The Silver Soldier

II

3 days later

Even with four layers of blankets huddled around me, I'm still shivering. I swear my room is colder now than it was when I went to bed. I have checked the window four times to see if I left it open, but each time I do, I find it closed and locked. It is now 3 in the morning and I've only gotten a single hour of sleep. If I wasn't on not-so-great terms with Scott right now, I would have called him already. I haven't talked to him since the fight, and I don't plan on breaking that streak for a mild fever.

Another hour goes by where I have done nothing but stare at the wall opposite to my bed. There has been a fly crawling around on it for thirty minutes straight. I have never noticed that when a fly rubs it's two front legs together, it makes a sound not unlike that of velcro. I hate it. I hate it so much that the next time I hear it, I just might throw a book at it.

And conveniently, as soon as I think the thought, it does it again. Before the fly has the chance to even move from it's position, I have taken the book off my nightstand and thrown it. The cover hits the wall with a deafening smack, one loud enough to wake the whole house. I take the blankets off of me and stand up to get the book. When I pick it up, the small, black fly is smooshed against the front cover, it's guts splattered over the face of one of the Dread Doctors; Marcel.

I stare at the cover, studying the three doctors. Without Scott texting me every little detail, I had almost forgotten about them. I walk back over to my nightstand, placing the book down and crawling back into bed. Without the stupid little fly buzzing around the room, I find it easier to fall asleep.

After two dreamless hours of sleep, a warning siren begins going off in my mind. Like a sixth sense telling me something isn't right; something isn't safe. Instantly, my eyes shoot open and I grab what my mind makes out to be the threat. I look at what my instincts had deemed dangerous. It's a left hand, male, a silver wedding ring on his fourth finger, whoever it was had been about to touch my shoulder.

"Stiles. Please let my wrist go." My attacker says, and I look up to see my father's face, his expression mildly concerned.

"Sorry." I release his arm and look away, but not before seeing the red marks I had left in his skin.

"Are you okay? You've been a little off these past three days." He asks me.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good. Just tired, that's all."

"Well then make sure you get to bed early tonight. Sleep is important, Stiles."

"I know, I know. I'm young, I need sleep, blah blah blah. I know, Dad. You tell me every day."

"Just making sure." He raises his hands in surrender. "Now get ready for school, I'm still working on your jeep so unless you want to walk, you're coming with me."

I groan, flopping back down on the bed.

I'm ready within the next fifteen minutes, I grab my backpack from my desk chair and start to walk out the door. I stop and glance back at the book on my bedside table, the Dread Doctors. "Stiles! let's go!" My Dad yells from the front door. I leave the book and head to his car.

The whole drive to school, I try to shake the off feeling in my chest. Something is different. Not necessarily a bad difference, but just... different. My Dad pulls into the school parking lot, I spot Scott and the pack sitting at a picnic table in the front. I have to stop myself form groaning out loud. I don't want to deal with this right now, not on less than three hours of sleep. I get out and walk the long way around the building to avoid Scott and the others. But as I round the corner leading to the back field, I bump into someone.

"Stiles." They say, surprised. "How are you?"

I feel my anger levels instantly rise before I even know who it is. "Theo." I say, glaring at him. I can't help but wonder if I've grown. I could have sworn Theo was taller than me a few days ago. He has this look on his face, as if he knows something I don't; he crosses his arms. "Look, I know you don't like me and I don't like you. So quit the chit chat, what do you want?"

I almost see him smile, but it's gone before it appears. "Ouch." He places a hand on his heart. "That hurt, Stiles, really."

"Honestly, I could care less about your feelings. Now get out of my way before I-" I stop myself from finishing what I was going to say.

"Before you what, Stiles? Finish that sentence." He urges, raising his chin.

"Just move, please. I just want to go to class."

"No, no, no, I want to hear what you were going to say. Because I could have sworn you were just about to threaten me." He challenges, stepping closer. "Were you about to threaten me?"

I take a deep breath in, then out. "Move." I say, maybe a little too harshly, so I add a, "please," to the end. Theo stands slightly taller as he steps to the side, giving me room to walk by. I take the chance to pass him, but before I am out of reach completely, he grips my arm at the elbow. He isn't done with me yet, he wants to tell me something else.

But I don't let him.

By the time he opens his mouth, I have him pushed up against the wall, my forearm on his throat. He stares at me in shock, eyes wide as he claws at my arm. I don't let him go.

"Listen to me closely, Theo." I hiss as I press on his neck, listening to his breathing strain. "I don't care what your intentions are." My voice is low, quiet. He closes his eyes, turning away. I fight the smile creeping onto my face, staying neutral. "I won't get in the way of your little hero act, alright?" I surprise myself with how my voice sounds, it doesn't sound like me. I am not usually confident like this... yet this time I might even sound cocky. I study his expression. "I know what you are. You can play the good guy all you want, I won't tell anyone your little secret. But just keep in mind," I pause, mostly for dramatic effect, "I know something that you don't want them to know."

I push down harder on his throat, relishing in the pain on his face. "I know the real reason you're here, Theo, and you and I both know it isn't because of Scott."

I let him go, watching as his hands shoot up to his neck. He begins to cough, his face nearly turning purple. I look down at him, adrenaline rushing through my veins. "See you in history." I say, finally hearing the warning bell. I walk inside the school, not taking a second look back at him.

The halls are still packed with students late for class, Scott's pack being one of them. And I almost turn around right then and there. The only reason I don't, is because I see Malia standing off to the side. She has her books clutched closely to her chest, as if she's worried someone might try to steal them from her. She meets my gaze and gives me a slight nod, as if to say 'it's okay.'

The group is standing beside Scott's locker, in front of mine. And then as if sensing me approach, which they probably did, they stop their conversation.

I feel their eyes on and off me as I open my locker.

I can feel the uncertainty radiating from them. By now, Scott has definitely told them about Donovan, and judging by how they are eyeing me, he probably didn't tell them the whole truth. They are all loyal to Scott, not me - save for Malia. She is the only one amongst them that won't judge me for taking someone's life; just like she didn't judge me when I told her about Void in Eichen House.

But the rest of them... they will believe any word that comes out of his mouth.

I'm totally and unbelievably screwed.