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Footsteps resounded in the long, narrow, and abandoned stone halls of Camp Oak Creek.
And just above the scattered noises of the fight outside or the echoing noises of a desolate tunnel, Scott could hear Stiles fall and falter as he tried to keep up.
Isaac was right—Stiles was dying.
He was pale, thinner, and he wasn't getting any better. Noshiko told them that the Nogitsune was a parasite, feeding off the energy and life form of its host. Being possessed was bad enough, but a body wasn't meant to survive being split into two for so long and even though Stiles happened to be one of the strongest people he knew, this wasn't just taking its toll. It was killing him.
Scott wished he could help Stiles. He hated how he couldn't help Stiles. He hated how this was their lives—they should be worrying about whether or not they can pass the chemistry exam on Friday, or the lacrosse meet with Devenford Prep, or who to take to the winter formal, about getting part-time jobs to better pad their resumes, scraping enough grades to pass the year, or worry about college and their futures. Instead, they were fighting for their lives and wondering if they'll make it to see the light of the next day.
He wished, for once, they could be normal seventeen year-olds. Or at least, after this whole Nogitsune mess, they could just focus on being teenagers again.
But this entire mess wasn't over yet. They still needed to find Lydia, help fight off the onis, and defeat the Nogitsune once and for all.
He kept his ears trained on the sound of Lydia's heartbeat that echoed around in the tunnels, bouncing off the walls in faint and scattered bursts.
But just as he thought she was near, Scott stopped dead in his tracks.
It was a dead end.
"Where is she? Her heartbeat lead me here, so where is she?"
His fingers were flat against the wall, and sure enough, through the solid twelve inches of stone and granite, he could still feel Lydia's heartbeat on the other side.
"The tunnels, Scott, they echo," Stiles panted behind him, struggling to take each new step. "He knew the tunnels would have messed with your hearing. That it'd throw us off guard, to buy himself more time, to keep the pack divided."
Keep the pack divided.
Their friends were outside, fighting for their lives to keep the onis distracted enough so they could find Lydia. Stiles was fighting for his life, and he couldn't even track a heart beat properly. They trusted him to find their friend and he spent all that time running toward a dead end.
Stiles tugged on his shoulder.
"Come on, we have to turn around, Scott. We have to find Lyd—"
Scott yelled with all the might that he could, he yelled as loud as his lungs allowed. His fingers were balled up in fists and he started thrashing the wall.
He didn't care that the stone started blistering his skin, or that his knuckles were red with blood. Derek had been able to break the bank vault wall when the alpha pack took Boyd and Erica. He was able to break through a mountain ash circle before, he should be able to break through a stupid wall.
He kept hitting the wall until it caved and cracked, a large fissure mapped out like a bolt of lightning and in a loud crunch, like metal scraping against metal, the wall stood for the shortest second before it crumbled and fell.
Some of the specks of stones caked his skin like a fine powder.
In an instant, he heard the loud, more focused echoing of Lydia's heartbeat. Even though the sound was still scattered, but it was louder and clearer.
He hissed at the pain of his fists. The cold air stung at the open wound, but he shook them off as he cleared some of the rubble ahead of them.
"She's this way," he breathed heavily as he pointed towards a narrow hall that the wall revealed.
Stiles blinked, his chemo-signal mixed with parts of exhaustion and parts of wonder. He was impressed, but it was cut and underlined with concern. "Okay, super cool by the way, very Iron Fist of you, but why aren't you healing? Shouldn't your healing kick in by now?"
Scott glanced down at his still bleeding hands that was dirtied by the pulverized wall and back at the rubble of stone. Some of the dust hadn't settled yet, and little particles were carried up in clouds when the wall tumbled, picking up in plumes of small minerals.
It was familiar. More than familia—
"It's hecatolite."
A sense of dread filled him. He may not have been in the tunnels as long as Boyd, Erica, and Cora were kept inside the bank vault, but he could feel the hecatolite working against him. He might have been able to control his strength, but his healing came from shifting and without the moonlight, it was harder to transform.
It was harder to heal.
It all felt like pieces in a puzzle, like it was scattered and messy but all the pieces were there and they just couldn't make out the bigger picture.
A part of him wanted to go back outside, to heal first, to feel the moonlight. But Lydia was still inside and any conflict he had ended there.
The pack came first.
"We have to find Lydia," he took a step forward but Stiles held him back.
"If you won't say it, then I will—Scott, this feels like a trap."
And if he was being honest with himself, it probably was.
It was a gamble, all about risk and reward. But they didn't know every single detail, they didn't know every single factor that affected the outcome.
It was like the time when they found out where Deucalion was keeping Boyd, Erica, and Cora; they didn't know everything, they weren't measuring the risk with enough information.
But Derek was right. In those moments, it wasn't about knowing every single detail. It was about knowing what he was risking.
Lydia risked her life continuously and repeatedly for their friends, for the pack. He was more than ready to risk his life for her, too.
"I know, but I still have to try. But are you sure you want to come with? You could be safer here."
The risk of their lives came unsaid but not unnoticed.
But Stiles placed his hand on his shoulder all the same. "If you're going, then so am I."
Lydia could hear the footsteps echoing down the hall, getting louder each second.
Panic set in her bones when she could finally make out the two silhouettes in the distance. It was hard, considering that their features were covered in a blanket pitch dark, but she could recognize them anywhere.
"No," the dim light crossed their faces. It was unmistakably Scott and Stiles.
The pull in her stomach grew tighter and stronger until it was no longer possible to ignore. She couldn't mistake it for anything other than a prediction.
It was wrong. It was all wrong. "No, no, no!"
Stiles panted, struggling to breathe as he slumped against a wall. He looked worse than the last time she saw him, and considering that was from when he was still reeling from being possessed by an evil fox spirit, it was saying a lot. He looked like a strong wind could knock him over. Scott, on the other hand, made quick work of the metal gate and the lock but his hands shook as he ripped the lock and his hands weren't just bleeding, it was oozing a thick black substance.
He wasn't healing.
It was wrong. It was all wrong.
Scott helped her through the gate before helping Stiles up.
"Why are you here?"
She could feel it already churning in her gut, the whispers that kept bombarding her senses. She could make out the sounds of metal against metal, claws against flesh made out of shadow and smoke.
She could feel the thick blood mapping across her abdomen.
"Lydia," Scott said, a bit confused. "We're here for you."
He didn't get the message. He didn't get her message.
He was supposed to get it. He was supposed to understand it.
"You aren't supposed to be here!" she hissed, her head twisting in pain as the whispers continued to drown every noise out. It called out, pulling her until her vision swam. "Didn't you get my message?"
She left the message on the glass of the car, just like how he used to when he and Allison were dating—back when Allison would use her as an alibi to explain to her parents.
She knew all about Scott's rendezvous with Allison in the preserve because she helped keep their relationship in secret. Knew all about the messages.
But if they were in Oak Creek, then it meant someone did get her message. Which meant Scott didn't get the message... but Allison did.
And she couldn't pick up on chemo signals.
Scott looked like he swallowed a box of nails, that same look he gets when Stiles would wake him up in the middle of the night because somehow she wandered into a crime scene and found a dead body.
He got that look as if he failed to protect the people he loves.
"Lydia," he said slowly, probably now much more acutely aware that banshees are harbingers of death and whenever her powers seemed to act up, people died, "what's happening?"
The whispering grew louder and the sounds grew more aggressive. She wanted to shut it out, to drown it out but it kept screaming at her and she just wants to drown out the noise.
Because if she resisted the scream, then she wouldn't have to herald a death, and then no one would have to die.
She pursed her lips, struggling to keep the scream at bay. "Who else is here? Who came with you? Who else is here?!"
Scott tore his gaze away from her scrutinizing look and focused down the hallway. She didn't know what he could hear or what he could smell, but in a way she felt like she did. She could pick out the sounds of swords meeting against the bullets and striking them down, or the swords cutting against Isaac's flesh.
She didn't know why or how she could hear it, she didn't know if it was some sort of twisted design, to hear the deaths play out.
Scott froze for all of two seconds and breathed out a name the voices kept repeating in her head.
"They're dying out there—"
Scott glanced at Stiles and he looked broken at having to choose between saving their pack and saving his best friend.
She rushed forward and took Stiles into her arms. "Go. Save them. Please."
She may not have super strength or the stamina and speed. She may not have claws or fangs or even glowing eyes, but she was something.
And maybe being something was just enough.
She slung Stiles' arm over her shoulders and even though the heavy weight felt like it was pulling her down as her legs struggled to stay upright, she would never let go and she would never leave him.
Scott was still conflicted as he helped her find her footing while supporting Stiles. "Are you sure you can—"
"I'm sure," she cut him off sharply, though her voice did waiver shakily. Scott shot them both a look of concern but she waved him off. "Scott, go. Now!"
Scott gave them one last reluctant look before he broke into a sprint towards the dark hallway, tracing his way back outside to join the fight.
She took three deep breaths as she slowly trailed behind Scott, following the echoing footsteps that would eventually lead them outside. She gripped Stiles' arm as she coaxed him to take one step at a time.
She can do this. She can take this. She had to because anything other than that wasn't an option. There was no other alternative.
She will not scream for her friends tonight.
"I'm okay, Scott. It's okay. I can save him and you can save our friends."
It was cold.
Scott finally managed to reach the end of the tunnels and the first thing that greeted him was the cold night air. It felt like a slap across his face and body, stealing the air from his lungs.
The second thing he noticed was the scent—it was thick with blood and anxiety, fear of losing, fear of dying.
When he was running, he could hear them. The hecatolite scattered the noises to the point he could only hear brief, patchy sounds, but he heard them now that he was outside.
He heard how Allison drew an arrow from her quiver, how the bow string was pulled and released, and how every arrow was shot down by a swift clash of metal from the oni's sword.
"How do we stop them?"
He smelled how blood wafted sickeningly in the air, cutting through the crisp coldness. He heard how Isaac hissed in pain as the swords cut against his flesh and muscle, heard how his voice waivered in fear and exhaustion as he tried to keep fighting.
And he heard how Noshiko's heart rate fall, how the chemo-signals off her were an equal mix of horror, guilt, and frustration—a cocktail of scents that made a specific emotion, a shame and regret of how everything had come a full circle, a remorse at how she would have to live through a tragedy she's already witnessed before.
"You can't!"
He ran.
He ran as fast as he could until he reached a metal link fence that separated him from the fight—
The fight went to a near total stop.
Allison drew an arrow and the moment it left her quiver and a string wind carried its scent, he knew it was different. All the other arrows she drew, every single one of them had been cut down but this one had landed squarely on the oni's chest and instead of passing through, it stuck itself inside the oni.
A green light erupted from its body as the swords clattered loudly on the ground. It grasped aimlessly at its own chest, as if trying to stem the bleeding of its own light before it exploded, faded into a cloud of shadow and smoke.
A scent picked up from somewhere else. It was far, but close enough that he got a catch on it.
It was Void. And he wasn't just in disbelief, he was afraid—
Everything else happened so quickly.
He didn't know when the two onis that flanked Allison had materialized, but they were there and she didn't have anymore arrows.
One of the onis, the one to her right, raised its sword and poised to strike. "Allison!"
He ripped through the metal fence, lucky that it wasn't connected to electricity. Allison dodged, side-stepped gracefully as she used her bow to catch the sword mid-attack and fend it off.
He tugged on that deep instinct and though it felt hard, he finally felt the muscles on his face shift and his nails grow into claws. Allison steered the oni to his direction as she went to help Isaac and Kira fight off the other onis.
The oni kept advancing on him and he couldn't help but think that he was missing something important, that something was wrong.
"Alliso-o-n!"
Lydia's scream echoed throughout the tunnels and flooded right into the fight. His blood froze as he looked at Allison... but she was fine. Her heart kept beating loudly and strongly.
A banshee was supposed to scream when someone was dying but Allison was okay. She had lost her bow when she deflected an attack, a bit separated from Noshiko, Isaac, and Kira, but she was fine.
She was okay. She was alive.
He kept fighting the one oni that backed him to right into a corner—
There was a sickening blow.
Lydia could feel the blade just enter beneath his lungs and puncture his heart in an upward thrust as if it was her own. She could hear the screaming and the whispering in her mind, the cacophony of noises reaching a fever pitch until it became clear that she had to wail.
She could feel the bones crunch as the sword entered and exited Scott's body. She could most smell the blood, coppery and heavy, waft in the air.
She fell to the ground, keeping the scream inside as Stiles finally collapsed beside her.
A part of her was glad. She didn't know how she could face him when she screams for his best friend. She could never face him if he saw her wail Scott's death.
She didn't know how to face him when she couldn't save his brother.
So she was glad that he was out of it, knocked out cold from the sheer exhaustion of having a parasitic evil fox spirit take away his life force as his body was split into two. She was glad that he wouldn't have to live through the scream that heralded Scott's death. She was glad that she didn't have to see the realization sink on his face in horror.
She pressed her head and back into the wall. The voices kept badgering her as she felt Scott's breathing come to slow down. She could taste the blood that almost flooded his lips as he sputtered and coughed the black ooze.
She thought that, if she screamed for Allison, then she could have prevented the death.
She thought that if she could scream to warn Allison about her premonition, then her best friend could save Scott, and he wouldn't have to die, and she wouldn't have to wail as a banshee.
But she failed. She still felt the sword. And the voices kept getting louder.
She couldn't warn Allison in time. And because she couldn't save Scott, she would have to wail for him.
It may have been Scott who was stabbed in the heart, but it had been hers that had stopped.
Allison felt like her limbs had become lead, heavy and frozen. She watched as the sword was pulled out of his chest, the tip glistening with the shine of blood.
And a part of her thought that was it. It was all over.
She wanted to go to him, but the oni that stabbed him charged forward towards them instead. The three onis circled around Kira, Isaac, and Noshiko and it didn't matter that she figured out what stopped them. She ran out of silver arrowheads.
She had been cornered by the fourth oni.
The oni—the one that stabbed Scott—surged forward and she thought that was it. She didn't have a bow, she didn't have arrows, and she didn't have silver.
She thought that was it. That, when she closed her eyes, her entire life would flash before her. She didn't know what death was like, if it was quick and painless that was graceful or slow and agonizing in a way that was all-consuming.
She didn't know and she wouldn't know, at least not tonight because the pain never came. When she opened her eyes, the oni in front of her was gone.
A hard metal clattered towards her feet. It was the obsidian sword from the oni and it slid loudly across the ground from where Scott battled it, holding it in place as everyone else wrestled control.
He shot her a look as she nodded in his direction and grabbed.
Divide and conquer.
"Scott, get the arrowhead. I think their weakness is silver. It has to stay in their body, like a poison!"
Noshiko pulled an injured Isaac to a side, away from the fight, as she and Kira fought to distract the onis while Scott grabbed the silver arrow from across them. He was about to take one out, stab it in the neck with the the arrowhead, but instead of the green light, it burst into a ball of shadows, fading into the wind.
Every single oni had faded and when her smarts caught up to her, she smiled—they had been called off into a retreat.
And even though the battle wasn't over, they had an advantage now. They knew the onis' weakness. Now, they had a real chance at putting this Nogitsune mess finally to rest.
"Kira," she heard Noshiko call out, supporting Isaac into an upright position before getting ready to leave. "Your friend needs help. He's not healing as fast as he should. We need to get the herbs."
Allison made a beeline towards Isaac, eyeing his injuries worriedly. It wasn't good, but it wasn't too bad either. Noshiko was right, though. It was slow, and if she didn't know any better, she'd probably miss it, but he was already to healing.
Most of the shallow cuts and scratches on his face were starting to heal to a dull scar and by tomorrow, it'd be gone. But it was still concerningly slow, like he wasn't drawing enough power to heal.
"Hey, are you feeling too hurt?" Allison whispered low and soft, careful not to agitate him further. She pressed ever so slightly on the wound, strategically and medically, and his eyes glowed a weak yellow before howling weakly in pain, and some of the deeper wounds began healing.
But it was still too slow.
Isaac shifted uncomfortably, twisting around restlessly. "I need... help, Scott."
She brushed her thumb against his forehead, wiping off the beads of sweat that formed on his skin. "It's okay," she whispered, pressing her hand against the wound. "You're okay. Everything's okay now."
"No," Isaac strained out, taking quick, "I need... Scott needs—" he groaned in pain and let out a guttural roar that sounded more like a mournful howl.
Allison pressed her hands harder on the wound again but the bleeding had already stopped. He shouldn't be too hurt right now. "Isaac, what's wrong?"
"Scott... I need—" Isaac's curled up in pain, little sobs wracking his body.
"Isaac, hold on, okay? I'll get him—" she turned on her heel to yell for Scott but he was just standing there. He hadn't moved an inch.
"The Nogitsune did his trick. He's not going to die tonight," Isaac spoke up, fighting to stay awake, "you need to help Scott, Allison. He's dying."
Isaac's head lolled to a side, finally knocked out cold.
And in front of her, in what she was sure was a moment that'd haunt her for the rest of her life, Scott fell.
Lydia dug her nails into the bed of her palms.
She felt as though the narrow walls were closing in in her and she could hear the blood pound in her ears.
She shut her eyes, and she prayed, to whoever was listening, if there was anyone ever listening, she prayed.
But no one answered.
The pulling from her stomach kept her breathless, weighed down like a white searing pain that clawed out her insides out, fighting its way out her lips.
She swayed from side to side, the intensity of the push and pull of the voices made her curl into herself.
And if she could try, she would.
If she could, she'd never scream and he'd never—
She looked over to Stiles.
'I'm so sorry.'
And she let that deafening, lingering, guttural instinct take over. She screamed until her voice gave and broke and she collapsed right next to Stiles in broken fits of sobs and cries.
"Sco-o-ott!"
Allison felt the scream before she heard it.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood and she watched Scott closely because she felt it, in her bones, or the way her blood curled, she knew that something was wrong. And when her stomach fell, when her smarts caught up to her, she realized what she heard.
The scream cuts through the air, the echoes that bounced around made it sound like it came from every direction, zeroing in on her like she was made to hear every pitch and decibel, to replay the sound of his name from a banshee's wail.
She didn't know when she got up, or when she started running towards his direction or when she caught him in her arms when he began to fall. Frankly she didn't care. It was like how the saying goes: gift horse.
But it didn't feel like a gift.
It didn't feel like a gift when she realized that Isaac was healing slowly because he was drawing power from his alpha and now Scott was dyi—
She shook her head. She wasn't going to entertain that thought. He was hurt, but he was going to be okay. They've had hurt before. It was bad, but they've dealt with bad before.
Like that time on the bus, with Coach and the lacrosse meet—it was bad and he was hurt. His heart probably stopped at one point. But she patched him up and he was okay.
He's going to be alright. He had to be alright.
"You're fine. Scott, listen to me, you're going to be fine, okay?"
She cradled his head in her lap, gently taking in his weight further that his head rested in her right arm so that her free hand could apply pressure to his wound.
Derek said that healing sometimes had to be triggered, that it came from pain. But sometimes, the pain could be muted under the injury. "Scott, you're not healing," she whispered, almost brokenly.
She tried to emulate how she had been with Isaac—clinically and unemotionally.
But her eyes watered and she couldn't keep the shakiness from her voice. Because she couldn't be anything but unemotional.
This was Scott. She could never be unemotional when it was Scott.
He had to pull through.
"Scott." She shook him awake when his eyes began to close. "Scott, can you hear me, you need to heal, okay?"
Scott's eyes flew open, wild and restlessly, then changed into slow and exhausted blinks. She could feel his heart hammer in his chest and he only calmed down when he realized he was in her arms.
"We found Lydia," his eyes were unfocused, but when he met her gaze as steadily as he can, he was uncharacteristically still.
But that was the thing. She may have known Scott for a little over a year, but she knew him. She knew him like the back of her hand, she knew him better than she knew herself and he was never still. He's a force of nature, always moving, always filled with this energy.
He was never still.
"She's with Stiles," he said distantly, looking off to the stars. "She's safe now. They're both safe for now."
"I know, I know, you guys saved her. You just have to hold on, okay? Kira and Noshiko are coming back, they can help. And my dad is coming, he'll know what to do. We'll get you to Deaton and he can patch you up," she eyed where the blood pooled heavily. She wasn't a great advocate of pain, but it was a necessary evil.
She had been gentle with Isaac, but she was guessing gentle wasn't in the cards with Scott. He needed to heal and he needed to heal fast.
Because healing came from pain. That was what she needed to do. She just needed to trigger his healing.
And then he'd be okay.
"Hey, hey," she muttered under her breath, equal parts apologetic and hopeful. "I'm going to do something, it's going to hurt, but it's going to trigger your healing, okay?"
She's heard Stiles tell her of how, to trigger healing, how to get him to elevate his heartbeat.
So she used her hands against the wound like she did with Isaac.
But his eyes didn't glow and he didn't so much as flinch.
Her throat tightened and she pressed and pressed and still nothing happened. His cuts and scratches on the face remained. He wasn't healing.
"Why can't I... why can't the pain trigger your healing?"
Her hand had already been an equal mix of black and red. But she didn't stop until Scott's hand gently swatted her hand away.
Scott's hands were still shaking, but he held her palm in his and he squeezed tight as if to say that he was okay but he wasn't, he was bleeding and he was—
"That's because it doesn't hurt."
And then he looked at her, really looked at her.
And in that split second, she's reminded of their sophomore year and everything in between. She remembered him... and she remembered them.
"Allison, it's okay."
"No...."
And everything it must have been some kind of twisted dream, a sick illusion from the Nogitsune because this can't be real. She can't lose him.
"It's alright."
"No, Scott, don't. Please, don't."
But he just kept nodding, as if he knew, as if he accepted it. As if it was—
"It's perfect." And even though his breathing was labored, he smiled tenderly and softly as his free hand he tucked away a stray strand from her face and wiped a tear that streaked her face.
He kept her hand in his, as tight as he can and as long as he can.
"It's perfect... 'cause Stiles saved Lydia, and everyone else is okay." He said in that knowing tone—because Stiles and Lydia always figured things out, and if anyone had a shot in hell to save the day, they'll know how to put an end to the Nogitsune.
He was saying it was perfect because they could carry on without him.
She shook her head as her throat tightened with a sob. "No, Scott. No, no."
It wasn't okay and it wasn't alright. It was far from perfect.
"And it's perfect because you're okay... and you have Isaac, and you'll all be okay."
"No it won't. I won't be okay," she whispered, holding him closer to her as she leaned to press her hand to the side of his face. "Because it's you. It's always been you. You're my first love, the first person I've ever loved. The person I'll always love. Because I love you, Scott, Scott McCall."
Scott stared at her, for what felt like the longest time, and he let go of her hand, and cupped her face, his arm faltering and falling as his breathing grew more labored and shallow.
"Then it's still perfect," he insisted, his thumb just grazing above the small spot near lips. "It's like fate and werewolves. Because I'm in the arms of my first love, the first person I've ever loved, and the girl I'll always love. It's perfect because I love you."
He mirrored her words and the gravity of the moment made her feel dull and overwhelmed at the same time.
Because he still loved her. Because he still felt the same way. Because she's going to lose him.
Her tears blurred her vision and her voice cracked finally with the sob that escaped her. "Scott, don't. Don't, please."
"My mom, my dad. Stiles and Lydia, you have to—" his eyes bore into hers and he struggled to get the words out when he started coughing up blood. "Just tell them, okay?"
She wanted to beg.
Beg him to stay, beg to fight, beg him to be the one to tell them instead.
But she needed to be strong, so she nodded even though it was probably the hardest thing she had ever done. "They know. Your parents know, and the pack knows—"
His eyes widened and glowed red. He winced as he surged forward, blood glistening on his lips. "Stiles... he's with—Kira, she knows, but you have to tell Lydia, okay? She knows. But you have to tell her. You have to tell her. You have to...."
"Scott?"
His voice faded slowly, first into soft words that were almost like whispers carried in the wind, then into inaudible mumbling that she could just barely see his lips moving until his head slipped to the side and from where she kept her hand on his wrist, his heart had stopped beating.
His eyes were still aimed upwards, glassy and lifeless as the bright glow of red dimmed back into brown and his eyes closed.
Allison pressed her lips to his temple and rested her forehead to his.
And you'll be lucky once
Waiting for the centre aisle
When the summer cart
Drags you for miles
So you cover up
As the weather starts to change
Then you settle in
And the business it remains