#mmm i feel like this is a bit choppy but whatcha gonna do

[daughterofluthien]

Fictober - Day 3

Prompt number: 3. “you did this?” Fandom: Teen Wolf Rating: T Characters/Relationships: Melissa McCall & Scott McCall Word Count: 1245 Warnings/Tags: canon-typical violence, angst A/N: Episode tag to 2x10 “Fury” 

Melissa had been an ER nurse for years and had seen pretty much every type of injury there was. But tonight, these were the images she couldn’t get out of her head:

A troubled young man, holding a gun to her son’s head.

Scott, doubled over in pain and slumped against the wall. Gunshot wound to the abdomen, upper right quadrant. No blood on the back of his shirt, which meant no exit wound, which meant that the bullet was still inside. 

(Call 911. Get the patient off his feet and minimize movement. Keep pressure on the wound until paramedics arrive.)

A gun held to her own head, stopping her from doing her job and helping her son.

A thing she didn’t have a name for, fighting a man who attacked with claws and moved more like an animal than a human.

A second person, burying long, inhuman claws deep into the back of the first creature. 

The face of a monster with fangs and yellow eyes, except it looked like her son.

The violence was over as quickly as it started, and she was left alone in the holding cell with the Sheriff, who was slow to come back to consciousness. When he finally did, he steadied on the wall as he stood up. She watched him carefully for signs of a concussion, because once again she had no way of reaching a patient who needed her. And there was a chance that they were the only people still in the building who were left alive.

She started into the standard diagnostic questions, but he waved her off. “Where’s my son? Where’s Scott, we need to get him to a hospital.”

She shook her head. “I… I don’t know, I--”

(I haven’t seen your son, but I have seen mine. And I’m not sure what good a hospital will do when I don’t think medical science even has a word for whatever he is.) 

He didn’t wait for a complete answer before half-walking, half-running out of the room, desperate to find his son. Fifteen minutes ago, she would’ve been able to relate. 

It took longer than she expected before the Sheriff came back with keys, and part of her kept waiting for Scott to walk back in through the door and prove that this had all been some sort of dream or practical joke. 

The other part of her remembered yellow eyes, and she was terrified that they would be all she saw.

Paramedics and deputies were on their way, but they hadn’t arrived yet, and the station was eerily silent as she picked her way past the bodies and towards the front entrance. She had given her statement directly to the Sheriff, who made sure she was okay, then told her she could go home. 

She almost asked him to call her if he heard any news about Scott, but she bit her tongue at the last minute.

One of the lights outside the station was out, and she fumbled in the dark for her keys. Her hands shook, and she dropped them twice before managing to fit the key into the car door.

(The human body floods with adrenaline as a standard response to stressful situations, causing high blood pressure and rapid heart rate. When fight or flight is no longer necessary, the excess adrenaline can cause shakiness and feelings of anxiety or dread. This is perfectly normal and is not cause for concern.)

She took a deep, steadying breath, opened the car door, and started to climb inside.

“Mom?”

She jumped in shock, and nearly hit her head on the roof of the car. 

Scott was standing on the other side of her car door, and she was glad that it was too dark to see his face clearly.

She didn’t know if she could stand to see yellow where the brown should be.

He was her son, her baby boy, and an hour ago he was shot point blank in the gut. Part of her wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and refuse to let go.

But then she remembered claws. Fangs. A distorted, inhuman face.

Without even meaning to, she glanced down at his hands. They looked normal, human. Her son’s hands. But he noticed the movement and stepped back, looking away sheepishly.

When he didn’t say anything, she spoke first. “You know, the police are going to be here any minute. So unless you want them to ask you questions about--” She nodded in the direction of the bloody hole in his shirt that he was no longer holding with his hand.

“Yeah, I know, I just-- I wanted to make sure…” He fumbled for the words like she had for her keys, and she wondered if the same rules about adrenaline applied to him. “Are you okay?”

Melissa almost laughed. “I don’t know if okay’s the right word, really, after that. But I’ll survive.” She looked down at the place where the gunshot wound should be. “And you, you’re--”

“Healed. Yeah.” He winced and shifted his weight. “Well, mostly.”

“But I saw, when you got shot... The bullet, it didn’t come out. Is it still--”

“I think... I healed around it. It doesn’t hurt.”

She shook her head. “Scott, it doesn’t work like that. It’s not possible.”

His answer was so quiet that she barely heard him. “It does for me.”

She didn’t have an answer, because she had too many questions.

(How long have you been like this? Why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me? What are you?)

She swallowed and didn’t look him in the eyes. “I just have one question, Scott. And I’d really like it if you were truthful about this.”

“Anything, I promise.”

“Those bodies that were torn up in there. All that blood… Would you tell me if you did this?”

He answered immediately, and there was an edge of pleading and panic in his voice. “I didn’t, Mom, you have to believe me. I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t…” 

She didn’t know what was happening, and she didn’t know why a monster had looked back from the face of her son. But she was a mother and her child was terrified, and that was a situation where she knew exactly what to do.

“Okay, it’s okay, Scott. I believe you.”

He paused. “You do?”

“I may not know much of anything right now, but I do know this: whatever else you are, you’re my son. I don’t think you could kill those men.” 

Before she could think better of it, she leaned across the car and unlocked the passenger side door. “Now get in. I clocked out at the hospital early for this, so we should both get home.”

Scott hesitated, shaking his head slightly. “Oh, you don’t need to… I mean, I rode with Stiles.”

“And Stiles’ dad was just as scared tonight as I was. He’s not going to want to let his son out of his sight long enough to play chauffeur. And if you don’t need to go to the hospital, then you need to get to bed.”

She didn’t know if he needed the same amount of sleep as a normal sixteen year old boy. She also didn’t ask.

Scott paused for a moment longer, then nodded. “Thanks.”

He shut the door, then she shut her own and started the engine.

She only hesitated for a second.