Trigger warning for the first little bit ngl this rlly hit a bit to close to home for me and i was definitely projecting while writing so sorry if its a bit graphic, i will say when the trigger warning is done! I love you all stay safe!!

Scarlett POV

I heard him before the door even opened.

The key scraped at the lock three times before it caught. A beat later, the door slammed so hard it shook the walls. The sound made me flinch, even though I was already curled tight on the far side of the bed, every muscle locked, eyes wide in the dark.

His boots hit the floor like gunshots.

I didn't move. Didn't breathe.

Please just go to bed.

Please.

The fridge opened. Then slammed shut. Cabinet. Cabinet. Cabinet. Bottle.

The click of it opening made my stomach twist.

He'd been drinking already. But this—this was him topping off the tank. Pouring gasoline on the fire. I could hear him talking to himself, low and bitter. Cursing. Pacing.

And then: silence.

The kind that creeps in like fog right before something awful happens.

He was standing outside my room. I felt it before I heard the doorknob turn.

The door flew open. He was a silhouette against the hallway light, the shape of him unsteady, swaying slightly, but his voice was clear. Sharp.

"You think I wouldn't notice?" he said. "Three days gone. Sneaking around like some cheap little whore. I bust my ass at work, trying to keep a roof over your head, and this is how you repay me?"

I didn't say anything. I knew better.

I sat up slowly, not because I wanted to move but because I didn't want to be caught lying down. That made him angrier. Always did.

"You been out with boys?" he hissed. "Letting them touch you? I bet you have. That's what you are, isn't it?"

He stepped inside. I didn't answer. Didn't even look at him.

That's when the bottle flew.

It missed me by inches and exploded against the closet door. Vodka splattered everywhere. Glass rained to the floor.

Then came his hand.

He yanked me off the bed so fast my feet barely touched the floor before I hit it. My knees cracked against the hardwood, but I didn't have time to feel it—his boot came next, right into my ribs.

I tried to roll away. Didn't matter.

Another kick.

Then another. My body folded around the pain, instinct taking over. My arms locked over my stomach. My breath ripped from my lungs.

"You think this is a fucking joke?!" he shouted, pacing now. Kicking things. Throwing whatever he could reach.

A photo frame shattered against the wall. Then the lamp. The remote. My lighter. Anything small enough to be a projectile became a weapon.

"You think you can just disappear all weekend?" he roared. "You think you can come and go as you please while I'm stuck cleaning up after your fucking mess of a life? I got supervisors breathing down my neck because we haven't found a goddamn thing on this case and you think I need you adding to the pile?"

I stayed down.

He lunged at me again.

I barely had time to raise my arms before he dragged me off the bed, slamming me down hard onto the floor. My ribs screamed on impact. My head snapped back. I tasted blood in my mouth before I even registered the punch.

Then another.

Then the kicking started.

Boots to my stomach. My side. My back.

I tried to curl up, but he grabbed my hair and yanked me flat again.

He hit me over and over. Hands. Fists. Feet.

Swearing. Spitting. Calling me a slut. A mistake. A burden. Telling me I ruined everything. That it was my fault. All of it. The case. The job. His life.

The rage poured out of him like a storm he'd been holding in all day.

And I was just... there.

A thing for him to hit.

Something to break.

I stopped feeling most of it after a while. My body went distant. I could still hear the hits, the sound of knuckles against skin, of bones crunching, but I wasn't in it anymore.

I was somewhere else.

Floating. Weightless. Quiet.

Until even that slipped away.

Until everything turned black.

~~~TW OVER~~~

Stiles POV

Last night was a freaking mess.

Two doctors went missing from Beacon Hills Memorial—again.
My dad said the ER attending didn't die from strangulation, which would almost make sense, but from asphyxiation. No visible trauma. No bruises. No sign of a struggle. Just... dead.

And no one knows how. Like he just stopped breathing.

We're so far past weird, we're in a whole new zip code of supernatural.

I barely slept. I just kept thinking about that on-call doctor who's still missing. What if she's still out there? What if whatever took her is just biding its time? Picking people off one by one like it's got a grocery list?

By the time I got to school, I was wound so tight I almost tripped over my own feet on the stairs. But there was one thing I was actually looking forward to:

Seeing Scarlett.

She had this look in her eyes yesterday. Not the usual glare or cold front. Something softer. Not warm, exactly, but like she didn't completely hate my existence.

And she sat next to me.

She actually chose to sit next to me.

I couldn't stop thinking about it. She didn't say much, but she didn't move away either. That had to mean something, right?

But today... nothing.

She wasn't at her locker. Not in the halls. Not even in any of the classes we shared.

I tried to play it cool. Maybe she was just late. Maybe she had a doctor's appointment or something.

But when lunch rolled around and there was still no sign of her, I started to feel that low hum of panic rising in my chest.

By the time Chemistry rolled around—the last class of the day—I was practically bouncing my knee off its hinge.

Jennifer Blake greeted the room in her usual bubbly, awkward tone.

"Good morning!" she chirped. "As you all know, Mr. Harris is still missi— I mean sick. Anyway, I'm filling in while we all hope and pray for a more qualified substitute to take my place. Okay, so let's get started, shall we?"

I leaned over to Scott, keeping my voice low. "Hey, my dad said that the ER attending wasn't strangled but did die from asphyxiation—they just don't know how."

Scott didn't look surprised. Just tired. Concerned.

"Do you think the on-call doctor could still be alive?" he asked.

I shook my head slowly. "I don't know... but Scott, there's got to be at least twenty other doctors in that hospital, at least, you know? Any one of them could be next."

Scott's eyes flicked toward the front of the room but I could tell he wasn't really paying attention. I hesitated, then lowered my voice even more.

"And—I haven't seen Scarlett all day."

Scott immediately tensed. "Don't."

"What?" I whispered. "I'm just saying—she's not here. You don't think that's weird?"

"She's fine."

"You don't know that."

Scott turned to me with that look—the one that said the door was closed, locked, and deadbolted. "Just drop it, Stiles."

Before I could argue, his phone buzzed. He glanced down, his expression tightening, and within seconds he was out of his seat and asking Jennifer if he could go to the bathroom.

A second later, he was gone.

And I was left staring at the empty seat where Scarlett should've been.

Trying to ignore the knot tightening in my gut.

Because something wasn't right.

And I was starting to think Scott knew it too.

Derek POV

When Cora and I reach the loft, I immediately sense that something is off. 

The second I step inside, my jaw tightens. 

The window. 

The large pane of glass across the room has been marked. 

A symbol, bold and unmistakable, is etched into the surface. 

A spiral. 

Cora stops beside me, following my gaze. "What the hell is that?" she asks. 

I stare at it for a long moment, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. 

"It means they're coming," I say grimly. 

I turn to look at her, my expression hardening. 

"Tonight."

~~~•~~~

The loft door creaked open, and I didn't even have to look up to know who it was.

Footsteps—light, hesitant, then louder when the second pair followed. Isaac and Boyd.

Of course.

I didn't bother turning around. "Go back to school," I said, my voice flat, rough from too little sleep and too many problems piling up on top of each other.

"Actually," Isaac said, dragging it out with that sheepish tone that always meant he was about to say something stupid. "We can't. Boyd and I are incredibly and unbelievably sick."

I turned slowly, raising a brow. "With what? Brain damage?"

Isaac smiled. Boyd didn't.

"I have a migraine," Isaac added, half-serious. "And, uh... Boyd here has explosive diarrhea."

Boyd shot him a glare like he wanted to throw him through a wall. "We're here to protect you," he muttered instead.

I stared at both of them. "You're here to protect me? Well, I'm in trouble, then..."

Isaac didn't flinch. He was too used to my sarcasm now.

"Actually, Boyd came up with a plan," Isaac said, gesturing toward him like this was some grand presentation.

I glance at Boyd, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?" 

Boyd crossed his arms, nodding slightly. "I was thinking about that time Gerard had me and Erica locked up. Tied us down with electrical wires, pushing currents through us." His voice was steady, but I saw the memory flicker behind his eyes. He hadn't forgotten what that felt like. None of us had.

"I was wondering how we could do something like that... but on a bigger scale."

He stepped closer to the edge of the loft, eyes sweeping the space.

"In a pool of electrified water," he said, calm as anything, "it can take as little as fifty milliamps to kill a human. Less power than it takes to turn on a light bulb."

I sighed, rubbing a hand down my face. "That's comforting..."

"If we disable the circuit interrupter in the building's electrical room, the current will keep flowing. Nonstop," Boyd said. "Anyone who steps foot in here barefoot? They'll get a pretty shocking surprise."

"Especially someone who's barefoot," Isaac adds.

It takes a few seconds before I nod. "Fine. Show me what you've got."

~~~•~~~

Setting up isn't as easy as they make it sound.

First, we have to move the industrial generator from the storage room. It's heavy as hell, and Isaac groans the entire time, even though I know he could be lifting twice as much if he actually tried.

"Maybe we should just let them kill us," he mutters, adjusting his grip. "I mean, what's the point? I didn't even like school, and now I can't even go to school because we're too busy trying not to die."

"You still wouldn't go to school," Boyd deadpans.

Isaac scoffs. "I might."

I grunt, ignoring their bickering as I drop the generator in place. "Less talking, more working."

Isaac whistles lowly. "You sure this is gonna work?"

Boyd nods. "If the floor stays wet and the electricity keeps running, they won't stand a chance."

Isaac makes a face. "What if we step in the water?"

"Then you die," I say flatly.

Isaac stares at me for a long moment. "...Great."

I move past them, heading toward the electrical room. The breaker box is old, but with enough tampering, I manage to override the circuit interrupter, leaving the current exposed.

Once everything is in place, we step back, looking over our work.

"Is this gonna kill 'em?" Isaac asks.

Boyd meets his gaze, expression unreadable.

"I hope so," he says.

I glance between them, my jaw set.

I don't hope for anything.

The loft was quiet for a beat too long.

And that's when it hit me.

Scarlett.

If she came down here—if she saw this, smelled the scorched metal and ozone, if she walked in barefoot, stoned or distracted or bleeding—this plan wasn't just dangerous. It was deadly. For her.

I clenched my jaw, glancing toward the stairs that led up to her apartment.

She hadn't come by today. No quiet steps. No faint smell of weed or cigarette smoke trailing in ahead of her. No dry sarcasm, no drawn-out silences where she pretended not to care.

Good.

Stay upstairs, Scarlett.

Don't come down tonight. Don't hear this. Don't get curious.

Because I didn't know how many more secrets we could keep from her before the dam broke.

And I wasn't ready for that.

Not yet. 

Stiles POV

The clinic smelled like antiseptic and fur. The kind of place that always felt too quiet, even when someone was bleeding out or a half-dead werewolf was slumped on the floor. Right now, it was just me and Scott—and the weight of something I really didn't want to say out loud.

He was pacing again. Classic Scott move. Couldn't stand still when his brain was chewing on something heavy.

"We have to tell him," he said, eyes locking on me like he'd already made up his mind.

I blinked. "You mean like... tell him? Or tell him something else that isn't telling him what I think you want to tell him?"

Scott gave me that look. The one where his jaw sets and he says everything without saying anything.

"You know what I mean."

Yeah. Unfortunately, I did.

I leaned against the counter, arms crossed tight. "You remember how your mom reacted?" I asked. "She didn't look you in the eye for, like, a week man."

Scott's expression softened. "And she got over it. And—it actually made us closer."

I scoffed under my breath. "I don't know, dude..."

I glanced at the back door, like I could somehow see through it. See him. My dad. Still in uniform. Still trying to put the puzzle together when half the pieces were supernatural and made of lies.

"Look at him," I said. "Come on, Scott. He's completely overwhelmed as it is."

Scott didn't flinch. "He's overwhelmed because he has no clue what's happening. He's got people dying in his town—the town he's supposed to protect—and it's not his fault that he doesn't know what's out there. He's gonna find out sooner or later."

"Yeah, but is now really the right time?"

I could feel the panic twisting in my chest again. That sick, sharp pressure that hadn't let up for days. Weeks.

"What if not telling him now gets someone else killed?" Scott said.

I stared at him. Then looked away.

"What if telling him gets him killed, huh?" I snapped. "You think about that?"

Scott didn't respond, but I wasn't done.

"Okay. Okay, look." My voice cracked a little, but I pushed through it. "I get it. I get that Deaton's been like a father to you. And that's... that's great, okay? But this is my—this is my actual father. I can't..."

My throat closed up for a second. I swallowed hard.

"I can't lose both of my parents. Not both of them."

Silence. Heavy. Real.

Scott's shoulders dropped a little. "You're right."

"No, I'm not," I said, rubbing my hands over my face. "I'm not right."

The words tasted like metal on my tongue. But I said them anyway.

"I'll tell him."

Scott stepped closer. "I'll help you."

I didn't say thank you. Couldn't. Just nodded once and kept staring at the floor, like maybe if I stared long enough, it'd crack open and swallow me whole.

Because I was about to blow up my life.

And I had no idea what would be left after the dust settled.

~~~•~~~

The halls of Beacon Hills High were pretty much empty by the time I got back. The air was heavy with that weird silence schools get after hours—like all the stress and drama of the day just soaked into the walls and stayed there.

I rounded the corner toward the lockers and froze when I saw them.

Cora. Lydia.

Cora had her hand wrapped around Lydia's arm, and not in a friendly "let's get coffee" kind of way.

"Is there a problem?" Lydia asked, her voice sharp and cold—classic Lydia defense mode.

Cora didn't blink. "Yeah... Derek would like to kindly ask you to stop seeing Aiden."

Oh god.

"Which means," she added, "if I catch you with him again, I'm not going to pull the fire alarm... I'm going to pull your tongue out of your head."

Jesus Christ.

I sped up, closing the gap between us fast.

"Sweetheart," Lydia replied coolly, "my last boyfriend was a homicidal lizard, so I think I can handle a werewolf."

"Let go," she said, tugging at her arm.

No response.

"I said—"

"Let go," I cut in, stepping between them. "She said let go."

Cora glared at me for half a second too long, then finally released Lydia's arm. I didn't miss the way Lydia's hand trembled for just a second before she tucked it behind her back.

Crisis semi-averted.

We ended up in one of the empty classrooms—the kind teachers probably haven't stepped foot in since the 90s. Dusty desks, old projector in the corner, flickering overhead lights. The perfect setting for a séance-slash-total-desperation move.

"A Ouija board?" Lydia asked, arching an eyebrow at me like I'd just suggested sacrificing a goat.

"Also called a spirit board," I corrected, setting it down on the desk. "And it's worth a shot..."

"A shot in the dark."

"Could you just try it, please?" I snapped, a little harder than I meant to. "Okay? Let's not forget who this is for—Scott's boss. The guy who has literally saved our asses more times than I can count."

I glanced at Cora, who had her arms crossed like she was already sick of all of this.

"Oh, wait," she said. "Should we all do this?"

"Yeah," I muttered. "Yeah. You guys ready?"

They both nodded.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the keys. "These are Deaton's keys for the clinic," I said, walking over to Lydia. "Close your eyes. I'm gonna put them in your hand, and then we're just gonna see if you can feel out where he is."

"This is called psychometry," I added, even though I knew she'd probably mock the name.

"I'm not psychic," Lydia said flatly.

"You're something!" I said, almost shouting. "Okay? I don't know what it is, Lydia, but it's something. So just—put out your hand."

She gave me a look, then held out her palm. I dropped the keys into it.

"Mmm..." she murmured, frowning.

"What?"

"They're cold."

"Lydia, concentrate, please?" I groaned. "Trying to save lives here, for the love of God."

We waited. The tension in the room was suffocating.

"Yeah? What is it? What do you see?" I asked, leaning forward.

She sighed. "Nothing."

I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair. "Okay. Okay, maybe we try automatic writing."

Lydia pulled a notebook from her bag and scribbled something.

"Lydia, what are you doing? What—what the hell is that?"

She held up the page. A tree. A freaking tree.

"A tr—?" I blinked. "Lydia, you're supposed to be writing words—like, in sentences. Something like a location, something that would tell us where he is."

"Well, maybe you should've said that," she shot back.

Cora rolled her eyes. "Isn't she supposed to be some kind of genius?"

"Genius? Yes. Psychic? No," Lydia bit out.

"Honestly, I don't even know why you're bothering with me anyway..." she continued. "Especially since it's obvious you should be talking to Danny."

I blinked, stunned. "What? Why Danny?"

Before she could answer, the door burst open.

"Because..." Scott said, breathless as he stepped inside. "Last night, he was a target... but he wasn't a sacrifice."

Cora's brow furrowed. "But isn't Danny still in the hospital?"

"Yeah," I said, already grabbing my jacket. "That's where we're going right now."

Scott turned to leave.

"Wait—why?" I called after him.

He didn't answer.

He just disappeared through the door.

~~~•~~~

I parked a block away from the hospital, partly because I didn't want to risk running into someone official, and partly because sneaking into places had become such a regular part of my life that it felt weirder not to.

Beacon Hills Memorial was quiet—well, as quiet as a hospital could get. Sterile lighting, the faint hum of machines, the occasional cough from behind a curtain. It should've been comforting. It wasn't.

I moved fast down the hallway, keeping my head down, hoodie up, heart pounding. Danny's room was near the end of the corridor. I paused outside the door, then slipped inside like some kind of awkward ninja.

I hovered next to his bed and leaned in a little. "Danny," I whispered.

No response.

I glanced at the door, then back at him. "Danny?" I said again, louder.

Still nothing.

I sighed. Sorry, dude.

I reached out and gave him a light slap on the cheek.

He twitched. His body actually shifted. Like, his whole torso jerked sideways.

"Wow!" I said, stepping back.

But he didn't wake up. He just settled right back into his coma-nap like nothing happened.

Okay. Moving on.

I spotted his backpack on the floor and crouched beside it, unzipping it like a thief in a teenage action movie.

I jumped about a foot in the air, nearly knocking over the chair as Danny's voice rang through the room. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice scratchy from sleep. 

Spinning around, I found Danny blinking groggily at me, looking equal parts confused and annoyed. 

I straightened up, very much caught, and tried to go with the only possible strategy left: denial.

"I'm not doing anything, Danny," I said, backing up a step. "This is just a dream you're having..."

He frowned. "Are you going through my stuff?"

"Right, but only in the dream, remember?" I said, gesturing vaguely. "Dream. Dreaming."

Danny squinted at me. "Why would I dream about you going through my stuff?"

"I don't know, Danny, okay? It's your dream. Take responsibility for it. Shut up and go back to sleep." 

Danny let out a soft groan, his head sinking back into the pillow. "I hate you." 

"Love you too, buddy," I muttered, already turning my attention back to the bag.
I rifled through notebooks and textbooks until I found a stapled packet—labeled in Danny's neat handwriting:

"Telluric Currents Research Project Proposal – Daniel Mahealani – Mr. Harris"

I blinked. My brain started doing that thing where it connected too many dots at once and overloaded itself. I flipped through the pages, my heart rate spiking with every line of underlined text and scrawled margin notes about energy lines, "geographic nexuses," and magnetic surge points.

"Oh, Danny-boy," I whispered to myself, flipping through the last few pages. "You might've actually found something here..."

This wasn't just a physics report. It was a map.

I quickly, shoved the paper into my bag, and zipped his bag up carefully like I hadn't just committed academic burglary.

Then I remembered something—or rather, someone.

Scarlett.

I moved fast, out the door and toward the reception desk, heart hammering for a whole new reason now. I had to know. I had to know.

I slowed only when I reached the front desk. A nurse I didn't recognize stood behind the counter—definitely not Melissa. Good.

"Hi," I said, trying not to sound like I was absolutely freaking out inside. "I was just wondering... did anyone named Scarlett come in today? Or maybe last night?"

The nurse blinked. "Scarlett?"

"Yeah. Could you check for me?"

"I need a last name," she said, already reaching for the keyboard.

"I don't have it," I said quickly. "I just—please. Could you check? Just the first name. Scarlett."

She gave me a weird look, but started typing anyway. "We've had three patients named Scarlett admitted in the last twenty-four hours. None of them minors. No teenage girls, if that's what you're asking."

I swallowed. "Right. Okay. Thanks."

"Do you have any other information?" she asked.

I hesitated. "Were there any Jane Does?"

Her fingers moved over the keyboard again. "Two. Both male."

I nodded stiffly, my stomach twisting. "Thanks."

I turned and walked out fast, fingers already dialling Scott before I even hit the parking lot.

He answered on the second ring. "Deaton's got to be at one of the six locations," he said without preamble. "But they're all over town. I don't know how we can get to all of them fast enough."

"Well," I said, glancing down at my phone, "we might not have to."

"What do you mean?" Scott asked.

"Danny was doing this project for Mr. Harris' physics class," I said, starting to walk back toward my Jeep. "And I think it actually means something."

"What project?"

"Something on... telluric currents."

There was a pause.

"...Did you say 'currents'?"

"Yeah..." I said slowly, eyes widening as it hit me too. "Yeah."

~~~•~~~

By the time I burst through the door of the animal clinic, everyone was already there—Scott, Lydia, and Cora—all circled around the exam table like some weird Scooby-Doo summit. A map was spread out in the center, corners pinned down by whatever they could find—a scalpel case, a broken beaker, a mug that probably hadn't been washed since 2008.

Cora looked up and gave me that look—eyebrows drawn, arms crossed, already annoyed. "What the hell does some kid's science project have to do with Deaton?"

I dropped the report on the table with more force than necessary. "Okay, first of all, not just some kid. It's Danny. And second, it's not just a science project. It's a report on telluric currents—geomagnetic fields. You know, energy lines that literally run through the earth? They're real. They exist. Google it."

Cora raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"I did Google it," I muttered, flipping through the pages. "And guess what? They're influenced by moon phases. Sounds familiar, doesn't it? Now, look at this—this is a note from Harris on Danny's proposal." 

Lydia reached over and picked up the top sheet, reading aloud with the usual mix of elegance and ice. "'I strongly advise you to choose another topic. The ideas here, while innovative and thoughtful, border on pseudo-science. Not suitable for class.'"

Her voice dipped into mockery on the last part. "Charming, isn't he?"

"Harris wasn't just a teacher," Scott said, frowning. "He was a sacrifice. And if he knew about this... maybe that's why he was taken."

"Exactly," I said, flipping to the back page like it was my mic-drop moment. "Danny didn't just write about the theory. He mapped it. Look."

I spread out the folded page I'd taken from Danny's bag—his version of the town, complete with telluric current paths and electromagnetic surge points. My fingers traced the lines like they meant something sacred.

"Beacon Hills isn't just sitting on these currents—it's drenched in them. The whole damn town is a supernatural lightning rod."

Scott leaned over, eyes scanning fast. "Stiles... these spots—where the bodies were found?"

"They match the map," I said, heart pounding. "Three locations. Where they were taken. Where the bodies showed up. If these lines are real, the sacrifice site has to be right in between. That's the pattern."

Lydia leaned in, her finger landing on one intersection. "Here. This current runs straight through the preserve. Right between two drop sites."

"So he's somewhere along that path," I said, breath catching. "That's where Deaton is. It has to be."

Then Cora stiffened. "Wait. Stop. Right there."

We all turned to her. She was pointing at a spot just off-center.

"He's in the vault—the same vault." 

Lydia's eyes flicked up. "Guys—wait. What if it's a trap—?"

"We don't have time for 'what ifs,'" I snapped, adrenaline spiking.

Cora's phone buzzed, slicing through the tension. She checked it. Her whole face changed.

"It's Boyd. The plan didn't work. They cut the power."

Scott paled. "It's just like Deucalion said..."

He looked between us, eyes narrowing with sudden clarity. "Go. I'll get Deaton out myself."

"Wait, what?" I stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "Scott, what about backup? What about not dying?"

He looked at me, then Cora. "You two can get to Boyd in time. I can handle Deaton."

"You think you can," I muttered, already reaching for my keys. "That's not the same thing."

He just looked at me—the way only Scott McCall can, all honest eyes and reckless resolve.

"Go," he repeated.

I sighed, hard and deep. "You better not die. I'm serious."

Cora was already halfway to the door.

"Let's go," I muttered, jogging after her.

•===============•
A/n:

Ngl I kinda hate this chapter it's so shit but anyway

my mental health has taken a massive decline again and I've got a lot going on rn and I just don't have any energy, so yeah that's been fun

Anyway idk what to say but I love you all stay safe drink lots of water and eat some food!

Pls comment and vote!

QOTD: What's your biggest pet peeve?

WC: 4900