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bigskydreaming · 4 years

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So I’ve been going through all my old Scrivener files and rounding up all the various fics and updates I’m planning on queuing up to post during the month/however-the-fuck-long I’m bedridden after surgery in a couple weeks. Which includes Teen Wolf as well as Batfics, FYI.

Anyway, came across this old WIP that I never ended up posting because I ultimately thought it felt too similar to both Where Wild Things Are and Lightning Crashes, just in different ways....not enough that any of them were derivative of each other, but enough that I wasn’t super inspired to continue writing it because the vibe I was going for with it, I was already getting from writing those other two fics.

But I still liked it and think there was some good stuff there, so what the hell. Here’s an opening from a never-planning-on-finishing-it Scallison AU, where things diverged from canon right after the Hale fire six years pre-pilot, and there was a different-from-canon McCall pack at war/trying to survive Peter’s pack in its attempts to stamp theirs out.

The Scallison part starts out in the vein of the ABC show Revenge, where Scott’s initially just trying to keep an eye on the hunters in town/figure out where the Argents land in all of this, but then, y’know. The feelings happen.

Anyway, it was chock full of my favorite TW writing tropes - runaway/long lost Scott, pack politics, side characters turned main characters, scheming, double-dealing, Scott Is A Goddamn Genius and No I Do Not Accept Constructive Criticism On This Matter For It Is Wrong....you know, my usuals.

I did have a pretty extensive outline/summary for the rest of the fic and my plans for it, that I can post if there’s any interest in reading that and seeing where this was going. *Shrugs* Just let me know.

WHAT THE FIRES LEFT BEHIND

Scott McCall came home on a Tuesday.

For Allison, that didn’t mean much at first. Her only context for the mass text was the bemused quirking of Lydia’s lips and a rather underwhelming ‘Huh.’ Then a shrug and a flick of her hair, and her best friend by default returned to ruffling through the Macy’s clearance rack with a vengeance.

“Awful. Grotesque. Needs to be set ablaze, immediately - ”

Allison nodded to herself and bore continued witness to Lydia’s evisceration of every hack designer of every fashion atrocity present, though sadly, the novelty of that had long since worn off. It was 7 pm on a school night. They’d been scouring the mall for something to meet Lydia’s approval for three hours already, and Allison did have trigonometry homework she could be torturing herself with instead, so….

Tough call. Hard choices had to be made. Allison steeled herself for battle and called Lydia Martin on her bullshit.

“Why are we here again? You hate Macy’s, and you absolutely despise clearance items.”

“I know that, and you know that.” Lydia emerged from a forest of polyester blouses wearing a look of disdain that had a ph level that would put any acid in the school’s chem lab to shame. “But I’m trying to see if I can find something here to start a trend with anyway. Call it…a social experiment.”

“Hmm.” Allison nodded again thoughtfully. Briefly, she considered mercy. But she had just wasted three hours of her life. And mercy wasn’t really the Argent family way.

She pulled the trigger. “You sure its not called Daddy cut your spending limit?”

Her melodrama-prone friend threw her hands up as if to express the whole world had gone mad and nothing made any sense. “It’s like he’s not even trying to buy my affection anymore!”

Allison coughed into her hand to smother a giggle. Being able to so easily rile up her friend when all others’ attempts dashed themselves harmlessly upon Her Majesty’s porcelain mask of perfection? Still her favorite sport next to archery. But certain social norms must be respected. One didn’t openly mock a friend in such obvious distress. She quickly changed the subject. For Lydia’s sake, really.

“So who’s Scott McCall?”

Lydia paused midway through working herself up to a truly tickets and popcorn-worthy rant, thrown by the sudden segue. “What?”

Allison waved her phone, flashing the mass text Danny had sent out to pretty much everyone in the Beacon County zip code.

“Scott McCall’s back. He just walked into the Sheriff’s Station. Stiles saw him himself,” she read out loud. “Who’s Scott McCall?”

“Oh. That.” Lydia tore her horrified gaze away from a leopard print mini-skirt and shrugged. “He’s this guy from our class who disappeared seven years ago. You know that Dunbar kid’s stepmom, Melissa? It’s her son.”

“Wait, seriously? And he’s our age? How have I never heard about this before?”

“I don’t know, Allison,” Lydia rolled her eyes. “Maybe because normal people don’t talk about things that depress them? It was a long time ago anyway.”

“I can tell it had a real effect on you,” Allison said, with just a touch of acid herself.

“I’m in the midst of a personal financial crisis currently. I’ll care when its over. Besides, its not like anyone has any details yet. Pointless gossip is for the peasants.”

“So what happened anyway?” Allison asked. Lydia shot her a look and she smiled innocently. “What? I’m comfortable with my peasant status. And I’ve lived here almost two years now and never heard a word about this. How can I not be curious?”

“Well this was an utter waste of time,” Lydia said under her breath as she gingerly replaced a sequin-studded monstrosity back on the rack, seemingly preoccupied once more. Or possibly just flat-out ignoring her.

The menace of the malls then raised her eyes to the ceiling as if despairing at the world at large, heaved a sigh that was practically a soliloquy unto itself, and ran her fingers through her hair in some kind of ritual of self-composure.

Once she’d observed the proper formalities for conceding her quest was officially a failure - at least, Allison was pretty sure that’s what she was doing, though she’d rather not commit to that, given that some of the intricacies of her friend’s habits still eluded her grasp - Lydia finally slung her purse over her shoulder and set off towards the exit with an imperious wave of her head.

It was only when her brisk walk stalled out while waiting for the garage elevator that Her Highness deigned to address the lowly commoner’s curiosity.

Allison just sighed internally. She’d long since made her peace with her friend’s little power games. They were entertaining as often as they were exasperating, so it was sort of a pick your battles type situation, and Allison preferred to err on the side of not waking the beast beneath Lydia’s deceptively dainty exterior.

“You know about the Hale fire, right?” Lydia asked.

Allison nodded. It wasn’t an everyday topic of conversation by any means, but it had come up at least once or twice since her family moved to Beacon Hills two years prior. Talk of the tragedy had even made an appearance in her own home, in a couple of muffled shouting matches between her parents that she’d only caught bits and pieces of.

“Yeah, my Aunt Kate actually lived around here back then. That was the fire that killed that whole family, right?”

“Right. So it was pretty much right around that same time. Scott went missing just a few days after. A lot of people even wondered if there might have been a connection, there were rumors the fire was arson, I don’t know. It was a whole thing, and we were only ten at the time, you know? Anyway, Scott’s dad was this hotshot FBI agent. There were search parties for like two months, but they never found a body or anything. Most people eventually figured it probably had something to do with one of his dad’s cases.”

“And now he’s back,” Allison prodded when Lydia lapsed into silence. The smaller girl just chewed on her lower lip, staring at the wall of the garage almost pensively.

“And now he’s back,” she echoed with a distracted nod of her head.

“That’s....interesting,” Allison offered tentatively. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the mood that had fallen over her friend, like a spell had settled upon her the moment she’d actually stopped and reflected on her memories of the events in question.

It seemed somewhat conspicuous to her that Lydia made no mention of who Scott was beyond just the victim of some strange small-town mystery, and so she was uncertain just how cautiously she needed to tread here. Had they been childhood friends? Mere acquaintances? Something else, likely as baffling and unexpected as most things about Lydia Martin tended to be?

But the born and raised Beacon Hills native just shrugged one shoulder listlessly and twirled a strand of strawberry-blond hair around a finger.

“It’s something,” she said at last. The elevator arrived at their level with an almost cheerful-sounding ding that was at odds with the somber mood they stood draped in. Lydia shook herself, a full body kind of motion not unlike a dog drying itself off.

“Are you coming?” She tossed over her shoulder at Allison, sounding almost exasperated, as though she hadn’t been the one just standing there staring at the wall for a good ten seconds after the elevator doors had slid open.

Allison sighed and shook her head, but she held back any retort and instead simply followed her friend down into the lower levels of the garage. Now was not the time to pursue...whatever that whole thing had been, just now.

Lydia Martin had just unwillingly displayed an emotional reaction in front of another person. It was too dangerous to prod for further weak spots in her armor without letting at least a day or two pass first.

The self-styled Queen of Beacon Hills had relieved commoners of their heads for lesser offenses than that.

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