𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 ╼╼ b. talbot

𝒕𝒘𝒐. 𝘮𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵

  Once the car salesman walked away to finalize, Stiles just had to ask, "How much money do you have?"

   "Dunno. Haven't counted in a while." Bellamy shrugged as if it were no big deal.

   He was that rich. Stiles checked his bank account before buying food, but Bellamy was buying a car and didn't bother to check. What in the actual hell did Aunt Rachel do for money? Stripper or assassin. Had to be.

   The car salesman returned. Bellamy got a copy of the papers and the key, "Thank you." Bellamy said with a hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. He'd just bought a very nice car, and yet, you'd think he just got his morning coffee. He twirled the keys around his finger, "You mind leading the way back?"

   "Uh, no- I mean yes... No- I mean-" 

   "Thank you, Stiles," Bellamy chuckled softly, but something about it was forced. Stiles wasn't sure if it was the laugh or the thanks. Maybe it was both.

Bellamy couldn't resist the smile pulling at his lips as he twirled the keys in his hand. He'd always wanted a hummer. Even the Mikaelsons are against purchasing an unlicensed, underage kid a car. However, Elijah did allow Hope to drive his car. Maybe it was just a Bellamy thing. After all, he had stolen and crashed a golf cart at the ripe age of ten.

   He still didn't have a license. Who needs one when you can compel your way into any bar? Instead, he just learned to drive as he went; just like everything else after he ran away. Maybe he crashed a few cars (and if that wasn't a metaphor for his life), but he learned. He could even drive a stick.

   He was trying to learn the way back to the Stilinski's house as he followed Stiles, so he was looking at street signs and landmarks that might help him to remember where to go. That's when he noticed the dog.

    He slowed down and pulled his car off the road. The dog was very thin; he had been tied to a post with a rope; he didn't even have a collar. Bellamy didn't want to think about the last time the poor thing had been fed or given water.

   Bellamy slowly approached the dog with his hands raised. The dog growled but backed away as Bellamy got closer. They both knew the dog wouldn't stand a chance in a fight. Bellamy knelt before it and his eyes shifted to a golden color. The veins around his eyes darkened, but the dog didn't care. It was excited now. Bellamy gently petted the dog. He poured some water from a water bottle and the dog tried to lap it up before it could hit the ground. Up close, the dog was even worse off than he thought. Its skin clung to its bones, and its spine's divets were visible. There was no fur on the dog's stomach. It looked young for its bad condition, and it smelled worse than a dumpster fire; which Bellamy had smelled plenty of before. Burn and dash had become a favorite over the years.

   Bellamy gently began to untie the dog. Its skin was raw from under the rope. No telling how long it'd been tied up out there. Bellamy didn't know much about animals, but he knew this wasn't how they should be treated.

   "What are you doin' to my fuckin' dog?" An older man stumbled out of the trailer with his hands raised. One held a beer bottle and the other had a gun.

   Humans. Bellamy thought with an eye roll.

   "I don't think this is your dog," Bellamy suggested. The man stared at the dog and got a faraway look in his eye, "You never even had one."

   "Get that mut o' your's off ma property," The man's glare hardened as he stepped closer to Bellamy.

   "Hey, Mr. Gill!" Stiles called as he jogged down the small hill, "Sorry, he must have gotten lost, made a wrong turn or something."