I do not own Teen Wolf or any of its characters. I only own Celeste. If I did then Malydia.

Song - Little Lion Man // Mumford & Sons

WARNING - This chapter contains violence and just generally gets really, really heavy man. Seriously, you guys are going to think I'm a psychopath. Happy reading!!

Celeste's POV

        "This is fine."

        Celeste had a serene smile on her face as she looked out beyond the peak of the cliff she and her friends were currently standing on, her cheeks and the tip of her nose pink from the cold.

        "Celeste-,"

        "It's fine, everything is totally fine," Celeste's smile grew wider and more forced, "It's not as though my friends just called me out of school and brought me to the middle of nowhere and informed me that we are now fugitives hiding a kidnapped rich boy in the back of a stolen police van with the cops chasing after us or anything. I feel fantastic."

        "Why don't you just go back to school, yeah?" Stiles looked at her, concern shining clearly through his whiskey eyes, "We don't all have to go down for this. I don't know, I guess we just thought you might know what to do. You're Celeste. You always know what to do."

        "Stiles, just earlier today I accidentally tripped over a guy and pulled on the handle of the fire alarm to try and stop myself from falling," Celeste sighed out, "I literally never know what I'm doing at any time in any moment of my life."

        "Did you really?" he looked at her imploringly.

        "Yeah, it was bad," she nodded somberly, "the boys' soccer team was in the showers after practicing when we had to evacuate."

        "It even doesn't matter," Scott growled out, his nerves obviously running on high, "because no one is going to go down for this."

        Celeste let out a delirious laugh, looking up towards the sky to keep herself from whacking him on the nose with a newspaper or something.

        She wanted to scream. She wanted to shout at him that yes they were, damn it, and she also wanted to cry because even the thought of how her mother would react sent shudders down her spine.

        "You cold?" Stiles fretted, "Here, take my hoodie."

        "I'm okay," she denied his offer quietly.

        "No, really," he pushed, "I wore two today because I knew you would forget to bring a jacket-,"

        "I said I was fine, Stiles," she spoke a little louder, her voice coming out with a little more edge than she intended, instantly flooding her with guilt.

        He froze, looking at her with wide eyes. Allison and Scott both eyed her, too. Celeste didn't snap at people. Celeste was patient and considerate and steady, no matter who she was talking to.

        Celeste especially never snapped at Stiles.

        "Are you okay?" he asked softly, his eyes searching her face for any sign of what could be wrong.

        Her eyes fluttered shut as she willed the tears threatening to come out to retreat, and took a steadying breath.

        No, I'm not fucking okay, she wanted to scream, there are werewolves and kanimas and hunters running around and I'm more scared of my own mother. I just want to break down and cry and tell you everything, but I can't because then she'll be taken away from me and I love her, no matter how much it hurts.

        How was it that she was surrounded by the people who knew her best, the people who made her felt like she finally belonged, and yet she still felt so alone?

        "I'm fine," she chirped, allowing a smile to paint its way across her trembling lips, "just tired, that's all. I'm sorry. So, the tablet was missing?"

        She turned to Scott, attempting to drag the attention away from her distressed mind.

        "Oh, yeah," Scott blinked, clearing his throat, "I think it had proof of Jackson being the kanima, but it was stolen out of the trunk of his car."

        "You think Jackson took it without knowing?" Allison joined in, allowing herself to focus on his words.

        Stiles' gaze, however, did not stray from Celeste, concern – and maybe a little bit of suspicion – riddling his features.

        "Yeah," Scott sighed, "but if Jackson doesn't remember being the kanima, he's definitely not going to remember stealing Danny's tablet."

        "Why would he steal the thing if he doesn't even know what's on it?" Stiles finally interjected.

        "When would he have even had the chance to steal it?" Celeste swallowed heavily and joined the discussion, "We've been with him since the attack at the club."

        "What if somebody else took it?" Allison offered.

        "Then somebody else knows what he is," Stiles frowned.

        "Which could mean someone's protecting him," Scott added on with a nod.

        "Like the bestiary says," Allison nodded, "the kanima seeks a friend, right?"

        "Okay, hold on," Stiles held his hands up, "so somebody watches Jackson make a video of himself turning into the kanima and then just erases part of it so he wouldn't know? I mean, who would do that?"

        "Somebody who wanted to protect him?" Allison offered.

        "Sounds more like somebody who wants to keep him in the dark," Celeste spoke softly.

        "There's something else," Scott spoke up, "you said the only thing you found online about the kanima is that it goes after murderers. What if that's actually true?"

        "No, it can't be," Stiles denied, "it tried to kill all of us, remember? I don't know about you guys, but I haven't murdered anyone lately."

        "That has yet to be proven for certain," Celeste looked at him matter-of-factly.

        "Why do you keep trying to imply that I've committed murder?" Stiles flapped his arms around.

        "I'm just saying," Celeste shrugged, her eyes widened innocently, "we don't know what you do in your free time."

        "I literally just hang out with you and Scott in my free time," Stiles huffed, "When would I have had the time to kill someone."

        "Maybe I'm an accomplice," Celeste raised an eyebrow defiantly.

        "That doesn't even make any se-,"

        "I don't think that it was actually trying to kill us," Scott interrupted before the two got too off topic, turning to Allison, "Remember when we were at Isaac's the first time? It just went right past us, didn't it?"

        "You're right," Allison confirmed, her eyes glinting in realization, "it just ran off."

        "And it didn't kill you two," Scott turned to look at Celeste and Stiles, "in the mechanic's garage."

       "Well yeah," Stiles furrowed his brows, "but it tried to kill us, and Derek, in the pool."

        He instinctively stepped towards the shorter girl as his mind replayed that night's events.

        "Did it?" Scott pressed.

        "It would have," Stiles insisted, "it was waiting for us to come out."

        "What if it was trying to keep you in?" Scott asked him lowly.

        Stiles mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water and he shivered.

        "Why do I feel so violated all of a sudden?"

        "Because," Scott answered, "there's something else going on. We don't know what it is. We don't know anything about what's going with Jackson or why someone's protecting him-,"

        "Know thy enemy," Allison cut off Scott's anxious babblings, looking out at the horizon as everyone turned to look at her, "it's just something my grandfather said."

        "Alright, I got it," Stiles nodded definitively, "Kill Jackson. Problem solved."

        "Oh my God," Celeste groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Why do all my friends want to kill each other so badly?"

        "He risked his life for us," Scott reprimanded his best friend, "against Peter. Remember that?"

        "Yes, but what did we just find out?" Stiles pressed, "He got the bite from Derek. It's funny how he just got exactly what he wanted by supposedly risking his life for us."

        "You think this is what he wanted?" Celeste looked towards the van with sorrow, "You think he wanted to turn into a giant lizard man who kills people in his free time?"

          It was very easy to overlook Jackson himself and just see his flaws, Celeste knew that. Part of that was his fault, sure. If he wasn't such an ass to people all the time they'd be more sympathetic of his situation, but Celeste knew better than to take Jackson at face value.

        Celeste knew that past all the smoke and mirrors, behind all the fortified walls he had so carefully crafted, was a scared, lonely little boy, desperate for a validation from his birth parents that would never come.

        Celeste knew what it was like to never feel like enough.

        "It doesn't mean he's not still worth saving," Scott shrugged off Stiles' argument.

        "It's always something with him, though," Stiles grumbled.

        "He doesn't know what he's doing," Scott defended.

        "So what?" Stiles scoffed.

        "So, I didn't either," Scott tried to put things in perspective for him, "You remember when I almost killed you and Jackson, Allison?"

        Allison nodded softly, and Stiles let out a groan of frustration.

        "I had somebody to stop me," Scott reminded, "he has nobody."

        "That's his own fault," Stiles shrugged apathetically.

        Celeste felt an overwhelming pang of sadness, anger, and hurt. She glanced over at the van with a frown.

        "His life hasn't exactly been easy," Celeste reminded gently.

        "Yeah, because being a rich kid with no regard for anyone but himself is so strenuous," Stiles argued.

        Celeste went to defend Jackson, but stopped herself. She didn't know how much the others knew about Jackson's background and she didn't think it was her place to tell his life story.

        "It doesn't matter," Scott insisted, "If we can save him, we should try."

        "We shouldn't get to decide who's worth being saved," Celeste backed Scott up, "if we can help, that's what we have to do. We can help Jackson, Stiles."

        "Stop being so damn nice all the time," Stiles grumbled resignedly, pulling the girl into his arms and resting his chin on the top of her head.

☾ ☽

        Celeste was officially dead.

        Like, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, straight to purgatory level dead.

        Her hands were balled into fists so tight that her knuckles were completely white, and she was biting her lower lip so hard that she could taste bitter, metallic blood tainting her tastebuds.

        From the seat beside her, Stiles was attempting to catch her gaze, but the girl's eyes remained steadfastly fixed on surface of the metal table in front of them.

        Her vision was blurred as her oceanic eyes were marred with unshed tears, the salty fluid collecting dangerously in her waterline. She was urging them not to cross that barrier with everything she had.

        She, Scott, and Stiles were currently seated at a table in a police interrogation room. On the side of the perpetrator.

        Across from them sat Jackson, his father, and a less than amused looking Sheriff Stilinski.

        Apparently, Scott and Allison had decided it would be a good idea to jingle each other's jangles while they were supposed to be on watch to make sure a murderous kanima didn't escape.

        Which, by the way, he did.

        Fortunately for Beacon Hills' local serial killers – but most unfortunately for the trio – Jackson had decided to take the night off from slaughtering people to report his kidnapping to the police.

        "So, just to make things perfectly clear," Stilinski squinted at his son imploringly, "the three of you kidnapped a teenage boy, stole a police van, and hid him in the woods for over twenty-four hours?"

        Celeste couldn't stop herself from emitting a soft whimper at his words, the charges sounding far more detrimental in his stern tone.

        Stiles snapped his head to the side to look at her, and his heart felt like it was ripping itself into tiny little pieces when he took in the expression on her face.

        He had seen Celeste in a lot of states of despair: anger, sadness, exhaustion, fear; but never in his life had he seen such a look of pure terror on the girl's delicate features as he did in that moment.

        After facing a psychotic alpha, getting shot – almost to death – by a werewolf hunter, and nearly drowning to escape a murderous, reptilian creature, Stiles could not fathom what could so terrifying that it marred her expression so intensely.

        One thing was for certain, though. He did not like it, and he was going to find out exactly what it was that was making her feel that way and kill it.

        Or, get Scott to kill it.

        "Celeste wasn't there," he spoke up.

        The girl turned to look at him with wide, confused eyes, and Scott had to cover up his surprise with a fake cough.

        "Uh, y-yeah, she wasn't there. She didn't even know about any of this," Stiles rambled hastily, improvising as he went along, "We picked her up on our way here. For... moral support. I mean, come on. Celeste? Kidnapping someone? That's insane."

        Celeste sat, frozen as he spun yet another story to weave into their web of lies, a faint glimmer of hope beating against her chest along with the unsteady rhythm of her heart.

        "Look," Jackson's father snarled out, "It's nice that you're trying to protect your little delinquent girlfriend, but-,"

        "She wasn't there," Jackson spoke, his voice clear and concise as he lied smoothly.

        Everyone turned to look at him in surprise, and he locked gazes with Celeste.

        A look was passed between the two, imperceptible to everyone else, but powerful just the same.

        It wasn't a look of understanding so much as it was an acknowledgement of respect. Perhaps, on Jackson's end, even a look of gratitude.

        "But you said-,"

        "She. Wasn't. There," Jackson grinded out, looking his father steadily.

        "Very well" Mr. Whittemore's jaw ticked in annoyance, but he relented nonetheless, "the girl may go."

        "Excuse me," Stilinski narrowed his eyes, "I'm the Sheriff, I give the orders around here."

        Sheriff Stilinski turned to face the barely breathing girl.

        "Celeste, you're free to go."

        Mr. Whittemore scoffed, but no one payed him any attention as they focused on Celeste.

        Her breath hitched in her throat, and her mind was racing. She didn't want her friends to take the fall for her, she was equally responsible. She had already let Stiles serve detention so she didn't have to.

        He didn't deserve to constantly picking up her slack.

        However, the thought of her mother having to pick her up from the police station- she didn't even want to go there.

        She locked eyes with Stiles, cool blue meeting warm whiskey as they had a silent conversation. She needed to make sure he was actually okay with this.

        He smiled softly at her, and that was all the confirmation she needed.

        So, with a quiet, breathless 'thank you', Celeste shot up from her uncomfortable, metal chair and exited the room.

        Letting the door shut softly behind her, she let out a breathless laugh. She was in complete disbelief as to just how lucky she had gotten.

        Her life felt like a giant game of chess, one where her mother had taken all her pieces except for one, and she was just a little pawn, desperately trying not to get caught, living in constant fear that the next move she made would be game over. It looked like she had survived another round.

        She ran a hand through her dark, messy hair, finally allowing herself to relax.

        "Celeste?" an irate looking Melissa McCall approached her, confusion written across her features, "Why are you out here? What's happening in there?"

        "Stiles, uh, Stiles told them I wasn't a part of the whole kidnapping thing," Celeste was still a little delirious as she engaged in conversation.

        "Oh. Well, at least one of Scott's friends is sane enough to not go along with his idiotic plans," Melissa smiled at the girl softly, "Sorry they dragged you into this."

        Celeste coughed awkwardly.

        "Right," she didn't meet Melissa's gaze, "I'm just glad my mom didn't have to get a call from the police station saying her daughter's been arrested."

        "Oh, they didn't tell you?" Melissa winced sympathetically, "They already called all the parents. They can't technically hold you here without the permission of a parent or guardian."

        Celeste immediately stiffened, her stomach churning and her mouth going dry.

        "What?" she whispered softly, feeling herself getting lightheaded.

        "Yeah, she's just down the hall, I think," Melissa nodded, "but she seems pretty calm."

        Celeste's head snapped over to the left, and her heart nearly stopped beating at the sight of her mother standing there, an unreadable expression on the woman's face.

        The young girl suddenly became overwhelmed by a tidal wave of emotions – her own, for once – and in her fervor, she grasped Melissa's wrist desperately as tears welled up in her eyes, her pupils dilated.

        "Please don't let her take me," she whimpered, showing the woman in front of her more vulnerability in that moment than she had to anyone in a very long time.

        "Hey, don't worry," Melissa spoke softly, her eyes widened in alarm at the girl's rapid change in emotional states, "you weren't actually charged with anything. You're not in any trouble."

       Celeste let go of the woman as she realized how crazy she must have seemed, feeling very dizzy as she turned to face her mother's sharp, glinting eyes.

        Checkmate.

☾ ☽

        Celeste's mother hadn't said a word to her since they left the police station.

        The younger female was trembling as she passed through her front door after her mother, reluctantly following the woman into the kitchen.

        "Well," her mother laughed hollowly, "that was a delightful visit, wasn't it?"

        "Mom, I-,"

        "Don't," her mother snapped, her eyes turning so venomous that it caused Celeste to flinch back, "Do you know how embarrassing it is to have to pick up your own daughter from the police station?"

        Celeste wrung her violently shaking hands together as her mother's voice transformed into a low hiss.

        "I didn't mean to-,"

        "No," her mother laughed shrilly, "You never mean to, do you? And yet, here you stand, once again causing trouble and drawing attention to me, all because you're too pathetic to conduct yourself in a reasonable manner."

        Celeste was terrified. She had faced her mother's wrath innumerous times, but never once had she looked this venomous. This wasn't ire, or disappointment, or even embarrassment. This was...

        Deadly.

        "I- I wasn't thinking-,"

        "That's the root of the problem right there," her mother snapped, "You weren't thinking. It's one of the things I hate most about your kind, always acting out on your impulses. There's no sense of control."

        "My kind?" Celeste paused at her odd choice of wording.

        "Yes, you insufferable little abomination," her mother hissed, "Your kind. Your sick, twisted species of vermin. What is it you call yourselves? Empaths? Personally, I prefer to call you a plague."

        Celeste's blood felt ice cold as she registered her mother's words. Slowly, with trembling hands, she slipped her phone out of her back pocket and held it behind her back.

        "You're not making any sense, mom-,"

        "Don't you dare call me that," the woman's voice boomed, "You are no daughter of mine."

        Celeste couldn't see what she was doing, let alone try to find the correct numbers to dial 9-1-1, so she pressed a speed dial at random and hoped to all that was holy that it wasn't the Dominoes delivery guy.

        "Oh," her mother continued with a chastising sigh, "and I had so hoped would turn out to be normal. After I cut the break line of your sorry excuse for a father's car and you survived, I could do nothing but hope that the virus would have missed you. I could only pray that it was enough to have eradicated the other two, but when has life ever been that simple? When you survived that gunshot wound, I knew you were just like them. I've simply been waiting for the right moment to correct my mistake."

        "What?" Celeste whispered hoarsely, a ringing sound filling her eyes.

        Her mind felt as though it were about to implode, pounding with what felt like the screams of a thousand nightmares. Her body went slack due to the shock that electrified her body.

        In her weakened grip, the phone slipped from her hands and to the floor, shattering the glass into a million little broken shards.

        "Is that your phone?" her mother shrieked hauntingly, "Who did you call, you little bitch?"

        Her shrill words were accompanied by the sound of metal sliding against metal as her mom snatched a gleaming, sharpened butcher's knife up from the knife rack.

        All thoughts of her mother's confession were drained away at the sight of the glinting blade.

        "I don't know what you're talking about, I think you're making a mistake," Celeste's voice, much to her surprise, came out steadily, most likely due to her extensive experience with high pressure, life-threatening situations, "Why don't we just sit down and talk this through?"

        She was very slowly backing up towards the front door, her heart just about beating out of her chest.

        "I am so sick," her mother snarled out, "of hearing your voice."

        With that, the woman lunged forward and tore a gash into her daughter's shoulder before the girl even had a chance to react.

        She let out a shriek of pain as the blade pierced her flesh and her mother crowded her into the kitchen corner.

        Her brain was still racing to figure out an escape route, her eyes darting toward the backdoor through the kitchen.

        "Please," she screamed out, tears streaming down her cheeks, "can't you see what you're doing? I'm your daughter. It's me, mom. It's Celeste. Please."

        "There's that manipulation you empaths are so fond of," her mother looked at her with disgust, "Preying on the emotions of others to get what you want, isn't that right? Can you feel what I'm feeling right now? Can you feel how much I hate you? How much you disgust me? You're nothing but scum."

        She went to slash at Celeste's neck but the girl ducked at the last second, the blade catching the skin below her widow's peak before she managed to get out of the way.

        She ducked underneath her mother's arm and began racing towards the back door, only to be stopped by her mother's arms wrapping around her from behind as the woman tore a long stripe across the flesh of the girl's stomach.

         She writhed in pain, trying desperately to squirm out of her mother's grip. When her mom went to stab her in the side, she snapped her head back, hitting the woman in the nose.

        The shock of the hit sent the older female stumbling back, and the stab meant to go deep in her side only cut into her skin as the knife's blade slid back along with its owner.

        "How dare you?" her mother screamed out, clutching her nose, which was now very obviously broken and gushing blood, "How dare you hurt your own mother?"

        Celeste should have run to the door without looking back. Perhaps she would have made it out if she had, but that little girl inside, the one with a heart too big for her body and a burning desire to gain her mother's approval, made her falter at the sight of the woman's injury.

        That moment of hesitation, the mistake she made of loving her own mother, was all the older woman needed to tackle her to the ground.

        "I'm sorry," Celeste sobbed and, despite the circumstances, she meant it, "I'm so sorry."

        "Sorry isn't good enough," the woman cut a gash into her thigh, "you worthless, miserable little slut."

        Celeste screamed again as the knife embedded itself in her side.

        "Just tell me what to do," her vision was blurred by a mixture of tears and the blood dripping down from her forehead, "please, just tell me what to do. I'll try harder, I'll try harder to be good for you, I swear. Please, just tell me how to be better."

        Every instinct Celeste had was screaming at her to fight back, to hurt this woman, but she found that she could not. No matter what her mother did to her, she couldn't make herself fight back. Even if it killed her.

        "Oh, sweetheart," her mother tutted as she carved a smiley face into the girl's forearm, "no matter how hard you try, you'll never be able to change who you are: a pathetic, worthless disease that needs to be eradicated. You are nothing. You will always be nothing."

        With those parting words, the crazed woman raised her knife, a grin painted on her pace and a malicious gleam in her eyes, and aimed at her daughter's heart – ready to deliver the final blow.

         She never got the chance.

        Her efforts were interrupted by a venomous hiss, and Celeste watched in horror as a scaly tail wrapped itself around her mother's neck, twisting it violently and snapping to the side with a single, concise crack.

         The butcher's knife, dripping with Celeste's blood, clattered to the floor. The pearls that the woman always around the base of her throat snapped along with her neck, sending the precious stones scattering across their kitchen floor. Her mother collapsed to the ground.

         Dead.

        Celeste could do nothing but look on as the woman dropped limply to the ground, silent screams of horror never escaping her throat.

        Across town, another young girl screamed for her.

        The kanima hissed out, barreling towards the young girl.

        She closed her eyes, waiting for the monster to kill her too.

        In that moment, she wanted it to.

        Instead, it circled over her trembling, bleeding body and bend its head down until it was inches away from her bloodied face.

        If she had had the strength to vomit, she would have as its tongue flicked out and licked across the wound on the top of her forehead as she whimpered softly in pain, silent tears streaming down her face.

        Derek Hale knocked the door down, Alpha eyes blazing red and fangs gleaming sharply, just as it slipped out the window, slithering away into the chilling darkness of night.

☾ ☽ ☾ ☽ ☾ ☽

aaaaannd welcome back to the weightless series with belle, folks!

I promise I'm not a serial killer.

no seriously, if I gave that scene the justice I wanted tp, you might be feeling a wee bit unsettled right about now. message me if you want to talk about soothing, happy things to calm down cutie.

man I missed writing this story.

so much love its insane and stay hydrated,

-belle xx