#anyway this episode was all stakes and tension. you keep holding your breath and the animation they deliver is just....everything

[always-a-joyful-note]

Link Click: Here's a really cool character with a really cool design who has important side character energy. Would be a shame if we killed them off before you got to see any hint of likely the multitudes they contain, wouldn't it? :)

[mimosaeyes]

Post-176. Jon, Martin, and Basira regroup before continuing the search for Daisy. (Or: everyone is allowed to feel their feelings.) 2.1k, hurt/comfort.

I wrote a few lines of this fic after listening to the episode, but I wasn't going to finish it until I read @dathen's post about how 176 is basically "emotionally repress or die". Then I thought, oh wait, do people actually want the self-indulgent emotional catharsis? So, with @emberidzae's enabling and beta-ing, here we are.

It takes Martin longer than it should to realise that Basira is leading them out of the domain, not farther into it. Because of the way she’d begun hurrying them along, he assumed they were only a few steps behind Daisy, about to catch up with her at any moment.

Instead, the trees begin to thin out around them. Soon there’s enough space between the trunks to render them ineffective camouflage, and Martin stops feeling the urge to check his surroundings for the silhouettes of wolves waiting in ambush. There’s still a tight feeling in his throat, but at least the prickle on the back of his neck has disappeared.

He can still feel where Trevor had pressed the knife, the sharp edge of it right up against his jugular. The man’s voice had been shaking, but never his hand. No, that had been Martin’s own pulse, throbbing sickeningly beneath the blade and rushing loud in his ears.

Lost in the memory, Martin doesn’t notice the root sticking out of the ground until he’s already tripping over it. He has a split-second to think how stupid that is, how this has probably been the downfall of many people being chased by the Hunt — then his elbow is snagged by a familiar, scarred hand.

Jon doesn’t spare him a glance even as he releases his arm to clasp Martin’s hand instead. He just pulls him along, his pace brisk but not overtly hurried by fear or panic. Martin falls into step beside him, gradually regaining his rhythm and composure.

When they finally stumble into open space, Martin senses the difference at once. It’s not that he instantly relaxes; all things considered, he’d managed to remain relatively unfazed. But suddenly it takes much less effort to breathe normally. Suddenly, tension he hadn’t been aware of dissipates from his shoulders and chest.

He looks up to find Basira watching him closely. “Good job,” she says, making no effort to deny her scrutiny. “You’ll need full control over your emotions if you’re planning on following me back in there.”

Ah. There’s the rub. Of course they’re not done with this domain yet; this is only a pit-stop for Basira to make sure she hasn’t taken on liabilities.

“So you’re sure Daisy’s here?” Martin asks, managing to sound far more businesslike than he really feels about the thought of returning to the forest. “You’ve seen her?”

A muscle jumps in Basira’s cheek. Not quite a flinch, but the shadow of one. “I’m sure.”

She turns away from them and starts fiddling with her gun, checking the mechanism even though it had clearly worked fine on Trevor. Perhaps she wants a reason to keep her hands busy. Perhaps she wants to hide her face.

Martin leaves her to it and turns to Jon. He’s about to say something at random, anything to afford Basira the illusion of privacy, but the words die on his lips as Jon lets go of his hand and throws his arms around Martin.

He’s hugging back before he has time to fully register what’s happening. “Jon?” His voice squeaks from how tightly Jon is squeezing. “What’s wrong?”

Jon mumbles something against the crook of his neck. He can’t quite make out what it is. He catches sorry and couldn’t and so scared. Jon is trembling, he realises. It makes his heart lurch. He rubs a hand over his back in what he hopes is a soothing way.

After a long moment, Jon pulls back, gripping his arm with one hand while the other goes to the side of Martin’s face. “Are you alright?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”

Martin shakes his head. “I, I don’t think so.” But Jon checks anyway, running his fingers lightly over his neck to check for the smallest nick. Martin shivers at the gentle touch.

Then Jon tugs his long sleeve down over his knuckles and starts dabbing at Martin’s cheek and chin, which is when it hits Martin that the damp feeling there isn’t nervous sweat, but the spray of Trevor’s blood from the gunshot that had killed him.

He reels away from Jon — or he tries to, but Jon holds him steady. “Don’t look,” he says softly. “It’s okay, just look at me. It’s okay.” There’s something quietly insistent in his tone that makes Martin go still. Let me do this for you, it seems to say. Let me spare you this.

So he does. Instead of thinking about what happened, instead of peering at the red on Jon’s sleeve in his peripheral vision, Martin watches his face. Part of him is braced for the slightest wrinkling of his nose, indicating revulsion at his task. Mostly, he expects to see regret. They’d come to this domain hoping to find their friends and save Daisy, and instead another person has died because of them. It had happened indirectly, in that Basira had been the one to pull the trigger, but Jon had engineered the situation and Martin had participated in it, and... and it feels different, like this. Martin’s been calling it smiting when Jon turns the Ceaseless Watcher on an avatar, vaporising them. But there was nothing righteous about this, nothing neat and sterile. There is only the visceral, ignominious reality of a body left on the ground, and some of the gore still smeared over Martin’s skin.

Yet he looks, and finds only tenderness in Jon’s expression. All throughout the encounter with Trevor, he had kept his face impassive, his voice calm and in control. Only now is Martin seeing the depth of his fear for him.

Jon finishes cleaning off the blood and without further ado, rips the end of his sleeve off entirely, stuffing it in a pocket so it’s out of sight.

Half-jokingly, Martin laments, “Aww. I liked that shirt.” It’s one of his own, hence the excessively long sleeves on Jon. He’d stolen it a few days into their stay in the safehouse. Martin had teased him about it at the time, but never really minded.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says sombrely. Martin’s about to clarify that he was kidding, but then Jon continues, “I thought Trevor would go for me. I was nearly sure of it, else I would’ve told you more. I thought the worst I was asking of you was to stay calm while he threatened me, and you know nothing can really hurt me, so.”

“It’s alright,” Martin tells him. “I mean, it’s not alright, obviously; that was messed up to have to go through, but.” He offers him a slightly lopsided smile. “I trust you.”

Jon doesn’t return the smile, though. He just looks preoccupied; cagey. Like before, like he’s not telling him something. Martin frowns. “Why did you think he’d pick you? You’re not exactly without defences.” He glances pointedly at the eyes staring down at them from the sky.

“Because...” Jon sighs, shrugs, runs one hand roughly through his hair. “Because I’m the one who’d be prey in this domain. Fear of your friends turning on you? After Jane Prentiss, I staked out Tim’s house, I went through the belongings you’d left at the Institute. I was so easily made to feel paranoid, to dread betrayal. Besides—” He cuts himself off abruptly.

Martin narrows his eyes in suspicion. “What?”

Jon hesitates, reluctant. “And, well. Trevor’s a monster hunter.” 

He seems about to elaborate, but then just makes a vague gesture, encompassing all of himself.

“Oh, Jon...” 

But before Martin can tell him he’s not a monster, smack him, or possibly pull him in for another hug, Basira interjects. “You two do know I can still hear you, right? Honestly, you have definitely been wandering around with no other company for too long.”

Startled and sheepish, they both turn to her. She’s re-holstered her gun and is smirking at them with one hand on her hip. Martin sees the moment when her mirth reverts to steely resolve. “Enough blubbering. Daisy’s after Trevor. If we want to catch her here, we’ll have to move fast. Are you coming with, and can you handle yourselves?”

“Of course,” Jon replies, nodding and stepping out of Martin’s embrace. “Let’s go.”

Even though Martin hadn’t been around at the time, he imagines this is exactly how it went before these two ran off to Ny-Ålesund together. “Wait! Do you even have a plan?”

“Find Daisy,” Jon and Basira say in unison.

Martin resists the urge to slap his forehead. “And then what?” he asks, softening his tone from exasperated to reasonable. He addresses Basira specifically: “You promised to kill Daisy. Is that your first option, or do you have another plan?”

Judging from the way she stiffens ever so slightly at the word kill, there’s at least some doubt in her mind. Basira glances at Jon. “You wouldn’t happen to have any convenient Beholding powers to get through to her, would you?”

Jon winces. “We need a key to a lock in this situation, and I have... the equivalent of a nuclear warhead.”

Basira stares. “I don’t even want to know.”

“What about how we’re finding her, then?” Martin wonders aloud, hastily changing the topic. “If Trevor’s, uh, no longer with us, then we don’t have anyone to follow. Unless we can find Daisy’s tracks.”

“Unlikely,” Basira says. “She’s too good a Hunter to be hunted herself. I’ve been relying on Trevor, mostly.”

“So why’d you kill him?” Martin asks thoughtlessly.

Almost before he’s finished the sentence, he anticipates Basira’s raised eyebrow and sarcastic, “He had you at knifepoint. You’re welcome.”

“And the other reason?” Jon asks quietly.

Immediately, Basira snaps, “Don’t compel me. Do not look in my head.”

“I didn’t, and I won’t,” Jon says, holding up both hands placatingly. He’s telling the truth; there had been no telltale buzz of static. “But you could have shot him without killing him. You could have lamed him and waited for Daisy to come end it. So I know there’s another reason.”

Basira is glaring askance, but Martin can still feel the ferocity of that look. Then, haltingly but with more sincerity than he would have expected, she actually answers. “I found Julia’s body. Trevor is older than her, slower. Which means Daisy let him go on purpose. She — she’s relishing this too much. Trying to prolong the chase. I could’ve kept it going. Could’ve followed him for days, or what used to be days. But the longer that goes on, the longer she gets to toy with him... the less likely she comes back to me as Daisy. So. It’s better this way, with his blood on my hands.”

She takes a deep breath. Then she punches Jon in the arm — not hard, but not very lightly either. “I blame you for all this touchy-feely stuff. It must be contagious.”

Jon has the cheek to smugly say, “You’re welcome.”

Martin barely hears it, though. Basira’s words are echoing through his mind: his blood on my hands, his blood on my hands.

“I know how we can find Daisy,” he says. “Jon. That strip of sleeve? Give it to Basira.”

To Basira’s credit, she barely reacts as Jon uneasily extracts the bloodied cloth from his pocket and helps her tie it around one wrist. “This is Trevor’s blood?” is all she says.

“And now it also smells like me, Jon, and you.” Martin’s eyes flick briefly to the forest. “Daisy might’ve already found Trevor’s body. She’ll be looking for something else worth hunting.”

“It could work,” Jon says slowly. Martin doesn’t miss the worried look he gives him.

Basira holds her arm aloft on the breeze for a few seconds, letting the wind carry the scent into the trees. “Are you sure about this?” she asks them both. “You do understand that we’re making ourselves bait.”

The forest looms before them. Does it look darker than before? It never gets any later in the apocalypse, so it must be his imagination. Or his mind, already being drawn into the mentality of prey. Martin gulps. He tries to sound confident about his plan as he says, “The best bait is friendship?”

“Now I know why we never hung out,” Basira tells him, but without much heat. 

As they begin walking, Martin reaches for Jon’s hand. “Hey,” he says quietly. “It’ll be okay. We’ve got this.”

There’s a flicker of recognition in Jon’s eyes. “Apparently so,” he murmurs, giving Martin’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

They hold on for a couple more seconds while ignoring Basira’s eye-roll. Then Martin lets go and sets about pulling his emotions into order. They only want one wolf to come after them. 

At the edge of the forest, Basira checks her gun in its holster, glances at Jon and Martin in turn. Then she raises her arm again. “Alright, Daisy,” she murmurs, more to herself than to them. “Hunt this. Hunt me.”

[also available on AO3 here]

[my TMA fic on AO3]

[tw-anchor]

23. The First Battle

Anchor

Stiles Stilinski x Original Character

Episode: 2x11; Battlefield

Word Count: 6,291

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence, therapy, semi-dead Jackson, lacrosse championship, Stiles’ birthday

Author’s Note: After this there’s only one episode left of season 2. I hope you enjoy! Make sure to reblog and like!

Masterlink in Profiles Description!

"You know when you're drowning, you don't actually inhale until right before you black out."

There, that seemed like an appropriate thing to say. It wasn't changing the subject even though Stiles didn't like the question that Miss Morrell had asked him, and it wasn't answering it, either. It was fact, a statement that was true. Stiles knew a lot of facts.

"It's called voluntary apnea," Stiles focused on the net of his lacrosse stick, threading it tightly to make sure that it was game-ready. "It's like no matter how much you're freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won't open your mouth until you feel like your head's exploding. But when you finally do let it in, that's when it stops hurting. It's not scary anymore. It's...it's actually kind of peaceful."

"Are you saying you hope Matt felt some peace in his last moments?"

How the hell did she get that from his answer? He was just telling her about drowning and how much the people who died suffered until they didn't. He didn't care about the fact that Matt had drowned in the river by the police station that night. There were no feelings, no attachments. Matt was dead and that was that.

Stiles exhaled out his nose. "I don't feel sorry for him."

"Can you feel sorry for the nine-year-old Matt who drowned?"

Morrell's face was blank, her voice was calm. She wasn't judgmental, she was good. Stiles had been going to sessions with her once a month since he started high school when his temper and ADHD had him struggling to adjust to the new environment. She gave good advice and helped him through things that were bothering him. Before his sessions started, he hadn't thought that talking about what he felt was going to work but she proved him wrong.

Still, that didn't mean he had to sympathize with Matt. "Just because a bunch of dumbasses dragged him into a pool when he couldn't swim doesn't really give him the right to go off killing them one by one."

Morrell nodded and went to move on but Stiles wasn't finished yet.

"And by the way, my dad told me that they found a bunch of pictures of Allison on Matt's computer," he shook his head, disgusted. "And not just of her, though. I mean, he photoshopped himself into them. Stuff like them holding hands and kissing. You know, he had built this whole fake relationship. So, yeah, maybe drowning when he was nine years old was what sent him off the rails but the dude was definitely riding the crazy train."

Morrell smiled softly. "One positive thing came out of this, though. Right?"

"Yeah," Stiles nodded, thinking about how Noah got his job as sheriff back. "Yeah, but I still feel like there's something wrong between us," he nervously fiddled with the lacrosse stick. "I don't know, it's just like tension when we talk. Same thing with Scott."

"Have you talked to him since that night?"

"No, not really," he went back to tightening the net. "I mean, he's got his own problems to deal with, though. I don't think he's talked to Allison, either, but that might be more her choice, you know? Her mom dying hit her pretty hard but I guess it brought her and her dad closer."

"What about your other friends, Jackson and Lydia?"

"Jackson..." he wouldn't consider the prick a friend but he'd answer anyway. "Jackson hasn't really been himself lately. Actually, the funny thing is, as of right now, Lydia is the one who seems the most normal."

"How's Olivia doing? Have you guys talked since the night at the station?" Morrell prodded. She was more than versed about Olivia Martin, Stiles' interest in her, and their slow and steady climb toward a relationship.

"Yeah and she seems fine, but," he shrugged. "she always seems fine. She was more concerned about me, to be honest."

"Maybe it helps her come to terms with her own feelings," Morrell theorized quietly. "You told me before that Olivia isn't one to share her feelings."

"I know, but she seemed to be better about that lately," At least with me, he added mentally.

Morrell hummed. "And what about you, Stiles? Feeling some anxiety about that championship game tomorrow night?"

Stiles spit out the small length of rope he had been chewing on, tying it back to the net. "Why would you ask me that?" he didn't miss the fact that she looked pointedly at his lacrosse stick. "Ah...uh, no, I-I never actually play. But, hey, since one of my teammates is dead and another one's missing, who knows, right?"

"You mean Isaac," Morrell realized. "One of the three runaways. You haven't heard from any of them, have you?"

Stiles quickly changed the subject. "You're still doing that no-notes thing, huh?" he pointed at her empty desk. "I still can't believe your memory's that good."

"How about we get back to you, Stiles?"

Stiles sighed heavily. "I'm fine," he lied. "Yeah, aside from the not sleeping, the jumpiness, the constant, overwhelming crushing fear that something terrible is about to happen."

"It's called hypervigilance," Wasn't that what Mad-Eye Moody talked about in Harry Potter? he tried to recall. Livvy would know about it. "the persistent feeling of being under threat."

"But it's not just a feeling, though," Stiles shook his head. He was familiar with what he felt when his anxiety went off the charts. That tight feeling in his chest, that was a panic attack. "It's like a panic attack. You know, like I can't even breathe."

"Like you're drowning?"

Stiles didn't even think about the comparison she was trying to make. "Yeah."

"So, if you're drowning and you're trying to keep your mouth closed until that very last moment, what if you choose to not open your mouth? To not let the water in?"

"You do anyway," Stiles pointed out. "It's a reflex."

"But if you hold off until that reflex kicks in, you have more time, right?"

"Not much time."

"But more time to fight your way to the surface? More time to be rescued?"

"More time to be in agonizing pain," Stiles argued, blinking rapidly. "I mean, did you forget about the part where you feel like your head's exploding?"

Morrell blinked at him. "If it's about survival, isn't a little agony worth it?"

"But what if it just gets worse?" Stiles asked, fears racing through is mind. "What if it's agony now and then...and then it's just hell later on?"

"Then think about something Winston Churchill once said," Morrell leaned forward, demanding all his attention. "If you're going through hell, keep going."

That moment in Morrell's office, that quote that somehow encompassed Stiles' whole world in seven words, would stick with him for the rest of his life.

-

-

It smelled like rotted wood, blood, and smoke in the old Hale House. It made Olivia want to vomit and it wasn't just the scent alone that made her nauseous. She hadn't stepped foot in the Hale House since the fire and even when she went looking for Lydia two months earlier, she had refused to go in.

She didn't want the memories that this house gave her. There were good memories, sure, ones where she and Cora used to play dolls, Laura would read them fairy tales, and Derek taught her how to ride a bike. But the fire loomed over those like a shadow. Her mother died in the house, trapped in the basement like the rest of the Hale family. While Peter had escaped his own death, Grace Martin was suffocating from lack of fresh oxygen.

Suffice to say, she hated being there. But for Jackson, she'd spend time there if she had to. She needed to find a way to take care of the kanima without killing Jackson since no one seemed concerned about that anymore, so if she had to spend time in the worn-down house to read a billion of moldy books, she would.

Derek stood at the other side of the table, helping her look for useful information. He was just slapping a book closed and tossing it back on the table when Erica and Boyd entered the room.

Derek stiffened and Olivia paused, looking from Derek to Erica and Boyd. The two betas had decided to leave Beacon Hills, to leave the pack. They weren't cut out for the supernatural war that raged around them, even if Derek had warned them from the start.

"You decided," Derek turned toward them. "When?"

Erica looked reluctant to tell him. "Tonight."

"Everyone's gonna be at the game," Boyd explained. "We figured it was the best time."

"It's not like we want to."

"What do you want?" Derek asked Erica, stepping toward her and Boyd.

"Since I just turned sixteen a month ago, I wouldn't mind getting my license," Erica answered him. "I can't do that if I'm dead, you know."

Olivia bowed her head, thinking about Erica's words. She understood where they were coming from; they weren't family, they didn't know what was at stake, and they had no dog in the fight. They didn't want to die because of who they were or what pack they were in. When Derek bit Victoria Argent and she had to commit suicide because of their ridiculous hunter's code, he had declared war. The Argents weren't going down without a fight, but neither were they.

Still, Olivia would be sad to see Erica and Boyd go. They were pack, plain and simple.

"Well, I told you there was a price," Derek reminded them.

"Yeah but you didn't say it would be like this," Boyd defended themselves.

"But I told you how to survive," Derek raised his voice. "You do it as a pack. And you're not a pack without an alpha."

"We know."

Olivia raised her eyebrows, surprised at Boyd's statement. "You wanna look for another pack?" she knew they could see that she was hurt by that. Hell, Derek was hurt by it. "How are you even gonna find one?"

"We think we already did," Erica told her. "We were running in the woods last night and all of a sudden we heard all this howling. It was unbelievable."

Olivia shared a look with Derek, both of them almost betrayed. Erica and Boyd trusted random howling in the woods over them? Derek was the one who bit them, the one who gave them the gift of lycanthropy. They were Olivia's friends. They were pack.

"There must have been a dozen of them, maybe more," Boyd smiled in amazement.

"Yeah or maybe only two," Derek burst their bubble. "You know what the beau geste effect is?" they shook their heads. "If they modulate their howls with a rapid shift of tone, two wolves can sound like twenty."

Erica huffed, getting frustrated. "Look, that doesn't matter, okay? There's another pack out there. There's got to be," she raised her chin. "We've made up our minds."

"We lost, Derek," Boyd stated. "It's over. We're leaving."

"No, you're running," Derek snapped, getting angry like he always did to cover up the hurt. "And once you start, you don't stop. You'll always be running."

Olivia pressed her lips together as Erica glared at them, grabbed Boyd's hand, and dragged him out of the house. Derek turned back to the table, resting his hands on the warped wood, as his pale-green eyes flickered over to Olivia.

She was distracted, her wide eyes on the spot where Boyd and Erica had previously stood. When he inhaled, he knew why; he grabbed a sharp piece of glass that was resting on the table in front of him and spun around, whipping it at the intruder.

Peter caught the glass just as the point hit the skin of his throat. "I expected a slightly warmer welcome," he stated, lowering the glass. "but point taken."

Olivia narrowed her eyes at her father. She couldn't believe that he was standing right there in front of them. It wasn't a happy kind of disbelief, either. It was the kind that made you want to pull your hair out and punch someone in the face. He wasn't supposed to be alive. He wasn't supposed to be able to hurt anyone ever again.

It had been a shock to find out that Peter had come back from the dead. Derek had told her shortly after the showdown in the police station and she went quiet, not talking for the rest of the night while he stayed in her room, keeping vigil so she wouldn't have nightmares.

Peter had gotten into Lydia's head and manipulated her. That was what all the things that Lydia had been seeing were about. It was him, playing her mind from his grave underneath the floorboard. He got her to do some weird ritual that included drugging Derek with wolfsbane and using mirrors and moonlight—and honestly, it was hard for her to comprehend. Olivia was a smart girl and she believed in science, so how did that explain Peter coming back to life from some alpha blood and light from a full moon. Granted, the existence of werewolves was hard to comprehend, too.

"What are you doing here?" she asked sharply.

Peter grinned at her. "Hello to you, too, pumpkin. It's great to see you," he gave his attention to his nephew. "Quite the situation you've got yourself in here, Derek. I mean, I'm out of commission for a month or so and suddenly there's lizard people, geriatric psychopaths, and you're cooking up werewolves out of every self-esteem-deprived adolescent in town."

His voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

Derek narrowed his eyes at him. "What do you want?"

"Well, I want to help," Peter stated like it was the most obvious thing in the word. "You guys are family, my daughter and nephew. The only relatives that I have left. There's still a lot that I can teach you. Can we just talk?"

Peter finished his statement by placing a hand on Derek's shoulder. Derek stared at it in disgust while Olivia raised her eyebrows. This was going to end in a fight, she was betting on it.

"Sure," Derek agreed way too happily. "Let's talk."

He swatted away Peter's hand and pushed him, sending him flying into the stair case.

"Good talk," Olivia hummed as she stood from her seat. "I'm gonna leave before it get any worse."

She'd rather walk the mile back into town and order a ride from Lyft than stay and watch Derek and Peter fight. No, thank you.

-

"Liv, I brought your psycho father back from the dead," Lydia hissed at Olivia as they walked through the empty school hallways, heading toward the boys' locker room. "and you haven't said a word about it. It's been more than a week and nada."

"Because there's nothing to talk about," Olivia insisted stubbornly. "Peter's back, so what? I'll just ignore him."

"You used to visit him every week." Lydia thought she was in denial about how she felt about Peter. She knew Olivia was angry and she was justified, but you can't hate your father. Lydia had tried and she couldn't.

"That was before he murdered a bunch of people, bit me and Scott, almost killed you, and then manipulated you until you thought that you were crazy," Olivia pointed out. "That doesn't seem father material to me, Lyds."

"I mean, yeah, he's a psychopath, but—"

"But nothing," Olivia cut her off, sending her a sharp look. "I don't want to talk about him anymore."

"You know, one day you're gonna explode from all those emotions you keep bottled up inside of you."

Olivia snorted, a little amused. "When did you get your doctorate in psychology, Lydia? I think I missed the ceremony."

"Very funny," Lydia nudged her as they turned down the hallway where locker room was located. "All right, change of subject. You got Stiles a birthday present."

Olivia grimaced, looking down at the wrapped package in her hands. She had hoped Lydia wouldn't bring it up, since she was already tripping out about it, but like any older sister, she just had to tease her about it. Yes, it was Stiles' seventeenth birthday and yes, she got him a gift but it wasn't a big deal. It was a friendly gift. People gave their friends birthday gifts still, right?

"Yeah, and...?" Olivia's strategy was to just face Lydia head on.

"And you're giving it to him before the regional championships," Lydia pointed out needlessly. "You're going to sneak into the locker room to give it to him. Sounds awfully like what I would do when I was dating Jackson."

Olivia rolled her eyes as they came to a stop outside the boys' locker room. "I'm giving it to him now because I don't know if he'll be busy later."

"Mmhm..."

"And I don't give belated birthday presents," she huffed. "It's tacky."

"Yeah, sure," Lydia nodded like Olivia was making sense. "Well, you better go on, then. I'll wait by the concessions for you."

"Get me some some—"

"Air Heads, I know."

Lydia walked away and Olivia inhaled deeply before entering the locker room. Boys were in various states of undress as she walked through the aisles but she ignored them. She spotted Jackson and Danny by their lockers, and usually she would have wished them good luck, but she wanted to give Stiles his present and get out of there before she could get in trouble with Coach.

She found Stiles by his locker, pulling his maroon jersey over his gray compression shirt. "Hey."

Stiles flailed at the sound of her voice, almost tripping backward over the bench he stood in front of. He quickly found his balance and fixed his jersey before plastering a cheesy smile on his face at the sight of her.

Olivia's heart practically turned to goo.

"Hey, Livvy!" he greeted her enthusiastically. "What—what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to give you this," she held out his present, looking more confident than she felt. "Happy birthday, Stiles."

"What?" he quickly took the present from with her a grin. "I can't believe you remembered my birthday."

"Oh," she shrugged awkwardly. "um, yeah, you told me a couple weeks ago."

"Yeah, I guess I did," he ripped away the wrapping paper and gaped at what was inside. "You didn't, Olivia."

Apparently, he liked the present. She had won an auction online where she was able to score a signed mini bat from the Mets. It was Stiles' favorite baseball team and when she saw the low price for an item she knew he loved, she didn't hesitate to get it for him. She also made a joke in the card about how crazy he was for cheering for the Mets, knowing it would get a laugh out of him.

Olivia blinked in surprise when Stiles wrapped her up into a tight hug. It didn't take even a second for her to respond to his affection, burying her face into his warm neck. She couldn't help but notice that his skin was soft and he smelt really good.

"Thanks, Livvy," Stiles breathed when he let go of her. "This is—this is great."

"You're welcome," Olivia smiled at him. "So, are you nervous for the game?"

"Nah," Stiles shook his had nonchalantly. "I probably won't play, so..."

"I don't see why you wouldn't. You're good."

"Have you actually seen me play or are you trying to make me feel good about myself?"

Olivia opened her mouth to respond and paused when Stiles quirked an eyebrow at her.

"I knew it."

"You did not!" Olivia protested, playfully slapping his arm. "I do think you're good."

"Why'd you hesitate then?"

"I wasn't hesitating, I was taking a breath."

"Who takes a breath for that long? It was like you were getting ready to perform some dramatic-ass Shakespeare monologue."

"I don't even like Shakespeare."

"You got a perfect score on your essay about Othello."

"How'd you know what grade I got?"

Suddenly, there was some loud feedback as Coach readied his megaphone. Olivia and Stiles jumped apart in shock, not even realizing that they were moving closer together during their playful banter, to look over at him.

"Good morning," Coach spoke into the megaphone, dead serious. "In less than an hour, aircraft from here will be joining others from around the world. And you will be launching the largest aerial battle in the history of mankind."

What the hell? Olivia mouthed to Stiles, completely confused.

Stiles just shook his head at her.

"Mankind," Coach mused. "That word should have a new meaning for all of us today."

"Does he do this every year?" she whispered to Stiles.

He nodded. "Every year."

"Dear God."

"No kidding."

Coach continued on, "We are fighting for our right to live!"

"Yeah!" most of the team shouted.

Olivia perked up in realization. "Wait, isn't this?"

"Yeah," Stiles confirmed. "it's the speech from Independence Day. It's his favorite movie."

"But as the day the world declared in one voice, we will not go quietly into the night!"

"I mean, the speech from Braveheart would be better than this," Olivia snorted. "Couldn't he rip off Friday Night Lights or something? Glory Road? You know, anything from any sport movie?"

"I don't think he cares," Stiles chuckled.

"Today," Coach ended his dramatic speech. "we celebrate our Independence Day!"

"Yeah!" the players cheered once again, sufficiently hyped up for the game. Olivia couldn't believe that the speech actually worked.

She and Stiles stiffened at the same time as Gerard slithered in next to Coach. "Well spoken, Coach," he praised the man. "I might have chosen something with a little more historical value but there's no denying your passion."

Coach gave him an offended look but Gerard completely missed it.

"And while I haven't been here long, there's no denying my pride in having a winning team for this school," the Argent patriarch continued, looking around at the lacrosse players. "I know you'll all be brilliant tonight, even with only one co-caption leading you."

Olivia gave Stiles a questioning look but he furrowed his eyebrows, not knowing why Scott wouldn't be playing, either.

"Now, I'm your principal but I'm also a fan. So, don't think I'll be content to watch you merely beat this team," Gerard grinned creepily. "Get out there and murder them."

"You heard the man!" Coach yelled. "Asses on the field!"

Olivia shivered at the menacing look on his face as he smirked and left the locker room. "He's probably the worst person on this earth," she mumbled, turning back to Stiles. "This is going to be bad."

Stiles' expression turned worried. "You think?"

"Yeah, I do." She wished that it wouldn't but everything seemed to point in that direction. The whole day, her body had been on edge, like she was waiting for someone to get hurt. The feeling was unsettling and had looking over her shoulder wherever she went.

Argent hunters were brutal. They had proved it time after time.

"You're gonna be careful, right?" Stiles grabbed her hands, squeezing them nervously.

"You don't have to worry about me," she shook her head, squeezing him back. "There's not really anything I can do."

"You can still get hurt, though."

"I won't," Olivia assured him. "Just focus on the game, yeah? Good luck, Stiles."

Stiles smiled lightly, not liking the fact that she was brushing off his concern. "Thanks, Livvy."

"And I'll be careful, okay?" she noticed the look in his eye.

Stiles nodded in satisfaction. "Good," he let go of her hands and ran a finger across the right shoulder of the jersey she was wearing. "Nice jersey, by the way."

Olivia's cheeks flushed; she had forgotten that Lydia forced her into a mock-up of Stiles' jersey, complete with his last name and the twenty-four on each side. "Oh, um, yeah," she nodded nervously. "Good luck, Stiles."

She practically sprinted away from him and out of the locker room, cursing Lydia the whole time.

-

-

Stiles nervously bounced his leg as he thought about what Olivia had said to him earlier. Things were going to get bad. He knew that, yet he couldn't shake the feeling he had inside of him. He was nervous, scared that someone he loved would get hurt, and angry that there was even a situation like this to begin with. Most of all, he felt helpless. There wasn't anything he could do to help. He couldn't help Scott. He couldn't help Olivia or Derek. He couldn't even help himself.

It frustrated the fuck out of him because he had that determination inside of him, he just couldn't act on it. He couldn't go up against a hunter or a werewolf, let alone a kanima, and make it out of the fight. He couldn't even protect his dad from Matt, so how the hell would he be able to protect Olivia when the Argents came after her?

He couldn't just stand by and watch the action unfold while people got hurt. He had to do something.

"Is your dad coming?" Scott broke him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah," Stiles looked to the bleachers for a second, seeing his dad already settled in a row near they bottom. "he's already here."

Scott nodded. "You see Allison?"

No, he hadn't, and he didn't think they would at all. Allison had been absent since the night of the full moon when her mom had killed herself. She didn't respond to Scott at all, she was angry with Olivia for siding with Derek—though he didn't know what Allison expected Olivia to even do in that situation—and she was determined to get revenge on the Hale pack. She had dived into the deep end and Stiles was worried she couldn't swim.

"No," Stiles shook his head. "You know what's going on?"

Scott exhaled heavily. "Not yet."

"But it's going to be bad, isn't it?" Stiles knew it would but hearing it from Scott made if feel more real. "I mean, like people screaming and running for their lives, blood, killing, maiming—that kind of bad?"

It was quiet for a second as Scott looked over at him; it unnerved him. "Looks like it."

Stiles inhaled shakily, his eyes starting to sting. "Scott, the other night, seeing my dad get hit over the head by Matt while I'm just lying there and I can't even move," he sniffed and looked back at his best friend. "it just—I want to help, you know? But I can't do the things that you can't do. I can't—"

"It's okay," Scott's voice was soft as he nodded at Stiles in assurance.

And Stiles was glad that out of every other guy in their class, Scott was the one who was his best friend. Because Scott got it. He got that Stiles was afraid but willing to do anything to help. He knew that Stiles felt trapped, sitting on the sidelines while everyone else fought. He understood Stiles. And Stiles knew Scott just as well.

They were lucky to have the relationship they had. It wasn't often that kind of loyalty came around and there it was, each of them sitting next to it.

Stiles tried to make the topic lighter, even if he failed. "We're losing, dude."

Luckily, Coach was there to pep things up. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked him incredulously, having only heard the last statement of their conversation. "The game hasn't even started. Now, put on your helmet and get out there. You're in for Greenberg."

"What?" Stiles perked up, looking around for Coach's most-hated player. "What happened to Greenberg?"

"What happened to Greenberg?" Coach scoffed. "He sucks. You suck slightly less."

Stiles raised his eyebrows in shock. "I'm playing?" he pointed to himself. "On the field? With the team?"

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

"Yeah, unless you'd rather play with yourself."

"I already did that today, twice," Stiles told him absentmindedly, too shocked about the fact that he was playing to notice what he had just revealed.

Scott snickered, making him realize what he said.

"Just get the hell out there!" Coach ordered him.

Stiles squeaked nervously and gathered his lacrosse stick and helmet, running onto the field with the rest of his teammates. On the bleachers, Olivia and Lydia had just taken a seat next to Melissa and Noah, when they noticed what Stiles was doing.

"Oh, no," Noah groaned. "Why is my son running out to the field?"

Olivia perked up, finding Stiles immediately. She knew that he'd get to play today. It was a great opportunity for him to show that he was actually athletic and good at lacrosse. She wasn't lying when she said she thought he was good.

"Because he's on the team?"

"He is," Noah confirmed blankly before realizing the excitement of the situation. "He's on the team. He's on the field," he stood up, throwing his arms into the air as he cheered, "My son is on the field!"

Okay, that was adorable, Olivia mused, sharing a grin with Lydia.

The game started shortly after Stiles ran onto the field and it wasn't going well, to say the least. The first quarter went by fast, with the opposing team scoring two goals within eleven minutes. Every time the Beacon Hills players had the ball, it was a bad play or someone would foul out. When the ball went to Stiles, it always seemed to miss his net.

The next time he got the ball, he actually caught it in his net. Unfortunately, he was too busy celebrating to notice the two large defense players sprinting his way. There was an audible thwack as he was tackled to the ground.

Olivia winced while Melissa sighed. "He's probably just warming up."

She nodded in agreement but her hope was quickly dashed when the ball was tossed to Stiles yet again. He ran backwards in hopes to get it, but ended up tripping over his own feet.

Okay, maybe she hadn't seen Stiles do anything but run fast. In her defense, she thought that would translate into being good on the field.

"He's just a little nervous," Lydia tried to console Olivia and Noah, who were both cringing in on themselves. "There's plenty of time to turn it around."

As if the world was disagreeing with her, Stiles was tackled. The crowd booed loudly; Noah hid his face in his hands.

The new quarter started and when Scott went to enter the game, Coach pushed him right back onto the bench. Luckily, Isaac appeared, dressed for the game and ready to enter.

Olivia sighed in relief, glad that he hadn't gone with Erica and Boyd. She was closest to Isaac out of the three of them and she had been pretty sad when she learned that he was planning on leaving with the other two. He didn't, though. He was here to help.

Erica...Boyd...Erica...Boyd...

Olivia winced when she heard the whispers, the tingling that she had been feeling all day getting more intense in her stomach, chest, and legs. Erica and Boyd were in trouble and she didn't know if it was this so-called pack they had discovered or if the Argents got to them.

She quickly pulled out her phone and texted them both, asking if they were okay. She also messaged Derek, giving him a heads-up on what she was feeling.

Isaac entered the game for the second quarter and it was chaos. Instead of actually playing the game and trying to score, he spent the time tackling players from his own team. As more and more of his teammates went down, Olivia figured out what he was doing. He was making sure that Scott could play—there was no way that Coach would forfeit instead of putting Scott on the field.

It was smart and she was impressed. Until Jackson tackled Isaac and the team paramedics had to run onto the field. From what Olivia could see, Isaac couldn't move anything, which meant that Jackson had used the kanima venom on him.

Isaac, Isaac, Isaac...

Melissa had jumped off the bleachers to run onto the field in order to talk to Scott but she stayed put. She already knew that something was going on and she had learned from Scott earlier that Gerard was now in control of Jackson, the old bastard. This was part of the war, a battle to be won.

The rest of the quarter went by quickly and then it was halftime. The whispering of Isaac's name had gotten so intense that she had to run down to Scott as he rested, telling him and Stiles that something was happening to Isaac inside of the school.

Scott had assured her that he'd take care of it, since there wasn't really a way for her to defend Isaac on her own, and took off inside of the school. Olivia told Stiles that he was doing a great job with a horribly fake smile that he quickly saw through before going back to her seat on the bleachers.

The third quarter started and Scott was still absent. Beacon Hills were down by two points. And then, the fourth quarter started and everything changed. Players from both teams clashed together, sending the ball rolling down the field. It stopped right in front of Stiles, who stared at it like it was a foreign object for a moment.

And then he scooped it up into his net and took off down the field. None of the other players even knew he had the ball, the field between him and goal wide open and clear. Olivia jumped to her feet, cheering loudly with Lydia, as he raced to get there before the other team's defense could catch up.

Olivia was pretty sure she could hear him screeching as he looked back at his huge opponents and when he paused just in front of the goal, she yelled, "Shoot it, Stilinski!"

Stiles whipped the ball into the net, scoring his first goal in his first game.

Olivia screamed in excitement, hugging Lydia as they both jumped up and down. Next to them, Noah was going crazy with pride and Melissa was equally excited, yelling Stiles' name.

With two minutes left in the game, Stiles was on fire. He caught the ball from his teammate and sprinted down the field, twirling around the opposing team's defense like he was made for the sport. He easily scored, tying up the game. The whole crowd was on their feet, cheering him on. Olivia was so proud she felt like crying. Like, actual crying. What had love done to her.

Holy shit, she paused in realization. Love? I love Stiles Stilinski?

She didn't have time to focus on that. There was a minute left in the game and one goal to win.

Stiles didn't disappoint. He scooped up that lacrosse ball and took off, his teammates running after him and shouting in encouragement. Olivia waited anxiously and then screamed excitedly when he scored the winning goal, goosebumps erupting all over her body.

He won the game. He did it. Did she fucking call it or what?

And then the buzzer rang, signaling the end of the game, the crowd roared in excitement, and the lights around the field all went out at once.

Jackson...Jackson...Jackson...JACKSON!!!!

"Jackson?!" Olivia screamed, pressing her hands against her tingling chest.

The crowd was screaming as chaos erupted. They were running down the bleachers and heading toward the field and the parking lot. Lydia was tugging on her arm, and Melissa and Noah had taken off, seeing if they could do anything to help the situation.

Olivia was frozen. Something was wrong with Jackson, something worse than she ever felt.

"Liv, you're crying," Lydia said frantically; Olivia hadn't noticed. "What's wrong with Jackson? Is he okay? Liv!"

Everything sped up at once. Olivia grabbed Lydia's hand and jumped off the bleachers, running onto the field as the lights came back on one by one. There was already a crowd in the middle of the field, surrounding something.

"Somebody's hurt," they heard a guy say as they passed him. "Somebody's down on the field."

Olivia's stomach dropped. It was Jackson. It had to be.

She and Lydia pushed past the crowd in order to get to the middle to see what was going on. Jackson was on the ground, unconscious, with Melissa hovering over him, doing chest compressions.

"He's not breathing," she said rapidly. "No pulse."

"Oh, my God, there's blood," Lydia whimpered, her breath catching. "There's a lot of blood."

Olivia shook her head in complete shock. Jackson wasn't supposed to be dead. He was the kanima, the kanima that Gerard controlled. And now he was dead? He couldn't be dead.

He couldn't be.

"Get down here!" Melissa barked at her, in full nurse mood. "Get down her and hold his head."

Olivia scrambled to obey, dropping to her knees right by Jackson's head. She tilted his head up just as Melissa instructed her to do and tried not to shed anymore tears. Lydia was watching. Lydia was watching Jackson die and she had to be strong for her.

And then all the breath left her as the whispers started up again.

Stiles. Stiles. Stiles. Stiles.

"Where's my son?" Noah shouted from a few feet away, looking around the thinning crowd. "Where's Stiles? Where the hell is my son?"

(Gif is not mine)