable—yet not supernatural—amount of healing while she was asleep. The medication had kept her under so her body could recover, but there was no immediate need to keep her hospitalized. She'd have to stay a few more nights, just for observation, but if everything remained stable, she was free to go…and then she'd have to come back for a check-up every few days.
It was a hopeful diagnosis, but Lydia had thrown a fit.
"I'm not stupid, okay?! I just want to go back to my own house and sleep in my own bed, not go traipsing through the woods or jumping out of airplanes! And if there's nothing else you people can do than watch me sleep, then a team of doctors breathing down my neck is not going to help me heal!"
Natalie had feebly apologized for her daughter's behavior, but my mom hung back with me and laughed. A defiant Lydia was a healthy Lydia. If she was already arguing with authority figures, she was well on her way to recovery.
All her attitude did tucker her out though. As soon as the doctors left, she'd curled up in bed and was dozing before her face hit the pillow. I took up the chair Natalie had been occupying earlier, right next to Lydia's head, and stayed there for the next few hours. Natalie and my mother had both offered to watch over her in my stead, so I could go stretch my legs, get some food—insert pointedly raised eyebrows—and talk to my friends. But I simply shook my head, pointing out that I was still holding Lydia's hand, and any attempt to move might wake her up. The only thing that tested my resolve was the arrival of Lydia's father.
I'd met Jeff Martin a handful of times over the summer. He'd been cordial, but he wasn't a good enough actor to hide his bitterness about my mother and I moving into what he still considered to be his house. He saw us as intruders, and no matter how many times he smiled or thanked us for watching over his girls, it was clear he was looking down his nose at us.
I didn't like the way he looked at my mom like she was some sort of wounded animal on the side of the road, incapable of taking care of herself since her husband died. I didn't like the way he spoke to Natalie, like she was a hollow caricature of an angry ex-wife, devoid of any purpose besides nagging him. But the real reason I didn't like Mr. Martin was the way he looked at Lydia.
Maybe it was because she'd chosen to stay with her mother, but he seemed to think Lydia was a teenage tragedy waiting to happen. He was constantly making slighting comments about how she dressed, how much time she spent socializing, or the people she associated with. He seemed certain that she was being corrupted by all the bad influences around her; for example, me.
I seriously doubted that Mr. Martin had ever liked me. He was of the opinion that Lydia "adopting" a damaged girl from an incompetent, single-parent home was only going to take her bad places. Her grades would drop, she'd start acting out, and her life would effectively spiral out of control. I didn't really give a shit about what he thought of me; I didn't see him enough to care. But the fact that he thought so little of Lydia, that she was incapable of being her own person—that really ticked me off.
Mom had asked me to play nice, if not for Lydia's sake, then for Natalie's. Tensions were high enough without unwarranted animosity. I was trying really hard to comply, but it was really very difficult. I'd already passed up several opportunities to shut him down with a scathing retort, but I managed to hold my tongue. Still, the peace could only last for so long.
Mom had evacuated Natalie to the gift shop, trying to keep some distance between her and her ex-husband. That left me with Lydia and her father, trying to herd Lydia into the bathroom. I helped her up from the bed while he hovered awkwardly.
"Do you want some help getting in the shower?" he asked.
Lydia and I both paused to glare at him.
"Wow," I offered, "that's really considerate. Driving to the hospital weeks after your daughter gets attacked just so you can help her shower when she wakes up. Not creepy at all."
Jeff folded his arms over his chest, replying through clenched teeth. "I'm gonna take that as a no."
"Maybe if I was four," Lydia shot groggily. "And still taking bubble baths."
"Right. I'll just wait outside then…where it's slightly less sarcastic."
He glared at me for a moment before heading out into the waiting room. I flipped off the door as it closed behind him, making Lydia giggle. Unfortunately, that jostled her side, and she winced.
"Seriously, though, are you gonna be okay?" I asked in concern. "I'll stay if you need me to."
"Oh my God, why are you so obsessed with me?" She batted me, rolling her eyes at the unamused look I gave her. "I'll be fine, Sadie. I think I can manage to shower alone without having a complete breakdown."
"Okay. If you're sure."
I patted her arm and headed for the door, but she called me back before I could make it to the hallway.
"Sadie? Just…thank you…"
I smiled, nodding bracingly. "Yell if you need me."
I ducked out of the room for the first time in days, gazing around awkwardly. The waiting room seemed almost foreign at this point; I was so used to the four walls of Lydia's room. But there was the desk with the nurses on duty, a few hallways leading to more hospital rooms, and the small collection of chairs along the wall. I bit my lip, noticing the familiar sleeping figure.
Stiles had draped his lanky body across three different hospital chairs, balancing on the arms while his head hung upside down at the end of the row. I wasn't sure how many times he'd gone home, but without fail, he'd been back every day, waiting on the other side of the door for news of me or Lydia. Someone must have told him something, judging by the "Get Well" balloon that was bobbing gently above him. I held back a giggle as he mumbled in his sleep, mouthing words I couldn't hear as his leg twitched, one thrown out in front of him while the other was propped up on the wall.
"All week?" Mr. Martin's whiny voice asked someone from behind me. "Can't you make him leave?"
"Actually, I learned a long time ago that I can't make Stiles do anything."
I turned to find Lydia's father glaring down at Mrs. McCall, who would have looked amused if he wasn't being so rude to her. He seemed to have pulled her away from her job to complain about Stiles.
"You can't make him leave the premises? What are they paying you for if you can't maintain an orderly atmosphere for your patients?"
"Probably the medical upkeep of patients like your daughter," Mrs. McCall replied shortly. "I'm a nurse, Mr. Martin, not crowd control. Stiles isn't the one causing a scene. Besides, he's not here for your daughter. He's here for that daughter."
I froze on the spot as she gestured in my direction. I felt my face heat up and reluctantly shuffled in their direction.
"Uh…hi, Mrs. McCall…"
"Sadie," she replied with a smirk.
Mr. Martin pursed his lips, pointing toward Stiles's spot on the chairs. "Belong to you?"
"Oh no, he doesn't belong to me. You might have missed it, but they outlawed slavery a few years ago."
Mrs. McCall struggled to contain a laugh as he glowered at me.
"Unbelievable," he huffed, and stormed off.
I watched him go with a supreme feeling of satisfaction, but I knew I'd probably pay for it later. I turned apologetically back to Mrs. McCall.
"Sorry about that."
"It's fine, Sadie. Not your fault. Well"—she paused to nod in Stiles's direction—"that might be your fault, but I don't hear him complaining."
"How is he?" I asked, wrapping my arms around my torso.
"Strange. Unconscious. Worried," she offered. "Probably a lot better if you'd actually talk to him."
"Yeah, I know, I just…I don't know what to say."
"You want in on a secret?" she asked with a grin. "None of us do. That's the fun of dating."
I raised an eyebrow incredulously, and turned back to Stiles just as one of his feet slid off the chair. It hit the ground with a thud and his whole body jerked in response. He somehow managed to stay perched where he was, miraculously still asleep. Mrs. McCall tilted her head to the side skeptically.
"Why don't you start with waking him up? Good luck."
She hurried away before I could argue, abandoning me with Stiles and no idea how to begin.
I edged toward the row of chairs he had claimed for himself, watching him sleep. Where was I even supposed to start after everything we'd been through? I'd told him we had to wait until Lydia was okay, but now she was awake. Would he be awaiting some kind of forthright confession? Did I randomly bring the subject around in conversation? How was that supposed to work? "I think we need to talk?" That sounded cliché and desperate, but I couldn't just poke him awake and say, "So how about that kiss, yeah?" "Sorry for ignoring you for several weeks. Do you still want to date?" "Hey, did you hear I shot someone? Does that make me less attractive?"
I settled for perching myself on the edge of one of his chairs, the end one that his foot had just vacated. I took a shaky breath, glancing at his sleeping form out of the corner of my eye. Was I just going to sit here until he woke up? Was I going to wake him up?
Before I could make a decision, Stiles's left foot fell from its place on the wall and kicked me in the back.
"Ow!"
Stiles groaned, his face scrunching up as he adjusted his position in the chair.
"Stiles?" I asked tentatively, glad that he was coming around on his own. If I woke him up on purpose, I needed to have a reason. If he woke up himself, maybe we could delay the conversation just a little longer.
Stiles hummed in response to his name, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. It was infuriatingly cute, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning too wide.
"Thanks for waiting for me," I tried.
"Sadie," he mumbled, his head lolling to the side.
I rolled my eyes and began to wring my hands in front of me. "Yeah, it's me. Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty."
Stiles didn't respond immediately. He shifted again in the chair, his eyes squeezing shut hard as one hand dragged over his stomach. I tried, and failed, not to follow the action with my eyes.
"Mm, Sadie…"
"Stiles?" I asked again, narrowing my eyes. "Are…are you even awake?"
I craned my neck, trying to discern whether he was squeezing his eyes shut to adjust to the light or if he was just twitching in his sleep. I leaned forward, but as I did, my arm brushed along the leg that had fallen down behind me. Stiles moaned, and I jumped back so quickly I nearly fell off the chair, hands flying over my mouth with a yelp.
At long last, Stiles jolted awake, his eyes flying open and fluttering as he struggled into consciousness. "S-Sadie?"
And then his eyes found mine. We stared at each other for a solid three seconds in silence, Stiles looking disoriented and hazy while I remained shocked and mortified. Was Stiles…? Had I just…? Had he just been…?
Before my brain could successfully process any of those questions, Stiles's brain caught up with reality.
"Oh my God! Sadie!"
He tried to scramble back, only to remember he was still perched precariously on a row of chairs. His arms and legs flailed as he tried to keep himself from falling while putting as much distance between the two of us as he could. He toppled sideways onto the floor, hit his head on the tile, kicked one of the chairs away from the wall, then promptly smacked himself in the face with the "Get Well" balloon. When he finally scrambled to his feet, he seized the balloon out of the air and used it to cover his increasingly red face. Then he decided it would be more useful if he held it over his crotch.
"H-heeey," he sang in a very weak voice. "Sorry. I mean, what? Hi! Uh…"
"Hi," I squeaked. I quickly realized that my hands were still clamped over my face, and forced them back to my sides. "Hi."
"You're—you're here. Like, actually here."
"Yeah. Hospital, so…"
"Right! Yes!" He clapped his hands together, momentarily letting go of the balloon. It attempted to escape toward the ceiling, and he frantically captured it once more. "You, uh—you look hungry! Are you hungry? I'm hungry. I'm gonna—I'm gonna go to the vending machine. I'll be right back! So don't—don't go anywhere, I'll just…be back in…"
He didn't seem to have the mental bandwidth to finish the sentence. Instead, he let go of the balloon and awkwardly sprinted down the next hallway, almost knocking over several people in his haste.
I watched him run away with wide, terrified eyes. Way to go, Sadie. Perfect. Well done. The first time you speak to him since you kiss him, you decide to grope him in the middle of a wet dream and scare the shit out of him. That won't make things awkward at all.
I sat there staring at the empty hallway for a few minutes before letting my face sink into my hands. I emitted some weird, strangled noise of frustration, debating whether it would be better to stay in the waiting room like Stiles had said or to go curl up into a ball in Lydia's hospital room and demand to be home schooled. Before I could think of anything more drastic, another voice interrupted my thoughts.
"Well. That was painful to watch."
I jumped again, ready to shriek in surprise, but the sound died in my throat when I recognized the man who had taken up the chair next to me. My jaw dropped open even further, and I frantically looked around to ensure that we weren't drawing attention.
"Derek, what the hell are you doing here?!"
He looked supremely calm for a suspected murderer, lounging in the waiting room with his hands clasped in front of him. Being an Alpha didn't seem to have changed his wardrobe. He was dressed all in black, from his shoes to his leather jacket. He had a little less scruff than the last time I'd seen him, which made him look younger. Or maybe that was just the playful smirk he had on his face.
"Just enjoying the show," he answered, and I glared harder.
"What are you doing in public at all? Remember? Derek Hale, number one on Beacon Hills' Most Wanted List?"
"They pinned the murders on Kate," he dismissed. "It's all over the papers. I've been cleared."
Just hearing the name sent me into a fit of nausea. My eyes sank to the floor, and I shrank back in my chair. I'd already known they'd decided to frame her. It had been the easiest way out, the best explanation for all of the murders, even if it did leave some unanswered questions. But I had questions too, ones I knew Scott wouldn't want to answer. Not if it was going to hurt me.
"How did you do it?"
"Scott didn't tell you?" Derek asked, perplexed. "With the necklace and Harris's statement—"
"I mean the gunshot wounds."
I saw his jaw clench, which meant it couldn't be good. I'd known it wouldn't be, but I'd been thinking about it for weeks, ever since Scott had told me the cover story.
"I'm not an idiot. Saying she killed herself out of remorse is one thing, but people who commit suicide don't usually shoot themselves in the leg and shoulder before they go."
"You don't have to worry about it," Derek said tersely. He kept his voice low. "The Argents have people with the state police. We didn't have a roundtable to discuss it, but…as far as I know, they're forging the paperwork. Everyone's too relieved it's over to look at it twice."
I shook my head at the tiled floor. That wasn't exactly a comforting answer. I'd shot Kate right in front of her brother. He knew what I'd done. If the Argents were covering for me, I couldn't help but think it was because they wanted to punish me themselves. "Handle the problem," as Mr. Argent had said. The same way he'd planned on handling Kate when she broke the code.
"Sadie," Derek sighed, his voice dangerously gentle. "What happened with K—"
"What about Lydia?" I asked abruptly. "She woke up today. She's healing at a nice, human pace. Want to explain that?"
I watched out of the corner of my eye as Derek's jaw clenched again. His fingers tightened around the arms of his chair, but he didn't push the subject.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I'll look into it."
"Thanks."
It was half-hearted gratitude. If Derek didn't know what was happening to Lydia, and Dr. Fenris didn't know what was happening to Lydia, I was fairly certain we were never going to find out. The only thing we could do was wait, anxiously anticipating some bad reaction on the next full moon. I'd have to sit down with Lydia, have a long discussion about the supernatural, map out all the outcomes, and pray that she believed me enough to play along. We'd have to lock her up and just wait it out, wait for her eyes to flash or her fangs to grow or her claws to sharpen. It was going to be torture.
"I'm sorry," Derek said, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I wasn't really sure what he was apologizing for: working with Peter, Lydia getting hurt, me getting hurt, killing Peter, bringing up Kate, eavesdropping on my embarrassing interaction with Stiles. Any which way, it was a moot point.
"Why are you really here, Derek?" I asked, getting straight to the point. "You wouldn't have come all the way over here for a personal visit, not with the Argents on your tail. You're smarter than that."
Derek hesitated. His hands curled into fists in his lap and, for more than a minute, he stared straight ahead. I'd almost decided to leave him there when he finally spoke up.
"I know Peter came to talk to you at the school, during your dance. What happened?"
"He attacked Lydia," I said shortly.
Derek finally met my eye, giving me a hard look. "Before that, Sadie."
I held his gaze for a few seconds before I sighed.
"I don't know. He…there was a lot of talk about the Argents, about how you were toying with my head for your own nefarious purposes, me being some sort of prime specimen if I'd let him turn me…"
"So he offered you the bite? And you said no?"
"Yeah. I just…I wasn't gonna do that. It would have given Peter more power, and he would've killed Allison's family…well…more of Allison's family, anyway…"
Derek nodded, and we lapsed into a loaded silence. I tried to shake the thoughts of Peter from my head. I'd spent enough time replaying the conversation in my head over the last few weeks, wondering how things might have turned out differently if I'd given him a different answer. But Lydia was awake now. There was no point in second guessing myself. This was the way everything had turned out.
"I'm the Alpha now." I turned to look at Derek, but he was still glaring ahead, eyes fixed on a small point so he didn't have to meet my eyes. "The Argents are going to come at me for revenge."
"Why?" I asked, an uneasy feeling growing in my stomach. "You didn't kill Kate."
"That's not gonna matter. Not to them. They're gonna want to punish anyone who was involved. Anyone."
He turned to look at me, and the intensity made me recoil. I didn't need Derek to tell me I needed to steer clear of the Argents. I didn't need anyone else reminding me that I'd had a hand in Kate's death.
"That's why I came to talk to you," Derek admitted. "I need to fight back. I need to be more powerful. And Peter…he wasn't lying. You're…good."
He scrunched his face up slightly, as if saying the cliché, Hallmark words was almost painful for him.
"You know what you're doing," he revised. "You can't see it, but you have potential. And I know this probably isn't the…ideal time to ask—"
"You are not serious right now."
Derek looked up sharply. "What?"
"Please tell me you're not serious," I begged in disbelief. "Tell me you're not seriously asking me this right now."
"Oh, do you want me to schedule this next week?" he hissed in outrage. "The Argents are going to come after me. They could come after you. And I can't fight them off on my own."
"You won't have to," I said. "I'll help, and so will Scott, and Stiles—"
"I don't need a bunch of teenagers who think they know how to protect themselves. What I need is a pack. You, Scott—I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you could handle it. I can help you control it. I can protect you."
His speech ended abruptly. I could only assume he was trying to hide the way his voice was shaking. That scared me more than anything. Derek was supposed to be the brooding older werewolf, the one who'd seen it all. If he was scared for himself, scared for me…what chance did I really have? And having Derek as an Alpha would be different than Peter. He wanted to help me, protect me, not to use me. All the same…
"Derek, I…I can't."
"Why not?"
"Where do I start?" I asked, half-laughing. "Because the Argents don't need another reason to want me dead? Because I could die either way? Because I—I have spent the last few weeks watching my mom cry over a body that's not even mine. I can't put her through that again, not after we lost my dad. I can't make Stiles go through all of this as the only human, 'cause I don't see you revving to bite him—"
"Oh, so this is about Stiles?" Derek demanded.
"No, Derek, this is about you!"
He immediately turned back to me, his face full of confusion, and I winced. I hadn't meant it to come out as an accusation, not after everything he'd done for us, but there was no going back now. I could feel his eyes boring into me, waiting for me to go on.
"It's just…something else I've been thinking about…now that you're the Alpha. You're…you were the only person who'd ever heard of the cure—that killing the Alpha who bit you could save you. I mean, Stiles and I have done a ton of reading, and Dr. Fenris has done a lifetime of research and never heard of it once."
"And I come from a family of actually werewolves," Derek defended. "I think I know a little more about the subject."
"No, you're right. Of course. It's not that I think you're lying, or…I don't want to think you're lying, but…even you said you weren't sure if it was going to work. And I think you did know that if…if it didn't work, it would've done exactly what it did to you. If Scott didn't become human, he would've become an Alpha, and you'd still be a beta, and—and I know you killed Peter because you were avenging Laura, and I get that, but…part of me wonders if…if you were ever going to risk Scott killing the Alpha in the first place…"
Derek didn't respond. I hadn't really expected him to. How do you respond to an accusation like that? I wasn't even sure that I believed it myself, but it was just another thing that had been nagging at me during my weeks of isolation. Clearly, I'd spent too much time thinking myself in circles.
"I know that you're just trying to protect me," I said softly, "and I can't thank you enough for that. Especially after everything I've done, I'm…not really sure I deserve that. I still want to help you, but…not as a part of your pack."
I was afraid of what kind of response I might get, but a few seconds later, Derek nodded.
"Yeah. That's what I thought. But I wanted to ask."
His voice was gentler than I would have thought possible. It was odd hearing such a tone come from such a big, tough-looking guy, with his five o'clock shadow and leather jacket, but the contrast almost made me smile.
There was an almighty crash somewhere down the hall, making Derek and I jump. I spun in my chair, trying to locate the sound of breaking glass. I didn't have werewolf hearing, but I was pretty sure it was coming from the direction Stiles had run off in. Judging by the way Derek snorted indelicately, it was a safe bet.
"I'll see what I can find out about your friend," he offered, standing up from his chair. "Let me know if anything changes."
"I will. And thank you. Really."
He nodded, and made to leave, but he paused on the other side of his chair. His hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets, but I could see the fabric strain as he clenched his hands inside them. After a moment of deliberation, he spoke again, still not meeting my eye.
"You do deserve it. What happened doesn't change that. You're still good."
He walked away before I could recover from the weight of the words. By the time I'd found the strength to look up, the most I could do was stare at the door Derek had disappeared through, mumbling my thanks and hoping he was still in earshot.
I could feel the guilt gnawing at my insides again, not just because of Kate, but because of Derek too. I knew I was justified in refusing the bite, but I also knew that Derek was asking me for an honest reason. He was trying to help me the only way he knew how, by arming me with the same tools he used every day. Being a werewolf with a pack might make it easier to go up against the Argents, but right now, I had no proof they were trying to kill me. Mr. Argent could hate me forever for hurting his sister, but he seemed much more loyal to the hunter code than she was. So long as I was still human, I had to hope he wouldn't retaliate. If I accepted the bite, that chance disappeared.
I sighed again, raking my hands though my hair. This time last year, my biggest problem had been listening to Briana bitch about our gym teacher and trying to decipher cryptic texts from the guy I liked. Now I was debating whether or not I was going to be murdered in my sleep by a family of weapons enthusiasts for retaliating against a woman who had burned eight people alive when she was barely legal to drink. My life was beyond screwy.
A high-pitched scream ripped through the waiting room, making everyone in the general vicinity pause in their actions. I knew that voice. I knew that terrified shriek, and it shot panic right through my core, wiping every other thought from my mind.
"Lydia?!"
I jumped out of my seat so fast that I managed to throw all the chairs askew. I sprinted into her room, burst into the bathroom a second later—but I was already too late. I whipped my head back and forth, turned on the spot, inspecting every corner of the room. The bathroom was empty. White, spotless, plain, just like everything else. The shower was still running with no one inside, but I was well past desperate. I ran over, still screaming her name and tearing the curtain aside. I fell to my knees next to the tub and paddled through the clear water, as if I might be able to pull her invisible body from somewhere below the surface. But Lydia wasn't there.
A pair of arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling my dripping arms out of the water and dragging me away from the shower. I fought back, kicking and thrashing—
"Sadie! Sadie, hey, it's okay! It's me," Stiles consoled. He wrapped his hands around my wrists so I would stop hitting him. "Sadie, it's me! Are you okay?!"
"Lydia…"
The shower turned off and I blinked, looking around the room. Mrs. McCall and Mr. Martin had piled into the room after us, both looking extremely confused. I turned back to Stiles, whose maple eyes were still watching me in concern.
"Lydia, she—she's gone. I—I heard her screaming and…"
I looked over his shoulder and trailed off. Stiles followed my gaze to the solitary window on the wall, propped open, letting a frigid breeze into the room from the dark world outside. I stared, trying to process what had happened. She'd been fine. She'd been perfectly fine. Until I left her alone…
My vision started to blur. I could feel myself trembling even as I gulped down the night air, trying to hold it all in. Stiles was wrapping his arms around me, pulling me to his chest, and then I broke down completely.
I'd had Lydia back for less than a day, and now my best friend was gone.
A/N: Welcome back, wolf pack! Truly honored that Paramount+ would drop the final trailer for Teen Wolf: The Movie the day before Right Beside You purely to give me a promotional boost. Oh, Jeff, you shouldn't have!
This is the sequel to The Wild Side (2021), and the official rewrite of my earlier story, Right Beside You (2013). Right Beside You (2022) will update on Mondays and —to be safe—will be rated M for violence, language, and sensitive content. If a chapter contains a particularly sensitive subject, I will include a trigger warning at the beginning of the chapter. If there's specific content you'd like included, please feel free to let me know. For visual aids, playlists, and additional content, you can visit the story's Tumblr page at thewildsideseries.
I can't thank you enough for reading—whether you've been following the story for the past (holy shit) TEN YEARS or if you're just joining us now. I'm so grateful that you stopped by, and can't wait to hear your thoughts on the new installment.
-Brittney