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PART TWO
❝PROLOGUE❞
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THE SOUND OF AN INCESSANT ringing had echoed throughout the bedroom, bouncing off walls and landing directly into the ears of the brunette that was lying in his bed. Over the course of the past few months, it seemed like a phone call was a declaration of something horrible having happened. Now, Scott McCall believed that him and his friends were finished with fighting their good fight—that they had completed the course that had been lied out before them. That was until he received a phone call from his mother at three thirty in the morning.
In his gut, he'd known, of course, that something terrible more than likely had happened. Even though they had rid Beacon Hills of the hunters and psychos; destroyed the deadpool and he had defeated a power hungry Peter Hale—he still knew something was wrong. When he grabbed the phone from the bedside table and saw his mother's name on the caller ID, everything inside of him tightened. She was just crying on the other end of the line, she told him how sorry she was, and that he needed to come to the hospital right away.
All he could do was assume the worst.
But, what he hadn't expected was to hear that Carter's car had driven off Dead Man's Bridge during the horrendous storm—nose diving right into Beacon Hills' biggest and deepest quarry. And that by the time law-enforcement had gotten there, her car was completely submerged.
A wave of pure panic flashed through the boy, enough for him to believe for a moment that he was going to throw up as his mind had trouble wiring all of the bad scenarios together in his head. Just the idea of something being wrong with Carter had him pushing himself off the bed, eyes wide open as he quickly maneuvered himself around the corner of the bed, managing to catch his foot on the end of his lacrosse stick. His actions were frantic, from trying to find a pair of jeans to pulling on a shirt.
His breath came in deep rasps. The heat was suddenly stifling, unbearable. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything. All he knew was that he couldn't stand being in his room for one second longer. Without a backward glance, he rushed out of the house, taking the steps three at a time, and raced for the road. There were so many thoughts swirling in his head as he rushed to the hospital. The word around him started to appear surreal and dreamlike. He was so scared. His heart was pounding, mouth was dry, and his hands were shaking. He had faced so much and survived: werewolves, Kanimas, Werejaguars, hunters. Things he never imagined were real. And it wasn't until now that he was truly terrified.
He was running. Leaving his motorbike in the driveway, not even bothering to think of possibly using it when he knew he was faster on foot. He couldn't say how long he ran. The night was surprisingly clear—the earlier storm had been long since over—and cold, and his heart felt as though it were pounding in his neck, in his brain, in his feet. He occasionally pressed his hand to his left temple, which was throbbing with his raging thoughts. The area was warm to the touch, and he felt dizzy.
With each footstep, a new image of Carter appeared in his head: the inhumanly beautiful brunette standing at the front of Mr. Harris' class; holding her in his arms as the fire in her chest almost consumed her; black blood pouring out of her mouth as Deucalion sunk his fangs into the side of her neck; her smiling face...memories blurred. He shivered uncontrollably and lost his footing, tripping over a felled branch. He landed on the dirt, on his hands and knees, and retched repeatedly, until the iron-like taste in his mouth disappeared.
He had no idea what was happening at the hospital. His mother hadn't told him much, only that he needed to get there as soon as possible. Carter was either dead or dying, and he didn't know what he should be doing. The entire world was turned upside down, and he felt dizzy and weak, sure that no matter what he did, he would cause destruction. This was all my fault, he thought. All of it. If he hadn't let her leave his house during the storm...
He forced himself to catch his breath, then stood up and began running again.
As he ran, the scent of tangerines and honey filled his nostrils. A scent that reminded him so much of Carter. Its sweet, earthy fragrance wafted through his body, seeming to clear his head and imbue his limbs with a wakeful energy. He turned left onto a dirt path that cut through the forest, surprised at the course he was choosing, but for the first time in weeks, he felt certain about his actions. And before he knew it, his feet were quickly falling onto the asphalt of the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital's parking lot.
He burst through the hospital's front entrance doors, where his mother sat behind the front nurses' desk. Dried-tear lines cut through her makeup like icicles on her cheeks and mascara was smudged at the corners of her eyes as she wiped at them with the back of her hands.
"Where is she?" Scott yelled, causing everyone in the waiting area to simultaneously snap to attention—wanting to know what had the crazed boy so distraught. His throat raw as he swallowed hard, teeth biting down on his tongue for a moment to try and feel pain so that he could be aware that all of this was actually happening; that all of this was truly real. Melissa instantly rose from her position behind the desk, rubbing at her eyes once more. "Where is she!"
"Scott—"
He rushed over to her, grasping her biceps in his hands. His grip was firm—alerting his mother, and everyone in the room—that he was desperate to know where she was. Melissa's dark curls were matted to her forehead by sweat, her dark eyes wide and bloodshot from crying, and her entire body was shaking. He wanted to know...no, he needed to know that she was okay.
"Where is Carter, Mom?" He whispered, visibly bracing himself before he continued. "Is she okay? Were they able to get to her? Tell me what happened."
"Scott," her voice cracked the tiniest bit, but he picked up on her thumping heartbeat. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry. She didn't make it."
The next sound he heard was loud and distinct, it was like the sound of bolder splitting, and it wasn't until he felt his mother's hands cup his cheeks did he realize that it had been his heart.
He couldn't hear anything after that. He felt sadness grip his heart. It was unbearable—every second stabbed at his chest deeper than the last. It hurt so bad that he couldn't breathe, seemed as though the oxygen around him refused to fill his lungs. His knees buckled as a spasm of pain shot through his body. He placed his hands on the top of the desk for support, feeling the rough texture of paper beneath his palms. Two moments later, he lost his ability to stand and fell. He crumpled down in anguish, knees connecting with the tile painfully. The papers beneath his hands went flying out into the air, fluttering down to the floor with him.
He was completely and utterly broken. He rested his head in his hands, staring at the ground. Heart in his throat as he breathlessly cried. In between each sharp intake of breath, her name fell from his lips. He felt the grief and pain explode through his chest, piercing it—agonizing like the hit of a bullet.
It was too late. She was dead. He knew it for sure because the pull was gone. He didn't feel any reason to be there. She wasn't there anymore. That was it, then. The ocean of pain. The other shore so far away across the boiling water that he couldn't imagine it, much less see it. He felt empty again—like after Allison—now that he'd lost his purpose. Saving Carter from herself had been his fight for so long now. And she wouldn't allow herself to be saved. She'd willing sacrificed herself and the fight was lost. It was all over. She was gone. His body ached with pain; his heart stung. No, he thought. Not Carter. Not Carter. Anyone but Carter.
And in that moment, he could feel Allison's dying body lying heavy in his arms once more.
Stiles Stilinski heard Scott McCall's cries from down the hall, where he sat just outside the door that led into the hospital's morgue—he had been waiting for almost an hour, trying to muster up enough courage to go inside and see her. But he knew seeing her body lying cold and dead the silver table would just make everything real. And he wasn't strong enough to shatter the alter-reality he had been living in since the moment his father had barged into his bedroom after receiving the call from the station that Carter had driven off the bridge. It was a reality that allowed him to have his doubts—unrealistically believe that she was still alive and that everyone was just lying to him.
But, in the actually reality, he knew he wasn't strong enough on his own. He needed help. He needed Scott. He felt as though someone had reached into his chest and ripped his heart right out. An indescribable agony radiated throughout his entire body; making his mind hazy and his fingers numb. He blinked several times, trying to rid the glass hue that waxed over them as he pushed himself to his feet.
Stiles released a pained sob as he sluggishly made his way down the hall, moving toward the sound of his best friend crying. When he turned the corner, he was shocked—he hadn't expected to see Scott down on his knees, entire body shaking with sobs as his head hung in his hands. He could hear his breathing get faster, but couldn't control it as he dropped down next to his best friend...his brother.
Everyone in the waiting area watching with aching chests as the boys pulled one another in an embrace; their sobs becoming uncontrollable as they held one another. They gripped onto each other tightly, but their crying refused to cease or slow.
Stiles wanted to sprint away, run away from the flashing memories. He was literally having Carter's life flash before his eyes—but they weren't the happy moments. It was the bloody and painful ones. He wanted to somehow pour bleach inside his head and let it fry his brain. To burn away the images left behind in Carter's death. He'd take the brain damage if he could get rid of her worst moments; the screaming, the bleeding, the crying, the unbearable pain he would see in her eyes...
Scott's sadness was becoming so heavy that it surrounded him, clouding his mind, and interfering with his ability to think clearly. He was on overload. He then realized that grief was the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. And he couldn't bring himself to think of all the misery, but of all the beauty that she had brought into the world. Rationally, he knew that she and Allison were the only ones missing, but the whole world seemed to depopulate.
He believed that he could changed the things around them in accordance with his desires—believed it because otherwise he could see no favorable outcome. He wanted things to start fresh after they ended the deadpool. They've all been given another chance. They did it. They saved everyone.
Everyone except Carter. She saved them, in the end. It was cruel. He still couldn't believe she was gone. There was no one as alive as Carter—now she'll never know...
His eyes filled with tears once more and he closed them tightly as him and Stiles pushed themselves to their feet. He opened them and blinked several times, willing the tears away. He couldn't allow himself to crumble any further. Not now. Not when Stiles and the others needed him to be strong. Later, he would collapse again, indulging the sharp ache inside him, and let himself sob once more. After all, he had all the time in the world to mourn Carter, because losing her would never, ever stop hurting. Stop tearing him apart from the inside.
Stiles took in a shaky breath, nodding his head at Scott—a gesture that meant he was finally ready to go into the morgue and see their best friend. Stiles and Scott would never be normal standing near each other without Carter in between them, and now that she was gone, both teenagers don't even know how to cope with this loss. Which was why they refused to focus on the thought of coping for too long and they began to make their way toward the morgue. After three steps they were numb, and the hallway seemed to go on for hours.
Later, Derek's memory of the next thirty minutes would be mercifully dim. He remembered waiting inside the morgue for a few minutes while listening to Scott and Stiles collect their thoughts right outside. He remembered that he almost beyond caring by the time they entered the morgue to see that the rest of his pack was already standing there. He remembered feeling no disappointment, only a vast and yawning grief, as he saw the limp thing lying on the silver table.
And he remembered Stiles' face.
He remembered how he looked as they inched closer to Carter. Only that wasn't really Carter lying there, that was a wax doll with Carter's features. It was nothing that had ever been alive and it certainly wasn't alive now. He remembered feeling as if the world had turned to slow motion, as if it did so for the sole purpose of allowing him to feel the terror of seeing such a thing. He remembered Lydia's face when she said something about over an hour without air, and brain damage. The words filtered in to Scott, but their meaning didn't.
Derek was mentally screaming for help—for them to go and get a doctor. But, nobody moved, and deep inside, Derek knew why. Nothing could help now. It was over. Black spots swam before his eyes; the room tilted and swayed. He stared at her, stared at her lifeless body.
Something happened within Derek—something that had never occurred before. It started deep down in his chest, a seed of rage. Of hate. Something dark and terrible. And then it exploded, bursting through his lungs, through his neck, through his arms and legs. Through his mind.
And then, Derek snapped. He completely and utterly snapped.
He rushed forward, threw himself on Scott McCall, grasping with his fingers like claws. He found the boy's throat, squeezed, fell to the ground on top of him. He straddled the boy's torso, gripped him with his legs so he couldn't escape. Derek started punching.
He held Scott down with his left hand, pushing down on the boy's neck, as his right fist rained punches upon Scott's face, one after another. Down and down and down, slamming his balled knuckles into the man's cheek and nose. There was crunching, there was blood, there were horrible screams. Derek didn't know which were louder—Lydia's or his own. He beat him—beat him as he released every ounce of rage he'd ever owned.
"You were supposed to protect her!" He screamed. "You promised that nothing would ever happen to her—and I was stupid enough to believe you! And-And now, s-she's dead, Scott!"
And then he was being pulled away by Stiles and Logan, his arms still flailing even when they only hit air. They dragged him across the floor; he fought them, squirmed, yelled to be left alone. His eyes remained on Scott, sitting there, sighing as the wounds on his face began to heal; Derek could feel the betrayal pouring out, as if a visible line of flame connected them.
And then, just like that, it all vanished. There were only thoughts of his sister.
He threw Logan's and Stiles' grip, ran to the limp, lifeless body of his sister. He grabbed her, pulled her back into his arms, ignoring the frozen look of death on the girl's face.
"No!" Derek shouted, sadness consuming him. "No!"
Braeden was there, and she put her hand on his shoulder. He shook it away.
"I promised her!" he screamed. "I promised I'd always be there for her, save her! I promised her!"
Braeden didn't respond, only nodded, her eyes cast to the ground.
Derek hugged Carter to his chest, squeezed her as tightly as possible, as if that could somehow bring her back, or show thanks for being his little sister, for being there for him when no one else was.
He cried, wept like he'd never wept before. His great, racking sobs echoed through the morgue like the sounds of tortured pain.
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well, this chapter killed me...im literally typing this from my grave. i cried writing the chapter where carter dies but i cried even harder writing scott, stiles, and derek's reactions to her death. and i wanted to open the chapter in scott's pov because we've seen stiles emotionally react before in the show, but we've never gotten any dramatic emotional reactions from scott, so i decided to make one myself. but, derek's reaction killed me the most...and i knew that i wanted him to "lash out" and i kinda went all in with it. i mean, he full blown attacked scott but then went over and cradled his sister's body...brb i can't reel in my sobs.
well, i hope this killed you as much as it killed me.