#look. if you send me a long sob story how a bomb just blew up your house and ripped off your arm | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thetriggeredhappy · 5 years ago

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Scout's been having a rough week because everyone seems to be too busy for him, even though the team is on vacation. At first he's bored, but as the days continue, he finds himself angry. But soon he just feels awful lonely, desperately craving the attention/affection he's been lacking. Finally he goes to Demo and Sniper, who are working on an important project. They tell him they're busy for the time being, but are suddenly alarmed when he breaks down sobbing. They do their best to soothe him.

friendship fic is best fic end of story. (fic below the cut, no warnings)

“Hey Hardhat, think we could—“

“Now’s not a good time, Scooter. You run along now.”

“Yo, Snipes, you busy?”

“Yeah, actually. Got things to do. Sorry, mate.”

“Mumbles, what’s up?”

“Mmm-phm. Bmm!”

“Demo, what are you up to, man?”

“Defusing a bomb, lad, best you go on and leg it. Probably to the other end of the base. And maybe find some headphones.”

“Hey Soldier—“

“Not now, Cadet! I am currently engaged in a battle—of wills. Private Munches once again has fleas and they are very contagious. It is in your best interest to retreat now!”

“Hey Heavy—“

“Heavy is welding. Leetle Scout should leave.”

“Hey Doc—?”

“Nein. No, I don’t need to know what you were going to ask. I do not care.”

“Spy—?”

“Clearly you’re desperate if you’re trying to talk to me to find something to do.”

Scout puffed out a breath of air, slumping. “Look, I dunno either, okay? We get the first real break for the first time in like two months and all the guys still sit around acting like they have better shit to do.”

“Have you considered that they’ve also been looking forward to a break and have things they have been saving for that break?” Spy asked, not even looking up from his newspaper.

“I mean, maybe. But c’mon, it’s ridiculous! I’m not asking to like, go do a whole thing all day, I just wanna hang out a little bit!”

“A shame that I am busy,” Spy said, sighing in faux disappointment.

“With what?”

“Anything else.” He waved Scout off. “Go on. Get a hobby or something, something besides pestering all of the rest of us like some kind of annoying dog.”

Scout sulked, leaving and heading back to his own room.

The rest of their first day off, Scout ended up mostly messing around in his room. He flicked through some comics, got bored, flicked through some other comics, got bored, paced around for a while listening to a record before he lost interest in that too and wound up trying to take a nap. About five minutes after he laid down he realized that was gonna be a no-go, and he ended up so frustrated that he cleaned his whole room, right down to vacuuming under his bed. He was up until about two in the morning cleaning and putting stuff away before he realized what time it was and tried to lay down to go to sleep.

He finished cleaning after he went and grabbed breakfast for himself—kitchen entirely empty—and then was left standing in his room, looking around aimlessly for anything else to do. He rearranged his whole little bookshelf, sorting his comics by franchise then by hero then by issue.

He got lunch early. Kitchen empty. Halls quiet, only the sounds of machinery in the distance to tell him there was anyone else around.

By the time he finished eating, he was pretty much desperate for something to do, so he did rounds again to ask the team if anyone needed help with anything. He got a pretty harsh dressing-down from Engie about interrupting him when he was focusing hard on work, very important things. Soldier rambled and ranted at him for about twenty minutes, at which point Scout realized Soldier was barely even talking to him, and was mostly just talking to himself. He tried to track down Spy for an hour to try and ask to borrow his car so he could go into town and find literally anything to do, but the guy wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and he eventually gave up. He got desperate enough for something to do that he even went over to the infirmary, and was pretty sure he would be roped into some dumb experiment or something, but it turned out that Medic was stitching something into Heavy, so even that was a no-go.

So he just went back into his room again.

It had been kinda nice at first, having a place all to himself. As a kid he could count on his fingers how many times he was left alone in any capacity, and then as a teen he found peace and quiet to be pretty scarce. But then his brothers all graduated, and started moving out one by one, and he was left there pretty much alone, just him and Ma. And even then he was constantly surrounded by people, the walls thin in their apartment.

But then he moved out west for the job, and suddenly it was really freakishly quiet. And it kind of blew his mind at first, the quiet. He appreciated it. Especially considering most of the time all he had to do was go in the common room to find someone to talk to. He realized, with his pool of people he could potentially talk to so limited, that he was kind of a clingy person, needed to talk to people a lot.

He got lonely quick.

He remembered after he graduated, splitting up laundry into a once-a-week thing instead of a once-every-two-weeks thing just for the sake of having more time around other people, even if he wasn’t talking to them. Ma kinda got in his case sometimes for how much he would go get food somewhere besides at home, but he kinda had to, kinda needed to talk to someone else on the daily or else he started going stir-crazy. Started feeling bad and gross, started in with having all kinds of dumb ideas running through his head.

Mostly ideas like, maybe the team wasn’t that busy and they just made excuses and tried to seem busy because they didn’t like him. Ideas like, well he already knew that they didn’t like him, he was a lot younger than most of them and a hell of a lot stupider and they called him loud and annoying pretty much on the daily. Ideas like, none of them ever really talked to him besides during battle, and maybe they were just trying to be polite when they did talk to him, and when was the last time anyone asked how he was doing? Ideas like, maybe they really did just hate him. Ideas like, maybe a lot of people hated him. Ideas like, if literally everyone he talked to on a regular basis—all eight people��didn’t like him enough to hang out with him for a little while when they got their first break in forever...

Ideas like, did he really not have any friends? Ideas like, wasn’t that pretty pathetic? Ideas like, well, if he didn’t have any friends, if nobody liked him, did that maybe mean that he deserved it?

Scout stayed up staring out off into space and occasionally getting up and pacing around until about two in the morning.

Scout was up early the next day, and paced for just about the hour and a half in anticipation for his usual call home—once a week unless he said he wouldn’t be able to the week prior—before giving up on waiting and just calling early.

It got picked up in the middle of the fourth ring, and by then, Scout had already tangled the phone cord in his fidgeting.

“Hello?” came an immediately familiar voice, and he relaxed.

“Hey, Ma,” he greeted.

“J-Bear!” she practically gasped. “Honey, you’re two hours early. Why are you callin’, shouldn’t you be at work?”

“We’re on a break while some maintenence stuff is happening,” Scout explained, starting to untangle the cord. “And, y’know. I’m wicked bored.”

“All caught up on chores, then?” Ma asked, already the warning note in her voice that meant he might be in for a little bit of deserved nagging.

“Yeah, actually. Cleaned my room finally, all good on laundry, organized some stuff, all that,” he replied. “I was gonna do groceries, but my usual ride places is, uh... ghosting on me a little.”

“Well, are you getting enough to eat?” Ma asked next, sounding worried.

“Oh, no, yeah, I am,” he said quickly. “I’m just, y’know. I gotta eat like, canned beans and stuff like that for a while.”

“As long as you’re eating,” Ma said firmly.

And Scout went to say something else, to start going on about how he was so annoyed with his teammates, see, because they were all being total assholes, right? And then Ma would say something to him, and he’d feel better, because every time he told Ma about something that was going wrong he always walked away feeling better.

But Ma started talking again.

“Honey, I’m really sorry,” she started in, and it was clear that she meant it, and Scout’s heart dropped. “But I can’t really talk for long. I had plans today, and I’m already running late.”

He couldn’t speak for a moment due to the fact that his heart had suddenly jumped into his throat. “But Ma,” he said, brows furrowing, “what about the phone call?”

A short sigh. “I’m a little glad you called early, actually, that means I can ask you—would it be alright if we didn’t have our chat this week? It’s just that your older brother is finally stopping back in town for a little while—“

“Ma, which one?” he asked with a laugh, managing to fit some humor into his voice even as he forced it not to wobble.

“Oldest, sweetie. Anyways, I’m headed out to go meet him for lunch actually, and then we’re gonna come back to the house and chat and all, your niece is real excited to meet the cat, and I’d feel terrible if I left to go talk on the phone for an hour when I have guests over—“

“Yeah, Ma,” Scout said, bracing himself to lie through his teeth to his mother. “It’s totally fine. No worries. We’ll just talk next week, it’s no big deal.”

“You’re a lifesaver, sweetheart,” Ma said, and meant it, and Scout winced. “I love you, we’ll talk next week for sure, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Love you too,” he said. And he listened for the sound of the phone being put down, and he sighed, breath shaky on the exhale. He only put the phone down when it started to beep at him, and then continued to fiddle with the cord for a long while.

“The problem is that to send a bullet that far and that straight, the force needed is fairly strong. If you tried to fire this round out of a proper rifle, it might just explode in the barrel, mate,” Sniper explained, turning over the bullet in his fingers.

“So we fire one to test it,” Demo shrugged.

“Not out of my gun we won’t,” Sniper replied, raising an eyebrow. “If you’re aiming to send explosives long distances, best to just stick to rockets or canons or the like. Biggest boom you’d get shooting an explosive round like this anywhere over a hundred meters or so would just be a firecracker. It would just be distracting.”

“Distracting. Now there’s an idea,” Demo nodded, starting to scribble something down on the paper in front of him. “Now here’s a concept, lad; smoke rounds.”

Sniper considered that for a few seconds, tapping his own pencil against the side of the table. “As in proper smoke like a flare, or as in just some sort of, er, blocked visibility?”

“Either,” Demo shrugged.

“Again, anything too flammable would go off in the gun. Maybe some sort of,” he said, gestured loosely for a moment. “Maybe just a round full of some sort of fine powder that would go up when the casing shatters against a wall? Hell of a heavy round I think, probably need a special gun for it. What sort of powder like that wouldn’t be flammable?”

“Well, technically speaking, everything is flammable, if we want to get down to what the word flammable means,” Demo replied, pausing in his own writing. “But there’s a few things that might work. A good powder for that might even just be potassium bicarbonate, that’s easy enough to come by.”

“Why’s that?” Sniper asked.

“Well, most commonly it’s used in fire extinguishers,” Demo shrugged. “I imagine that could really do a number on someone else’s guns or machinery, as well. And I wouldn’t need to put in a budget request to our boss over it, I could just snag the spare canister we keep in the kitchen.”

“Tavish, how often do I tell you you’re a bloody genius?” Sniper asked, watching Demo scribble down some formulas with practiced ease.

“On the weekly, must be,” Demo replied.

“Might end up going over the regular amount during this project, because you’re an absolute bloody genius.”

“Thankin’ you kindly, lad,” Demo said, flashed him a grin.

A knock at the door to Demo’s work space. Sniper got up first, moving to open it.

“Oh. Hey, Snipes,” Scout said, looking surprised to see Sniper answering the door.

“G’day,” Sniper greeted, a little confused. He stepped aside to let Scout in, slightly befuddled.

“Hey, Demo,” Scout greeted, saw the spread of different papers and bullets across the table. “Uh, you guys workin’ on somethin’ in here? You busy?”

“Very,” Demo agreed, stretching his arms up over his head, back aching from being hunched over paper for a bit too long. “You need somethin’?”

“I, I mean, nah. Not really. Just wanted to see if you—uh, either of you guys—were free is all,” Scout shrugged, putting his hands into his pockets.

“We’re working on a project,” Sniper replied, moving to go take his own seat again.

“Trying to figure out the mechanics of a new kind of sniping round,” Demo elaborated. “We’ve just moved on to the part that’s all math and chemistry and physics and the like.”

“Yeah?” Scout asked, a little fidgety, a little awkward.

“Yeah,” Demo nodded. Picked up his pencil again. “Gonna be awfully boring, I imagine.”

“Especially since you don’t really have the head for this sort of thing,” Sniper said, a little jokingly, glancing up at Scout. “Might ask to use you for target practice with it later though, if you’re still bored around then.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mundy,” Demo chided, then grinned. “Lad’s far too skinny. Even a marksman like you’d never be able to hit him, aye?”

Sniper laughed, and Demo laughed. And then they looked over at Scout, and Scout wasn’t laughing. He was just stood there, shifting nervously. Not the same kind of nervous as he got when he’d poked and prodded at Heavy a little too long and finally just got hefted up and put somewhere high up that he’d take a while to get down from, or the same kind of nervous as when Spy pulled his knife out and started flipping it open and closed during an argument, because both of those had an amount of “do it, I dare you” in them, an amount of “bet you won’t” in them.

But this time, Scout just looked tense. A little too wide-eyed, a little too avoiding-eye-contact. His chest rose and fell in a breath that looked far too deliberate and therefore awkward.

They both stopped laughing, just looking at him. “Lad, something the matter?” Demo asked, expression falling.

“Yeah, you awright, mate?” Sniper asked, turning in his chair to regard Scout.

Scout removed his hands from his pockets, fiddling for a few seconds. Then he looked up at Demo, then at Sniper, then at Demo again. He opened his mouth to say something.

He burst into tears.

Sniper startled, and Demo’s eye widened. They looked at each other, Demo largely with concern and Sniper with open alarm as Scout hunched forward, burying his face in his hands and crying openly.

A brief nonverbal argument took place, then Sniper was standing, moving over.

“Scout, mate,” he started gently, awkwardly, and after a second put a cautious hand on Scout’s shoulder. “Scout, what happened? What’s wrong?”

Scout moved to cling to Sniper’s shirt, tears redoubling, and Sniper stiffened, freezing up, eyes going a little wide. He shot a look at Demo that could not have more clearly read as “help me”.

Demo quickly rose, moving over. He put a hand on Scout’s shoulder to test the waters, and when Scout didn’t react poorly, he pulled the shorter man off of Sniper and into a hug. Scout crumpled into it immediately. Sniper settled for standing just to one side, patting Scout on the back once or twice.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing Scout managed, and Demo shook his head, hugging all the tighter.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, lad. It’s alright. What’s got you so blue?” he asked, tone calm and level.

“Just—just, a lot, okay?” Scout managed, and Demo nodded, tucking Scout’s head under his chin after a second. “It’s just, everyone’s all busy doin’ important shit, and I’m just—just sitting around, and I wanna help, but everyone keeps telling me I’m bugging them and bein’ a fuckin’ nuisance, but I’m really bored and it’s really lonely out here and I—I miss Boston and I miss my family and I’m fuckin’ tired of eating whatever garbage we keep stocked in the kitchen but I can’t go into town because Spy’s being a dick and I can’t fuckin’ find him to borrow his keys, and I’m just...” He burrowed in closer to Demo, taking a shaky breath. “And now I’m bothering you guys while you’re working on something that actually matters.”

“You’re not,” Demo said right away, squeezing him tighter for a moment. “No expiration date on maths, aye?”

“And you’re not a bother,” Sniper added, tone dripping sincerity. He paused for a second. “It’s alright. I’m not going to be upset with you for talking to me.”

“Snipes, you and I both know I’m fuckin’ annoying,” Scout all but snapped, only lacking venom because he didn’t seem to have the energy for it.

“No,” Sniper replied, and exhaled. “You don’t annoy me. I like having you around. You... and Demo s’well I think,” he added, looking over at the Scotsman before glancing back away again. “You’re the best mates I’ve ever bloody had, awright?”

“Can’t imagine there was much competition for that, ya feckin’ hermit,” Demo said dryly, arching an eyebrow.

“Stuff it, Tavish,” Sniper scoffed, flushing, pulling his hat off and shoving it into Demo’s face, making him laugh. “Bugger off, ruining the moment. Absolute piker.”

“I’m still sorry,” Scout said, quieter now, and Demo and Sniper stopped their shenanigans for a moment to listen. “I just feel bad. I’m being a total baby, getting lonely when nobody talks to me for like, two days.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Demo shrugged. “Just means we need to watch out for you better, aye?”

Scout made a noncommittal noise. Sniper and Demo looked at each other, then Sniper spoke.

“We really are working on something, but... you can hang about in here if you’d like,” he suggested lightly. “Might get boring and all, but it’s nothing classified.”

“Just tinkering,” Demo agreed. “Would that help at all?”

Scout nodded, sniffled. “Okay.” He paused for a few moments before he finally pulled away from Demo, wiping his eyes with the his forearm self-consciously, unable to maintain eye contact. “I appreciate it, guys. Really. You guys are the best.”

“No worries,” Sniper said, and gave him a parting pat on the back before he went to pull up the spare chair, situating it between he and Demo’s chairs before sitting back down. Scout took a seat, pulled his legs up onto it to sit cross-legged, and looked down at the papers.

“What were we saying, potassium bicarbonate?” Demo prompted, taking his own seat.

“Right. Might need to talk to Heavy about using his welding materials, but we’d need a real finnicky piece of tech to make the thing without making a bloody mess,” Sniper said.

“And it can’t be from a standard press, we’d want to go for extra precision on a bullet that’ll be going through a sniper rifle,” Demo agreed. “Might need to talk to the Engineer, ask for an hour or two in his shop to borrow his metal casting nonsense.”

“Maybe. Does that, er, potassium carbon whatsit, does it melt down?”

Scout just sat and fiddled with the bullets on the table while they talked, and eventually snagged a piece of paper that wasn’t being used and started to doodle idly. And Demo and Sniper could both tell pretty soon that his mood had improved significantly, shoulders squaring and head being held higher even as he hunched over his piece of paper. And for the rest of their break, Scout took to sitting with either Demo or Sniper while they worked on various things, and at the end of their break, on the last day before they headed back to work, Sniper borrowed Engie’s keys to his truck and the three of them went out to get the greasiest fast food they could find.

And Scout felt better. Really, honestly, better.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #my fanfiction #shut up me #everybody talks #also demo and sniper are two mercs who i think are probably smart but in a really low-key way that doesn't show up much #demo especially but sniper has his strong suits

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justauthoring · 6 years ago

Text

No Reason To (24/50)

Prompt: “And I guess… when it comes down to it, I trust you.”

It has come to my attention that by adding links to my posts, it stops that post from being seen in the tags tagged. So, sadly, I will no longer be able to tag previous parts of NRT on new chapters. BUT all part can be found easily on my “No Reason To Series MasterList!”

A/N: A little surprise for you all being so patient with me!! NRT a day early :)

Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. As usual, I hope you all enjoyed!

AGAIN, remember if you’d like me to continue this series, just leave a little comment or an ask letting me know. I will NOT continue the series if no one wants me to.

Please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that. If you want to repost my work. please ask first - but even then I might say no.

Pairing: Stiles x McCall!Reader

Based off of: Teen Wolf 03x23 and 03x24

“We don’t have to do this.”

“Y/N--”

“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head as you narrow your eyes in the direction of Kira’s mother. “I can tell. Listen, I know it’s him.” Shifting your body, you turn towards Stiles. “I know it’s you, Stiles.”

“Y/N,” Stiles calls once again, and this time you remain silent. Your shoulders feel heavy, your heart plummeting to the pit of your stomach as Stiles nods his head at you. “I need to know for myself.”

You want to argue. Tell him and Scott and your mother that that feeling is gone and that means that the Stiles stood before you really is Stiles. But they won’t listen, you know they won’t. And they don’t know your powers or instincts like you do. So, with a heavy sigh, you step back, allowing your brother to help Stiles make his way into the living room where Kira’s mother remains.

As her eyes land on Stiles, she shoves her hands into the pockets of her coat; “do you recognize me?”

Stiles takes a step forward, setting his hand on Scott’s own, silently telling him it’s fine. Just as he takes a step towards Kira’s mother, the girl herself comes running into the house, breathlessly calling out; “stop!” Her mother only holds her hand out towards Kira, halting her movements as she turns back towards Stiles.

“It’s okay,” he assures, “i’m the one who asked her to come.”

“You’re the one who’s going to get stabbed with swords,” Kira reminds, shaking her head. You feel your body tense at Kira’s explanation, shaking your head with a sharp inhale. “Mom, don’t do this to him.”

“It’s already done.”

Following her words, two Oni appear in your living room. Your mother gasps in response, grabbing a hold of your brother tightly as your eyes widen, landing on the back of Stiles. Just as you move to step towards him, wanting to get him as far away from the Oni as possible, the Oni disappear and reappear right before him. Stiles gasp as the one in front of him grabs his head tightly, pulling him close and doing the exact same thing they’d done to you and the rest of your supernatural friends.

You feel your heart practically lurch into your stomach, fearing the worst. You know he isn’t Void anymore, but what if because he’d once been possessed by the nogitsune, the Oni still try to kill him?

But then, the Oni lets go, slashing the side of Stiles’ neck like they’d done to you, Scott and everyone else. Stiles falls to the ground, and without even a second of hesitation, you rush forward, grabbing him by the cheeks and gently pulling him into your lap.

“Look behind his ear,” you hear Kira’s mother order.

Abiding to her words, you peer behind Stiles’ ear, a breath of relief leaving your lips when you see the familiar five printed there.

“It worked,” Scott breathes from next to you.

“So, i’m actually me?” Stiles questions, moving to sit up. You let go of him, allowing him to do so.

“More you than the nogitsune,” Kira’s mother answers.

“Can the Oni find them?”

“Tomorrow night,” she explains, “it’s too close to dawn now.”

Stiles face twists in frustration; “can they kill him?”

“It depends on how strong he is,” she says simply.

“What about Lydia?” Scott asks, voice pitching in panic. “Why would he take her?”

“He would only take her for an advantage.”

If that was the truth, why had Void taken you that one time? Mind you, he hadn’t kept you for long but... if every move the nogitsune made was calculated and for a reason, why did he take you?

“You mean her power?”

Smiling slightly, Kira’s mother nods; “the power of a banshee.”

“We got an APB out on Lydia’s car. Every unit on the road is looking for her.”

Nodding your head, you let out a heavy exhale. It might not be much, and most likely, it won’t be enough to find Lydia. But it’s better than nothing, and having just that little bit of extra help can definitely be beneficial. Because finding Lydia, now, was the only thing that mattered.

Taking a step forward, Scott shakes his head; “isn’t there anything else that we could do?”

“At this hour?” Noah replies, shaking his head, giving his answer. “No, not really.”

“He took her for a reason, dad,” Stiles reminds, finally speaking up as he pulls your attention on him. “Look, if we can figure out the why, then we’ll figure out the where.”

“Okay,” you nod, crossing your arms over your chest. Glancing around, you make sure there are no wandering police officers before you turn back to the Sheriff, your brother and Stiles. “Let’s think then. What would a nogitsune need with a banshee?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles shrugs, “Lydia’s pretty good at finding dead bodies. Maybe he needs to find a body?”

“Scott,” Noah calls, pulling your brother’s attention on him. “You know more about this than all of us.”

“Me?” Your brother questions.

“You said you got the whole story from Noshiko?”

“Yeah,” Scott nods, shuffling slightly. “But that happened during World War two. Like seventy years ago.”

“Wait,” Stiles calls, and you turn to look at him. By the look on his face, it seems like something about Scott’s words registered as familiar within him. “What did you say?”

“Noshiko told me about the internment camps--”

“No, no, before than,” Stiles interrupts, raising his hand up towards your brother. “You said the whole story.”

Slightly confused, Scott nods; “yeah. What is it?”

Glancing down at his feet, Stiles’ voice lowers; “there’s a girl at Eichen House. Her name’s Meredith. I think she might be able to help.”

“Sheriff, Meredith Walker.”

“She’s still there?”

“Yeah,” Parrish nods, “but they moved her to the Closed Unit.”

Slowly turning around, Stiles’ eyes narrow; “why?”

“They said behavioral issues.”

Eyes narrowing, you shake your head; “what issues?”

“She wouldn’t stop screaming.”

“Here.”

Shifting slightly, you help Stiles lean back into the couch, crouching down in front of him the moment he’s settled. Tucking your hair behind your ears, you briefly glance over your shoulder, meeting Scott’s eyes from across the room. Sending him a nod, he understands what you mean without even having to say anything and turns around, leaving you and Stiles to yourselves.

As you turn back towards Stiles, you find him already glancing back at you. From your point of view, Stiles’ eyes look heavy, as if they’ll fall shut any moment. You know he’s tired, so you know it’s best to just leave him on his own. You’re at a standstill at the moment, not much else to do but wait. And if anything, Stiles needs rest.

You move to leave, but before you can, you see Stiles raising his hand out of the corner of your eye. He’s reaching towards your neck, and for a moment, against your will, with seemingly just a blink, you think back to that time with Void Stiles and you find yourself gasping out in fright, pulling hastily away from his touch. You hate it, hate that you did that to Stiles but Void had been him -- had looked like him. Even if Stiles’ actions hadn’t been his own, when Void had pressed you against that wall and wrapped his hand around your neck, it had been Stiles’ eyes that you stared into.

Stiles instantly pulls his hand away and sudden guilt floods you.

“I’m sorry,” you say instantly, shaking your head. You force your body to ease, trying to ignore the slightly race in your heart. It hadn’t been Stiles’ fault, you repeat in your mind. He hadn’t had any control of his body and Void had done what he did best, cause chaos. He used your fears and Stiles’ against the both of you. “I’m sorry,” shaking your head, you sigh. “I shouldn’t have, I... I know that it wasn’t...”

“I hurt you.”

Your words halt, lips left parted as your eyes fall on Stiles’ own. He’s not staring at you, instead, staring down at his lap; at his hands.

“I... hurt Scott, I hurt Coach and so many others. But... I hurt you.”

“No,” you argue, shaking your head. “No, it was Void. Void did all of that stuff, not you, Stiles.”

“But it was my body,” he whispers, forcing the words out of his mouth. Slowly, he raises his gaze to meet your own, shaking his head. “It was my hands that stabbed Scott. My hands that set up the trap that hurt Coach and the bomb that blew up the police station. It was my hands that wrapped around your throat.”

It’s obvious Stiles is staring at your neck, tears in his eyes as he shakes his head.

“God, he... after everything with your father and then I--”

Taking Stiles’ hand in your own, you squeeze it tightly, keeping your gaze trained on his. “It wasn’t you.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything.

Shaking your head, you use your free hand to point at your neck. “This,” you whisper, “wasn’t you. Doesn’t matter if it was your hands, it wasn’t your mind. And I don’t blame you, I never could.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” The words leave his lips with a choked sob, shaking his head with distress.

“There’s nothing you need to be sorry for,” you assure, moving to stand up. “Now, you’re going to get some rest, okay?”

“But--”

“Just sleep, okay?”

Stiles hesitates a moment, before sighing; “okay.”

You pause by the kitchen, your body tense. Something’s wrong.

Blinking, you glance down at your hands, swallowing thickly. You feel panicked, concerned. And you’re not sure why. But the only thing you can think is Stiles.

So, with an abrupt turn, you move towards your living room, finding both Scott and Stiles sharing a conversation you can’t quite hear. Stiles, who’s facing your direction, looks panicked, shaky, as if he can’t seem to calm down. It causes you to quicken your step, just managing to hear Stiles call out in a panicked, terrified voice; “what about Y/N? Where is she?”

“Right here,” you answer before Scott can, pulling both of the boy’s eyes on you as you make your way into the living room. You frown at the look Stiles gives you, and the way his eyes lower to your neck, where you know he’s staring at the faint bruise that still remains. Stopped before him and beside Scott, you move to reach out for Stiles, your hand just landing on his arm before you gasp, yanking your arm back.

It was only for a moment, and you can’t rightly explain it, but just the touch of Stiles brought about a world-wind of pain and agony. Not only was there mental and emotional pain, but physical, all mixed with extreme amounts of agony and worry and regret and guilt. There was loneliness and terror and it all mixed together makes you feel like you’re loosing your mind.

One touch and you feel as if you’re going insane.

You stumble back, barely able to hear Scott who calls out for you or the look Stiles sends you as you stumble over your feet, landing on the ground with a thud. The world seems to fade to black as you try to gain control over yourself, calm your racing heart and your panicked breathing. But you can’t seem to get control of yourself.

At least, not until a hand falls on your shoulder.

It pulls you out of your revere, your eyes landing on that of Scott, who’s crouched before you, before looking past his shoulder at Stiles who is staring down at you with wide, concerned and panicked eyes.

“Y/N,” Scott calls, his hands landing on your shoulders as he tugs you towards him, pulling your eyes on his own. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

“I–I–…,” as you try to find your words, you once again glance past Scott’s shoulders at Stiles. It happened when you touched him. All that pain and agony and loneliness and terror happened when you reached for him. It was like when you touched Isaac or Scott those times, and you could feel everything they were currently feeling.

Swallowing thickly, you turn back to Scott; “i’m–i’m okay.”

Scott frowns. “Y/N, you were screaming.”

“I was?”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods, finally speaking up. You move slightly, letting Scott help you up to your feet as Stiles explains himself shakily. “You touched my arm and then this look came over you… and you just started screaming.”

“Y/N,” Scott calls, pulling your attention on him. “Was it your powers? Like that time you touched my arm?”

Without saying a word, you nod.

“What?” Stiles asks, shaking his head. “What are you talking about?”

“Why didn’t you say you were in pain?” You ask Stiles, ignoring his own question. His eyes narrow as your words register within him, shaking his head.

“I’m not–”

“I could feel it,” you interrupt, gesturing towards Stiles. “When I touched your arm, I felt everything.”

“It’s a part of her powers,” Scott adds.

“So why didn’t you tell me o-or Scott you were in pain?”

“It’s not that bad,” Stiles dismisses with a shake of his head. “Just more like a dull ache.”

“Where?” Scott asks in concern.

“Sort of everywhere.”

“You’re freezing too,” you add, your eyes crinkling in worry. “You’re practically shaking to death.”

Shaking his head, Stiles turns slightly, grabbing his jacket off of the couch and pulling it on. Once he’s settled, Stiles lets out a shaky sigh, taking a seat on said couch before setting his head in his hands. Scott briefly glances at you before taking a seat in front of Stiles, you coming to a stand next to your brother with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Tell me the truth,” Scott speaks up, his voice flooded with concern. “How much does it really hurt?”

Stiles’ breath continues to exhale shakily, his eyes flickering between you and your brother in hesitation. In truth, you already know the answer to Scott’s question – you didn’t just know it, you felt it. Every single inch of it combined with the mental torture Stiles has had to endure since the nogitsune’s arrival. You felt every bit of it, burning it and etching it into your mind.

Before Stiles can answer, if he ever planned on doing so, Scott’s phone buzzes. With a sigh, Scott pulls his phone out of his pocket, reading the contact name. “It’s Kira,” he explains, to which you and Stiles nods, telling him silently to answer it.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“What are you doing here?”

Pausing, you raise your head in confusion at Scott’s voice, until your eyes land on that of your father’s.

With his hands in his pockets, Rafael takes a step forward from his spot next to Isaac, shrugging his shoulders. “I could ask you the same thing,” he reminds, raising a brow.

“Free period,” Stiles is quick to explain, “we’re doing group study.” He continues, gesturing to your brother and yourself, along with Meredith that you’d just picked up from the school after escaping from Eichen House. Meredith was the one Stiles believed would help you find Lydia, but it seemed it was going to be a little more difficult than you originally thought.

Pausing, your father tilts his head in the direction of Meredith; “who’s she?”

“She’s my girlfriend.”

Jerking your head back, you raise an unimpressed brow in the direction of Stiles upon his words, frowning when he wraps his arm around Meredith’s shoulders. You know he’s simply saying it as an excuse to get your father off your backs, but couldn’t he have come up with something else?

“You’re not my type,” Meredith stammers, peering up at Stiles.

“Well, obviously we have a lot to talk about,” Stiles mumbles, “we should maybe take this upstairs.”

You’re unable to fight the grin on your lips when Meredith lets her eyes land on Isaac. “He’s my type.” Despite yourself, you snort, instantly placing your hand against your lips when three pairs of eyes fall on you, narrowed.

“Okay,” Stiles says eventually, “Isaac, you can come too.”

Lips parting, Isaac’s eyes widen; “uh...” He doesn’t argue against the idea though, and when Stiles gently guides Meredith towards the stairs, Isaac meets your eyes briefly before following after the two.

Scott then steps forward; “hey, dad, i’ll explain all of this later.”

“I don’t care that you’re not in school,” Rafael shrugs, “either of you,” you curl into yourself when his eyes land on you. “I know your grades are fine. All I want to do is talk.”

A feeling of panic washes over you at his words -- talk about what?

“Now’s not really a good time,” you say, stepping forward with urgency.

“Y/N, Scott,” Rafael calls, shaking his head. “We need to talk.”

Your body’s tense, your shoulders squared as you feel your heart pounding against your chest madly. You know Scott can hear it, given the looks he keeps sending your way, but you ignore all of them. You’re not ready to talk about whatever your father has to talk about, and you’re terrified it has to do with your past. With what he did to you.

Scott doesn’t know, and you’re not ready for him to know either.

“Dad, can’t we do this tomorrow?”

“That’s actually something I’ve been saying for a long time.”

You bite your lip at your father’s words, watching him carefully as he rocks on his feet before pushing off of the chair he’d been leaning against. “Come here,” he calls, and despite your better judgement, you stand up, following after him, behind Scott. Rafael pauses by the stairs, “you see this?” He asks Scott, “this indent on the floor?”

Crouching down, Rafael touches it lightly; “that was from your head.”

As your father continues to speak, you find your worry and panic fading away, and being replaced by confusion. You remembered this night. The night he speaks of, and you’re not sure why it’s the one Rafael chooses to speak of.

“The night before I moved out,” Rafael continues, and your eyes narrow. “Your--Your mother and I were fighting.” You swallow thickly when you see Scott follow your father’s lead, crouching down next to him. “You came out of your room. I grabbed you by the wrist. You pulled back. And you fell.” Words can’t even begin to explain the emotions that wash over you as your eyes fall on your father’s face, watching the way his eyes water and the clear signs of distress that flood his expression.

“We watched you tumble down those stairs. Us and your sister,” you jerk back when Scott’s eyes fall on you. “You were out for probably twenty seconds. When you came to, you didn’t remember a thing. Your mom told me to be out by the morning. That was the last time I ever had a drink.”

That was the last time I ever had a drink. Bullshit.

“And that’s why I left.”

“You coward.” The words leave your lips in a choked cry, breathless and in disbelief. It pulls both Rafael’s and Scott’s eyes and full focus on you, the two of them just finally noticing the way your eyes have watered and the hurt and disgust in your eyes. “You fucking coward.”

Here you thought... Thought that your father would finally own up to his actions. Sure, you hadn’t wanted Scott to know; hadn’t wanted what you knew would follow, you thought that finally, just for once, your father would have an ounce of regret in his bone and tell the truth. And then, instead, he talks about a time where he hurt Scott, which was still bad but accidental and in all trust, way less worse than anything he’d ever done to you.

Scott stands up, obviously concerned, but your eyes never leave your fathers. He’s much slower, coming to a stand with hesitance as his face falls and he shakes his head.

“That’s not why you left and you know it isn’t.”

“Y/N--”

“No,” you interrupt, your voice pitching in anger as your eyes narrow. “You can’t even realize what you did now, sober. You’re a fucking coward.”

Silence echoes for a moment, your eyes water and eventual tears pouring down your cheeks as you shake your head in disbelief. All this time has passed, hasn’t had a drink in years and yet, your own father can’t even admit to abusing you. Hitting you for years as a child. Instead, he talks as if one mishap, the one time he ever laid a hand on your brother is the reason why he changed; why he never drank again.

And maybe it is. Maybe Scott really is the reason why he stopped drinking, but it isn’t why he left.

“Mom didn’t just kick you out because of that,” you continue, shaking your head as you feel your fists clench tightly.

Then, Scott speaks up and you feel your own world come crashing down on your own shoulders.

“What are you talking about?”

In the heat of everything and your own emotions, you’d forgotten about your brother who stood directly beside you. You’d forgotten that he was there as you hinted at your darkest and most kept secret. You’d forgotten about why you’d kept it a secret from him for all these years, why you’d begged your mother to never tell Scott.

And now, there was no going back.

When Scott doesn’t receive an answer, he pushes; “Y/N, what are you talking about?”

Your eyes finally leave your father’s, meeting Scott’s. He’s staring at you with desperation, practically pleading with you to answer him.

And you will. Because as you said, there’s no going back. And maybe, it’s time Scott knew.

“Why don’t you tell him dad,” you finally speak up, looking past Scott and meeting your father’s eyes. A moment passes and Rafael says nothing. You scoff, shaking your head as you take a step forward. “Why don’t you tell Scott about how you hit me every time I got a bad grade?”

“What?”

“Or how you’d pull me out of school early just so mom would never see?” You continue, ignoring Scott as every bit of your pain that you’d buried deep, deep inside of you came pouring out. “How I was your personal punching bag for years before she ever found out? How once, you hit me so hard, I had a black eye and had to tell Scott that I tripped and fell while skating? That before you ever hit me, you’d keep me up all night crying and pouring all your issues onto my shoulders. How I had to grow up because of the things you said and did to me.”

Your voice cracks by the end of your sentence, the anger fading and being replaced with a deep sadness that has nestled inside, deep inside of your chest, for years. A sadness you hadn’t realized you were so tired of keeping buried until then.

There’s a moment of silence. Rafael just staring back at you, tears in his eyes as his lips part, trying to say something but no words leave his lips.

“You didn’t leave because of that,” you spit, “mom kicked you out because one day you were careless, and she saw you grab me by the arm and slap me across the face. That’s why you two were fighting and that’s why she told you to pack your bags.”

As you finish, your shoulders fall, the weight finally off of them.

No one says anything for a long time, and then, with just one second passing, Scott lunges towards your father. He grabs him by the collar of his shirt, slamming him up against the railing of the staircase he’d sent him tumbling down all those years ago. As you feel Scott’s anger bundled up inside of yourself, you’re reminded of why you never told Scott.

And especially now, when his emotions are dialed up to a eleven...

Rushing forward, you cry out Scott’s name, setting your hand on his shoulder. His breath is heavy, rapid and it looks as if he’s about to burst any moment -- and if there’s one thing you know, it’s that your father can not know about Scott being a werewolf.

“Scott,” you call again, this time albeit calmer. “Scott, listen to me, this isn’t the time. This isn’t you.”

Scott’s grip only tightens, and his eyes narrow, watering with distress. “But he... he beat you. Hit you... I--...”

Tugging on his shoulder, you call out; “and he was a drunk.”

Scott’s furious eyes fall on you; “you forgive him?”

“No,” you deny, without a moment of hesitance. Briefly glancing at your father, you sigh, shaking your head. “I don’t know if i’ll ever forgive him, Scott. But now isn’t the time. We need to find Lydia.”

Scott’s jaw clenches, the knuckles of his fist turning white at how harshly he’s gripping your father. As a minute passes, your heart pounds against your chest in fear -- fear for what Scott will do. And it seems Scott senses it, because eventually, he lets go, your father letting out a gasp in response, nearly tripping over his own feet.

You pull Scott away, holding him close as he desperately tries to keep himself from shifting.

Your eyes land on your father when he takes a step forward; “Y/N--”

“Get out,” Scott growls, surprisingly.

“Scott--”

“Get out,” Scott repeats, his voice even more deadly than it had been before. He raises his head, his eyes surprisingly not glowing and glares threateningly at your father. “Get out. Now!”

Your father sends one more look your way, before abiding by Scott’s words. He rushes out, his breath pitched and you let out a sigh when you hear the door slam close behind him.

The moment you know you’re alone, you turn to Scott. “Scott--”

He interrupts you by pulling you into an embrace. It surprises you, your lips left parted and eyes wide as Scott clings onto you. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and you blink when you hear the crack in his voice, alluding that he’s crying. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you. Didn’t... didn’t do anything.”

Easing, you return your brother’s grip; “you couldn’t have known,” you remind.

Your words cause Scott to pull back; “why didn’t you ever tell me?”

You don’t reply right away. Your grip loosens on him as your eyes fall to the floor, letting out a shaky breath. You know why, you just don’t know if you’re ready for Scott know why. For anyone really to know why.

“Y/N?”

“Because I was ashamed,” you whispered, hesitantly meeting Scott’s eyes. They widen in response, head jerking back as if he can’t believe the words that leave your lips. “Ashamed that I never did anything, that I never tried to stop him. And then, as time went by, I became ashamed that I never told you. That I.. I kept a secret from you and...--”

Scott’s hand falls on the back of your head, pulling you into an embrace once again. He lets out a shaky breath, his grip tight and secure as you let yourself go even for just a moment. You’ve kept this a secret from Scott for so long; spent years terrified of how he’d react. Little did you know the relief that would fall on your shoulders with the weight of your burden gone.

To know that Scott didn’t hate you or think any less of you made your eyes water with relief.

“I...” Scott hesitates, pulling back and meeting your eyes, his gaze steady and unwavering. “I won’t let him touch you ever again, Y/N. I promise. I can’t imagine what you went through, but I won’t ever let you go through it alone again.”

“Hey, you okay?”

Raising your head, you briefly meet Isaac’s eyes who’s sat beside you before turning your attention to the front once more. You just manage to catch sight of Stiles glancing over at your brother before returning his attention on the road, his words from before echoing in silence for a few seconds before Scott responds.

“Yeah,” he nods, voice light. You know, deep down, that he isn’t. After everything that he’d just found out, with Lydia missing and his best friend looking like he’s about to die – how could he be okay? “Yeah,” he repeats, “you don’t have to worry about me.”

“All right,” Isaac speaks up, pulling your eyes on him. “I’ll say it. You look like you’re dying. You’re pale, thin and you look like you’re getting worse.”

Eyes narrowing, you slap Isaac against the chest, causing him to flinch back in response as Scott whips his head around to glance back at the two of you. You challenge Isaac’s glares back at you, causing him to shake his head; “what?” He exclaims, “we’re all sitting here thinking it. When we find the other Stiles, is he gonna look like he’s getting better?”

Sighing, your shoulders fall; “Isaac…”

“What happens if he gets hurt?” Scott questions.

“You mean,” Stiles starts, his voice raspy. “If he dies, do I die? I don’t care.”

Brows furrowing, your lips part; “Stiles–”

“No,” Stiles interrupts, glancing at you for a moment before shaking his head. “Just so long as no one else dies because of me. I remember everything I did, Scott. I remember pushing that sword into you. I remember twisting it. I remember choking you, Y/N,” you frown when he glances at you through the rear view mirror. “I remember squeezing until you couldn’t breathe.”

“It wasn’t you.”

“Yeah, but I remember it,” Stiles says easily. “You guys gotta promise me. You can’t let anyone else get hurt because of me.”

“We’ve done this before, guys. A couple of weeks ago we were standing around just like this and we saved Malia, remember?”

Staring back at Scott with almost a sense of pride, you nod your head.

“That was a total stranger,” he reminds, “this is Lydia.”

“I’m here to save my best friend,” Allison speaks up, nodding her head determinedly. Smiling up at her, you nod your own head; “me too.”

Keeping his gaze trained on Stiles, Scott smiled faintly; “I came to save mine.”

“I just didn’t feel like doing any homework.”

Scoffing, you turn to Isaac once again, raising your hand without hesitance and slapping him across the chest. He gasps in response, placing a hand over the offended spot as he glares down at you; “stop hitting me!”

“Stop saying stupid things!”

Shaking his head, Isaac turns, making his way through the gate before you follow him. You meet Stiles eyes briefly, before turning and falling by Kira’s side. As Kira, Allison and Isaac head to the left and Scott and Stiles continue forward, you hesitate a moment, causing your brother’s eyes to fall on you; “Y/N,” he calls, “you coming?”

You hate to leave Scott and Stiles, especially the latter, and you want to make sure Lydia’s safe, but you know you’ll be better helping the others fight. Especially with Isaac there, having not forgotten your training with Derek, the two of you could really do some damage together.

“You guys save Lydia,” you smile lightly, nodding at the two of them.

Scott nods in return, and Stiles only hesitates a moment longer, staring back at you as you glance back at him reassuringly. When Stiles turns to follow Scott, you turn yourself, falling next to Isaac’s side as you, Isaac, Allison and Kira come to a stop before the latter’s mother.

“Kira, go home. Take your friends with you.”

“I can’t,” Kira shakes her head, as she unsheathes her sword and Allison readies her bow. You notice Isaac transform into his wolf form, claws out and inhaling deeply, you close your eyes, mentally preparing yourself. “I realized who I was actually playing. You.”

Flicking open your eyes, you feel a new sense of power wash over you. Something you’ve never felt before this one moment. As your eyes fall to your hands, you find yourself shocked at the purple… almost mist that emits from them, hovering over your skin and fingers. When you look up, you find Isaac staring back you, eyes wide. “Your eyes,” he whispers, barely audible so only you can hear. “They’re purple.”

You supposed a part of you should be afraid, but no part of you is. The sense of power that floods you feels normal, familiar. Like it’s something you’ve been waiting for for a long time.

With a smile, you don’t say anything to Isaac, letting your gaze return on that of Kira’s mother as you raise your hands, prepping yourself.

Allison raises her bow, pointing it at Kira’s mother and the Oni; “call them off.”

“You think you can take him alive?” She counters, standing her ground. “You think you can save him?”

You have no doubt in your mind of who she speaks of.

“What if we can?”

“I tried something like it seventy years ago,” Kira’s mother dismisses with a shake of her head. “Your friend is gone.”

“Well we’re not gonna stop,” you speak up, narrowing your eyes at the woman. “And we’re sure as hell going to at least try.”

“Besides,” Kira adds, taking the small few steps over to her mother. “Are you sure? Or maybe Stiles doesn’t have to die, then maybe Rhys didn’t have to die either?”

The two Oni behind her raise their swords, poising them at the four of you as Kira’s mother smirks. “I see i’m no longer the Fox now, Kira. You are. But the Nogitsune is still my demon to bury.”

Then, as soon as the words finish leaving her lips, the Oni behind her disappear.

“Mom?”

“What is that?” You hear Isaac faintly whisper, shifting on his feet slightly. “What does that mean?”

“It means there’s been a change in ownership.”

Lips parting, you spin, eyes widening when they fall on that of Stiles; or rather, the nogitsune. Behind him stand the two Oni who had disappeared moments before from behind Kira’s mother and more, guarding either side of him as he smirks down at the five of you. “Now they belong to me.”

Kicking your left foot back, you crouch, raising your hands once again as your eyes flash, ready.

A cry leaves your lips as a sharp pain radiates in your side. Jumping back from the Oni, your left hand falls to your right hip, applying pressure there as your head snaps upwards, your eyes landing on the Oni stood before you and sending it flying back.

It clatters to the ground with a thud, pushing yourself off the wall and rushing forward with a tense exposure. Your eyes fall on that of Isaac on his back, moving to help him before Allison beats you to it, shoving back the Oni that had crouched over him seconds before. Your eyes snap to the Oni you’d just knocked back as it comes lunging towards you, sword raised. Raising your hand, you stop the Oni from stepping any closer to you, fighting for dominance as you turn back towards Isaac and Allison.

Now on his feet, Isaac hastily turns to Kira’s mother; “how do we stop them?”

Stood behind a wall, Kira’s mother shakes her head; “you can’t!”

Your eyes widen as a Oni comes running towards Isaac, slashing him in the stomach. You move to help him once again, but you lose dominance over the Oni before you, stumbling back as you just barely miss it’s sword slashing you across the throat. Eyes flashing, you swipe your hand forward, fire coming from the tips of your fingers and flooding around the Oni. Your eyes widen when it simply does no damage, eventually evaporating with the Oni still stood before you.

In the back of your mind, you hear Kira’s sword clanging with the Oni’s and the sound of Allison’s arrows whizzing in the air, desperately trying to stop the two Oni that have cornered Isaac. You want to help all of them, but you can’t, managing to duck just in time as the Oni sends it’s sword flying towards you.

Raising your hand, you move a piece of sheet metal off the ground, slamming it into the Oni’s side. As expected, it does nothing. Doesn’t damage the Oni in anyway.

They’re impossible to defeat.

A sudden rumbling, that nearly causes you to lose your balance, catches your attention though. Your head snaps to the left once more, eyes widening at the sight of the Oni with one of Allison’s arrows piercing it directly in the chest. Then, before your very eyes, it combust’s. Smoke and green light blinds the area as the Oni just literally vanishes, it’s sword clattering to the ground.

You stand there, in disbelief; in relief for only a moment. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Allison and the Oni that rushes towards her. Before her name can even leave your lips, the Oni’s sword has impales her directly in the stomach. Time seems to slow as you watch Allison’s body hunch forward, your lips parting disbelief.

She can’t... that can’t have just happened.

Pain floods your entire being. Deep sadness burns into your mind; but it’s not just your own. Your eyes flicker upwards, landing on that of Scott who’s stands behind a gate, eyes wide as his gaze remains focused entirely on Allison. He hastily pushes open the gate, catching Allison in his arms just before she falls to the ground as the Oni around you disappear.

You can’t explain it. Your own heartbreak and worry is ten times worse with Scott’s added onto it.

Your eyes fade back to normal as you stumble back, a hand falling to your lips. You see Isaac fall to the ground before you, and without a second thought, you crouch behind him, grabbing onto him tightly as he falls against you, his eyes watering with parted lips of disbelief and shock. You can barely believe it yourself, seeing Allison, your friend Allison, with a sword in her stomach...

You cling onto Isaac as he leans helplessly against you, unable to stop your eyes from watering.

Moments pass as Scott and Allison share a conversation you can’t hear; either because you’re too far away or because you can’t properly focus on their words given the events of what have just happened. Then, Allison’s body falls limp in your brother’s arms, and you feel a sense of sorrow flood you; sorrow for Allison, for Isaac, for your brother, for yourself because you just lost a friend just like that; in seconds.

The tears finally fall when you hear your brother sob out Allison’s name.

“Here, it’ll calm you.”

Raising a brow, you glance down at the mug Kira’s mother slid Stiles’ way, clutching your hands tightly in your lap. Your leg won’t stop pouncing, the feeling of tears stained on your cheeks evident as you huddle close to Stiles’ side; you’re not sure if it’s for your sake or if it’s for his.

“What is it?” Stiles questions, his voice raspy as he reaches out to grab the handle of it.

“Tea.”

“What? Like magic tea?”

“No,” Kira’s mother shakes her head. “Chamomile tea. Drink it.”

Stiles nods, and your hand falls on his shoulder as he slowly brings the mug up to his lips.

Just then, Kira’s father walks into the room; “he’s not safe here.”

“He’s not safe anywhere.”

“But Allison killed one of them,” Kira reminds, voice soft. “Doesn’t that mean something? She killed an Oni.”

“Is that even possible?”

“I’m not sure how.”

“But she did it,” Kira urges, “she killed one of them.”

“Yeah,” you finally speak up, shaking your head. “And then they killed her.”

An echo of silence passes at your words, and then Stiles speaks up; “Allison’s dead,” he whispers, face scrunching up in distress. “Now I guess the only good thing is it looks like i’m dying too.”

Inhaling deeply, you shake your head.

Kira’s mother stands, moving over until she’s sat next to Stiles. “He made a powerful move by splitting the two of you,” she explains, nodding her head.

Leaning forward, Kira sets one of the board game pieces back onto the board. “So, what’s our move?”

“At this point,” Kira’s father sighs, “you need a divine move.”

“What’s that?”

“In the game of Go, it’s what we call a truly inspired, or out of the box move. The nogitsune had a sente, the advantage, until this point. What you need is a divine move in order to turn the game around.”

“Okay,” Stiles says slowly, “so is anyone feeling divinely inspired?”

Shaking your head, you sigh.

“Mom, you said you trapped it in a glass jar, right?” Kira asks.

“It wasn’t the jar that trapped it. It was where I buried it.”

“The nematone,” you nod.

“A place I don’t know too much about,” Kira’s mother admits, shrugging her shoulders.

“Who does?”

Turning to Stiles, you meet his eyes as your own widen.

“Deaton. Deaton does.”

Running forward, you set your hands on Stiles’ waist, shifting his body slightly. You meet his eyes as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, and you let him lean some of his weight against you given his weakened state before following the others towards the school doors.

You and Stiles pick up the speed in your step slightly to keep up with Scott, Lydia and Allison, reaching the doors to the school in no time. However, just as Scott goes to push open the doors, you feel Stiles come to a stop, causing you to follow as well, your head turning to the left to glance up at him as he calls out; “Scott, wait up.” Turning his head over his shoulder, Scott turns to Stiles with furrowed brows. “I know what you’re all thinking. If this works, it might kill me, too.”

You feel the corners of your lips curve downwards at his words. You’d thought it, of course you had, but you hadn’t really noticed it until Stiles brought attention to it. Not only that, but you feared what Stiles would add to his previous words; because part of you already knew, and it left an unsettled feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“But even if it does, you have to go through with it. Stick with the plan, okay?”

“The plan is to save you,” Scott reminds, not an ounce of doubt in his eyes. “That’s the plan I’m going with.”

Without another word, your brother turns, pushing on the handles of the doors before they slowly open. Your eyes narrow slightly when, instead of seeing the familiar halls of the school, you see a courtyard covered completely in snow. As you continue to walk forward, you instinctively find yourself curling into Stiles, your hand settled on his lower side for support, at the cold. Stiles’ grip tightens as well, the arm wrapped around your shoulder pull you closer as you both gaze around in wonder.

Then, as you all come to a stop, Stiles slowly pulls away from your side, stepping forward. “Oh, this is definitely not part of the plan.”

For a while, none of you say anything. You simply stand there, shivering slightly, as you let your eyes wander across the entire courtyard, trying to figure out where you are and what’s happening.

Then, breaking the silence, you hear footsteps. Your head slowly turns to the right, your eyes landing on a man covered head to toe in bandages -- just like when the nogitsune had separated himself from Stiles, the same type of bandages. You don’t have to ask to know who it is; the nogitsune in it’s true form.

You hear the sound of Kira’s sword unsheathing, and taking a step forward, you fall in between both your brother and Stiles, squaring your shoulders in preparation for what’s to come.

“Like I promised, Stiles,” the nogitsune speaks up, it’s voice slurred and muffled slightly. “We’re going to kill all of them. One by one.” At the end of his sentence, two Oni appear on either side of the nogitsune, Kira instantly raising her sword to block the Oni’s.

As you shuffle backwards, you notice for the first time two more Oni stationed behind you.

You close your eyes for a moment, feeling that sense of power wash over you before opening them. As you raise your hand, the purple mist once again begins to float around your fingers, moving with each twitch of your hand. You’re in complete control of your powers now.

“What the hell is this?” Scott breathes, voice shaky. “Where are we?”

“Between life and death.”

“Bardo,” Lydia concludes.

“But there are no peaceful deities here, Lydia,” the nogitsune speaks up, turning it’s head in the direction of your friend. “You’re dying, Stiles.” At the nogitsune’s words, you feel your heart plummet, your head turning in Stiles’ direction instantly. “And now everyone you care about is dying, too.” Your eyes follow the nogitsune’s movement, unconsciously shuffling towards Stiles’, as it’s words register in your mind.

“What?” Stiles breathes, voice soft. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve captured almost all of the territories on the board, Stiles.” In your mind, you see the chest board. The pieces you, Derek, Chris, Noah and Allison had all found that day in Stiles’ room. “The hospital. The sheriff station. And now the animal clinic.” Swallowing thickly, you grip Stiles’ shoulder tightly, in hopes of assuring him, even if you don’t feel any hope yourself.

“Do you know the ritual of seppuku, Stiles?” The nogtisune continues, turning and walking back the way he’d just came.

“No,” Stiles shakes his head, “and I don’t want to.”

Your grip on Stiles’ tightens when you notice the nogitsune heading your direction, pulling him closer as you hold your free hand out next to you. You try to ignore the fear that installs itself inside of you, raising your chin defiantly.

“When a samurai disembowels himself with his own sword to maintain his honor, but that’s not the cut that kills him. The killing stroke is made by his kaishakunin, who beheads the samurai with his own katana.” Your eyes widen when the nogitsune raises it’s hand, pointing at your brother. “Scott... Scott is your kaishakunin.” Lips parting, you turn to your brother who shakes his head, mouth agape in disbelief. “I’m going to make your best friend kill you, Stiles. And you’re going to let him.”

Your grip once again tightens as the nogitsune grows dangerously close to Stiles. “Because just like you,” it continues, “they’re all going to die. Everyone touched by an Oni’s blade. Unless, Scott kills you first.”

Coming face to face with the nogitsune, Stiles leans forward, shaking his head. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“To win the game.”

You flinch when the Oni suddenly move, pulling their swords out and waving them dangerously around themselves. You pull Stiles close to yourself, your arm reaching out for Lydia and pulling her behind yourself. “Stay near me,” you order, keeping your eyes trained on the Oni around you. “Don’t leave my side.”

You hear Lydia let out a whimper but otherwise nod, Stiles huddling closer to your side in return.

“Stiles!”

You can’t help the shriek in your voice when you see Stiles grab Kira’s sword off of the ground. You rush out to reach for him, but halt to a stop when you see him press the tip of the sword against his stomach. Lydia stops beside you, the both of you briefly glancing at each other, cold and shivering, before your eyes fall on Stiles’ once again, desperately shaking your head.

“Stiles!” You hear Scott bellow, “no!” Pushing the Oni away from him, Scott takes a step towards Stiles; “no...”

“What if it saves you?” Stiles counters, your shoulders falling at his words. “What if it saves all of you?”

“What if it’s just another trick?” You remind, unable to stop the desperation and screech in your voice as you meet Stiles’ eyes, shaking your head.

“No more tricks, Y/N,” the nogitsune growls. “End it, Scott. Let your friend fall on his own sword. Do for him what he cannot do for himself.” Your face twists in distress, your nails digging into the palm of your hand as you shuffle helplessly on your feet watching Stiles struggle but continuing to hold the tip of the sword against his stomach regardless. “Do it, Scott. Be his kaishakunin. Give up the game.”

There’s a moment of stilled silence. You watch Stiles shake, the sword doing the same in his hand, violently, as he continues to grip the handle tightly. When your eyes land on that of Scott, you see him on the other side of Stiles, repeatedly shaking his head but at a lost on what to do.

Then, Stiles suddenly stops shaking. He just stills, his eyes obviously catching something, but you don’t know what. The sword lowers, and he turns his head over his shoulder, looking at something.

“You have no moves left.”

Glancing down at the sword, Stiles shakes his head; “I do,” he whispers, nodding. Turning, he passes Kira’s katana back over to her, which she catches with ease, before turning back to the nogitsune.

“A divine move.”

“Stop fighting them. It’s an illusion.”

Clutching close to Stiles, your grip on him as tight as he desperately tries to explain himself, out of breath. “You have to stop fighting them,” he continues, shaking his head. “It looks real and it feels real, but Scott, you gotta trust me, it’s an illusion.”

Slowly, your brother turns, facing the nogitsune. Kira is quick to fall behind him, then Lydia, but you stay close to Stiles’ side. You’re not sure if it’s more for him or for yourself, but either way, it both reassures you and helps you remain as calm as possible.

The Oni line up before the nogitsune, two on either side, their stance threatening.

Then, Scott takes a step forward, bracing himself as the Oni slash and cut as his skin. Kira follows, and Lydia as well, the four of you slowly following behind your brother as their cries echo in your mind. Your brother reaches the nogitsune, limping slightly because of his injuries, but with his last burst of strength, he presses his hands against the chest of the nogitsune, shoving him back.

Before you know it, you’re back in the halls of the school.

You turn to Scott as he looks down, eyeing his body in search of injuries and turning to you with surprise when he finds none. “We’re okay,” letting out a chuckle, Scott shakes his head; “we’re--”

He’s interrupted by a sudden force sending him flying into the lockers. Your eyes widen when they land on Stiles, or rather Void Stiles. Kira instantly turns to face him, raising her sword in preparation, but he easily slaps the sword away, knocking her to the ground.

Gasping, you shuffle back, pulling both Lydia and Stiles with you as Void turns to face the three of you.

“This was my game,” he growls, “you think you can beat me at my game?”

“Divine move. Divine move.”

As Void steps forward, you hastily pull back Stiles, clutching onto him as Lydia follows your actions. You feel your heart pound against your chest as Void takes fast and long strides towards you three, intimidating and threatening all the same.

“You think you have any moves at all?” He snaps, shaking his head as his voice gradually pitches louder and louder. “You can kill the Oni. But me? Me? I’m a thousand years old. You can’t kill me!”

“But we can change you!”

Void suddenly halts; “what?”

“You forgot about the scroll,” Stiles reminds.

Raising a brow, you smirk; “the Shugendo scroll.”

Void’s face shifts, and you see a sense of panic flood his eyes. “Change the host.”

“You can’t be a fox and a wolf.”

As soon as Stiles finishes speaking, Scott appears behind Void, digging his claws into his shoulder before taking a bite right on the upper part of his arm. Void bellows out a scream, struggling in Scott’s grip, but it’s too late. The moment Scott lets go, Kira’s runs forward, driving her katana through Void’s chest.

Thunder suddenly cracks, the lights in the hallway sparking as you instinctively step back, feeling Stiles’ grip on you tighten.

Kira pulls her sword out of Void, him falling to his knees in response as his body jerks and shakes violently. Your lips curl in disgust when a fly flies out of his mouth, flying past you, Stiles and Lydia, causing you to turn. A smile, however, grows on your face when you see Isaac, with the needed box, capture said fly, screwing the cap shut.

Perfect timing.

You hear a gasp, and turning, you find Void, lips parting as his body jerks continuously. Then, he stills, and you watch as his skin literally cracks before your very eyes, falling to the ground before turning into nothing but dust.

Your lips part, holding Stiles close in fear that the same will happen to him -- that he’ll just turn to dust and disappear. Instead of that though, you feel his grip on you loosen, his entire weight falling into the palm of your hand as you stumble forward, falling to your knees as Stiles’ body thuds to the ground.

You let out a breath of relief when you see Stiles’ eyes finally open.

“Oh God, I fainted, didn’t I?”

Chucking lightly, you nod, keeping your hand clasped in Stiles’ as he lets out a heavy exhale. “We’re alive,” he whispers, “we all alive?”

Your eyes slowly raise to Scott’s at Stiles’ question, frowning when you see the look in your brother’s eyes. “Yeah,” he breathes, “we’re okay.”

You turn your head up when Lydia suddenly stands, helping Stiles’ up and onto his feet himself as you regard her with furrowed brows. Before you know it, she’s hastily making her way out of the school, without so much as an explanation, before collapsing against the stairs, a choked cry leaving her lips.

When you see what she did, your eyes widen, your lips parting. Aiden... Aiden is dead... dying, he’s just..

She spins, falling into you without another word as Stiles comes to a stop next to you. As you wrap your arms around her in return, you feel your vision darken, even for just a moment and you realize you’re feeling all her pain and suffering and fear in that one moment. But you don’t pull away like you have before, holding Lydia close as she sniffles against you, Stiles setting a hand on her shoulder.

You bare through the pain, because your friend needs you and that’s all that matters.

“Isaac! Isaac, wait!”

He listens, Isaac’s feet halting to a stop. Chris glances back at you for a moment, before meeting Isaac’s eyes. There’s obviously a conversation passed between the two of them, but you don’t know what and then suddenly, Chris is nodding, sending you a small smile before making his way over to his car. As he does so, Isaac slowly turns to you.

Reaching him, you feel your chest and rise rapidly, eyes wide as you meet his own. “You’re leaving?”

Swallowing thickly, Isaac glances briefly back in the direction of Chris and his car before meeting your eyes, nodding. “Yeah.”

Biting your lip, you blink back the tears that well in your eyes, gaze falling to your hands as you fiddle with them. It wasn’t that you blamed Isaac, or couldn’t see the reason why he was doing what he was doing. You understood perfectly. It just... saddened you. Because a part of you still and always will love Isaac, and to know that you may never see him again is... scary.

“Look, Y/N--”

“I get it,” you assure, swallowing back your own fears and burying them. This isn’t about you. This isn’t your decision. It’s Isaac’s and you’re not gonna stop him from making the right one for himself. Smiling faintly up at Isaac, you nod. “I understand. I just... I wanted to say bye.”

Isaac’s face softens at your words, slowly nodding as he smiles. “I’m glad.”

Inhaling sharply, take a step forward, raising your hands and wrapping them around Isaac’s shoulders. You pull him close, and Isaac doesn’t hesitate to return the embrace. One of his hands press against the back of your head while the other wraps around your waist, and as you stare out at seemingly nothing in front of you, reveling in the feeling of being in Isaac’s arms once again, you think back to all the amazing memories you’ve shared with him.

They’re bad, just like there was bad with any relationship. But those memories, you’d never forget them. Any of them -- you’d cherish them.

As you pull back, you hastily wipe at your tears, sniffling as you compose yourself and meet Isaac’s eyes once again. “Keep in touch, yeah?” You ask, almost pleadingly, your eyes filled with hope. “Don’t go disappearing on me.”

“Of course,” Isaac grins, “I love you, Y/N. You know that, right? I still do.”

Nodding, you smile; “Yeah, I know. Just like you know I love you.” A moment of silence pauses, the two of you sharing a silent conversation with one another. Then, you take a step back. “Okay, go,” you chuckle faintly. “Don’t keep Chris waiting for too long.”

Laughing, Isaac nods, stepping back before turning. You watch him go, returning the wave he sends you just before getting into the car with Chris. And you watch the car pull out of the driveway, turn and disappear down the street.

You stand there for a few moments longer before turning yourself, shoving your hands in your pocket and heading back home.

“Hey, can I talk to you?”

Your body stills at the sound of your father’s voice, instantly straightening out as you turn your head over your shoulder. When you meet his eyes, you let out a shaky breath, letting your bag fall to the ground with ease, clasping your hands before yourself. “Stiles wants to talk to me about something,” you explain, swallowing thickly. “I can’t talk for long.”

Stepping into your room, Rafael shuts the door behind him, “This won’t take long,” he says simply, and you feel your body flinch slightly when the sound of the door shutting echoes.

You can’t explain the feeling that floods you when you meet your father’s eyes once again, watching as he takes a hesitant step towards you. He seemed scared, frightened but all the same determined. With his hands clasped before him, Rafael holds your gaze steadily. “I know you can’t ever forgive me for what I did. I don’t expect you to.”

While you had no doubt what the conversation would be about, you still find a bundle of nerves growing in the pit of your stomach at the start of it. You’ve been waiting for this conversation for years, and yet, when it’s finally here, you don’t even know if you’re ready to follow through with it.

“But I need to tell you that I know what I did,” Rafael continues, you feel your heart spike in response to his words. “I know that I hit you. That I... I abused you, both mentally and physically. And I know that it’s taken me a few years too long to admit it, but, Y/N,” his names leaves his lips in a shaky voice. You feel your eyes water at the sound, lips parting in disbelief. “I am so sorry. For everything. I... I’ve never stopped hating myself for what I did to you, and I never will, because it’s unforgivable. Ans I am just... so sorry.”

You don’t say anything at first. You let the words echo in your mind, let them repeat so you can properly asses them. Let them register within you.

All your life, since your father left, all you’ve ever wanted him to do is to admit what he did and apologize for it. He’s right, you may never be able to forgive him. But just to hear the words -- to know that he’s sorry and that he knows what he did is beyond terrible... well, it’s all you ever wanted.

So you don’t say anything. Because words can’t describe how you feel. Instead, you take a step forward, slowly and hesitantly, and then another, until you’re directly before your father. You raise your hands, shakily and unsurely and you know Rafael is watching you with both confusion and surprise. And then, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, something you’d once been sure you’d never do again. You pull him close, hug him like a daughters supposed to hug her father for just a second.

Then, you pull back. Because it still feels odd and a part of you is still scared of him, still unsure. But it’s the closest you’ve been to him in years and it’s something you’ve missed, despite everything.

“I don’t forgive you,” you say after a moment, meeting his eyes. “I don’t know if I ever will. Part of me doesn’t want to. But I can come to terms with it; come to peace with what you did and you. And slowly, very slowly, i’m willing to rebuild what little of our relationship we have left. But it’s on my terms and only mine.”

Rafael’s eyes flood with hope, like he’s been waiting for this just as long as you have, and he nods without even a second of hesitation.

“Okay.”

“Thanks for coming to talk with me.”

Smiling up at Stiles, a new and fresh smile because things are finally falling back into place; things are becoming good again. You’d never forgot about those who you’d lost or what you’d had to sacrifice in order to win, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t move on. And you were. Things were... Things felt better. There was that hint of darkness, but you felt anew.

“Of course,” you laugh lightly, meeting Stiles’ eyes as he stops before you. “How are you holding up?”

Inhaling deeply, Stiles nods, pushing off of his jeep as he crosses his arms before you. He seems almost nervous, though you can’t begin to wonder why. He is constantly shifting, shuffling on his feet as he fiddles with his hands nervously. He meets your eyes, but then looks away, unsure.

“I’m okay,” he nods, smiling lightly.

“Okay,” you say slowly, your brows furrowing in confusion. “So, what did you need to talk about? Is everything--”

You’re interrupted by Stiles pressing his lips against your own. It surprises you, baffles you, your eyes widening as his fall shut and your body stills. It’s so sudden, out of the blue. Out of all the things you expected Stiles to do, kissing you certainly wasn’t one of them. But, as a moment passes, you find yourself easing into the intimate action, leaning into his warmth as Stiles’ arm moves to wrap around your waist, molding his mouth against your own.

He pulls away, too fast, breathless. You blink up at him, stunned. “What... what was that?”

“Something... something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

Shoulders falling, you feel your stomach flood with butterflies, a glimmer of hope welling within you. Taking a step towards Stiles, you move your head to meet his gaze head on, finding the way his cheeks have warmed quite adorable. “Stiles?” You call softly, slightly pushing for more answers. Stiles eventually turns to look at you, his eyes flickering downwards for a second before taking your hand in his own.

Your eyes widen, lips parting as your gaze lands on your entwined hands in confusion.

“I like you,” Stiles whispers, causing your eyes to fall on his once again. “I... love you,” the words are hesitant, unsure, but he means them all the same. “I have for a long time now, and I should’ve done something about it even before that. But Y/N, after everything that’s happened, it’s made me realize how much I don’t want to lose you. How much I need you by my side.” His grip on your hand tightens, gaze unwavering. “I love you, Y/N.”

Smiling softly, your body floods with ease. It feels like an eternity that you’ve been waiting to hear Stiles say that to you -- the boy you’ve had a crush on for longer than you can remember.

So, stepping forward, you press your lips against Stiles. Your hands fall on his cheeks, cupping them, before pulling back, a soft smile playing on your lips as Stiles’ gazes down at you in disbelief.

“I love you too, Stiles,” you whisper, “and you have no idea how long I've been waiting for you to say that.”

A grin falls on Stiles’ lips as he chuckles; “yeah?”

Nodding, you let your eyes fall shut for a moment, leaning into Stiles with ease.

“Yeah.”

Well, there we go! Season three, done!

I hope you guys enjoyed this season and this part. It’s probably my longest one to date, so, I hope you had fun reading through it all :)

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linctavia · 6 years ago

Note

"Hands so bloody, tastes like honey" for our main girls make it HURT

Here you go my dear! I wrote this as a sequel to my last prompt fill, here. It got a little out of hand in terms of length but I hope you like it and it hurts you! (Post 5x11)

It was only midday and Niylah was already dealing with a third wave of injured soldiers. They had been coming in for hours and she was having a hard time keeping up. Wonkru had set up a makeshift medical tent on the outskirts of the battle but bodies, both dead and alive, were already spilling out the door. They were lying on thin mats, scraps of fabric, or in some cases just patchy bits of dry grass that dotted the sand. Jackson had been running around nonstop since the battle began, shouting directions, checking the soldiers, and attempting life saving surgery with whatever scarce tools they had managed to haul across the desert. He never slowed down to talk to her but she could tell he was worried about Nate, who had marched out with the first battalion. She could see it in the way his forehead creased and his eyes widened every time a new soldier limped into the tent. Luckily, he had too much on his hands to focus on it for long.

Niylah was fairly busy herself. She wasn’t performing any surgeries but she was kept on her feet changing bandages, running IV’s, and triaging the wounded for Jackson to deal with. But unlike the doctor, her mind apparently had plenty of room for worry. She went over the battle plans a thousand times, or at least what she knew of them. Octavia and her had hardly spoken much less discussed methods of attack. But still she considered all the ways their plan could miserably fail. She needed to know what was going on outside the walls of the tent so she whispered one word to every soldier in the condition to speak.

“Blodreina?”

The word was bitter in her mouth. She didn’t care about Blodreina. She needed to know if Octavia, the girl she had fallen in love with, was still alive. The news was good to start, Octavia had lead the charge with ferocity. Tales came back of her sword taking down row after row of unsuspecting Eligius soldiers. But then their side started taking heavy losses, more came back shot or severely burned and her question was only met with grave nods, meaning the girl was still alive.

“Niylah!” one of her fellow medics shouted, waving her to the door of the tent. Niylah carefully picked her way through the crowd of people and pushed through the flap.

She knew something had gone wrong as soon as she got outside. The air was hazy and billows of smoke rose up on the horizon. When she squinted she saw flames licking the trees far in the distance and the crackling of fire mingled with the usual sounds of battle. She ran the plans again in her head, searching for the one that dealt with fire, but her mind came up blank.

“Shit,” the medic, a former skaikru girl, muttered, “we better get ready.”

So they braced themselves for the flood of body. They laid out more cots, they prepped sterile bandages and anti-infective injections. They did everything they could to prepare for the tragedy they knew was headed their war. But the people never came. The flow of wounded that had been steady since the battle began had stopped altogether.

Niylah’s heart was beating in her throat and her vision blurred. The sound of shouts and gunfire in the distance were the only indication Wonkru hadn’t been completely annihilated. But she couldn’t make out any of the battle as the distance and smoke both worked to obscure the battle into a hellish cloud.

She stood staring at the chaos, unmoving. There was nothing she could do for the people in there, nothing except hope.

Then a wild eruption of movement and sound came over a dune of sand. A figure came running towards their tent at full speed, nearly tumbling on the loose terrain. It was a girl, ash streaked her face and blood covered the entire front side of her shirt.

“Help! Help!” her shouts were frantic. She was sprinting at a speed that meant she couldn’t be injured too gravely.

“It’s Blodreina.”

The words rung in her ears like a hammer slammed against the side of her face. Niylah crossed the distance between her and the girl in seconds.

“What is it? What happened?” Niylah had managed to keep her calm with over a hundred wounded patients but now she was practically screaming.

“Bomb. There was a bomb,” the girl stammered and her teeth chattered but she didn’t stop, “We saw it coming only a few seconds before it blew. It was coming right at him.”

“Him? What about Blodreina?” Niylah’s head was swimming. She needed to know what happened to Octavia not some man.

“She tried to push him out of the way. She-she wasn’t fast enough. It blew.”

The girl collapsed to the ground in a wreck of sobs. Niylah wanted nothing more than to join her but she couldn’t. Her feet took off before her brain and in seconds she was sprinting towards the battlefield.

She got closer and the smoke was thick. Ashy tears streamed down her cheeks and she coughed and choked on the thick smog. Even the smoke wasn’t as bad as the sights she knew it was obscuring. Moans, screams, and cries came from all around her. She tripped and nearly fell on a pile of what had to be bodies but she kept running.

“Octavia!” it was ridiculously foolish but she wasn’t thinking straight. Her shout hardly even left her mouth, the haze of smoke and screams drowned the words. But she kept shouting, fighting through the coughs.

The smoke was starting to clear and Niylah was worried she missed Octavia completely in the maze of gray and red. Maybe it was already too late. No, it couldn’t be. She would find her or she would die doing it. As she was about to make her way back into the thick of things something slammed against her leg. She yelped as she felt a hand wrap itself around her ankle. She fought the urge to kick it away. She knew she had to keep moving but training kicked in and she bent down to check the state of the wounded soldier.

At first all she could make out was a mass of dark clothes and thick red blood pooling around them. With a decent amount of effort, she rolled the body over and a deep rumbling groan came from the man. As he struggled she got a good look at his face for the first time and gasped.

“Bellamy?”

He tried to speak but his words came out as a gurgle of blood. His clothes hung in singed tatters that obscured most of his body but she could already see a variety of burns and lacerations covering his face and hands. He desperately tried to push himself up and his bloodshot eyes darted around like a cornered animal.

“Don’t you dare move,” she gently guided him back down and he winced in pain but still didn’t stop his struggle.

“O,” the single syllable was all he could muster, but it was enough. The soldier’s story came flooding back to her. Blodreina, the selfish tyrant, jumping headfirst into a bomb to shove a man out of the way. Bellamy was the man. She pushed him out of the way of the bomb. She tried to save him.

“I’ll be back, Bellamy, I promise. I’ll send someone for you,” guilt crushed Niylah as she pulled away from him but he only nodded gravely and pointed ahead.

She took off in a run once more, ignoring the burn that started in her lungs and spread through her whole body. Her mind raced with silent curses at Octavia. She had to throw herself in front of a bomb. She had to get herself fucking blown up. Because she needed to save her goddamn brother. For once she almost wished the ruthless Blodreina was more than just a mask. Because it was Octavia who wouldn’t let him die.

Octavia’s words from before they marched came back to Niylah. Only the good die young.

“Goddamnit Octavia Blake,” she whispered to herself, “Why do you pick now to realize how good you are?”

Her legs were weak as she trekked up a sloping hill. If it wasn’t for the adrenaline she would have collapsed long ago. The air was clearer at the top and from the high vantage point she could make out a huddle of bodies in the distance. It didn’t take long for her to reach them.

“Let me through,” Niylah shouldered her way through the crowd and the heart that had been hammering in her chest sunk into her boots.

There, lying in Indra’s arms, was Octavia. Her eyes were shut and her face completely covered in blood. Her armor was mostly intact but her pants were ripped to shreds and tangled with her tattered flesh and bits of shrapnel. One of her arms was bent at a hideous angle and she could barely make out the bone poking through flesh and leather.

Niylah fell to her knees next to Indra and dug through the first aid kit around her waist. She laid a hand on Octavia’s chest and was relieved to feel it moving up and down. The relief didn’t last long, her breathing was shallow and irregular and Niylah felt at least two broken ribs. Octavia was unconscious but she whimpered and writhed at the slightest touch. Niylah murmured false reassurances to unhearing ears.

Indra described the explosion as Niylah worked as fast as she could. She tried to stop the bleeding as best she could but Octavia was fading fast. Niylah felt tears threatening as she ran out of bandages and started to tear apart the cleanest bits of cloth she could find. Her hands were shaking from fear and exhaustion but she managed to get a tourniquet to cut off some of the worst bleeding. Not that it mattered, there was already a deadly amount of blood soaking into the ground beneath them. She needed to get back to medical and Jackson ASAP.

Based on the throng of people and their distance from the smoke, Octavia must have been carried away from the blast sight by the soldiers. They could carry her again but Niylah feared the trip would be the death of Octavia.

Indra looked at her expectantly, begging for a way to save the girl she loved like her own daughter. But there was nothing to do. She tried to look calm as she ordered them all to stay put but she was panicking and so were the soldiers.

Suddenly, a mechanical growl came from the smoke and everyone flinched and braced for the attack. But it didn’t come, instead the familiar shape of the rover rolled to a stop in front of them. The door swung open and Madi clambered down. She took one look at Octavia’s battered body and popped the back doors, shouting at the soldiers to load her in.

In other circumstances, Niylah would have found it ironic that the last person Octavia would want to see on the battlefield was the one coming to her rescue. But at the moment Niylah loved the little girl with her whole heart. In fact, if the love of her life wasn’t bleeding out she would have picked her up and spun her around.

Madi and Indra piled into the front seats while Niylah crouched in the back, attempting to stabilize Octavia once again. Niylah guided Madi to where Bellamy lay and then they were racing back to medical, the two Blakes lying side by side. Even unconscious the two seemed to gravitate towards each other, rolling and scooting across the floor until they were pressed shoulder to shoulder.

Octavia went under the knife as soon as she got to the tent. Even the most injured stood to make room for their Blodreina. The next few hours were a blur as Niylah raced to give Jackson anything and everything he needed to save her. More than once she was yelled at to keep it together. But how exactly was she supposed to keep it together?

Octavia’s heart stopped three times and Niylah was certain hers did the same.

An eternity later Octavia lay unconscious but alive on a cot. Bellamy was spread out next to her. He was in rough shape but Jackson was almost certain he would live. Octavia had taken most of the damage. Niylah sat on the opposite side of her, uselessly attempting to wipe the girl down with a wet cloth. Her face was nearly clear of blood but Niylah’s hands were soaked.

Octavia stirred beneath the cool fabric, they had give her the highest dose of drugs they could but the battle had not been kind to anyone and there wasn’t much to go around. If looks were any indication, the pain had to be hell. Bandages covered the majority of her body, hiding burns and bruises, and stiches crisscrossed under the gauze making her look like a poorly crafted rag doll. Her arm had been set but they would need a more permanent solution soon. They had to cut her clothes away from her burnt flesh and she was practically naked under the blanket.

Niylah had hoped she would stay under longer but she was already tossing and turning.

“Niy…” Octavia’s eyelids fluttered as her throat cracked. A cough racked her chest and she cried out in pain.

“I’m here, ai niron, I’m here,” she leaned in close and Octavia’s big green eyes focused on her face. She felt her breathing steady, her worries soothed only slightly by the sound of her voice.

“You’re okay,” she brushed a hand against her cheek, accidentally smearing more blood on her recently cleaned face, “and, thanks to you, so is your brother.”

Her head whipped around as fast as her sore neck would allow. When she saw Bellamy asleep next to her the tears came. They trickled silently down her cheeks as her chest hurt too much to sob. Her battered hand reached out and her thin fingers wrapped around his.

“You saved him, my brave girl,” Niylah felt tears in her own eyes and she gently laced her fingers around Octavia’s other hand.

“And you saved me,” Octavia’s split lips cracked into the widest smile she could manage, “thank you.”

“No problem, lovely, just do me a favor and never do anything like that ever again.”

“Deal.”

They both knew Octavia was lying, she would do it again in a heartbeat. And if the moment comes again it’s obvious that she won’t hesitate to throw herself into danger. Niylah wanted to hate her for it, but she knew it was one of the reasons she loved her so much.

Instead of calling Octavia out on her bullshit she leaned down and kissed her as gently as she could. Octavia pushed back with as much force as she could muster. The kiss lasted only seconds before Octavia was out of breath and whining in pain. Her lips had tasted like blood, vomit, metal, sand, and smoke. But it was the sweetest kiss Niylah ever had.

#niytavia #octavia blake #niylah kom trikru #niylah x octavia #niytavia fic #mine #my fic #asked and answered #long post #reysxrose

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