Clairvoyant || Stilinski [1]

Twenty-Three || "It's Jacy, Isn't It?"

|| "It's Jacy, Isn't It?"

Scott McCall jerked awake from his weekend-enduced sleep, an earsplitting scream taking over his werewolf hearing. "Lydia," he mumbled, becoming fully awake as he tore away his covers from him.

Fainter than the scream of a banshee, Scott could hear crying and both sounded familiar.

Scott knew where he needed to be.

The werewolf didn't bother with his dirt bike, instead he ran out of the house and took a path through the woods on all fours.

He didn't want to think about what had happened, but only needed to get to the hospital as quick as possible.

As he got closer, he heard exactly what he didn't want to.

It was Doctor Dane's voice. "Clear!" she called, the stitch of a shock audible. "Again! Clear!" She was desperate to save him herself, it was evident in her voice. "Again!"

Scott ran through the main doors of Beacon Hills Memorial, a panicked look on his face as he saw Lydia standing stiffly in front of him with wide eyes.

Lydia fell against Scott, giving him no way of ignoring the obvious truth. He wrapped his arms around her and tried to force away his own tears.

His best friend was dead.

"I love him." Jacy. He could hear her upstairs. "I love him," she repeated, her voice choked with a sob.

"I know," his mom softly said. "He knows."

Scott's eyebrows scrunched together, two sounds starting to faintly follow each other. "Lydia," he quietly said letting go of the strawberry blonde. "Lydia."

There was a sudden gasp of air, two floors up.

"Upstairs, now." Scott grabbed Lydia's hand, the pair setting off in a run for the stairs.

When they got to the special units wing, the first thing that was noticeable was Doctor Dane holding Jacy in a tight hug, but the crying had stopped.

Nurse McCall grabbed Scott, and dispair wiped clean from her face. "Come with me."

Passing the plaque labelled for Stiles, the three went into the room.

Stiles smiled weakly from the hospital bed, "What did I miss?"

||

Jacy sat cross legged at the breakfast counter in a Pink Floyd tee and skinny jeans, rampant thoughts suppressed for the time being. Her pen moved across her notebook, the rough draft for her Medieval Studies class half done.

Her cell phone buzzed frantically on the counter, bumping into her water and rattling the glass.

Scott's picture was on the screen, but Jacy's finger slid it away.

Her missed calls were collecting in double digits.

Olivia came in with her coffee mug, eyeing her daughter. "You can't avoid your friends forever."

"They were only friends with me because I was helping get Stiles back." Jacy didn't look up but only continued her essay on torture methods from the 1400s. "Now they have him, so I'm irrelevant."

"My daughter isn't stupid enough to believe that," Doctor Dane stiffly said. "Now go have dinner with your brother. It's tradition for New Years."