Darkened

Derek stared blankly around the inky void, torn by the moonlight. Damp earth froze on his hands, embedded under his fingernails with an unpleasant, itchy ache. He hears someone singing softly in his head. The foliage echoes in his ears with an unaccustomed tremor. The night birds are silent, the insects are silent, and the wolf inside Derek is silent too. It's as if he's only strong enough for one fear-filled howl. He tries to quiet the maddening heartbeat, the shattering sound scattering in his head, puts his palm on his chest, an ephemeral movement trying to balance his senses, but is surprised to feel a measured pulse with his fingers. His teeth, unceasingly, clatter. His wolf is afraid of someone. Derek breathes in the night air, permeated with a strange abnormal odor. The forest smells of joy, bordering on elation. No, it is the forest itself that smells of happiness, like a huge living creature. Derek hears nothing, feels nothing but a painful euphoria pushing at the wind in his mud-covered chest. He pivots backward, with unaccustomed panicked gestures trying to find his footing, until a dull ache begins to spread across his frozen skin. He turns around agonizingly slowly, takes an unbearably long time to look down. In front of him is a huge black stump, soaked with dried, scattered blood and pain, pulling at the roots into the ground. Derek tentatively reaches out to it, feeling the soot on his lips and his own odor of burning flesh. Darkness runs down his fingers, sliding through his pores into the body that has become so fragile. It's something inexplicable. Something that wants to make him dissolve into memories. Something that wants to make him wallow in pain. Calling the wolf to flee. Making his wolf whimper. He hears the cell phone shoved in his jeans break the silence and hesitantly picks up an unknown number. -Who is it? - Derek is sure that his voice is a little cracked. Interference slices the invisible network wires against the speaker. He takes the phone to the downed tree, feeling the invisible connection. The unintelligible hissing turns into words that mean nothing to anyone:

-In my body I have a master

Derek smashes the phone against the hard bark of the tree, succumbing to uncontrollable terror. But he can still feel the screams of the forest filling the void in his head and becoming an intermittent silence. Even as Derek, clawing at the ruined flap of the bedspread, opens his eyes, feeling the pain on his torn lips, he continues to hear the wrong voice, as if distorted by metal:

-I bow down when she comes around

The alpha in his mind knew that a nightmare had taken up residence here, right in his damn territory.

***

Lydia crunches another packet of pills for the headache that's been driving her crazy for a week, rubbing her chilled fingers as she adjusts her scarf. Allison mumbles something unhappily, not directly implying anything, and averts her concerned gaze. Because she can't help it. Lydia smiles, nudging the huntress in the back. Lydia smiles because her teeth are chattering from the incessant noise echoing off the walls of her skull. She can't make sense of it. The mush of sounds has become a hysterical jam, preventing her from sleeping, breathing, and thinking. But she has to wait, wait for "intolerable" to turn into "scream" boiling on her tongue. Banshees know how to wait. Banshees know how to endure. Lydia is sickened by the mere mention of her essence even in her own head. Martin continues to smile as the exhausted Scott smiles affably and even as he opens his mouth. Somehow she's sure this will be over soon, she somehow knows she won't have to scream. -What's wrong with Derek? - Lydia sees the same unconcealed worry in Allison's eyes. McCall shakes his head, his fingers tightening on the straps of his backpack. His red T-shirt looks like a bloodstain for some reason. -I don't know what's going on, I can't explain it,- he rubs his eyes with his right hand, the black streaks turning into cracks. -Derek says something came here. Lydia doesn't want to know what either of the Hales are thinking, Lydia doesn't want to know why the sounds are getting clearer with every step she takes. -Scott,- Allison's painted lips smell like cherries, Martin feels like they were together that night, -he still hasn't found anything after a whole week. Are you sure Derek's okay? -Fine, because I can feel it too, even if it's not as strong,- McCall rolled his shoulder, brushing away a past shiver and tightening his lips, -and I don't think it's a good thing. The banshee distinguished a low, husky laugh. Lydia thinks she wants to see Jackson again. Recognizes the husky, strangled screams. Thinks her lipstick must be a bronze shade. And crying. She feels nonexistent tears filling the hallway up to her ankles. Lydia doesn't think Banshees are harbingers of someone's doom. Scott pulls the doorknob a couple seconds before the bell rings and disappears into the crowd with Allison. Martin squeezes her shoulders; she's cold to the point of uncontrollable shivering in the middle of fall when it's still warm enough, and it's wrong. What's wrong is that she can't hear the teacher, can't hear anything but the madness hanging in the air. And then she bumps into a stranger's gaze, making that madness disappear. It's like it never existed. The guy waves hello to her, smiling with cracked lips, and something inside Lydia blissfully blurs, making her smile and just as ridiculously wave back. She sits back in her seat, studying the edge of the tattered textbook thoughtfully, swallowing the almost-formed thought that Banshees are harbingers of Death itself. Death, who loves the Banshees for their silent screams. Martin twirls her pencil in her hands, waiting for the end of an hour that has turned into a loop. She wonders. It's mid-October, which is unusual for regular transfer students. It's uncharacteristic of normal transfer students not to introduce themselves, just blending into the crowd of unknowns. Lydia turns her head to the stranger who has gifted silence to her mind. He bites lightly on the edge of his pencil, looking at the leaves falling outside the window. It's idyllic,- Banshee thinks, and for the first time since they've been together, Martin wants to agree. She jumps up from her seat just after the bell rings, sees Scott grab Allison's hand, walking in the same direction. They both feel something right about this composition, where the oblivious guy continues to calmly see off the tearing leaves with honey-brown eyes. Lydia notices his pallor and aloofness, Lydia notices the many thin scars on his skinny fingers and the bottomless circles instead of the bruises she's used to. Lydia nods to Scott, who probably thinks the guy needs his help. Scott always thinks that for some reason. And trusts everyone. -Look, you must be pretty anxious on your first day,- McCall puts his palms on someone else's desk, drawing attention, -we can help if you want. He turns to face them, wearing a friendly slightly unsure smile. Scott thinks he's missed something, so Argent steps forward: -This is Lydia and Scott, and my name is Allison. The guy tilts his head sideways, escorting each of their faces with a look. And Allison is uncomfortable with that look. It's like he's not trying to memorize their names, he's trying to pick someone out. -I'm Stiles, Stiles Stilinski,- but he turned his uncertain smile into something very bright and warm, making the huntress forget the strange and unpleasant obsession. Scott places a hand on the stranger's shoulder as Stiles picks up his backpack from the floor. Scott smells the medical supplies, feels the lingering pain touching the exposed area of his neck, feels the joy, and his wolf almost drowns in this unbearable contrast. He wants to be a friend to this poor guy, who has already managed to answer a couple of his jokes with blatant sarcasm. Lydia, studying the delicate features of his face, thinks that he and Jackson won't get along, and the thought makes her laugh for some reason. Allison laughs, tearing her hunter instincts to shreds, because the silent instincts of the Alpha next to her are much stronger. Nogitsune smiles at this idyll, feeling their darkness resonate with her own. -How about we get to know each other better? Stiles wants to see how long they'll think he needs their help. And how long the master of this territory will put two and two together.