𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐋 | ❝ I will protect you until my dying breath. And every lifetime after that. ❞
They just can't catch a break.
Old and new enemies appear in Beacon Hills.
With the help of old and new allies, they have to...
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ALARIC TRIED ONCE MORE TO SHOVE HIS FINGERS between the sliding door of the bathroom prison, attempting to use every ounce of strength he had to open the door. But after being suffocated with jewelweed, it was taking time to heal.
Time he didn't have.
He didn't know what Araya was doing to Lydia, but he could sense the girl's fear through their bond. He had to find her.
He let out a frustrated yell, yanking his hands away from the door. He raised his foot high and kicked it in rage. The steel rattled in protest under the force of his kick, but it didn't budge. He yelled again, kicking it a second time purely out of frustration. He had to find a way out.
"He's awake." Alaric's head spun around to see Kira leaning over Scott. "Guys, he's awake!"
Temporarily abandoning his attempt to escape — an attempt that was epically failing — he ran over to Scott, who had been unconscious for a several minutes since he was thrown in the bathroom with Kira and Malia.
Malia and Stiles ran over to Scott, as well, the four of them leaning over the Alpha. "Scott, you okay?" Stiles asked his best friend.
"Yeah," Scott groaned. Kira and Stiles knelt down as he started to sit up. "They don't have them. They don't have Derek and Sarah."
"Actually..." The new voice caused Scott to spin around to look at the rusted, old basin sinks behind him. "You're partially correct."
Scott jumped to his feet and ran over to the older blonde werewolf, who had been leaning against one of the sinks. He threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly, much like how Stiles had when he and Alaric were thrown into the old bathroom.
Sarah Stilinski looked unharmed — physically. But he didn't know what she had been through and she didn't want to talk about it when they had asked.
Her hair was unruly, although she probably tried to keep it tame by running her fingers through it like a comb, and it was matted and caked with dirt. Her clothes were just as bad — a tank top that was torn in some places, covered in just as much dirt and dust as her hair. Her shorts looked singed at the hems, a few holes littered around the denim fabric. Her skin was nearly black, covered in soot and grime, caked with dried blood from wounds that had healed.
"Are you okay?" Scott asked Sarah worriedly, pulling out of their hug to look the woman over.
Sarah chuckled, a sound that came out almost forced, like her heart wasn't really there. Alaric could tell, and he knew Stiles could, too. How the light had dimmed from her eyes, her hands twitched sometimes, and she was fidgety. Every so often, her eyes dragged over to the door, like she was waiting for it to slide open to reveal hunters on the other side.
"I'm good, Scott," she assured the boy, slightly nudging him with her elbow. "But you're right, they don't have Derek." Her smile faded and she looked down at her Chuck Taylors-bound feet.
