x x
Below the scorching Mexican heat within a building made for the demise of others, pained growls and electric sparks filled the lower lever.
On a table filled with tools of torture, Derek Hale's phone lit up with worried messages from Scott.
Severo turned off the device, running his fingers along what weapon to use next on the two werewolves latched to a chain-link wall, shirtless and sweating.
Derek looked over to his uncle, his jaw clenched as Peter returned his gaze.
Although chained behind him, Peter moved a hand innocently. "Why are you looking at me like this is my fault?"
"Because it is your fault."
Severo turned up the electricity, sparks bolting through Derek and Peter, ricocheting within their bones.
Breathing heavily with an attempt to catch his own, Peter strained out a response. "Yeah, you're probably right."
High voltage pummeled through them once more, making both Hales wonder how long they could last.
x x
Huddled in the back of Mr. Yukimura's history class, Stiles tapped through the maps on his tablet, both Scott and Allison at his sides.
Stiles motioned towards the dropped pin, angling it toward Allison. "Here's where we found the den. It's right in the middle of the hiking trails."
"Well, that could narrow it down," said the huntress. "Coyotes travel on fixed trails." Allison looked up to Scott, "But I think you're right about her not going back to the den. Coyotes don't like wolves. And they're really smart. If they don't want to be heard, they actually walk on their toes."
Stiles' eyebrows furrowed, "Coyotes tip toe?"
Allison slightly rolled her eyes in agreement, "They tip toe."
The bell rang overhead, sending Allison off.
Backing up, Allison said, "I got to go, but send me the pinned location. I'll make sure Elora gets it too."
The boys agreed, heading to their seats.
"Hey. I'm Kira." The nervous figure that had trapped Scott radiated panic, "You knew that. I knew you knew that. I don't know why I just told you that again. Anyways," she slid her backpack off her shoulders, "I have something for you."
"For me?" Scott asked curiously, hands holding the straps of his backpack.
"Yeah," Kira quickly agreed, "about the Bardo. My explanation was kind of all over the place, so I did some research and printed it out for you."
Scott softly laughed as she leafed through her elephant printed bag. "Ah, you didn't have to do that."
"It only took a couple hours," she assured, clearly happy to help Scott.
"Wow," Scott expressed, "then you really didn't have to do that."
"I swear I printed it out," defended Kira to herself, unable to find the papers.
"Kira," Mr. Yukimura addressed as he came down the row. "You forgot all the research you did for that boy you like."
Having turned to face her father, Kira looked mortified as Ken handed her the thick stack of papers. She slowly swiveled back to a surprised Scott, unable to make eye contact as she offered the research out to him.
Scott took the papers, a smile playing on his lips as Kira attempted to shrink into oblivion and took her seat. He held back a warm laugh, going around to the next row and sliding into his desk.
"All right, everyone." Mr. Yukimura grabbed the room's attention, ready for class to begin. "Let's get started. We were just talking about internment camps and prisoners of war. There's a passage in our reading that I'd like to go over in more detail. Who would like to come up and read aloud for us?" Ken scanned the room, eyes falling on the only one who couldn't do the task. "Mr. Stilinski, how about you?"
"Oh, uh..." Stiles hesitated, "maybe someone else could."
Ken, however, wouldn't let up. "Everyone participates in my class, Mr. Stilinski."
"Okay," Stiles mumbled in agreement as he rose from his seat and went up to the podium.
A fog seemed to lace Stiles, the black and blue letters slipping out of place and redurring the page blank.
Scott looked up from Kira's research, eyes falling on a ghostly pale Stiles. He stood, concern on his face. "Stiles? You okay?"
Stiles gripped the podium heavily, unable to catch his breath.
Scott took Stiles's shoulder, looking to Mr. Yukimura. "I shouldn't take him to the nurse's office." He steadied Stiles, quickly taking him out of the room.
"Scott!" Elora skidded around the corner of the hallway, nearly as out of breath as Stiles. "I felt like something was wrong." She was touching her heart as she caught up to them, her connection to the trio increasing with every falter.
"What do we do?" Scott quickly asked, hanging onto Stiles.
Elora glanced down both halls, "A bathroom, we need to get him somewhere no one will interrupt. We have to calm him down."
Scott lead them deeper into the school, Stiles letting go of Scott as they reached the men's bathroom near the back of the building.
Stiles' focus bounced around the room, unable to catch his breath as his head spun in a million different directions.
"Stiles, look at me, man," Scott nervously said. "Is this a panic attack?"
Lunging forward, Stiles gripped the edges of a sink as he stared into his sweating reflection. "It's a dream, it's a dream. This is just a dream."
"No it's not," El urged. "This is real. You're here. You're here with us, Stiles."
Stiles, however, was losing it.
"How do you tell if you're awake or dreaming?" Scott questioned with a rapid heartbeat, needing Stiles to snap out of it.
"Your fingers," Stiles said through heavy breaths. "You count your fingers. You have extra fingers in dreams."
"Then do it," Elora stressed as she and Scott stood on either side of the panicking boy.
"How many fingers do I have?" Scott asked, holding up a finger. "Hey! Look at me. Come on, Stiles. Look at my hands and count with me."
Stiles forced himself to turn, "One..." he panted through, "two."
"Keep going, Stiles," said El as she put a hand on his shoulder and softly squeezed encouragement.
"Three, four."
"Five," Scott told him before going to the other hand.
"Six," breathed Stiles, "seven."
"Eight."
Stiles strained against the migraine in his head, "Nine...ten."
"Ten," Scott repeated, "ten."
Stiles didn't understand, his mind racing. If he wasn't dreaming, what the hell was wrong with him? He slid back against the green tile, sitting harshly on the ground.
Both Elora and Scott hesitantly crouched in front of him, concern still pulsing.
"What the hell is happening to me?" Stiles asked with a quaking voice.
"We'll figure it out," Scott assured. "You're going to be okay."
"Am I?" Stiles retorted, looking between Scott and Elora. "Are you? Scott, you can't transform. Allison's being haunted by her dead aunt. I'm straight up losing my mind. And El, you're getting all of it." He softly shook his head, "We can't do this. We can't...we can't help Malia. We can't help anyone."
Scott shifted his position, sitting on the cool linoleum floor. "We can try. We can always try."
Elora kept her eyes trained on Stiles, finally feeling like she had control of her body. "Can I try something?"
Scott and Stiles exchanged a look, speaking in unison. "Like what?"
"I want to know if I can see it," El said as she balanced on one knee. "The door."
Stiles' eyebrows furrowed, "What do you mean? How would you do that?"
"I can look into people's minds, see dreams, or nightmares. If you let me, I could try to see why the door's still ajar, and possibly how to shut it." Elora, clearly having run out of her house last minute due to her attire of Nike joggers and a thin sweater baring the mascot of one of the various schools she'd attended, looked between them for any sign of approval. "It won't hurt, but it could help."
Stiles nodded after a moment. "Okay, do it."
Elora pushed up the sleeves of the Mystic Falls Timberwolves sweater, crouching directly in front of him. "Focus on the door, and focus on me," she directed as she put her thumbs on his temples and rested the others against his wild hair.
Training on how similar Elora's eyes were to her cousin's, he forced himself to think of the gap in his mind.
Elora shut her eyes, her pulse slowing as she transfixed herself into the depths of Stiles' mind. Flickering open only halfway, white blocked out her pupils.
"Scott," Stiles quietly said, "what's happening to her?"
"Just keep thinking of the door," Scott told him as he watched the deadly still figure of Elora. "I think it's working."
The expression on Elora's face changed, eyebrows coming together. Transfixed, she had found her way into a dark scape deep in Stiles' mind.
A sliver of blinding light and a casted shadow.
Footsteps.
Stiles stared at Elora with wide eyes, unable to hear anything but his own heart slamming in his chest. "What the hell-"
"Shōtaio arawashimasu," Elora said aloud, eyes still burning bright white.
The footsteps stopped, a set of feet visible at the base of the door slowly opening itself. But the moment Elora spoke, the door slammed shut.
Both Scott and Stiles jumped, El's body thrown back against the opposite wall without being touched.
The boys scrambled over to her, Elora's eyes closed and the green tiles cracked in a spider web print away from the back of her head.
"Shit," Stiles swore, carefully moving Elora's head forward only to find blood staining both the tile and the witch's dark hair. "She's bleeding pretty bad, dude."
"I'll get Isaac, he can take her home." Scott brough out his phone, texting with one hand and using to draw pain out of Elora. Black traced up his arm, disappearing into his chest. "He'll meet us at the parking lot door." Quickly pocketing his phone, he went to pick Elora up, only for her eyes to open. "El, you with us?"
A sheen had taken over her eyes, remaining as white as snow. "Shōki o ushinau."
"And she's speaking Japanese again," Stiles sighed with a nervous tick. "Super."
"Wait, translate it," Scott told him. "On your phone, translate what she's saying."
Stiles opened up the app he'd used to pass Spanish 3, holding down the audio button as he angled the speaker towards Elora .
Elora's eyelids shook under pressure, pupils lost under a sea of white. "Shōki o ushinau. Shōki o ushinau."
Releasing the microphone button, Stiles' eyebrows lifted as the translation popped up on his screen. "That's...not good."
"What does it say?" Scott questioned once Elora had grown quiet and shut her eyes again.
Stiles opened his mouth to read the translation, double taking at Elora as her green eyes opened, reflecting the solemness of her cousin. "El?"
"It means lose your mind."