Chapter Forty

I woke up the sound of the bus squealing to a holt. I opened my eyes to see that were still on the bus where we had been for the past five hours. There had been a massive traffic line, and I was not in the mood for it today. But, we had a cross-country meet way further out in Beacon Hills, so it was a schools trip—which means no school for today. Thank God.

I glanced to my right, seeing Stiles starring down at his tablet, with our hands secretly intertwined. I gave him a sleepy smile when he connected our eyes, my heart hammering.

"Hey, sleepy head." Stiles coos. Neither of us had really had the time to talk about what we are. But, ever since that night there had been stolen kisses every now and then, but privately. I hadn't had the time to talk to Lydia and Allison about it, either. Not since that night.

"What're you doing?" I rest my head on his shoulder. We were sat at the very back. Scott was sitting in the seat in front of us, resting his head on the window pain. I gently pressed my lips on the back of his hand that was intertwined with mine, giving myself goosebumps.

"Trying to keep Scott awake." He tells me. "And trying to study with him at the same time. Fall back asleep, yeah? You need it."

I shook my head against his shoulder. "No, I've been sleeping since we got on. Let me join in the study." I let go of our hands and moved forward, but Stiles puts his hand on my thigh, causing me to tense slightly. It felt nice. A little too nice... "Hey, Scotty." I tapped his shoulder.

Slowly, but surely, he moved his head towards me, giving me a tired look. "Hi, Paige. How was your nap?"

"Wonderful. How's trying to stay awake?" I asked him, proping my elbows on the back of his head rest.

"Fanstastic." He sarcastically mumbled.

"Okay." Stiles interrupted us, leaning forward slightly. His hand slowly lowering towards my vagina. I shoot Stiles a look and he gives me a small smirk. He knows what he's doing, and I'm going to pay him back. He taps on his tablet, moving the screen across. "Anachronism." Stiles continues.

"Something that exists out of its normal time." Scott explained.

"Nice. Next word: Incongruous." Stiles continued.

"Um... can you use it in a sentence?" Scott asked.

"Sure. It's completely incongruous for us to be on this stupid bus headed to some useless cross country meet after what just happened." Stiles spoke.

"Out of place. Ridiculous. Absurd." Scott listed.

"Perfect. Next word: Darach." Stiles slides in. I rolled my eyes. Scott gives him an off look. "We gotta' talk about it sometime. And we're going to be here for the next five frigging hours." But Scott turns to the window and the passing landscape. "Fine. Next word: Intransigent."

"Stubborn, obstinate—" The bus hits a bump and Scott sits up with a gasp.

"You okay?" I asked Scott gently.

He nods, but with a pained expression. "We shouldn't have come." Stiles decided.

"We had to. There's safety in numbers." Scott pointed out.

"There's also death in numbers. They call it a massacre." Stiles had a good point. I wish I hadn't had come. "Bloodbath, carnage, slaughter..." He trails off when he notices Scott barely listening, chest rising with labored breaths. "I'm getting Coach to stop the bus."

"No, I'm all right." Scott protested.

"You don't look all right." Stiles gives him a look.

"Yeah, Scotty, please..." I tried but he doesn't listen.

"I'll be fine by the time we get to the meet." Scott assures us.

"Let me take a look at it." I decided. I reached over for the hem of Scott's shirt, but he puts a hand over it

"I'm okay." He looks at me softly.

"If you're okay, then stop being so intransigent and let me see it." I was annoyed. With a reluctant nod, Scott lifts his shirt to reveal slash marks crusted in blood all over his torso. Dark bruises surround each painful-looking wound.

"Dude..." Stiles sighed.

"I know it looks bad, but it's because they're from an Alpha. It'll take longer to heal." Scott explained.

"Then how come Boyd and Isaac are fine?" Stiles questioned. "Hell, even Paige is fine. Thank God."

"I didn't get hurt," I murmur to him.

We glance over the edge of the seat to see Boyd and Isaac peering back at them. With no answer, Scott returns his weary gaze to the window and the world blurring past. "I can't believe he's dead. I can't believe Derek's dead."

The whistle blows. Coach points an angry finger at a couple of team members in the aisle. "The two of you! Back in your seats. And, Jared, honestly? Car sick every single time? Every time?" I looked over to see a boy, Jared, leans forward, head in his hands as a miserable groan escapes him. "Just keep your eyes on the horizon line or something. McCall, you too?"

Pale and with sweat at his brow, Scott shakes his head. "No, Coach. I'm good." He croaks out.

As Coach turns away, Stiles spots the dark blood stains on Scott's shirt underneath his jacket. I noticed it, too. "You're bleeding again. And don't say it's just taking longer to heal because I'm pretty sure still bleeding means not healing."

"He's listening." Scott then pointed out. I looked over at Ethan.

"Is he gonna' do something?" Stiles asked.

"Not in front of this many people." Scott reassured.

"What about the other two ticking time bombs sitting right near him?" Stiles questioned, meaning Boyd and Isaac.

"They won't. Not here." Scott shakes his head.

"What if they do? You going to stop them?" I questioned Scott.

"If I have to." Scott agrees.

"Does this mean you're their Alpha now? Because of Derek?" Stiles then questioned. That's a good question.

"I'm not anyone's Alpha." Scott shakes his head.

"Since you're looking kind of half dead too, I gonna' hope you're right." Stiles mumbled.

"Boyd?" I hear Isaac, tuning into his conversation. I could hear Boyd's heart beat, it was pounding heavily.

"Where you going?" Stiles asked as Scott stands up.

"Boyd—he's going to do something." Scott mentioned.

"How do you know?" Stiles asked.

"Look at his hands." Down the aisle, Boyd opens his fist. The claws are out.

Zipping up his jacket to cover the blood on his shirt, Scott steps into the aisle. Stiles and I watched, noticing his unsteady gait with worry.

I turned to Stiles and he turned to me. My phone slips off my lap when I shuffled closer and I winced. Oops. I lean down to pick it up and Stiles does too, the two of us turned to each other. I gave him a small smile and he hands me my phone, and while no one was watching, he attached our lips for a second before pulling away.

I couldn't help but grin and sat back up the same time as Stiles as Scott headed back towards us. He sits down in his seat in front of us.

"Disaster averted?" I asked hopefully.

He gives a weary nod. "Good. 'Cause we got another problem. Ethan's been checking his phone every five minutes. Like he's waiting for a message, or signal or something—something evil. I can tell. I have a very perceptive eye for evil." Stiles spoke.

"I don't like him sitting with Danny." I decided to say, eyeing Danny who was sitting next to Ethan.

"Me either. I want to know what he's waiting for." Stiles agreed. Stiles takes out his own cell phone.

"What are you going to do?" Scott asked.

"I'm going to ask." Stiles tells us. Several rows down, Danny pulls out his vibrating phone. Danny throws Stiles a look and shakes his head. Stiles continued to annoy him, sending text after text, and the vibration to the found was heard ever five seconds.

"Something wrong?" I hear Ethan question Danny.

"Actually... I was kind of wondering the same thing about you." Danny nods to the phone in Ethan's hands.

Peering over our seats, Stiles, Scott, and I watch them. Ethan glances back and we all drop down out of sight.

"That didn't feel very subtle." Stiles tells me and I smiled shyly.

Stiles's phone vibrates with a new message.

From Danny
Someone close to him is sick. Might not make it through the night.
— Sent now

"Ennis?" I asked.

"But does that mean—"

"He's not dead." Scott said.

"Not yet." Stiles added.

A crack of thunder draws Coach's eyes to the ceiling. His growl of frustration is only slightly louder than Jared's moan in the seat nearby. "Jared, I'm warning you. I'm an empathetic vomiter. You throw up and I'll throw up right back on you. It'll be profoundly disgusting."

"Coach, please... please don't talk about throwing up. Talking about it... It's not good. Not good." Jared groaned. I couldn't help feel bad for him as I watched them interact.

"None of you start thinking we're going to miss this Meet. A little traffic and minor tornado warning, Jared." He glanced at Jared. "We're gonna make this thing. Nothing is gonna stop us! Stilinski, put your hand down."

"There's a food exit half a mile up. We should stop. Maybe traffic will lighten by the time—" Stiles tried to reason with Coach.

"We're not gonna stop." Coach cuts him off.

"Okay, but we stop..."

"Stilinski." Coach glares and blows a whistle. "Shut it! Seriously! It's a little bus! Stop asking me questions!"

Stiles leans back and rubs his mouth. "I hate him. Scott, did you call Deaton?"

Scott sighs. "I keep getting his voice mail."

"That's it. I'm calling Lydia and Allison." Stiles brings out his phone again.

"How are they gonna help, back in Beacon Hills?" Scott questioned, giving Stiles a look.

"They're not." Stiles hand gestured towards the traffic behind us. "They've been following us for hours. Pathetic." He calls Lydia.

"Hey, Stiles." Lydia picks up her phone. "Yeah, we're just about to walk into a movie, you know, the popcorn and..."

"I know you guys are right behind us." Stiles spoke. "Put me on speaker."

"Yeah, okay." Lydia sighed.

"Okay, look, Scott's still hurt." Stiles explained to them.

"What do you mean still?" Allison questioend. "He's not healing?"

"No, he's not healing, I think he's actually getting worse." Stiles mentioned. "The blood's turning black."

"Well, what's wrong with him?" Lydia asked.

"Do I have a Ph.D. in Lycanthropy? How should I know?" Stiles asked.

"We have to get him off the bus." Allison then said.

"And take him where? A hospital?" Lydia questioned.

"If he's dying, yeah. Stiles, there's a rest area coming up in a mile. Tell Coach to pull over." Allison informed Stiles.

"He's been trying." I tell them. "Coach's stubborn, though."

"Reason with him." Allison suggested.

"Reason? Have you met the guy?" Stiles scoffed.

"Just try something." Allison said, before hanging up on us. Stiles turned to me, asking for ideas. I shrugged. With no one looking, I pecked his cheek.

"You've got this." I assured him. "If anyone can get through to Coach, it's you." Stiles sighed before climbing out of his seat and wealking down the isale where Coach was.

Whistle hanging from his lips, Coach stares blankly at Stiles as he makes a second attempt at convincing him to stop. "It's five minutes for a bathroom break. We've been stuck in this thing for hours—" Coach blows a short burst of the whistle. "The next rest stop isn't for another sixty miles—" Another whistle burst. "Being coped up for hours is—" Another whistle. "Our bladders aren't exactly—" Whistle. "Coach, this is... Let me talk!"

Coach blows the whistle for as long as he can in Stiles's face. While everyone around covers their ears, Stiles takes the full blast until the whistle drops from Coach's lips. "Back to your seat, Stilinski!" Coach snapped.

"Okay!" Stiles yelled, frustrated. Apoplectic with rage, Stiles turns back down the aisle in jawclenched silence. I sent him a frown. "And Jared, for God's sake, eyes on the horizon line."

Jared responds with a moan, a sound which stops Stiles short. Thinking, he slowly turns back, then slips into the seat next to him. "Hey Jared..." I heard him say. Stiles's lips spread into a malevolent smile. "How ya doing?"

⇉

The bus door clatters open and team members burst out, racing to get off. Coach yanks one of the windows down to yell out. "Somebody get towels. Or a mop." He peers back in again, cringing at the sight inside. "Or a new bus."

Stiles, Allison, and I hurry Scott into the rest stop men's room while Lydia shuts and locks the door behind us. Scott slumps down against the stained tile wall and his jacket falls open to reveal his bloody torso. Kneeling to him, Allison lifts his shirt and looks over the wounds.

"Oh God. Why didn't you tell us?" Allison questioned him.

"Sorry." Scott apologises weakly.

"Okay, just—give us a second." Allison tells him before standing up to turn to Lydia, Stiles, and I. "This shouldn't be happening. I've seen him heal from worse than this."

"What do we do? Call an ambulance?" Stiles asked.

"What if they can't help? What if there's no time?" Allison asked worriedly.

"We gotta' do something." Stiles stresses.

"You know, it could be psychological." Lydia pointed out.

"What do you mean? Like psychosomatic?" I asked.

"Somatoformic. A physical illness from a psychogenic cause." Lydia explained. She looked at our confused stares. "Yes, it's all in his head."

"Because of Derek. He's not letting himself heal because Derek died." Stiles realises.

"Then what do we do?" Allison questioned.

Lydia opens her purse and pulls out a travel sewing kits. "Stitch him up. I'm serious. Maybe all he has to do is believe it's healing."

We glance back to Scott. Breathing becoming more and more labored, he holds his hand tighter over his shirt, blood seeping between his fingers.

A lighter flame licks the tip of a sewing needle, sanitizing its point. Clicking the lighter off, Allison tosses it back to Lydia. Stiles pulls out every paper towel from the dispenser, surrounding Scott with them as Allison cleans the blood from the wounds.

"He's going to need another shirt. Where's his bag?" Allison questioned.

"I'll get it." Stiles offered. "I can't deal with needles anyway." He pauses at the door and looks at Allison. "You know what you're doing, right?"

Allison nods. "My father taught me."

"How fast can you—I mean what if the bus—the bus could leave." Stiles tumbled over his words.

"Make sure it doesn't." Allison tells us. I grabbed Stiles' hand and dragged him out along with Lydia, letting out a shaky breath.

"I sure hope this works." I spoke and Stiles nodded.

"It will." He reasures me. He left me and Lydia to stand alone beside the bus, in hopes of stalling Coach.

I walked over to Coach and he looked a little pissed. "Hey, Coach!"

"What? What do you want, Madden?" Coach had snapped, annoyed. I didn't take it to heart and brushed it off.

"Did you know that stop signs use to be yellow?" I asked him, trying to list of some random facts I knew.

Coach rolled his eyes. "I don't care—Wait, they use to be yellow?" He asked, his eyes darting to me with a little bit of interest.

"Yeah—But I guess it wasn't affected so they changed it to red." I made up. "And did you know that too much water can kill you. It'll be like your drowning. Heh, thats funny."

"Madden, your mind profoundly disburbs me." Coach tells me. I shrugged. "Right, let's get going." My heart pounds. We can't leave, Allison hasn't finished stitching Scott up.

"Wait—We can't leave." I stammer out and Coach turns to me.

"We are making this meet, I don't care what you say." Coach shakes his head to me before blowing the whistle. "All right! Back on the bus!"

I walked over to Stiles and Lydia. "We have to keep stalling, there's only so much random facts that I know to keep him interested in."

Suddenly, as if God was listening, a fight broke out and Coach rushed over, blowing the whistle. Lydia, Stiles, and I rushed over to the gathering students and saw that it was Isaac punching the shit out of Ethan.

Scott then appeared beside us and I smiled brightly. Thank God. Allison stood beside me. "He went after him—I told him what was happening with you and he just went after him—" Stiles explained.

"Boyd?" Scott asked.

"No—"

"Isaac! Isaac, back off!" Coach snapped. But still swinging his fists even as Danny struggles with him, Isaac tries to get another hit at Ethan. The twin takes the beating with a disturbing smile until Scott cuts him off.

"Isaac," Scott shouts. Scott's voice thunders through the crowd, turning every head and shutting every mouth. Whistle hanging off his lip, even Coach falls silent under the young man's commanding presence. Lowering his fist, Isaac looks at the healed Scott with relief. And finally, backs off.

—

Scott and Allison were sitting in the back, Stiles and I sat where Scott was and Lydia sits in front of us, and turned to face us as we went over the plan. "All right, let's go over this one more time." Stiles continued. "So it's the sacrifices, right? Everything has to do with them and someone who thinks they're some Dark Druid."

"Or actually is a dark druid," Lydia added.

"A Darach," I say, having a funny feeling about it.

"You know, some ancient cultures sacrificed people in preparation for battle," Lydia spoke.

"So we get Alpha werewolves against a Dark Druid," Stiles states.

"What parallel nightmare dimension did we get sucked into?" I questioned. Stiles chuckled and took my hand where no one else saw, rubbing his thumb against the palm of it. I felt relaxed slightly before leaning against the window and I let my eyes close.