"Your drunk"||drabble
Prompt: A drunken Lydia puts herself in danger, Isaac comes to her rescue.
He had, what, seven seconds?
A pretty new wolf, he had limited accuracy with his hypersensitive hearing, but he knew it couldn’t be more than that.
Running.
Running.
Running.
Before he could register the change he’s on all fours, almost galloping towards the racing red and white lights. Tree branches scratched at his face and rocks bruise the palms of his hands. The noise of traffic, horns beeping, voices yelling and tires screeching should be overpowering but he was so focused on the fast thumping of one particular heartbeat that they didn’t register as more than white noise.
The trees cleared abruptly, his vision clouded by headlights coming from either side of him. Pushing the last few metres he crouched and plowed into the source of the heart beat. With red hair in his eyes and his mouth their bodies smashed together and rolled in an awkward and painful ball off the road and down into the underbrush on the other side. A muffled scream filled his ears as they crashed into a tree, his back thankfully taking most of the force. Pain shocked up and down his spine and for a brief moment he thought he might have damaged it. But if he had, it had fixed itself quickly.
The two of them sat there, huddled together panting in shock for almost an entire minute, before the last few moments came rushing back at them. Lydia Martin spat blue shirt she knew wasn’t hers and fumbled out of her rescuer’s grip. Standing on bare shaky feet she used the tree to keep balance. Her vision was blurry with tears which she wiped quickly from her eyes. The view of the boy below her cleared to reveal one Isaac Lahey.
“Isaac?” She panted, a tangled mane threatening to fall in front of her face.
“Lydia?” He looked up, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Wh-what the hell?” Is all he can manage, flabbergasted at the thought of the most popular girl in Beacon Hills, the one who quite literally had it all, making a suicide attempt.
Her arm slipped from the tree and she landed on top of him again, arms bent at awkward angles, elbows digging into hip bones and other places that have Isaac hissing in pain. Pushing her off roughly he rose to his feet, running a hand through his unruly hair as he assessed the situation. Lying there on the rusty-coloured leaves in her silk nightie, she looked almost angelic. Until she burped and burst into a fit of giggles and a pungent breath of sick and whiskey invaded his nose.
“You’re wasted.” He concluded, shaking his head.
She sat up. “I am- not!” A loud hiccup betrayed her thin facade.
“What were you thinking?” He didn’t care if he was yelling, hell maybe it would sober her up for half a second. Somewhere behind her an owl hooted, a few twigs snapping.
His expression softened. Maybe there was something she wasn’t telling them. He could relate to the shameful secrets, to the feeling that maybe jumping in front of a car was the only option. For a moment he thought she might throw up, or give him some half-assed answer, but for a split second she sobered up long enough to look him directly in the eyes. .
“I’m not suicidal, so just cut that train of thought right now.” She barked. “Look, I was just walking home, couldn’t see straight. Then once I was out in the middle of the road, I couldn’t figure out which direction was- was the way out. Until,” She smirked at him. “Superman here pummeled me down a hill.” She flicked her index fingers at him in an Elvis impression. “Uh thank you, thank you very much.” She broke out into a fit of giggles, rolling onto her side. He couldn’t even smile at how stupid she was acting, he was still reeling from the shock.
