Broken Family Tree

5 - Almost Home

They didn't talk for another 10 hours.

They didn't feel like talking after the depressing conversation they had. And that was okay—for them, at least.

Eventually, they got to talking again, but only when Malia stopped at a department store, telling Thomas to wait in the car and coming back with two bags full of clothes and simple toiletries—even a small pair of hair clippers. Thomas looked through the bags, wondering out loud what the items were and how they worked, not noticing Malia driving up to a gas station and parking near the bathrooms.

For the next two hours, Malia proceeded to—according to Thomas—torture him, putting all kinds of poisonous chemicals on his skin and cutting away the hair on his head to get the chemicals to reach his brain faster. In reality, she spent two hours fighting with Thomas trying to get him clean, putting all kinds of ointment on any rashes and open cuts he had (the biggest one was on his privates, her face burning red but swallowing her embarrassment as she did the best she could to put basic antibiotic and anti-itch ointment on his balls, fighting his hands as they tried to get her away from that area), chopping off and shaping his disgusting and overgrown claws from his hands and feet as best she could, and having no choice but to cut off all his hair because it was beyond saving, utterly damaged from the roots to the ends, applying more ointment when she saw the horrendously-sized scabs and scratches on his scalp (because of them, she decided to hold off on the shampoo for until the wounds were completely healed). It took her another hour to get him to wear the clothes she got for him—especially the underwear. For reasons unknown, Thomas despised the idea of the underwear as soon as it was explained to him, going so far as to destroying two pairs before she finally had to order him to not destroy it as she put them on. He had complied, maintaining a grumpy face while she put the shirt and pants on him, his frown deepening when she helped him into the pants. But he didn't make a sound. He didn't have to, though—anyone within five miles could practically feel the waves of his displeasure. The clothes were only a little tight despite them being a large size, which made Malia glad that she had decided to go with the larger size instead of the smaller one.

After the ordeal—both silently vowing to never speak of it and take it to their graves—Thomas came out much cleaner than before: his skin was clear of most of the dirt, showing as a smooth olive color; he had bandages on top of the ointment all over his body, even one covering his head; his nails were still bad, but now they were short and tamed; his head was shaved, all of his locks thrown into the trash; and he smelled like Old Spice (she had convinced him to wear deodorant, too). He was wearing a pastel green, solid-color T-shirt, heavy blue jeans, and cotton boxers. She was going to get the standard cheap underwear but changed her mind, thinking that something more comfortable might be more to his liking. She didn't bother buying socks or shoes for him. He's most likely been barefoot all his life, reasoned Malia, so if the underwear had been a problem, then I bet the shoes would've been a bigger one.

With that, they gassed up and got back on the road, Thomas still displeased with the clothes and the chemicals all over his body, willfully ignoring the fact that they were bringing him the quickest and most amazing relief he had felt ever. To distract herself and him from what had just happened, Malia started telling her about the pack. Stiles was first, Malia telling Thomas of all the things he'd done to help her and everyone else before she had joined; Lydia came next, followed by Ms. McCall, Chris Argent, Liam, Brayden, and the others. She left Derek and Peter for last, taking her time to explain everything she knew about them, leaving nothing out. He drank every word this time, a greedy look in his eyes. She hoped that, with the information, he would know to trust Stiles with anything he needed in case he didn't feel like coming to her. She also hoped that for everyone else, he would at least be civil to them—in the beginning, to start—and learn to trust them over time. She was trying to be realistic when she saw the benefit of telling him about the pack ahead of time, before he met them in person. She realized too that he would probably appreciate, maybe even be grateful for, the information! She obviously included Scott in the discussion. As much as she wanted to paint him in a positive light—he wasn't a bad guy, after all—but the fight they had had before had left a sour taste in her mouth, the pain and feeling of betrayal bleeding through when she told Thomas about the Alpha of her pack. He caught her feelings, without a doubt, but said nothing about them. Maybe he saw she did not want to elaborate on why she felt the way she did when talking about him; maybe he sensed this was a touchy subject for her; maybe he felt it was not his place to comment on her relationships. She couldn't be sure, but she was grateful nonetheless for him not prying. 

~○~○~○~

Four more days of driving with many pit stops (Malia thought it'd be nice to show him some of the things she had seen herself), and the two siblings were finally having conversations with each other again, this time about lighter topics such as their favorite food, favorite pass-time, favorite animal, and so on. She had reapplied the ointments twice a day and that had made all the difference: parts of his skin were not as unbearably itchy or bothersome as they were before, and the pain he had gotten so used to feeling in his privates barely existed anymore. She handed him a packet of wipes too, instructing him to give himself a general clean every day so that she could apply a new layer of ointment on him. One day, Thomas thanked Malia for the medicine she had given him and for the other things she had done, completely out of the blue. Malia could tell he was uncomfortable with being taken care of, as the same was for her except she was taking care of someone, so she was surprised at the thanks but accepted it all the same, and they gradually got into a routine and got to enjoy the ride, taking turns putting their choice of music on the radio.

On the fifth day, they stopped at a gas station an hour away from Beacon Hills, California. Malia had turned on her phone an hour ago, and everything came flooding in: calls, texts, video calls, voicemails, emails—anything Scott could think of. Yes, all the notifications on her phone were from him. It did make Malia feel guilty for worrying him, but when she skimmed through all of the texts and emails, she became irritated, the irritation quickly evolving into full-blown rage. All the text messages talked about was how she was overreacting, that he had done it to protect her, that he wasn't in the wrong, that she should at least have said "thank you"—excuses after excuses, and nothing that showed any reflection of any kind. He had had a month to think about what he had done, and this is what he showed for it?! She couldn't read any more and shut off her phone. Thomas, sensing her distress, walked over from where he was watching for any threats around them.

"Malia?" He asked, worry evident in his voice. "Are you okay? What happened?" He lightly touched her forearms with the tips of his fingers, unsure if he was allowed to touch her. Malia, at the touch, looked up and gave her little brother a small smile, forcing herself to calm down. She didn't want to needlessly worry him with her problems.

"It's nothing, Thomas. Don't worry about it. I can handle it. Hey," she suddenly got an idea. "How about I call Derek? I haven't spoken to him in ages and you could learn what he's like over the phone. Whatdya say?" 

The response time was the same as in Indiana:

"When are you calling him?"

"Right...now." She had Derek's number on speed dial, and had just pressed the green button.