Everything felt hazy.
It was like there was a bubble cast over my senses, keeping me from fully comprehending everything. There were people talking but their voices were muffled, as if I was listening to them underwater. Harsh fluorescents above me blinded me momentarily, and I had to cringe away from the light.
My entire body was covered in sweat and it seeped into the sheets I lay on. There was a distant throbbing coming from the right side of my lower abdomen, reminding me of what happened.
I went to reach for my wound, to be sure the spike was out of my body, but someone kept me from doing so. They had been holding onto my wrist with both hands and I only registered their touch when I moved. Their grip was tight, too tight to be someone simply grieving at my bedside.
Through the fog of my slowly returning vision, I could make out the image of black veins that lead to the culprit of the touch.
"Scott," I choke out, my throat burning from my own voice.
His agonizing groans finally reached my ears. He was trying to suppress them through gritted teeth and deep breaths. But if he was feeling that much of my pain, it meant he had been taking too much for too long; it meant he was running the risk of losing his Alpha spark.
I try to pull away from him, try to save him from making that mistake, but someone pushes down on my shoulders to prevent me from escaping. My strength had yet to return, and any attempts to fight against them were easily deflected.
"Stay down, Jacqueline," Deaton says from above me as he keeps me pinned.
I stare up at Scott, meeting his glowing red eyes that were filled with panic. Behind him I could see Melissa and Stiles, both watching with anxious concern. They understood what he was risking, too.
"She'll be fine from here, you can let go now," Deaton cautions in a rushed tone.
I could still feel Scott's hands on me though, and Deaton's expression became frantic as he tried to reach over me to push Scott away. He didn't budge, and his groans got louder as my suffering became his.
"Scott, stop!" Stiles pushes past Melissa, coming to wrap his arms around his best friend and pull him off of me.
They stagger back, hitting a wall. Stiles allows Scott to lean against him as he gasps for air, trying to cope with the amount of pain he had taken. Now that Scott was a few feet away from me I could see the blood that coated his shirt. At first, I had assumed it was mine, but it was too fresh to be from my skin. The blood was his. It was concentrated near his lower abdomen near the right, exactly where my own wound was...
What the hell?
Melissa comes forward to take her son's place, blocking my view to make me focus on her.
"You can rest now, honey."
Her hand comes up to brush my damp hair back as it stuck to my forehead. She stares down at me with troubled eyes, the same brown eyes that she passed down to Scott. I find comfort in the similarity.
I wanted to stay awake, to understand what was happening, but my body was too drained to put effort into that. My eyes couldn't stay open for more than a second.
"Scott," I pant worriedly. "Scott."
Melissa shushes me, continuing to stroke my face with a tender smile and teary eyes.
"He's fine, you're both fine. Just rest," she whispers.
Her touch was nurturing; the touch of a mother. It reminded me of my own, and my thoughts stuck with her as Melissa's gentle caresses lulled me to sleep. I had dreamt of her, hadn't I? Her in the clearing, Allison shooting an arrow at the sky, and my father passing my family sword down to me.
It had felt so real, but it couldn't have been. Still, I cling to the memory of those images, no matter what they are, and allow unconsciousness to pull away at me.
---
The sound of other people breathing made me hesitant to reveal myself right away and break the peaceful silence around us.
The room we were in was cold, but the thin sheet placed over my body kept me from freezing completely. Distant chatter from the hallway reached my ears as random people passed, their voices carrying from under the door. The only other sound was the subtle beep of a machine that tracked my heartbeat.
When I do open my eyes, I'm met with the same hospital room from earlier. Though, it's much darker now as the lights are turned off and the blinds are shut. I'm not sure what time of day it is, but judging by the two passed-out teenagers next to me, it was late.
Scott was on my right, his head bowed awkwardly as he slept upright in one of the rickety hospital chairs. At the foot of my bed was Stiles. He was in a chair, too, but his legs were propped up on my bed. He was completely stretched out, and his mouth hung open as he drooled onto the floor. I smile at his ability to find comfort anywhere.
I wasn't sure how long it had been since everything happened with the Berserker. My memory wasn't clear, nor were my senses. I could make out scattered pieces of a weird yet wonderful dream, but nothing more than that.
I try to sit up but hiss in pain when the movement tugs at my injury. Scott jolts awake in response. He's out of his chair in a second, coming to my aid.
"Here, let me help."
He places his hands on my lower back, assisting my efforts. He props me up on my cluster of pillows, even going so far as to fluff them up before pulling back. The pressure helps to relieve some of the stingings that come from where my wound resides.
"Thanks, Scott," I say gratefully.
He nods as he drags his chair closer to the bed, watching me with a patient expression. He's waiting for me to speak first, probably sure I have tons of questions. I do, but only one truly comes to mind at the moment.
"We didn't catch them, did we?" I ask about the Benefactor, though, I already know the answer.
If the plan had worked, we should've been popping champagne, celebrating that sick maniac being put behind bars. Instead, we were here, just as lost as we were a week ago.
Scott shakes his head and forces a supportive grin.
"No, but that's not important right now," he says, both of us pretending not to notice the strain of stress beneath his smile.
"What about Noshiko? Is she alright?" I add anxiously, remembering that she was in bad shape, too. Her power had dwindled after facing the Nogitsune, and her healing abilities weren't what they used to be.
"Yeah, they airlifted her out to Palo Alto. She was okay enough to make the trip. Kira went with her," Scott says, making me sigh in relief. We hadn't accomplished what we set out to do, but at least we were all still in one piece.
Well, for the most part.
The memory of Liam having to carry my dying body in his arms makes me flinch. My chest tightened, the sensation of longing filling me as I desired nothing more than to tell him I was okay and see the brightness of hope return to his eyes.
"And Liam, is he okay? Is he here?" I ask. I don't care to hide the desperation in my voice. The only thing I did care about was seeing Liam again, pride be damned.
Scott clears his throat and focuses on his hands as he wrings them together. It's slightly odd, but I attribute it to his exhaustion. The dark circles under his eyes were incredibly prominent and I doubted he had gotten a decent night's sleep since being locked in the morgue freezer.
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, he's good. Geyer told him he's not allowed to come to the hospital anymore, you know, with everything that happened."
Disappointment floods me at the prospect of not seeing Liam until I left this place. I had no idea how long my injury would put me out of commission. A wound like this should take months to heal. Though, oddly enough, I barely even felt it.
I should've been down for the count right now, but instead, here I was sitting up like it was nothing more than a graze. I remember seeing the spike embedded in me, the blood, the pain. It was a fatal wound. I should be dead. I was dead.
The woods. My parents. Our sword. Allison. My dream came back to me all at once and I began to wonder if it had been a dream at all.
"Jac?" Scott says my name softly.
He draws my attention back to his, as I hadn't spoken for a full minute. He watches me with concern, the same concern he wore as he stood above me with his body covered in black veins that carried my suffering.
"You took my pain," I whisper, my voice unable to go any louder than that.
"I actually took a little more than that." He says, mildly sheepish.
Before I ask what he means, he leans back in his seat. He uses his new position to lift the hem of his shirt, displaying his abdomen. On the lower right side, there's a fully healed scar that hadn't been there before. The shiny mark stands out against the rest of his unblemished skin. Its shape is curved yet splotchy, and it's in the same exact place as my own injury.
It's his scar, but it's my wound.
"Scott," I breathe out, utterly stunned.
He lowers his shirt, staring at me nervously.
"Do you remember what Derek did to save Cora from what Jennifer did?" he asks.
I nod slowly, distantly remembering the events from months ago.
During our encounter with the Darach, she poisoned the youngest living Hale with mistletoe. That combined with a head injury she sustained from a hotheaded teenage Alpha meant Cora had begun to internally decay, unable to heal herself properly. Derek abandoned his desire for power in order to save her, unwilling to lose another member of his family and pack.
"He gave up his Alpha spark for her," I mutter.
"When we take someone's pain, they feed off of our spark," Scott starts.
"That's why Cora healed. Her spark was enhanced by Derek's. He gave her the strength to fight the poison and heal."
"But I'm not a werewolf," I counter obviously. "There's nothing inside of me that can be 'enhanced'."
Scott tilts his head, a defiant gesture toward my statement.
"True Alphas don't exactly obey the pre-existing rules of the supernatural."
I pause, listening to him intently.
"Deaton says there's a bunch of myths surrounding my power," he continues. "One of them is that if I'm willing, I can share a wound when I take someone's pain rather than just losing my spark."
"Share the wound," I whisper to myself, repeating after him.
The image of him standing at my bedside comes to me, him holding my wrist as he cleansed my body of pain. Stiles had to pull him off of me, and when they stumbled back, I had seen the patch of blood on his clothes. I had seen the truth.
None of this was like anything I had seen before, but neither was Scott. He always had a way of making the impossible possible.
"When I was drawing out your pain, I gave you a piece of my spark. It allowed your body to heal because I helped to carry the toll of your wound."
Scott's expression falters, and his eyes slip from mine. It's an attempt for me not to see the way they glazed over.
"You died, Jac. I heard your heart stop," he trembles. "You wouldn't have survived a bite, so I had to do something else. I called Deaton and asked for his help, and we came up with this plan."
He looks back at me, his gaze holding something fierce.
"Once Geyer and the other doctors were able to bring you back, I took care of it."
"Scott-"
He shakes his head, sitting up straight as he prevents me from speaking.
"I know you hate when I take your pain, but I couldn't lose you. You probably wanna threaten to shove things up me-"
My abrupt burst of laughter cuts him off.
Scott watches me, confused and slightly fearful. He probably thinks I've lost my mind. He must've expected a lecture from me on messing with things we didn't understand, and a few days ago that definitely would've been the case, but now, all I wanted to do was enjoy the company of my dear friend.
I wince as my laughter causes a fiery sensation to shoot through me, but I swallow the pain down like I've done a thousand times before. It was worth it.
"You saved me, Scott. Not only now, but ever since we've met, you've been saving me," I tell him after my amusement dies down.
His anxious features soften as he now understands I wasn't mad at all.
I reach out and place my hand over his. Scott's surprised at the action but recovers, pushing away his shock to wrap his hand around mine tightly. He keeps me from slipping through his fingers, clinging to me as if this was the end.
"Matching scars are pretty cool," he grins up at me.
"Stiles is gonna be totally jealous," I laugh along with him.
At the mention of his best friend, our eyes land on his sleeping figure. He hadn't moved one inch even as we talked in his presence. It was almost impressive how he could be a heavy sleeper in even the most awkward positions.
"He's gonna kill me if he finds out I didn't wake him once you were up," Scott says. He promptly cringes as he realizes those weren't the best words to say to a girl who just came back from the dead.
I smile fondly at his reaction, brushing off his sheepish glance.
"Stiles, wake up," Scott calls out. He scoffs when he gets no reaction and speaks again, this time a little louder.
"Stiles?"
All we get in return is a weird gurgling noise from the back of his throat. I roll my eyes and lick my lips, preparing myself for the gruff tone I was about to use.
"Stilinski!" I shout, both Scott and Stiles jumping at the sound.
"I'm up, Coach!" Stiles scrambled out of his seat, almost sliding out of the chair as he struggled to pull his legs off of the bed. He looks around, wiping the drool off of his face with the back of his hand.
His expression shifts from terror to worry as his eyes land on me. He moves quicker than a coyote, coming to claim the side of my bed that Scott hadn't. His hands hover over me, not touching, but still present in case I needed something.
"Are you okay? Do you need anything?" he rushes out.
"I'm fine, Stiles." I chuckle quietly.
His rigid posture melts, though, he still scans my body as if he's double-checking. When he's done he refocuses on my face, allowing me to see the dampness in his eyes. An ache settles into my chest at the sight.
"I never thought she'd actually go this far," he mutters spitefully, not even bothering to say Kate's name. We all know.
I remember her telling me she was sorry. The way her voice trembled, the terror on her face. She seemed to almost regret what her lack of control had done. It was sincere as she left me for dead. How lovely of her to do that. It was a true testament to her character; a pathetic apology from a pathetic woman.
"She didn't mean to kill me," I explain, forcing the image of Kate from my mind.
"We were arguing and she called for her Berserker without realizing it. She wasn't fast enough to call it off."
Stiles' jaw ticks, an indicator that he was frustrated.
"Why do you always defend her?" he seethes lowly.
"Stiles," Scott chides his best friend.
"No, he's right," I say, cutting short any potential disagreements.
The boys fall silent, neither used to me actually agreeing with Stiles, especially over Kate.
"I know the things she did to me were wrong. Deep down, I've always known," I confess.
Tears sting my eyes, blurring my vision. It's an instinct for me to force them away, to bury my suffering, but I resist it.
That's what Kate taught me to do, but I wasn't her pet anymore.
I had always longed for her affection and approval. I allowed her to make me feel like nothing because of it. I told myself that everything she did to me was out of love, but it wasn't. Love isn't rooted in violence and beatings. Love is sacrifice.
"I pretended like I didn't because if I said anything, I knew I'd have to admit to myself that she didn't really care. I knew I'd have to admit that I was alone."
I look up at Scott and Stiles, smiling despite the desperation of my words. They mirror my expression, though, the ones they wear are far more somber.
"I was alone for so long before I came here, before I met all of you."
"You guys can really annoy the crap outta me sometimes, but it doesn't make me love you any less," I added, staring at them with an uncontained amount of adoration.
Everything I had searched for in Kate had been in front of me this whole time. The love I strived for, the family I wished to have, it had always been here. It had always been them.
Scott and Stiles exchange unspoken glances as if questioning whether they heard me correctly, as that's not something they thought they would hear from me in a million years. All it took was death greeting me to finally admit it.
Scott's face breaks into one of his typical toothy grins that's charmingly crooked. Stiles' response is more neutral, though, his eyes shine brightly.
"You mind writing that down for me? I think I'm gonna frame it," he quips jokingly.
"And there's the annoying part," I mutter amusedly.
Stiles cracks a smile and shifts toward me on the bed.
"Come here," he whispers, reaching to gently pull me into him.
His grip is loose at first, giving me the option to pull away. I don't, and settle for laying my head on his shoulder. He takes that as permission to hold me tighter. Scott follows his lead and brings our hands that had remained joined to his chest, smiling up at Stiles and I.
Together, the three of us stay like that for a while, and I feel a rare moment of peace.
Here with them, with the boys that I had once stood against but now considered brothers, I didn't need anything else. I would live for them and fight for them, all until the arrow returned.
~
||| A/N |||
vote and/or comment, if ya want!
To state the obvious: Scott taking the toll of Jac's wound is me adding my own lore to the TW universe. It's not something from the show, I just figured it would be a cool idea, and honestly realistic with his power scope as a True Alpha.
Jac's still human, and unless I change my mind down the line, she always will be. My favorite thing about her is her strength as a human and a hunter.
The supernatural will definitely affect her (hint for later seasons), but her being a werewolf just isn't a path I see for her character development. Sorry if anyone thought she was gonna get bit lol.
<3