Chapter Sixteen: Shadow of the Beast
The night air was charged with a tension that seemed almost palpable, vibrating with the echo of danger that had become all too familiar in Beacon Hills. From the shadows, a new terror emerged, stalking the unsuspecting and leaving chaos in its wake. This time, the threat wore a new face, that of a lizard-like shape-shifter whose killing spree had escalated into a reign of terror. Yet, amidst this unfolding nightmare, it was Stiles' peril that consumed my every thought, drawing me into the fray once more.
A visceral sense of alarm coursed through me, an unmistakable burning in the pit of my stomach—a beacon signalling that Stiles was in danger. Without a moment's hesitation, I found myself in my car racing towards him, my instincts unerringly guiding me to the mechanics garage. It was there, amidst the scent of oil and metal, that I found him, Stiles had narrowly escaped the creature's clutches, laying paralysed on the dirty floor. The same could not be said for the garage owner.
I rushed to his side, sitting down beside him, I hoisted him up to rest on me. "Don't touch my hands" he said before I could ask if he was okay "I touched something gross, I think it caused this paralysis." he clarified, before the misplaced rejection I felt could cement its hold on my chest.
We sat there, mostly in silence as I held his thankfully not dead weight against me, I only wished it was under better circumstances, until his father and his deputies, along with paramedics arrived.
In the aftermath of the garage incident, the scent of oil and metal lingered in my senses, a harsh reminder of the night's terror. As I sat with Stiles, his body paralysed against mine, a cascade of emotions flooded through me. Fear, above all, gripped my heart—a fear not just of the creature that stalked us, but of losing Stiles, the one person who had become my anchor in this chaos. My mind raced, reflecting on our journey together, the moments of levity amidst the darkness, and how his presence had become a light guiding me through my own turmoil. His vulnerability in that moment, relying on me to keep him safe, only deepened the bond I felt, cementing a connection built on trust and unspoken promises.
The next day, as Jackson approached me with a request to enhance his video, the mundane nature of the task was a stark contrast to the night's adrenaline. Yet, as I examined the footage, an anomaly caught my eye—an edit that seemed to mask a crucial moment. My discovery, though small, felt like a victory, a piece of the puzzle that brought us one step closer to understanding the creature that haunted Beacon Hills. Sharing this discovery with Jackson, I hoped to shed light on the darkness that enveloped us.
With my parents baring down on her every move, and our Grandfather now the principle, Allison and Scott upped the security around their relationship, completely avoiding being seen together during school hours. Stiles, ever the strategist, darted between Allison and me, his determination adorable as he sought information about the bestiary our grandfather kept—a tome that promised answers yet remained shrouded in mystery.
The lacrosse field, a place where teenage rivalries usually played out, became the backdrop for a more personal battle. A head injury from the opposing team benched me, side lining me from the game but not from the fight. The throbbing pain in my head was soon eclipsed by a sharper, more urgent sense of danger—Stiles was in peril once again. Driven by a maelstrom of concern, anger, and anticipation, I left the field behind, my every instinct screaming that I needed to find him.
The journey was a blur, the pain in my head intensifying with each passing moment. Yet, nothing could deter me from reaching Stiles. As I arrived at the pool, the sight that greeted me was one of desperation and determination—an unconscious Erica, and Stiles, struggling to keep a paralysed Derek afloat. As I stood hidden in the shadows of the viewing bay at the pool, focusing intently on the lizard-like creature, something within me shifted. Channeling my newfound ability felt like tapping into a hidden reservoir of power I never knew existed. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. The sensation was unlike anything I'd ever felt—a mix of intense focus and a strange, ethereal connection to the creature before me. My mind repeated the mantra, "You're afraid of the water," with a conviction that seemed to bypass thought and resonate directly with my very being. The power flowed through me, a torrent that was both invigorating and draining. Physically, it manifested as an acute pain that radiated from the core of my being, spreading outwards like wildfire. Emotionally, it was a whirlwind, a blend of fear, determination, and an overwhelming sense of protectiveness towards Stiles.
The effort required to maintain such focus was unlike anything I'd ever experienced, a pain that transcended the physical and delved into the depths of my very being. As Scott arrived over two hours later, my strength waned, the darkness encroaching upon the edges of my vision. The last thing I remembered before succumbing to unconsciousness was the creature's momentary hesitation—a fleeting victory in the relentless battle we faced. In the aftermath, as I slumped to the ground, succumbing to unconsciousness, a part of me marvelled at the potential of what I had just done, while another part grappled with the realization of the immense responsibility that came with such power. The questions and implications of my actions swirled in my fading consciousness—how had I done it, what did this mean for my future, and could I control this power, or would it control me?
Waking up at home, the events of the night felt like a distant dream. The room was dim, the only light a soft glow from the bedside lamp. Stiles was there, in my bedroom, by my bed, again! His presence a balm to the chaos of my thoughts. His eyes met mine, a mix of concern and something deeper, an understanding that went beyond words. "I knew you had something to do with it," he said, his voice low. "At first, I thought... I thought you were controlling it. But tonight, seeing you in pain, I knew... you were protecting me."
The admission hung between us, a new vulnerability that shifted the ground beneath our friendship. The realization that Stiles had seen me, truly seen the effort and pain behind my actions, was both a relief and a new fear. The boundaries of our relationship were once again redrawn in that moment, a silent acknowledgment of the depth of our connection and the uncharted territory we now found ourselves in.
As we spoke, the world outside the window seemed to recede, leaving only the truth of what lay between us. The night had changed everything, revealing the extent of my abilities and the lengths I would go to protect him. In the soft glow of the lamp, as Stiles's words echoed in the stillness, I felt the weight of what was to come—a future fraught with danger but grounded in the certainty that whatever lay ahead, we would face it together.
Waking up each day after the pool incident, I felt the toll it had taken on my body more acutely than I had anticipated. The mornings greeted me with a symphony of aches, a dull, persistent throbbing in my head serving as a cruel memento of that night's exertions. My family, especially my mother, watched over me with a concern that was both comforting and suffocating. She hovered with an intensity that made the air around us heavy, her eyes constantly scanning for any sign of discomfort or lingering pain in my movements. I tried to mask the grimace that seemed to have taken permanent residence on my face, but she noticed—she always does. The silent exchanges between her and my father, filled with unspoken worries, grew more frequent. Their conversations would cease abruptly as I entered the room, leaving a trail of unsaid questions hanging in the air.
This added attention, while rooted in their love and care, only intensified the pressure I felt. Not only was I battling the physical aftermath of that night, but I also found myself ensnared in a web of my own secrets. The need to conceal the true extent of what I had experienced, and the abilities I had somehow tapped into, weighed heavily on me. The unspoken tension within our home, a constant reminder of the delicate balance I was now forced to maintain, added another layer of complexity to my recovery process. Balancing between healing and hiding became my new normal, a precarious dance on the thin ice of my family's scrutiny and concern.
Stiles
Watching Andrew collapse, drained and defeated after his hidden stand-off with the creature, was a moment that redefined everything I thought I knew about him. There he was, a person I've always seen as strong, yet vulnerably human, pushing beyond his limits to protect us. It was a sacrifice that pierced through the veil of everyday banter and camaraderie, laying bare the depth of his commitment to our safety. I'd seen it once before, ever so briefly the night of the final fight with Peter Hale, I hadn't given in much thought since, but this revelation, this glimpse into the sheer willpower and strength Andrew possessed, changed things. I still have no idea what he had done, but twice in two days the lizard-thing showed up, and twice Andrew shortly after. Only this time, it looked like he was controlling it. Could he be the master behind the puppet?
No, I don't know how, but I know he was protecting me. I found myself grappling with a newfound respect mixed with a protective instinct that mirrored his own actions. No longer was Andrew just the guy I joked around with; he had become someone I admired. Well, the dude is cool, he's my Star Wars homie, I've always admired him. But now he's someone whose well-being had suddenly become integral to my own. Great, this might cut in to my Lydia time.
As I sat by his bedside, watching him struggle back to consciousness, I realized that my approach to our friendship needed to change. I needed to be there for him, to support him in harnessing this whatever-the-hell-it-is-power that had so visibly taken its toll. It was time to show my appreciation for his sacrifice, the pain I'd felt at seeing the pain on his face, hurt in ways that went beyond words. This moment, this sacrifice, had changed the fabric of our relationship, binding us together with strands of mutual respect, understanding, and an unspoken vow to face whatever lay ahead, together.