Chapter Text
Sunday, December 17th
Standing in the living room, Scott peered out the window, and frowned at what he saw. It was windy, nothing too intense, just enough to get the branches of the massive old oak tree in the neighbour’s yard dancing under the light of the mostly-full moon. But it wasn’t really the strength of the wind that was the problem. It was that he knew, even without stepping a foot outside, that it was a cold wind, a frigid wind. The kind of wind that cut right through clothing like it wasn’t there, left people shivering in their boots, unable to get warm, in a way few other things could.
It was the same wind that had been blowing constantly for the last few days, making even short trips outside uncomfortable. Day and night, with no breaks, no periods of calm. Just constant, icy cold air. Not something typical for Beacon Hills, even in mid-December.
Under other circumstances, he may have cancelled his plans and just gone back upstairs to his room. It was where he’d spent all day to that point, killing a lazy Sunday off watching cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies, trying to get in the holiday spirit. It was warm there, comfortable, the polar opposite of everything going on outside, and it was calling his name. But he had somewhere to be, somewhere he wanted to be, and a little thing like the cold wasn’t about to stop him. It was definitely going to make the ride over a lot more uncomfortable than he would have liked, but it wasn’t going to stop him.
“Still windy out there?”
Looking back over his shoulder, Scott found his mom standing a few feet behind him, an inquisitive look on her face. She was wearing her jacket, unzipped to reveal her scrubs beneath, so he figured she must be getting ready to leave for work.
“Yeah,” he replied, looking back out the window for a brief second before he turned to face her fully. “You’re heading out?”
“I am. Another night shift. All night shifts this week, actually. It’s gonna be a long one.” He could hear the weariness in her voice, through her strained smile, though her expression turned a lot more genuine a second later. “But I get a couple days off for Christmas and New Year’s, so it’ll be worth it.”
His grin mirrored hers when he nodded. “Definitely. Uh, speaking of Christmas, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Uh, are we gonna…” Trailing off, he waved his arm around to indicate the room around them. “Are we gonna do any decorating this year?”
With just a little over a week left until the big day, everything was depressingly bare of decoration, or any sign of the holiday season, really. Most years, the house would be teeming with lights by now, garland draped everywhere, tinsel and shiny ornaments hanging from every branch on their Christmas tree. But not this year. The only sign at all that the holidays were approaching was the calendar hanging on the wall behind the couch, with its picture of a cute little dog wearing felt reindeer antlers and a tiny Santa hat.
It wasn’t really anybody’s fault, and he knew it. His mom had been busy with work, and he’d been concentrating on school lately, buckling down with college application time coming early in the new year. There was just so much else to focus on, and when they were home, actually did get a bit of time to themselves, it was just too tempting to relax, to read, to watch tv, to not do anything at all. For the last few weeks, as they got closer and closer to Christmas, a part of him had been distantly aware of how they were straying away from their usual holiday traditions, things that had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember, and it never felt good. But he hadn’t ever been able to motivate himself enough to actually do anything about it.
“I don’t know, Scott,” she said, and he could see the unhappiness on her face, in the creases of her furrowed forehead as her eyes traced around the room. “I’d like to, but it’s going to be a really busy week for me. I just…” She shrugged apologetically. “I don’t think I’ll have the time. Sorry, honey.”
“It’s okay. Next year, right?”
Her smile was bittersweet. “Right. And it’s not like we’ll have nothing up,” she added, forcibly injecting some optimism into her tone. “I’ve got that little tree in the basement, the one with the lights that change colour, remember? We can set that up quick. Put it right here.” She tapped the top of a small end-table that sat right where they usually put up their tree. “I know it won’t be like a real tree, but it’ll be something, right?”
“Right.”
It was something, but that didn’t really make it any less disappointing. He loved the smell of a freshly-cut tree, loved taking an afternoon to really dress it up nicely. A man-made tree like the one she was talking about looked nice enough, did the job it was designed to do. It just wasn’t quite the same. But for this year, it would have to do.
Or would it?
“You know,” he said slowly, as a thought suddenly occurred to him. “My week probably won’t be all that busy, actually. Last week of school before winter break is always a joke. There won’t be much homework. Deaton’s only opening the clinic up short hours until after New Year’s, so I won’t be working much. I’ve still got some Christmas shopping to do, but I should be able to knock that out in a couple of hours.” Meeting her gaze, he shrugged, and offered, “I could get all the decorating done, if you want.”
There was a smile tugging at her lips as she eyed him for a second. “Are you sure? There’s a lot to do…”
“Yeah, absolutely.” He gestured to the end-table, then jerked his thumb in the direction of the door to the basement. “I can stick that downstairs, bring up all the lights and stuff, and get a tree set up right there. I can even hang some lights outside, maybe. If the wind co-operates, anyway.” The more he spoke, the more enthusiastic he got about the idea, the excitement creeping into his voice. “And there’s that blow-up Santa thing we put up one year—remember that? I think that’s still packed away downstairs, or maybe in the shed. I could probably set that up too. I mean, how hard could it be?”
By that point, his mom was full-on grinning, his enthusiasm contagious. “Okay, okay, I get the picture,” she said, laughter in her voice, as she gestured for him to slow down. “If you want to do it, I say go for it. Just don’t exhaust yourself, all right? One year where we don’t go all out isn’t going to kill us.”
“It might,” he replied, mirroring her grin. “Better not risk it.”
That got a genuine laugh from her, before her expression abruptly sobered. “Are you okay doing this on your own?” she asked softly. When he arched an eyebrow in question, she shrugged. “I just know we’ve always done this stuff together. If it feels too weird to do it alone, I don’t want to push you into it.”
Even before she finished speaking, he was pushing aside her concern, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry, you’re not. I want to do it. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’d love it if you were helping me out, and it won’t be the same doing it myself. But I want to do it anyway. It’s…” He trailed off, searching for the right words to explain how he was feeling. “It’s Christmas, y’know? It’s the stuff we always do at Christmas. It’s kinda like… like it won’t really feel like Christmas if I don’t do it, y’know?”
He wasn’t sure he was explaining things very well, but she seemed to understand, a soft smile on her face as she nodded. “Okay. You do as much as you want to do. I’ll see if I can scrounge up some cash for a tree, okay? I’ll leave it on your dresser.”
“Thanks, mom.”
Reaching out, he pulled her into a hug, one she returned wholeheartedly. While neither of them were big huggers, sometimes the moment just called for it. Sometimes, it just felt right.
“All right,” she said a moment later, when she pulled back, broke the embrace. “I really need to get going.”
“Me too.”
As he spoke, he reached in his pocket for his phone. He wasn’t on any kind of schedule, but when he’d been texting with Malia, prior to coming downstairs, he’d told her he was on his way out of the house. Chances were pretty good he’d be getting another text if he didn’t show up in the next couple of minutes.
Her eyebrows went up. “What do you mean? Are you going out too?”
“Yeah,” he replied, distracted, as he checked his messages. “I’m heading over to Lydia’s.”
“Oh.” She paused for a second. “On your bike?”
Looking up at her from under his lashes, he shot her a crooked grin. “No, no. I was gonna walk.”
That drew an eyeroll from her, even as she gestured toward the stairs. “Ha ha, very funny. Go grab your jacket. I’ll give you a ride.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a raised hand, shaking her head. “No, no arguments. It’s cold and windy out there, Scott. The last thing I want is you getting into an accident because of the weather, or coming down with the flu or something. Go.” Another emphatic point at the staircase. “I’ll wait for you.”
“I don’t even think I can get the flu,” he pointed out, but it was under his breath, and all it got from her was narrowed eyes and another point toward the stairs.
Giving up without any further argument, he did as he was told, making his way back up to his room. Which was actually fairly easy to do, because while he didn’t want to make his mom go out of her way driving him around, he also wasn’t particularly eager to venture out into the cool weather on his own. If she was going to insist, he wasn’t going to fight her on it. It wasn’t like it was that far out of her way, anyway. Lydia’s house was practically on the way to the hospital. And, he reasoned as he pulled on his jacket and zipped it up, he was sure one of his friends would be happy to give him a ride back home after. Or he hoped so, anyway. Because his mom’s shift wasn’t going to be over until tomorrow morning, and joking about walking was one thing, but he wasn’t in any hurry to actually do it.
“All ready?” his mom asked, when he rejoined her a moment later.
“Good to go,” he confirmed, tugging the collar of his jacket up a little higher.
Out into the night they went, and Scott was immediately grateful he didn’t have to take his bike out. It was a little chilly, but still above freezing, warm enough he couldn’t see his breath fogging up the air yet. But the wind was relentless, finding every small opening in his jacket approximately two seconds after he stepped out the door. Just imagining how bad it would be driving in it, unprotected, had him shivering.
“So, what are you up to tonight?” his mom asked, once they were settled in the car.
“Malia’s got an essay due tomorrow. I’m helping her with that.”
Pausing with the keys in the ignition, his mom looked over at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Wait. You’re helping Malia?”
“Uh-huh,” he confirmed, focused on putting on his seat-belt.
One eyebrow arched. “But I’m taking you to Lydia’s house?”
“Yeah.”
For a second, she was silent, just looking at him, her expression frozen. Then, “Why are we going to Lydia’s?”
“Because that’s where she is. Lydia’s helping her too. Lydia was the only one helping her, actually,” he admitted, “but she texted about an hour ago, and asked me to come over, lend a hand. Not really sure why she needs me, since it’s for a class I’ve never taken, and Lydia’s pretty much an expert on the subject, but…” He shrugged. “She asked, so I’m going. And—what’s so funny?”
She was shaking her head before he even got the question out. “Nothing.”
“No, really. What?”
As she turned the key, started the car, she gave a little shrug of her shoulders, still chuckling. “It’s nothing, really. Just… you’ve been spending a lot of time with Malia lately, I’ve noticed.”
He frowned. “Are you trying to say something?”
She shrugged again. “Nope. Just pointing out a fact. I think you’ve spent more time with her lately than Stiles, even.”
“Okay, and…?” he said, drawing out the word.
“And…” She drew it out in exactly the same way he had. “Nothing. I just find it interesting. That’s all.”
Not quite sure how to respond, Scott stared at her, trying to figure it if she was just messing with him. Generally speaking, his mom tended to keep her distance from his personal life, unless it specifically concerned her, or he brought it up. Apparently, she’d decided tonight was the night to change that, and he wasn’t sure exactly how to handle it. After a moment’s consideration, he decided it was best to just deny whatever she was implying, cut it off flat, and hope she just dropped it. It definitely wasn’t a subject he was interested in discussing with her.
“We’re friends. There’s nothing wrong with us hanging out.”
“No, no, of course not. That’s not what I’m saying.” He could see the corners of her lips twitching as she put the car in gear. “I like Malia, and I’m glad the two you are getting along so well. I just wonder…” When she paused, looked over at him, there was a full-blown smirk on her face, her eyes bright with amusement. “If one of your other friends called like that, would you come running?”
He didn’t have an answer for that, because he honestly didn’t know. But that was not a conversation he was interested in having, not right now, and definitely not with his mom. “I’m not talking about this with you,” he stated plainly, sinking back in his seat, staring directly ahead. “Just drive.”
And drive she did, her renewed laughter ringing in his ears.
"Die Hard isn't a Christmas movie."
If he’d known just how much of a reaction that simple statement was going to provoke from Malia, Scott may not have said it. But really, how could he not? When she’d finished her essay, after more than three hours that mostly consisted of Lydia trying to coach her through it without just straight-up writing it for her, she’d been the one to suggest watching a movie. A Christmas movie, specifically, probably to go with the ridiculous number of lights and ornaments the house was decorated with. He’d been expecting Elf, maybe, or something with the Grinch. But when she’d come back from Lydia’s room with a DVD case clutched in her hand and popped in Die Hard, he couldn’t help but comment.
"Yes, it is. See, look, it's a Christmas party." Malia gestured toward the TV, pointing emphatically at the screen. "I don't... it couldn't be any clearer, Scott. Christmas party. Christmas. It's a Christmas movie."
He shook his head. "Nope."
Her lips narrowed into a thin line. "Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"It's not."
"It is."
“You’re wrong.”
“I’m not.”
Jaw clenched, she glared at him, eyes flashing, arms crossed, and he had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from grinning. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t get just a little entertainment out of setting Malia off sometimes. Maybe a little too much. There was just something about the fire in her eyes, her death-glare, her unwillingness to back down even an inch that tickled him.
Not that he’d ever admit that. To anyone. Least of all her. He had a sneaking suspicion all those things he liked to see from her would look a lot different if she was legitimately pissed off at him.
Which didn’t mean he was going to stop.
“Listen,” he said, doing everything in his power to keep his expression steady, placid, which wasn’t easy. Despite the argument he was making, he was actually firmly on her side. Die Hard was a holiday staple, as far as he was concerned. But that wasn’t nearly as fun. “I’m not denying that there are, y’know, Christmas-y elements to it. And I’m not denying that a lot of people watch it over the holidays, or that they consider it a Christmas movie.” He paused, mostly for dramatic effect, but also to take second to appreciate the narrowing of her eyes and flaring of her nostrils that told him she knew exactly what was about to come out of his mouth. “I’m just saying all those people are wrong, and it is in no way a Christmas movie.”
If looks could kill, he would have been dead right there. Fortunately, they couldn’t. Neither could throw pillows, which was also good, because one was suddenly flying toward him, quick enough even his reflexes weren’t enough to bat it away. It hit him in the forehead before he could get an arm in the way, and fell to the floor next to the couch they were sitting on.
“Hey,” he said mildly, “that wasn’t very nice.”
The second pillow came just as quickly as the first, but he managed to catch this one. It came in handy a second later, when he used it to deflect the third, his grin finally breaking through.
The sound of muffled laughter drew his attention then, pulling his gaze away from Malia, and over to the far-left side of the room. Lydia was sitting there, curled up in a massive armchair, and her entire body was shaking with poorly-suppressed amusement. He had to assume it was the two of them she was laughing at, because she was staring directly at them, a grin on her face, one he found entirely too similar to the one his mom had worn earlier.
“Something to add?” he asked her, arching an eyebrow.
“Nope,” she replied, popping the ‘p’ in the word. “You couldn’t pay me to get in the middle of…” She gestured between them with a wave of her hand, “whatever it is you two have going on over there.”
“What do you mean? We’re just having a perfectly normal conversation about—” He stopped to deal with a fourth pillow, calmly snagging it out of the air with both hands, and pulling it down into his lap without even turning his head. “Die Hard and how it is definitely not a Christmas movie.”
“Why should we take you seriously?” Malia interjected, drawing his attention back to her. “The only Christmas movies you ever actually watch are those crappy Hallmark ones.”
He clasped a hand to his heart, a mock-hurt look on his face. “Hey! I told you that in confidence.”
“No taste,” she shot back, raising her last pillow threateningly.
“You like them too.”
Things might have kept going from there, but Lydia chose that moment to suddenly rise to her feet. The loud squeak of the chair’s springs as she got up was enough to draw all eyes to her, distracting both of them from their banter.
“I’m going to reheat some pizza,” she announced, the same knowing grin still on her face. “Don’t murder each other while I’m gone. Or do anything else you wouldn’t want me walking in on.”
Spinning on her heel, she headed toward the kitchen, leaving Scott staring after her, bemused. Once she disappeared into the next room, he turned back to Malia, just in time to catch her last pillow with his face. Before she could reach for something a little more dangerous, and since he figured he’d pushed things about as far as he safely could anyway, he held up his hands in surrender as the pillow bounced back down to the cushion separating them, landing close to her crossed legs.
“I give up,” he said, laughing. “You win. No more, please.”
Grabbing the pillow, she held it up with one hand, arm tensed and ready to throw again, eyes narrowed almost to slits. “Say it,” she said in a low voice, a warning.
“Die Hard is a Christmas movie.”
Her arm dropped an inch, relaxing slightly, but not all the way. “And…?”
“And you were right.”
More of the tension left her, her eyes opening back to their usual state, but still the pillow remained up, a threat. “And…?” she prompted again, raising an expectant eyebrow.
“And…” He screwed up his face, tilted his head, trying to divine what exactly she was pushing for. But her face was giving nothing away, only the slightest hint of a smile tugging at her lips, so he took a shot in the dark. “I’m sorry?”
It came out sounding much more like a question than an apology, but it was apparently close enough.
“Good,” she said, a grin breaking out on her face. “You know how you can make it up to me?”
He knew exactly how he could make it up to her. Or rather, he knew how he was going to make it up to her, because he knew exactly what she wanted. Which was why he didn’t hesitate, lifting his arm without a word, welcoming her in as she slid across the couch and curled up against his side.
“Lydia could have offered to grab us more pizza too,” she muttered as she got comfortable, tucking her legs underneath herself.
“Did you want some?”
“No, but she could have offered.”
Scott snorted. “Give her a break,” he advised, as he lifted his legs, brought his feet up to rest on the coffee table. “I think she’s pretty much filled her quota on doing stuff for you tonight, hasn’t she?”
“But not for you, though. I—oh, this part is great. Watch.”
She went quiet, her eyes focused on the television, and he was happy to sit there with her, their playful fight already forgotten, silently taking in the movie. A moment later, he felt her head lean against his shoulder, and gave her a little squeeze with the arm draped comfortably over her.
If there was one thing he’d learned about her in recent months, as they spent more time together, it was that she was not even a little shy when it came to filling her need for physical contact. She was a tactile person, would think nothing of grabbing his hand as they walked along, or squeezing into a chair with him or cuddling up next to him on a couch, whenever she wanted to. Now that they were into the cooler months—much cooler in recent days—it was even more apparent. He was pretty sure there hadn’t been a single time they’d hung out outside of school in the last week or two where she hadn’t ended up like this, or with her legs draped over his lap, or her feet stuck under his legs.
Fortunately for her, he was not opposed in the slightest. He liked it when she was close to him, liked the easy intimacy that had grown between them. He may have liked it a little too much, if he was being honest with himself. There were times when she was snuggled up next to him, he found himself wondering exactly what it was they were doing, what was going on between them. But that always led to some conflicted feelings, or at least feelings he wasn’t in any hurry to try and sort through. It was just so much easier, so much simpler to live in the moment instead.
In this particular moment, sitting there with her, warm and comfortable, bathed in the glow of the television screen and the many, many Christmas lights strung around the room, he was feeling pretty good.
Which meant, of course, that it couldn’t last long.
Lydia returned to the room a minute later, carrying a plate with a couple slices on it. She paused briefly in the doorway, her eyes on them, but other than a reappearance of that same grin she’d had earlier, she didn’t say a word. She just stood there for a second, watching them, ignoring the questioning looks he was sending her way, before she headed for her chair.
She’d only just sat down when Scott felt his phone go off, vibrating in his pocket. He grimaced, but knew he couldn’t just ignore it, no matter how reluctant he was to move. It was late enough, there was virtually no chance anybody would be texting for non-emergency reasons. Unless it was Stiles, or Liam, both of whom had already messaged him earlier, trying to get him to hang out with them. He’d been pretty clear with them that he was already occupied and not interested then, but knowing them, there was a possibility either—or both—might ignore him. He had to make sure.
Malia let out a little noise of protest when he patted her arm, a silent request for her to move, but obediently straightened up, giving him a bit of room. Sliding his phone out, he checked his messages, and grimaced again. It looked like their relaxing night was over.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, correctly interpreting his expression.
“It’s Argent.” He tilted his phone so she could read it. “It’s not good.”
— Need your help tracking something dangerous ASAP. With Sheriff. Meet you at station.
“Has he ever texted just to say hi?” Her voice was dry, as she rose to her feet. “Or is it always shit like this?”
“It’s always like this.”
“Like what?” Lydia asked, as Malia headed past her, into the kitchen.
“We’ve gotta head out. Sounds like some shifter trouble,” he replied, sending back a quick acknowledgement to Argent. Slipping his phone back in his pocket, he nodded to her, while trying to ignore the window behind her, which offered visual proof the wind had only grown stronger over the last couple of hours. It wasn’t going to be fun stepping back out into that. “You wanna come along?” The pinched look of distaste that flashed across her face then was enough to get him grinning. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“Definitely a no.” She jerked her thumb toward the window. “It’s cold out there.”
“Don’t be a baby,” Malia replied as she re-entered the room, already wearing her own jacket. His was slung over her arm, and she tossed it to him. “It’s not that cold.”
Lydia arched an eyebrow. “It is that cold. But I guess it doesn’t seem so bad when you’ve got a friend to snuggle up on the couch with, huh?”
Her attention was laser-focused on Malia, and Scott shifted uncomfortably, feeling like there was a silent conversation going on between the two of them that he knew nothing about. It didn’t help him that Malia seemed to understand immediately, her eyes narrowing as she tensed, what he could only describe as a warning look making an appearance on her face. It was gone just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a disgruntled frown, but he saw it all the same. As did Lydia, who was suddenly wearing a smirk, one that looked smugly satisfied.
“Whatever,” Malia grumbled. “What do you know anyway? You haven’t left the house since Friday.”
“I don’t need to leave the house. Banshee, remember? I know things.”
Scott knew she was joking, was relieved at the easing of the tension that had so quickly permeated the room, and smiled at Malia’s exaggerated eye-roll. But he couldn’t help but ask, “Have you actually been having visions about the weather?”
Lydia shrugged, her lips curving into a slight frown. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but my dreams have been pretty, um… cold lately, I guess. Lots of ice and everything’s sorta been… blue. I don’t think it’s anything weird, though. Just my subconscious reacting to an exterior stimulus. I dream about fire when it’s hot sometimes. Why not the opposite?”
That made sense to him. As much as it could, anyway. He’d be the first to admit he had no idea how her Banshee powers actually worked, and he honestly wasn’t all that much clearer on how dreams worked either.
“Fair enough. Let me know if anything changes with that.”
“Sure.”
“All right.” Rubbing his hands together, Scott looked at Malia, already mentally psyching himself up to venture back out into the wind night. “You ready to go?”
“Ready,” she confirmed, zipping her jacket up all the way to the top.
“Let me know how everything goes,” Lydia said, as they started moving toward the door. “And be careful.”
Looking back over his shoulder, his hand on the door knob, he flashed her a crooked grin. “Hey, don’t worry about us. It’s just a little tracking. It’ll be easy.” With a twist of his wrist, he opened the door, and was immediately hit by a blast of cold air that stung his face. Trying not to take that as some kind of omen, he pulled his collar up higher, and stepped out into the night, Malia on his heels. “It’ll be easy.”
Leaning back, Scott avoided a sloppily-thrown blow aimed for his head. He tried to answer back with one of his own, only to miss just as badly, his opponent dancing back, just out of reach.
Gnashing his teeth, he pressed forward, frustrated, unused to fighting with just his left arm. His right hung by his side, limp, the ragged wound in his shoulder rendering it nearly useless. Every move he made sent sharp pain radiating down the limb, but he pushed it aside as best he could, hyper-focused on the creature before him, on trying to finish things as quickly as possible.
Part of the reason for his urgency was based in how little he knew about what he was fighting. Putting aside what it was capable of, the kind of damage it could do, he didn’t even know what it was. A creature he’d never encountered before, reminiscent of some kind of heavily-muscled ape, with thick white fur covering its entire body, a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth, and glowing yellow eyes. It was like something out of a low-budget science fiction movie, strong and ugly, like nothing he’d ever seen before.
Definitely not what he’d been expecting to come up against tonight. Not even close.
When he and Malia had arrived at the police station, he’d just assumed it was another shifter causing problems. Argent and the Sheriff had met them in the parking lot, and Stilinski shared a report he’d received, from a terrified woman who’d been out walking her dog. She’d been attacked by something, and while she hadn’t been able to get a clear view before it ran off, she had seen the eyes. Glowing eyes screamed shifter to all of them, so they’d left the station and gone to the site of the attack fully believing they were on the trail of another werewolf, or maybe a werecoyote.
The first hint they might have jumped to a hasty conclusion came to Scott in the scent trail left behind. It was particularly pungent, definitely not something he’d smelled before. More animal than human. But since he wasn’t really considering any other possibilities, he ignored what his instincts were telling him, and just focused on tracking it.
Nearly an hour spent following the scent trail halfway across town ended at an old furniture warehouse. At that point, they were all cold, the biting wind wearing them down, but the end was in sight, as they finally cornered their target in the alley behind the warehouse.
To say Scott had been shocked when he saw exactly what they were hunting would be an understatement. The surprise had given them all pause, unsure of how to proceed, of just how dangerous the thing might be. Taking advantage of their hesitation, the creature had taken off, proving itself very difficult to pin down. It was a lot more agile than it should have been, and fast, faster than any of them. It used that unexpected athleticism and speed to escape into a nearby alleyway, and led them on a lengthy chase that saw them forced to split up, to cover more of the maze-like network of alleys in downtown Beacon Hills.
It was during the chase he had been injured. Focused on the pursuit, he hadn’t been expecting his elusive opponent to actually stop and try to fight. It hadn’t been much, just a sudden strike from behind a dumpster before another quick vanishing act, but it had left him in pain, pissed off, and extremely motivated to finish things before anybody else could get hurt.
Ducking under another blow, he came forward, closing the already-narrow gap between them even more. The move brought him closer to his enemy’s claws, but it was a risk he was willing to take, because in that close, he couldn’t miss. And he didn’t, burying his fist directly into its stomach, driving all the air from its lungs and knocking it back a step.
Pressing the advantage, he closed in again, giving it no time to recover as it doubled over, gasping for breath, eyes bugging out its head. Despite being both taller and broader than him, it wasn’t as strong, and wasn’t able to stop him as he grabbed it by the shoulder, burying his fingers in its coarse fur, and drove it back, slamming it hard into the nearest wall. He both felt and heard the impact of skull meeting brick, but didn’t let up, pressing his arm flat across its chest, pinning it in place. Even with just his left, he had no trouble holding it there, ignoring the growls and claws scrabbling weakly at his hand and wrist.
“Just stop,” he bit out, red eyes meeting the yellow of the dazed but struggling creature and locking on. “Stop fighting. It’s over.”
His words didn’t seem to register at all, but he wasn’t sure if the creature was too out of it to grasp what he was saying, or if it just didn’t understand language. He wasn’t sure how intelligent it actually was. It looked and acted more animalistic than human, but it had managed to successfully ambush him.
For just a second, he hesitated, torn between continuing to try and talk it down, trying to avoid more violence, and the desire to just end things as quickly as possible. He was frozen, and his shoulder was killing him, the dozen other little scratches and wounds he’d sustained only adding to his discomfort. Dragging things out even longer wasn’t going to make any of that better. Especially with his opponent quickly recovering. Already, its efforts to break free seemed to be getting stronger, its movements a little more focused, precise. A little harder to suppress.
Before he could make a decision either way, the situation shifted. Fiery pain exploded in his shoulder without warning, driving him to his knees with a cry. Eyes watering, he looked up, abruptly realising he’d underestimated the creature’s reach. It had managed, dazed as it still seemed to be, to reach out and jam its claws into his wound. And now it was free, stumbling down the alley, shaking its head violently, trying to clear it.
It took a second for the agony to recede, for his eyes to clear, but as soon as he could, he took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet. The pain was intense, made his vision swim, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to move, clasping a hand to his shoulder as he resumed the chase.
Slowly, the gap between them narrowed as they approached the end of the alley, which forked off in two directions. The creature was staggering back and forth, struggling to stay on its feet, still woozy from its collision with the wall. Which explained why it didn’t initially react when a pair of vivid blue eyes, brighter than its own flared to life in the dark up ahead of him. It was only when a low growl rang out that it stopped short, drawing back as Malia appeared, slowly stalking toward him from the right.
As Scott slowed his own pace, he thought for a second things might be over. The creature looked terrified as it turned sideways and took a step back, eyes wide as they darted back and forth between them. However smart it was, it seemed to know its odds of taking both of them in a fight were next to nothing. One way or another, they were going to bring it down.
“It’s okay.” He kept his voice soft, calm as he moved closer, one measured step at a time, like he would approach any frightened animal. He was just a few feet away now, almost close enough to touch it, close enough to see the sense returning to its eyes. “It’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt y—”
Before he could get the words out, the creature bolted. Caught off-guard by the sudden movement, he barely had time to reach out, the tips of his fingers just missing its arm as it ran to the left. As his hand closed on empty air, he growled out a curse, and sprang forward, launching himself down the alley. Behind him, he could hear Malia’s footsteps as they both pounded after their fleeing target, trying to keep it from opening up too much of a lead, its surprising speed coming into play again as its legs steadied beneath it, once again allowing it to begin to pull away.
Despite the need to stay focused on the creature, the chase, Scott was careful to keep an eye out for Argent and the Sheriff as well. Unable to keep up on foot, they’d stayed in their cars, taking the nearest streets, ready to jump in when they could. They could be anywhere, could re-enter the fight at any moment.
There was also something else he needed to be on the lookout for. People. Regular people. They’d been lucky so far, hadn’t encountered anybody, confined to the alleys. But even though they were in the business district now, mostly shut down at this time of night, there was always a chance. All it took was one wrong turn, and they’d be back out in the street, in the public, where any number of people could be out. The thing had already attacked one person. Now it was injured, scared, and more than strong enough to cause serious damage to human body without even really trying. If it went crashing through any kind of crowd at all, it would take the rest of the night to count all the broken bones.
He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let it happen.
As they neared another fork in the alley, the creature seemed to hesitate, taking two steps to the left, before it abruptly swung to the right. It wasn’t much, but the slight feint was enough to make things difficult. At the speed he was going, Scott wasn’t able to react as quickly as he wanted to. He slid past the turn, had to grab at the wall to steady himself, losing precious seconds. Malia blew past him, having been far enough back to adjust in time, and he let out a snarl as he got moving again, following her lead now.
It only took a few seconds for him to realise something was wrong. His knee was aching suddenly, pain pulsing out from it with each step. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he must have wrenched it when he’d missed the turn, but there was nothing he could do now except grit his teeth, and push through it.
Despite his knee seriously bothering him, he managed to keep pace with Malia well enough. It was a struggle, and he could feel it taking a toll on his stamina, but the adrenaline was pumping through his body, and it was enough to keep the pain manageable. By staying slightly to her right, he could see their target up ahead, had a good view of the alley ahead of it. So he was able to see when Argent finally reappeared, stepping into view about a hundred yards ahead of the creature, gun in hand and up, ready to fire.
“Stop!”
Argent’s shout echoed down the alley, just loud enough to register over the sound of the blood pumping in his ears. He started to slow, as Malia did the same, assuming the creature would do the same, would recognise it was trapped. But it never slowed. Instead, it lowered its head and went down on all fours, its gait changing on the fly, shifting to resemble something more like a bear running. It surged down the alley like an avalanche, covering the distance between it and Argent in a few seconds, and all Scott could do was watch helplessly.
Four gunshots rang out in rapid succession the instant before it would have collided with Argent. It didn’t drop, but stumbled, its trajectory changing, allowing him to leap out of the way at the last possible second. As he rolled across the ground, the creature lost its footing and careened into the nearest wall. The force of the collision knocked it to the ground, where it stayed, lying in a boneless heap.
For a second, the alley went completely still, nobody moving, his own laboured breathing the only thing Scott could hear. Then, wincing with each step, he jogged forward, keeping his eyes on the creature. It never moved, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. It was only when he reached it, saw the absolute stillness of its chest, the complete lack of any signs of life, that he let himself relax a bit.
“Is it dead?”
“Yeah, it’s dead,” he replied, as Malia stepped up next to him. Like him, she was breathing hard, but seemed otherwise unharmed. There was no trace of any blood in her scent, something he was relieved to learn as she stood tall beside him, gazing down at their fallen foe.
“I didn’t have a choice.” There was a hint of distaste, or maybe regret in Argent’s voice as he limped over to them, a hand clasped tightly to his side. “I couldn’t let it past me. I came right off the street. There’s a bar, a bunch of people. If it had gone out there…”
“You did the right thing,” Scott assured him, his own voice steady despite the way his insides were still reeling at the sudden shift from action to stillness. Shaking it off, he looked at Argent, caught his eye, and nodded. “You did the only thing you could. It would have hurt them. It would have hurt you. This is… this is better.”
Argent sighed heavily, inclined his head once in acknowledgement. “I know.”
In agreement or not, he didn’t look happy about how things had gone down, and Scott couldn’t blame him for that. Things could have gone a lot worse tonight. Innocent people could have been attacked. He or Malia could have been seriously injured. But even though they hadn’t been, the way it had ended still left something of a bitter taste in his mouth. Being the one to fire the shots that actually put the thing down had to be much worse. But it wouldn’t do to dwell on that. It was done, and now they had to focus on the aftermath.
With that in mind, he forced himself to ignore the corpse for a moment, and focused instead on giving Argent a thorough once-over. “Are you okay?” he asked, when he couldn’t see anything seriously wrong with him.
“I’m fine. Just winded. Hit the ground pretty hard. How about you?”
“I’m good.” He felt Malia’s eyes on him, knew she must have picked up on the scent of blood coming from him, but he avoided looking back. He was fine, would be all healed up before too long. No point in worrying Argent over something that wasn’t going to be a problem by the time the sun rose the next morning. Instead, he turned back to the corpse and gestured toward it. “Any idea what the hell this thing is?”
Argent, who’d moved closer, knelt and moved the creature’s head, giving a better angle on its face. Not that the move cleared anything up. Even now that it was dead, it was still one of the uglier things Scott had ever encountered, and he was still positive he’d never seen it before. He definitely would have remembered that.
“I don’t know.” With his thumb, Argent slid the creature’s top lip up, revealing its menacing fangs. He studied them for a second, then slowly shook his head. “I think I’ve seen something similar before, but I can’t remember where.”
“Looks like some kind of monkey,” Malia offered, prodding one of its legs with the toe of her shoe. “Smells like…”
“Like a toilet,” Scott finished, sharing a grimace with her. “Yeah, not gonna be forgetting that anytime soon.”
Argent grunted an acknowledgement. “Look at this fur.” Running his fingers through the rough, matted fur covering one of the creature’s shoulders, he shook his head. “It’s thick. Much thicker than anything native to this area. Wherever this thing came from, it had to be somewhere up north. Far north.”
Scott frowned. “Does that help us identify it?”
“It might,” Argent replied, looking up at him and shrugging. “Maybe Deaton’s seen or heard of something like this before. Why don’t you get a picture for him? That could help.”
“Good idea.”
With his injured shoulder rapidly stiffening up, Scott had to reach across himself, grab for his phone with his left hand. It was awkward, forcing him to look down after he fumbled the first attempt. Just as his hand successfully closed around it, he heard Argent draw in a sharp breath and scramble back, at the same time as Malia let out a surprised curse. She grabbed his arm from behind, jerked him back a step before he could even look up, and he stumbled over his own feet, his knee protesting painfully, nearly dropping his phone.
“What are—what the fuck?”
Any questions about what was happening were washed away the second he looked at the corpse. Or what had been the corpse just a moment ago. Now, it was something else, drooping, almost deflated, the whole thing barely half the size it had just been, the white fur gone almost translucent. Around it, a pool of clear liquid was spreading out, soaking the concrete below, and just a second of watching made it clear what was happening.
The body was dissolving.
“What the hell?” he breathed, taking another step back to avoid the quickly-spreading liquid. “Is it… melting?” Both Malia and Argent nodded silently, their eyes focused on the sight before them. “What the hell?” he repeated, eyes wide.
There was no response, because how could there be? All any of them could do was stand there and watch as the corpse rapidly dissolved. It was like scraping a handful of ice out of the freezer, putting it in the sink, and running warm water over it. In under a minute, all that was left was a wet spot on the concrete, no other sign of the strange creature left behind at all.
“Well,” Malia finally said, after a moment of silence where they all just stared at the ground, “so much for getting a picture.”
Her words functioned as a trigger for Scott, getting him moving, and he bent to inspect the puddle left behind. It was clear, and wasn’t putting off any kind of odour, which came as a surprise, given what the body had smelled like before it liquefied. Pulling a face, he hesitantly swiped a couple of fingers through it, then brought them up to his nose, and took the smallest possible sniff he could. When that didn’t tell him anything, he frowned and reluctantly tried again, going bigger this time, forcing himself to really inhale deeply.
“Water. It’s just water.” Bemused, he looked up at a closely-watching Argent. “This is weird. Ever heard of anything like this?”
“No. I…” He trailed off, mouth silently moving for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know what this is. One more piece of the puzzle for Deaton, I guess.” Pulling out his phone, he checked the time. “Just after midnight. Do you think he’d still be up?”
“Yeah, probably,” Scott replied. “I don’t think he ever sleeps.”
“All right. I’ll give him a call.”
As he walked a few steps away to make the call, Scott turned his attention to Malia. “What do you think?”
“I think I’m cold and tired and I want to get out of here.” He snorted at her blunt response, and they shared a grin. “No, but seriously. Aren’t you frozen?”
“It’s a little cool,” he confirmed, trying not to shiver. For most of the night, it hadn’t been so bad, the walls around them providing a decent amount of shelter from the wind. But they were close to the street now, close enough the alley was functioning almost like a wind-tunnel, carrying it directly to them. At first, still heated from the run, the chase, it hadn’t been so bad, had been easy enough to ignore. But they’d been standing around for a little while now, cooling off, calming down, and the cold was rapidly becoming a real problem.
“Right. And you’re hurt.”
“I’m fine,” he automatically insisted, his knee and shoulder both twinging painfully at the reminder.
“You’re hurt,” she repeated, like he hadn’t even spoken. “And we’ve done all we can here, anyway, right? I mean, whatever that thing was, it’s not gonna be hurting anybody else. I think we’ve done our part.”
That much was definitely true. The problem they’d set out to solve was taken care of, and now they just had to hope Deaton was familiar with whatever the creature was. Because even though it was dead and gone, there were a lot of questions that needed answering. Even if it was only simple curiosity calling for them to be answered. But whether they ever learning anything more or not, there was no debating they’d done their job tonight. It was time to go.
“Yeah, we’re done. Let’s get out of here.”
As he finished toweling his hair dry, Scott felt about as far away as he could be from that cold alley. He was comfortable again, his dirty clothes swapped out for a soft t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants, his skin still warm from the shower. The gash on his shoulder had been thoroughly cleaned, all the dried blood washed away, his healing already closing the wound. It was working its magic on his knee, as well, the swelling starting to come down. He wasn’t completely pain-free yet, but it was a lot more tolerable, and he knew it was only a matter of time until he was fully healed.
Opening the bathroom door, he paused, towel draped over his shoulder, and smiled. Malia was sitting on his bed, leaning back against the wall, her attention focused on his tv. When they’d arrived at his house, she’d followed him inside, and refused to leave until she was sure his injuries were taken care of. He’d been expecting her to take her leave once he headed in for his shower, but there she was, looking completely at home in his room, on his bed.
“You’re missing Frosty,” she informed him, when she finally looked up, realised he was standing there. “He’s singing.”
“I always preferred Rudolph anyway,” he replied, padding across the room to join her on the bed. She had his comforter pulled up over her legs, and lifted it up so he could slide under it with her. Settling in next to her, he got comfortable, his arm slipped around behind her as he used the other to make sure his pillow was properly situated behind his own back. Only when he was done did he look at the tv, just to find a commercial was playing. “Which one is it?”
“I don’t know. The one with the talking snowman.”
He snorted. “Oh, gee, thanks for clearing that up for me.” She just shrugged, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “I hope all the cold weather lately brings us some real snow,” he said, as an ad for a local play, one with lots of fake snow involved, flashed across the screen.
“I thought you didn’t like the cold.”
“I don’t. I hate it, actually. But we haven’t had snow here in forever. Like, more than just a dusting. I think it’d be cool.” He nodded to the screen, where the show had just resumed. “We could build a snowman. I’ve never built a snowman before. Looks like its might be fun.”
“Yeah, maybe,” she agreed. “But if it starts singing, I’m tearing it apart.” When he shot her an amused grin, she arched an eyebrow. “What? You heard Frosty singing. He’s annoying as hell. Now, shut up and watch the show.”
Silence reigned between them for the next few minutes, and Scott was happy to just lie there with her, soaking up the atmosphere in the room. He was warm, his bed was soft, and there was something about sitting quietly with her, listening to her even breathing that he found very calming. After all the cold and wind, all the running of earlier in the night, a little peace and quiet was exactly what he wanted. A little comfort, which very quickly had him blinking his eyes, fighting the urge to fall asleep as his eyelids got heavier. And he wasn’t the only one, if the yawn he saw Malia fighting out of the corner of his eyes was any indication.
“You want to stay here tonight?” he offered softly, when the next commercial break rolled around. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d crashed at his house, after a study session, or when movie night ran long. “The spare room is all yours, if you want it.”
Letting her head fall back, she let out a little groan, and shook her head. “Believe me, I’d love to. But I can’t. I really need to get going, actually.” Spotting the questioning look on his face, she sighed. “I’ve gotta drive my dad to the airport in the morning.”
“Really?” His brow furrowed. “He’s going out of town right before Christmas?”
“Uh-huh. He’ll be gone ‘til the twenty-seventh.” There was a hint of sadness in her tone, and in the slight twist of her mouth into a frown, but not as much as he would have expected. Some of his confusion must have shown on his face, because she huffed out a little breath. “It’s okay. I knew it was coming. We talked about it, actually, a while ago. I told him to go. It’s, um… Christmas is a tough time for him. This… it’s better for him. It’s better if he gets away for a little bit.”
He got it. He really did. There were certain times of the year his mom struggled with more than others, for a couple of reasons. Memories, mostly, about better times. Or easier times. And in those times, he’d willingly foregone things to make it easier for her, because she was his mom, and he loved her, and sacrificing for loved ones was something he was always willing to do. But it was never easy.
“So, what, you’re just on your own for Christmas?”
“Mm-hmm. And all week.”
“Shit. That really sucks. I’m sorry.”
“Eh, I’ll survive. I mean, yeah, it definitely sucks, don’t get me wrong. I love Christmas, and I wish things were different. But…” She shrugged, flashed him a small smile. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
For a second, he just studied her, looking for something in her expression that might indicate she wasn’t quite as okay as she wanted to seem. “Yeah?” he prompted, when she didn’t flinch, her expression completely unchanged. She always did have a good poker face. “You sure?”
Her smile deepened slightly. “I’m sure. And I really need to get going.”
As she swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for the shoes she’d left there, Scott rolled onto his side, and propped his head up on his hand. He watched her for a moment, unable to shake the feeling of how profoundly unfair it was she still didn’t get to have Christmas with her dad after spending so long on her own. He couldn’t imagine not having his mom around for the holidays. Sure, she worked a lot, but she was always there whenever she could be. It never seemed to matter that his dad was absent, or that they didn’t have any other family around. It was enough with just the two of them. But she didn’t even have that.
In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be able to do something about it. He wished he could wave a wand and magically make her dad’s issues with the holidays disappear. He wished he could make sure she got the Christmas she wanted, the Christmas she deserved.
None of which was in his power. But that didn’t mean he was completely powerless.
“Hey,” he said, a sense of purpose filling him. “I still need to do some of my Christmas shopping. You want to come with me? Maybe tomorrow, after school?”
Maybe he couldn’t do anything about her dad being gone, and he couldn’t give her a Christmas with her family. But there was one thing he could do, and that was make sure she didn’t have to spend the entire lead-up to the big day on her own. He could be a friend. All that free time he was planning to use to decorate the house could be put to much better use making sure she wasn’t all alone for the holidays. Maybe she could even help decorate, if she wanted to. Or maybe she’d just want to hang out, do nothing. Either way, this was something he could do for her, and he was determined to do it.
Looking back at him over her shoulder, she shot him a crooked grin. “You wouldn’t just be asking that so I’ll give you a ride, would you?”
“No, of course not,” he replied through a grin of his own. “My motivations are pure. I swear.”
“Uh-huh, I bet.” Rising to her feet, she took a moment to straighten her clothes, smoothing out the creases in the legs of her jeans, before she finally turned back to him. There was an uncharacteristically soft look on her face as she smiled at him, and he knew she knew exactly what he was doing. “You know what? Yeah, I’d like that. I’ve got some shopping of my own to do, anyway. Thanks, Scott.”
“Good. Great. Uh…” Clearing his throat, he licked his lips, not quite sure what else to say. She was still staring at him, still had that look on her face, and it had him feeling suddenly, irrationally nervous. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Yeah. Tomorrow.” Grabbing her jacket from the chair next to his bed, she shrugged it on as she made her way to the door. When she reached it, she paused, looked back at him. “Good night, Scott.”
“Good night.”