Gut Instinct (Teen Wolf)

1:2 Don't Forget Us

Warnings: Death, blood, gory details. Mentions of abuse and kidnapping. Mentions of PTSD

There was truth to what she told her dad. They did give her an escort. They were going to make sure she got home safely. But they were not FBI, Boston PD or any kind of law enforcement agents. They were civilians, but they were civilians that saved her life and she trusted with her life.

Trevor found her running down the forest path, found her bleeding out. He got the other two. Luke was the one who saved her life. He stitched her up and stopped the bleeding since the bullet already came out. Cleo helped her recover, gave her the first good food she had since.... since she was taken. They all took her to the police station, where she told Chief Hunter about the warehouse. The raid played out nearly fifteen minutes later.

She remembered the look on Téras's face. The hate and loathing he sent her way but she looked him in the eyes as he was put into the back of the police van. He deserved it. He deserved the concrete walls, the four square meals, the not going outside. He deserved it all for what he did to her. What he did to all of them.

What he did to Marcel.

And seeing the look on her kids' faces, it was full of gold. She thought of it with a smile on her face. She did that. She made Rico's face spilt in half from his giant smile, she made Angel able to hold baby Johnathon again, she made Gabrial's hands fly so fast that they were blurry, she made Rufus hug his mother so tightly it looked like the woman would pop like a pimple.

It was worth it. It was all worth it.

"What are you thinking about?" Cleo asked from beside Vic in the backseat of the blue truck. Cleo was in her mid-twenties with chestnut brown hair that matched her South American heritage, and stormcloud gray eyes (like the goddess Athena) and purple streaks in her hair (not like the wisdom goddess). She usually wore her leather jacket, an 80's rock t-shirt, jeans and tonight was no execption. Cleo was the cool neighbour from down the street that played her music loud and a dozen piercings in her ears but left her face alone.

"The kids," Vic answered. She removed her head from where it had been leaned agaisnt the damp window. It had rained on and off for the last three days of their month long road trip. "I'm just hoping they're okay."

"I'm sure they're fine," Luke reassured. He sent her a comforting look from the drivers seat. Luke was in his late twenties who was originally from Boston but he traveled across the world for a living. He had messy black hair that made girls swoon and light brown eyes that went with his tan. Luke had muscels (Vic knew from experience from how strong he was) but he hid it in his loose shirts and sweatpants. Since he was in a truck for a lot of the day he wanted to be comfortable.

"Yeah, from what you told us, they're survivors," Trevor added in shotgun. He was in his mid twenties as well, African born but he spoke English like he was born in America. He had a slight accent that got thicker when he was mad. Vic hadn't seen him get mad, but she liked the small traces of his origins on his words. He had a shaved head with brown eyes so dark they were black. He was more lithe than Luke, built more for speed then strength, but a lot of times the man's speed had helped. Trevor was a mix of the other two in the car in terms of style. He had baggy t-shirts and jeans but they all had leather jackets. It was the same design on the back and Vic loved the message of it.

"I'm just worried they aren't handling the transition well," Vic confessed. It was true she was worried about her kids, the ones she loved and protected like they were her own. She played with the strings of the sweatpants Cleo had leant her, the giant Led Zepplin t-shirt went to her knees when she stood up but it was better then what she wore with the Dealers.