NOTES: For the first time, Kellan gets to say goodbye.
MENTIONS: Death, vague descriptions of PTSD, blood, insanity.
There’s a serenity that only comes in moments like this: surrounded by the warmth and familiarity of family, after the smoke has cleared but before the sun has risen. All spread out across Sonny’s dorm, the Comaros lie in varying stages of intoxicated awareness. Kellan gives it about another ten minutes before someone falls asleep, at the most. It’s only a matter of time before they’re all passed out, snacks and drinks going stale at their feet.
Kellan can’t be the only one who’s missed this. He knows he isn’t. He’s the most distant of them all, always holding himself at a distance. One foot out the door at all times, ready to disappear into the crowd — yes, he’s missed this. He’s missed being only an arm’s length away from all of his siblings, able to look at them and know that they’re safe and he's safe. He’s missed hearing them laugh, and listening to their movie commentary, and Jojo’s food, and Nico’s crazy stories and—
It’s odd, but here, in this room that doesn’t belong to him, far from Philly and from his apartment, he sort of feels like he’s finally home.
(He wonders, briefly, where that feeling went in the first place. Wonders when it disappeared, or if it was ever there to begin with.)
Another joke comes from the television, and the laugh that Kellan lets out is weak, at best. He’s slowly but surely starting to feel the effects of not sleeping. He can’t remember the last time he slept for more than an hour a night, and he’s fine with that. Six hours a week isn’t bad; it’s survivable, and that’s all he’s aiming for these days. Survival.
Kellan glances around at his siblings, having to once again remind himself that the battle is over. Marina is back to herself again — and if she isn’t yet, then she will be soon — and they’re all safe, here, whole, and still a family. Though it’s something he doesn’t quite understand, he’s still happy to know that some bonds can’t be broken.
He looks around the room once again, and he tenses up as he realizes how dazed he feels. His senses feel dulled, and he doesn’t feel quite... there. He can see Nico and Bea and the others, but he can’t hear them. He can’t feel them.
He feels weightless.
The space around him is differently, too. It looks dimmer, grayer, smokier. As if he blinked and ended up in another version of this world: same people, same place, same colors, just darker. And while he’s gotten quite used to coming in and out of this alternate plane, this is the first time he’s seen his siblings here. In this world where death touches everything, and the only light comes as a reflection of what used to be, a world where he probably should’ve stayed; they don’t fit here. They don’t belong here.
Part of Kellan is horrified, but for the most part, he’s just tired.
Fingers wrapped loosely around the neck of his beer bottle, he pushes himself up from the floor. Setting his drink down on the table, he silently heads for the bathroom. The world still feels strange, as if he’s been plucked from what he knows and dropped in this weird space that not even Cass and Jeff would be able to navigate their way through. He waits to feel the ground beneath his feet with every step, but it’s not there.
Every action, every step, is done easily and without thought. But it’s more like he’s seeing it than doing it.
The bathroom door shuts behind him, and he closes his eyes, a curse falling from his lips.
Two days. He was in the Spirit World for two days. Time had felt so screwed up there; he’d thought it was only hours. And it wasn’t much of a difference; it wasn’t an awfully long time. But it stuck with him, even though it shouldn’t have. It shouldn’t have bothered him at all, actually, but it did. Sometimes, when he let himself get too comfortable, and stopped checking for signs of life around him, he found himself slipping back into that place. Usually, it was the Spirit World. A few times, it’d been the morgue.
He’d meant to ask Sage if perhaps they’d left part of him back there, and that’s why he’s still feeling like this. If, maybe, some part of the soul he wasn’t aware that he had is still in the Spirit World, and trying desperately to get back to him, and maybe that's why he can’t sleep. But things happened, and he isn’t even sure he'll ever speak to Sage again.
Autumn and Rhys hadn’t been happy to find out what happened. They were his emergency contacts, even now, and had been the ones to receive his personal belongings when he died. When he’d driven home to try to lie his way out of things, they’d started arguing. They were just so worried, and they loved him and wanted him to stay home, but he was just tired. He was tired and angry and he couldn’t handle them, or their love, or their worry. He’d snapped at them, something he’d never done before, the truth about his sleeplessness and anxiety spilling out.
He thought it was ridiculous; they didn’t particularly agree.
“Imagine someone is trapped in a closet or a cage for two days,” Rhys had told him. “With no light, no food, no one to speak to. They’re in there all alone, suffering through this without any help. When they come out, they’re going to fear the dark, Kell. Even if it was only two days. I can only imagine what two days in the Spirit World does to someone.”
Kellan wasn’t that interested in talking about it anymore. So he’d slept for half an hour then gotten on the road back to Phoenix. They weren’t happy about that, either.
Opening his eyes, he looks down, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He takes it as a good sign that he can feel the weight of it in his hands, even as they shake. He still hasn’t talked to his adoptive parents since he left. After all that they’ve done for him, he has no right to be this angry with them; not for caring about him.
As he types out an apology text to his mother, he idly wonders how his birth parents are. He has no idea where they were, or if they're even still alive. He knows that if he asks, Bea could probably find them for him. But no matter how curious he is, he would never ask. He isn’t sure he wants to know. All he remembers about them is the fact that they were bad people. Every memory of them is coated in blood; maybe his. Maybe theirs. Maybe someone else’s. There was always blood and joy in that household. Whoever they are, or were, insanity brought and kept them together.
Or maybe it killed them.
“So you really are alive.”
He pauses, his eyes once again slipping close. He breathes evenly, counting the seconds. He’s not drunk. But he is sleep deprived. Hallucinations aren’t even remotely out of the question; not these days. Then again... “Sage,” he whispers.
“That’d be a dollar. Guess again.”
A smile tugs at his lips, and he finally looks up at her. “I don’t think ghosts can do much with money.”
Alicia grins at him, shrugging. “Maybe not. Always nice to have, anyway.”
A moment passes, and Kellan sighs. He sends the text to Autumn, promising to call later, then pockets his phone. Now, it’s just him and the ghost of a girl he sort of knew. “I’m so sorry.”
Alicia’s gaze rests on him, and she tilts her head. “Because I’m dead or because you let me believe you were dead?”
Kellan considers it. “Both.”
“Nothing you could’ve done about the second one,” she says. “But the first was a dick move. I identified your body.”
He flinches. At the time, he’d just been glad it wasn’t any of his siblings or parents. He hadn’t considered the fact that Alicia was the last person he was with, and would thus be easier to contact. He doesn’t apologize again; he doesn’t think it’ll do much good at this point.
“How are you alive anyway,” she asks. “They told me you had an aneurysm — no, I saw you,” she hisses. There’s a fire in her eyes now, and it only saddens Kellan. As much energy as she has, there’s no place for it. It’s only a matter of time before she passes on. “I saw you die, Comaro. So how are you alive?”
“I had an unfair advantage,” he admits, smiling sadly at her. “And you’re wrong, by the way. About me not being able to do anything about... this. I could have.”
She laughs mirthlessly. “What could you possibly have done to stop me from dying?”
“Stayed dead,” he tells her without missing a beat. She stares back at him, and he slips his hands into his pockets, shrugging. “Around the time I started freaking out, your head started hurting. That was my fault. My powers had linked us together, and it was killing you. So I turned it on me. I died so that you wouldn’t have to. But a...” What is Sage to him, anyway? What was she to him? “...someone I know brought me back to life. A friend of mine thinks that you were meant to die that night, anyway. But I took your place. And I think that if I stayed dead, you would still be alive right now.”
Alicia continues to stare at him for a moment. Her eyes are wide and her breaths have stopped altogether. She’s taken a step back from him, as if distance can change what’s already happened. If only. “You killed me, then.”
He smiles at her, full of remorse and exhaustion and nothing at all. “Pretty much.”
“Fuck you,” she spits. Then, “Jesus.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. There’s nothing to say. No amount of apologies or empty promises will bring her back to life.
She runs a hand through her hair, and then laughs. “That’s the last time I kiss a guy on the first date. Oh,” she says after a moment. Then she giggles. “I guess it really is.”
And it’s sad, and cruel, and unfair, and there isn’t anything funny about it, but he lets out a quiet laugh, too. This moment between the two of them, hidden away in a bathroom in the middle of the night, weighs heavily on his mind. He knows it’s the last time he or anyone else will ever see her. He doesn’t know what Sage will do to her after this; doesn’t want to ask. Instead, he settles with the knowledge that this isn’t something he’s ever going to forget.
“Maybe we’ll see each other in my next life,” she offers.
He raises an eyebrow at her. “I don’t think that’s something you want.” It’s a personal preference, but Kellan can’t imagine wanting to see his killer in his next life.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. For a killer, you’re kind of cute, Comaro.” He laughs again, and she smiles. “See you in the next life, Kellan.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, and he watches as her image fades. Maybe she goes back to Sage; maybe she disappears completely. He sends out a prayer for her (not something he does often) and takes a few more minutes to compose himself.
Finally, he exits the bathroom. Burying the encounter beneath layers of regret and paranoia and fear, he makes his way back to his siblings, and adds Alicia’s ghost to the list of things to never speak of, but never let go of, either.
NOTES: Kellan liked to think he was better at this. ( death tw. )
Honestly, it was all rather anti-climactic, if you asked him.
The date didn’t actually go all that terribly. Kellan had always made it a point to avoid going on dates, and even though he never said so, there was a reason for that. Though he didn’t worry about his own heartbreak or loneliness, he could never dismiss the very real possibility that getting too close to someone would end with blood on his hands. And maybe it was selfish that his only fear was that he would cause someone else’s death, but he was never comfortable taking that risk. And because he didn’t want to ask someone to understand, or ask if they did understand — he never spoke about it.
This date, in the simplest of terms, was a mistake. But he didn’t regret it.
Setting up the Tinder profile wasn’t really his choice. He had no interests in online dating and minimal interest in actual dating. But he always caved whenever it came to his siblings, and could never figure out how to say no to them and stick to it. So when Marina insisted they set up the profile, he didn’t even try to deny her. Even when all was said and done, he hadn’t actually been expecting results. But more than one person had taken interest in him, and in true Comaro fashion, he’d taken it upon himself to befriend them all.
It was never supposed to get to this point, honestly. But Alicia had been in town, and she’d wanted to meet in person. It was partially his fault for saying yes, but he wouldn’t have felt right saying no.
Anyway. The date wasn’t terrible.
The arcade was one of his favorite places to be. Though he didn’t have as much time to go when he started college, he still came when he had his free time. And though he was worried that being here with a date would make the experience different, he ended up having more fun than he’d thought he would. He probably should’ve expected it, but Alicia was more competitive than he was. This only became something of a problem (not really) when she beat him at one of his favorite games for the fifth time.
She turned to him with a smug grin. “Pay up, Comaro.”
Hiding a grin of his own, Kellan pulled another dollar out of his wallet, slipping it into her hand. The rule of the night was that for every game they lost, they had to pay the other a dollar. So far, he’d gained six dollars — four of them coming from her refusing to admit to her loss in the basketball game — and lost five. “I don’t think I want to play anymore,” he joked.
“Tough luck,” she chirped, slipping the dollar into her purse. She looked back up to him with a smile. “You know, I can honestly say this is the only time I’ve ever gotten paid on a date.”
“And I can honestly say this is the first time I’ve ever been scammed on a date before.”
Alicia scoffed. “Please. It’s not a scam. You’re just really unlucky.”
He let out a laugh, and she took a step closer. Before his mind caught up with her movements, he felt her lips pressing against his. His breath caught in his throat for a moment, before he finally got control of himself. He reached up to touch her, fingers grazing the inside of her wrist as he pulled away from her. “Alicia.” His voice was soft and careful; a quiet warning for something they’d already discussed.
“I know, you don’t do relationships,” she breathed against his lips. She kissed him again. “But I really don’t care.” He felt her hands touching his face, and he debated pushing her away. He didn’t want to be mean, but it was too risky. It was bad enough that he liked her. Liking someone too much was already a bad idea, as far as he was concerned. And if there was one thing that he’d learned, it was that psionic links were sealed with touch. He rarely touched his own family, let alone strangers, let alone people he liked, he couldn’t r—
best date i’ve ever had, don’t push me away, don’t pu—
He ripped himself away from her, eyes slammed shut as he put a hand to his head. Just under the ringing in his ears, he could hear it: the steady string of thoughts that definitely didn’t belong to him. “Fuck,” he swore, resting both hands on the machine in front of him for support. Even without the risk of killing the other person, psionic links were horrible because they were so—
what the fuck, what did i do, what is wrong with him—
—painful. The influx of thoughts that didn’t belong to him took his breath away, paralyzing him for a long moment. It felt as if his head was going to burst from all of the thoughts. He felt tears sting his eyes, but none of them fell. He struggled to suck in every—
oh my god, is he breathing, call an ambulance, call 911, what did i d—
—breath, his chest seeming to cave in on itself as his brain tried to keep up with her panicked thoughts as well as his own. And he was panicking. All of the work that he’d put into not getting too attached to anyone, all of the lying he did, as much as he fought with himself, and it amounted to nothing. He’d formed a link with someone, the same way he always knew that he would, and oh god, he could kill her. He could hurt her, he had to break the link, he had to break it, but he didn’t know ho—
oh god, oh god, that hurts, that hurts, my head—
Under his jumbled mental process, he could hear his date letting out an almost inaudible wince. He was hurting her. He could feel it. He was losing control, control, losing control, and it was hurting her, he needed to stop. He tried to remember what Rhys and Autumn had taught him about keeping his emotions in check during emergencies. He forced his breathing to slow down, told his own thoughts to stop, and focused on reversing the link. If he could just get himself out of her head, could turn the link back on himself, it would be fine. She would be fine, even if—
(Oh.)
Hands clenching at the volume of her thoughts, he worked at pulling away. It was much like grasping a thing wire that he couldn’t see and yanking. It was almost impossible, and it was painful, but he managed. And as he pulled the link further and further away from Alicia, her thoughts grew quieter, and the ringing grew louder. No matter how calm he was, or how much he focused, he could no longer breathe. The pain in his head grew exponentially, but he forced himself to take it. He could handle it. He exploded on a regular basis; this? This was easy.
The things was that it wasn’t.
His head finally grew silent save for the ringing that had flooded his senses. His eyes finally opened, and he looked to Alicia. He could only just make out her blurry form. Her mouth moved as she spoke to him, but nothing she said made sense. Then, something peculiar happened. There was a single moment of absolute familiarity, as he recognized the feeling of exploding. Except he didn’t explode.
It just felt an awful lot like his brain did.
And as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his body crumpled to the floor, he finally thought and heard nothing.
Her shoe scratches against the ground as she kicks at rocks, missing every other try, and not kicking them very far when she doesn’t. Chasing after them would be a bad idea. With a pat on her head, Deucalion had kindly suggested that she stay right there until he finished with his meeting.
Head pats and kind suggestions usually mean disobedience will lead to harsh punishments.
The rocks aren’t important enough for her to chase after, anyway. They only remain noticeable because her eyes track them, their irregular shapes drawing her gaze back to them every time she tries to look away. They’re only important because she made them so.
But once she’s set her eyes on them, she can’t let them go.
This is the only situation where she isn’t the rock.
It’s unfairly hot for mid-May, and she doesn’t know if she hates it more or less than she hated the blistering cold winters in Michigan. It was always hot in California, she recalls, but the winters had a decent amount of rain.
Then again, she only ever saw the rain and the sun through the windows, or from the swing set in her backyard. Glancing up towards the sky, she thinks this is the closest she’s ever actually been to the sun. A lot of terrible things have happened, but since meeting Deucalion, she’s seen the world. And even when it’s covered in blood and ash, it’s still breathtakingly beautiful. Deucalion promised that she would see all of it, and he’s a man of his word.
The steel door next to her creaks open, and Cora’s gaze moves from the sun to the entrance. Deucalion steps out calmly, his cane tapping ahead of him. “Come on, dear,” he says gently, turning away from her. “Our business here is done.”
Cora pushes off of the wall without a word, stepping up to meet him. She slips her hand into his, walking beside him instead of behind him. “Deucalion?”
“Yes?”
“Why don’t we ever go back home?”
Deucalion squeezes her hand. “There’s nothing there for you, Cora. You left it all behind, remember?” She no longer flinches at the harsh reminder, but it’s a near thing. “You’ve seen Beacon Hills. I want to show you everything else, now.”
And because he promises that he will, and because he’s a man of his word, what she says is, “Okay.”
DECEMBER 24, 2011 — ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA
Shaking fingers pick lint off of her knit sweater, making the dull gray piece no more appealing than it’d been before. It’s a thin, cheap excuse for a present Deucalion got to last her through the winter months. He bought bigger, thicker, brand name coats and jackets, too, but this is the one she likes the most. It’s a truly ugly thing, but she’s a truly ugly person.
“You seem nervous.”
Her eyes shift to the man who spoke. He’s one of Deucalion’s seasonal alphas. Here for the winter, gone by spring. There are very few alphas Deucalion keeps around for longer than a few months. When she was younger, Cora thought the they simply didn’t need him anymore, and so they never came around again. Now that she knows what happens to them, she knows better than to warn them. She tried that once, with one of the nicer ones.
(Nice is always questionable, considering what Deucalion required his followers to do.)
It hadn’t ended well, for either of them. Since then, she hasn’t tried again. Most times, they don’t deserve it, anyway. This one definitely doesn’t. He makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and his voice sends shivers down spine. Before she watched him slaughter his pack, one of his fellow betas had warned her to never turn her back on him. “You never know what he’s thinking,” she’d said, her gaze flitting back and forth between Cora and the beta in question. “Sometimes, he’s on your side, and sometimes…” A darkness fell over her eyes then. She grabbed Cora’s shoulders, kneeling so that they were at eye level. She shook the young girl. “Be careful around him, Cora. Never be anywhere alone with him.”
She’s alone now. She wonders if this is another one of Deucalion’s lessons. If it is, she isn’t amused.
His gaze is dark and intrigued, and he has a crazed grin on his face, as if her supposed nervousness is the best thing to happen to him all week. Whether or not she is nervous doesn’t matter. He won’t see anymore of it. Blank eyes stare back at him. “Why would I be nervous?”
The alpha drums his fingers on the bar counter. He doesn’t answer her question, but stares at her for a long moment. She allows it. “Never destroyed a pack before?”
“I destroyed yours.”
His gaze loses a bit of its manic amusement, but his smile doesn’t completely disappear. “I destroyed my pack, kid.”
“No, you killed them,” Cora corrects, turning her attention to the few employees preparing to open the bar. They have about an hour and half before the last part of Deucalion’s plan is set in motion. “I did the rest.”
And she did. She worked her way into the center, getting close to the alpha, and turned him against all of them. She drove him to paranoia, then watched as he attacked his betas. He was taken down easily; far too easily for Deucalion’s tastes. When he presented his offer to the rest of the pack, this man was the only one who considered it. Then he took it.
Cora stood to the side, refusing to look away as he ripped them all apart. Deucalion would know if she looked away, and he would make sure she never did it again. In the end, when all that was left was a mess of blood and body parts.
It was an hour before Ennis came to get her. An hour spent standing in a pool of blood, watching as this man came to terms with what he’d done, and laughed any regret away.
That’s what Cora’s good at: ripping packs apart from inside out. Turning alphas against betas and betas against alphas. There was no good that could ever come from it, but it’s what Deucalion wants from her. He wants her to draw blood, so she does.
The alpha seems to come to the same conclusion. “I guess so.” His grin widens, and she automatically finds herself looking for all of the exits of the room. The one closest to her is behind her, and would lead her to where some of the other alphas are. It would take her less than five seconds to get there, but she can’t go that way. They would look down on her for running away, and some of them would even join in on whatever he has planned for her. She can’t risk getting ganged up on.
There’s a hallway up to her left. She could go there, at the risk of reaching a dead end. Getting cornered would be just as bad.
The exit to her right would be her best bet, but she would have to get past him first. She can do that. And if she can’t, she’ll fight. She won’t call for help; Deucalion would never forgive her if she did. Worst case scenario, she kills him.
When his hand touches her cheek, she considers doing it anyway. She doesn’t allow her nerves to show, though. She stares back at him with cold and defiant eyes. “Don’t touch me,” she hisses, leaning away from his hand. She can feel the blood that dirties it, and she doesn’t want it anywhere near her.
“You could be my beta,” he suggests, dropping his hand. “You aren’t loyal to Deucalion. Why not me?”
What Cora thinks is that submitting to one sociopath is no better than submitting to the other. Neither of these two are trustworthy, and she’ll die before she gives herself over to them. But with Deucalion, she knows that she’s just a pawn. He only cares for what she can do for him. It’s a give and take relationship with them: he teaches her how to survive as an omega, and she helps him set the world aflame. It goes against everything she ever wanted to be, but it’s better than dying.
(Mom would want you to survive, the Ana in her dreams sometimes says. She sits cross-legged across from Cora, aging along with her older sister. Would she like how you’re doing it? Of course not. There’s no honor in this. This isn’t the way Hales do things. But you’re living. And that’s enough for all of us over here.)
With this alpha, she has no idea what things would be like. She doesn’t know what he would want from her, or what he would do to her. Deucalion is not the safer option, not by any means, but better the devil you know than the one you don’t.
What she says, however, is, “I’m not interested in being in a pack.”
“No?” His hand reaches for her again. She slaps it away. He laughs, and she hates him a bit more. “Then what are you interested in?”
She’s thought about this extensively. She’s interested in a lot of things, but she wouldn’t share even the least intrusive of answers with this man, so she doesn’t say anything. Instead, her eyes travel to the figure coming in behind him, and she almost feels a smile pulling on her lips.
By the time he tracks her gaze, it’s too late. Ennis has already dragged his claws across his throat, the blood spewing all over. Some of it gets on Cora, but that isn’t what gets to her. She frowns, watching as the alpha’s corpse drops to the ground next to his bar stool. She tears her eyes away, glaring at Ennis. “You ruined my sweater,” she snaps. She’s known him as long as she’s known Deucalion, and definitely hates him more than she hates any of the other alphas.
He doesn’t look concerned. “We’ll buy you a new one,” he says, shaking blood off of his hand. “Deucalion doesn’t like people touching his things.”
“Oh?” She glances at the body on the floor. She burns the image of it behind her eyelids, wonders if she should be ashamed for taking pleasure in seeing it. She’d been hoping for him to die, anyway, and he’s hardly the first dead body she’s been this close to. “I wasn’t aware I belonged to Deucalion.”
Ennis laughs. “We all belong to Deucalion. Some of us are just more expendable than others.” He nods to the body on the floor, the alpha whose name she hasn’t remembered in a long time. “Kill guys like that.”
“And become like you?”
His smile is crooked and full of daggers, but it’s something she knows. It’s a cold, terrifying substitute for home. “You’re already like me. Merry Christmas, kid.”
JANUARY 01, 2013 — ASHLAND, OREGON
There’s blood on her mouth. She’s acutely aware of it, because the taste of copper hits her tongue every time she breathes. The same blood coats her arms and legs, completely drenches her clothes and hair — or maybe it’s someone else’s; there’s no way to be sure. There’s blood everywhere, making skin pale and faces unrecognizable.
She looks around at the aftermath of the massacre, and feels something hollow inside.
“She’d never forgive you,” Ana says. She’s not real; Cora knows she isn’t. Most likely, she’s losing her mind. The alpha in Santa Fe said that people see their late loved ones when they need help coping with something that’s a bit too much for them. Cora doesn’t know about that. But she does like seeing her sister grow up. It makes things a little easier to handle if she pretends she’s doing all of this for her.
Cora looks over at her little sister. “Who?”
“Mom.” Ana looks away from the carnage. It’s too much for her to handle; Cora doesn’t blame her. “Laura. The real me.”
Cora hums, turning her eyes back to the mess of bodies surrounding her. It’s a repulsive sight, and would maybe make a lesser person sick. But she’s gotten used to it. “Would I forgive me for this? The old me?”
“The old you was eight,” Ana says, glancing up at her big sister, before quickly looking away. “You would’ve never done this.” A beat, then: “No. Does this you even forgive you?”
Cora doesn’t know. Forgiveness is a foreign concept to her. She usually doesn’t get close enough for anyone to let them hurt or disappoint her. She doesn’t often have things to forgive. But she isn’t sure she can ever forgive herself for the life she’s lived, for the things she’s done.
“Don’t.” Cora looks to her little sister, who struggles to meet her gaze. “Don’t ask for forgiveness. Not when you know you’ll do it all again.”
….Oh. She never thought to look at it like that. In a way, it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t often find herself looking for that type of thing anyway. But now that Ana brings it up— “Does that make me beyond redemption?”
Her sister smiles, sad and disappointed. “You’ve been beyond redemption for a long time, Cor.”
The young she-wolf stands in silence for a few more minutes, mulling over her sister’s words. She knows it isn’t really Ana. It’s only how she views herself, but they sting more when she hears them from Ana. They have more weight, and it almost forces her to feel something.
After some time, she hears a small noise from behind her. She turns around, her eyes immediately latching onto the blonde wolf behind her. She looks equally concerned with the bodies littering the floor and the blood covering Cora. “It’s not mine,” Cora says in a dull voice. “And I only drew some of it.” She moves away from the carnage, only faltering when she reaches the alpha. “I need you to keep Deucalion and Ennis away from me today. I need—”
“I understand,” the blonde reassures her, holding out an arm to her. “Come on. Let’s go get you cleaned up, okay?”
As Cora follows, in the back of her mind, she can still hear Ana saying she doesn’t deserve even this kindness.
JULY 09, 2015 — ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO
“Derek and Laura weren’t there.”
Deucalion’s head inclines in her direction, his way of telling her that she has his undivided attention. If there’s one thing she appreciates about being a piece of Deucalion’s board, it’s that he doesn’t ignore her. He pays attention to every piece of his, but Cora is often looked down on and overlooked by the other alphas. When she mentioned this, Deucalion had chuckled, saying that he knew better than to make such a mistake.
He’s a smart man.
“When the house went up in flames,” Cora clarifies. “Derek and Laura were gone. It couldn’t have killed them. They should’ve survived, even if no one else did.” It’s an accusation, and they both know it.
“Yes,” Deucalion agrees. “So why didn’t you go to them?”
Why, indeed. Cora changes her question. “Are they still alive?”
“Someone went out of their way to kill your family, Cora dear. Looking over one loose end is one thing; do you really think they would allow three?”
It’s decidedly not an answer, but it’s close enough. He has a point. She escaped because of luck and fear. Derek and Laura wouldn’t have had much of a better chance. “Then why didn’t I become an alpha?”
“Perhaps because it’d be wrong for that type of power to be in your hands,” Deucalion says. “The Hale power has only ever gone to deserving women. You left your family to die in a fire, and became the very thing your mother hated the most. Talia would’ve never wanted you to be the alpha.”
It isn’t how it works. She knows that, and he knows she does. But he’s not wrong about her mother. His answer is enough to stop her from asking anymore. She no longer wants to talk about this.
“Laura would’ve been a good alpha,” Cora mentions, because she has to. If she backs down from this first, it’ll show weakness she isn’t supposed to have.
“She would,” Deucalion agrees. “It’s a shame she isn’t the one who survived.”
And Cora hums, and that’s the end of it.
FEBRUARY 20, 2016 — UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
“Stop looking at me like that.” It’s aimed more towards Lo and the twins, rather than Rollin, but she glances at all four of them. “There’s nothing I want to save in Beacon Hills. I don’t care what happens there.”
“That doesn’t mean you should go,” Ethan argues.
Cora shrugs. It irritates the bruises and welts from her lower back up to her neck. Her training session had been especially hard today, but they’re all necessary. The only omega in a legion of alphas needs a way to ensure her own safety. “It’s only a few weeks. Whatever happens, it happens. It’s not my problem.”
“But it’ll be your fault,” Aiden says. It’s an honesty they’ve beaten out of each other. “Will you be okay with that?”
The omega looks at him, and smiles. It’s an empty thing, but she’s an empty person. “Aren’t I always?”
MARCH 01, 2016 — BEACON HILLS, CALIFORNIA
Phone pressed to her ear, Cora falls back onto the bed. She’s in a hotel for the night, but she doubts Derek is going to let her stay here for long. When she told him where she was staying, he looked as if he wanted to protest. If she’d known Derek were here, she’d never have gotten a hotel room.
She’d never have come at all.
“Risk assessment?”
“They won’t figure me out,” Cora reports, running a hand over her face. “They’re all new at this. Other than Derek, there’s only one here who’s been a wolf for more than a year.”
“Will they be able to tell what you’re up to?”
She lets out a small scoff. “You wouldn’t have sent me if they could.”
Deucalion makes an amused noise that barely transfers over the phone. There’s a moment of silence between the two. She doesn’t hang up; she knows he isn’t done with her yet. “Personal risk?”
“Emotionally or physically?”
“You will get used to the emotion of seeing your brother again,” Deucalion dismisses. Her emotions don’t matter in this. She’s always made them a non-issue, and he expects her to do it again. “Is there a danger there?”
Cora considers it. The entire pack is dangerous, but all in varying states. None of them could take her down individually — not even in their wildest dreams. But together, they would pose a threat. They’re new and rather inexperienced, but they’re close. Their bonds make them dangerous. She’ll have to tread carefully. Still, it’s not the pack that poses the problem. “There’s one,” she admits, thinking of her brother’s roommate.
“And that is?”
“I don’t know her name,” she lies. “Girl, around Lo’s age…” In truth, it’s a man her brother’s age. Derek had introduced him as Connor. Cora didn’t speak to him, but she had seen and recognized the look in his eye. The kindness that hides the unimaginable. It’s the same look in Lo’s eyes. And Lo is as much of a killer as Cora is a survivor. If anyone in Beacon Hills is on her level, it poses a problem for Cora. “If I’m not careful…”
“Then I’ll send Lo to deal with it,” Deucalion says. “She likes you. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind getting rid of someone for you.”
“I don’t need her help,” Cora snaps. She isn’t going to make Lo go toe to toe with anyone for her sake. If they’re going to drop bodies for her, then Cora will do it herself. “I can take care of this girl myself. If things get dangerous, I either kill her or get out. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this.”
“But it’s the first time the stakes have been so high.”
“You said—”
“That I wouldn’t hurt them, yes. And I won’t. But if your brother finds out all that you’ve done, he’ll kill you himself.”
Cora freezes up. She swallows thickly. “He wouldn’t.”
“He wouldn’t kill the sister he used to know. But you aren’t that girl. And he has a pack now. They’re far more important than you, dear. An alpha will always choose his pack over his ghosts. Don’t ever forget that.”
Any sense of hope she’d had — for home, for her brother, for a second chance, for a new life — dies then and there. He’s right, and she knows it. If Derek finds out what she’s done, he won’t hesitate to kill her. Not if it saves his pack. She can’t risk forgetting that. “I’ll be careful,” she swears, her voice taking on a dull tone. “Of Derek and the girl. If either of them catch on, I’ll let you know.”
“See that you do. I would hate to lose you, dear.”
MARCH 27, 2016 — BEACON HILLS, CALIFORNIA
It’s been years since Cora had a birthday cake. Over the eight years, she’s forgotten the importance of her own birthday. Somehow, Derek hasn’t.
She doesn’t know what to do with this.
Deucalion will call later tonight for an update on the pack. He’ll expect her to forgive him for lying, but she still hasn’t. He’ll expect her to tell him exactly how to get to Derek, but she won’t tell him a thing. He can take anything else in this world, but not Derek. He’s all she has.
“You don’t deserve this,” Ana says, sitting in the seat beside Cora. “Don’t do this to them. Don’t you dare.”
I don’t have a choice, Cora thinks. I wish I did.
“Leave. Don’t break them. They’re all he has, Cora. Don’t hurt them.”
I’ll try. Let that be enough.
Because Derek and his pack are expecting it, and she has to play along, Cora takes a breath and blows out the candles on her cake. She doesn’t make a wish; she no longer does that kind of thing. Wishes never come true for people like her. If anything, life seems to take all of her hopes and dreams and make a mess and a mockery of them. She no longer gets hurt, but she no longer hopes, either.
The pack cheers for her, and Cora tries to feel something other than dread. She doesn’t.
MAY 01, 2016 — BEACON HILLS, CALIFORNIA
Jackson Whittemore and Katie Conrad.
Cora now has two more people she can ruin. Two more bodies to burn. She throws up a lot that night, then runs until the sun comes up.
Deucalion calls, but Cora doesn’t answer.
AUGUST 15, 2016 — NOWHERE, EVERYWHERE
Cora watches her life play out before her eyes, Ana sitting at her side. It’s a mess of blood and ash, bodies piling up all around her, lives ripped apart by her hand. She doesn’t want to see any of this, doesn’t want to relive it, but she knows that she needs to. God forbid she dies without recalling every sin she’s ever committed.
And Ana has to be here. She’s holy.
“Did you know Derek and Laura were alive,” Cora asks the angel at her side, watching herself reunite with her brother for the first time. “All of this time. Did you know?”
“I’m in your head, Cor,” Ana reminds her. “I only know what you know.”
That makes sense. “I haven’t seen you in months,” Cora says. “I thought you’d left me.”
“I’m only here when you need me.” Ana smiles, a bit genuine and happy. “You haven’t needed me in a long time. I think you’re outgrowing me.”
“Never,” Cora swears. She’ll always need her sister. She’ll always need the reminder of all that she’s ruined and left to die. “Who does Derek see in moments like this?”
“His favorite sister, of course.” Cora snorts, and Ana grins. “Not everyone hallucinates when they’re in distress, Cora. You’re especially crazy.”
“Of course. They made me this way.”
Ana mutters agreement, watching the memory play out in Cora’s mind. It took a while to get to this point. Cora’s mindscape is a vast, complicated one. Filled with chess pieces, barbs and wires, angels and demons, it’s truly an obstacle course. This is where no one else can reach her. This is the only place where she’s safe.
“I wish she lived,” Cora says, thinking of their older sister.
“So does he,” Ana says. “We all do.”
Cora glances over at her little sister, tuning out the memory of Cora meeting Jackson and Katie. Then, she’d sized them up, making a list of all of the ways she could kill them. Now, she can’t imagine it. “I’m sorry she didn’t.”
“I am, too. But you will.”
Cora smiles, and it’s just as false and hollow as her smiles in the real world. Even here, in the safety of her own thoughts, she doesn’t have much to give. She’s only a shadow of who she used to be, and it will never be enough. “You sound so sure.”
“I am sure. You’re too stubborn not to live.” Cora scoffs, but doesn’t argue. “And he needs you.”
She raises an eyebrow. “No one needs me.”
“Then pretend he does.” Ana turns annoyed eyes onto her. “When are you going to find a sense of self-worth?”
“When my little sister stops telling me I should’ve died.”
“I’m in your head, Cora,” Ana repeats. “The only one who thinks that is you. I wanted you to live. Everyone did.”
“Do you regret it?”
Ana is silent for a long moment. “Don’t make me answer that, Cora. That’s not fair.”
“No,” Cora concurs. “It’s not.” She sighs, tipping her head back. “What are we going to do after this, Ana?”
“We’ve never been to Portugal,” the angel muses, after a long bout of silence, in which the Cora in her memories drinks with Connor and Derek after he kicks Lucy and Isaac out. “It’d be fun to go. New start, you know?”
“It would.”
“But you promised you’d stay.”
“I did.” A mistake, undoubtedly.
Ana nods. “So we’ll stay. And you’ll maybe try a bit harder not to set everything on fire.”
show me your broken heart, and all of your scars | self-para
( and i’ll take, i’ll take, i’ll take
i’ll take you as you are )
Graduation, it feels like, comes entirely too fast. Scott swears it was just yesterday morning that his mom was driving him and Stiles to school on the first day of freshman year, kissing him on the forehead, and telling them to have a good day. And now they’re graduates, soon to head off to college.
It feels like it’s been no more than a day, but Scott knows -- God, he knows -- that it’s been so much more than that. In that time, he’s become a werewolf, and gained more friends than he knows what to do with (lost a few, too), even gained the sister that he never knew he needed, and became a leader. In the time frame that feels almost nonexistent now, Scott and his friends, his new found family, have fought their way through hell and back, time and time again. They’ve all broken down into tears, shaking in the arms of one another; they’ve all had brushes with death -- multiple times, no matter who or what they are -- and put their lives on the line for each other. They’ve all lost their confidence, thought about just throwing in the towel, wondered, “What’s the point?” They’ve all had moments where they haven’t felt strong at all, but still knew that they were the strongest and the bravest people in the entire town, for knowing what’s out there and choosing to stay and fight.
This pack -- Scott’s pack, Scott’s family -- mean the entire world to him, because he remembers a time when he didn’t have one. He remembers back when his dad had first left, and his mom was working twice as many shifts to make up for the lack of income, and Scott had never felt so alone. He’d had Stiles at the time, had always had Stiles, but Mrs. Stilinski was doing really bad, and Scott would never ask Stiles to put him over his mom. Scott had been so alone back then, had been alone for months until the new school year started, both boys down one parent, and trying to pick up the pieces of the other.
The years passed with the two of them becoming a family of their own. They had parents, had each other’s remaining parent as well as their own, but the deputy and the nurse both worked insane hours to keep roofs over their heads. And even when Stiles and Scott were reaching their double digits in age, too old to be sharing beds and having sleepovers, they still did. Scott could never stop himself from curling into Stiles’ bed, pressing himself against his best friend, trying to fill the voids in their hearts that his dad and Stiles’ mom had left behind, and his mom and Stiles’ dad did nothing to close.
Things all change when Allison Argent comes to town. And it isn’t because of her that it all changes; she just so happens to come at the right wrong time. He’s been a werewolf for approximately twelve or so hours when he hears her tell her mom that she forgot her pen. And even though it’s weird that he can hear that, she just smiles and accepts it, and that void in Scott’s heart closes up a little more.
It isn’t Allison’s fault that things start happening around Scott -- the blame for that lays on Peter Hale’s head, and his alone -- but she is a catalyst for all of the other changes in his life; the best changes in his life.
Allison somehow brings in Jackson Whittemore, who’s always had some vendetta against him and Stiles... mostly Stiles, and Lydia Martin, who Stiles has been in love with since the third grade. (Probably why Jackson hates him so much.) And they’re closed off, at first; Lydia is only interested in solving the mystery, and Jackson is only interested in being the very best. And Scott compromises both of those things, because suddenly he’s co-captain of the lacrosse team, and he’s hiding things. He thinks they both hate him a little, at first, and he doesn’t blame them. He never wanted to get in their way. He never meant to get on their radar, but because of Allison, because of his relationship with Allison, he is, and he can’t get off.
And it takes a long time, but they start to trust him. Jackson stops hating him -- never gives a reason for why, but then again, Scott doesn’t really ask -- and starts to treat him like a comrade. Scott doesn’t ask to be treated like a leader, or like a friend: Jackson just does. The true captain of the lacrosse team (because it will never be Scott) starts smiling at him, starts looking out for him. The first time anyone ever refers to Scott as Jackson’s friend, Scott’s seriously expecting the jock to cut them down, and deny any sort of relationship with the other wolf, but it never happens. Jackson confides in him about Gerard, and he’s the first person that Scott really talks to about his dad. And, yeah, suddenly they’re friends. Lydia, too. She stops worrying about looking her very best in front of the eyes of all those around her, and she starts worrying about them. She helps them solve important puzzles; not for the thrill of it, like she did at first, but because she cares for them. She cries for them, screams for them, stands up for them. Lydia reaches for Scott’s hand before he thinks he’s allowed to reach for hers, and they never quite let go.
Isaac, Erica, and Boyd come next. It’s different with them, because they don’t meet Scott, first. They don’t even know who he is until after Derek turns them -- turns them against him.
(Derek, by the way, is the biggest mystery in Scott’s life. From the very beginning, Scott can’t figure out for the life of him if Derek wants to see him succeed, or perish the way that Peter did. And while Scott doesn’t hate Derek, could never hate him, he doesn’t see why Derek hates him. And maybe it hurts a lot more than it should. Maybe it shouldn’t matter to Scott what someone like Derek thinks, but Scott... he kind of looks up to Derek. He doesn’t want to be the way that Derek is -- doesn’t want to be scared, and distant, and angry at the world -- but he wants Derek to be proud of him.
He doesn’t know if he’ll ever make Derek proud, or make Derek really love or care for him at all, but he knows that eventually, Derek stops looking at him like a stain on the face of the earth, and softens toward him. He becomes a better mentor, and he’s there for Scott, and he saves Scott’s life. It’s the knowledge that Derek doesn’t hate him anymore that one day puts a smile on Scott’s face. He can’t ask for much from Derek, or from anyone else, so it’s enough.
Anyway. The three betas.)
Erica is epileptic. Or she was, anyway. Derek probably saves her life when he bites her -- it’d be honorable, if not for the fact that she could’ve died -- but she doesn’t change for better. And Scott gets that. Given the hurt and humiliation she’s faced, no one expects her to be a ball of sunshine. Isaac is the formerly abused boy who lives across the street from Jackson. Becoming a werewolf is the best thing that ever happens to him, but it happens at the wrong time; he gets framed for his father’s murder, and the situation Derek inserts him into isn’t the best. Boyd was just... invisible. And maybe it isn’t the same as being epileptic or abused, but it’s just as horrible. Scott knows because he’s been there. But at least Scott had Stiles, back then. Boyd had been all alone, and that -- that’s the reason he so readily turns against Scott. They all do, and Scott doesn’t hate them, doesn’t blame them for it, at all. They fight him, and even though he defends himself, he isn’t okay fighting them back. He can’t.
On top of that, they’re fighting Jackson, while trying to save him. Because Jackson doesn’t want any of this, doesn’t even know what he’s doing. Matt Daehler and Gerard Argent are despicable people, and they’re the only people in the world that Scott can work up a hatred for. Because even if Jackson hates him at the time, Scott still wants the best for him, Scott still cares for him. And even if the rest of the world wants to kill Jackson, and Matt and Gerard, Scott refuses. He’s going to save Jackson, no matter what. That’s the reason they all turn against him. They’re feuding because Scott refuses to kill the boy that’s unknowingly killing everyone else. But Scott doesn’t care. He’s going to save Jackson, even if he has to fight off the entire world to do it.
(Though killing Jackson doesn’t seem all that bad when he catches him naked and trying to pin Allison in locker room. Under someone else’s control or not, there’s a line.)
It isn’t until after they do save Jackson that the three betas start to view Scott as more of a friend than an enemy. Maybe they still dislike him, maybe they’ll never respect him, but they aren’t trying to kill him, or anyone else, anymore and that’s all he cares about. When they start to love him -- when Isaac becomes one of his best friends, and Erica starts to laugh with him -- Scott feels... he doesn’t know what to call it. There’s no word in the English language for it. But it’s a good feeling. The best feeling.
In the midst of this mess, Scott meets Lucy Knight. Terrifying, confusing circumstances bring her into the pack. He isn’t the alpha at the time, isn’t even thinking of ever becoming an alpha, so he isn’t much help. It’s Derek, Erica and Isaac who coach her through the hardest parts of becoming a wolf. Scott isn’t really one of them. The three of them, plus Lucy and Derek, they’re a pack of their own. They’re something that Scott will never a part of, he thinks. So he stands back, and he only helps when he knows he can, without stepping on any toes. Lucy’s the most terrified of them all. She isn’t like the other three, who turn into super models with bad attitudes. She’s as beautiful as she ever was, but she’s terrified, and this is all too much for her. Scott wishes, more than anything, that there was some kind of magic that could reverse the bite, and take her memories of the horrible things she’d had to learn. He wishes he could help her, but he’s useless. Always would be.
Lucy becomes the bravest of them all. She stops crying when things get scary, and she starts fighting. She’ll probably always be a lover before she’s a fighter, but she knows how to fight back. She defends herself and her pack. She stops letting people take advantage of her, stops letting them walk all over her. She becomes so much more than she ever dreamed she could be, and Scott’s so proud of her. He’s proud of her for who she becomes, and who she learns to see herself as. She’ll never have Lydia’s confidence, or Jackson’s swagger, but she doesn’t hate herself, anymore. She doesn’t look down at herself, or just let it slide when others do. She’s nothing to be looked down at, and she finally sees that.
Riley Maes is another addition to the pack. It’s a slower process, but also one of the quickest. She’s Lucy’s best friend, her rock and self-proclaimed guardian, and she’s the first to catch on when things start changing. She’s a fiery spirit, and when she discovers that the supernatural is all real, she takes it in stride. All she cares about is that she’s there with Lucy, and that her best friend is taken care of. The rest, she can handle. All she cares for is Lucy, and Scott admires that more than anything.
Fiona Porter and Katie Conrad are witches. And though they come at different times, they’re one in the same. From the second they meet each other, they’re inseparable. They bring a new life to the pack, one that they weren’t aware they were missing. They’re fun and free, and still two of the most protective people Scott has ever met. They’re younger than the rest of them, though, and they’re so naive, and Scott fears what will happen to them. And when the witches end up comatose -- with Riley dead, fuck, Riley and Tyler are both dead -- Scott sits by their beds and apologizes for hours. He isn’t the alpha, but he knew. He saw it coming from miles away, knew that their powers would swallow them before long, and this is the result of him keeping his mouth shut.
Scott blames himself for that. His silence is why Jackson loses his cousin to a long sleep, and runs to London without looking back. He’s the reason Isaac goes to such extreme lengths to bring his brother back. He’s the reason that Lucy loses herself in her grief. Because he knew something would happen, but couldn’t even open his mouth to warn them, to stop them. That void in his heart doesn’t get smaller or wider, but it feels a hell of a lot like an abyss, now.
(And maybe that’s why he so easily falls to temptation at that motel. He knows that it’s some sort of magic that drives him to do what he does. Scott isn’t suicidal. Even if he doesn’t see much worth in his life, he has no desire to die. And even if he did want to, he wouldn’t. He has too many people who he loves and needs to protect, too many who love him.
But he’s so goddamn tired. He’s sick of fighting a losing battle. He’s sick of letting everyone down, sick of watching people die. There’s no hope left in this town, no hope left in him. He doesn’t want to live with this weight in his chest, anymore. He doesn’t want to keep fighting against an enemy that he can’t beat. He’s so tired of lying to people, and trying to be more than he is, more than he can ever be. He’s tired of people hating him, tired of hating himself. What’s the fucking point in surviving, anymore?
Allison is the one to remind that there is hope. There’s hope as long as he keeps living. But it’s only when Stiles steps into that puddle with him, putting himself in danger, that Scott snaps out of it. Because Scott doesn’t really care if he dies, but he can’t kill Stiles. He can’t let anything happen to Stiles.)
Things do get better. Scott’s mom adopts this girl -- Maya Carlisle. And while her story is just as horrible as anyone else’s, Scott quickly learns to love her. (It’s one of his biggest problems; he gets attached so easily, gets hurt so easily.) She becomes his little sister, and Scott thinks she’s a mark of better times in their lives. She teaches him how to cook, cooks for and with him, teams up with him to get his mom to take work off. She becomes close with the sheriff, and with the pack. She’s a werewolf, like him, and even though her circumstances are no better than his, she starts smiling a lot sooner than he does.
While the witches sleep, the pack finds Boyd -- who’d been taken by the alpha pack -- and Cora. Cora, as in, Derek’s baby sister Cora, who isn’t as dead as Derek thought. And it’s a process, getting the two of them to talk to anyone who isn’t the other. Cora’s closed off, and afraid of the world. She’s afraid of all of them, even Derek. She starts to trust Lucy and Isaac, first, but soon opens her heart to all of them. And it’s not a fast thing; it’s not a complete thing. It isn’t as if she’s completely guarded on day, then sitting in someone’s lap, the next. It takes years for her to even feel comfortable touching someone who isn’t Derek. They never find out what happened to her in the past, but they don’t need to know. What matters is the Cora they have now, the one who dances when she thinks no one’s watches, and smiles like a shooting star in unexpected moments. Cora doesn’t ever completely come out of the shell she’s build for herself, but she learns to blossom within it. And that’s okay, too.
(Boyd... dies. And it’s the hardest thing their pack experiences, especially so soon after Prom night, and it hurts so damn much. They all carry a piece of the blame with them, but they move on. It’s what Boyd would want, and all they know how to do.)
The witches wake up, and it takes a long time for them to work through their grief, but they eventually do. They bounce back from their sadness, the way that only they know how. It’s the worst thing to ever happen to either of them, Scott knows, but they grow from it. They mature, and they learn their limits. They learn that magic isn’t something to be taken lightly, or toyed around with. They learn so much, all in the worst way, but they retain their light. If anything, they become bubblier and happier. It’s one of the most awe-inspiring things Scott ever witnesses. They still have the brightest smiles, and the brightest spirits. And Scott thinks... no. He knows that if the two of them had never woken up, the entire pack would feel a certain emptiness that they would never quite be able to place.
Kira Yukimura is... for a while, she’s Scott’s entire world. She enters his life at maybe the best and worst time. Her dad’s the new history teacher, and she’s the newest mystery in school. No one knows much about her, but Scott is interested in finding out. She’s a stumbling, rambling dork, and Scott loves that about her. She also turns out to be a thunder kitsune, who knows how to wield a katana, and Scott loves that, too.
(”You have a type,” Cora says one day, with a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. Ice cream he’s pretty sure she used his debit card to buy. “Don’t look at me like that. You have a type, and you know it.”)
He goes through a lot with Kira. She enters his life in the time when Stiles is sick, and not even himself. Scott feels emptier than he ever has before in that time, because all roads have always led back to Stiles for him. He’s always had comfort in the fact that, if everyone in the pack were to leave him today, he would have Stiles. But he doesn’t have Stiles now, and it isn’t fair to Allison, or Lucy, or the rest of the pack, but Scott doesn’t think he would have made it through that time, if not for Kira.
(He later loses Kira to Cora, but that’s okay. It’s a choice that all three of them kind of make. Scott breaks up with Kira, because heartbreak is something’s gotten quite used to. But Cora has lost too much in her life, been rejected too many times. And Kira loves Cora, too, and the last thing Scott wants is to stand in the way. He’s done that too many times, already.)
It’s with Kira that he saves Stiles, and finds Malia Tate. Malia is Peter Hale’s daughter, and a werecoyote. She, like all of the Hales who aren’t Katie, has a difficult time trusting them. She’s rawer than the others, but just as heavily guarded. The only person she’s interested in saving is herself, and that’s okay. Scott doesn’t think she’s right or wrong in what she believes -- it just is how it is. And he doesn’t find any fault in who Malia is. But she changes, too. She gains a pack mentality of her own, and she starts to put the pack before herself. She starts to love them the way they love her, love each other, and she learns to be happy again.
Liam Dunbar is the last to join the pack, the first and only person Scott ever bites. He’s like a freshman Jackson, talented beyond comprehension and way too hard on himself, but Liam is a lot angrier. He has so many issues, keeps a dagger of disappointment pointed at his own heart, and pushes everyone away before they can try to help him. He hates the bite, hates Scott, and Scott hates himself a bit, too. Even though he’d done it for Liam’s own safety, it wasn’t Liam’s choice. And Scott had vowed to never do what Peter had done to him, what Kali had done to Maya, but he had. He’d turned someone else, and ruined their life. But Liam stops hating Scott, stops hating what he’s become. He grows into who and what he is, and he lets the pack in. He stops being so angry all the time, and he starts opening up to them. He makes a lot of progress in such a small amount of time, and Scott can’t help but be proud of the boy.
It’s these people that he graduates with. He walks across the stage and throws his cap in the air with those his age, and grins down at the others in the audience. He made it; they made it. Even though none of them had really imagined living to graduate, they had, and that makes all the difference in the world.
They hold a graduation party of their own, and they all have fun. Scott dances wildly, moving between friends every so often. He’s a typhoon, but they all laugh and dance with them whenever he comes up to them. They dance, and they laugh, and it’s the best night of Scott’s life. Here, surrounded by the people that he loves more than he can say -- the family that he’s always wanted -- he feels the most at peace. It hits him, then, just how much he truly does love them. He looks around at all of the people who’ve entered his life and stayed, never letting go of him, and realizes that he’ll go insane if he loses even one of them. And it’s in that moment that Scott vows to do whatever he can to be a better alpha, to be there for them.
And, it’s later, when Scott is siphoning pain from Liam as his ankle heals that he realizes something important: they’re all here. Yes, they’ve lost a few along the way, and yes, it’s been harder than they can put into words, but they’re all there. No matter how they entered the pack, or when, they’re here now. No matter how hopeless things have seemed, they all rose from the ashes, and became better than they were before. None of them have perfect families --- some of them don’t have families, at all. But they became a perfect family of their own. They all have different backgrounds, different thoughts, different feelings, different personalities, but they’re all pieces of a puzzle, and God, they’re a masterpiece. Scott’s just one piece of that puzzle, a part of something so much bigger and better, but he’s grateful that he is.
That void in his heart, the space his father left behind, feels fuller than ever, and that --- that changes everything.
in the moment, we're lost and found; i just wanna be by your side | self-para
There’s a steady beeping, somewhere to her right. Fiona would turn her head to check it out, but she can’t really do that. She can’t do anything but stare up at the ceiling above her, her eyes unblinking. Someone is crying -- maybe multiple someones -- and she feels someone grasping her hand. They’re saying something, but she isn’t listening. She’s too distracted by that silly beeping. It’s hurting her ears, and she really just wants it to stop, what the heck is it?
A heart monitor. It takes a few seconds, but she soon identifies the beeping as a heart monitor.
She turns her head for the first time, and stares at it. So she’s in the hospital. What for?
Her mother is the one grasping her hand, sobbing over her as if she’s experiencing some miracle. Fiona tries to call out to her mom, but her throat is drier than the Sahara. Before she can try to ask for water, a nurse is tipping a cup on her lips, and water flows in her mouth. She gulps it down greedily before its taken away. She chokes on it a little, and she’s suddenly come to life. “Mom,” she croaks, feeling completely exhausted for some reason. She leans back against her pillows, and tries to catch her breath.
“Oh, baby,” Moira cries, kissing her daughter’s forehead. “My baby. My baby.”
And Fiona starts to panic. She doesn’t know why her mom is being so weird and freaking out so much, nor does she know why she’s even in the hospital. The last thing she remembers is getting ready for Prom, which clearly isn’t the last thing that happened. “Mommy?” She has no idea why the moniker slips out, but it’s not like it’s unusual for her to call her mom that. “Mom, why are you crying? What’s wrong?”
The next few minutes are kind of hazy. Her parents and the doctors all talk at once, explaining to her that she and some of her friends passed out at Prom, and she... well, she never woke up. The memories come back to Fiona in a flash, and she feels an overwhelming sense of horror. “Katie,” she chokes, trying to get out of the bed. Multiple hands reach out at her, holding her to the bed, but she fights them off. “Let me go, I need to go check on Katie!” She doesn’t know why she needs to see Katie so badly. She wants to see Katie and Cole and Isaac, because they were all in that circle, but something in her is screaming at her to check on Katie first. “Let me go!”
They keep her pinned to the bed, and her father speaks firmly, telling her that Katie is just fine, in fact, he heard that she’s waking up now, too, and so is that Colette girl. Isaac woke up the morning after Prom, and he’s just fine. No one mentions Riley, but the nurse -- whose voice is annoyingly familiar -- tells them that Erica is on her way, and Fiona loses her train of thought.
Her mother continues to cry, and her father continues to pace, and when Erica bursts into the room like a woman possessed, all Fee can do is give her a look that’s some cross between amused and exasperated, as if asking, what took you so long?
Then Erica is in her lap, and Fiona holds on for dear life. They cry for and with each other, and Fiona feels better with the knowledge that Rey is okay. It takes time, but she finally pries the truth of that night out of Erica. Fiona cries even more after that, after the knowledge of what’s happened to Riley, and what Katie must be feeling.
It’s nearing night time when they finally let her go see Katie. She apparently needs a thousand escorts, but she slowly makes her way down the hall. When the nurse opens the door to Katie’s room, Fiona’s knees almost give out. Her tiny best friend is sitting in the bed, tears on her face, her parents and Jackson on either side of her, and when their eyes meet, Fiona can’t help but cry out for her. She rips away from the nurses and her parents and she comes crashing down on Katie’s bed, landing in her best friend’s arms. She feels Katie’s mom rubbing her back soothingly, can feel Jackson sitting on the other side of Katie, but doesn’t care. “I’m sorry,” she sobs into Katie’s shoulder. Their bodies shake from the force of their grief, but Fiona feels like she can finally breathe again. “I’m so sorry, Katie. I’m so sorry.”
It’s the worst day of Fiona’s life. It hurts so much, learning what they’d done, what she hadn’t stopped, that night, but it signifies something. The day Fiona wakes up, she swears that she won’t ever let anything like that happen again. Magic is never going to ruin their lives again. Katie will not, for any reason, ever cry like that. She will never be so stupid, or so helpless. She will never be the cause of destruction again, and neither will magic.
promise you'll be alright (alright, promise i'll be alright) | self-para
(if anything should happen, anything should happen
cause anything could.... if anything should happen)
At some time between last night and, well... now, Anna decided she wanted to become a princess.
Cora is hardly one to tell her little sister that she can’t do that. It’s highly improbable that Anna will ever achieve royal status, but then again, they’re werewolves, from one of the original lines of werewolves. So, yeah. What does Cor know?
It’s just past six-thirty in the morning. Anna wakes up every morning at exactly five forty-three (without an alarm clock; six year olds have strange powers), and proceeds to wake literally everyone in the house up. Mom and Dad get ready to run the family, Derek and Laura get ready for school, and Cora gets ready to watch them all leave. The eleven year old knows better than to ever complain about it, so she gets dressed in the morning, just like everyone else, and she lets her big sister pepper her face with kisses, and she hugs Derek really, really tight. She always hates watching them leave, hates being away from them for hours and hours, but she knows there’s nothing she can do about it.
This morning, Derek and Laura leave earlier than usual, and Cora’s heart hurts a little more because that’s just more time she’s spending away from her siblings. Every part of her tells her to stop them and make them stay home today and spend a bit of time with their family, but she knows better. So she keeps her mouth shut, and waves goodbye as they exit the house. She swears that if she opens her mouth, she’ll break down in tears, and make them stay home, so she keeps her mouth shut, and doesn’t tell them how much she loves them. She doesn’t say anything.
(Why doesn’t she say anything?)
Anna tugs at her hand. “Cora,” she six year old whines. “C’mon. Let’s go play!” And it’s not like Cora has anything better to do, so she allows her baby sister to drag her around the house. They play hide and seek for a while -- the house is pretty big, with lots of places to hide -- and then they play on the swing set in the backyard. Uncle Peter watches them as they play; he seems more interested in his phone, but she sees his eyes flicker up to them every minute or so to make sure they haven’t gotten themselves into any danger.
By the time six-fifty rolls around, Anna’s pulled out coloring books and crayons, and the two of them lie in the bed in her room, scribbling away at pictures of Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck. They aren’t supposed to color in the bed, but Laura says everything is okay as long as you don’t get caught. Anna sings Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, messing up a few words, and Cora doesn’t comment. She focuses on coloring inside of the lines, making sure every line is perfect. When Daddy comes upstairs, she’ll ask him to hang it up for her.
“Cora?”
“Hm,” the eleven year old responds distractedly.
“What do you want to do when you grow up?” The question catches Cora off guard, mainly because she’s never thought of it before. She looks up at Anna, who has abandoned her crayon and coloring book, now resting her head on one of Cora’s many pillows. She’s slowly but surely falling asleep, so Cora moves the coloring books and crayons out of the way and lies down next to her.
The older sister thinks about it for a moment. “I want to leave the house,” she whispers in response.
Cora’s a family secret. In all eleven years of her life, she’s never left the house. The farthest she’d ever gone was to the ice cream shop right at the edge of the preserve with Uncle Peter, but she’d had a hood over her eyes, rendering her blind to the world around her. She’s too volatile, too out of control, for the real world. If she goes out, she could really hurt someone. That’s what Mom says, anyway. It’s better for Cora to stay within the house until she’s old enough to control her wolf.
(Sneaking out of the house to wreck Laura’s boyfriend’s car probably didn’t help her case much. She still doesn’t regret it.)
Currently, she’s still getting chained up in the basement every full moon, and still wolfs out at random moments. They just can’t risk her losing her temper on the outside.
The only people who know that she exists are the pack members, Dr. Deaton, and a woman named Satomi. She meets with Dr. Deaton regularly, because her parents can’t quite understand why she can’t control herself the way any of them -- including Anna -- can. Even when the vet tells them that it isn’t that there’s something wrong with her, she just needs a bit of help, her parents worry. Satomi is kind to her when she visits, but Talia is adamant that Cora remains in control around the woman. She can’t always do that, so sometimes she gets sent to her room, or to the basement. “It’s not a punishment,” Daddy promises every time. “We’re giving you space to cool down, that’s all. We love you, Cora. We just want you to be okay.”
Her only dream is to see the outside of the house. She wants to leave the preserve, see the rest of Beacon Hills, the rest of the world. She wants to meet people, wants to experience the pain and the fun that her big brother and sister get to experience every day. She wants to go to school, and make friends, and go to dances, and plays sports. She wants to go to one of Derek’s games, cheer him on with the rest of the family.
She doesn’t think she’ll ever get the chance to, though.
“What do you want to do, Anna,” she asks out of genuine curiosity. Anna isn’t the type of person to ask a question like that without having her own response in mind. Her sister’s only a kid, but she’s smart, and she does have plans for the future.
“Be a princess,” the six year old giggles. Plans that, apparently, involve becoming a princess.
Cora laughs, feeling a bit of sleepiness herself. “What if you can’t become a princess? Then what are you going to do?”
Anna thinks about it for a second, and Cora would think that her sister fell asleep, if not for the fact that her eyes are open, then she shakes her head with a smile. “I don’t care. I just want to be with you.”
Cora blinks. “You do?”
The younger girl nods. “It doesn’t matter what I do, or where I am. But I always want to be with you, Cora. Forever and ever.”
Something about that makes Cora’s heart swell up, and the eleven year old swallows her emotions and smiles at her baby sister. “We’re going to be together forever, silly. You’re the only little sister I have. You and me, Mommy, Daddy, Der, Laur, and Uncle Peter. We’re always going to be together. No matter what.”
“Promise,” Anna asks, her eyes finally fluttering shut.
“I promise.”
At 7:01, Cora falls asleep with her baby sister.
At 7:10, Cora wakes up, feeling thirsty.
At 7:11, Cora hears screaming, and goes down to the basement.
The blade felt heavy in her hand. It was small dagger, dipped in some poisonous substance that Scarlett -- ten years old, and snooping around her father’s office -- didn’t want to identify. She could only tell it was poisoned because of the faint traces that had been left behind. Not her parents’ work, if she had to guess. She had no way to be sure. She could only guess, because her parents were pure perfectionists.They wouldn’t leave behind traces of anything.
She could tell that it was coated in something because of the way it looked. There was a slight gleam to the knife, if turned just right, that showed traces of the liquid. Poison, she assumed, because what else would her family dip a knife in? Holy water?
In her mind, the ten year old ran over a small list of poisons in her mind. She only knew about a few of them, having heard her parents and siblings talking about them. She’d taken down a few notes about the ones that she could remember, filing them away for later use. (She hadn’t realized that, in a normal family, there was no later use for poisons; hadn’t realized that no ten year old should have such an extensive knowledge of poisons. Normal families didn’t talk about poisons, at all.) After a moment, she settled on belladonna. She’d once heard her brother say that poison-tipped arrows were coated in the substance. If someone were to dip a weapon in a poison, it would be belladonna.
Having reached that conclusion, she was left to wonder one thing: why would her father have one of these in his office? She was fairly sure his clients were hiring him to file or defend against lawsuits and evil guys, not kill people.
“Scarlett?”
The little girl whirled around, hiding the knife behind her back as she smiled innocently. “Hi, daddy.”
Her father gave her a quizzical look as he entered into his office, closing the glass door behind him. “What are you doing in here?”
“Kenny and Mel were busy after school, so they told me to walk here.” It wasn’t a lie. When her older siblings had dropped her off at school in the morning, they had told her to walk to the law firm, and to just wait in her dad’s office until one of them could pick her up. It usually wasn’t a problem, so long as she stayed in his office and didn’t get in the way of anything. She had been doing it since she was old enough to make the walk from the elementary school to the law firm -- which was about a block or two, give or take -- and no one really minded her coming. She had even made friends with a few associates and partners in the year or so she had been coming.
Her father nodded slowly, giving her an odd look. “What are you hiding behind your back?”
Caught. “Nothing, daddy,” she lied, clenching the knife tighter behind her back. She was careful to keep her grip on the hilt, not wanting to accidentally poison herself.
Cade’s look changed from curious to unimpressed before he made his way towards her. With a sigh, he crouched down in front of her. “Scarlett Elizabeth. Show me what’s behind your back.” Unable to resist -- she hated when he pulled the full name card -- Scar hesitantly showed him the knife she was hiding. His jaw tensed when he saw it. “Why do you have that?”
“It was on your desk--”
“I know where it was,” he cut in sharply, and the young girl winced. “But why do you have it? Why did you pick it up?”
And wasn’t that the question of the day? She bit her lip, shifting on her feet. “I...”
Cade’s expression smoothed over into the type of blankness that tended to terrify Scar. Her family was good at hiding what they were thinking. She could never tell if she was getting a hug or a punishment when they did that. Deciding that her punishment would probably be lighter, she tried to hand the knife over, but he shook his head. “No. I want you to look at it. What are you holding?”
“...A knife?”
“Observant,” came the sarcastic reply. “Try again.”
Scar glanced down at the knife in her hand, looking at it for a long moment. “It’s a weapon,” she answered. “It’s a knife, covered in atropa belladonna; also known as nightshade. This way, the knife wound doesn’t have to kill the victim; the poison will.”
“Is the purpose of the weapon to kill?”
The obvious answer was yes. Why have a knife, if not to kill with it? But it was more than that. Her father wouldn’t have asked if the answer was that simple. ”No,” she decided after a moment. “A weapon is a tool. It only kills if that’s what the person holding it wants.”
Seemingly proud of her answer, her father nodded, a small smile on his face. “And what is the purpose of this knife?”
“To kill,” she answered without missing a beat. “If you didn’t want to kill someone with it, you wouldn’t have poisoned it.” She turned her gaze to the knife, then back to her father. “Daddy, who did you use this knife on?”
“A bad person, sweetie. Now that person is dead. And that isn’t something to be taken lightly.” Which, clearly. She was ten, not stupid.
“Then why did you kill them?” None of it made sense to Scarlett. You weren’t supposed to kill. Killing was wrong. It was in the Bible, and there were laws against it. It was the kind of thing that was on the bad TV shows that most kids her age couldn’t watch. It was the kind of thing that her dad put people in jail for. So why would he do it? Why would anyone do it?
And why did she feel so number about it?
“It had to be done.”
(Did it?)
“This person had hurt a lot of people,” he explained, and she took note of how he spoke to her. He was speaking down on her. Hiding information, lying about something, giving a half-truth. But she wasn’t allowed to question it. She was never allowed to question it. “It’s what our family does, Scarlett. Your mother, your brother and sister, me, your grandparents, aunts and uncles... this is what we do. We take down the bad people before they can hurt anyone else.”
It was something that Scar didn’t feel the need to question. She was positive that her father was telling the truth. All of that ‘adult business’ that everyone in the family but her seemed to be in on, the talk of knives and poisons and arrows, the extensive libraries -- it all added up. But one answer only brought forth a dozen more questions. “Am I going to do it?”
A small smile crossed Cade’s face. “Yes, you are. It’s about time you learned about it, anyway.” He tapped the knife in her hand with one finger. “Why don’t you hold onto that? You can’t show anyone, or tell anyone. You can’t say a word about what I’m going to tell you to anyone who isn’t family. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Daddy.” No. Why couldn’t she talk about it? If they were doing the right thing, why was it a secret?
Standing back to his full height, Cade lifted his daughter into his arms. “Scarlett, there will be times when you question yourself, and your family. But always remember that what we’re doing is what’s best for the world. They aren’t ready to handle the things that go bump in the night. But you are, right?”
Maybe. She didn’t know what things really did go bump in the night. She had no idea what she was ready for. But she was ten, and would’ve done anything to get answers. So she hid her lack of certainty and nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”
And when her father spoke again, everything changed.
The word new is used loosely. Or, rather, quiet literally: of recent origin, having lately come into status, etc. The word new is used in that way, not the way that Lydia usually uses the word: to replace the most recent version.
Other than Jackson and Danny, Lydia has never really had a best friend. The two of them don’t really count, either, because Jackson is her boyfriend, and Danny is -- technically, and if he had to choose a side -- Jackson’s best friend. She’s always had them, knows she will always have them, but also knows that when it comes down to it, it’s her and then it’s them. They’ll never exclude her, never choose each other over her, but she knows that they have a bond that she doesn’t have, may never have.
If Lydia wanted, she could find a best friend. She could branch out, talk to people who aren’t on the lacrosse, cross country, and swim teams. She could talk to people who don’t sit with them because they worship the ground that Jackson walks on, or because they hope that Lydia will take them shopping, or choose them over the boys. She could try to reach out. But every time she thinks about it and looks around her, she can never find what she’s looking for. She sees strangers, people with little drive, people who don’t stand out, at all.
And maybe it’s selfish and shallow of her, but that isn’t what she wants. She doesn’t want someone who’s just like everyone else. She wants someone like Jackson and Danny; she wants someone who stands out above the rest without trying (well, Jackson tries, but that isn’t the point, at all), and who looks flawless while they’re at it. She wants someone who isn’t as superficial as she is; she wants someone she can trust.
And whenever she looks around the school, she can’t find a damn person who fits that description.
Allison Argent is a breath of fresh air. Lydia doesn’t have to be around the girl for more than five seconds to know that. Even though she’s humble, and a little shy, she’s exactly what Lydia has been looking for. It’s in her eyes -- there’s something about this girl, this new girl, that’s hidden beneath the surface; something that already puts her above and beyond everyone else in this school. Maybe the thing that tips Lydia off is the fact that when she looks into Allison’s eyes, she doesn’t see someone who only admires her clothes and power looking back at her.
Looking at her, it’s obvious that Allison is one of the few people in the world who isn’t interested in seeing Lydia fail.
That’s how it is at first, but Lydia is as cautious as she ever is. She doesn’t let her guard down, not even around her new best friend. Not a single strand of hair is ever out of her place, her lips are always glossed, and her outfit is always perfect. She’s always perfect, even around Allison, as she waits for the other shoe to drop. She waits for Allison to turn out like all of the others; she waits for the look of contempt and distaste to enter the new girl’s eyes. She waits for that exact moment when all Allison sees is a beauty queen with no brain. Lydia wouldn’t blame her if she did see that. It’s the face that Lydia puts on for the rest of the world, because when have geniuses ever fit into the perfect American girl stereotype?
But Allison never looks at her that way. Even when she plays dumb about mountain lions, and when she acts like she’s hopeless at bowling, the transfer student doesn’t look at her like she’s nothing but a rich airhead. It’s the opposite, actually. The brunette leans forward and whispers, “Maybe you should stop pretending to suck just for his benefit.” Lydia doesn’t let the shock show on her face, just leans forward and whispers back in kind, never allowing anything to slip.
She doesn’t let it show, but she has high hopes for Allison. With every passing day, where the brunette smiles and her, and jokes with her, and invites her over, Lydia feels more and more hopeful. She feels like she has a chance at actual friendship, here. She spends less time crashing on Jackson and Danny’s platonic dates -- or whatever they’re calling them -- and spends more time going out with Allison, or going to her house.
The thing is, the great thing is, Allison shocks her. More than once. She does it, repeatedly. She’s an archer -- a nationally ranked archer. She’s a gymnast. She speaks French. She’s almost as much of a genius as Lydia, herself. Not much surprises Lydia -- especially in boring as hell Beacon Hills -- but Allison does. Allison is like no one Lydia has ever met before, proves to be like no one Lydia will ever meet. The most shocking thing is that someone so extraordinary still thinks that Lydia -- someone as cliche and vain and fake as Lydia -- is good enough to be her friend.
But Lydia shocks Allison, too. She can see it. When Lydia finally gives up her pretenses of being just another idiot in this dumb town, she surprises the other girl just as much. Because Lydia is a math whiz. Lydia can make a mean molotov cocktail, even under pressure. Lydia can read Archaic Latin -- and regular Latin, mind you -- on the fly. Lydia has a 4.52 GPA, even as a sophomore. Lydia isn’t afraid of monsters and mountain lions nearly as much as she is afraid of losing Allison or Jackson to them.
It shocks them both when Allison turns out to be the next leader in a long line of hunters. Not deer hunters, or bird hunters -- werewolf hunters.
It shocks them both when Lydia turns out to be a banshee.
The years fly by, and Lydia still waits for that moment. She waits for the moment when Allison looks at her, and decides that she’s not as great as she makes herself seem. She waits for Allison to throw in the towel, and give up, telling Lydia that she’s not cut out for this circus. Because Lydia isn’t a fighter, and she isn’t a werewolf, and she isn’t a psychic. Lydia is just the banshee. Lydia keeps getting kidnapped, and she always needs to be saved, and she always needs to be comforted. But Allison keeps saving her. She keeps coming for her, keeps protecting her, keeps comforting her. Even when Lydia proves again and again to be useless, Allison continues to love her.
Through every close call, fighting with Jackson and Danny, being accused of being a homicidal lizard, getting kidnapped, getting bitten, Allison remains her friend. And when Allison almost dies, Lydia feels something within her shatter. Sitting in that hospital, squeezing the huntress’ hand like a lifeline, Lydia finally comes to the realization that this -- this girl lying in this hospital bed, pale and in pain, barely surviving after a fatal injury -- this girl is her best friend. She’s her best friend; no strings, no catch, no conditions. Allison is her best friend, and she almost died to save her life.
For the first time in her life, Lydia lets her guard down around someone who isn’t Jackson or Danny or her mom. She’s still crying when Allison opens her eyes, and she starts apologizing, promising to learn to protect herself. She brings a bag with her to the hospital, a bag of clothes for the both of them. She goes in the bathroom and changes into a pair of yoga pants and a baggy top, helps Allison change into something more comfortable. She pulls her hair into a ponytail, and she’s finally Lydia. She’s the Lydia that only three people in the world have ever seen before, the Lydia that Stiles would never have been able to see, no matter how much he looked at her. She expresses her fears, her dreams, her memories -- things that she could never even share with Jackson or Danny. There are things that Allison still doesn’t know about her, things that Lydia can’t put into words, things that Jackson only knows because he’s known her for their entire lives, and it’s easy for him to pick up on the small things. But Allison meets a side of Lydia that most people don’t even believe exists.
It’s not just Allison, either. After that, Lydia finally lets the rest of the pack in. She’s already lost Boyd, and Riley, and Tyler, and has already lost the chance to be more than tentative friends with them. She almost lost Allison, losing the chance to really have a best friend. She doesn’t want that, anymore. Doesn’t want to have to lose anyone else without them knowing how much they mean to her. She doesn’t want to lose anyone else, period. So she talks to them more. She talks to them like equals -- as close to it as Lydia can get, anyway -- and she shares with them. She tells them that she loves them. She puts her life on the line to protect them. She does her best to make Kira and Malia and Liam feel like they’re truly pack, not just strays that they picked up. She tells Scott that he isn’t hopeless, or ephemeral, he’s a good alpha, a good person. She avoids talking about the kanima incident with Jackson, stops other people from bringing it up. She looks out for Katie, and stands up for Cora, and studies with Danny, and hangs out with Stiles. She takes a stand as a pack member, no longer pretending to be better than them.
She goes home on the night of graduation, and she writes a letter. She writes multiple letters, in her neat, elegant cursive. Promises -- to herself, to Allison, to Jackson, to Scott, to Derek, to the entire pack -- that she won’t be as useless. She’ll try to get kidnapped less. She’ll learn how to fight. She’ll get smarter, get a handle on her powers. She’ll do her part. She’ll prove her worth. She won’t let any of them die. No one else.
Meeting Allison changes a lot for Lydia. In fact, it changes everything for Lydia. And when she glances over towards the other side of her dorm room, where Allison reads over the beastiary, she feels herself smiling. No matter how terrifying her life can be, Allison is undoubtedly one of the best things to ever happen to Lydia. And she vows, once again, to protect her. Someone has to, anyway.
