Chaos Rising

6

Void

I hear her heart speed up, beating harshly inside her chest. I reach down and grip her hand, her tiny fingers sit limply in my palm. "This is so inconvenient," I click my tongue, she is in pain, but I can't take it. I am not a werewolf.

Stiles is.

When Scott had bitten me, he changed the host. Not me. But since Stiles had already left my mind when it happened, I ended up having to bear the weight of two supernatural forms. But now, with Stiles' consciousness still here, I can split the two form between us.

When I am in control, I am the fox. If he is in control, he will be the wolf.

But I'm not letting Stiles out, not yet.

I look back at Brett, his chest straining as he inhales and exhales, uneven and sporadic. "But you will have to do." I stand, grabbing a spare lacrosse stick from someone's locker.

I take the cap off the bottom, revealing the sharp, metal hexagonal shape on the end. I grab his jersey, pulling  him up to his feet and pressing him against the wall. He slumps slightly, not having the strength to keep himself upright. I press the stick to his stomach, my fingers tapping the metal as I urge him to look up. Once he meets my eyes, I click my tongue, "I know we've never met before, Brett. But you mortals really have to learn not to trust a fox. This should be common knowledge by now." I smirk, pushing it through his skin. He cries out, but the sound that comes out of his mouth is barely human, more or less the cry of a dying animal. I smile, gripping one hand on his shoulder and twisting the other, the sound of tearing flesh is loud in the small room.

"Does it hurt yet?" I ask, my voice no more than a rough whisper. I pull the stick from his stomach and release his shoulder, letting him fall to the ground. The bloody lacrosse stick drops from my grasp, clattering on the concrete floor and leaving a trail of wet red as it rolls towards the wall. I sigh, watching as Brett tries to crawl away, I step in his path, he looks up in terror. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that, not yet..."  I drag him back, laying his hand over hers, and mine over top of both. I cannot take pain directly from a person, I do not have that type of power without giving Stiles control. But like Scott, Brett does. I need a bridge, a werewolf to take the pain for me, and then I take it from them.

By holding Brett's skin to hers, I am creating that bridge. I breathe in, tasting the thick, warm air of the room, and focus on drawing his power. I take it, all of it. I pull the girl's first, the throbbing of her muscles, the affliction in her body, it flows through Brett, then into me. I close my eyes, feeling for the first time in years the sensation of power, power that had been taken from me. Then, I release her, focusing solely on Brett. The chemical burning of wolfsbane flowing through his bones, the agony of the flesh wound on his stomach, it all becomes mine. His pain leaves him, washing away like water down the drain.

He relaxes, his heart slows down, and I no longer feel anymore pain to take. I let go of his hand, letting it fall to the floor beside him. I stand, the air around me tastes different, fresher. "Now, I will kill you." I say, Brett blinks with wide eyes as I pull a small pocket knife from my waistband. I take a knee, pressing the blade to his neck. I meet his scared gaze as I press down, drawing a thin line of blood from his skin. I wait for him to take ones last breath before slicing the knife across his throat. He chokes as blood gushes from the wound, staining his green jersey an ugly brown. The viscid liquid fills his mouth, passing over his lips and down his face. I doesn't take long for his gurgling to stop, for his eyes to glass over. He stares blankly at the ceiling, limp on the floor. I smile to myself, turning to the girl only to find her doing the same. her heartbeat is not longer pounding in her chest, her eyes looking straight ahead of her, at nothing.

She is already dead.

"Stiles?" I hear Scotts voice call from the hallway, I stand, tucking my bloodied knife in the dead girls limp grasp.

"Scott- Scott come here!" I yell, his footsteps transfer into a run, and he emerges in the doorway. "I- I found her- she had him-" I break my voice, taking a step back. I raise my hands, pretending to startle at the red covering my fingers. I make myself tremble, staring from Brett to the girl, to the blood on my hands. "I- I tried to stop her but- but he was already-" I swallow the imaginary lump in my throat, taking a shaky breath, "she had already cut his- his neck when I came in..." I lie, steadying my heartbeat to appear as though I am telling the truth. "Then- then she attacked me, and- and I think I killed her. Scott... I think I killed her." I manage, looking at him with wide, horrified eyes.

He stares back at me, then at the two bodies on the floor. He takes a hesitant step forwards, kneeling over the girl and placing his two fingers over a spot on her neck. "She's dead." He says quietly, reaching over and prying the knife from her palm. "How did it happen?" He asks, glancing back at me and my quavering hands.

"I don't know... I think- I think I pushed her and she- she hit her head."

"Stiles," he turns her onto her side, exposing her inflamed upper spine, "her neck is broken." We both go silent, no one speaks for a few moments, he is watching me fidget, twirling my fingers together, just as Stiles would have done - were he here. I know he has seen the blood stained lacrosse stick in the corner of the room, it is kind of hard to miss. And most of all, I know he is wondering how I could possibly have broken her neck. How could I, merely human Stiles, have snapped her cervical? "Stiles?" He says my name a second time, waiting for an answer.

I stop my fidgeting, there is no point in denying it now, He has already caught on, and even if he believes my lie, I have given him a reason to doubt me. He won't trust me like he used to, not anymore. So I drop my hands to my sides, and with a heavy exhale my face retreats back to normal, no more shaking, no more panic, no more actions of agitation.

No more pretending.

"You are a terrible friend, Scott, you know that?"