[ TRIGGER WARNING GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF SUICIDE ]

THERMODYNAMICS
━━━━━ ⋆ ☆ ⋆ ━━━━━

━━━━━ ELIAS MCCALL ARRIVED HOME IN A FRANTIC HAZE THAT DAY, THE SLAMMING OF DOORS AND SOBBING OF A BROKEN TEENAGER ECHOING IN A SMALL APARTMENT. His father had left for work, he was to return home in merely half an hour. That wasn't enough time. But then again, Rafael wasn't too observant when it came to his son—an FBI agent who knew nothing of what Elias did on his free time, and nothing of his inner turmoil.

   The boy crashed through the front doors, his sight blurry with tears pouring down from his green and puffy eyes. His breaths were shaky as he gasped for air, his throat feeling as though it was shrinking with every inhale. Stumbling blindly through the hallways, he managed to find himself in the kitchen as he tossed his backpack away from him. His trembling hands ransacked the drawers, searching for something he couldn't seem to find.

   He was growing increasingly angry, his sobs of anguish quickly turning into a mixture of pain and frustration. The brunet slammed his hands down on the counter and let out a groan, falling to his knees on the cold and hard wooden floor. His face felt hot, and he knew he should've been trying to breathe slowly and catch his breath, but he was too panicked to act logical. A flame was scorching his throat, and he clawed at his neck with sweaty fingers in an attempt to calm down, only doing the opposite.

He felt her hand on his back, her freezing but gentle touch seeming to shock him into reality, his brain spinning. Her presence made him cower, flinching away from her palm and backing into the cabinets, scrambling away frantically. He didn't dare look up, but he was aware of his presence as well.

   "Elias," she said, crouching down before him with her hands raised in an innocent manner, "We aren't here to hurt you. Please, breathe." When her fingers had just barely grazed his arm, the boy jerked himself sideways, away from her.

   Elias looked up, meeting the eyes of the brown haired woman—Honoria Foley. "Don't touch me!" He exclaimed. She shrunk back fearfully, and it occurred to him that he was being harsh to a woman that had never showed any interest in causing him harm. "Please," he added.

"Okay." She murmured. "Okay, I won't touch you. Tommy and I just want to help you."

Elias turned his attention to the young boy behind Honoria. Dried blood stained his face, his blond shaggy hair matted with the crusty substance. One of his eyes was clouded over, and he stared straight into Elias's soul. But he cracked an easygoing grin at him once he realized the brunet was watching him.

"Hey!" He said cheerfully. How a boy as dead as him could be so happy was lost on the McCall.

His eyebrows furrowed, his shoulders becoming a bit less tense and his breaths seeming to slow just the simplest bit. "What the hell?" He muttered.

   "Honoria, what's wrong with him?" Tommy asked, earning an offended look from Elias.

   "Nothing, dear, he's just upset." She said to him before looking back at the distressed boy on the floor. "What were you looking for?"

   He opened his mouth to respond, but stopped short when he saw it behind her. The boy's breath caught in his throat, and he hastily fumbled to stand up, reaching for it before he even knew what he was doing. His hand shook as he grabbed the handle in his fist, fingers wrapped securely around it to the point that his knuckles were white. He was afraid the ghosts would take it from him, though he knew they were unable to touch anything other than him, for reasons unknown.

   Elias rushed to the bathroom, slamming the door closed, locking it, and leaving Honoria Foley and Tommy Downs in the kitchen alone, both unable to stop him and still a bit confused about his motives. They heard the bath running, the squeak of the handle turning and the sound of water rushing and clashing with the tub. Only then, did Honoria realize what the boy was doing, and a desperate urge to stop him clawed at her fiercely. He was their only bridge to the human world.

   They needed him.

   But what could they do? They couldn't touch anything, so they couldn't call his father. They couldn't stop him from doing it, they were the reason he wanted to die in the first place. They could only hope his dad came home in time. And he did.

   The lock on the front door clicked, and over his own spiral of thought, Elias heard nothing. He stared at his reflection in the knife, glaring at himself with a look of annoyance and hatred. Am I really doing this? He asked himself, looking straight forward into the mirror, locking eyes with his own image.

   Yes, he answered.

   He was sitting down in the tub before he could blink, forgetting his phone was in his pocket, his clothes getting soaked. The water overflowed, making the floor slippery as it ran rapidly across the tiles. Elias leaned back, sighing in relief at the warmth that enveloped his body. Raising his arms out of the water, the boy pushed his sleeves up before grabbing the knife beside him on the edge of the bath.

   It happened fast.

   One minute, the water was clear and he felt nothing. And the next, he was floating in redness and blood stained his skin with such a fiercely dark color that he almost wanted to throw up at the sight of it. Pain travelled through his nerves and crawled along his fingertips as he dropped the knife on the floor beside him. Despite the aching of it all, there was a certain euphoric feeling coursing throughout him.

   The absence of emotion.

   His arms splashed into the water, bleeding excessively. Elias blinked, smiling to himself lazily. He let his head fall back, the release of a content exhale being the last thing he did while awake.

   Rafael McCall walked into the house with his computer tucked under one arm, a brown paper bag of last minute groceries in the other. He had the same dull look on his face that he always did, and he released a sigh the minute he had closed the door and locked it behind him. The man placed the bag on the counter, quickly noticing the cold chill that had seemed to suck the air out of the room. His eyes travelled around the kitchen skeptically, then landed on Elias's bag that lied in the middle of the room.

The older man's eyebrows furrowed. He placed a hand on his gun at his side, creeping slowly through the house and walking towards Elias's room on the left side of the apartment. He could faintly hear a noise, but he was unable to place it as he walked into the room of his youngest son.

"Elias?" Rafael asked suspiciously. He received no response.

He turned around, going down the opposite hallway and towards the bathroom and his own bedroom. As he keeps closer to his room, he heard the sloshing of water at his feet, he felt the resistance of the substance against his shoes. Glancing down, he realized that the sound he had heard was water overflowing in the tub. He knocked on the door, calling out to his son yet again.

Panic seized his chest when he got no response from the teenager, his heart racing when he turned the handle and realized the door was locked.

"Elias! Elias, open the door!" Rafael knew the boy probably couldn't even hear him, if he was even in there. He knew his son wasn't exactly well, it was easy to piece together what was most likely happening behind the door. "Elias, can you hear me? Ellie, I really need you to say something. . . Please?"

He huffed a breath, stepping back and ramming his shoulder into the door. His breaths were uneven as he frantically lunged at the door, kicking and throwing himself at it over and over again. Eventually, it came crashing open, and Rafael almost broke in sobs down at the sight before him.

Elias sat in the bath, the water red around him, his head tipped back and eyes closed. His arms were buried under the water, but Rafael knew what he would find when he pulled him out.

Shaking himself out of his initial shock, the man scrambled over to his son, nearly slipping on the water as he yelped. "Elias!" He yelled. He dropped to his knees, his white button up shirt becoming stained with blood. Tears gathered in his eyes as he felt a sob rip its way out of his throat. The man dropped his hands into the water, searching for the boy's arms.

He grasped his wrists, pulling him up by them. More blood seeped out of the wounds on his forearms, long lines, vicious lacerations. Rafael took a sharp breath, the exhale leaving his lips in a scream. "SOMEONE HELP!" His voice was so heartbroken, so loud that the ghosts watching in the corner flinched involuntarily. "PLEASE, HELP ME!"

The father quickly realized no one would hear him, and he pushed himself to his feet, rushing into the kitchen to grab his phone. He immediately dialed 911, running a bloodied hand through his brown and gray hair. The phone clicked, and he had to stop himself from blurting out the words in a cry.

"911, what's your emergency?" The operator said.

"It's my son. His wrists, they- he cut them, he's unconscious. I need an ambulance."

   "Do you know how long he's been unresponsive for?"

   "No- I mean, I don't know. I just got home a few minutes ago, he was already out when I got here." He answered.

   "The ambulance is on their way. In the meantime, I'm going to need some information from you, okay? What's your name, sir?"

   "Agent Rafael McCall."

   "Son's name?"

   "Elias Alexander McCall."

   She asked him a few more questions before he made his way back to the bathroom. The operator remained on the phone with him, he put her on speaker as he crouched down next to the young boy again. Rafael placed his fingers on his neck, checking for a pulse and finding a faint one. He let out a relieved breath, placing his hands on his son's cheeks.

   "Ellie?" He asked softly, his bottom lip trembling. He brushed back the hair falling over his forehead, only to have it cover his face yet again. "Ellie, please wake up, kid. You can't die on me, okay? Scott and your mother- don't leave us alone, please."

   The man's body shook with sobs as he cried, holding onto his son's lifeless body.

━━━━━ ⋆ ☆ ⋆ ━━━━━

His hearing was the first thing to come back to him. Then touch, sight.

   There was a beeping noise, itching at the back of his head. A heart monitor, he realized. He felt the oximeter on his pointer finger, a hand wrapped around his free one. He blinked his eyes open slowly, the light burning into them and making him take a sharp breath, alerting the person holding his hand. The boy turned his head, meeting the kind eyes of his mother.

   "Mom," he croaked, his throat raw from all of the crying and being asleep for such a long time.

   She shushed him, running her hand through his hair. "Hi, sweetheart." Melissa gave him a sad smile, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. "How are you feeling? Any pain?"

   Yes.

   "No, no, I'm okay. Thanks, mama." Elias responded, but she knew he was faking. He looked around the room, finding no one else there. "Where's dad?"

   His mom hesitated, rubbing her thumb along his knuckles gently. He could tell she was nervous to say something to him. Elias and Melissa McCall were alike in many ways, they could almost always tell when the other was hiding something from them. If the awkward air in the room didn't give it away, her weird apprehensiveness did.

   "Mom. . ." She looked up at him. "Just tell me, please."

   The woman sighed. "You're father and I, have decided that it might be best if you come live with me for a while." She read quiet, and she waited for a reaction for at least a minute afterwards, Elias staring straight ahead with no emotion. "Honey? Are you okay?"

   He took a breath, a shaky one and Melissa realized he was about to cry.

   "Is he mad at me?" The boy asked in a quiet voice.

   Melissa felt her heart shatter as she looked at his defeated face. "Oh, baby, no."

   "Does he not want me with him anymore?"

   "No, no, no. He's coming too! He has cases in Beacon, so he'll stay in a hotel for a while and he thought it would be better if you had your old room back." She explained, rubbing his arm reassuringly. Suddenly, she smiled brightly. "And Scott is happy you're coming home, Stiles too."

   Elias smiled the slightest bit, and Melissa felt like a weight was lifted off her shoulders. The brunet squeezed her hand tightly, afraid to let go.

   "Is he here?"

   "Yeah. He went to the cafeteria to get you something in case you woke up. I'll go get him, you two can talk." She stood up, ducking out of the room at such a fast speed that Elias was sure she also felt the awkward tension. He was alone for a few minutes, staring at the wall until Scott came waltzing through the door, his grin brightening up the atmosphere.

   That was the thing about Scott; it was hard not to smile when he was around. He had a certain energy about him, an energy that demanded to be felt by everyone. He always made Elias feel better when he was upset.

   "Hey, bud, how you feeling?" He asked, sitting down in the chair beside the bed.

   "I'm okay."

   Even without listening to his heartbeat, Scott could tell his little brother was lying. Elias always had a reason for lying though, so he let it drop and didn't push him for any answers. It was clear he was in pain as well, so Scott grabbed his hand and allowed himself to steal some of it, hearing Elias let out a breath of relief. The boy stared in awe at the black veins running up and down Scott's arm.

   "I will never get tired of seeing you do that." He chuckled.

   Elias was in middle school when he found out that Scott had been bitten by a werewolf. He was home for spring break one night when Stiles came crawling through the window talking about some psycho killer with a lizard as a murder weapon. He didn't believe the boys at first, but then he remembered that he could see ghosts, so he figured that it wasn't too far fetched.

   Scott laughed back, looking down at the his hand before his eyes trailed to the bandages of Elias's forearms. His face turned serious in a matter of seconds, his brow furrowed as he seemed to be thinking really hard about something.

   "Why, El? Why'd you do it?" He asked, voice heavy with emotions.

   "I thought it would make them stop." He answered timidly.

   "The voices- the ghosts, I mean?"

   Elias nodded. "Sometimes, when I'm in pain, and when I'm asleep, I can't see them, or hear them."

   "And you thought that dying would make it all go away?"

   "Yeah."

Scott sighed, shaking his head. "Next time, you call me, okay? We know an emissary, back in Beacon, and he can probably help you figure it out."

Elias nodded, "okay."

The boys talked for the rest of the day. Scott told him about Kira and the rest of the pack, and Elias told him about how their dad's cooking hadn't gotten any better since they lived together. Elias's pain had slowly gone away by the time he wanted to go to sleep. The boy was wrapped up in blankets, his mom's head laying on the bed beside him, his hair flopping into his face.

He sighed exhaustedly, about to close his eyes. He stopped, however, when he saw someone standing in the corner.

Tommy Downs—his one, cloudy white eye, staring straight into Elias's dreary green ones.

━━━━━ ⋆ ☆ ⋆ ━━━━━

AUTHOR'S NOTE. hi! i don't really know what to say, but thanks for reading! i hope you guys liked it. i'd love to hear your thoughts so far. as always my dms are open for any suggestions or criticism you guys have.

EDITING. this chapter has not been edited. i will go through and do my edits once this story is completed. if you notice any typos in the future, please let me know so i can fix them.

THANK YOU. gray.