Chapter Text
The only thing surrounding me was darkness. I heard the faint buzz of fluorescent lights, and smelt the muskiness of what I could only compare to a basement. My eyes fluttered open.
My wrists and ankles were strapped to a steel bed. Panic set in when I couldn't break my arms free. I struggled to even wriggle my body.
A woman's voice echoed through the room. "Subject Nine is awake."
Another voice answered. "Increase the sedative."
Instantly, pain surged through me, and it felt as though a sharp spike was piercing through my throat. I opened my mouth to scream.
I always tried. It never worked. Like the nightmares you have when you're in danger, but no matter how hard you shouted, no one could hear you.
Only the invisible force of my silent cry rattled the walls as alarms began to blare. The last thing I saw before the drugs pulled me back under was a rusted sign bolted outside the reinforced door.
RESTRICTED AREA: USE CAUTION
Somebody...help me.
SIX YEARS EARLIER
BEACON HILLS
There were certain things you learned after spending enough time around Stiles Stilinski.
One: he could turn literally anything into an argument.
Two: he followed more conspiracy theorists online than probably anyone in the world.
Three: he could never stay still.
And four: Well, Stiles didn’t sleep.
At least, that's the conclusion I had come to after hearing the familiar sound of gravel crunching beneath tires outside my window. At two in the morning.
I didn't have to look out the window to know that his Jeep was parked outside. My phone buzzed on my nightstand, and with groggy eyes, I opened the new message.
Stiles: u awake?
I stared at the message. Then I saw the headlights illuminating my ceiling turn off. Probably a good idea if he didn’t want to flash-bang my parents.
Me: No.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Stiles: hilarious
Me: Go home.
Stiles: can't
Me: Why?
There was a pause.
Stiles: because i'm bored
I sighed. Of course he had to interrupt my peaceful sleep just because he was bored at an hour like this.
I climbed out of bed, pulled on a sweatshirt, and quietly made my way downstairs. Fortunately, this was not the first time Stiles had coaxed me out of the house late at night, so I knew how to maneuver around the creaky floorboards without waking my parents.
If I lived with my biological mom, I would have never been able to get away with this.
Instead, she lived with my half-sister Lydia.
A complicated situation, honestly. Soon after Lydia was born, my biological mom divorced Lydia’s dad. A year later, she had me with my dad. But a few years after that, my biological mom got back together with Lydia’s dad. And then, my dad married my stepmother. Confusing, I know. I still saw Natalie Martin often, but she wasn’t a huge figure in my life.
I opened the door.
Stiles was leaning against his Jeep, arms crossed over his chest. He looked tired. His hair was a mess, his hoodie was half-zipped, and there were dark circles underneath his eyes. All of which could be solved if he would go the fuck to bed.
“You look terrible,” I told him plainly. I made sure he could feel the irritation in my voice. But, like always, he paid no mind to my insults.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“It’s two in the damn morning. Nothing about this is good.” I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them in an attempt to wake up more.
I stared at him and waited for a response. I was not granted one.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
“Nope.”
“Stiles.” I rolled my eyes and groaned.
“Y/N.”
I crossed my arms.
He smiled. I hated that smile. Because for some reason, it worked. Every single time.
“Asshole,” I whispered under my breath. “You get me as your prisoner for five minutes.”
“You're the best,” he said.
I didn’t respond. Instead, I opened the passenger door and climbed in. I slowly closed it shut in an attempt to make as little noise as possible. A few seconds later, the Jeep pulled away from the curb.
Neither of us spoke.
That was another thing I'd learned about Stiles. Usually he talked so much because silence made him uncomfortable. But sometimes, like tonight, he was quiet because there was something sitting heavily in the back of his mind.
I glanced over. His hands were tight around the steering wheel, which was odd, because he normally only drove with one hand.
“What's wrong?” I asked.
He took a deep breath. “Nothing.”
“You're lying,” I accused.
“I'm not,” he defended.
“You've been tapping your fingers against the steering wheel for the last three minutes.”
He looked down. His fingers stopped.
“I hate that you notice everything,” he admitted.
“I've known you since we were children.”
“How unfortunate for me,” he grunted.
“Unfortunate?”
“Yeah.”
“Should I get out?” I threatened.
“No.”
“Then stop being a little baby and tell me why you dragged me out of my bed in the middle of the night…again.”
He smiled faintly, and I knew that I wasn’t getting an answer.
I looked back out the window and decided to just enjoy the ride. The streets of Beacon Hills were almost completely empty. The town looked peaceful at night. Which was ironic, considering our lives.
Two years ago, I would've thought the worst thing that could happen to me was failing a test. Then Scott got bitten, and then there was the Alpha, then the kanima, and the hunters.
Then me.
I started thinking about all the things I'd kept from my friends for so long. Things Stiles eventually figured out anyway.
About the things I could hear, the things I could feel. The things I had spent years trying to explain.
I'd spent countless nights searching the internet for answers. Most of it was complete bullshit, but eventually I'd found something that fit better than anything else.
Banshee.
It was the closest explanation I'd found for what was happening to me. At first it seemed completely ridiculous because, hello. But after you find out werewolves existed, it didn’t seem as crazy anymore.
I had never told anyone. Not even Lydia.
Especially not Lydia.
“Do you ever miss it?” Stiles's voice pulled me from my thoughts.
“Miss what?” I asked, still half distracted.
“Before all this.”
I understood immediately.
I looked at him while he kept his eyes on the road. We were circling back to my house now. “Sometimes.”
“Yeah, me too. Obviously I don’t regret anything but—”
“No, yeah. I get it.”
“I miss when the biggest problem we had was Scott ignoring my texts.”
“That still happens,” I laughed.
“Yeah, but now he’s a werewolf who ignores my texts,” he sighed sarcastically. I hummed in agreement.
The silence returned. I watched the passing streetlights reflect across his face.
“Are you scared?”
He glanced at me. “Of what?”
I raised an eyebrow. He pursed his lips.
“Of course not, Y/N.”
He reached over and placed his free hand on my leg. I looked down, and then at him.
“And you shouldn’t be either,” he said gently.
I sighed. It was my turn to bathe in silence.
“Thanks for the middle-of-the-night drive,” I said as Stiles pulled into my driveway. He immediately turned off his headlights.
He looked as though he wished to say something, but closed his mouth before he could say it. “Get some sleep, Y/N.”
“I should be saying that to you, Mr. Stilinski. Drive safe,” I said as he let go of my arm. I stepped out of the car and made my way inside. He left when I closed the front door.
I had barely made it three steps inside when I heard it.
A scream.
I froze. It wasn't loud. It wasn't even coming from anywhere I could pinpoint. It was just... there.
A sharp, distant cry that seemed to come from somewhere inside my own head.
My stomach dropped, and I closed my eyes. The sound came once more. This time, I recognized the voice as a woman. A woman who was dying.
I opened my eyes.
The interior of my house was dark. The only light came from the faint glow of the digital clock in our living room.
Everything was perfectly calm. Except for the ringing in my ears. I pressed my palms against them, but it didn't help. “Fuck.”
I peered out the window, and as expected, Stiles’s Jeep was already gone.
Because apparently the universe had decided one crisis at two in the morning wasn’t enough.
I pulled out my phone.
Me: Where are you?
I waited maybe ten seconds before I got a response.
Stiles: driving
Me: Turn around.
Three dots. No response.
Less than a minute later, headlights appeared at the end of the street. The passenger window rolled down.
“You are a pain in my ass.”
“Good morning to you, too,” I repeated his earlier remark.
He unlocked the door, and I climbed in.
I buried my face in my hands. “I heard it again.”
“What?” he inquired. I looked at him with furrowed brows. “Shit.”
He shifted the gear and started driving. We think better on the road, apparently.
For a few minutes, neither of us spoke. I knew he was giving me time to process everything. I watched the streets disappear behind us.
“Could it have been a flashback?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it wasn't a memory,” I told him, not entirely confident.
He glanced at me. “Then what was it?”
“I don’t know.”
I looked out the window. Because that was the truth more often than not. I didn’t know.
My abilities had never been predictable, but there was usually something familiar about them. There was a feeling I could recognize.
However, the scream I heard a few minutes ago was different.
“Do you think it could be related to the Alpha Pack?” he suggested.
I shrugged at the same time a chill went down my spine at the mention of the new pack in town.
“Maybe.”
“You know, Jackson as the kanima was easier to figure out than whatever is going on with you,” Stiles teased.
“Jackson was an asshole.”
“Yeah, but at least we understood the asshole.”
I laughed quietly.
Then the ringing started again. I immediately sat upright.
“What?” Stiles asked with notable concern laced in his voice.
I didn't answer.
“Y/N.”
“Pull over,” I demanded. He didn't ask why. He just did.
The Jeep came to a stop on the side of the road. I stared through the windshield. There. Again.
That feeling. That horrible, crawling sensation beneath my skin.
“There's someone here,” I whispered, pulse hammering.
Stiles looked around as his shoulders tensed. “Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you tell if they're—”
“Alive?” I finished for him.
He nodded.
I closed my eyes and listened. Nothing.
But then—
A heartbeat.
It was slow and weak. My eyes snapped open.
“East,” I stated.
Stiles immediately pulled back onto the road. “How far?”
My lack of an answer told him that once again, I didn’t know.
“You know, I wish your little ‘spidey senses’ were a bit more telling,” he complained.
“Shut up and drive,” I told him.
“I am driving!”
We turned onto an unfamiliar road. The farther we went, the stronger the ringing became. And then I saw them. A figure standing beneath a streetlight.
A girl.
She was completely still. Barefoot, her clothes were covered in dirt.
I grabbed Stiles' arm. “Stiles.”
He slammed on the brakes. The Jeep jerked to a stop.
The girl looked up.
It was like a scene from a fucking horror movie.
Our eyes met.
Then she screamed.
I screamed too.
But, as usual, no sound came from my mouth.