𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆: 𝐆𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐲 𝐏!𝐍𝐊

...🌙...

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓, 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟏

𝐈 stood in the gym, the smell of sweat and sneakers squeaking on the polished floor filling the air. Gym class always had this chaotic energy, like a simmering pot ready to boil over. Today was no different. Allison and Scott were at the rock wall, their harnesses clicking as they climbed. The crowd around me buzzed with anticipation.

"Go, Allison!" someone shouted, and laughter rippled through the group.

I couldn't help but chuckle along with them. Allison's foot lashed out, catching Scott off guard. He slipped, arms flailing, and the entire gym erupted in laughter as his harness stopped him just inches from the mat below. Coach headed over, his face splitting into a wide grin.

"McCall, I don't know why, but your pain gives me a special kind of joy," Coach laughed, clapping Scott on the back as he lay sprawled on the mat. "Right? All right, next two! Stilinski, Andromeda, let's go! The wall."

I sighed, rolling my eyes, and headed toward the wall. Stiles stepped beside me, his usual nervous energy more palpable today. I slipped into the harness, feeling the straps tighten around me. The cold metal and rough fabric were a stark contrast to the warmth of the gym.

"You're staring," I said, grabbing onto the rock wall and climbing.

"Why were you at the police station last night?" Stiles asked, his voice low but insistent.

"It's complicated," I replied, reaching for another hold.

"Complicated how?" His curiosity was relentless, but that was Stiles for you.

"My aunt needed to check something out," I said, pulling myself higher.

"Like what?"

He's persistent. I'll give him that.

"No idea." I climbed higher, trying to focus on the task at hand.

"Is that all, Stiles?" I asked, hoping he'd drop it.

"No, actually...Would you want to go with me to an ice rink tonight?" His words came out in a rush.

I paused, looking down at him with a smile. "Are you asking me out?"

"I mean, Scott and Allison would be there, so..." He trailed off, looking uncertain.

"Hmm," I said teasingly.

"Is that a no?" he asked, clearly nervous.

"If you don't beat me to the top," I challenged, grinning.

Without waiting for his response, I moved up the wall with renewed vigor. But as I reached for the next hold, I looked up to find Stiles ahead of me, his hand slapping the bell at the top. He descended swiftly until his face was level with mine.

"I beat you," he said smugly.

Smiling sweetly, I kicked his leg, watching as he fell, his harness stopping him just inches from the mat. The gym exploded with laughter again as I rappelled down.

"Oh, Stilinski, you and McCall are killing me today," Coach laughed, shaking his head.

Stiles got up, a sheepish grin on his face, as I unbuckled my harness and moved back into the crowd. He sidled up next to me.

"Pick me up at six," I said, not looking at him but feeling his smile.

"Next up, Erica and Greenberg," Coach called out.

I watched as Erica and Greenberg approached the wall. Erica looked hesitant, her frizzy hair bouncing with each step. Greenberg started climbing, moving quickly up the wall, but Erica froze halfway up, her face pale.

"Oh, please—" Erica's voice trembled, panic clear in her tone.

"Erica? Dizzy? Is it vertigo?" Coach called out, moving closer.

The class edged nearer to the mats, concern mingling with curiosity.

"Vertigo's a dysfunction of the vestibular system of the inner ear. She's just freaking out," Lydia said snidely, not bothering to hide her disdain.

"Nice one, Lydia," I scoffed, shaking my head.

"Erica," Coach tried again, his exasperation evident.

"I'm fine," Erica said shakily, but it was clear she wasn't.

"Coach, maybe it's not safe. You know, she's epileptic," Allison said, her voice tinged with anxiety.

"Why doesn't anybody tell me this stuff?" Coach threw his hands up in frustration. "Erica, you're fine. Just kick off from the wall. There's a mat to catch you. Come on."

With a trembling breath, Erica pushed off the wall, landing awkwardly on the mat. The gym was filled with relieved murmurs and a few laughs.

"See? You're fine. You're on the ground. You're all right. Let's go. Shake it off. You're fine," Coach said, trying to sound reassuring.

Erica rushed away, her face flushed with embarrassment as the class snickered. I felt a pang of sympathy as I watched her leave the gym.

...🌙...

Walking down the crowded hallway with Lydia by my side, I could almost taste the freedom of lunchtime. The chatter of students echoed off the walls, creating a racket of voices that barely registered anymore. I tucked a strand of brown hair behind my ear, adjusting my bag strap.

"Can you believe Mr. Harris? Another surprise quiz," Lydia groaned, her strawberry blonde hair bouncing as she walked.

I smirked. "He's just mad no one pays attention to his rants about chemistry."

Before Lydia could answer, a hand clamped down hard on my arm, yanking me to a stop. I winced as I turned to see Jackson, his green eyes blazing angrily. He had a firm grip on Lydia's arm, his fingers digging into our skin.

"What the hell is wrong with you two?" Jackson's voice was a harsh whisper but carried a dangerous edge.

I tried to pull my arm free, but his grip only tightened. "Excuse me?"

Lydia looked just as confused, her brows knitting together. "What?"

"Show it to me," Jackson demanded, his face inches from mine.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but you need to let us go," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through me.

He ignored me, his eyes wild. "Show it to me. Come on!"

"Are you out of your mind?" Lydia snapped, her voice dripping with frustration.

"Nothing happened to you guys," Jackson hissed, looking between us and dropping his grip on my arm. "It's like...it's like you're both immune."

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about," Lydia retorted, her tone icy.

"It's...it's you guys," he muttered furiously, his grip tightening painfully before shoving Lydia against the wall. 

The impact made a dull thud, and I saw her wince.

Jackson turned to me, his gaze venomous. "Whatever it is—blood, saliva—whatever soul-killing substance is running through your veins, you both did this to me! You both ruined it for me!"

He glared at Lydia and me one last time, then stormed off down the hall, leaving us shaken. Lydia rubbed her arm, her face pale.

"I have to go," she muttered, hurrying away before I could react.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself before heading to the lunchroom. The noise level was just as intense here, with students laughing and talking at their tables. I scanned the room, spotting Stiles and Scott sitting together. I made my way over, and Stiles immediately stood up when he saw me.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concern etched on his face.

Before I could answer, a hush fell over the room. I turned to see Erica walk in, looking completely different. She wore a short leather skirt and matching jacket, her cheetah-print stilettos clicking against the floor with each confident step. Her acne was gone, and she moved with a poise that seemed foreign.

Erica sauntered to a table, placing her hands on it before grabbing an apple and taking a bite, wiping her lip with a finger. The entire room watched, stunned.

Lydia slammed her hands down on the table beside me, her eyes wide with disbelief. "What...the holy hell...is that?"

Scott looked equally astonished. "It's Erica."

"I gotta go," Stiles said abruptly, his eyes never leaving Erica.

"Okay," I replied, though confusion and worry gnawed at me.

I watched Scott and Stiles rush out of the lunchroom, trailing Erica. The tension left behind felt like a tangible presence pressing down on me. Lydia and I stood there, the chaos of the past few minutes replaying in my mind.

I sighed, rubbing the bruises already forming on my arm.

What the hell is going on?

...🌙...

Standing beside Allison as Stiles unlocked the ice rink door, I couldn't help but shiver slightly. The cool night air seemed to seep into my bones, even through my thick blue long-sleeve crop top. Stiles pushed the door open, allowing Scott and Allison to step inside ahead of us. He turned to me with a smile, holding out his hand.

I took his hand, smiling back as I walked inside. The familiar scent of ice and cold hit me, and I found it oddly comforting. We moved to the bleachers, where I sat down to put on my ice skates. Stiles plopped down beside me, pulling his skates from his bag.

"It's freezing," I muttered, rubbing my arms for warmth.

Stiles rummaged through his bag and pulled out an orange sweatshirt, holding it out to me. "Here."

"Orange?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah."

"But I'm wearing blue," I said, gesturing to my outfit.

He looked slightly offended. "But it's the colors of the Mets..."

I couldn't help but laugh, taking the sweatshirt from him. "Thanks."

I pulled it over my crop top, feeling the warmth spread through me. As I adjusted the hood, Stiles handed me a Twix bar. I took it, opened the wrapper, and took a bite, savoring the sweet caramel and chocolate.

"How did you know I like Twix?" I asked, genuinely curious.

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit embarrassed. "Um...Allison told me."

"I'll have to thank her," I said with a grin.

Stiles cleared his throat, looking a bit nervous. "Um, I just had this thought that sometimes, there are things you wouldn't think would be a good combination, like orange and blue, but end up turning out to be, like, a perfect combination. You know? Like, two people together...who nobody ever thought would be together ever..."

I thought about his words, finishing the Twix and placing the wrapper in my bag. "I get that," I said thoughtfully, avoiding his gaze.

"You can?" He sounded genuinely shocked.

I smiled at him, then glanced over his shoulder at Scott and Allison. Scott was helping Allison up, both of them laughing.

"Yeah. Scott and Allison are cute together, right?" I said, nodding towards them.

Stiles's expression darkened slightly. "Oh, yeah...them..."

I watched as he aggressively tied his skates, his movements tense and precise. His jaw clenched with determination, and I couldn't help but bite my lip as I took in the sight. I stood up, letting my gaze travel over him, appreciating the way his muscles flexed under his shirt and the intense focus in his eyes.

"Cute," I said, a playful smile tugging at my lips.

He looked up at me, his expression still glum. "Cute. Adorable."

I stepped off the bleachers and gave him a smile. "I wasn't talking about them."

I winked and headed for the ice rink. The cold air hit my face as I glided onto the ice, moving smoothly around the rink. Laughter bubbled up as I watched Scott skate straight into the plexiglass wall. Turning around, I grabbed Stiles's hand, pulling him onto the ice.

"Come on, Stiles," I urged.

"You think I'm cute," he said, almost disbelieving.

I nodded, smiling at him. "Yeah."

His face lit up with a grin as I dropped his hand and skated away. His voice echoed through the rink, "Did you hear that, Scott? She thinks I'm cute!"

I rolled my eyes, skating around the ice, my breath visible in the crisp air. The cold bit at my cheeks, invigorating me. When something caught my eye—a splash of color against the pristine white, I frowned, crouching down to examine it. 

A pale purple flower petal lay delicately on the ice, its edges crisp and frosted. I picked it up, curiosity flaring within me. As I moved slowly across the rink, more petals appeared, leading me on a macabre breadcrumb trail.

My heart pounded in my chest as I followed the petals, each step revealing more until I reached an entire stalk of wolfsbane growing impossibly from the frozen surface. The sight of the poisonous plant, stark and unnatural in the icy environment, sent a chill down my spine. Something was terribly wrong.

Wiping away the frost with a trembling hand, I revealed a dark shadow beneath the ice. My eyes widened in horror as Peter's face emerged, his eyes closed in an eerie semblance of peace. In the blink of an eye, he started banging against the ice, his eyes snapping open and locking onto mine with a terrifying intensity.

"HELP ME!" Peter's voice rang out, muffled but desperate, his mouth forming the words in a silent scream that echoed through the ice.

A blood-curdling scream tore from my throat, my mind unable to process the horror before me. His screams echoed in my ears, filling my head with a relentless, agonizing plea for help. Hands grabbed me, but I couldn't tear my gaze away from Peter, his fingers clawing at the ice, his eyes pleading, filled with a primal fear.

"HELP ME!" he screamed again, the sound burrowing into my mind, a relentless assault on my sanity.

Stiles's voice cut through the haze of terror. "It's okay, Andromeda." His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close, his presence a lifeline in the chaos.

I looked up, my vision blurring with tears. Allison and Scott stood at the rink's edge, their faces etched with concern, their worry evident.

"It's okay," Stiles repeated, his voice a gentle anchor in the storm.

But all I could see was Peter, trapped under the ice, his screams reverberating through my head, a haunting echo that refused to fade.

"What's happening to me?" I muttered, my voice trembling as another piercing scream escaped my lips, raw and unrestrained.

Stiles held me tighter, his breath warm against my ear, a different to the icy grip of fear. "Andromeda, listen to me. Focus on my voice. You're safe."

I struggled to regain control, my mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion. The rink seemed to spin around me, the faces of my friends blurring into a dizzying kaleidoscope. The voices in my head grew louder, more insistent, a racket of madness threatening to consume me.

"Andromeda, look at me," Stiles ordered his tone firm yet comforting—a lifeline in the storm.

I forced myself to meet his gaze, clinging to the steady brown of his eyes, grounding me in reality. His eyes were a sanctuary, a promise of safety amidst the madness. I clung to that anchor, taking deep, shaky breaths, willing the terror to subside.

Peter's image beneath the ice began to blur, and the voices in my head faded to a dull murmur. The cold air stung my face, but Stiles's warmth was a lifeline, his presence a beacon in the storm. I focused on his voice and his touch, and slowly, the grip of fear loosened its hold on me.

It's not real. It's not real.