Knee Deep

The locker room and hallways were chaos.

Blue and red lights flickered at the edge of the parking lot. Paramedics had already cleared out, but people lingered—parents, players, cops.

"Guys, back off!" Coach bellowed. "You can get your gear tomorrow. If anyone sees Garrett, you notify the police immediately!"

"Then tell him he's off the damn team!" Coach snapped into his phone before shoving it into his pocket and stalking off.

I turned my gaze toward Liam, who sat alone on the bench, head bowed, shoulders hunched. He looked like a kid who'd just been told monsters were real—and that he was one of them.

I dropped my gear and walked over, sliding down to sit beside him.

"You okay?" I asked quietly.

He hesitated before answering. "I didn't even touch Brett."

"I know. You didn't hurt him. Garrett was gunning for him"

A few yards away, I caught sight of Scott talking to his dad. I couldn't hear everything, but I caught the tail end.

"I should've been here," Rafael said. "I promised your mom I'd be around so she could pick up some double shifts at the hospital."

"You're here now," Scott replied, and the look they exchanged, it was tired, but hopeful.

I wondered if my mom would've said the same thing, had she lived to see any of this.

Then a different voice drew my attention.

"...Jordan Parrish?" Violet's voice was confused.

"Deputy Parrish," he corrected, eyes narrowing on something wrapped in cloth.

"What is that?" Rafael asked, stepping up beside Sheriff Stilinski.

"It's the weapon," the Sheriff answered, lifting the cloth to reveal a coil of deadly-looking wire.

"Yeah," Parrish confirmed. "It's a thermo-cut wire—"

"Parrish, hold up!" Rafael called as Parrish turned to leave with the evidence.

I turned back to Liam, nudging his knee with mine. "You need to talk about any of this, I'm here. Doesn't have to be now."

He gave a tiny nod.

Scott returned to us a moment later. "Where's Kira?"

"She took off," Liam said. "Stiles told her about Lydia cracking the second part of the Deadpool."

Scott's expression tightened. "Her mom's on it."

"Everyone's on it," Liam replied, staring at the grass.

"You're not," Scott said, crouching down in front of him.

Liam looked at him. "Not yet. There's still another third, right?"

The second we got to the clinic, the smell of blood and wolfsbane hit me like a freight train.

Brett was sprawled across the metal table, barely conscious, his body twitching like he was fighting something off from the inside. His skin was pale—too pale—and his breathing was shallow.

"What the hell is happening to this kid?" Stiles asked, panic starting to creep into his voice.

Deaton didn't look up. "He's been poisoned by a rare form of wolfsbane. I need to make an incision, and you need to hold him as still as possible."

"Hey, Derek?" Stiles said, glancing toward the wall where Derek was bracing himself. "How about a little Werewolf strength?"

"Yeah," Derek replied, his voice low. "I'm not the only one here with Werewolf strength..."

I stepped forward without hesitation. "I got him."

I moved to Brett's left side, gripping his shoulder and upper arm. I could feel the heat radiating off him like a furnace.

"If you can't hold him still," Deaton warned, "the incision might kill him."

No pressure.

Stiles braced Brett's legs, and Derek flanked the right. I gritted my teeth and tightened my grip.

Then Brett bucked hard.

"Derek, he's slipping!" Stiles yelled. "I don't think I can hold him—!"

"Ahh!" he shouted as Brett thrashed again, nearly knocking over a tray of instruments.

Before I could react, another figure moved beside me—Peter.

"I guess I still have a little Werewolf strength myself," he muttered, calm as ever, like we weren't mid-crisis.

Derek narrowed his eyes. "Yeah... maybe more than a little..."

I didn't take my eyes off Brett. His body went limp.

"Hey, Doc?" Stiles said. "I don't think he's breathing."

My heart dropped. I pressed two fingers to Brett's neck, barely daring to hope for a pulse.

Deaton leaned in fast, working with practiced efficiency. The room was dead silent except for the faint hum of the overhead lights.

"Is he okay?" Stiles asked.

"I think he'll be fine," Deaton said, finally stepping back. "But probably out for a little while."

I exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving my spine. My arms ached from holding him down. I hadn't even noticed.

Then, just barely audible, I heard it.

"Guys?" Stiles said, tilting his head. "Can you hear that? I think he's saying something..."

We all leaned in.

Brett's lips moved, the words coming out broken and slurred.

"The sun... the moon... the truth... the sun... the moon... the truth..."

My brows pulled together. "Is that...?"

"'Three things cannot long be hidden,'" Deaton said softly. "'The sun, the moon, and the truth.' It's Buddhist."

Peter folded his arms, his tone more serious than I was used to. "...Satomi."

-----♡-----

I don't know how she convinced me to go on this walk. Probably the dimples. Maybe the leather jacket. Maybe it was the fact that she said, "You never do anything relaxing unless someone drags you into it, so congratulations, I'm dragging you." And maybe I liked being dragged by her.

We were walking down this quiet little trail just off the main park, sun going down, trees glowing orange, the world actually not trying to kill us for once. Cassie had this dumb grin on her face because I had tried, and failed, to climb one of the rocks by the path.

"Okay," she laughed, "but I respect the effort. Solid 4 out of 10."

"Excuse you," I gasped. "That was a very impressive half-scramble, thank you. Olympic judges would be wowed."

"Oh, sure. If the Olympics gave out medals for not splitting your jeans."

She was teasing me. I loved when she teased me. She leaned against a tree, arms crossed, eyebrows raised like she'd just won something.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," I said, very confidently, before immediately tripping on a root and stumbling forward like the smoothest man alive.

But I caught myself. And I kissed her anyway. Quick, warm, laughing against her mouth, the kind of kiss that didn't need to be anything other than exactly what it was.

And then, Cassie froze.

I barely had time to pull back before she gasped, her eyes going wide. Her hand gripped my arm, nails digging in.

"What? What is it?"

But she didn't get a chance to answer.

A blur of motion. And before I could react, something slammed into me and I hit the ground hard.

"CASS!"

I turned just in time to see Garrett yank her back with a hand around her throat and a syringe in the other. She kicked, hard, connected once, twice. But then he stuck the needle in, and her body went limp.

"No, no, no, HEY!"

I tried to get up, but my legs weren't cooperating. Garrett was already dragging her off, disappearing into the trees like a damn ghost.

"CASSIE!!"

I don't even remember dialing. Just that my fingers were shaking, and I couldn't breathe, and my heart felt like it was going to beat straight out of my chest.

Scott picked up on the second ring.

"Stiles?"

"He took her, Garrett, he fuckking took her!" I was already running. No plan, no clue where I was going. I just had to do something.

"What? Who-"

"Cassie! We were, dude, we were on a date. She was laughing like five seconds ago. He came out of nowhere, he stuck her with something. Scott, I couldn't stop him!"

"Okay, okay, slow down."

"I'm not slowing down! I'm not slowing down! We have to find her! Scott she's worth $15 million. Second most after you!"

That's when his phone buzzed. I could hear it through the line. A second of silence.

"What is it?" I asked.

He didn't answer right away.

"Scott."

"It's Liam's phone," he said, voice suddenly low. "Someone's calling... from Liam's phone."

My blood turned to ice. "It's him. Isn't it?"

Scott didn't need to answer.

I already knew.

-----♡-----

Scott filled me in on what Garrett wanted. As much as I wanted to be with him, I knew Lydia needed my help more. It didn't make me feel any better.

God, I hate Eichen House. The walls still smell like bleach and piss, and the buzzing from the flickering hallway lights could drive a monk to murder. And then he shows up. Freaking Brunski.

"Oh no," I mutter, watching him shuffle toward us like a moldy goblin in a janitor costume. "Not this guy..."

Brunski gives us his usual warm welcome, by which I mean a look like he's seconds away from tasering us for breathing near the threshold.

"What the hell are we running here, a bed and breakfast?" he snaps. "We do not just open the door for anyone with a badge!"

Parrish, calm as ever, just flashes his. "We need to talk to Meredith Walker. It involves a murder investigation."

Brunski grunts. "Well, you can talk to her. But these two?" He jabs a finger toward Lydia and me. "Especially that one? They're outta here."

I raise my eyebrows like, wow, personal much?

Parrish keeps it cool. "They're crucial witnesses in an ongoing investigation. I wouldn't have brought them if it wasn't absolutely... crucial."

Brunski squints at him, chewing on that like it tastes bad. "Okay, Deputy. How about you come back with a court order, then I'll listen." He turns back to me. "As for you, Mr. Stilinski... how about you come back with payment in full?"

I glared.

"That's right—Daddy may be the Sheriff, but he's late on the bills. Guess those government jobs aren't as reliable as they used to be, huh?"

I open my mouth, but Parrish steps in before I can throw something.

"But they do help when you need a favor," Parrish says coolly. "Like how Canaan PD helped you get home after blowing a 0.1 on a breathalyzer last month."

My eyes go wide. "Nooo..." I say, grinning.

Brunski turns red. "All right, all right. I'm not against a little quid pro quo..." He steps aside with a fake-ass smile. "Not at all..."

I grin at Parrish. "You. I like you. I'm gonna keep you."

But even as we walk deeper inside, something cold sinks in my stomach.

Cassie.

Where is she? What is Garrett doing to her? Is she okay? Is she even alive?

I have to shake it off, we're here for a reason. One life doesn't outweigh another. But screw that, it's Cassie. And if we don't find the Benefactor, we don't find Garrett. I can't lose focus. I won't.

But my fingers twitch like they're reaching for her hand and coming up empty.

We finally make it to Meredith. She's hunched on the edge of a cot, eyes glassy, like her mind's somewhere a hundred miles from here.

"Meredith," Lydia says gently. "What do you mean, you can't tell us?"

I hang back a little, letting Lydia take the lead, watching carefully, trying not to bounce on the balls of my feet like a nervous wreck. Except I am a nervous wreck. My girlfriend just got kidnapped, and the only lead we have is currently avoiding eye contact with the wall.

"We just need the third key," I say, trying to sound calm. "You can give it to us in numbers, letters, hieroglyphs... interpretive dance... anything works."

Meredith doesn't even smile. "I can't."

"Then why give us the second key?" Lydia asks.

"I wanted to help." She sounds so small, like a child trying to explain a nightmare. "That's what I want to do. I want to help."

"Great. So help us now. Give us the third cipher key."

"I can't... Things have changed... He doesn't want me to."

My brain stalls. He?

"Who's he?" I ask, voice sharp before I can soften it.

She doesn't answer. She just shakes her head. Over and over.

Lydia leans in. "Meredith, who doesn't want you to tell us the third cipher key?"

"The Benefactor," she whispers.

I glance at Lydia, heart thudding in my ears. The Benefactor. We're finally getting somewhere.

"What's his name?" Lydia urges. "Just tell us his name."

Meredith shakes her head again. No. No. No.

My throat feels tight. Come on. Just give us something.

"Okay, you're shaking your head..." I say, crouching beside her. "Does that mean you don't know? Or you don't want to help us?"

Meredith curls inward. "I can't help anymore."

"How do you even know about him?" Lydia presses.

Parrish steps forward, raising a hand. "Guys, I think we better stop-"

"Meredith," Lydia pleads, her voice cracking. "A lot of people are going to die if you don't tell us-"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Meredith suddenly screams, loud and raw, like it's been trapped in her throat for days.

-----♡-----

We made our way back to my house. Lydia is trying names, I look at the picture beside my bed, Cassie and I together. I close my eyes. For a second, all I can see is Cassie's face when she realized something was wrong. The way she looked at me like she knew what was coming but didn't want me to panic. Too late.

When I open them, Lydia looks like she's about to cry.

"You okay?" I ask.

"The only other Banshee I've ever met..." she whispers. "And I think I might have just driven her over the edge."

"Lydia, it wasn't your fault. I was there too. And you're probably not the only..."

Wait. Wait, wait—

My mind latches onto something.

"Hold on, Banshees predict death, right?" I ask. "So what if the third key is someone who isn't dead..."

Lydia straightens. "...But will be."

Her eyes widen. She starts typing, the name Derek being what she wrote.

"Parrish," she breathes. "We need to call Parrish."

And suddenly, everything's moving again. But under all of it, I can still hear Cassie's voice in my head, laughing at my failed rock climb, seconds before she vanished.

-----☾-----

Pain is the first thing I feel.

It isn't sharp, it's deep, like it's soaked into my bones and wrapped around my lungs. Everything hurts. Breathing. Blinking. Thinking.

And it's cold.

So, so cold.

I try to move, but my limbs are heavy. Something's wrong. My side throbs, and my skin feels clammy. There's dirt under my nails. My shirt's torn. Something sticky coats my ribs. I'm wet, soaked with water.

And then I hear him.

"Cassie?" Liam's voice cracks. "Cassie, please wake up, please, please-"

I groan, barely managing to turn my head. He's beside me, hands trembling. His face is pale, soaked with sweat and grime, his eyes wide with panic.

"Liam?" My voice is barely a whisper, and I instantly regret using it. My throat burns.

He stares at me like I've come back from the dead. "You're awake," he breathes. "Thank God, you're awake, are you okay?"

I try to nod. The motion sends a jolt of nausea straight through my gut. "I don't... know."

"Garrett, he-he threw you down here," Liam says, voice tight. "You weren't moving, I thought," His voice breaks off. "I thought you were gone."

I reach for him, weakly grabbing his wrist. "I'm not," I say. "Not yet."

He squeezes my hand, but I can feel it, he's shaking. Not just from fear. From the same thing I am.

"Liam," I say, my stomach twisting. "You're poisoned too."

He nods, just barely. "Wolfsbane. He cut me with something." His breathing is shallow, uneven. "It's in my bloodstream. I can feel it burning."

We sit there, side by side in the dark, our backs pressed against the cold stone wall. Above us, the faintest hint of light filters in from the grate at the top of the well. So far away it might as well be the moon.

Hours pass like this.

I lose track of time. We drift between shallow sleep and waking pain. Liam talks sometimes, to me, to himself, to no one. I try to keep him grounded, telling him stories, reminding him to breathe. He does the same for me when the hallucinations start.

Sometimes I see Stiles's face. Or hear his voice calling my name. Sometimes it's Allison. Other times I hear the Nogitsune in my head.

Then, somewhere between hope and despair, Liam stirs. "I think... I think I can climb out."

I look at him. "Are you sure?"

He nods, but he's pale. His hands tremble as he stands. I try to push myself up to help, but the pain anchors me down.

He reaches for the wall, starting the slow climb. Each movement is a battle. I can see him fighting to stay conscious.

"Come on," I whisper. "You've got this."

And then, halfway up, his strength gives out. He slips, losing his grip.

"LIAM!" I scream. "I can't," he chokes. "I can't do it—I'm sorry—I tried—"

His voice cracks again, but then something in him snaps. His eyes glow gold. His lips pull back in a snarl. Liam lets out a roar so loud it shakes the stones.

"LIAM!"

A voice from above. There's a scuffle. Light floods the well as Scott leans over the edge.

"I see you! I've got you—hold on!" He wraps an arm around Liam's arm, tugging him up.

"I've got you, buddy. Just hang on."

"Cassie - Cassie is down there."

He leans back over, jumping down to get me. The water splashes as he lands. I try to stand, but I nearly collapse. He catches me before I hit the ground.

"You're safe," he says, arms strong around me. "I'm not leaving you here."

We hit the grass. Scott drops to his knees between us, pulling both of us close. I can barely hold on, but I bury my face in his shoulder anyway. Liam is tucked under my arm.

"You're okay," he whispers, over and over. "You're both okay. I've got you."

-----♡-----

My leg hasn't stopped bouncing in the last hour. Lydia left, and I was just staring at my phone, waiting for something from Scott.

And then it rings.

"Scott?" I answer before the first buzz finishes. "Tell me something. Please."

His voice, calm but tired, fills my ear. "We found her."

Everything stops. My heart, my breath—like I just slammed into a wall at a hundred miles an hour.

"What?"

"She's safe. Cass' safe, Stiles."

I blink. Hard. "Where? Where is she?"

"We're at the clinic. Deaton got most of the vervain out. She's weak, but she's okay. I'm taking her to my place now, she didn't want to go to the hospital."

I stand up too fast. The room spins. "Is she - can I - does she-" I can't even find the words.

"She's asking for you, man. First thing she said after she could speak full sentences."

My throat tightens so fast it hurts. I don't even say goodbye, I just hang up and bolt.

I think I broke about four traffic laws on the way to Scott's house, and I trip over my own feet rushing up the porch steps.

Scott's front door is unlocked. I push it open, nearly breathless. "Cassie?!"

"In here," Scott calls from the living room.

And then I see her.

She's curled up on the couch, wrapped in one of Melissa's throw blankets, hair messy and tangled, skin pale with a faint sheen of sweat. But her eyes, god, those eyes, they light up the second they land on me.

"Stiles," she whispers.

I'm at her side in a second, dropping to my knees in front of the couch. "Hey. Hey, hey, hey-" I don't even know what I'm saying. My hands are shaking.

"Hey," she says again, voice soft, lips twitching into the smallest smile.

"I thought-" My voice catches. "I thought I lost you."

"You didn't," she whispers. "I promised you wouldn't"

I reach out, hesitating just for a moment before brushing her hair back. She leans into my touch. Her skin is still hot, sticky with sweat. I let out a shaky laugh, trying to keep it together. "You look like hell."

"You should see the other guy," she mutters.

And just like that, I'm laughing and crying at the same time, forehead pressed to her shoulder.

She shifts, weakly reaching up to run her fingers through my hair. "Stiles. I'm okay. You can breathe now."

I sit up, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie. "Don't ever do that again."

"I'll try to keep being kidnapped to a minimum," she teases, then winces slightly. She inhales shakily, eyes fluttering shut in pain.

"Hey- no jokes if it hurts."

"Still worth it," she mumbles.

Scott gives me a soft nod from the kitchen before disappearing down the hall to give us space.

I climb up beside her on the couch, carefully easing an arm around her. I'm holding her, but it still doesn't feel real.

Cassie's right here, tucked against my side, fingers lightly gripping the front of my hoodie like I might disappear if she lets go. And God knows I'm holding her just as tightly, like she's the only thing anchoring me to the planet right now.

"I missed you," she murmurs again, soft and sleepy, her breath warm against my neck.

"I missed you, too," I whisper. "But that doesn't even, God, Cass, that doesn't even cover it."

She shifts slightly, pulling back just enough to see my face. There are dark circles under her eyes, and she still looks like she's barely hanging on but she's focused. On me.

"Stiles..." she says gently, brows knitting together. "I'm okay."

I let out a breath, short and humorless. "You almost weren't."

She doesn't say anything, and that somehow makes it worse. My voice gets quieter. "I thought you were dead. I thought, I felt it. Like this actual hole just opened up in my chest."

"Stiles..."

"I couldn't breathe," I admit. "I couldn't think. All I could see was you, alone, in pain, and I wasn't there. I should've been there."

"You couldn't be there," she says softly.

"I should've been," I snap, then wince at myself. "Sorry. I just, God, Cass, I've never felt that kind of fear before. Not even when the Nogitsune had me. Not like this. Because if something happened to you..."

My throat closes up. I can't finish the sentence.

Cassie doesn't say anything for a second. Then she reaches up, brushing her thumb under my eye, catching the tear that slips out.

"I know," she says, barely above a whisper. "I know you were scared."

I lean into her hand, eyes falling shut.

"And I hate that I scared you," she continues. "I hate that I keep ending up in these situations where you have to wonder if I'm coming back. I hate it more than you know."

I open my eyes. "Then stop doing that."

She lets out a quiet, tired laugh. "I'm really trying, I swear."

I smile, just barely, but it's something. "Try harder."

She nods. "I will."

We sit in silence for a while, wrapped in each other, the weight of everything hanging in the space between us. Her fingers start tracing lazy, slow patterns along the seam of my sleeve.

Then she whispers, "Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"I heard your voice. When I was down there. Like... in my head."

I turn to her, surprised. "You did?"

She nods. "You were telling me to hold on. That you were coming. That you weren't going to let me go."

My chest tightens. "I was coming."

"I know," she says, smiling faintly. "That's why I held on."

I bite my lip, overwhelmed for the hundredth time tonight. "You're kind of my whole world, you know that?"

"Funny," she says, voice quiet and full of love, "I was just thinking the same thing about you."

I kiss her, soft, slow, a promise, and when I pull back, her eyes are fluttering shut again.

"I'm not going anywhere," she whispers.

"You better not," I say, curling my arm around her tighter.

She falls asleep a few minutes later, breathing even and soft against my chest, her hand still fisted in my hoodie.

And I just sit there, holding her like my life depends on it, because honestly?

It kind of does.