Song: Wait by M83
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As I drove up our long driveway coming back from the Foundry to see Melissa McCall's car, I was hit with a wave of surprise.
"What are they doing here?" I pondered aloud, the wheels of my truck crunching against the fine gravel of the driveway, as I parked next to Melissa's car.
I found my heart rate quickening as I approached the tall front door of my house, likely due to the fact that I hadn't seen Scott or Stiles in a substantial chunk of time.
I wasn't sure what to expect.
I meandered my way up toward the porch, pushing the screen door open.
I took one look at the shoe-rack, and knew Scott was in the house too, by his beaten up pair of sneakers.
Someone must have heard me come in, for I listened to the patter of a set of socked feet make their way across the floor, before I saw Scott's unruly mop of dark hair.
He smiled widely, quite the cute, puppy-like expression. "Lillian!"
He wrapped his arms around me tightly, and I stiffened: I wasn't much of a hugger.
"Scott!" I said his name back in the way he said mine, smiling back.
I pulled away, peeling off my vibrant green shoes I used only for exercise, and since last night, the left had a bit of blood interrupting the brightness.
When I went anywhere else, to work, climbing buildings (also called swoocing, depending on the range of one's slang vocabulary), or riding horses, I wore my dark hiking boots.
"Hey Lillian." A familiar voice spoke, causing me to look up to see the face of Stiles Stilinski.
"Stiles?" I choked, rising to my feet, not taking my eyes off him as memories flooded my mind like water.
I could tell something was wrong, by the way Dad and Melissa looked at each other, before advancing towards Rosie and I.
There was something wrong with Dad's gait, too.
He barely lifted his feet off the floor as he walked, something completely out of character for him. Melissa followed, I could tell her nails were digging into her palms though she tried to hide it.
"Dad?" I asked cautiously, biting my lip, knowing it was bad.
Whatever he was bringing Melissa to tell us, it was bad.
"Hey, Lil, Rose." Dad smiled, his eyes twinkling with somber mist.
"Daddy, what's wrong?" The nine-year-old Rosie asked, watching our dad stand in his white lab coat, one that was supposed to represent that he knew how to help people.
If what I thought my dad was about to tell us was true, he couldn't help me.
"Did they do the biopsy?" I demanded, pretty much knowing the answer before anyone said anything else.
Dad nodded, resting a hand on my shoulder, a deep breath leaving my body.
"O-okay?" I stuttered, my voice not cooperating despite my determination not to let it squeak. "If it-- if it wasn't that bad you-- you would be looking at us like that, Dad!"
My dad's silence roused a quiet noise of sorrow from deep in my chest, a mournful moan, tears threatening to fall all down my face.
"Hey, hey--" Melissa jumped over to sit between me and my sister on the uncomfortable bench we were on, wrapping her arm around me.
"Melissa--" I tried to shrug her off, but I was unsuccessful, flattening my hand to my forehead, feeling a sob rise in my throat.
"Lillian, Rosie, your mom does have cancer," Dad finally admitted, crouching in front of Rosie and I. "It is Stage IV--"
"No--" I sobbed, bringing my knees to my chest up on the bench violently, kicking Dad in the process my accident. "Come on--"
"But--" Dad continued, grabbing my ankle gently. "There're options here, this isn't it for her."
"It sure as hell sounds like this is it!" I seethed, forcibly removing myself from Melissa's grip and pushing past my dad.
"Lillian!" Dad called after me, as I ran down the hallway, ignoring him. "Wait!"
I found the nearest door under a glaring EXIT sign, thrusting it open as hard as I could, to reveal a stairwell.
Suddenly, beneath the echo of the slamming as I shut the metal aperture, a voice was heard.
"Are you okay?"
I spun around, faced with a kid who looked a little older than Rosie, maybe ten or so, in a faded Batman t-shirt.
I drew my wrist across my face to be rid of my hot tears as best I could.
"Pretty much, no." I snapped.
"Why?" The boy asked, tilting his head, his innocent eyes curious.
"My mom, she's really sick." I coughed, moving to plop down on the top stair, leaning against the harshly cold bars of the railing.
"Really?" The boy asked, sitting down next to me. "My mom is too."
"Oh, I-I'm sorry to hear that."
"She has 'frontotemporal dementia'." The boy told me, giving a bittersweet smile. "I've been practicing how to pronounce that."
"I'm impressed." I sniffed, patting the kid's back lightly, understanding what his mom had was going to kill her. "What's your name?"
"Stiles Stilinski." He responded, his cute smile reflecting in his light brown eyes.
"Lillian Stager."
"Pleased to meet you." Stiles said, extending his hand, smaller than mine, which I took.
"Yeah, you too." My voice betrayed me, cracking under the sorrow in my chest, more tears flooding my vision.
I was shocked at the fact that this little boy, probably scared out of his mind like I was, was taking the time to talk to me like a normal kid.
"Hey, it's okay." Stiles told me, placing his little hand on my shoulder.
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, my soaking eyelashes making it more difficult to see.
"You wanna go somewhere cool?" Stiles asked, changing the subject.
"Uh, okay." I agreed, curious as to where Stiles was talking about.
"C'mon." He grabbed my hand before standing, lightly pulling me up with him.
With that Stiles led me up the shiny steps, to the top floor.
"Stiles, where're we going?"
"Just wait!" Stiles laughed, as we walked to the end of the hallway, where the looked to be a service door. Stiles opened it with ease, revealing another staircase.
The feeling I got climbing it was exhilarating, despite the fact that sadness made my chest heavy, and the moment Stiles opened that door to reveal the night sky from the roof, I felt free.
"Whoa." I gasped, the air dewy and wonderful, as I stepped onto the roof. "I can't believe that door isn't locked."
"I know." Stiles smirked, moving to sit against a tall ledge. "I call this swoocing."
"What?"
"Swoocing, climbing up here where we probably shouldn't be." Stiles clarified. "I saw it somewhere in a Scooby-Doo episode."
"Swoocing, huh? I think I like this."
"Hey." Stiles repeated quietly with a smile, snapping me out of the memory.
Nothing more was said before I jumped into his arms, clutching his shoulders as though my life depended on it.
"Hi!" I exclaimed, almost actually crying as Stiles held me with the same ferocity.
Though I wasn't much of a hugger, I made exceptions for some.
"How're you doing, huh?" Stiles whispered, resting his chin on my shoulder.
"I'm pretty swell. Even better now that you guys are here." I sighed, stepping away, calling out for my dad.
He found us in the small foyer, a hand on his hip.
"You didn't tell me they were coming!" I exclaimed, smiling at the sight of Melissa at Dad's right.
"No, I didn't." He said, grinning deviously. "I thought it might be a nice surprise."
"Thanks, Dad."
•••
I didn't really think anything could make the loft any better, but I was proven wrong as Stiles and Scott vacated the mostly empty space and filled it was comforting noise.
Scott had just finished telling me about a feisty cat who wouldn't stop coughing up hairballs at the vet clinic he worked at.
Partly thanks to Scott vouching for me, the vet clinic was also where I was set to start working the next day.
Scott's position was part-time, and he didn't have a degree that allowed him to legitimately treat animals by administering medicine and assisting in surgery, like I did.
As well as that, my job was full time, and the thought of starting sent shocks of excitement through my body.
"I'm going to see when supper'll be ready." Scott said, glancing at his watch.
"Sure." I replied with a chortle: Scott was always hungry.
"Bring me back some bread!" Stiles shouted through the door once Scott left it shut.
"Will do!"
Ping!
Stiles' buzzed head shot up, his eyes searching, falling on my newly lit-up cellphone that was resting on the foot of my bed.
Without warning, Stiles darted forward from the floor like a cat, snatching the device before I got the chance.
"Ha ha!" Stiles cried in triumph, eagerly scanning the screen with childish glee that made me smile. "Who's been texting you all this time?"
"If you haven't noticed, Stiles," I chuckled, rolling over onto my stomach, angling my body to face Stiles' on the floor. "I haven't been checking."
Stiles ignored what I said, absorbed in what he read on my phone.
Slowly, he glanced at me.
"How do you know Derek Hale? You moved here like, two seconds ago."
"What?" I asked, army-crawling to the foot of my bed, leaning toward Stiles.
"Derek Hale asks: 'Does tomorrow work?'." Stiles announced, his eyebrows rising to deepen horizontal lines across his forehead.
"Oh, yeah, after I get off work."
"Lillian!" Stiles barked, holding up the phone. "How do you know him?"
"I met him at the gym, jeez! After he almost ran me over with his car."
"Don't you know who he is?" Stiles prompted, clearly knowing something I didn't.
"What are you talking about?"
"His whole family died in a house fire like ten years ago or something." Stiles told me, my eyes widening with shock.
"What?" I breathed, my mouth slightly ajar. "Really?"
"Yeah. I'm pretty sure it's just him now." Stiles admitted, frowning.
"That's awful." I mumbled, my insides tightening at the thought of fire. "Is that common knowledge?"
"I think so." Stiles replied, smacking my phone into my outstretched hand.
"Thank you." I snapped, dropping it by my side.
Suddenly, it started buzzing, companied by Sia's 'Elastic Heart'. Curious as to who was calling, I wondered if it was Derek.
I slid the vibrating device out of my pocket, and somehow my heart sank just a little to see it wasn't him.
The caller-display read "Alan Deaton".
"Hello?"
"Hi Lillian," Deaton greeted, sounding slightly frazzled. "I've got a bit of a situation here at the clinic. There's a box of puppies at the door. I'd say they're a week old, if that, and they're not doing too well."
"Do you need some help?" I offered, my imagination absolutely running wild coming up with things that could be wrong with the puppies.
"Normally I wouldn't ask, but I really think I needed the extra hands."
"You don't have to ask." I said quickly, eyeing Stiles. "Do you want me to come right now?"
"Only if it's not too much trouble." Deaton replied quickly before adding that I would be paid for the trouble. Soon after confirming I was on my way, I hung up.
"Deaton found a box of sick puppies on the doorstep of the clinic." I explained, quickly getting up to grab my jacket. "I need to go right now. Can you tell everyone that I had to go?"
"Uh, sure."
"Sorry Stiles, duty calls." Was all I said before I was on my way.
•••
I rushed into the clinic at around half eight; I assumed I was in for a long night. I did my best to wipe the mud off my boots on the squelching front mat, before running into the main exam room.
Deaton stood over a silver table, the box in front of him, bashed up with holes.
"I'm glad you're here." Deaton said, holding a teeny tiny puppy in his hands, it's black-and-white fur dull from malnutrition. "They're quite a handful."
"How many?" I asked, peering inside the box, the tiny babies in a pile on top of each other, in an attempt to stay warm. It wasn't a surprise given how little body fat any of them had to regulate their body temperatures.
"Four." said Deaton. "They all need fluids, pronto."
"And antibiotics to, probably. They need de-worming..." I listed possible solutions and drugs that could help the furry critters who were terribly sick.
They were so little, the one I picked up fit in my single hand. It's eyes weren't even open yet, yet a pus-like substance was crusting around the eyelid, infected for sure.
"Hello, little one. You're in good hands now." I cooed to the small animal, knowing I was prepared to do anything and everything I could to keep it alive.
I sighed. This was going to be a long night.
A/N: Hey everyone! I'm so sorry for not updating for so long. I've been away from technology basically all summer. I was shocked to see so many reads when I came back. Thank you for that.
If anyone's confused about "swoocing", it's just another way to describe urban exploration/roof-topping. Basically when someone goes climbing or buildings. Or in nature, I suppose.
Sorry that Derek isn't in this chapter. But Stiles and Scott are! In Lillian's house! Exciting stuff. :)
He's back next chapter, I PROMISE. We just had to do some character building first ;)
Thanks for reading! Please comment to let me know what you think!
- TAAF_