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"What's it like?" Mason will ask in September.
They're sitting on the floor in Mason's bedroom, playing this puzzle game where you have to roll things into a bigger and bigger ball. Before Mexico, it was Call of Duty, but gunfire still echoes in Liam's ears, even the tinny version from the game. It's getting better, but it's still not better. At least now Mason gets why he suddenly refused to play.
Mason gets a lot of things without Liam having to explain them. He's the smartest friend Liam has. After a few days of knowing the truth about werewolves, he probably knows more about them than Liam does.
But not this.
They ask each other what's it like all the time. They tell each other everything, even stuff the other person doesn't wanna know. Mason knows the play-by-play of how the Packers won last year, even though he thinks football is the dumbest thing on earth. Liam knows everything about the weird obscure anime Mason is obsessed with, even though Liam sort of doesn't get anime. Mason knows what girl boobs feel like. Liam knows what it's like to kiss someone with stubble.
Mason wants to know the answer to this what's it like very badly. Liam can smell it on him; he's better, by then, with chemosignals.
He wants to tell.
He hasn't had to put it into words before.
On the screen, the ball rolls over a tree, absorbing it. Then an umbrella. A cabbage. A giraffe.
A little bit, it is like the game: fucked up, from a certain perspective, but also exciting and new, and he's watching it get bigger and bigger.
A little bit, it's like being in Mason's house, now that Liam has werewolf senses: the familiarity of years of visits layered over with things he's just discovering, how much he knows and how unknown it all feels.
But neither of those explanations are right. They feel like Scott saying we're brothers. The words hadn't been a lie, but even back then, when he hadn't known shit, Liam had known that that wasn't the truth. It had pissed him off so much.
He understands, though, by that point, why Scott had said that.
"It's hard to explain," Liam will say. "It's not like anything else."
"You're not a monster," Scott had told him. "You're a werewolf. Like me."
The first part had hit hardest. Liam's been a monster for as long as he can remember: diagnosed, medicated, kicked out of school.
Scott's soft voice had gone right through him, more piercing than the sirens that had sent Liam staggering to the ground.
Impossibly, Liam had believed him.
The second part—you're a werewolf—had been about Scott, at the time. Liam had been trying so hard to figure out what Scott was: team captain, older student, the guy who'd slammed him into the turf and then taken him to the hospital. He'd sat in the back of Stiles' Jeep with him, curled around him so the meanest guy on the team couldn't see him sniffling. Scott had put his hand on Liam's wrist and somehow just that—his sweaty palm, surprisingly uncalloused—had made the pain fizzle out, like soda going flat.
Scott again, sudden and snarling and sinking his fangs in, dumping Liam in the bathtub and cornering him at school, chaining him up in the middle of nowhere.
There'd been no word that fit, until werewolf. Liam's ears had rung with it on the long walk back to Lydia's lake house. Above him, the full moon pulsing, everything agony, but Scott's hand had been on him the whole time, on his shoulder or his back or his wrist, Scott's body between Liam and that psycho Chris, Liam and the woods, Liam and the moon, Liam and himself.
Later, Liam says the words back to Scott in Mexico, because Scott had used them to call Liam back to himself. Liam had needed his Alpha back. He'd watched—awed, unsurprised—as the berserker's mask had crumbled in the face of Scott's words.
What's like me after all that?
Some nights in June, Liam wakes up on the roof of the hospital.
He doesn't have to howl. By the time he opens his eyes, Liam can already hear the encroaching hum of Scott's bike. Scott finds him in minutes, appearing out of nowhere, silent, reaching. He leads Liam away by the wrist.
They take the back elevator where they won't run into anyone. They both have parents working there nights but they don't talk about it. They don't talk about why he's there. It's been like that since Mexico, that they don't have to talk, because of what they've said and who they are and why Scott always puts his thumb on the same place on Liam's wrist.
He always pets it a little bit, back and forth, never seems aware of it. It tickles fiercely but Liam doesn’t pull away. He likes that Scott doesn't seem to know he's doing it, the same way Liam doesn't know he's going to the rooftop.
They don't say anything until they get to Scott's bike.
Scott holds it steady for Liam to get on behind him. "You good to hold on?"
He only says it because they both know the answer.
Liam puts his arms around Scott. "Wanna use the duct tape?"
When Scott laughs, Liam can feel it vibrate against his palms, like he's holding it.
His senses are stronger when he's this close to Scott. He can see a mile down the street, every leaf in the trees, the black clouds against the black sky. He stares up at them as Scott takes him home, his head against Scott's shoulder, his arms wrapped tight around Scott's waist, feeling his stomach muscles tense under his shirt as he keeps them balanced on the bike. Liam feels like he could fall asleep, but he's not worried.
Scott won't let anything happen.
Liam's memories of the drive back from La Iglesia are happy fragments: his head on Scott's thigh, Scott's hand in his hair, the pack curled up together in the back of the van. At some point, Scott had pressed a burger into his hands, extra pickles and no cheese.
More sleep, roused when he'd smelled home: Scott's house.
He'd trailed Scott—and Kira and Stiles—up the stairs into Scott's bedroom. Exactly where he'd wanted to be. Scott's bed had looked like heaven. Liam had been so beat.
But the safety had made Liam finally see the danger they'd tracked in: Scott in the animal skins, all of them covered in the muck of the fight. Liam had started growling deep in his throat, helpless against it until Scott had hopped in the shower. The door between them had been horrible, but Liam had let Stiles push him away when he'd tried to go in, and he'd listened when Kira had told him there was another bathroom downstairs, if he wanted to clean off. That had felt doable, once he'd gotten a lock on Scott’s heartbeat, like he could carry him around the house.
He'd made it one step down the stairs before Scott's heartbeat had rocketed, his breathing stuttered and shallow, the whole house spattered with the scent of the well, of the berserker after him, of seeing Scott in the mask. Panic.
Liam doesn't remember the next bit very well.
He figures Kira and Stiles probably tried a few other things before they'd called Liam's dad, who'd shown up to find Liam fucking insane about his team captain, probably yelling.
He remembers his dad had taken him to the preserve, where they go when Liam’s too unstable to be trusted with a lacrosse stick. They'd walked in circles until Liam had realized he could hear Scott's heartbeat even from here, that it was getting steadier, that it sounded like it did when Liam woke up on the roof and Scott came to find him. He was safe.
"Wanna tell me what happened?" his dad had asked.
Liam had wanted to. He'd never kept secrets from his dad, especially not this kind: the things that made him angry, the things that made him feel small and useless.
But what was he supposed to say?
In the end, he’d talked a little bit about Scott and let his dad think he maybe had a crush on him, and learned about the team captain his dad used to idolize.
"Must run in the family," his dad had said, their old joke.
Liam had nodded and smiled as his dad said a bunch of nice shit about loving someone but not losing sight of yourself, and Liam had thought about Scott, and the next day he'd gone to Scott's house without thinking about where to put his feet. He'd been so relieved to hear Scott was alone in the house, nothing but him and the drip of the leaky roof Liam heard every time he went and hated every time he heard.
He'd stood at the doorway, torn between hatred and relief, until Scott had opened the door.
Scott had looked exhausted and he'd still smelled like a graveyard, but he'd put on a smile like nothing had happened.
Liam hadn't liked it. "You reek."
"Uh… Haven't put on my Armani yet."
It had the ring of a reference—one Liam hadn't gotten. He'd made Scott take another shower and rummaged through Scott's bureau while the water was running. He found the drawer where the scent was sweetest, where Scott kept his favorite clothes. He'd washed them gently and put them away lovingly. Calming, to hold them, the way they said things without saying them.
He'd changed into one of Scott's shirts and a pair of sweatpants by the time Scott had come out, another set ready for Scott. It had felt good when Scott had put them on wordlessly, when they'd both been wearing the same thing and nothing had smelled like leather or bone or blood.
They'd sat in Scott's bed tailor-style. Liam had offered to watch a movie, or a show if Scott was in the middle of one.
Scott had rubbed the back of his neck and said he didn't watch much TV, that it made him restless.
They'd listened to music instead, swapping headphones and playlists and eating turkey sandwiches in Scott's bed for hours before Liam had gotten sleepy.
He'd lain on his side with his head on Scott's chest, where he could hear Scott's heartbeat and his lungs and his organs working. He'd put his hand under Scott's shirt and rested it over Scott's bellybutton, the remnant of Scott's birth-tether. It had felt like the right thing to do.
In the morning, it had felt a little different.
Liam's life had been like a series of pits he'd fallen into since he'd been bitten, but this had felt like the biggest: La Iglesia, the blur after, and now this, waking up in Scott's bed, in Scott's pants, after they'd literally slept together.
"Is this… weird?" Liam had hated how small he'd sounded. Young and stupid.
"No," Scott had said immediately. Then he'd scanned Liam in his clothes, like he was noticing it for the first time. "Uh. Maybe?"
Liam's stomach had dropped, made him want to curl in on himself like the Devenford team was pissed again.
"Hey, hey, I didn't mean it like that." Scott's hand had appeared at his shoulder, propping him back up gently. "I just meant—all of this is new to me. With Peter…"
In Liam's humiliated haze, it had taken a moment to even remember why Scott would be talking about Peter.
Scott's Alpha, the one who'd bitten him. He'd known before but in that book way, like Peter was the Battle of Thermopylae. Even when Peter had been snarling about it, it had seemed like only words.
Peter had been this for Scott, what Scott was for him.
You were always a monster, Scott had said.
The pit had yawned wider than ever.
Next to him, Scott's expression had been distant, still except for his red eyes, the black pupils contracting in the light. He hadn't smelled like anything Liam could identify.
There'd been a twist in his lips, like he was gonna smile.
Then he'd turned back to Liam. His eyes had been dark again. "You know what? I don't think this is weird. In fact, I think it's the most important thing there is."
Instantly, Liam had felt the knot in his stomach untangle, the pit dissolving into harmless dirt. "Me too."
Scott had smiled for real this time.
Liam had felt himself mirror the expression, his mouth stretched with Scott's grin.
Almost overnight, without Liam saying anything at all, Scott knows everything about him. He knows Liam likes pickles, lime soda, anything sour. He carries an extra water bottle because Liam never remembers one. He passes to Liam on the field without looking.
Sometimes, Liam only realizes he's upset when he looks up to find Scott frowning at him. It's only then that he feels the way his lip is pulling down, tensing for a snarl.
It's weird, that this guy knows so much about him, when people like Mason and his dad don't know his biggest secrets anymore.
But Liam's not complaining. When the pack goes out for ice cream after Malia gets out from summer school, Scott makes sure they go to the place across town with the cashew stuff, even though it makes Stiles bitch about gas prices, even though Liam has never told Scott about the lactose intolerance. He doesn't even have lactose intolerance anymore. He just doesn't like milk, still, because it's fucking gross.
Scott gets a cashew thing too, so Liam's not the only one.
He suspects Stiles sees him as copying Scott, from the way Stiles glares at him over a cone of Rocky Road. Stiles loathes copycats.
Liam doesn't care. He likes eating what Scott eats. He's been ravenous since he turned twelve and it got so much worse when he was bitten. Scott knows all the cheapest places in town, where no one cares if you eat half the menu, or if your clothes are ripped while you do. They go to this one ramen place a lot where the people know Scott's order, he doesn't even have to say it. Liam gets the same thing so he doesn't have to say anything either.
He loves it.
Scott always knows when Liam's about to explode. He doesn't chain Liam up anymore, as long as Stiles isn't there. Scott takes them to the preserve, where they can shed their human faces and hunt rabbits. Scott teaches him how to be still, how to sniff the air, how to clear his mind so he can pick out the scent he needs.
He holds back when Liam pounces, lets him have the kill.
Liam pauses, loving this moment entirely: crouched over the rabbit, blood dripping slow and steady from its gashed throat, Scott next to him. Liam wants to have it forever, tear it up with his claws and put it inside him.
"Can I eat it?" Liam asks, slurring through his fangs.
"You'll feel gross tomorrow, if it's raw." Scott always pronounces things precisely, even when he's shifted.
"But you'd let me?"
"Up to you," says Scott. His eyes are glowing red.
"Doesn't feel like it." Liam is drooling, his stomach growling. He's shaking.
"You've got more choices than you think." Scott offers his hand. "What three things cannot long be hidden?"
"The sun, the moon, and the truth," Liam repeats, until he's not slurring anymore.
They go back to the ramen place where they don't have to say anything.
It's just the two of them, slurping noodles and pork belly, tasting the bone in the broth.
Some nights, in July, Liam wakes up in front of the door to Scott's house.
He hates what it says about him, that he doesn't break the door down or go through the window. Not that he wants to, but it's pathetic that he keeps showing up at a closed door like he's gotta see if someone will let him in.
Of course Scott does. He takes Liam by the wrist and leads him into the room that smells just like him. They curl up on Scott's bed, just big enough for the two of them. Liam sleeps great.
The best times, though, are when Scott doesn't come to the door. Ms. McCall always comes instead, even though Liam doesn't ring the doorbell. Liam has given up trying to figure out how she knows he's there, if it's a nurse's awareness or maybe a mother's, maybe the effect of Stiles showing up at all hours for years. Maybe it's whatever is keeping Scott asleep those nights; it keeps Ms. McCall awake instead. She always looks exhausted, brooding, like she's gonna keep quiet because she knows if she says anything, it'll be angry, but she's not angry at him.
When she opens the door like that, Scott is asleep in his bed when Liam finds him. It's the best because Scott does it all subconsciously: shifting to his werewolf form, shifting to make room, holding out his arms for Liam to lie in.
Like if Liam is hoping deep down that Scott will let him in, Scott is hoping he'll show.
There's so much Liam wants to tear open. He repeats the sun, the moon, and the truth until the words reach semantic satiation. He digs his claws into himself. He makes a playlist.
Mostly, though, he goes blind with fury—like nothing has changed.
"Shouldn't it be gone?" he asks Scott one night, when they're in the locker rooms. Over the summer, Coach has been letting them stay late and they stay even later than that, just them and the fluttering bats under the flood lights.
It's awesome. Alone, they can ditch their helmets, all the padding. They can shift. They can go as fast as they want. Liam's never played like this before, never felt so totally in control of every part of his body.
Until he isn't.
That's easier, too, when it's just the two of them. No one sees him explode. Scott can tackle him to the ground before he runs off.
Scott had been in the middle of taking off his jersey when Liam asked. He pauses at the question, face hidden under the red, before tugging it the rest of the way off. His expression is calm. "It doesn't work like that."
"My leg healed. Why not my brain too?"
"Your leg would've healed on its own. Your body knows how to do that already, it's just better at it now. Everything is amplified."
Liam doesn't like that, or the way Scott says it, like it's heavy. "So my IED is worse now?"
"It's different," Scott says. He gets like this sometimes, Liam is learning. He doesn't lie but he'll pick a truth that's easier, be patient with it. Even if you argue. Even if you yell.
Liam doesn't yell. "Different how?"
"You just focus on controlling your shift, okay?" Scott winks at him. "And your back shots."
"My back shots are better than yours. You mean because I might kill a lot of people now, if I explode? That's worse, not different."
Scott takes off his undershirt. He has a little line near his bellybutton, from before he was bitten. Liam has felt it before, when they're cuddled up together.
"Is it more like a scar?" Liam asks. "Something the bite can't change?"
"It's not that."
"Then what?"
"Can we not do this now?" Scott tosses the ball of his clothes on his bag. "It's almost midnight, I'm opening the clinic tomorrow, we've both been playing for hours, and I stink like a—"
"You smell nice."
Scott sighs.
"Tell me," Liam pushes.
Scott heads for the showers.
Liam follows him. "You said you wouldn't keep secrets from me."
"Just because I don't want to talk about it doesn't mean it's a secret." Scott turns on the water. It's deafening, in the empty building, with Liam's senses turned up from Scott being there.
Liam starts his shower too, doubling the noise.
They soap up in silence. Liam finishes first, is dressed and waiting by the time Scott comes out. "Guess I'll ask Stiles."
An empty threat—like Liam would want to go to anyone else—but Scott falls for it. He looks small, for a moment, standing in his towel.
Liam licks his lips. He feels bad.
But he needs to know.
"You keep everything you had before the bite, but now it's part of being a werewolf. It comes out if you've lost control. If you're injured, or poisoned, or not healing. It's waiting to come out, like—like a heart of darkness." Scott's hair is dripping water onto the floor, slow and steady, its staccato a counterpoint to Scott's soft voice. "But you also have more control than you've ever had before. If you choose to. That's the part that's different. There's always a choice."
"Oh." Hard to square this Scott with the one who tore off the berserker's mask, but that has to be what he's talking about: when Scott had no control and all of it, because he chose to.
Liam's never gonna be like that.
But it's reassuring, to think that controlling his shift will help with the IED. He didn't have an Alpha to help him, back when he was human.
He's not sure why Scott looks so forlorn.
"You're really good at it," Liam reminds him. "Making the right choice."
Scott grunts.
"And I'll get better at control." Liam means it. "By the end of the summer, definitely."
Scott gives him the smile he gives him when he forgets Liam's only two years younger than him. "I know you will."
Liam winks. "I'll help you with your back shots, too."
Scott pushes at the back of his head affectionately on his way to his clothes.
The feel of his hand lingers against the back of Liam's neck, warm and grounding.
Scott hasn't told anyone else about the restless thing with the TV. Liam doesn't get why. When Stiles has them all over for movie nights, Scott always comes. He nods along to everyone's comments, slouched but holding himself that way, every muscle primed for something Liam can’t decipher.
Liam pretends he's having control issues in the middle of The Karate Kid, so Scott will take him outside. They go around the block until Liam says he feels better.
They stop by Ms. Fleming's house on the way back. There's a big lumpy dog in her yard that Scott says is a Rottweiler-mix. Scott crouches down, hands jammed through the slats of the gate so he can scratch the hot fur under the dog's collar.
"Took you long enough," Stiles teases, when they get back. "You find any fire hydrants?"
Scott flips him off, but he's loose all over now, puddled into the couch for the rest of the movie.
Liam relaxes too.
He knows where all the dogs are in the neighborhood, these days, and not just because they're afraid of him. He likes to be there when Scott pets them, to watch him smile, to smell the way it fills the air. It feels like something to stand there with his hands in his pockets while Scott is so open and there's no one else around, only the dog with its tongue lolling out, frantically wagging its tail.
Liam wants to know everything about Scott. He's on his way. Scott likes pineapple on his pizza. He wants to be a veterinarian. Over the summer, he's painting his room blue-gray. Before he bit Liam, he bit a demon, which destroyed it. Liam's the first Beta he's created. Scott doesn't like the smell of leather and he tracks Liam around the room and he never sits with his back to the door.
Scott has a skateboard he never uses, a guitar he never plays. There's a dog leash in the back of his closet that smells old, under a pile of bloody and shredded clothes that Scott has kept for some reason.
If you ask Scott if he wants a dog, he says no, and the word has a funny smell to it. If you ask Scott what the smell is, he says chemosignals are different for everyone, and he changes the subject.
Scott misses Kira, who's in New York, and Allison, who's dead, and Isaac, who left. He even misses his dad, who is an asshole.
Whenever they go out somewhere with hot sauce packets, Scott squirrels them away in his pockets. He's collecting them for Kira, who puts hot sauce on everything.
Liam starts collecting them too, for Scott.
Scott always smiles, when Liam hands him one.
Scott's been to visit Peter in Eichen. He hasn't told anyone about it.
He never comes back smiling.
"You really think he'll get better?" Liam asks, as Scott rolls the bike into the driveway. Liam's sitting on the front porch, same as he's been for the past hour, reading his book and texting Mason and listening to the drip through the roof and waiting for Scott to come back. It's not the full moon but he wants to spend the night at Scott's, with Scott. He hates that Scott smells like Eichen House right now, that the stench of Peter's hand lingers on Scott's hip.
Scott takes his time answering: parks the bike, sheds his helmet, unlocks the door, waves Liam in. Doesn't look at him. "Who?"
Liam scowls. Scott doesn't lie but he does play dumb. It distracts Liam if he lets it, so he doesn't let it. "Peter."
Scott wanders into the kitchen instead of answering, pokes around the cabinets, opens the fridge. Like they can't both smell there's nothing except cup noodles that make Liam gag from the chemicals and frozen chicken that reeks of hormones.
Liam uses the time to grab one of Scott's sweatshirts where it's lying on the back of the couch. Even in summer, the extra layer feels right.
Above them, the water leaks in from the roof.
"Pizza?" Scott finally asks, picking up the landline. He always uses that to call the pizza place, not his cell.
"Donati's," Liam insists.
"Super Pie does vegan cheese too."
"Super Pie is super crap." Scott just prefers it because it's cheaper. "I'll pay."
"I can get it."
"I got my allowance yesterday. You've got the same two bills you've had in your wallet for a week."
Scott pauses as he's about to start punching in the number. "You can smell that?"
He sounds like Liam's just told him he can turn into a wolf.
Liam can feel his cheeks go hot from the praise. He doesn't give into it. "Why'd Peter touch you?"
Scott goes back to pushing buttons. "Extra black olives?"
"And pepperoni."
It's no use trying to talk to Scott when he's on the phone—not even Lydia can break through—so Liam wanders through the house, poking at stuff. He hears Scott hang up the phone but keeps going. Scott's house feels old, the furniture the same style as the stuff in Liam's grandma's house.
Upstairs, the noise from the roof is stronger. What's even dripping? It hasn't rained for two days.
He goes back to the living room. Scott doesn't like to talk through the house, even if they're not yelling. "Thought your dad was gonna fix that leak."
"It's what he said. Turn the TV on, if you want."
"Thought you didn't like it."
Scott shrugs. "Helps drown things out."
Liam doesn't reach for the remote yet. "My dad says if you can't talk about it, you shouldn't be doing it."
"That's sex, Liam, not visiting people in prison."
"His hand was on your hip."
"That's where he bit me."
"Is that why you go visit him? Because he bit you?"
Scott breathes out through his nose. "Look, I don't wanna argue about this."
"I'm not arguing." Liam isn't. He isn't even angry, except for the simmer that's always there.
Scott plops down on the couch. "Sorry, I didn't mean—not everyone gets it."
Liam joins him. "I wanna get it."
Scott still won't look at him. "He can change."
"He tried to kill you and everyone you know. Twice."
"I remember."
The edge in Scott's voice makes Liam squirm. "So why do you think he'll change?"
"I don't know if he will. But I want to believe he can."
"Because he bit you."
Liam can sort of understand that. He doesn't know what he'd do if Scott wound up in prison.
Take the cell next to him, most likely. If Scott wants to kill someone, they probably deserve to die.
"No, that's—it's not about that. Anyone can be Peter."
Liam isn't expecting that. "You couldn't."
Scott sighs like he disagrees.
"You're not—" Psychotic? Evil? He has no idea how Scott can think he's like Peter. "Violent?"
"I said I didn't wanna argue."
Now Liam's starting to get angry. "Okay, fine, you're violent. Whatever. But it’s not like you like it. Even when it’s just the rabbits—I mean, do you want to kill anyone?"
Scott finally looks up.
His eyes are piercing red.
He's staring mutely at Liam's chest.
Liam isn't expecting that either.
He swallows.
The doorbell rings.
Scott blinks, the red vanishing.
They eat. The TV blares. The drip persists.
After, Scott asks him if he wants to sleep over.
Liam's pretty sure it's not an either/or choice Scott's offering: if Liam wants to stay, or keep pressing about Peter.
But he's not certain.
"I wanna stay.”
Some nights, in August, Liam wakes up in the middle of the preserve.
It's always the same spot. He smells it before he opens his eyes: wet dirt, dead leaves, things scurrying underneath. He hears the early morning dew dripping through the trees.
Scott's coming for him, only a few minutes away.
Liam spends them sniffing around. There has to be a reason he keeps winding up here, and only when he's asleep. He's tried to come back when he's awake, but he can never find it.
He inhales as deep as he can, clearing his mind the way Scott has told him to, but he can't pick up what he needs.
It's not where Scott was bitten. Liam has asked. Scott had pointed to a little ways away.
It's not where he first saw Peter.
It's not where he saw the dead body.
"Try using chemosignals," Scott urges him. He has Liam walk through the forest slowly. Use all his senses. Touch things.
But Liam doesn't get it. There's only the plants, the dirt, tree roots underneath.
"Just tell me." Liam doesn't get why Scott won't.
"I could, but first I'd have to kill you," Scott says, with that twist in his lips like he's gonna smile.
"This isn't a joke!"
The twist disappears. "I know. I know. I'm sorry, Liam."
"Tell me where I am."
"I want to," Scott says. "But it's hard to explain."
Liam wants to explode.
Scott has them shift. They hunt rabbits.
Liam doesn't ask if he can eat them anymore, once he's crouching over them. His control is getting better.
Scott doesn't have to say anything at all.
Liam fucking hates it.
The problem with having a choice is that you have it.
Liam feels like he's ticking down every day, deeper and more wordlessly than ever.
But now it's up to him.
It's waiting for Liam, now, that choice, whenever he closes his eyes, whenever he opens them. It follows him around like the berserker, constant and terrifying, but there's nothing there, not even the memory of something that was once there. It's inside him.
A heart of darkness, Scott had called it.
He remembers when Scott had stood over Liam in the woods, his red eyes glowing. The same way he'd looked at Liam when they'd talked about violence, when Liam had asked him if he'd liked it, if he'd wanted to kill.
That's when the third part finally hits.
Like me, Scott had said.
Liam goes to Scott's door.
Scott frowns as soon as he opens it. "Liam, hey. Liam. What three things cannot long be hidden? The sun, the moon—"
Liam only cares about one of them. "The truth."
He's not even sure what he's asking for, couldn't put it into words. It's a triskelion in his mind: Alpha, Beta, Omega; Scott, Liam, Peter. Peter's hand on Scott, Scott's on Liam. Liam is like Scott and Scott wishes he wasn't like Peter and Peter was always a monster. All of Liam's unanswered questions, Scott's red-eyed silences, dead rabbits in the dark.
"Liam—"
"You said there was always a choice."
Scott crumbles in the face of his own words.
He doesn't take Liam's wrist this time, doesn't lead him to the bike. They leave town in Ms. McCall's rumpled Toyota, with the broken rearview mirror and the duct tape residue up the side.
Outside, the sky is thick with clouds. It hasn't rained in a week, and the heat is unbearable, worse as they head south.
Liam had thought they’d go to the preserve, to the place he still doesn’t understand, but Scott passes it. He passes the school, the hospital, and even the warehouse Brett had told him was the place where they’d fought the assassins.
Liam is just starting to worry they're driving all the way to Mexico when Scott finally stops the car.
There's not much to see, even in the brightness of his vision when he's with Scott. This place was ancient fifty years ago, and it’s barely holding on now. The first two letters of the neon sign out front have gone out, so only TEL flickers redly at him. The script letters beneath it are so busted they're indecipherable.
"There should still be chemosignals," says Scott. He picks at a hole in the fake leather cover of the steering wheel, pushing it wider with his thumb. “In the parking lot.”
"Chemosignals didn't help before."
"This place is different."
"Why? What's here?"
Scott's voice is very soft. "A heart of darkness."
Liam hesitates when he opens the door and Scott doesn't move, his hands still on the wheel.
He doesn't want to go where Scott won't follow.
But he wants to hear what Scott's not saying.
The parking lot doesn’t seem like the kind with answers: no craters where someone was thrown, no claw marks through the concrete. Just a few old tire tracks, and potholes by the edge.
Liam closes his eyes.
At first, all he smells is other people: tired and lonely and aching, smelling like the road; kids all cooped up in the car and bursting with energy; people afraid, people hiding, people on the run. He smells cheap bleach, stale ice, a million cigarettes at once. He smells the pavement, still hot from baking in the sun all day.
He hears people sleeping, crying, arguing.
He hears a woman in the lobby who sounds like she's smoked for thirty years.
A shower running.
Then, the static and whine of an old television, the way it clunks as someone clicks through the channels.
More noises with each click, each of them hazy, like the soundtrack of an old movie: someone running a bath; click; a man sliding himself under the bed, his body dragging against the carpet; click; a chainsaw.
Liam smells wolfsbane.
He smells gasoline.
He closes his eyes, crouches down, and puts his palm on the asphalt.
It's wet.
From the past, the echo of Scott's voice: What if doing this is actually the best thing that I could do for everyone else?
Dripping, slow and steady. Like the rabbit's blood. Like Scott's roof. Like the water in the showers, slowly falling from Scott's hair.
Liam opens his eyes.
He goes back to the car.
Scott's still gripping the wheel. The tear in it is much bigger.
Liam doesn't know what to do.
He wants to say he's sorry, but it'd just be words.
He needs to say something. Scott is staring out the window, the neon reflecting against his irises. He smells miserable, painfully worried, like he thinks all that gasoline is still there. Like it could still explode.
Liam's thoughts from before seem so stupid now—like the real triskelion, cheap and flimsy, plastic. No matter what happened back then—and Liam's still not sure what did, how all those pieces fit together— Scott didn't kill anyone. Of course he hadn't. He's nothing like Peter, and he'll never let Liam be either. "You won't let anything happen to me."
"I happened to you, Liam." Scott's voice is wet, frayed around the edges.
Liam squirms. "But you're not—you're not 'anything.'"
How can Scott not see that? Scott's the one who bit him. Who broke a berserker's mask. Who set off a bomb without hurting anyone.
"I hope so," Scott hoarses, and starts the car.
Liam stares out the window as they head back home.
No more rabbits. He needs to have better control.
Above him, the clouds gather, promising rain.
It takes a while, most of the way home, but eventually, Liam can make out the moon through the haze.