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obsidiancreates · 4 months

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One Undead To Another (Chapter 10)

“Okay.” Shawn shakes his head and looks into his mirror again. “And… normal face!”

He still looks like a vampire. At least now he knows what Jules meant by his hair– who knew it could get even better? Such incredible hair might be the most dangerous thing about his new state of being. He really wishes it was the most dangerous thing.

“Come on!” He smacks a hand against his counter.

CRACK!

He jumps away and stares at the giant crack now splitting his sink counter. He looks at his hand– it doesn’t sting, it doesn’t ache, it’s not even red. Of course it’s not red, that happens because of blood, he doesn’t have blood– does he? The other vampires bled. But their blood was weird–

Cold, rancid sludge slowly oozing down his throat, his vision almost nonexistent, his neck torn open–

He presses his palms into his temples and shakes his head. He’s not thinking about it, he’s not thinking about it! Stupid eidetic memory, stupid detail-oriented brain, stupid need to investigate everything–

… Wait.

Shawn looks into the mirror again, touching the tip of his tongue to the center of his top lip, and takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes, and pictures the image of himself staring in the mirror.

He pictures the same thing, but a day earlier, before… all this.

He slowly lets out the breath, flipping between the two images in his mind. He gradually meshes them together, fading out the one from today, layering the old one over. He pictures one of his third-person flashbacks, from the side, how his face looks from the side and then the bottom and then from slightly above–

Is that normal? He’s never really thought twice about it, but now he wonders if other people can see memories like they were an outside observer. See themselves, like a camera following their life, complete with varied angles and well-timed cuts. When Gus remembers something, does he remember it through his own eyes? Or does he watch it happen like it’s a rerun with a new edit? How hasn’t Shawn asked before?

Not the time, not the time. He needs to focus. Focus. One image of him over the other, one version of him over the other, one more layer of mask on top of the rest.

He lets out the last of the breath, and opens his eyes.

No red.

He opens his mouth. No fangs. He runs his tongue over his teeth, and they feel normal. He looks normal. Well, no, he looks better than normal. His hair is the best it’s ever been, his skin is literally flawless (not smooth, exactly, his crows feet and other signs of age and expression are still there, but they seem to add to the flawless quality somehow), his stubble even is just perfectly rugged and roguish. Something about it makes him feel a little queasy. If it was for any other reason he might’ve joked that he’d kill to look like this every day.

He probably will, actually. Actually kill to look like this, not joke about it. Hopefully not. If he’s lucky that was just… first-time fluke. The vampires drained the other victims dry, though. But maybe they didn’t need to. They were pretty sadistic, cruel bastards. How does he even go about figuring out how much he needs, how often? Can he divine it? It’s not like he was able to divine how to do this, though. Somehow he doubts that most people will be as forgiving as he guy from last night. Shawn thinks his soul might’ve moved on after the fire. He felt some kind of… something. Relief, maybe, but from outside of himself, but not. He’s kind of had enough of Unidentifiable, Unexplainable Feelings for the rest of… forever. Literally.

Forever.

He swallows against the headrush the idea of forever gives him. The world spins for a moment, darkens, sits bathed in candlelight and shadows and frigid air and no-one to save him–

“Not happening,” he mutters. He storms out of his bathroom, out to his bike, and hops on without bothering to put on his helmet. “Not thinking about it!”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So forgoing his helmet was a mistake– he manages a whole two minutes without it, and then doubles back. The pressure of it against his ears barely helps the barrage of noise, but it helps enough to keep him from wrecking in the middle of the street, so he’ll take it. He has to take it. The air on the road tastes acidic, acrid, something else unpleasant that starts with ‘A’. Ass-like? No, and he hopes he never finds out what that tastes like for real. What was that one word Gus used back in the spelling bee… atrocious? Sure, that works. Vaguely.

He pulls up to the station, and instead of stepping off his bike he falls right over, because it’s unbearable.

Somehow he neglected to consider that if three heartbeats were already difficult to handle, dozens and dozens would be overwhelming.

He grits his teeth and pushes himself up, but it’s like he’s blinded and seeing sharper than ever– people file in and out of the station and he sees every pulse, hears them, feels them in his skull, echoing down into his mouth, beating against his teeth. He can’t see anything but warm bodies, tender flesh, blood racing in hidden veins–

He drools into his helmet. It feels like ice water.

It’s enough to shock him back to awareness– he’d started moving at some point. He’s standing in the middle of the stairs, his helmet still on, but no-one is giving him a second glance. He should maybe feel a little ashamed of his reputation if this seems normal for him, but it’s helpful, so he decides that little voice talking about shame is wrong and shoves it away. He swallows the pouring saliva– is it saliva? Do vampires salivate? His body can’t possibly be producing it’s own stuff. He got drained dry and never actually replenished. Unless the blood counts. Where did the blood go? Is it just sitting in his stomach? Where will it go when he’s done with it? Is it… like food? Or is that…

… What the other vampires bled. Maybe the blood of their victims is recycled. Maybe it filters out of the stomach and into the veins, and the heart is like another stomach instead, and that’s why it was rotten.

That feels right. It feels more than right– it feels dead on. Shawn chuckles a little at his own pun. Okay, that was… something. He figured something of this out. He can do this. He can figure out exactly what his new deal is, how to handle it, and he can get back to his normal life. Somewhat. He can do this.

He leaves the helmet and it’s minimal separation between noise and him on, and walks inside. He focuses on his own breathing, trying to drown out the cacophony of sweet, alluring rhythms of Life pulsing in his head. He moves across the bullpen almost like he’s floating, quickly and smoothly and unthinking, letting muscle memory carry him to The Chief’s office as he puts more concentration into not grabbing someone and dragging them into a corner and sinking his teeth in and drinking and drinking and drinking than he’s concentrated on anything before in his life.

He’s almost there when he hears it. “Shawn!”

His concentration breaks. He stumbles back with a hiss. He tries to slap a hand over his mouth, but just smacks the visor of his helmet instead. Right, right, he still has that on. Maybe it muffled the hiss– he can only hope it muffled the hiss.

“Shawn.” His dad steps into his space, and Shawn drowns for a second.

The air tastes. The air around Jules tastes sweet, strong, inescapable. Around Gus it’s rich, warm, the ultimate comfort in the whole world. Around Lassie it’s smooth, powerful, burns but in a good way. In the street it had a more general flavor, a taste of the environment at large. His own apartment had tasted tangy, a little overpowering, a lot intense, and he thinks that’s what he probably tasted like before… before. The rest of the precinct hasn’t had layers and layers of personal flavors, but another collective, sharp and a little bitter and very sour, like metal soaked overnight in ink and vinegar.

The air around his dad tastes specific, though, like how Gus and Jules and Lassie all had specific flavors. Around his dad it tastes like an attack on the senses– if Lassie was an unexpectedly smooth shot of whiskey or coffee, his dad is where all that bitterness went. But it’s not… bad. It’s a pressing, all-encompassing flavor, drowning out everything else, but instead of washing over it all like the other three it’s like it’s pushed it’s way to the front by force. Shawn is certain he’s never tasted anything like this before, but at the same time it’s familiar. It’s the lifelong sensation of his dad hovering over his every move, for better and for worse. It’s every fight they’ve ever had, and every moment they never apologized out loud but understood the silent intent to, and every unspoken resentment and appreciation and everything they don’t talk about.

It’s also… older. Staler, than the other three. The intensity isn’t less, but there’s a… a lack of crispness. It’s a little fuzzy, and Shawn can easily imagine it being more refined once upon a time.

His dad is old.

Shawn’s never going to age again.

That’s not okay.

“Shawn.” He’s startled back to himself by Henry slapping the side of the helmet. “What the hell are you doing? Why are you wearing that inside?”

His mouth is dry. His throat is breaking, splitting into a million little pieces. When he opens his mouth the words scrape out like sandpaper. “Going to see the chief.”

Henry actually steps back. “Are you sick?”

Where’s all that saliva he had a moment ago? This is worse. He was hungry before, but now he feels ravenous. He feels like he’s not fully in his body, with all the heartbeats clinging to his bones and the rushing of other people’s blood flooding his brain and the agonizing tearing and writhing in his guts.

“Yeah,” he croaks. “Gus too. And Lassie and Jules.”

“All four of you. Just like that.”

“Crazy, right?” His voice sounds as painful as it feels.

“And you rode your bike here.”

“Everyone else is stuck at home in bed.” Not untrue. Hey, he’s got that going for him– and the visor hiding his face, and the lack of ability to sweat. His dad will probably buy it.

“... Alright.” Henry’s expression pinches. “But I think I should drive you home. You sound like your grandfather.”

The “laugh” that comes out of Shawn sounds more like the final agonized cry of a dying animal. All heads turn to him. Again, he’s glad he can’t sweat anymore. He thinks. If he can salivate he should probably still sweat. Maybe?

“I’ll be fine, Dad. Raspy runs in the family anyway. This might just be my Old Man Spencer voice finally coming in.”

Henry’s concern melts back into irritation. “My voice is not old man raspy.”

“Oh no, the hearing loss has come in as well. Can you hear me, Papa? Can you hear your boy’s sweet voice still?”

“Unfortunately! Just– go home, get some sleep, I’ll tell The Chief you’re all unavailable today.”

“Thanks, Pops.” Shawn turns and tries not to sprint out. He manages to keep it to a brisk speed-walk, hops on his bike, and breaks just about every traffic law there is speeding home.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as he hops off his bike he runs down the block– still upsettingly human in both speed and expended effort, really, out of everything that had to take it’s sweet time setting in it had to be the cool stuff like super speed?-- and runs into the smoothie shop that made him pick this apartment in the first place. He keeps the helmet on again, buys the biggest size of pineapple smoothie they have, and races back home.

His window is still broken. He just runs into his bedroom, slams the door shut, rips off the helmet, and sucks the smoothie down in one go– no need to stop and take a breath.

He waits a bit to see if it’ll stay where it is, or if he’ll have an extremely one-note diet from now on. One minute, two minutes, three– he thinks it’s safe to conclude he’s in the clear.

He can’t be sure if it tasted like ash or whatever in his mouth, he drank it too fast to taste at all.

He does know it didn’t help much with the dryness. It helped a little, but… not much.

“Great.” He sits on his bed, but the smell of his other loved ones lingers, clinging to the sheets and his insides scream–

“OKAY!” He shoots back up to his feet and goes into the bathroom instead, slamming that door- and cracking it. Now that he can think a little more clearly, he’s pretty sure he cracked the front door and his bedroom door too. He’s not going to get this security deposit back, even if he wasn’t psychic he’d know that for sure.

… Right. Psychic.

He sits on his bathroom floor, puts his hands to his head, and closes his eyes. “Come on, universe,” he mutters. “Tell me what the hell I need to know.”

He sits there for a while– he should be getting stiff, and cold, and maybe a limb should be falling asleep. He doesn’t feel anything. It’s actually worse than feeling uncomfortable. He breaks, standing up and turning the shower on its hottest setting to fill the room up with steam. It’s something. The steam clings to his cold skin, condensing into little water droplets, rolling off like he’s a cold glass of lemonade left outside too long. It’s not sweat, but it’s similar enough to make him feel at least slightly more human.

His throat is still dry, though. His mouth still hurts. And his chest is still empty.

“ Don’t try to deal with this alone.”

“I won’t, man.”

Gus should really learn to stop trusting his word at some point. Although, technically Shawn isn’t trying to deal with this alone, since he’s attempting to reach out to The Universe he’s apparently extra connected to for help. That counts, right? Probably not, but he’ll pretend it does because it serves his purposes better.

He sits back down on the floor, putting his hands back to his head. Condensation rolls off of him, wetting down his clothes and plastering his hair to his head. He takes a deep breath of muggy, soggy air, pressing his lips together and rubbing his temples.

“Come on,” he whispers. “Just… help me out. Please.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn is ten years old, sitting on the bench of the picnic table in his yard, sniffling. Henry walks through the gate holding a freshly-caught fish, but his excited shout of greeting dies when he realizes Shawn’s shoulders are shaking.

“Whoa, whoa, kid, what’s wrong?” Henry puts down the fish and immediately starts checking his son for injuries.

“Nothing.” Shawn tries to push his dad away.

“Shawn, do you know what happens to kids who get hurt and try to brush it off? They get infections, those infections kill off a limb or an organ, and if they’re lucky they make it out of the hospital with only one amputation or surgery.”

“I didn’t get a cut.” Shawn won’t look his dad in the eyes. “... Gus and I got into a fight.”

“... So? You and Gus fight all the time.” Henry sits across from his son. “What’s different this time?”

Shawn wipes his eyes with his entire forearm. “He said he wishes we never met.”

Henry frowns in understanding and nods. “Well, Shawn, he didn’t mean that.”

“How do you know? He said he’ll never talk to me again.”

“Shawn. You know, a lot of friends have that exact same argument much more often than you and Gus do.”

“... They do?”

“Of course they do.”

“But if Gus didn't mean it, why did it feel so real?”

“No-one is as capable of hurting you as much as people you love, Shawn. When you care about someone, even the smallest thing that would be completely dismissable if anyone else said it can be like a knife wound. It felt real because you’re afraid of what’ll happen if it is. Now, why did Gus say that in the first place?”

“I, um… I stole his bike.”

“You stole his– Shawn!”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn blinks ‘awake’ from the memory. “I don’t… get it.” He leans his head back against the wall. “What does some random conversation from when I was ten have to do with what I’m going through now?”

He feels something like an arm around him– but it’s faint, and weightless, and…

And like what he felt in the car.

“Grandma?” He tries to see her, but there’s so much steam in his bathroom now that he’d be lucky to see his own shoes. “Why do you keep showing up? No offense, just, I barely knew you before you died.”

He sucks in a sharp breath as another vision grips him, hands going back to his head.

His grandma is brushing her teeth when she sucks in a breath of her own, eyes going glassy- she chokes a little, and his grandpa has to slap her on the back. When she’s done coughing, she grabs his shoulder. “Maddie went into labor.”

Flash, film grain, it’s years earlier. A little boy is playing in a yard, digging a giant hole, and an older boy is watching with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Shawn’s grandma laughs to herself, and then freezes, eyes glazing again. When it’s over she looks at the older boy with a sadness in her gaze.

Flash, grain, his grandma is old again and cradling a tiny baby Shawn. He already has quite a thick amount of hair, and he’s brand-new. She boops his nose. “I wish I could be around to teach you, sweetie,” she whispers. “You’ve got a lot of paths you can take, and your future is just as foggy to me as any other with The Gift’s would be. But I just know you’ll make us all proud and make it a good one.”

“Whoa.” Now his mouth feels dry in a different way– layers of dryness, a spray-on antiperspirant over gym chalk or something like that. “No way. It’s genetic?”

That idea feels right. No, the way that it felt right when he realized how vampire blood-digestion works felt like this, and it’s more than feels. It deserved and deserves a big, uppercase ‘F’. It’s not a feeling, it’s a Feeling. A Psychic Feeling.

“What, did it just skip dad?” Feels Right. “Because he’s… a cranky old man and always has been?” Feels Right. “So he was literally born that way. Huh. I just got a whole new range of quips to use on him. … None of that tells me why the memory was important.”

No big-F Feelings there. He groans and presses his palms into his eyes. “Come on! I pretended this was all cryptic as a cover! You mean to tell me a lot of what I lied about was real?! Man…”

He sighs, and runs through the memory again. Again. He can do this. Something about it is related, important. Okay, what was the question? Not helpful, he wasn’t specific, he just wanted to know something about this Vampire situation. Okay, why was he looking for information? Because of that encounter with his dad. What was so pressing about it? Well, his reaction to his dad was different than anyone else in the precinct. So… he was probably subconsciously probing for answers about that.

Okay, so the memory is related to that somehow. Why did he have a much stronger hunger reaction to his dad, and, actually, to Gus, Jules, and Lassie? They’re all so distinct, standing out from everything else, but he’d been around Gus, Jules, and Lassie for a long time by then, so he got used to them. So maybe the question is actually why are they so distinct?

The memory was about a fight with Gus, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe that was just the setup. Maybe he can break this down like a movie. The setup is a fight with Gus, okay, but what’s the message? Something repeated, a theme presented through the entire conversation, with some kind of relevance to now…

… Oh.

“Because I love them?” He blinks. Feels Right. “... So… what? Because I love them, their blood is more tempting?”

Feels. Right.

“... That’s cheesy. And cliche.” He swallows. “So I’m just going to be constantly extra hungry around them.”

Feels Right.

“And… staying away from them probably isn’t an option if I want to stay me?”

Feels Right.

“This can’t possibly get any more upsettingly complicated.

Feels…

Wrong.

#psych #psychusa #psych usa #psych 2006 #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic

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flowersandskeletons526 · 3 years

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“The Harshest Future We Could Have Imagined” - Lumity Future AU Fanfic Part 3

While Amity and Emira discuss the emerging problem with their brother, Luz grows frustrated with current decisions.

Part 1 Part 2

---

Amity lurched forward, golden eyes blazing with hatred, but Willow clapped a hand over her mouth and yanked her back.

Edric called orders to his squad as they marched around. Behind him, a young witch stepped out of their house. One of the soldiers grabbed them by the collar and clubbed them over the head with a vicious order to stay inside, before tossing them back and slamming the door in their face. Edric ignored the violence happening behind him.

Keeping her hand over Amity’s mouth, Willow pushed her back into Luz and held a finger to her lips. “Not now,” she hissed. “We need reinforcements. We’ll have another chance to get him.”

Amity shoved Willow’s hand away. “He’s right there!”

“Amity, we’ll get another chance. Stand down.”

Gus popped up between them. “Guys, we should go. We can’t have Belos finding out that Luz is back yet or he’ll go straight after the portal.”

Willow shot Amity a look. Some of the fight faded from the witch’s fiery golden glare.

“Gus is right,” she sighed. Still glaring down at Edric, she grabbed Luz’s arm. “Come on. We should go to the base and let them know where he is.”

Willow nudged her as they snuck away in the opposite direction. “You should talk to your sister.”

“I’m going to.”

They reached the base through a tunnel right where the snow began to stick at the Knee. The steep ramp down led deep underground, lit by torches that licked at the low ceiling. Luz looked around in awe like her first few days on the Isles, only now there was a foreboding sense of danger pressing down on the world around her. As they sank further underground, she shook off a chill that settled on her shoulders, one she wasn’t sure was just from the cold.

Amity walked beside Luz. Their hands brushed together. Luz forgot where they were for a moment and smiled at Amity. The witch returned the smile, slipping her hand into Luz’s and giving it a quick squeeze, but the look disappeared in a moment. Luz watched sadly as frigid rage snuck into Amity’s eyes.

They reached a metal door at the very bottom of the tunnel. Willow knocked three times.

“Password,” a familiar voice barked on the other side of the door.

Luz frowned. “Is that…?”

Amity pulled her back and held a finger to her lips.

“Wild,” Willow replied.

“Members?”

“Thorn, Tiger, and Clone.” She glanced over her shoulder at Luz. “And a guest.”

“A guest?”

“Friendly.”

The door swung open. A short girl with a spiky hair tie stared at them with wide eyes. She still wore the same fishhook in her ear. Her mouth hung open for a moment before she found her words again.

“Titan,” she gasped. “Luz?”

“Hey, Viney.”

“I, you, y-you’re back! How?”

“Long story,” Amity said. “Let’s talk about it inside. Where’s Emira?”

Viney stepped aside to let them through the door, closing and locking it behind them. “She’s with the boys in Barcus’ shed. They’re reading futures trying to find anything we need to worry about.” She paused. “Amity, I heard. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” With that, Amity swept past her and marched into the base, disappearing into the haphazard maze of buildings that occupied the large underground cavern. Luz tried to follow, but Viney caught her in a hug.

“It’s good to see you again, troublemaker,” she said.

Luz laughed and returned the hug. “Good to see you, too. Where’s Puddles?”

“Out patrolling. She keeps Belos’ soldiers away from the entrance to this place so there’s no chance of them finding it.”

“Speaking of Belos,” Willow said. “We need to meet with everyone to discuss the new developments with Edric. We’re going to show Luz around the base and then I want a briefing set up in ten minutes.”

Viney nodded. “Got it, Commander.”

Willow waved to Luz as Viney rushed off. “Come on.”

Luz raised an eyebrow at Willow’s back. “Commander?”

“Amity and Willow are both technically commanders of the rebellion,” Gus explained quietly. “People usually call them that when we’re discussing matters related to the war.”

“Should I be calling them that?”

“No, you’re going to be part of our squad. We don’t address them like that, but you do have to listen to them.”

“After what I’m seeing, I guess I better. I don’t remember them being so… scary.”

“We’ve all had to grow up fast since you left.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Luz, come here,” Willow said. Luz fell into step with her. “I want to give you a quick tour of the place. See that little building over there? That’s the healer’s building. Viney is usually in there when she’s not on guard duty. That building over there is the armory.”

“Armory?”

“We can’t always rely on magic. Those buildings are our barracks. A lot of people’s homes have been destroyed, so if they join the rebellion and have nowhere else to go, they come here.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Gus mostly manages those.”

“When I’m not helping my dad with the newsletters,” Gus chimed in.

“Right.”

As Willow went on, a growing weight of dread settled over Luz. She touched her glyph pad in her pocket, rolling her pencil between her fingers. What kind of world did she leave behind?

****

Meanwhile, across the base, Amity found Emira sitting in the corner of Barcus’ shed, while Barcus gazed into a crystal ball and Jerbo summoned little abominations to run around the room. Emira squashed one beneath her foot just as Amity walked in. Jerbo shot her a look and immediately resurrected the little purple creature, but kept it away from her threatening shoes.

Emira looked up at Amity. “Mittens!”

“Can I talk to you outside?” she asked.

The elder sister frowned. “Alright.”

She followed Amity outside. Amity stepped over to the wall of the cavern and sat on a rock, pinching the bridge of her nose. Emira crossed her arms and waited.

“We saw Edric again,” Amity finally said.

Emira clenched her jaw. “And?”

“He was leading a patrol squad through Bonesborough. One of his soldiers clubbed some kid over the head and he didn’t even bat an eye.”

“I don’t…” Emira bit her lip and turned away. “I don’t understand why he would do this. I know that he never liked the idea of the rebellion, but I didn’t think he would ever go this far.”

“You heard what he said about being the stupid twin. He’s doing this to get back at us.”

“We teased him! He and I did way worse to you, to the point where it wasn’t even funny looking back, and you didn’t do anything like this!”

“He hated the idea of the rebellion in the first place. And it doesn’t matter why he’s doing it, it just matters that he is. Emira, L-” Amity stopped herself. She got close to Emira and lowered her voice to a hiss. “Luz is back.”

“What? When?”

“Yesterday when I got back to the Owl House she was there. If Belos finds out that she’s back, he’s going to destroy the Owl House and her trying to get the portal back. He got so close to his day of unity before she left and if we let him get his hands on the portal again, he’s going to win. With Edric running around, it’s going to be a lot harder to keep her out of sight.”

“You expect Luz to stay out of sight?”

“Okay, I don’t actually know what Willow wants to do with her, but I know that we can’t let Edric near her. You know he’ll be sent after her if Belos finds out.”

Emira sighed. “I know.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t know if I can fight him, Amity.”

Amity looked down. “Willow’s not going to ask you to.”

“What about you, Commander?”

“You know you don’t have to call me that.”

“I do when we’re talking about things like this.”

The younger witch rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t send you after him.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mittens, you can’t hurt him.”

“He’s hurting other people! What do you expect me to do, give him a free pass because he’s my brother? Emira, it’s the same thing that happened with the Clawthornes. We’re Eda now. He’s Lilith. Blood doesn’t change the fact that he is on Belos’ team now.”

“Lilith turned good.”

“Lilith was good. She tried to get Eda healed, she wasn’t leading soldiers around beating people and petrifying them for nothing! Most importantly, she left when she found out exactly how horrible he is! Edric already knows!”

“Right, of course, and the Clawthornes can do no wrong in your eyes but our brother doesn’t even be considered to be helped and given a second chance!”

Amity bristled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Emira cringed. “Nothing. I’m sorry, that was out of line, I didn’t mean to say that.”

“I don’t care if you meant to, you said it. What did you mean by that?”

“Mittens-”

“Emira!”

“I just wish I could still hear Blight and have happy thoughts of you guys, okay?! I wish my family didn’t fall apart! If not Mother and Father then at least you two, but no! Now my twin is part of the Emperor’s coven trying to kill us, and my sister is a Clawthorne that wants to kill him!”

The two sisters stared at each other in shocked silence after Emira’s outburst. Emira, with her face burning red and tears in her eyes, scrunched her nose and turned aside. Amity huffed and fixed her hair. She crossed her arms on her chest and faced her sister.

“I want to give Edric a second chance,” she finally said, “but I can’t. The lines are drawn. People know what Belos is doing. Anyone who joins him now is doing it with full awareness of the gravity of that decision. I can’t… we can’t forgive him. You understand that, don’t you?”

“He’s my twin. We share magic. You understand that, don’t you, Mittens?”

Amity scowled as her face burned. She bared just the slightest bit of fang and flattened her ears back against her head. Emira’s turned down in kind. “Commander,” she growled.

Emira scoffed. “Oh, come on, Amity.”

“Like you said, right?” Amity pressed. “When we’re talking about things like this, you call me Commander.”

Emira frowned, startled by the sudden coldness, but turned her eyes town and sighed. “Yes, Commander. Understood.”

Amity softened. “Emira, I really don’t want to do this. I just don’t have a choice. We can’t approach this any differently just because he’s family. Actually, it’s because he’s family that makes it so important to treat him like any other coven squad leader. We can’t show weakness in this.”

Emira laughed, but the sound was cold and hollow. It left a heavy knot twisting in Amity’s gut. “There’s the Amity I remember. I guess all that ruthlessness really paid off in the end, huh?”

Amity smirked sadly. “Just not in the way Mother or Father ever hoped.”

“Right.” Emira wrapped her arms around Amity’s neck. Amity returned the embrace with a sigh, just happy to be held again. “I really am glad you got out of there, Mittens. Maybe not in the way it happened, but at least you got out. You did better as a Clawthorne than you ever would have as a Blight.”

“You could come live with us, too. You don’t have to stay in the barracks all the time just because they destroyed the manor.”

“They? Didn’t you throw the first fireball?”

“That’s up for debate.”

Emira chuckled. “Remember who taught you that spell. I still can’t believe you aimed for our parents’ bedroom window with that.”

“The house was empty! It was a message, that’s all. And you started throwing fireballs with me. You aimed for your own bedroom.”

“I needed to redecorate, anyway.”

The two shared a laugh and broke apart. Before the conversation could continue, Viney came running up to them.

“Commander Amity, Commander Willow wants everyone in the map room for a briefing. She says it’s important.”

“I’m sure. Thanks, Viney. Will you get Jerbo and Barcus?”

“On my way.”

Amity nudged Emira. “Ready to see our favorite human again?”

Emira smirked. “More like your favorite human.”

Amity blushed. Emira laughed. They strode away through the base to the map room in the center of the cavern.

Inside, Willow, Gus, and Luz stood around the glowing table with the magic-projected map on top of it. Luz grinned when they walked in.

“Emira!”

“Luz! It’s so good to see you again!” They shared a quick hug, one that left Emira with a mildly shocked smile afterwards. “Oh, wow, you got way taller than me. Isn’t that surprising, Amity?”

“Ah ha, yeah, really.”

Luz just tilted her head and smiled obliviously. Amity allowed herself a crumb of reminiscence. Some things hadn’t changed, after all.

****

Once both main squads were gathered, as well as a few trusted witches that Luz didn’t recognize, Willow smacked her hands down on the table.

“First things first,” she said. “As you all have noticed, Luz is back. While that is amazing and everyone is extremely happy to see her again, there are going to be a few problems. The first is the fact that if Belos finds out about her, he’ll know the portal is working again and he will crush us personally trying to get it. We’ve all learned that he isn’t afraid to get his own gloves dirty anymore.”

A chorus of somber agreement went up from the witches. Luz looked around at her brow furrowed. What did that mean?

“So,” Willow went on, “because of that, we have to make sure that she stays hidden for now. We can’t risk anything until we have a better plan.”

“What?” Luz exclaimed. “Willow, you can’t keep me locked out of sight. I want to help you guys. I want to fight with you! I came back here because the Isles are the only place I’ve ever felt at home and everyone here is my family. You have to let me help protect that!”

“Not now,” Willow decided. “Once we have a plan, we’ll see about putting you into a squad. We can’t let him find out about you, especially with what we just found out. Which brings me to our second problem: Edric Blight.”

Amity and Emira stared at the floor, ears flat. Luz wanted to hug Amity, but she was trapped at the other side of the table. Instead, she did her best to convey it with her eyes. She thought it must have worked, but Amity managed the sad ghost of a smile. It was something, at least.

“Edric is Belos’ new commander and has him leading a patrol squad through Bonesborough. We saw him today when we were sneaking Luz through the Isles. He knows all of our faces, especially Emira and Amity’s, so he is going to be one of our biggest threats going forward. He knows too much about the Owl House, about us, and about the rebellion from what he heard in the past to be overlooked. From now on, if anyone sees him, do not engage. You retreat and call for reinforcements, and we’ll send out a squad of witches he doesn’t know. It’s going to be harder for him to make any guesses about our plans that way. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Commander,” everyone but Amity replied.

“Yes, Commander,” Luz mumbled under her breath.

“Good. Everyone back to your stations. Gus, bring Luz back to the Owl House.”

“Wait, Willow,” Luz began.

“Luz, that’s an order.”

“But I want to help!”

“You are helping by doing what we say for now. Go tell Eda everything I just said and see what she wants to do. Besides, you should catch up with her, anyway.”

“Amity, come on.”

“Willow’s right, Luz,” Amity said with a sharp, single nod. “I’ll be there later tonight and we’ll talk more, okay?”

“Okay…”

Gus tugged on her elbow and led her along, out of the base. She waved to everyone and got in a few more reunion hugs before they left. She followed him back through Bonesborough without incident, sneaking in most places and cloaked with intricate illusions where they couldn’t.

“Wow, you got a lot better with your illusions, huh, Gus?” she asked.

“Mostly,” he replied. “I still have a long way to go.”

Finally, they reached the Owl House. Gus helped Luz explain Willow’s briefing and what they saw of Edric. He stayed a little while longer to carry a message for Eda back to the base before scurrying off into the approaching twilight. Luz sat at the table with Eda and hid her head in her arms.

The owl lady nudged her with her elbow. “What’s wrong, kid?”

“I want to fight in the rebellion. I want to help my friends but Willow and Amity won’t let me!”

“They’re looking after what’s best for our plans. Belos can’t know about you yet. The portal can be opened but I still can’t hide it. It’s just a free standing door in my closet. Look.”

Eda opened a door to reveal another door within, this one glowing around the edges with a large yellow eye set in the front of it. She gestured to it and slammed the closet door. Luz huffed and buried herself deeper in her arms.

“I already went up against Belos. I’m grown up now and a lot stronger. Let me do it again and I can help take him down.”

“We aren’t one-on-one with Belos right now, kid. That may help, but it’s not what’s best right now. Besides, you’re stronger physically, but your magic is out of practice. You’ve spent five years without it.”

Luz sighed, thinking of all the frustrated nights spent slapping glyph after glyph, only to have them remain pencil on paper. “I know. I’m just stuck, that’s all. I know Willow’s the commander now but I only ever knew her as my friend. Why can’t she just let me help? I’m not some magic artifact to keep in a cave with a booby-trapped boulder guarding it.”

“You’ll get your chance, Luz. It’s just going to take some time.”

“I know…”

“Good kid. Until then…” Eda slapped something down on the table in front of her. Luz lifted her head to see a deck of cards. “How about a game of Hexes Hold’em?”

“You told me you were going to quit that game!”

“I did! For a little while, anyway.” Eda grinned, shuffling the deck. “Now heads up. It’s time I taught you how to play.”

Luz grinned and accepted her hand. War loomed just outside the door, but for at least a few rounds, fighting could wait.

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buckyfan23 · 4 years

Text

Another Glitch

I have no idea as to where we are.

A fight breaks loose nearby. A group of children are teaming up against a smaller boy. Another boy ends up pushing past me. He apologies as he goes to rescue his friend.

The guys are arguing about where we are. I can't help but keep my eyes on the boy and his friend. Unknowingly, I move closer to the fight without the others' knowledge as well.

The fight continues for a little bit longer before the smaller boy's friend finally gets rid off the bullies. The other children take off, especially after they saw me.

"Are you two boys ok?"

"We're mostly fine, Ma'am. My friend here just doesn't know when to run away from a fight."

"I don't need saving all the time, Buck."

"Steve, you know you shouldn't be picking fights. Did you forget that you have many health problems?"

"You two sounds just like a couple of my best friends. Shouldn't you two be in school or something?"

"No, Ma'am, school let out for winter break a few minutes ago," little Steve explains.

"You can call me Juliet. There is no need to call me that. Would you like for me to walk you home? Just in case any of the other kids decide they aren't done picking on you."

"Why would you want to help me?"

"Well, Steve, you remind me a lot of a friend I have. He was always sick as a child. He also never knew when to back down from a fight."

Little Steve grins up at me. Both him and little Bucky grab onto my hands. Adult Steve looks over to me and gets the other two's attention.

*Do not come up to me, Sam. We don't know what will happen if the kids meet their adult selves.*

Sam gives me a quick nod of his head.

Child version of Steve tugs on my hand, pulling me in the direction of his apartment. Little Bucky follows Steve's lead in pulling me forward.

We finally come across Steve's childhood home. The two of them pull me into the apartment.

"And who do we have here, boys?"

"Hello, Ma'am. I was just making sure these two make it home safely. My name's Juliet. It's a pleasure to meet the mother of one of these lovely boys."

"My name is Sarah, sweetie. I greatly appreciate you bringing them home. I can take it from here."

Walking up to the three adults, "I guess, we are stuck in the twenty's, guys. Wish I knew how to get us back. You guys look amazing in your military uniforms."

You two wouldn't happen to know a good place to lay low until I figure out how to teleport us back to present day?"

"I can't really think of a good place; how 'bout you, Buck?"

"Wish I could. I do know that if we are going to lay low, Doll, you need to get rid of the lip ring and change your hair color."

"I guess, I have to find a wig then. I can't really dye my hair, Snowflake. Know a good place to find one?"

We walk back into the big city and look around for the store Bucky was thinking about.

Snow falls down, making me realize we teleported back to December, of '27 to be specific.

"Do you think we can make it home before Christmas? "

"I hope so, Juliet," Sam answers.

We continue to scope the city out for a good place to stay.

"Juliet, are you okay? Your eyes are turning black."

"I'm not sure why my eyes would be black." A whimper rip out mouth as canine teeth sharpen themselves to a point.

Concern become suffocating inside the abandoned building forcing me to walk out.

Slipping on dark sunglasses I familiarize myself to the city around me. Eyes focusing on me catches my attention.

Pushing the person against a wall, "Why are you following me," slips past my lips.

"Sorry, I can't help but feel like I know you somewhere."

One look at the face was all I needed to know who he is. "Well, Mr. Erskine, I know you; however, there is no possible way for you to know who I am."

"Yet you look so familiar to me."

"Not sure what to tell you about that, except I've got to go." I leave the young version of Opa in the alley.

Zipping past the buzzing crowd that is Brooklyn, the building falls into my line of sight.

"Everyone still here, I've brought lunch."

"What's for lunch, Doll?"

"I have a few sandwiches, Bucky. Where's the other two?"

"They went looking for you."

*Back at the hideout, Sammy.*

*On our way back now, Little Hawkeye.*

"Have you come up with a way to get us back, yet?"

"Still working on it. Like I told you before I don't have complete control over my powers, Snowflake."

"It's okay; we'll figure it out together, Doll."

"Figure what out, Buck?"

"How to get us home, punk."

"Jerk."

Handing out the rest of lunch, I start working on finding a solution to the issue.

"I think I'm going to try something; hopefully, it works."

I definitely didn't intend to teleport to the other side of the world. I quickly teleport back to the guys.

"Didn't work. I might have another idea." To avoid burn marks on the floor, I walk outside.

"Thor, I don't know if you can hear me. I would gratefully appreciate if you could lend a helping hand."

Rain pours down on me as the mighty god makes his presence known.

"And how exactly in all of the nine realms, do you expect me to help you when I am busy fighting a war."

"Well, since you're so busy fighting a war, I guess, I'll see if the god of mischief can help. Obviously, there is no way you will be capable of helping us," upset that I insulted him, he follows me to the others.

"Tiny Midgardian, thou does not understand the power before you."

Laughter fills my chest, "Oh no, I understand completely well who I am dealing with. Someone who is obsessed with violence. Maybe, I should have called out to your brother."

The three men watch me insult the god of thunder.

"Juliet, do you really think it is wise to insult him? He is a god, remember?"

"Do you want to go home or not, Steve?"

"Can the Bifrost take us through time?" switching my attention to the god.

"How does thou know about the Bifrost?"

"Because we are friends in the future."

Bucky pipes in with, "I thought, we weren't going to change anything."

"Sorry, Bucky, I don't know what else to do."

"Juliet, are you sure this is the only way?"

"No, but it is an idea. I will repeat the question; can the Bifrost take us through time?"

Booming thunder in the distance let's me know he has left. "That jerk. Well, that is out of the question."

"That's what you get for insulting him."

"Cork it, Samuel."

"No reason to get hostile, Vampy."

Growls echo through the old building. *Don't test me.* I leave for another side of the building to calm down before I hurt one of them.

Thirst overcomes all other senses. Looking around, a voice fills the silence of the room. "You need blood. Don't you? I can see it in your eyes."

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"You don't understand; I will always worry about your wellbeing. You can take some of my blood; I trust you."

"I can't. I don't trust myself. I will only kill you."

A metallic scent fills my nose as soon as he decides to take it into his own hands. Drops of blood spills onto the ground. I am quick to heal his cut.

"You're an idiot to do that."

"Only for you," another cut appears on his arm. "I will just continue to cut myself until you take the blood."

Frustration shows itself through my roars. "Please don't make me do this. I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't; like I said I trust you."

Why would he do this?

Finally giving in since I know he isn't bluffing. "Just promise me you will push me away as soon as you realize you're losing too much blood."

"I will."

I knew the second his intoxicating scented blood touched my lips I would lose all control of my impulses.

"Doll, I think that is enough. I'm starting to become dizzy."

Stopping was not an option anymore. Bucky couldn't pull me off until it was too late. His eyes turned cold as he became motionless.

"No! Snowflake, I'm so sorry. You should have never let do it. Please come back."

Tears stream down my face. I pull his body onto my lap and hold him tight.

"Steve is going to kill me."

An idea pops into my head.

"This is probably a really bad idea, but I can't lose you too, Bucky."

I take one of his knives from him placing it in his hand forcing him to make a cut on my arm.

Pressing the wound to his lips, "I sure hope this works like in the movies."

Sure enough a few seconds later a set of hands are wrapped around my arms.

A voice calls out from behind me, "What the hell is going on in here?"

Snowflake pulls away and looks up at me with bright red eyes. Steve asks again especially when Bucky looks at him baring his fangs and growling, "She's mine."

"Hey, Little Wolf, come here."

I hand Morgan over to Pepper as I follow Tony into the backyard.

"What happened? What did you see? You're crying."

As soon as he hears about it, Sam was calling for me.

Once I make it back, a hand grabs onto my throat from behind. Staring forward the guys were bound by chains. Decorations are in heaps of mess. The holiday tree was toppled over with lights busted and ornaments shattered.

"Didn't realize that we have reverted back to the medieval times. I suggest you take your hand off me before you lose it."

"I don't believe you will. If you so much as even try to pretend you're the hero, your precious little soldier will turn into a monster just like you." A needle is jabbed into my side ridding me of some blood.

"What is it that you want so bad?"

"The world to see the monster you really are."

"Too bad that will never happen."

"You will do exactly what I want if you don't want anything bad to happen to Winter and America's golden boy."

"Okay, but only if you guarantee their safety."

"Smart choice, Summer. Consider it a deal."

With the syringe of my blood in his hand, he walks over to Bucky. A gleam fills his eyes as he injects the needle into Bucky.

Lunging forward, "You said we had a deal."

"I lied. Have a merry Christmas, little monster," Ross escapes.

Bucky's eyes begin changing to red. I know what I need to do. I need to act fast though. "Sorry you were forced to experience this because of me, Snowflake."

His body thrashes around making it hard to force my blood out of him. I let gravity solve that as my blood gushes out of the injection site.

Blue eyes reappear.

"How are you feeling, Bucky? What a great Christmas this is turning out to be."

"Juliet, this isn't your fault."

"Yes. It is, Steve. Had I been an ordinary person, Hydra never would have gone looking for me. I never would have been forced to do their dirty work. I wouldn't be a monster, right now. Bucky would never had to go through that. It is all my fault."

"Juliet, we never would have met you if none of this happened."

"You would have been better off that way, Snowflake. I need some time alone, guys. Merry Christmas, Sammy, Cap, and Snowflake."

I find myself in Central Park gliding along the snow covered bridge. Not a person in sight. The rushing water lying underneath a thick sheet of ice.

As my body lands onto the frozen river, snow falls faster than ever before. All this cold helps in the process of calming me down. I'm sure Morgan would love to be here.

Feelings of awe fills the air while skates of ice form on my feet. Gliding on the ice brings a smile to form on my face.

"You're welcome to join in on the fun. I can make you two some skate, if you would like."

"Looks like you are having, Doll."

"Would you care to join me?" turning my body to face the two men.

"We never skated before, Sweetheart."

"Perfect time to learn then."

"I guess, it wouldn't hurt to try, Doll," Bucky walking onto the ice.

Steve coming right behind him as the skates form on their feet. The two almost fall if it weren't for gravity catching them.

@mahalaraewolfe @lilulo-12

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thisdiscontentedwinter · 7 years

Text

Hunger - chapter 22

Hunger master post

Stiles doesn’t know where the clouds came from, but a few drops of rain spatter against the windshield of Chris’s SUV, and slide down the glass like tears.

The road is blocked by cars, and by six heavily armed men.

“If you get the chance to run,” Chris Argent says to nobody in particular, or maybe to all of them, “you take it.”

He opens the driver’s side door and steps out onto the road. Stiles hears the crunch of his boots hitting the dirt. He still has Kate’s firearm in his hand, but Stiles has no idea how many rounds he has left. And he’s massively outgunned.

The hunters walk toward the SUV, fanning out as they move.

“Rafa,” Melissa says, a soft warning.

Rafael McCall opens the front passenger door and steps out onto the road as well. He’s joined a moment later by Parrish with his rifle and Allison with her bow.

Stiles stares through the windshield at Haigh. Sheriff Haigh. He was a deputy back when Stiles knew him, and his expression when he looks at Parrish tells Stiles everything he needs to know: someone told Haigh that Parrish was supposed to be a dead man. He hasn’t just been turning a blind eye to Kate and Gerard. He’s in this up to his fucking neck.

“You brought Ally?” Gerard calls, his voice arch with disbelief, with disgust. “Did he tell you what those animals did to your aunt, Allison?”

Allison turns her head to look at Chris, and then raises her bow. “I don’t care.”

“They killed her!” Gerard shouts, the noise rising and cutting through the quiet of the morning. “They ripped her throat out!”

Across from Stiles, Peter gives a chuff that sounds very satisfied.

“Give us the wolves, Christopher, and at least let Allison walk away from here.” Gerard steps closer. “That’s what you always wanted, wasn’t it? For Allison to not be involved?”

Chris doesn’t answer. He doesn’t lower his firearm either.

“Allison.” Gerard’s tone is cajoling. “Come over here to me.”

“Let my friends go,” Allison says.

Gerard’s expression sours.

Stiles inches toward the back door of the SUV. He opens it with a soft click. “You can run,” he whispers. “When I push it open, you and Peter can run.”

Derek growls at him.

Outside, Gerard raises his voice. “Give me the fucking wolves!”

Melissa twists around in her seat. “Stiles, no! Don’t open it!”

Stiles pushes the door open, and climbs down onto the road. Scott’s shoes land in the dirt beside him.

“Stiles!” Melissa hisses. “Scott!”

The wolves leap down beside them. Derek bumps his head against Stiles’s hip.

“They’re not running, are they?” Stiles asks in a low voice.

Scott shows him a lopsided smile. “No.”

They round the back of the SUV and join the others on the road.

Stiles lifts his chin and stares at Haigh.

Remember me. Remember me, you fucking asshole.

He feels a stab of bitter joy when he sees the recognition flash over Haigh’s heavy features. It’s been four years, but Haigh hasn’t aged well. Stiles guesses that some people just aren’t up to the job of Sheriff. Haigh stole a job he couldn’t even fucking handle. Stiles hopes he hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in years.

Because Stiles sure as fuck hasn’t, has he? And his dad…

His dad probably hasn’t either.

“What?” Gerard asks suddenly. “What now, Christopher?”

It isn’t Chris who answers. It’s Rafael McCall. “FBI. Put your weapons on the ground.”

A ripple of unease goes through the hunters, and through Haigh. It unsettles them, but it doesn’t budge them. How can it? Agent McCall’s badge doesn’t mean anything here, just like Stiles’s dad’s badge didn’t mean anything four years ago, and Parrish’s didn’t last night. Gerard Argent and his men crossed that line years ago.

“You’re not the authority here,” Gerard growls. “I’m the authority here!”

“I’m not giving you the wolves,” Chris says, his voice steady. “I’m not giving you the boy, and I’m not giving you my daughter.”

“Give me the wolves!” Gerard bellows, his face turning red.

There’s a sudden roar of tires spinning on dirt, Stiles is knocked to the ground by Derek, and he twists his neck just in time to see Chris Argent’s black SUV barreling into the hunters, and crashing up against Haigh’s cruiser.

Metal crunches, and radiator steam rises like smoke.

Melissa! he thinks wildly. Holy shit!

The wolves launch themselves toward Gerard and the hunters, with Chris and Rafael and Parrish on their heels. Stiles hauls himself to his feet. He sees Scott flinch back as a hunter gets a shot off. Scott clamps his hand over his bicep, and roars, dropping to his haunches as his fangs and claws appear. Allison put a bolt in the hunter’s throat.

Shit.

Steam is still rising from the radiator of the SUV. Stiles heads toward it. He needs to get Melissa out.

The thin soles of his shoes skid in the dirt as he reaches the twisted mass of metal. His stomach churns when he sees the hunter trapped in the crush of the vehicles. He’s trapped from the waist down. He’s got blood coming out of his mouth. Stiles doesn’t need to be a doctor to tell he’s a dead man. Maybe not now, but give it a minute or two.

Stiles wrenches the driver’s door of the SUV open.

Melissa is in the front seat, hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel. She’s pale. Her gaze is fixed on the dying hunter and her expression is one of horror.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks, flinching as he hears one of the wolves roaring behind him, and a garbled scream.

Melissa turns her face toward him. “Stiles! Look out!”

Stiles feels the press of a barrel against the side of his neck a moment before someone gets an arm around his throat. A hairy arm in a khaki sleeve. Haigh.

Haigh drags him backward.

Stiles sees everything in flashes.

Chris is on the ground, one of the hunters on top of him. The hunter is brandishing a knife.

Peter roars, and launches himself at the hunter.

Scott is bleeding. He’s hunkered down, his face twisted with pain. Allison is standing in front of him, her bow keeping the hunters at bay.

Rafael McCall slams a hunter’s head into the ground, lifts it up again by the hair, and slams it down again.

Gerard is pointing a gun at Derek. Derek, growling, looks ready to pounce.

Parrish is running for them.

Stiles’s heart is in his mouth as Haigh drags him off into the line of trees at the side of the road.

“You shouldn’t have come back here, Stiles.” He tightens his arm, and Stiles struggles for breath. “You should have left it alone!”

Stiles claws at his arm desperately. His eyes sting with tears. His lungs burn.

Once, in another universe, Haigh worked on the candyfloss stall at the Beacon Hills’ Sheriff’s Department Family Fun Day. He hadn’t done it before, and he didn’t know when to stop, and Stiles had been delighted when Haigh had presented him with a stick full of candy floss as big as a beach ball.

“Don’t tell your dad,” Haigh had warned him with a laugh.

“I won’t!”

It had been totally worth the sugar high followed by the sugar crash and the stomach ache.

Stiles doesn’t have many good memories from the dark months following the death of his mom, but that was one. That was such a bright one, and now Haigh has poisoned it.

Stiles struggles, and Haigh adjusts his grip.

“Don’t ever be an accomplice in your own murder.”

Stiles drops his chin while he can. Still gripping Haigh’s arm, he steps to the right. He lets go of Haigh’s wrist with his left hand and drives his fist behind him into the man’s groin. Haigh doubles over, and Stiles brings his elbow up sharply and slams it into his chin.

Haigh rears back, and Stiles breaks free.

Those dinner time hypotheticals with his dad?

They’d sometimes turned into practicals.

Stiles hasn’t got time to celebrate yet though. Not with a firearm in the mix. He has no idea how far away anyone else is. He has no idea if they can even see what’s happening. He turns quickly, dropping into a crouch as he scoops up a handful of dirt and leaf litter and flings it in Haigh’s face. Okay, so his dad never taught him that move. Indiana Jones did, in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Haigh splutters and waves his gun around wildly.

Stiles launches himself at him, knocking him onto the ground and straddling him while they struggle for the gun. One of them isn’t going to get up from this. Stiles really hopes it’s Haigh.

And then, just when he’s sure he’s wrong, there’s a slavering wolf beside him, growling and snarling, and snapping its jaws.

Haigh goes limp.

“Yeah,” Stiles gasps, wrenching the gun from the man’s fingers. “My friends are scarier than yours, aren’t they?”

Derek growls, his eyes flashing blue.

Stiles presses the barrel of the gun into Haigh’s chest, and watches the man’s eyes widen. The gun barrel clinks against the metal of the sheriff’s badge that this fucker has no right to be wearing, and it would be so easy to just kill him right now.

So easy, and so deserved.

“You framed my dad,” Stiles says. “You ruined my fucking life!”

And a small insidious voice in the back of Stiles’s mind whispers back that now’s his chance to ruin Haigh’s life too.

***

The wolf’s boy is bristling with anger. His tears smell close to the surface. The wolf wants nothing more than to rip the throat out of this man who hurt his boy. He wants to tear him into tiny pieces. He wants to help the boy taste his enemy’s blood.

But then the human is back, and he is forcing the change, and the wolf’s claws retract, and he reaches out his hand to curl it over Stiles’s. To draw the gun away.

“No,” he says, his voice quiet. “No, Stiles, he needs to tell the police what he did.”

Stiles is wide-eyed. Wild-eyed. “Will he? Will he though?”

Derek stares down at the man. “He will,” he says, “or Peter and I will tear him apart.”

The fear flashes in Haigh’s eyes.

“My friends are scarier,” Stiles whispers, his breath shuddering out of him. “Der, are we winning?”

***

A man like Gerard Argent doesn’t let himself get taken alive. Stiles knows, as soon as he stumbles back toward the road, how it’s going to play out. The other hunters are either dead or lying bleeding on the road, but Gerard Argent is holding a gun to Allison’s head.

He’s not using her as a shield though. He’s left Chris a clear shot.

“What are you, Christopher?” he taunts. “A coward?”

Except he’s the one not man enough to end it himself, isn’t he?

Chris’s face is as expressionless as always. There’s a crimson line of blood running from his temple down his cheek. His gun is raised.

Gerald lifts his chin. “Katie wouldn’t have hesitated. She knew what had to be done. She was always better than—”

Chris fires.

***

The wolf—the man? He doesn’t know—watches as death picks her way among the wounded and the dying. She catches him watching, and smiles. Her face is pale in the sunlight. Her hair is dark. Her smile, today, is all Laura’s.

“Der,” Laura had said before she died. “I’ll always be with you.”

But when he opened his mouth to respond she was already gone and death was in her place.

Guilt and culpability and self-recrimination were too complex for the wolf to untangle, and so he let them walk beside him. He let death wear his sister’s face.

And now, he thinks, death is no longer hungry.

Now, he thinks, she has had her fill.

She doesn’t need to wear Laura’s face.

She doesn’t need to be his shadow anymore.

Stiles falls to his knees beside him. He exhales slowly and leans into him.

The man, the wolf—Derek—reaches out and laces his fingers with his boy’s.

His boy. Pack. Stiles.

When he looks up again, death is gone.

#fan fic #sterek #teen wolf #discontentedwinter #hunger

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