AN: Sorry for not updating much this weekend, been working long days Thursday-Sunday! Thought I'd get this one up before the weekend is over. Let me know what you think, enjoy x
Derek Hale stood rigidly in the hallway of the McCall house, his sharp gaze flicking between Scott and Stiles. The tension in the air was thick, charged with the weight of secrets, lies, and the lingering threat of danger. His jaw clenched as he paced back and forth, the anger and frustration boiling just below the surface.
"So, let me get this straight," Derek growled, his voice low and controlled, but with an edge of disbelief. "You told the sheriff I was the one killing people?" He turned to Scott, his eyes burning with the intensity of betrayal.
Scott opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Derek's harsh tone.
"Don't answer me," Derek snapped. "I already know the answer." He paced again, his fingers running through his hair. "You've put a target on my back. And now the entire town is looking for me, hunting me like some kind of animal. You think they're going to stop? You think they'll just—what? Give up? Because you said I'm innocent?"
Scott swallowed hard. He couldn't deny the truth. He had made the call, told the sheriff that Derek was the killer. He'd done it in a moment of panic, of fear, but it had been a mistake. The weight of that mistake settled over him like a stone in his stomach.
"In Scott's defence, we did think you were dead," Stiles said, as if it made things better. Derek glared at him.
Scott sighed. "You don't understand. The killings-people were dying, and we had to stop it."
"Stop it?" Derek scoffed. "You've made everything worse. Now they think I'm the one who's been ripping people apart, and I'm supposed to just-what? Sit back and take the blame for something I didn't do?"
Stiles shifted uncomfortably, clearly not wanting to get caught in the middle of the growing argument. He glanced between the two of them, trying to find a way to steer the conversation toward something more productive. They didn't have time for this.
"Look, Derek," Stiles interjected, trying to keep his voice even. "We know you're not the alpha. We know you didn't do it. But we're trying to figure out who did, and we need a plan. We need to find the real killer before it's too late."
Derek's eyes narrowed, but he didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took a step back, his ears suddenly straining as if listening for something beyond the conversation. He stood perfectly still, his body tensing as he glanced around the hallway like an animal sensing danger.
Scott furrowed his brow, his nerves on edge as he turned to Stiles, who seemed to catch on just as quickly.
"What is it?" Scott asked, his voice low.
Derek's gaze snapped to Scott. "Who else is in the house?" he asked, his voice suddenly urgent.
Scott's heart skipped a beat. "What? No one. It's just us."
"Are you sure?" Derek interrupted, his voice sharper now. He was already on edge, his instincts kicking in. He could feel it - something wasn't right.
"My mom is at work, and I—I think Jamie went out last night," Scott muttered, his stomach twisting with unease. "She didn't come down for breakfast, and I didn't hear her get up. I assumed she was with Jackson."
Derek's expression darkened as he scanned the hallway, his instincts screaming at him that something was off. His eyes flicked to the stairs, then back to Scott. He didn't wait for confirmation; his body moved before his mind could catch up, darting toward the staircase with an urgency that sent a shiver down Scott's spine.
Stiles and Scott exchanged a brief glance before both followed Derek up the stairs. The sound of their footsteps echoed in the otherwise silent house as they rushed toward Jamie's bedroom, a sense of dread settling over them with each step.
As they reached the door, Derek was already pushing it open. He stepped into the room, and there, sprawled on her bed, was Jamie. Unconscious. Her body limp, her breathing shallow.
"Crap," Derek breathed, as his eyes fell on the teen. He rushed to her side, kneeling beside the bed.
Stiles and Scott crowded around the doorframe, their eyes widening in horror.
"Jamie, what the hell did you do," Stiles murmured, his voice faltering.
"She overdosed," Derek muttered under his breath, gesturing to the empty tubes on the nightstand.
Stiles, his face pale, quickly moved to her other side, his eyes scanning the bottles scattered across her nightstand. "Those are Lydia's," he said, his voice trembling with realization. "She must've taken them. She - Jamie must've stolen them."
"Is she…?" Scott trailed off, powerless to finish the sentence, his mind unable to comprehend what was unfolding in front of him.
Derek didn't waste any time. He placed his fingers gently on Jamie's wrist, searching for a pulse. His breath caught when he felt it—a weak, faint throb beneath his fingers. She was alive, but barely. The relief was immediate but short-lived as the reality of what was happening sank in.
He scooped Jamie up into his arms, cradling her against his chest. Her head lolled against him, her body too weak to resist.
"Call 911. Now," Derek ordered Stiles, his voice like steel.
Stiles fumbled with his phone, dialling quickly as Derek made his way to the stairs, each step quick and deliberate. Stiles was already on the line with the emergency operator, his voice frantic as he relayed the information.
"Scott, you should call your mom," Derek suggested, his tone softer as he spoke. There was no response. He glanced over his should as he lay the unconscious girl onto the couch, catching Scott out of the corner of his eye.
The boy was stood on the stairs, his eyes fixed on his sister. Derek sighed, leaving the girl's side briefly to approach her brother.
"Scott," he said, more forcefully this time as he placed a hand on his shoulder. Scott's glazed eyes met Derek's. "Call your mom."
Scott nodded. Pulling out his phone as he tore is eyes away from Jamie. He needed to call his mom, but what was he going to tell her?
The hallway outside Jamie's hospital room was thick with tension. The cold, sterile air seemed to amplify every sound - footsteps, distant chatter, the faint beeping of machines from within Jamie's room. Melissa sat inside, holding Jamie's hand, her silhouette visible through the small window in the door. Outside, Scott stood with his back against the wall, arms crossed tightly, his face pale and drawn. He hadn't said a word since they arrived.
Stiles paced back and forth, rubbing the back of his neck, his movements jittery and full of nervous energy. Jackson had recently arrived, his body leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, his face a mask of quiet anger and frustration.
"This…this shouldn't have happened," Stiles muttered, his voice trembling slightly. "I should've known. I should've seen it coming."
"Known what?" Jackson asked coldly, his voice barely above a whisper but cutting nonetheless. "That Jamie's been spiralling for months?"
Stiles stopped pacing and shot him a glare. "Don't act like you're some saint, Jackson. You've known her just as long as I have, and you didn't do anything either."
"I didn't know she'd do this!" Jackson shot back, his voice rising.
Stiles let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "I should've known. I mean, she stole Lydia's pills. Of course, she'd…" He trailed off, his face crumpling slightly. "Of course she'd do something like this."
Scott, who had been silent until now, looked up sharply. His brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice low but tinged with disbelief. "What do you mean 'of course'?"
Stiles froze, his eyes darting toward Scott like a deer caught in headlights. "Uh…I mean, just…you know, Jamie… she's had a thing with pills."
Scott straightened, his jaw tightening. "What do you mean she's had a thing with pills?" he asked, his voice gaining an edge. "What are you talking about, Stiles?"
Jackson glanced away, his jaw tightening, but Stiles stood there, visibly squirming under Scott's intense gaze. "Look, it's not-she wasn't… it wasn't like a full-blown addiction or anything," Stiles stammered. "But she's had some…issues. You know, experimenting. Mostly pills, sometimes other stuff."
Scott's eyes widened, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. "You knew?" he asked, his voice rising. "You knew Jamie was…was doing drugs, and you didn't tell me?"
Stiles threw up his hands defensively. "It wasn't my place to say anything, okay? She was dealing with a lot, and I thought she was handling it."
"Handling it?" Scott repeated, his voice incredulous. He stepped closer to Stiles, his fists clenching at his sides. "She just took an overdose, Stiles! Does that look like she was 'handling it'?"
"I didn't know it was this bad!" Stiles shot back, his voice breaking. "I thought she was doing better. I thought—."
"You thought wrong!" Scott shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. His face was flushed now, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "How could you not tell me? I could've helped her! I could've done something!"
Jackson finally broke his silence, his voice cold but steady. "You think knowing would've changed anything?" he asked, his gaze hard. "She's been drowning for months, and neither of you noticed. So don't act like you would've swooped in and saved her."
Scott turned his glare on Jackson, but the words died in his throat. Jackson's expression was full of anger, but beneath it was something else - something raw and pained.
The tension hung heavy between them, the weight of their collective guilt suffocating.
Scott exhaled sharply, turning away and raking his hands through his hair. He looked at the door to Jamie's room, his heart breaking all over again. "I think you should just go," he sighed finally, not taking his eye off his sister. "Both of you."
Stiles stepped forward, his voice softer now. "Scott - ."
"Just go," he interrupted. Jackson sighed, turning on his heel and walking away. Stiles hung back, not wanting to leave his best friend alone, especially if he was mad at him
"Stiles, it's okay," Scott sighed, his eyes turning to meet his friend's. "Go home. Get some sleep. I'll text you if anything changes." Stiles nodded.
"If you need anything…" he trailed off. There wasn't anything he could do to help.
Scott didn't respond. He stared at the ground, his shoulders slumped, his mind swirling with guilt and regret.
Inside the room, Melissa sat beside Jamie's bed, oblivious to the argument outside. She smoothed her daughter's hair gently, her face a mask of quiet determination as she whispered words of comfort, even though Jamie couldn't hear them.
The soft light of the mid-morning sun streamed through Jamie's bedroom window, casting a pale glow over the quiet space. She lay curled under her blankets, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her room, usually chaotic with clothes and books strewn everywhere, now felt oddly sterile - like a space that didn't belong to her anymore. Her mother had tidied it while she was still in the hospital, trying to make it a comforting place for her recovery. Instead, it just felt foreign.
The silence in the room felt oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves outside the window. Jamie shifted under the covers, her limbs heavy and achy, a dull reminder of how close she'd come to something irreversible. Her chest tightened as fragments of the hospital flashed through her mind - the harsh fluorescent lights, the steady beeping of machines, the pitying looks from the nurses.
Her throat burned, not from crying but from holding everything in. She hadn't cried once, not even when she woke up and realised what had happened. It had all been an accident, a stupid, thoughtless mistake, but the looks her mom and Scott had given her said they weren't so sure. The doubt in their eyes stung more than the physical aftermath.
Jamie clenched her jaw and shifted onto her side, facing the window. The sunlight felt like an intrusion, bright and unrelenting, when all she wanted was darkness. Her fingers brushed the edge of the comforter, and she tugged it closer, seeking some kind of shield from the weight pressing down on her chest.
She thought about the pills - the way they had spilled out of her hand like tiny white confessions. How had it gotten to this? Her life wasn't supposed to be this messy, this hard. She was supposed to be better than this, smarter than this.
Her breathing hitched as guilt clawed at her throat. Her mom's voice echoed faintly in her mind from the night before: "Jamie, I just don't understand. Why didn't you say something?"
But how could she? How could she explain the gnawing anxiety that had kept her up night after night, or the hollow ache in her chest that no one seemed to notice? It was easier to just keep going, pretending everything was fine - until it wasn't.
Jamie's eyes stung, but she blinked rapidly, refusing to let herself cry. She didn't deserve to cry. Not after everything she'd done, not after scaring everyone like that. She pressed her lips together, her breath shaky, and stared out the window.
The faint sound of clinking dishes drifted up from the kitchen, where Melissa was making breakfast. Jamie sighed, pulling the covers tighter around herself. She appreciated her mom being there, truly she did, but the constant attention felt suffocating. Melissa had barely let her out of her sight since she came home, hovering like a protective shadow.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling her out of her thoughts. She hesitated before reaching for it, her heart sinking a little when she saw it was just a message from her doctor reminding her of an upcoming appointment. She tossed the phone back onto the table with a huff.
No messages. None. Not even from Stiles or Jackson, except for the awkward visits in the hospital where no one seemed to know what to say.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket. They're avoiding me.
She knew it in her gut. The way Stiles and Jackson had barely met her eyes at the hospital. The way they had gone radio silent. And Scott - she'd only seen him a handful of times, and every time, he seemed on the verge of saying something but would just leave.
They're all hiding something.
Her stomach churned at the thought, anger bubbling under the surface. But no matter how much she wanted to press them, to demand answers, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not yet.
For now, she needed to focus on getting better. She wasn't going to let their secrets derail her, not again.
A soft knock at the door broke her thoughts.
"Jamie? You awake?" Melissa's voice was gentle, but it carried the weight of worry that had hung in the air since Jamie had come home.
"Yeah," Jamie said, her voice scratchy from disuse.
Melissa stepped in. "I made you some oatmeal," she said. "Thought it might be nice to have something warm."
Jamie pushed herself up slowly, leaning back against the headboard. "Thanks," she said quietly, though her appetite was non-existent. "I'll be down in a minute."
Melissa nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Scott," Melissa said after a moment. "He's been asking about you. He's worried"
Jamie looked up at that, her expression sceptical. "Really? Because it doesn't seem like it."
Melissa frowned. "Jamie, he loves you. Give him some time, okay?"
Jamie didn't answer. She wasn't in the mood for platitudes.
Melissa sighed, smoothing the front of her shirt. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything," she said, her voice tinged with resignation.
Jamie nodded absently, waiting until her mom had left before slumping back against the pillow.
She quickly dressed and padded downstairs, the familiar creaks of the old wood underfoot somehow feeling foreign now. The smell of oatmeal and coffee wafted from the kitchen, mingling with the sound of Melissa moving about. Jamie hesitated at the bottom step, her fingers curling around the banister as she took a moment to steady herself.
The kitchen was bright, sunlight streaming through the window above the sink. Melissa was at the counter, her back to Jamie, stirring something in a small pot. A plate of toast sat on the table, next to a steaming mug of coffee. Everything about the scene was normal, ordinary, but Jamie felt out of place, like a ghost observing a life she wasn't a part of anymore.
"Hey," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the hum of the kettle.
Melissa turned, a warm but tired smile on her face. "There you are. I was starting to wonder if you fell back asleep."
Jamie shook her head, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table. She stared at the plate of toast, picking at the edges absentmindedly. Melissa placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of her and sat down across the table, her eyes scanning Jamie's face.
"You need to eat," Melissa said gently, but there was a firmness beneath her tone.
Jamie nodded, picking up the spoon and taking a small bite. The texture was comforting, but the taste felt muted. She forced herself to take another bite, knowing her mom was watching her.
"Are you feeling okay?" Melissa asked after a moment, her voice careful.
Jamie set the spoon down, her hands resting in her lap. "I'm fine."
Melissa's brow furrowed. "Jamie—"
"I said I'm fine, Mom," Jamie snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. She saw the flicker of hurt in Melissa's eyes and immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, her voice softening. "I just...I'm tired."
Melissa reached across the table, her hand resting lightly on Jamie's. "I know this isn't easy. But you don't have to go through it alone, okay? I'm here, whenever you're ready."
Jamie nodded, but her mind wandered to the people who weren't there. The friends who hadn't called, hadn't texted. The secrets she could feel pressing down on her from all sides. She wanted to tell Melissa, to spill everything that was clawing at her insides, but the words wouldn't come.
"I think I'll take this upstairs," Jamie said abruptly, standing up and grabbing the bowl. "I'm not that hungry."
Melissa started to protest, but Jamie was already halfway up the stairs, her oatmeal untouched. She closed her bedroom door behind her and leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath.
She glanced at her phone on the nightstand. Still no messages. Her chest tightened, a dull ache spreading through her ribs. She threw herself onto the bed, grabbing a pillow and clutching it tightly.
If they're hiding something, then I'll find out.
But first, she needed to get through the day without falling apart.
The next morning came like the last. Jamie stared at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of Melissa moving around downstairs. It was the same routine as yesterday. The same stifling awkwardness hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.
Jamie sighed and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She knew she couldn't stay holed up in her room forever. She padded down the hallway, the faint sound of her mother's voice catching her ear as she passed the stairs.
"No, I understand," Melissa was saying, her tone strained. Jamie paused, creeping closer to listen. "I just need a little more time. She's not ready to be alone yet."
There was a long pause, and Jamie could hear Melissa's voice waver as she continued. "I know it's a lot to ask, but...she's my daughter. I can't leave her right now. Please."
Jamie felt her stomach twist, the guilt rising like a tide. Her mother's voice was tinged with desperation, a kind of vulnerability she hadn't heard in a long time. She knew the financial strain Melissa was under, the double shifts, the sleepless nights. And now, because of her, Melissa was begging for more time off work, likely risking her job.
She backed away from the stairs, her chest tight as she made her way to the kitchen. She sat at the table, staring blankly at the plate of toast Melissa had set out. The silence that followed her mom into the room was deafening.
"Morning," Melissa said cautiously as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She looked tired, the weight of everything showing in the lines on her face.
Jamie mumbled a "morning" back, but the tension between them was unbearable. She could feel her mom's eyes on her as she poked at her toast, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.
Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. The guilt, the awkwardness, the suffocating silence - it all came spilling out.
"I'm sorry, okay!" Jamie blurted, her voice trembling. She pushed her plate away and stood up, her hands clenched at her sides. "I'm sorry for everything. For scaring you, for making your life harder, for...all of it."
Melissa set down her coffee, her eyes widening in surprise. "Jamie - ."
"I'm sorry, Mom" Jamie said, her voice cracking. "I've been such a mess, and I didn't even stop to think about what I was doing to you. You've been working so hard, trying to keep everything together, and I just... I just made it worse. I'm so sorry."
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and she felt like a dam had burst. She wiped at her face, trying to hold herself together, but the emotions were too much.
Melissa crossed the room quickly and pulled Jamie into a hug. It was warm and firm, the kind of hug Jamie hadn't felt in what felt like forever. She froze for a moment before wrapping her arms around her mom, the sobs finally breaking free.
"I'm so sorry," Jamie whispered again, her voice muffled against Melissa's shoulder.
Melissa held her tighter, her own voice thick with emotion. "It's okay, kiddo. We're going to get through this."
For the first time in months, Jamie felt like she wasn't carrying the weight of everything alone.
So she told Melissa everything. She told her about Tucker, about the drugs and the parties. She told her about the alcohol she had stolen. She told her about taking the pills from Lydia, and how she hadn't meant to take too many, she just needed her panic to stop.
But she couldn't tell her what had started all of this. She couldn't tell her what had happened that night many months ago. How she was walking home from work one night and a figure had appeared from out of the woods. How they had pushed her over and she had frozen, the figure looming above her. How they'd slashed her skin with a knife and left her bleeding. How they likely would've killed her had it not been for the bright headlights that approached, scaring them away.
And how the driver of the car was Jackson. He'd been the one to find her, he'd been the one to get her home. He'd been the one who saved her.
She couldn't tell her mother how that had been the beginning of their unconventional friendship. And whilst everyone around them thought of Jackson as a jerk, a guy who only cared about himself, Jamie saw him differently. He was the only person who made her feel safe.
She couldn't tell Melissa any of that. Not when she was only just starting to come to terms with what had happened herself.
And now everything had fallen apart. The weight of everything had overwhelmed her, and Jamie wasn't sure she could rely on Jackson anymore to chase the monsters away.