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melanoradrood · 7 years

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Saving You | Marrish One Shot

Marrish + Eichen House + 6b Trailer + 2 year timeskip = 10k words of Angst x Fluff x Smut. Mature Warning

Three days straight of driving twelve hours at a time is beyond exhausting, even for a banshee, but somehow, talking to Jordan makes it all better. At every pit stop, she’s sending him pictures, either of her surroundings or the terrible gas station food or of herself, making funny faces, and each time she starts to doze off, she’s talking to him on the phone, up until the point he’s having to get out of the squad car or heading back into the office. Every minute, every text, it builds onto something already there, something long hidden, that she’s only starting to let out after two years at MIT, two very long years, where she has no graduated with a double major of Mathematics and Engineering.

On the fourth day, the final day, she realizes she hasn’t heard from him. There’s no text message saying good morning. There’s no pictures of him in uniform. There’s… nothing. Granted, he had been working late, but he had an early shift. Perhaps he had forgotten, or worse, perhaps he had cold feet. She was supposed to be arriving late, super late, but just about the time that he was getting off work. They hadn’t discussed her plans, hadn’t discussed the possibility of her going to his apartment instead of her mom’s house, but she had hoped that the offer would be there.

Ghosting was so much worse than a lack of an offer, though. She gave it a little bit, until she stopped for breakfast, and sent him a picture of it, including a note that she hoped tomorrow’s breakfast would be better. When she stopped again, for gas this time, there was no notification that her message had been read, nor even that it had been delivered.

Jordan not charging his phone? Entirely possible. Still…

On a whim, she called his direct line at the station. It rang three times, then said he wasn’t in the office. She had half an urge to call the Sheriff, but she refused to bring him into personal matters. Besides, she was only seven hours away, and what could really be done in the meantime?

At five hours away, she was getting antsy, and sent another message, saying she hoped his day was going okay. At three hours and a half hours, she was crossing into California, and finally, finally, after driving almost twelve hours, she was parked outside of the preserve, just on the line of Beacon Hills and the rest of California.

She had three options. She could turn right in a mile, head to her mom’s house, and get a good night’s rest before investigating. She could drive for six miles, then turn left and into his apartment complex, where she could check up on him. Or, she could drive straight into town, ten miles, straight to the Sheriff’s Station.

It was an easy decision to miss the first time, as she validated to herself that there probably wouldn’t be food at her mom’s house. She missed the next turn, knowing that her favorite diner was still open, across from the Sheriff’s station. But, when she finally parked, there was no question as to her destination. Only a few vehicles were out front, but she noticed that Jordan’s wasn’t one of them.

It was rather empty inside, save for the receptionist and two Junior Deputies, all busy beneath a mountain of paperwork, but the light in Sheriff Stilinski’s office was still on. She knocked twice on the door, then stepped inside as he called her in. His face went still as he saw her, and she froze, worried about what he had to say.

“Welp, I guess that I was wrong about why Parrish didn’t show up to work.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow, and looked at Jordan’s desk in the main room, empty save for a few pens and his coffee cup. “He… he didn’t show up to work?”

The Sheriff sunk down into his chair, letting out a groan, and Lydia stepped inside fully, closing the door behind her. Her lips pressed together as she tried to process that - Jordan hadn’t shown up. He wasn’t answering her messages. He wasn’t even getting them. He was missing .

“I knew you were getting home today - he wouldn’t shut up about it, although your mom told me the same. I figured you drove through the night or something to get here this morning, and he forgot to call out. Wouldn’t have been a surprise, but if you’re here…”

“He hasn’t responded all day.” Her voice sounds tiny, but she licks her lips, takes in a deep breath, and straightens up. “I’ll find him, but don’t expect him in tomorrow. If I need your help, I’ll let you know.”

The Sheriff gives a nod, and opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. Lydia wants to ask, but he seems to find better words than he was originally going to go with. “Wouldn’t stop talking about you coming back… about your plans for Grad School in California. Figured, you should probably know that.”

She gives a nod and a smile, then steps out of the room, going to the desk. Her fingers trail over it, remembering the many long days and nights they had sat there, her in the chair beside it, the comfortable one he insisted on her having, but she felt nothing. No hint. No twinge.

There was no point in lingering if there were no clues, so she headed out of the office after getting a cup of coffee at the diner. If it was going to be a long night, she would need it.

The drive to Jordan’s apartment felt longer than the entire day of driving she had already done, but when she reached the parking lot, she couldn’t force herself to get out. Not when she was parked next to his vehicle. That meant one of two things - either he was inside, and probably dead, or that meant he wasn’t inside. Not being inside could mean any number of possibilities, but she still hoped it was that. His apartment was quiet, though, and she pushed inside, seeing the door was unlocked. An amazing thing, given how there was scorch marks in the carpet and on the door frame.

He wasn’t here, but he also hadn’t left voluntarily. That much was clear. His phone was on the coffee table, and last night’s dinner abandoned beside it. So he had been gone approximately 24 hours. They couldn’t have gotten that far, if they were driving, and either way, it was still fresh. She could call Chris Argent, but somehow, she knew that he wouldn’t be necessary.

Why was there dripping water?

Heading through his apartment, she checked the sinks and the shower, then stood in his living room. She knew that drip, could clearly remember it, coming from the lower levels of -

Fear took her immediately. She knew where he was. She could practically see it, smell it. There was no denying that he had gone against his will, because no supernatural would ever choose to visit such a place. He was still in Beacon Hills, but she didn’t want to go there, and for anyone else, she would refuse. Her fear for his life outweighed any fear of her own, but she was already in the car before it even occurred to her what she was doing, and the thought of where she was heading made her only drive faster, flying towards the preserve, and then to the outskirts of the city.

Eichen House.

Every step she takes, through the parking lot, up the steps, and into the front lobby, is heavy. She can hear her shoes clicking with each step, and they ring in her ear, almost as long as the drops of water in the background. Even more than that, though, Lydia can feel herself growing enflamed, almost on fire. It’s so hot, she’s scared to touch anything, that she might burn it, but it’s not unbearable. Jordan is definitely there, although in what form, she can’t know.

There’s a mini speech coming to mind as she approaches the front desk, knowing that the only way she can get down to the lower levels is through two gates that only open with a card and a gate with a key. All other magical barriers, she can step through, but without the card and the key, and no magical strength, she needs to be let in. There’s no excuse that she can come up with, though, but it appears as though she doesn’t need one.

The orderly at the front desk is standing up and on his radio, but backing away from the window. She simply raises a brow in response, walking to the desk, then holds out her hand. Clearly, she has a bit of a reputation, and while it’s arguably not a good thing that the man is terrified of her, it does suit her current needs. His hand is shaky as he offers her what she desires, a set of keys… but no keycard.

“Only the ones that work down there… I only have these.”

She hums a little to herself, trying to decide what to do, and then she hears a buzzer going off - the one that tells her the door to at least start her journey has become unlocked. She smiles at him and gives a polite nod - after all, he gave her exactly what she needed without complaint.

“Thank you,” she says with a turn, heading to the door. Pulling it open, she glances over her shoulder to see the orderly back on the radio.

‘It’s her.’

Well then. She would have to expect company.

Every step grows heavier, as she first goes down a flight of steps, and then unlocks the gate. There’s no denying that he’s here, as she can feel herself reaching for him, supernaturally, almost. She’s a magnet being drawn to him, and the closer they become, the more it pulls at her. Her lungs feel tight and her fingers ache, but all she can do is continue down, guard up, until she reaches him.

The first sign of trouble comes as she heads down the next stairwell, but the orderly is somewhat smart, as he turns and tries to run away. She maintains her speed - the only thing at the bottom of these stairs is another gate which requires a key, and he won’t be able to get through it before she reaches him. Stepping down off the steps, she sees him struggling to find the right key, pushing it into the hole.

“You should give me your keycard,” she says evenly, setting her hand on his back. She could kill him. She could destroy him. If she were being merciful, she could throw him into the metal gate, burst his eardrums. The threat of either option is there, but he seems to know when he is beat.

He struggles to pull off the card, but it and the metal clip fall into her hand, and she steps around him to continue opening the gate that he had so kindly begun to open. She drops his keys into his hands as he falls onto his knees beside her, and she turns to look at him as the gate shuts between them.

“You should be gone by the time I get back,” she says kindly. That warning works, and he’s running away, up the stairs, to get away from her.

All there is between her and Jordan is a gate that is locked with a keycard, and a barrier of mountain ash. The first, she has a card now, but the second… well, that’s easy enough. She scans the keycard, then pockets it and the keys. She won’t need them again.

A coldness soaks into her skin as she enters the supernatural ward. There’s just a long hallway, and then the cells begin. She remembers being dragged through this hall, can remember begging them to let her be. She can see the mountain ash line, where the supernatural cross, contained, tortured. She’s slow to cross over - even if it doesn’t contain her, doesn’t harm her, she can still feel the death seeping into her skin as she enters what can only properly be described as hell.

The first thing she notices, when she reaches the cells, is the blood. There’s blood, some still fresh, on the door, in the room, on the floor just outside of it. There’s scorch marks as well, and she’s not sure if she wants to know what in all happened. She aches, as she continues down, seeing the cells, some bloodied, some burned, but all empty.

There’s talking up ahead, and she slows, glancing around the corner. There, at the end cell, where both of her former torturers had resided, is a Doctor, talking to a patient inside. She wants to charge forward, to demand answers. Still, she lingers back, listening, verifying that the patient inside is who she is looking for.

“If she comes for you,” the doctor was saying, “she will understand. She’s a reasonable banshee. There must be a hellhound to guard us all. You saw the work of our former tenant… nasty things, hellhounds that want off their leash, but you are meant to be here. We will tie you to this place, with time.”

“You should run, Doctor, before she gets to you. I don’t want her to have to deal with killing another Doctor in this place.”

That voice… Jordan was here, and he was alive, he was fine enough to actually be talking and sane . She almost sunk down in relief, but went instead to turn around the corner.

“I’m afraid of no little banshee, and neither are my orderlies. We have a cell ready for her, if she fights.”

The cell door up ahead rattled, and she stepped around to see Jordan fighting to get out, eyes turning orange, as he tried to reach the doctor. “Touch one hair on her head, and I’ll rip you to pieces!”

Lydia had heard enough. Lifting her chin, she began walking down the hall, one foot in front of the other, heels clacking on the stone cold pavement. The doctor might think that he could stop her, but she was a fully realized banshee, with all of the power at her fingertips and none of the crazy. She could see an orderly out of the corner of her eye, stepping from a cell, with a syringe of something in his hand. She was in no mood to discover what was inside.

Turning, she raised her hand, directing her voice as she screamed at him, throwing him back into the bed against the wall of the cell. She grabbed the gate and pulled it shut with all of her strength, then turned quickly, hand raised again, throwing back the orderly that had been trying to sneak up on her. Another came from the door beside Jordan’s cell, but he seemed to know that he was no match for her strength, and instead tried to duck down.

She was no werewolf, had no claws and fangs, but for a brief second, her eyes were almost a milky as she approached the doctor. A cold set of fear entered the room, as though a pathway straight to a cold hell had opened up, and all of the warmth from the area had been sucked out. She felt only emptiness, and then rage. How dare he lock up her Hellhound? How dare he threaten her?

Jordan seemed to know what was happening, because he was suddenly ducking down out of the way of the door. Her hands raised, and she opened her mouth, screaming so hard that it threw the man into the door, which then flew backwards, into the cell itself. She had ripped the metal gate from it’s hinges all together. Her scream continued, likely knocking the man unconscious, until she was left standing there, breathing hard, hands still raised.

Crouched down, beside the doorway, was one Jordan Parrish. He looked up at her with wide eyes, but he was clearly not surprised. She smiled at him, waiting until he stood up in front of her before she said anything.

“You didn’t answer your phone, so I went to the Sheriff’s Station…”

“Yeah. They took me last night. I wasn’t expecting you for another few hours. Maybe even tomorrow, if you had thought I was ignoring you.”

“And leave you locked up all night?” she said with a raise of her eyebrows. “I would have been here sooner, but I had to get coffee.”

Something about their tone, it was so light, even as she ached to go to him, to touch him, to hug him, to just check him over and make sure he was okay. She stayed her ground, though, knowing how she had felt after being trapped in this place. Of course, she had been trapped for weeks, being actively tortured, while he had been here only 24 hours, and was still in his uniform, which was a little dirty, but otherwise still together.

“Yeah? Did you bring me any?”

She couldn’t help but to laugh, finally closing the distance to wrap her arms around his waist, pulling him close. Her head rested on his chest, and his arms wrapped around her in response, holding her close.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he offered. His lips pressed to her hair, and she shivered, looking up at him.

Surprising them both, Lydia went onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. He seemed more startled by that than the fact that she had come for him, that she had fought for him. Had he known, then, that she was on her way? Had he just assumed, or had it been something supernatural?

“Lydia, I-”

He seems to be searching for something to say as he looks down at her, and she nods a little in response, because even though he hasn’t asked anything of her, she already knows that the answer is yes. The answer would always be yes for him.

Neither breathe as he leans down, and then she feels his lips over hers, touching, kissing her. It’s possessive, primal, lost in a passion and desire and heat that she can’t even begin to explain… except that they are not kissing. She can feel it, can feel this need, fingers in hair and clothes coming off, but they are still just looking at each other, even as the feelings of lust and desire and need overwhelm them both.

They jerk away from one another, both clearly shocked. Lydia didn’t need to ask - he had clearly felt it as well. Whatever had happened wasn’t human, and with the distance between them, it had halted, but she could still remember it, the taste, the touch, the fire, as though it had truly occurred. She could feel fire on her skin from his touch, could feel how her skin had been like ice against his.

He was breathing hard, and she wanted to ask, but she doubted he had any idea as to what had just happened. Maybe it was this place, maybe it was them, but there was no point in making random guesses.

“You can’t take him,” the doctor begged from where he had begun to stir. She turned in place, seeing the man, bleeding from the head, trying to stand. “There has to be a hellhound here. They protect us. They keep us safe.”

Well, if Lydia hadn’t been willing to let him stay before, there was no way now. She took a step in front of Jordan, clearly placing herself between him and the doctor, and reaching back for Jordan’s hand.

“That’s not my fucking problem. Keep your hands off my hellhound.”

Tugging on his hand, Lydia went towards the door where the last orderly had earlier been crouched. She pushed open the gate from the inside, then continued down the hall. She remembered this hallway, now, remembered running down it, lost in her mind as she had done so. Jordan had even carried her through these halls, but they continued on until she reached the back entrance, only able to be opened from the inside.

Pushing open the door, she felt fresh air hit her in the face, then turned to look up at him. He still looked lost, almost pensive, and she had to resist the urge to start asking questions. But, if she didn’t ask questions -

She felt herself pushing him against the metal doorway, hard enough that his body crunched into it, and then her hands in his hair. She ripped her own hand away from him, and it quickly disappeared. Jordan’s chin was now raised as his back pushed against the door, metal unbent, but him clearly in a position where he expected her mouth at his throat. It was a cold feeling to realize that was what she, it, whatever, had wanted to do, to mark him as hers, to kiss along his skin, marking it with fire and ice.

“What was that?” he asked, breathing hard. She shook her head, not entirely sure. Whatever was going on between them, it wasn’t human. She could make guesses, but they all felt entirely outlandish or as though they were weighed down with her biased opinion. She knew that banshees could find a companion, that hellhounds were tied to someone or something, but…

“Let’s get you home,” she offered instead. That sounded like a better idea. “We can figure this out from there, after coffee or sleep, but definitely a shower.” He was covered in dirt, she was sweating, and both of them needed to get clean.

He nods and follows after her, but there’s an obvious distance between them now, at least six inches. She keeps wanting to reach out to him, his hand keeps moving forward towards her, but whatever was overtaking them, it was terrifying, because they didn’t understand it, but even more so, because it felt good and real .

Climbing into her car, she hands him her half drank coffee, a little sweeter than he takes it, but there’s no complaints. Starting up the engine, they are silent as they drive through town. She finally calls her mom when she’s on the main highway, less than five minutes away. Of course, her mom seems to already know where she had been, and asks if she had found her Deputy . Lydia smiles a little to herself, and says yes, and that she loves her mom. They share a good night… because Lydia isn’t sure if the conversation they need to have is going to take all night, or not. She certainly doesn’t want to sleep until she has answers.

The next call goes to the Sheriff, but she hands over the phone to Jordan when the Sheriff answers, asking if she had found him. That chat is shorter, Jordan confirming that Lydia had found him, and verifying that he still had the next few days off. She wanted to guess that it was because of her, but wouldn’t assume.

She’s parking just as he hangs up, and they sit there in silence, until he finally unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to her. “Are you coming up?”

Nodding, Lydia lets herself out of her own seatbelt, and glances over her shoulder to the backseat of her car. It’s honestly filled to the brim, both trunk and backseat, all with clothes and books, things she hadn’t let the moving company take. She wants to take a change of clothes upstairs, but she could always borrow some of his. She doesn’t want to assume, really, even that he would let her take a shower, although she doubts he would say anything but yes.

Instead, she just takes her phone and her keys, and locks up the car behind her. Her steps are heavy as she follows him, the space still present between them, until they reach his door. She had locked it on her way out, with his key, and she detaches her keychain from his, handing his keys over. He takes them, their hands careful to not touch, and then unlocks the door. He enters first, and she follows inside, locking the door behind her.

“How are you feeling?” The words sound empty, but she doesn’t know how else to ask how, mentally, he is processing what occurred. Twentyfour hours was different from weeks, but it was still terrifying, even just being in that place for five minutes.

Jordan looks to be busying himself, plugging in his cell phone, dropping his keys on the kitchen counter, throwing out the food from the night before. He even grabs out a beer, opening it, taking a sip, and then setting it down, clearly not satisfied, and knowing that it won’t get him drunk, which she can’t blame him for wanting.

“I knew you were coming,” he said honestly, almost earnestly. “I knew you were coming back to Beacon Hills, but I mean I knew when you were coming. I knew when you walked through the barrier. I could feel you there.”

She thinks back, to that pull, the magnetism, the heavy weight. She had known that he was there, and it went beyond anything else she had ever felt, beyond her basic banshee skills. She had known it was him, known he was there, waiting for her.

“I wanted to claw my way out of there, burn everything in my path to get to you. It took everything in me to hold back, to not rip everyone apart - I was losing control .”

That scares her. The only time he lost control was when the hellhound took over, when temperature was involved, either heat or cold. For him to lose control, simply because he was locked up? It was beyond odd.

“I knew you were there as well.” Her voice is just a whisper, and she looks up at him, trying to resist crossing to where he is, across the room, in the kitchen. “I couldn’t have walked away if I tried. I was terrified of going back there, but the thought of you locked up… I wanted to destroy all of them.”

“What’s going on with us? You felt it too, right?” He sounded hopeful - hopeful that he hadn’t imagined it, that she had felt it as well.

She nodded and licked her lips, trying to find the right words. “It felt… so real.”

“What if it was real?”

Her head tilts to the side, and her eyes thinned. How could it have been real? Neither of them had moved, even if they felt it happening, and when they had stopped touching, it had ended suddenly. “As opposed to what, a hallucination?”

“That was not a hallucination. I’ve hallucinated kissing you before, and this was nothing like that.”

Lydia froze where she was, as Jordan let out a groan and turned away from her, running a hand into his hair as he did so. Clearly, he hadn’t meant to tell her about that. He grabbed his beer, taking a long drink of it, then set the empty can on the counter, still facing away from her.

Stepping around the room, Lydia sat down on the couch, rather primly, hands on her knees. So, he had hallucinated kissing her. She wanted to know more about that… but if this wasn’t a hallucination, then it had to be real, even if that seemed impossible. Of course, she hadn’t felt like herself in that time, and he had seemed different as well.

What if it had been real?

“When did you hallucinate kissing me?”

That was not the question she had wanted to ask. Her breath caught, as he slammed his hand on the counter, then turned to look at her, anger clear on his face. She was confused - why would he be angry about that?

“It doesn’t matter. It was years ago, and it wasn’t real.”

“You hallucinated kissing me years ago, but never told me?”

He let out another groan, then walked around to sit down in the chair beside the couch she was on. She waited, as he leaned forward, forearms on his knees. Finally, he looked up at her, and she leaned forward slightly, looking at him.

“The first time was back when the dread doctors showed up, initially. I was injured, and then you were just… there. You kissed me, and I healed.”

First time? How many times had he imagined kissing her?

“The next time, we were in my car… but it was the dread doctors. It was the night that all of us had bad hallucinations.”

She wanted to prod more, to know what happened, but this time, she would let it go.

“And then, when you went missing? I knew something was wrong because… because I was in the shower.” He seems to be struggling, fingers interlocking and gripping, and his forearms are tense. “You were there, in my shower, kissing me… but then I realized something was wrong, and I saw the dirt…”

“Okay.” She has to interrupt him here, and stands up, pacing a little, walking away, and then back. “So, ignoring the second time, the first time happened when you were injured, and I came to you and healed you, only it wasn’t really me. The second time, I was injured, but I came to you, and you in turn found me. The common theme here is that I didn’t hallucinate this .”

And yet…

She had been catatonic, after what Theo did to her. Entirely out of it. But, she had this vague memory, feeling, of Jordan… of her naked body…

“What if those were real as well?” She’s stopped in place, and turns to look at him. “What if I was there, like today. What if it was me, but not physically. Just…”

“Spiritually? Emotionally?”

“Well, why not? I’m a banshee. I can see things that aren’t there, can hear things… what if i made myself be there?”

He stands up then, pacing a few steps, then shakes his head. “You would remember it. Wouldn’t you have to choose this?”

“Okay, what part of our powers have either of us chosen? Me with my scream, and you with the-”

She freezes, eyes wide. That’s it. That’s entirely it.

“With what? Do you mean the hellhound?”

She’s still frozen, not moving, remembering back to what the doctor had said. They were trying to tie Jordan to Eichen House, chain him up to it. A hellhound could be bound to somewhere, to something, to someone …

“It was my banshee.”

“... I thought you were the banshee?”

“No, I mean…” She runs a hand into her hair, and starts pacing again. “I fought against that nature for so long, but now, I am both. I am myself, but I’m also a banshee. What if it’s two separate parts, like you and the hellhound? You are two beings in one. What if I’m both? What if it was the banshee, reaching out to you, first to heal you, and then to call to my aid?”

Jordan sunk down onto the couch, where she had just been sitting, and leaned back. They were both quiet, her walking around and taking his chair, waiting until he said something.

“But why us? Why did you heal me? How could you reach out to me?”

And there it is. She knows. She knows . The more they work this out, the more convinced she becomes… and she doesn’t need a book to tell her what she knows .

“Because… I think you’re bound to me.”

And there it is, out there in the air. Out there between them. He is bound to her, a hellhound bound to his banshee. She went to him, she healed him, she saved him. She called out to him, and he in turn came to her, saved her, obeyed her. No one else was like them, no one else responded like them. He was immune to her scream, and she immune to his fire.

“When you were in Boston, I felt like I was choking.” He sounded like it as well, almost like he was getting choked up. He was looking down at his hands, and she wanted to go to him, but didn’t want to interrupt him with whatever was happening with the other them. “For two years, I felt like I was choking. I ended up as far as Nevada on more than one occasion before I turned around.”

Lydia wanted to throw up. Choking? For two years? He was bound to her, there was no denying it anymore, but she didn’t realize how hard it was for him. But, was it them? Was it their other halves? Other feelings came to mind, other thoughts…

“It’s them. The banshee and the hellhound. They’re trying to kiss.”

“They’re trying to do a lot more than kiss,” he said with something that sounded a bit like sarcasm.

“Do you want to?”

Well, there it was. Her breath held, and she waited until he looked up at her, his neck and ears and cheeks red. Well then. There was no denying what exactly he wanted…

But, they couldn’t come any closer. Not unless they wanted something to happen, whether of their choice or otherwise.

“What if… what if I only want you because he wants you?” Jordan was still burning red, but he was also awkwardly asking the thing that was licking at her mind… and yet…

“I’m coming back to California for Grad School because… I mean I missed Beacon Hills, but two years has been a long time, and nothing has changed for me.” Of course, she had never told him how she felt, before, before she had left. Things had been different then, even if he was always in the back of her mind.

“Can I take you out for a date?” He almost looked embarrassed to ask, but he still pushed forward, clarifying. “Like, dinner and maybe dancing. I wouldn’t be wearing my uniform. And no coffee.”

She smiles at him so brightly her face almost hurts, and she nods. So, they didn’t exactly know what they felt, but at least half of them wanted the other… more than. She was scared it was only supernatural, but the man he was, the man he had become, the way he treated her… there was nothing supernatural about this.

“Yeah. That sounds…”

“Yeah.”

And now it’s silence. Complete and total silence. They’re looking at each other, and then he’s looking down at her hands, fingers interlocked, with her forearms on her knees, in the same pose that he had been in earlier. Sitting up, she leans back in the chair, watching him as his gaze moves back up to her face.

“What do we do about… them ?” She wishes she were joking, that this wasn’t an actual question coming from her mouth, but she doesn’t know how else to ask. Every time she goes near him, she can feel herself wanting to pull at him, to touch him, to lose herself in him. It’s pressing at every ounce of her, and if she touches him, the other part of her will attempt to devour him.

“Ask nicely and see what happens?”

She raises an eyebrow at his suggestion, then gives a nod. “Why not?”

Getting up from the chair, she walks over to the couch, but instead sits on the edge of the coffee table, her legs in between his. He’s careful to pull away, so that they are not actually touching, but she can feel the heat between them, the magnetism, the allure and the desire. She can feel herself aching for him, but she looks into his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

“Let us have this. Don’t… rush this. Please .”

She half wants to beg, but hopefully, this is enough. Whatever was between them, the other half of them, it could wait. It had to wait. She needed this, needed him, and she needed it to be real, to be really real.

Slowly, she reached out, touching his hand. They are both tense, she can see it in the lines on his arms, can feel it in her shoulders, but they are touching and nothing is happening. His hand turns over, palm up, and she presses her palm to his, feeling the warmth of his skin against the coolness of her own.

It’s stepping stones, his other hand reaching out and up, fingertips against her cheek. She looks up to see him, so still and steady, almost timid. His fingers run up, into her hair, thumb brushing against her cheek, and she closes her eyes as she turns, pressing a kiss to his wrist.

Her own hand lifts, moving to his face, fingers running down until she’s holding onto his neck, her thumb rubbing his jaw. They’re still just looking at each other, eyes wide, waiting for something to happen…

Time seems to stand still, until Jordan suddenly takes a deep breath and gives a nod, removing his hand from her face. She pulls away in response, her hand falling down to run down his chest.

“I think it’s just us here,” he said, and she gave a nod. Definitely just them. For the moment, at least. She had asked for it to be just them, to enjoy this… her gratitude knew no bounds, but they would lose control eventually. “You should stay the night.”

Lydia smiled at that statement, not even a request. Of course, she had wanted to stay the night, had wanted to stay as long as possible, but hearing him saying it, that he wanted her there, she loved it. “Yeah? I think I could do that.”

He’s grinning as he stands up, and offers a hand to her. She takes it and lets him pull her to stand up. Their fingers interlock as he steps around the chairs, and she follows, happily walking behind him until they reach the hallway, back towards his room. He pauses for her, so they are then walking side by side, smiling at each other.

Passing by the bathroom, though, Lydia pauses, and wrinkles her nose. He needs a shower. She wants a shower. It would mean postponing whatever he had in mind, whether it be sleep or more, but they would feel better after a shower regardless.

“Thinking about a shower?” he asks, looking down at her. She gives a nod, and looks up at him, at the dirt on him. They both needed one, so why not…

“I think we both need a shower,” she says with a grin.

He nods in response, turning red, but his hand is pulling from hers already. His fingers go to the buttons at the top of his shirt, and she follows his lead, leaning down to unzip her boots. She steps out of them, suddenly four inches shorter, and grabs the bottom of her shirt. It easily raises up over her head, and she tosses it into his bedroom. His shirt is unbuttoned, hanging off his shoulders as his hands are at his belt, but he has stopped in his movements at the look of her missing her shirt.

Deciding to be helpful, Lydia reaches for his belt, unhooking it. She even goes so far as to unsnap the button there, but that seems to spur him into action. His shirt hits the floor with hers, and he brushes her hands aside as he kicks off his shoes. She works on her pants, now, unbuckling the jeans and pushing them down her hips. They’re both moving fast, removing pants and socks, until she’s left in just her lingerie, and he’s left in boxer briefs.

“We’re doing this, right?” Jordan asked, looking down at her. They weren’t quite touching, but they had both moved closer, so that they were close enough, she could feel the warmth coming from his skin.

“This is us,” she answered. “All us.”

He nods, and runs his hand into her hair, tilting her head back fully. They move together, his other hand going around her waist, and she wraps her hands around his shoulders. They’re still not kissing, but it’s so close, she almost wishes that they would help them close the gap.

She’s breathing hard, and he’s not breathing at all, but then he’s pulling away, and she’s leaning back against the doorframe to the bathroom. He walks past her, into the bathroom, and turns on the shower. Fiddling with the settings, she knows he is turning up the temperature. Lydia can’t even look at him, lost in a daze, until she feels his hand on hers.

Turning towards him as he pulls her closer to the shower, she watches as his eyes trail over her body, down to her breasts, to her stomach, to the scar on her side, and eventually to between her legs. He visibly gulps, but she helps him along - they’re clearly both excited, both nervous, and she doesn’t know how long it has been for either of them, but this has been a long time coming.

Reaching her hands behind her back, Lydia unhooks her bra, then lets it slide down her arms. She’s still half holding it up as she reaches out, wrapping her arm around his waist, and then she lets it drop, just before her breasts push against his warm skin. Looking up at him expectantly, she waits until he bends down a little, just enough that she can finally go onto tiptoes and kiss him.

It’s far more gentle than she had expected, even prepared for. They’re both scared, for so many reasons, but no part of Lydia doubts how right this is. Her free hand moves to his underwear, and she pushes them down his hip, then uses her other hand to continue pushing them down. She can feel how hard he is, the smooth length now in between them, and she lets the underwear pool at his feet as she does the same to herself.

Left naked with him, they finally pull away from the kiss, still practically innocent, save for the fact that they’ve stripped each other down. She pulls away, stepping into the shower, but leaves the curtain open slightly, so that he can follow in after her.

The water almost burns her skin, but after a moment, the initial shock wears off, and she feels good. For a brief moment, Jordan is forgotten as she steps under the stream, and then she feels him behind her, closing the shower curtain, and pressing his body against hers. Lydia leans back against him and feels his hands, hovering over her hips.

Resting her hands over top of his, she presses them to her bare skin, to her hips, then moves one to her stomach, the other down her leg. His mouth is at her shower, kissing along the bare skin to her throat, where he leaves open mouthed kisses.

Turning in his arms, Lydia wraps her arms around his shoulders and jumps up, wrapping her legs around his waist as she does so. He catches her, easily, his hands going to underneath her ass. They move to almost join, and she can feel his fingertips almost at her center, a bit of hellish tease.

They’re kissing again before she can voice any complaints, though, and the way he kisses her now is nothing like before. She would think that it was the hellhound, save that his skin isn’t burning to the touch, and, he’s already making the cutest little noises each time her tongue teases his, or she nips at his lips.

And there’s the fact that he’s less than graceful, turning them in the shower so that he can press her against the shower wall.

His moves are certainly not well practiced, and more jerky than confident, but she can’t complain, given how eager he is. His mouth goes back to her neck, to her shoulder, and he nips at her neck, then goes back to her lips. Always one to lead, Lydia takes a back seat in this, letting Jordan enjoy himself, kissing when his lips are at hers, clinging to him and moaning when his mouth is on her body.

She could let him go like this for hours, save for one thing. With her body pressed against the wall, his hands are pressing to it as well, so that she is shifted a little lower on his hips. With that shift… she might just orgasm if they keep humping each other. It sounds so middle school in her mind, to think that this was humping, but she doesn’t know what else to call it. His cock is in the perfect spot, though, spreading her folds, rubbing against her clit. She chokes on a moan as his mouth moves to between her breasts, and she imagines they made a mistake taking a shower first - no. They should be clean. With soap.

Soap.

“We need to shower,” she gasps out.

“We are.” She can feel his mouth grinning against her shoulder, and then he looks up at her, clearly amused. Still, the moment is lost enough that he’s stepping back and letting her stand up.

“With soap,” she says with a roll of her eyes… but with that roll, she looks down to see his length, hard and red, jutting out. She could so easily sink to her knees right here, give him a blow job while he soaps himself up…

“Definitely not,” he interrupts, half turning his body as he grabbed bodywash. “Because I am not going to last long, and this may be a one round kind of thing, for tonight at least.”

She can’t help it, the giggle that escapes her, and she offers out her cupped hand, so that he can put a little bodywash into it. They’re both quick to scrub themselves down, their movements jerky, but she can’t resist touching him, getting a little dirt off his forehead, and then he’s pulling her close again, and it’s all they can do to jerk back, to not give into whatever is pulling them together.

As soon as he’s clean and rinsed off, Jordan is stepping out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry himself off. Lydia turns off the water and wrings out her hair, taking the towel he offers her to dry it as best she can. With her hair up in a bun, half dry, she towels herself off, then climbs out after him.

Standing in the bathroom on the cold tile with the room quickly losing it’s steam, it’s all Lydia can do to not jump him right there. Jordan is watching her, probably hoping she’ll move first, then seems to remember something. Opening the drawer at the sink, he pulls out a plastic bag, and pulls out the one item inside. Lydia can’t help but to laugh when she realizes it’s an unopened box of condoms, and he opens it, grabbing two from the box.

“I may have been a little hopeful when I knew you were coming back to town,” he confessed, tossing the box and the bag into the sink. She nodded and snatched one of the metal wrappers from his fingers, then stepped around him to go into his bedroom.

“Good idea.”

Stepping into his room, Lydia pauses, staring at the bed. She knows what’s going to happen, understands where this is going, and has no complaint with it, but somehow, deciding and knowing what they’re about to do, it makes her unsure. She always considered herself to be a sex goddess, dominant and determined and knowing what she wanted, but now, she’s unsure of how to proceed.

Sitting down on the bed, she turns to look at Jordan as he follows after her, pausing before tossing the condom he had in his hands onto the night stand. He sits beside her, almost close enough to touch, and turns and looks at her.

“How do you want to… I mean, do you want to be on top, or-”

“Jordan.” She interupts him, raising an eyebrow, and he pauses with his words. “Stop overthinking this.”

He nods, and she nods in response, then repeats her words to herself. Stop overthinking this. Stop… worrying. She should just go with it.

Hopping off the bed, she goes to him, straddling his lap. Her butt sits on his knees, and his arms go around her back, holding her close. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she kisses him, slowly. This is definitely more like their earlier kiss than what they had shared in the shower, and his hands stroke up and down her back, caressing the skin there. She shivers against him, sliding a bit closer as she does so, until her breasts are pressed into his chest and she can feel his length in between them.

Moving a hand down between them, her fingers curl around their length, but then he’s jerking back from her kiss, and grabbing her wrist. It startles her, and he shakes his head, looking like he might be in pain. “I was serious earlier, Lydia. I’m not going to last, and I refuse to leave you with nothing.”

She nods a little, not sure what he wants, then, is about to offer to lay back on the bed, when he lays back onto the bed, pushing them both up higher so he’s laying across it. Before she can even ask, his hands are back on her waist, and he’s pulling her up to his chest, so close she can feel his breath on the inside of her thigh.

“Is this okay with you?” he asked, sounding a little sheepish.

Lydia couldn’t even find the words, just jerked her head in a nod. She definitely knew how to get her own orgasms, and never left a bed without one, but this was definitely something that she hadn’t done in years, and not without basically demanding it herself. No way in holy hell was she going to stop him if this was what he wanted to give her.

“Lydia Martin speechless. Never thought I’d see the day,” he teased, massaging her hips with his hands. “Better not be that quiet when you want to scream.”

That last bit came as a mutter, and he shifted her hips up onto his face. Lydia had always thought his jaw would be perfect to sit on, but she was definitely right. His hands kept her at the perfect angle, forcing her hips to tilt slightly, and she felt his tongue almost immediately get to work. She moved her hand behind her, placing it on his chest, and let him get to work.

It really was a good angle, and he definitely knew what he was doing. His tongue was everywhere save for her clit, licking up every bit of juice coming from her, sucking at where her thigh met her cunt, and his hands gripped tighter at her hips, shifting her body in little incriments so that he could be everywhere all at once.

Next time, she was going to have a headboard in front of her, so she could grip to it for added stability. Or, she was going to turn around and blow him while he did this.

One of his hands left her hips and went to her breast, squeezing the nipple between his fingers. Her free hand went to her other breast, and her head fell back as he started plucking at the nipple, tugging on it as his teeth bit into her skin. She jerked as he nipped at the other side and pushed her hand away, almost bruising her breast as he pinched it.

“Fuck, Jordan, don’t tease me,” she demanded, feeling her clit start to throb. He had to be purposely ignoring it at this point, his tongue dipping back into her, then sucking her folds in between his teeth. She tried to jerk her hips, but his other hand went to her breasts, holding on in each hand. His fingers caught her nipples, and he tugged on them, making her hips jerk as he wanted them to.

She shifted on his mouth in the wrong direction, and then she felt something entirely knew. His tongue was pushing at a different hole, teasing skin she hadn’t realized was quite so sensitive, and she tried to pull back, to stop him, embarrassment only taking her, when she felt his hands move back to her breasts, gripping them and half pushing her backwards.

Lydia went with it, letting her body lay back against his, and she realized his knees were bent. It was almost awkward, her head propped up as her body lay on his, but his hands went to her waist again, then slid between her thighs, spreading her open.

His tongue was now dipping into her ass, licking at the tiny hole there. She hadn’t even thought it could feel this good, knew from her own touches that sometimes she had a desire to be filled there on top of in her cunt, but hadn’t known that this could be such torture. She whimpered as his hand slapped at her clit, hips jerking, and he let out a groan.

His words were muffled against the inside of her thigh, and she thought he might have said something about another time, but there was no time to ask him, not when he had wrapped an arm around behind her back, hoisting her clit to his mouth. She didn’t fight, didn’t even tense, not until he was sucking the bud into his mouth.

The sound that came out of her mouth wasn’t very human, half between a shriek and a howl, but the tease had been entirely worth it. His tongue was flicking at her clit in between sucks, and then she felt his teeth bite into it, and that was enough for her. She let out a scream as he sucked on it again, his tongue flicking at the bud in his mouth, and then she was cumming, her juices running down the inside of her legs and onto his face.

She was still screaming, still trying to catch her breath, as he released her clit, licking at her cunt to catch everything left. His fingers were no longer pressing into her hips, and she rolled her body off of his as she finally took in a deep breath, trying to process what had just happened.

He had licked and tasted everything, had pushed her to the hardest orgasm of her life, easily, and she wasn’t sure she could move. Her entire body felt boneless, and she could sleep for days.

The condom she had earlier held had been dropped onto the bed, and she heard the rip of foil as he shifted beside her. Lydia bit into her bottom lip, hard enough to almost bleed, and she pinched her eyes together, trying to find the strength to shift her body, to climb back onto him. He seemed to understand, though, what he had just done to her, and she felt herself being rolled onto her back.

Smiling up at Jordan, who looked far too cocky for his own good, she leaned forward just enough to kiss him. All she could taste was her , on his tongue, on his lips, and all she could smell was herself. She should be embarrassed, but she was still warm from what he had just done, her body on some sort of high.

She can feel his hands lifting her up, his arm sliding behind her back, and she feels like a ragdoll as he lifts her up into his arms. Lydia wraps her arms around his shoulders, head falling down to press her forehead into his neck, and she shifts so her legs are on either side of his as they sit there. Taking in a deep breath, she pulls back and smiles at him, so bright her face almost hurts. He has the same look on his face, and she kisses his lips quickly, then pulls back just enough that she can look down between them, can see that he’s ready for her.

Nodding, Lydia arches her back as he lifts her hips up, and then she’s being lowered down onto him. She’s clearly soaking wet, easily slides right into place, and she lets out a gasp as he bottoms out. His face is definitely a little pinched as well, and she suddenly realizes that he wasn’t saying what he was earlier to make her wait longer - he definitely wouldn’t last.

Her hands move to either side of his face, and she smiles at him, just holding him there in that moment. This would not be the last time of the night, only the first. The first of many times in general. Particularly when he feels so good inside of her.

Leaning forward, Lydia kisses him, slowly, and then rolls her hips. He responds, lips parting, and their makeout is as slow as they are, working together as he slides in and out of her. She can feel his fingers getting tighter on her hips, though, digging in hard enough to leave bruises, and she pulls back from the kiss just as she rocks her hips forward.

His self control is gone at that point, as he’s lifting her up and down on him as he tries to fuck up into her hard. It’s easily less than thirty seconds, probably half that, but every thrust is hitting the right spots, and she knows if they kept it up, he would force another orgasm out of her. His lips press together, probably trying to keep himself from cumming, but then he’s letting out a groan as her arms go around his shoulders, and she lets out a sigh with him as his body jerks into hers, emptying himself into the condom.

There’s clearly an apology on his lips, but Lydia kisses him softly, then forces herself up off of him. He lifts her easily enough, setting her on the bed beside him, and then gets up, heading towards the bathroom, probably to clean himself up. Lydia tries to follow, but her legs feel like jello, and she gives up when she sees him return with a washcloth.

Cleaning herself, Lydia lays back onto the bed and waits for Jordan to come back to her. He climbs on the bed beside her, and she can feel herself curling up with him, their bodies fitting together perfectly, the curls of flame wrapping around her waist, and-

“That’s not us,” he says with a groan, but then she can feel him, actual Jordan, doing much as the hellhound does, pulling her close while she rolls onto her side. Their bodies do fit together perfectly, and his fingers interlocked with hers on her stomach.

“Will it always be like this?” she asked him, but really, they had no idea. With time, maybe it would subside… and it was. As they lay there together, the heat decreased, and it felt as though they, the four of them, had become almost one.

“Maybe. Maybe we should let him control us one time.”

She let out a laugh, trying to imagine it - then realized that it would probably be absurdly kinky and rough. Her legs pinched together, core tightening at the thought. “Mmm, maybe…”

Jordan’s lips were on her neck, and she tightened her fingers in his. This was perfect. Absurdly perfect.

“Another round in a few hours?” she asks, and he nods. His lips move into her hair, kissing at the still damp curls that had started to escape the bun.

“Definitely.”

Lydia closed her eyes, almost ready to fall asleep, when she felt the blankets under them move. Realizing he was trying to climb under the covers, Lydia pulled away and worked with him to climb underneath. Before the banshee and the hellhound could even raise up in protest, they had returned to their former position, legs now intertwined as they cuddled under the blankets.

“Go to dinner with me tomorrow night? As in a date? I don’t want you to consider me saving you from that shithole as our first date.”

She smiled to herself at his request, and closed her eyes once more.

“Definitely.”

#twfic #marrish #teen wolf

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lpwrites · 3 years

Text

remember me (no llores por favor)

The altar sits on top of his dresser, now devoid of the usual clutter of books and miscellany. It’s small, cobbled together in a desperate afternoon, before it’s too late.

(This is not how things are done. He doesn’t know if it’s right, and no one in his family has celebrated as far as he can remember. Even the words - dia de los muertos - are strange and bulky in his mouth. But. But.)

The pictures he has carefully propped up are a mishmash, an embarrassment in comparison to the altars he’s seen online in a mad rush of research. Allison’s, a candid he took the day they skipped school for her birthday, her smile bright and carefree, is set in a small wooden frame he borrowed from the hall. Erica and Boyd’s pictures are cutouts from the yearbook, tiny in comparison, but better than using the black and white pictures from their missing persons posters. In the back, the only picture he has of Claudia Stillinski -- a family picture from a day at the beach, where they brought Scott along -- rests against the wall.

(He agonizes about that one for hours -- Claudia was family as much as Stiles is now; she helped watch over them when they were kids, when Melissa worked long nights and Scott couldn’t stay alone. She wasn’t around long, and his little kid memories are muddled at best, but they’re a warm comfort. She deserves to be there too.)

Scott takes a shaky breath, sitting on his bed facing the altar, ignoring the ache in his chest as he takes stock. The marigolds he bought are a bright splash of color, carefully set in a little plastic vase, almost too big to be contained. He uses Allison’s frame to prop the flowers a little more, careful to avoid covering her face.

There’s candles, too; the instructions weren’t clear about what the candles had to be, but he didn’t want to stop and overthink and hesitate, so he settled on two big round ones, the three-wick kind that Lydia loves, that Allison loved. He lights those before he regrets it, arranging Boyd and Erica together. The light dances across their pictures, warm.

The big loaf of round bread he bought at the Mexican bakery sits in the middle of it all, taking up the entirety of the paper plate. He can see crumbs on the edge of it, the sprinkles of coarse sugar clearly visible against the dark wood of his dresser, but it’s probably a losing battle, trying to clean it up. It’s fine.

Scott groans, letting himself fall back against his bed. The feeling of not enough sits heavy on his chest, but he can’t figure out what’s missing. He lets the candles burn, the soft smell of cinnamon apples filling his room until there’s a knock at his door.

“Scott?” Melissa pokes her head into the room. “I smell burning.”

“It’s just the candles.” He doesn’t bother sitting up, waving vaguely at his dresser.

“What are you doing?” And that’s what he had wanted to avoid, the judging tone in her voice as she walks up to the altar proper. He had avoided asking for help for that same reason, fearing she would think it was silly or inappropriate or something he didn’t have a right to do.

“I was just trying to…” Here, Scott sits up, watching her fluff the marigolds in their vase. “I dunno. I tried.”

“Oh, Scott…” Melissa wanders to the bed, sitting next to him slowly. She places a hand on his shoulder, grounding him.

“This was a stupid idea,” Scott sighs, letting Melissa pull his head to her shoulder. He keeps his eyes on the pictures, watching the way the candlelight brightens the flowers, catching the glass in the frame.

“It’s not stupid, honey.” Melissa presses a kiss to his head, her hand wrapping around his shoulders to squeeze him tight. “It’s very sweet.”

“I don’t want to forget them.” And there’s a lump in his throat now, stinging his eyes. “It feels dumb. We weren’t friends. Erica and Boyd, I mean.”

A voice in the back of his head says they could have been, if he hadn’t been too late.

“Maybe you weren’t close, but that’s alright…” She rubs circles into his back, like she used to when he was small. “It’s about remembering them.”

“I guess.” It’s easier to say that instead of rationalizing it out loud -- that he added them out of guilt, out of regret. There’s still missing person posters up at school, though they’re fading and torn. He’s not even sure if their parents know, or if they’re just chalked up to just runaway teens. Forgotten.

Melissa drops her hand from his back and sighs. “Is it alright for me to bring some more pictures?”

Scott blinks, nodding while still trying to process the sudden request. “Uh? Yeah! Yeah, of course, mom… what pictures?”

“You’ll see.” Melissa smiles and leaves the room, coming back minutes later with a cardboard box. He recognizes it vaguely -- an old camcorder box that became a home for wayward photographs that didn’t fit in the one photo book they have sitting above the entertainment center.

Melissa hums under her breath as she sits on the bed again, setting the box between them. Carefully, she grabs a handful of the stack of pictures right on top, flipping through them quickly before setting a few on Scott’s lap.

There’s a picture of Roxie, back when they had first gotten her. Her mouth is open, tongue lolling eagerly, a blurry mass of fur as she ran to the camera excitedly.

Behind it is an older picture, a yellow tint across the photograph of a young man leaning back against an old Thunderbird in front of a repair shop. He looks serious, staring the photographer down, hands in his pockets. “Is this grandpa Gregorio?”

“Back when he was young,” Melissa nods, handing him another picture. This one is of the same young man, this time dressed in a sharp suit next to a woman in white. “Your grandma and grandpa during their wedding reception.”

“I don’t remember them,” Scott admits, wincing as he glances back at the altar guiltily.

“That’s what we have pictures for. And stories.” Melissa takes the pictures and places them around the altar, Roxy taking a space next to Boyd, grandparents next to Claudia. “Grandpa got me a baby duck once, did I ever tell you that?”

“No, I don’t think so…” Scott sits up more, sorting through the rest of the pictures absently. “What happened?”

“It died.” Melissa shrugs at the look Scott shoots her, holding her hands up defensively. “I was really little, and it was an accident. But I loved that duck. I haven’t forgotten it. And I bet when you have kids, you’ll tell them about it too.”

“I’ll tell my kids about how you had a duck?”

“You’ll tell them stories about me.” She smiles, and glances at the altar. “You’ll tell them about Allison. And Claudia. You could tell them about Erica and Boyd.”

“Tell them what? I barely knew them. I barely remember Claudia too, that’s…” He feels helpless as he looks up at his mom. “What can I say?”

“What they mean to you. What they meant.” Melissa holds her hand out, waiting for him to take it before continuing. “When you were seven, I had to work Christmas. It was my weekend, and your dad had wanted you to stay with him.”

“I said no, right? ‘Cause it was your weekend and I didn’t think it was fair for dad to get two in a row.” Scott frowns. He sort of remembered spending the holidays at the hospital, where the nurses kept him busy and brought him little gifts.

Melissa nods, squeezing his hand. “I felt so guilty, but you’ve always had an easy time making friends. You ended up spending Christmas morning with Erica in her room.”

“I did?” Bewildered, Scott glances at Erica’s picture like that’ll jog his memory.

“Yup. You watched The Grinch in her room, and you spent all morning reading to her. I got you A Wrinkle in Time.”

That rings a bell, and he stands to poke through his bookshelf. It’s tucked into the bottom, with the books he hardly reads, but his battered copy of A Wrinkle in Time greets him like an old friend. He had been so excited to read the book on his own, but one of the nurses had told him that there was a girl his age in observation, and wouldn’t he like to read with her instead of out in the nurse’s station?

At the time he had agreed, only because the phones were constantly ringing, and being in a quiet room would help him focus. When he got there though, the TV was playing and the girl in the bed had been watching it intently. She had seemed interested in his book, but they agreed they would wait until after the movie.

“I completely forgot about that,” Scott whispers, carrying the book back to the altar. He sets it against the wall, and places Erica’s picture against it as an afterthought. “We took turns doing the voices.”

“See?” Melissa pats the bed, sorting through more pictures. She holds up a photograph, this of Scott’s kindergarten class. In it, Scott’s handing another boy a gift, and both his name and ‘Vernon Boyd’ are scrawled across the top in silver marker.

“It’s never too late to remember someone you’ve lost. When you talk about them? Or think about them? You’re keeping their memory alive. That’s how they live on, Scott. In us. Every time you talk about Allison, or we share stories about our vacations with Claudia, or how they made us feel, we’re keeping them alive.”

The lump in his throat is painful now, and Scott fights a sniffle as he glances back to the altar. It’s fuller now, the photographs in a circle of light.

“Mom?” He asks, ignoring the crack in his voice. “Can I tell you a story?”

#teen wolf #scott mccall #twfics #melissa mccall #day of the dead fic

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