The Smell of Something Burning
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Summary: They're somewhere in Nevada when it clicks.
Notes: Sequel to Love is Just a Bloodsport, A Banquet of Consequences, and Sweet’s the Air With Curly Smoke (From All My Burning Bridges). AU take on the Hale house fire and its consequences.
The Smell of Something Burning
Someone had a party while you were sleeping but you weren’t really sleeping, you were sick, and parts of you were burning, and you couldn’t move.
{You Are Jeff, #22 by Richard Siken}
When Derek woke up the sun had set and Kate was listening to the radio, some bouncy cheerful thing with a tinny beat. He could feel air rushing in from her side, the window probably rolled all the way down. Derek took a careful shallow breath and picked up only the faintest trace of wolfsbane, clinging only to their clothes and the car upholstery.
His head had slumped to the side, resting low against the window and away from the cigarette burner. He cracked one eye open, trying to keep his body still and his breathing sleep-steady, and looked out at the countryside.
They were speeding down a highway. It was dark, the moon barely a sliver of a waxing crescent, but he could see the flat landscape and the scraggly bushes and thought, “We’re in a desert.“ He had no idea where home was.
As the soporific effects of the wolfsbane wore off - along with the headache, the nausea, the dryness in his throat all the way to his lungs - his memory started falling back into place, clicking tightly in his head like bullets in a clip.
“My house is on fire.”
“I know.”
Click.
“Turn the car around, Kate! We have to go! I have to go -“
“It’s too late.”
Click.
“Please, stop, let me out. I can run. Please just let me out.”
“Not gonna happen.”
Click.
The car racing down the street, him fumbling with the seat belt and the door, wondering how best to throw himself out. The smell of woodsmoke overwhelmed by perfume, by crushed petals then by burnt petals, and Kate pulling him back.
Click.
Where memory failed him, imagination took over. The smoke cloud huge and black and heavy hanging over everyone he knows. The flames bright and hot and hungry, wrapping themselves around doorways and bed frames. Screams and howls and ashes.
Derek stared at the moon hanging over the unfamiliar landscape that kept rushing past and tried to stop thinking, stop imagining, stop remembering.
When that failed, he clung to the realization that Laura was at school. He was in a car screaming to get out but she was at school when their house burned. She would be safe. Unburnt. Alive. He just had to get back to Laura.
So he thought about his sister and stared at the moon and tried to smell something other than smoke.
Derek jerked awake and he was alone in the car again. They were parked in front of a motel, the neon light in the office window declaring it the Silver Motel. Of course it was.
He rubbed his face and pinched his brow. He almost felt clear-headed, but realized that even without the wolfsbane burning, just being in the car with the residue clinging to everything - his hair, his skin, his clothes, the very air no matter how long the window had been open - was stopping him from shaking its effects off completely.
He had to get out. Suddenly he just had to get out.
Derek swung the door open and leaned out, remembering at the last second to unbuckle his seat belt. He sat for a moment with his head against the door, breathing heavily around the lump in his throat, his feet on some unknown land hours and miles away from his family and his pack. The air here was crisp, cool and clean. It smelled of vegetation and heat and dry dirt, of long still nights and wide open skies.
“Hey, sweetie, good to see you’re up.” Kate walked up to him, all thousand-Watt smile and loose easy gait, motel keys swinging in her hand.
Derek leapt to his feet and instantly clung to the door, his head swimming. Kate grabbed on to his shoulder. “Woah, hey, baby steps,” she cooed. “Give yourself a moment.”
Derek took a breath, steadied himself, and nodded. “I’m okay,” he said.
“You,” said Kate, releasing his shoulder and heading towards the trunk, “are a terrible liar.”
Derek watched her pull out a duffel bag, thinking about the first and only time Kate ever lied to him. It’s strange, now that he thinks about. People lie all the time, but Kate never did.
I know.
It’s too late.
Maybe she was always lying.
Summary: They're somewhere in Nevada when it clicks.
Notes: Sequel to Love is Just a Bloodsport, A Banquet of Consequences, and Sweet’s the Air With Curly Smoke (From All My Burning Bridges). AU take on the Hale house fire and its consequences.
The Smell of Something Burning
Someone had a party while you were sleeping but you weren’t really sleeping, you were sick, and parts of you were burning, and you couldn’t move.
{You Are Jeff, #22 by Richard Siken}
When Derek woke up the sun had set and Kate was listening to the radio, some bouncy cheerful thing with a tinny beat. He could feel air rushing in from her side, the window probably rolled all the way down. Derek took a careful shallow breath and picked up only the faintest trace of wolfsbane, clinging only to their clothes and the car upholstery.
His head had slumped to the side, resting low against the window and away from the cigarette burner. He cracked one eye open, trying to keep his body still and his breathing sleep-steady, and looked out at the countryside.
They were speeding down a highway. It was dark, the moon barely a sliver of a waxing crescent, but he could see the flat landscape and the scraggly bushes and thought, “We’re in a desert.“ He had no idea where home was.
As the soporific effects of the wolfsbane wore off - along with the headache, the nausea, the dryness in his throat all the way to his lungs - his memory started falling back into place, clicking tightly in his head like bullets in a clip.
“My house is on fire.”
“I know.”
Click.
“Turn the car around, Kate! We have to go! I have to go -“
“It’s too late.”
Click.
“Please, stop, let me out. I can run. Please just let me out.”
“Not gonna happen.”
Click.
The car racing down the street, him fumbling with the seat belt and the door, wondering how best to throw himself out. The smell of woodsmoke overwhelmed by perfume, by crushed petals then by burnt petals, and Kate pulling him back.
Click.
Where memory failed him, imagination took over. The smoke cloud huge and black and heavy hanging over everyone he knows. The flames bright and hot and hungry, wrapping themselves around doorways and bed frames. Screams and howls and ashes.
Derek stared at the moon hanging over the unfamiliar landscape that kept rushing past and tried to stop thinking, stop imagining, stop remembering.
When that failed, he clung to the realization that Laura was at school. He was in a car screaming to get out but she was at school when their house burned. She would be safe. Unburnt. Alive. He just had to get back to Laura.
So he thought about his sister and stared at the moon and tried to smell something other than smoke.
Derek jerked awake and he was alone in the car again. They were parked in front of a motel, the neon light in the office window declaring it the Silver Motel. Of course it was.
He rubbed his face and pinched his brow. He almost felt clear-headed, but realized that even without the wolfsbane burning, just being in the car with the residue clinging to everything - his hair, his skin, his clothes, the very air no matter how long the window had been open - was stopping him from shaking its effects off completely.
He had to get out. Suddenly he just had to get out.
Derek swung the door open and leaned out, remembering at the last second to unbuckle his seat belt. He sat for a moment with his head against the door, breathing heavily around the lump in his throat, his feet on some unknown land hours and miles away from his family and his pack. The air here was crisp, cool and clean. It smelled of vegetation and heat and dry dirt, of long still nights and wide open skies.
“Hey, sweetie, good to see you’re up.” Kate walked up to him, all thousand-Watt smile and loose easy gait, motel keys swinging in her hand.
Derek leapt to his feet and instantly clung to the door, his head swimming. Kate grabbed on to his shoulder. “Woah, hey, baby steps,” she cooed. “Give yourself a moment.”
Derek took a breath, steadied himself, and nodded. “I’m okay,” he said.
“You,” said Kate, releasing his shoulder and heading towards the trunk, “are a terrible liar.”
Derek watched her pull out a duffel bag, thinking about the first and only time Kate ever lied to him. It’s strange, now that he thinks about. People lie all the time, but Kate never did.
I know.
It’s too late.
Maybe she was always lying.