"Come on, Scott, pick up the phone. Just pick up the phone, Scott. This is a life or death mission, so I know you're paying attention, so I know you're going to pick—goddamnit! Scott, pick up. Pick up now. We've got like fifty feet of ash left, and we're out. Okay? So you got to get your wolf ass down here and help us because I don't know what we're doing. And I'm just standing out here and I—I'm hearing gunfire and werewolves and I'm—I'm standing here like a frickin' idiot with a handful of magic fairy dust. Okay?"
Stiles ended the call with a strangled noise of frustration. I let my head fall back against the wall of the warehouse, where I was sitting on the ground, legs kicked out over my sweatshirt again. We'd been outside for a while now, calling everyone from Scott to Deaton. With all our luck so far, as well as the ongoing gunfight, it wasn't a surprise that no one picked up. That didn't stop us from trying though. What other choice did we have?
Stiles sagged back against the wall next to me. "You know, I'm starting to get really painful flashbacks of the last time Scott didn't pick up his phone."
I smiled ruefully up at him. "You mean the day I finally bullied you into telling me about werewolves? Because I consider that the basis of our relationship."
"Yeah, well it was also the day my dad got hit by a car. Overall, a pretty crappy memory."
"You're right." I grabbed his hand, helping myself up to my feet and refusing to let go once I was upright. "Which is why we're going to get out of this the same way we got through that."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means screw everyone else. As usual, you and I are gonna figure this shit out on our own."
Stiles let out a dry bark of laughter, but shook his head. "Well, unless you were reading up on the intricate uses of mountain ash with Erica, I don't know how we're gonna do that."
"Look, Deaton said it was about believing, right? So maybe it's like Bethsaida."
"…Bethesda?"
"Bethsaida," I corrected with a smirk. "The feeding of multitudes. It's a Bible story, the one where Jesus feeds like a thousand people with two fish and some bread."
"So…you want me…to be Jesus? Sadie, I can't even pass Chemistry, let alone perform miracles!"
"I'm not asking you to—"
"Yeah, you are! Do you see this?" He held his hand up and practically shoved the mountain ash in my face. "This? This needs a miracle!"
"I think it looks like there's more than there was before."
Stiles gave me an incredulous look and jabbed a finger at the pavement. "It's not going to cover this okay? It doesn't matter what I believe. Those are just the facts."
"Then stop thinking with the facts," I begged. I looked around the parking lot in desperation before grabbing his shoulders and forcing him to face a dark car parked nearby. I reached over his shoulder to point at the bumper. "Look at that! See? What does that say?"
"What? The—the bumper sticker? 'Imagination is more important than knowledge'…Albert Einstein…"
"Exactly." I pulled him around to face me again, taking a step closer and laying my hands on his shoulders. "I'm not asking you to give me a miracle. I'm asking you to take a second to put the facts aside and imagine this working. I'm asking you to believe that a little bit goes a long way. I'm asking you to be the guy who convinced me that werewolves existed even though I knew for a fact that they couldn't be real. Who figured it out before anyone else, with almost no proof! You are always that person. You are the one who—who completely defies the facts. You can do this, Stiles. If anyone I know can do this, it's you."
He stared at me for a few seconds, an unreadable mix of emotions in his eyes. He opened his mouth, closed it, then dropped his gaze to the ground.
"Well, uh…thanks for the vote of confidence, but I'm not exactly feeling sparky at the moment…"
"You don't have to feel it," I insisted. "You have to be it. And you already are."
I moved my hands to cradle his face. His eyes flicked up to mine, but fluttered shut when I pulled him into a soft kiss. It was slow, nothing heated or complicated. Just a reassuring pressure that still managed to take my breath away. I was reluctant to pull back, leaving my forehead pressed against his. I let my hands slide down his neck, then drift to his hands. I took his left in my right, pulling his fist out over the rest of the mountain ash.
"Ready?"
I felt his sigh wash over my face and he nodded. His fingers adjusted under mine until a small trail of ash was slipping through his grip. I pulled him with me as I started walking backward, my steps slow but sure. I focused on the image in my head—the circle of mountain ash completed and undisturbed, Jackson alive and captured, my friends safe and breathing. This was going to work. After everything we'd survived, how could I not believe that? We would be alright if I just focused on that. I needed the benefit of the doubt.
A few seconds later, Stiles's hand shifted in mine again. His fingers stretched out, bare palm resting against mine, and we stopped walking. The mountain ash was gone.
Stiles and I both sagged, leaning on each other for support as our hopelessness threatened to crush us to the ground. His fingers closed around my hand in a desperate grip, and I pulled him into a tight hug. Over his shoulder, my eyes fell to the pavement…and I paused.
"God, I'm sorry, Sadie," Stiles said, oblivious.
"Stiles—"
"No. This is my fault. This is all my fault. I can't—"
"Stiles, look!"
He pulled out of the hug and followed my gaze. The mountain ash in his hand hadn't been enough to cover the fifty foot gap. We'd only walked about ten feet before we ran out, yet somehow, the gap had disappeared. In our desperation, it seemed the rest of the mountain ash had come to meet us.
"Oh—oh my God," Stiles choked out. His head whipped back and forth, looking at the solid line of dust. "I—we—yes! Holy shit! Yes!"
He pumped his fists into the air, jumping around in excitement, and I burst into laughter. Watching him, I was overcome with relief. This was the person Stiles was supposed to be: the giddy idiot who saved the day against all odds. I knew it was only for a moment, that our victory wouldn't fix whatever was really bothering him, but for now, it was enough. At least something had gone right.
The sound of my laugh caught his attention, and he whirled toward me. He was positively beaming as he thrust a finger at me.
"You! You are incredible! You are beautiful! You are a genius!"
"Well, I try—ah! Stiles!"
He tackled me in another hug and threw me over his shoulder. I squealed as he spun me in a circle, which only made him laugh harder. We wobbled on the spot, but managed to stay upright until he dropped me none-too-gently on the trunk of a nearby car, a mischievous look in his eye that I barely got to appreciate before the car alarm went off underneath me. We both screamed in surprise, and I dissolved into giggles as Stiles fell over himself. He grabbed my hand, yanked me off the car, and pulled me along behind him as we fled the scene.
We ran until the car alarm was a soft sound in the distance, only slowing down to a walk once we rounded the final corner and the Jeep was in sight. I shivered, suddenly remembering my sweatshirt lying on the pavement round the other side of the building. Stiles tucked me under his arm and I cuddled into him for warmth. I wanted to stay like that forever, but the occasional gunshot in the distance reminded me that we weren't done yet.
"What do we do now?" I asked, looking up at Stiles.
"I guess I text Scott the all clear," he sighed, pulling out his phone and tightening his arm around me. "He and the pack go after Jackson, maybe try to talk him down. Otherwise, they keep an eye on the crowd for anyone looking for the kanima or trying to finish the job. Find both killers, save the day, and you and I sit outside waiting for it all to be over."
I leaned back to get a better look at his solemn face, illuminated by the light from his phone as he composed his message to Scott.
"I know that voice. I know you don't think you're useless after you just saved the day back there."
"Right," he snorted. "We locked our friends in a death circle with a killer lizard and a supernatural maniac. I'd hardly call that saving."
"Stiles, what you just did is gonna narrow our suspects from the hundreds of people in that building down to one. That's incredible."
His arm fell off my shoulders and he stuffed his hands in his pockets, avoiding my gaze. "Nah, that wasn't me. That was all you, Sade."
"Hey." I looped my arm through his, tugging him to my side and ducking determinedly to catch his eye. "We did it together. All I did was remind you what you can do, and who you are. And I always will. It's my duty as your girlfriend to remind you how awesome you are."
"I guess. Thanks."
I hesitated, biting my lip to keep my silence. Stiles wasn't just sad. He was resigned, ready to deal with whatever was bothering him without complaint, even though it was killing him. The longer I looked at him, the more it killed me to stay quiet. When I'd fought with my mom yesterday, Stiles had known instantly that something was wrong, had done everything he could to make me feel better. He always knew how to make me feel better, and the prospect of standing by and watching him hide how upset he was without saying anything was actually painful.
"Okay, I promise this is the last time I'm gonna say anything."
Stiles looked over at me with raised eyebrows, and I winced. No going back now.
"I know you don't want to talk about whatever's bothering you, and I understand that, but I don't want you to think you need to hide it, or pretend like nothing's wrong. And I want to make sure that you know that I'm always willing to listen to you, whether you want to gush to me about the video game you just bought, or because everything in life feels like it's falling apart and you don't know how to put it back together. When you're upset, it makes me upset. And that's not to say that you're not allowed to be upset, because you are. Everything you're feeling is totally valid and they're your emotions. I just want you to know that I want to help with that in literally any way I can, because I don't want to watch you struggle while I'm here. I don't want you to think that you're alone. And I also don't want you to hate me for rambling about your problems when you said that you didn't want to talk about them, so I'm gonna stop talking now, but…yeah. I care about you, and I wanted to make sure you know that…I'm always here."
Stiles stared at me, his mouth slightly agape as he took in my words. Just like before, he opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't seem to decide what. Finally, he gave up. I trailed behind him as he trudged over to the Jeep, pressing his back to the trunk and letting his chin fall on his chest. I leaned next to him and tried to prepare myself for what was sure to be an awkward silence.
"My dad got fired."
My head shot up and I stared at him in shock, but Stiles was staring at a fixed point on the ground.
"The murders aren't stopping and, apparently, having your useless, law-breaking son show up at a bunch of crime scenes, steal government property, and get a restraining order filed against him isn't good for the public image."
"They said that?"
"Loosely."
"Stiles…"
"Nah, you—you can't talk me out of this one, Sade," he said, shaking his head. "This is my fault. My dad lost his job because of me."
"Stiles, I'm so sorry. You know I am, but…you're saving lives."
"Are we? 'Cause from where I'm standing, we're getting our asses handed to us. Repeatedly. And nothing we've done is making it better. If anything, we're making things worse. We keep talking like we're the only people who can stop this, but we're just a bunch of stupid teenagers. What if we can't?"
The thought made me nauseous, but I knew that it was true. We'd all thought it at some point. When Lydia got attacked, when Chris had come after Scott, when Jackson had escaped. We were so beyond what we knew we could handle. At the same time, I couldn't stomach the idea of doing nothing either. What if the police went after Jackson without knowing what he was? Wouldn't that have more casualties? What if we told them and, assuming they believed us, they killed Jackson just like the Argents wanted them to? What would they want to do to Scott? To Derek and his pack? They'd be locked up or killed for a problem they hadn't started, for a problem they were risking their lives to solve.
Those were the thoughts that kept me up at night. I had to believe that what we were doing would protect the people I cared about. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to sleep at all.
Stiles seemed to guess my train of thought, because he sighed. "I know that what we're doing is important or…whatever. I'm just sick of us spending all our time trying to save strangers while our lives are falling apart."
"Kind of sucks being Batman, doesn't it?"
He looked over at me again, meeting my gaze with eyes so broken I nearly stopped breathing.
"I'm ruining my dad's life and I can't tell him why. He's too tired to even fight with me about it. Scott and Allison are sneaking around to keep him from being executed. Lydia's out of her mind, and you, you're just—you're so good at hiding how sad you are all the time. But everything you've been through—the attack and—and fighting with your mom, that's all my fault. That's all because of me."
"What?" I gaped at him. "Stiles, none of that is because of you."
"Really? Because last time I checked, I was the one who dragged you into this."
"You didn't drag me anywhere! This was my choice. I asked you to tell me."
"And I shouldn't have. You didn't know what you were asking for. You didn't know how crazy and dangerous—"
"Don't. Don't you dare tell me I didn't know this was going to be dangerous. You think I didn't realize that when Peter was killing people? When he attacked me and my friends and threw me into a car?"
"Sadie, I just meant—"
"No, Stiles! I am my own person and I make my own choices. This was my choice about my life. I made you tell me because I wanted to protect my friends. I wanted to do something good, something that actually mattered for once. You do not get to blame yourself for that!"
We were facing each other now, Stiles still slouched against the Jeep while I stood before him. I was trying to control my breathing, but the guilt that was already welling up in my throat was making it difficult. What the hell was I doing? I'd gone from telling Stiles that I would always listen to him to screaming that he was wrong. This was the most vulnerable I'd ever seen him and I'd completely lost my mind.
I wrung my hands in front of me, stopping myself from reaching out to him.
"Listen to me, Stiles. I…you might regret telling me about all of this, but…I don't. I never have. Not once."
Stiles shook his head. He looked so fragile, so small, that I wondered if I shouldn't just sit in the van with my mouth closed for the rest of the night. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in several hours rather than a few seconds.
"How can you not hate all of this? This…sucks…"
"I hate parts of it," I agreed softly. "I hate that all these people have died, and I hate watching my friends in pain, but if it was a choice between this and not knowing? Standing by while Peter and Jackson and whoever else ruined my friends' lives? I would choose this. Every time."
I tried to sound as confident as I could, but Stiles still didn't look up. Grasping at straws, I took a hesitant step forward.
"Stiles, if you want to blame someone, blame Peter. What I told you that day was true: he attacked my friends, targeted Lydia and Allison and Jackson just to get to Scott. There's no way I wouldn't have gotten involved. I mean, we both know how stubborn I am. If you hadn't told me, I would have kept looking for answers on my own, and I probably would have gotten them when Peter sliced my throat for getting in the way."
"Don't say that."
"It's true! Stiles, you telling me what was out there prepared me for what was coming. Being with you is the reason I'm alive right now. All of us are alive. And I know it may not feel like it, but we are saving people. Someday your dad is gonna know that, and he's going to be so, so proud. God, he is going to be so proud of you for going through hell to protect people. You are amazing, Stiles, and we are going to be okay. I promise we'll make this okay, because your dad loves you, and I love you, and I am not giving up on you no matter how bad things get."
"…What?"
Stiles had finally lifted his head to look at me. It took a few seconds for the words to finally process.
I love you.
If I'm being honest, I'd always kind of hated when teenagers got caught up in the idea of love. I think it's probably because of the way my mom raised me. Whenever we were watching something on TV that had romance in it—which is just about everything, let's be real—she was sure to feed the cynic in me: "I just don't want you to get your hopes up that this is how it happens." "No guy would actually do this, you know that, right?" "If a boy ever says something like that to you, he wants something."
She was sure to encourage my optimism too, but she wanted to make sure I would be realistic. She didn't want to watch me get my heart broken waiting for the perfect guy; no one was perfect. Life was long and filled with new experiences and hundreds of people. Those people changed, and finding the person you would spend the rest of your life with before you could even drink was statistically unlikely. That didn't mean teenagers couldn't have relationships, but having your heart set on one person as the love of your life was a sure way to get hurt.
Of course, I wasn't going to shit on love for anyone else. When Scott had declared that he was in love with Allison after knowing her for a few weeks, I'd been happy for them. I knew how important she was to him. She was his anchor, without question, and gave him a reason to be human. And I knew what Scott was to Allison. She'd talked a lot about how she couldn't seem to breathe when he wasn't around, how she spent every moment apart waiting to see him again. I mean, her family had issued him a direct death threat and he and Allison were still looking for a way to stay together, still planning on dating through college and wherever else they ended up. I'd meant it when I told Allison I couldn't picture them without each other—I didn't want to—but was that because they were actually soulmates, or because I was a teenager who didn't know anything different?
And now here I was having the same debate about my feeling for Stiles. He wasn't perfect. I knew that, but at the same time, there wasn't a flaw in him I didn't adore. He was so much more than anything I'd ever hoped I'd be allowed to have. Someone who made me laugh and smile, who made me nervous and giggly. Someone who instantly knew when I was upset and always knew how to make me smile. Someone who made bad jokes and appreciated mine. Someone who bought me flowers for no reason and practiced speeches so that he could say something insanely sweet and thoughtful without stumbling over his words. Someone who had seen the worst of me and still decided to stay.
I couldn't imagine my life without Stiles anymore. I couldn't be sure how long that feeling would last—hell, I couldn't be sure how long I would last with the lives we were living—but did that mean I couldn't love him now?
And why should I define my feelings for Stiles by comparing myself to normal teenagers? Stiles and I certainly weren't living normal lives, and we didn't have a normal relationship. How many girls could say that their boyfriend had saved their lives? That she had saved his? Who else could say that they spent half their time with their boyfriend plotting to take down murderous creatures of the night? How many girls knew their boyfriend was one of the only people on Earth who would be able to understand her nightmares? Who had the same ones?
I looked back at Stiles, very aware of the way I was suddenly trembling. I looked at him and tried to figure out why I'd said those words without even thinking about it. I thought about the day he'd told me the truth about werewolves. I thought about the night we'd been trapped in the school. I thought about dancing with him at the formal, and kissing him later that night. I thought about the way he'd held me when Lydia disappeared, about the night he'd almost drowned in the pool, about how I'd been so mad at him for keeping me from Lydia but ended up laughing with him on his couch. And then I thought that it might not be that surprising after all.
"I love you, Stiles. I…I'm in love with you."
I wasn't aware how much time had passed until my lungs began to burn. I'd stopped breathing the moment the words were out in the open, and Stiles still hadn't moved. He just stood there staring at me while I fidgeted enough for both of us under his gaze. It was only a few more seconds before I felt the bile rising in my throat, and I prayed that for once the stinging in my eyes might not lead to tears. My brain shot into fast forward so quickly it made me dizzy, and I whirled around so I didn't have to look at him anymore.
"I…am so sorry. Oh my God, I'm sorry! This—this is so not the time for this conversation! I mean, for me to say something like that when—God, you were talking about your dad! Someone could be dying right now and you were talking about your dad and then I was yelling at you! Fucking—and I'm still making this about me! Just please forget I said that. I'm so—"
Stiles was kissing me before I could get the last word out. It stopped the apology, but it didn't do much to help my dizziness. The world seemed to tilt under my feet as he wrapped one arm around my waist, and if my brain had been working well enough to be thinking about anything, it probably would have been that his arm was the only thing keeping me standing. As it was, I didn't process a single thought until Stiles pulled back, both of us short of breath.
"Sorry," he said, his voice thick. "You just, uh…you surprised me…"
"I—I know, I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"No, I mean—I guess I just always figured I would say it first. I was planning on saying it first."
"…First…?"
My brain was still foggy, and I couldn't fathom why he was smiling at me, one of his thumbs running along my jaw.
"I love you, Sadie. Or, uh…I love you, too."
I don't think I've ever appreciated the word "too" as much as I did in that moment. In an instant, everything slowed to a comfortable pace. No more racing thoughts. No more erratic breathing. No more dizziness or near cardiac arrest. Stiles loved me, and for the moment, I couldn't care less about anything else.
We grinned at each other for a few seconds before I broke the silence.
"So…what exactly are we supposed to do now?"
"Uh…I don't know." He pouted in thought, making me giggle, before his eyebrows shot up with an idea. "I could kiss you again?"
"Works for me."
I had to swallow my laughter as Stiles pulled me toward him, catching my lips and moving both his hands to my neck. He started slow, but it was only a few seconds before I was digging my nails into his shirt for support.
In movies, the kisses that follow the first "I love you" are always sweet and heartfelt. While Stiles was certainly putting his heart into it, he wasn't exactly being gentle. I stumbled blindly as he pushed me back against the Jeep. Once I was effectively pinned there, his hands drifted down my body, over my shredded T-shirt and past my newly ripped shorts. He ran his fingers over the fishnets on my thighs and I shivered, making him pull back for a moment.
"Are you o—"
I yanked him back to me before he could finish the question. I slid my arms around his neck and pressed myself against him, suddenly filled with a frantic need to be closer to him. His lips strayed over my cheek to my jaw and I sighed, my head thumping painfully against the Jeep's window. Stiles panted into my ear, his hands almost shaking against my legs.
"God, I love you."
"I love you, t—"
Stiles didn't care about the last word. He pushed me against the Jeep with new vigor and I instinctively arched my back, pressing my chest into his as my nails looked for an anchor on the back of his head. I felt his hands fumbling over my legs, slipping on my stockings, but didn't process what he was trying to do until he broke the kiss to hook his hands under my knees. It took us a couple of tries to get in sync, but I was finally able to jump up and wrap my legs around his waist. I could feel my back bruising as I fell roughly against the Jeep, but Stiles kept a firm grip on my thighs, holding me up even though I was barely a few inches taller than I would have been standing. It wasn't all that comfortable, but once Stiles moved his mouth back to my neck, that hardly mattered.
He nipped at the skin on the column of my throat, and I bit my lip and braced myself for the task of staying quiet while he left bruises on my neck. But Stiles didn't commit to one spot. His lips moved lower and lower, down my throat and over my shoulder, across my collarbone until he was exploring the smooth expanse over my chest. My heavy breathing egged him on and his nose easily pushed aside the shredded collar of my T-shirt, but he hesitated to do anything else. Warm, nervous breath washed over my skin, and with his hands grabbing my legs, his hips pressing into mine, it was suddenly impossible to keep my silence.
"Stiles…"
It was clearly his name, but it felt more like a sound, one that forced its way out of me with more desperation than I'd care to admit. Whatever it was, it was enough to push him into action. His hands tightened on my legs and he pressed his lips against the swell of my breast just over my bra.
I would apologize later for the scratches and dents I must have left in his scalp, but with my feet off the ground, the only support I had was my back sliding against the Jeep and my grip on Stiles. I raked my nails over his hair as he kissed a path over my chest, following along the edge of my bra with little trouble thanks to the slit Erica had left in my shirt. He cautiously flicked his tongue out against the center of my chest, making me gasp again, and I felt his breath of laughter against the wet skin.
I narrowed my eyes—mentally, at least, since my real eyelids seemed to be stuck in a permanent flutter. With a spike of determination, I grappled for some anchor on the Jeep, settling for a door handle and the lip of a window. I crossed my ankles tighter behind Stiles's back, then bucked my hips against his.
My grip on the car was essential. Stiles completely stopped functioning for a second and I slipped down a good three or four inches. He scrambled to catch me before I could fell, his hands grabbing my ass to support my weight and hurriedly flattening us both against the Jeep. We both made the same sort of choked sound before looking at each other, barely an inch away.
I squeaked as my phone when off in my pocket. Stiles let out a shaky sigh, hands trembling as he helped me onto my feet, then trapped me between his arms as he leaned heavily on the Jeep. I fumbled with my phone, frowning at the screen before accepting the call.
"Isaac? What's wrong?"
At first, I couldn't hear anything but the music blasting, but Isaac was yelling just loud enough to make himself audible over the bass.
"We need you inside!"
"What's wrong?"
"For one? The Argents are here."
"Yeah, well, that explains the gunfire. I think Derek has it under control for now. Just tell Scott—"
"Look, Scott's not here. He ran into Allison and went to help Derek, but none of them are answering their phones, and Jackson—"
"Wait, did you say Allison was here?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Like with Matt? Like on her date with Matt here?"
"How the hell should I know, Sadie? I've been a little too busy fighting a freaking dinosaur to check up on your friends' love lives."
I sighed and fell back against the Jeep, running a hand through my hair and pushing those worries aside for the moment. "You found Jackson?"
"Yeah, we've got him. Not really sure what we're supposed to do with him, but we've got him. So you might want to get inside before I stop ignoring the urge to kill him while he's out."
"We're on our way. Try to keep your distance—I'm serious, Isaac," I added when I heard him huff, "we don't know how long the ketamine will work. If he wakes up, you and Erica could get hurt."
"Why is everyone suddenly so concerned about us?"
"Hey. I've always been concerned about you, Isaac. You know that."
He paused long enough that I knew he must have been thinking about it, but any memories of our friendship before the bite were quickly pushed aside.
"We can handle ourselves. Now get in here before I kill him."
The line went dead. I sighed and tucked my phone away, leaning against Stiles's arm. "Allison and Matt are both inside, and it sounds like the rest of the Argents showed up to the party too."
"Which means Allison told her family who the kanima is," Stiles groaned. "Damn it."
"Scott and the others are holding them off for now, but that means we're gonna have to deal with Jackson."
"Typical. Looks like you and I are gonna figure this shit out on our own. Again."
He gave me a grim smile and leaned in for one more brief kiss. He grabbed my waist and pulled me off the car, but I twirled out of his grasp before he could get distracted.
"Nuh uh. Grab your ticket. We need to go."
"God, you're such a stickler."
I rolled my eyes and pushed away from him so I could grab my things from the van. Even knowing that just about every aspect of our plan had gone wrong, I felt better than I had before. I was worried, of course, but the vacuum pressure that had been tearing me apart from the inside was gone. It was just a few knots of tension—the pit of my stomach, the back of my head, the muscles around my heart—troublesome, but bearable.
Stiles slipped his hand into mine as we walked around toward the front of the warehouse, and the knots loosened a little more. Maybe we would be okay after all.
It wasn't long before I started feeling the music vibrating in my chest. By the time they'd collected our tickets and we were actually inside the building, the bass was loud enough to knock the wind out of me. I held tight to Stiles's hand staring at the wall of people in front of me. How were we supposed to find Isaac and Erica in all of this?
"Don't suppose he mentioned where they locked him up, huh?" Stiles called, looking sourly over the colorful crowd.
"That would be a no." I pursed my lips, and pulled out my phone to text Isaac, but Stiles grabbed my shoulder.
"Actually, I got a better idea." He shook himself off, then cupped his hands around his mouth. "Ahem…Isaac! Erica! Uh…don't really know where we're going!"
I raised an eyebrow as he looked around, clearly waiting for a response. "What are you doing?"
"Yelling at them. They've got super hearing, right? They can come get us."
"Stiles, I can barely hear you over the music. I'd be surprised if they weren't practically shutting down because their hearing is so sensitive."
"Yeah, but Scott heard Allison before, right?"
"…That's Scott and Allison, babe. Not you and Isaac."
He thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. "Fair enough. It was worth a shot."
He grabbed my hand and tugged me to the side, leading me around the perimeter of the room so we could keep an eye open. I texted Isaac for a location, but his directions were lackluster at best. "A room on the far right side" didn't really help us find them, considering just how many side rooms there were in a warehouse this big. Stiles and I opened door after door, finding a lot of boxes and stereo equipment, and more semi-dressed couples than I'd budgeted on seeing in a lifetime, but no kanima or werewolves. It felt sort of weird to be disappointed about that.
I yanked open the next door without knocking, already getting annoyed by our lack of progress. I screamed as a pair of yellow eyes and fangs sprang forward, but there was no way to hear it over the music. Stiles threw himself in front of me with a glare.
"Woah! Chill out! It's just us!"
Isaac rolled his shoulders and stepped back, his teeth receding as he waved us into the room. "Sorry, Sadie. And, not sorry, Stiles."
"Cute."
Erica cocked an eyebrow at me as I walked in, her eyes scanning my outfit. I'd tried to straighten my shirt before we came inside, but my sweatshirt was missing and I'd torn a few holes in the fishnets when they'd caught on the Jeep. I was sure my makeup was smudged too. She rolled her eyes at me, the "you two disgust me" very clear, but her grudging smirk still visible. The outfit she'd created had certainly done its job.
The room was a pretty small space, lined with corrugated steel walls. Jackson was slumped in a chair against the wall, his eyes closed and arms hanging lankly at his sides. Even unconscious, he didn't look much like the boy I met last summer. As someone who had walked in on him and Lydia more than one morning, I knew the careless, innocent Jackson that emerged when he slept; that wasn't this Jackson. This Jackson's body was still full of tension when he wasn't awake, muscles wound up and his jaw set. I wondered for a moment if that was the kanima unwilling to loosen its grip on him, or Jackson unable to relax with everything he knew in the back of his mind.
"He okay?" Stiles asked, nodded toward Jackson.
Isaac shrugged. "Let's find out."
He walked over to the chair with a determined swagger, flicked out his claws, and was swiping at Jackson before I could stop him.
"Isaac, no—"
In a flash, Jackson's hand was wrapped around Isaac's wrist, squeezing and twisting until the crack of bone was audible across the room. Isaac screamed, his legs buckling underneath him, and I ran forward to grab his shoulder. My minimal strength didn't do much to free him, but I was able to help him up after he ripped his arm away. He clutched his arm to his chest as I herded him into the far corner. Jackson had never even opened his eyes.
"O-okay," Stiles said shakily, eyeing Jackson's limp body. "Okay, no one does anything like that again, okay?!"
Erica nodded frantically, and Isaac groaned in pain. "I thought the ketamine was supposed to put him out!"
"Yeah, well apparently this is all we're going to get. So let's just hope that whoever's controlling him just decided to show up tonight."
"I'm here."
We all turned very, very slowly. Jackson was still sitting in the chair, but his eyes had now opened to slits. It was disorienting to see Jackson's real, green eyes staring at us instead of the kanima's yellow ones. I'd seen him upset before, downright murderous, but I'd never see him this…dead. This wasn't Jackson. This was just a hollow shell, a vessel for whoever was controlling him.
"I'm right here with you."
Stiles took a hesitant step forward, but I snatched his arm I fear. He looked back at me, much calmer than I expected him to be. "It's okay."
"No! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Being Batman."
My grip fell slack just long enough for him to slip away. He took a few more steps toward Jackson, ignoring the protests I hadn't even been able to get out of my mouth. He squatted down in front of the chair, out of arm's reach but still too close to be safe. If the ketamine wore off, or if Jackson was just faking…
Erica grabbed my arm, gently tugging me back in front of her. It was only because she looked so scared that I let her.
"Jackson?" Stiles asked softly. "Is that you?"
"Us. We're all here."
My stomach dropped at the voice's gravelly tone. Nothing we'd read about kanima mythologies had said anything about multiple masters. If Jackson turned out to be a toy being passed around by a bunch of blossoming serial killers, I was going to throw the towel in. I would be well past done at that point.
"Are you the one killing people?" Stiles asked.
"We're the ones killing murderers."
"So all the people you killed so far—"
"Deserved it."
Stiles glanced back at me, and I raised an eyebrow. The wording wasn't lost on me either. Deserving death and being a murderer weren't necessarily the same thing.
"See, we got a little rule book," Stiles continued, "that says you only go after murderers."
"Anything can break if enough pressure's applied."
"What is that supposed to mean?" I demanded, stepping up behind Stiles again. "If the people you killed deserved it, if you're really killing murderers, then you're not breaking the rules."
Jackson's head snapped up so quickly, I almost stepped back.
"Not yet," he growled.
"Okay, let's—let's calm down." Stiles held one arm out to keep me behind him, his voice shaking a little as he tried to continue the interrogation. "We believe you, alright? So the people you're killing are all murderers, then?"
"All," he replied, still staring at me. "Each. Every. One."
"Fine," I snapped. "Who did they murder?"
"Me."
…Well…that couldn't be good…
"Wait, what?" asked Stiles. "What do you mean?"
"They murdered me. They murdered me!"
Jackson's irises disappeared behind the yellow eyes of the kanima, his entire body beginning to shake. Scales were growing across his skin, and his hands, while still at his sides, were already turning into claws. I grabbed Stiles by the collar and yanked him to his feet, dragging him back while my eyes stayed trained on the kanima's emergence.
"Okay, alright," Stiles said weakly. "The man needs ketamine. Come on."
"We don't have anymore," said Isaac, holding up the empty bottle.
Stiles turned to glare at him. "You used the whole bottle?!"
"And if he hadn't, we'd already be dead," I snapped. "Instead, we're gonna die now. Door. Go. Now."
Stiles might have argued if Jackson hadn't chosen that moment let out a chilling screech, long teeth poking out of his rapidly mutating head. Stiles grabbed Erica just as I grabbed him, and Isaac tripped frantically behind us as we tumbled out the door. He slammed it shut and we piled against it, Stiles's arms spready out over all of us to keep us to the wall.
"Okay, find something to move in front of the door!"
There was another screech before the wall beside us exploded, bits of metal flying in every direction. The kanima leapt out and disappeared into the shadows before any of us could even scream. The plan had officially crashed and burned.
"Shit," Stiles hissed. "Shit, shit, shit! Not good. Oh shit. So not good."
Erica shoved her way out from behind him. "Okay, do you want to stop cursing and tell us something we don't know?"
"Okay," I sighed shakily, knotting my fingers in my hair. "Jackson's probably halfway to his target at this point, and if a fight breaks out, we pretty much reveal the entire supernatural world to half the population…and kill the other half."
Stiles and I looked at each other and nodded, each reaching for our phones.
"I'll call Scott," he announced.
"I'll call Derek. You two see if you can track Jackson down. If we can't stop him, we can at least minimize the damage."
Isaac and Erica didn't question the order. Before I could even finish the thought, they were hurrying after Jackson, eyes shining gold.
Stiles grabbed my hand and started pulling me back the way we'd come, already holding his phone to his ear. I dialed Derek's number, each ring of the line making my heart beat a little faster, but I didn't have to wait for long. The beep cut off halfway through the tone, letting way to the sound of gunfire.
"Derek? Derek! Answer me!"
"Hold on!" I heard another particularly loud gunshot. Derek roared, and there were a few more crashes. After a few seconds of annoyingly vague heavy breathing, his voice returned to the line. "I'm a little busy getting shot at. What's wrong?"
"Um, everything? Ketamine apparently isn't the thing for restraining kanimas."
"What? Sadie, get—get out! Get out of there now!"
"I know, we're going! I'm parked in the back at the loading dock."
"I'll meet you there. Run faster."
He hung up on me, just before I could snap back at him. Stiles and I were already moving so quickly that I didn't have any energy to spare on sarcasm. Judging by the way Stiles was cursing repeatedly under his breath, Scott still wasn't picking up his phone. I fumbled with my phone to dial another number.
"Sadie?" Allison's voice was strained over the music. "Sadie, what's going on? I—I'm so sorry! I didn't—I didn't know you had a plan and—"
"Forget the plan," I said sharply. "The plan bombed. Jackson's out."
"He's—what?"
"Ally, you need to get out. Your dad's still outside fighting with Derek, Jackson's on the loose, and we've got no way to stop him. Just—just take Matt and get out!"
"O-okay! Okay, I'm—we're going!"
"Go! Text me when you're safe."
"Sadie—"
I ended the call before I heard the rest. Time to run.
Stiles and I nearly got lost trying to find the backdoor of the warehouse instead of sprinting out front. It took us a few minutes, but even once we'd run safely over the mountain ash line, Stiles still hadn't been able to get in touch with Scott. I'd hoped that maybe he was fighting with Derek and Boyd, but a minute later, Derek came hurtling around the corner of the building, completely alone.
I crossed the line again, running the last few yards to meet him. "Where's Scott?"
"What?" Derek stopped short, looking even more worried. "He's not with you?"
"No! No, he gave the ketamine to Isaac and said that he was gonna go deal with the Argents, but you were dealing with the Argents, and no one's answering their phone, and the plan—"
"Sadie!" He grabbed me by the shoulders. "Stop. What happened? Are you okay?"
"No, I'm—I'm fine. It's fine."
"Well, not really," Stiles offered from behind me. "We lost Jackson inside. I'm fine, by the way, thanks for asking."
Derek glared at him over my shoulder, but didn't get a chance to yell. His head snapped up a moment before Isaac and Erica came running out of the loading dock. They didn't say anything, but judging by their expressions, they didn't have any good news.
They started toward us, but only made it a few steps. Isaac looked down in confusion, then knelt and tried to touch the black powder that was forming a barrier at his feet. But he couldn't. He glanced up at Erica, looking worried, but Stiles burst into laughter.
"Oh my God, it works! We did something! We did a thing!"
"Yes, Stiles, we did a thing, and Jackson's still free. Shush."
"Right, sorry—"
"Scott."
Everyone turned sharply to Derek, who was suddenly standing straight as a rod. He started into the distance, just the way Scott had before sprinting off without explanation. Derek looked just as alarmed, and his hands swiftly fell off my shoulders.
"Break it."
"What?" Stiles asked in alarm. "No way!"
"Why?"
"Just break it! He's dying!"
"Woah, h-how do you know that?"
I knelt down without question, instinctually swiping my hands through the air over the ash and breaking the line. I could almost feel the barrier fall down, like a gust of wind that hit me in the chest. Derek took off, yelling orders over his shoulder.
"Isaac, call Boyd! He has the car!"
"But if Scott—"
"Go!"
Something in Derek's voice made Isaac and Erica recoil, both bowing their heads in obedience. The next second, Derek was gone.
The four of us sat in solemn silence, staring down at the broken line of dust. I wondered fleetingly if I'd be able to close it again, but something in me knew it wouldn't matter. The kanima and his master had already completed their mission for the night. Now, they'd be gone.
Isaac let out a wild scream, whirling around to punch a nearby dumpster. His fist left a dent in the metal and Erica leapt forward to pull him back. Gradually, his breathing steadied, and after a few seconds, he gave a weak, dry laugh.
"Well. That was fun. So much for saving lives."
"Did Jackson—"
"She's dead," Erica said, casting me a dark look. "We could smell all the blood the moment we walked in."
I forced my brain to shut down before I could process that. It was the final stamp on our failure for the night. The Argents knew about Jackson. No one knew who was controlling him. The kanima had claimed another victim. Somewhere, Scott was dying, completely alone. And there was nothing we could do about any of it.
Erica excused herself to call Boyd, her hands shaking on her phone as she walked away. Isaac sighed, taking a seat on the ground and letting his legs hang over the edge of the loading dock.
"You realize that Jackson's out, right?" he asked miserably. "Like, for good? I doubt we'll be able to pull off something like this again…if you can call this 'pulling it off.'"
"I couldn't let Scott die," I said, as firmly as I could. "I just…we can't do this without him."
"Yeah. I'm starting to see that."
Isaac's voice wasn't hard or angry. I'd been expecting him to argue, to put up a fight about protecting one person over the good of the entire town, but he just stared at his shoes, picking at the cuffs of his shirt until Erica rejoined the group.
"Boyd's waiting out front. We've got to go."
She waited expectantly, but Isaac didn't move. He sat in his seat, absent-mindedly cracking his knuckles and staring into space. It didn't look like he planned on moving anytime soon.
"I'll let you know when they get back," I assured him. "They'll be fine. Both of them."
The look Isaac sent me was doubtful, but he relented. He stood up and brushed himself off, then gave Stiles and I a stiff nod. He and Erica walked away without a goodbye, but it felt appropriate. What was left to say after a night like this?
I waited until they had disappeared before I turned to Stiles, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my face in his shoulder. "They will be okay, right? They'll—"
"Yeah. They'll be okay."
He hugged me just tight enough that I could feel him trying to convince himself. I leaned back to look at him, and we each put on the best brave face we could. It didn't do much good. I knew Stiles's expression was a perfect reflection of my own: grim smile, furrowed brow, and eyes filled with visions of Scott's body, mangled by the kanima or riddled with bullet holes the Argents had left behind. I closed my eyes and hid my face in Stiles's neck again. I didn't want to see it anymore.
It felt like an eternity waiting in the parking lot, but finally, Derek returned. Scott's body was limp in his arms, but he wasn't bloody or mangled. I was relieved, until I noticed the sheen of sweat on his half-transformed brow. His claws lolled around as Derek sprinted over to us, not looking any less panicked than he had when he left. If anything, he looked worse.
"What the hell happened?" Stiles demanded, the moment the boys were in sight. "What's wrong?"
"Wolfsbane," Derek bit out, half snarl and half cough. "She was vaporizing it. The bitch was murdering him! No code! Nothing!"
"Derek! Derek, stop!" I grabbed his shoulders this time, and his head snapped up to glower at me. "Who was trying to murder him?"
"Victoria."
"Wait, Victoria as in Victoria Argent?" Stiles asked frantically. "Victoria Argent as in Allison's mother?"
"Yes, that Victoria," Derek spat. "I—I had to fight her off. She's gone. I don't know how long she had him, but he doesn't have long."
"W-well can't we just do what we did last time? We get some wolfsbane, we burn out the infection—"
"I was shot, Stiles! That was—that was an open wound. Scott's been breathing this for God knows how long. This…I don't know how to fix this…"
Derek swallowed thickly, looking down at Scott with more emotion than I'd ever seen him show in public. He felt guilty, obviously—that seemed to be a permanent part of his character—but he was also scared. That probably should have scared me. Instead, it kicked my brain into high gear.
"Maybe you don't. But we know someone who will."
"We do?" Stiles asked.
Derek's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Deaton."
"Oh, great, psycho vet?!"
"He helped us today, didn't he?" I asked, making Stiles scoff.
"Helped? What did any of this do to help tonight?"
"Do you have a better idea?!"
Stiles looked at me sourly, but deflated. We were on the clock, and if our resident werewolf didn't know what to do, then we needed to outsource. Deaton had fixed Scott up before. We could only hope he'd be able to do it again.
"I can't get him there like this," Derek groaned, hoisting Scott's body higher with some difficulty. "I'm still healing from the fight with—"
"Take the van. Stiles can drive me home."
"…You want me to race to save Scott's life in a minivan?"
"At least she's not stick-shift."
Derek didn't question me. I opened the side door and climbed into the back, helping him lay Scott on the floor. He groaned as we moved him, and while it hurt to see him in pain, it was good to know he was still alive.
I backed up, ready to hop out of the car, but a hand shot out and caught my wrist. Scott's claws grazed dangerously over my skin, his eyes fluttering open and closed. "D-Don't…"
"Scott? Don't what?" I wasn't surprised to hear my voice in hysterics. My free hand laid itself over Scott's. "Derek's taking you to Deaton. I can come if—"
"Don't tell…Allison…"
"Are you serious?" Stiles asked from behind me. "Scott, her mom is trying to kill you. Like murder you! That sounds like something she should definitely probably know about!"
"You can't…I…have to…"
"Fine." I slid my wrist out of his hand and grabbed it with both of mine. "Okay. Don't die, and we won't tell Allison."
Scott's lips twitched up into a smile, which instantly turned to a grimace of pain. "Fair."
I dropped his hand and pushed his hair back off his forehead. The bulky muscles of his brow were already returning to normal, though I wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a terrible symptom. I stepped back and slammed the door shut, nodding curtly to Derek in the driver's seat. There was a screech as the van jerked into reverse, missing the dumpster by a matter of inches. Then they peeled out of the parking lot, leaving us in silence and darkness.
I reached back and grabbed Stiles's hand, not bothering to check the worried look on his face. He weaved his fingers between mine, forcing his anxiety into his grip so I wouldn't be able to hear it in his voice.
"Come on. I'll drive you home."
We didn't speak the whole way to my house. I'm pretty sure we were both too afraid that voicing any of the possible consequences of the night would make them real. I know I was. I also knew that I wasn't strong enough to keep my emotions out of my voice the way Stiles had. I didn't have that much control, and he was worried enough as it was. He didn't need to worry about me too.
Stiles pulled up to the curb, momentarily letting go of my hand so he could park. He glanced past me at the dark house and gave me a grim smile. "What are you gonna tell your mom about the van?"
"I…have no idea. Probably that Allison's date crashed and burned and she needed a quick getaway."
"Wish that were true," he snorted, and I smiled.
"I don't know if I'll have to say anything, though. Hopefully Mom's asleep and Derek will have the car back before sunrise."
"Yeah, or he'll keep it for his little wolf pack family."
"Well then, you'll have to help me hotwire the Camaro."
He grinned at the suggestion, but it wasn't strong enough to reach his eyes. I bit my lip, holding his hand and rubbing my thumb over the skin.
"Scott's going to be okay. I know you don't really trust Derek, or Deaton, and I get that—but they won't let anything happen to him. Everyone knows how important Scott is. And I promise that I will call you the moment I hear from Derek. I'm not going to sleep until I'm positive that Scott's alive."
"Thank you." Stiles nodded, his smile a little more genuine. He stared at me for a few seconds, his eyes drifting over my face. "You know, I…I don't want us to become one of those couples that says 'I love you' like two hundred times a day until it doesn't mean anything, but…I love you, Sadie."
I smiled, enjoying the butterflies I got in my stomach as I kissed his knuckles. "I know."
His jaw dropped comically and he stared at me in horror. "Did—I'm sorry, did you just Princess Leia me?"
"Maybe…"
"Oh no. That's it. Get out. Statement revoked. You don't get to say 'I love you' first and steal my Star Wars joke. You're banished, Bennet."
"Okay! I'm sorry, I'm going." I laughed as I climbed out of the Jeep, pausing to turn back with a hopeful grin. "Can I have a kiss before I go?"
Stiles rolled his eyes and pulled me back into the car. "God, you're so needy."
I pressed my lips to his, taking the gentle, heartfelt kiss I'd been expecting before. I nudged Stiles with my nose, pulling back just enough to breathe and resting my forehead against his.
"Love you, Nerfherder."
"Don't push it, Princess."