┌─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───┐
chapter eleven!
TETHER
└─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───┘

( frayed, pt. ii )

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"DEREK!" VERA CRIES, stomach aching with both strain and giggles as he holds her upside down. His hands are supporting her legs that are wrapped around his waist, her short locks of hair nearly brushing the floor. Laughter bursts from her mouth. Her hand resists the pull of gravity and rests on her aching stomach, but soon falls victim to the ever-insistent force and flops down beside her head again. "Put me down!"

"Nope," Derek says with a grin in his voice, playfully swaying her from side to side so she giggles even more. "You unplugged my Playstation and made me lose my progress. This is what you get."

At fifteen, Derek has been seizing every opportunity to show off his strength to everyone. He's taken to slamming doors much harder than necessary and lifting heavy objects just because he can. Sometimes that means picking up the sofa when Cora and Vera are trying to watch television and then shaking it around until they fall off. Vera, aged nine, does not see the importance of such trivial displays of strength and has decided to annoy him in every way she possibly can.

This time, it had backfired. After Vera had unplugged the Playstation, she'd had approximately three seconds to start running before Derek had chased after her. The defeat had come too easily. Vera has always been short, making it more difficult for her to flee from her brother's rapidly-growing limbs and supernatural speed.

A series of footsteps causes Derek to turn toward the source, making the colors of the kitchen swirl in Vera's vision as she moves with him. Her eyes meet a familiar pair of expensive black boots. Knowing immediately who it is without having to look at their face, Vera stretches her arms out toward the person and begs for salvation.

"Uncle Peter!" she exclaims gleefully, hoping that he'll tell Derek to knock it off. Her favorite uncle has always been one to speak in her favor when she's being picked on by the other Hale children. "Help me!"

"Put her down, Derek," Uncle Peter commands exasperatedly. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, dark brown hair swooped away from his face. He's always been effortlessly cool; it's one of the things Vera admires about him. When his nephew hesitates, his sky-blue eyes harden. "Now. Before all the blood rushes to her head and you have her passing out."

With a sigh, Derek shifts his hands to support Vera's back and flips her to an upright position. He gives her a moment to re-adjust to the new orientation before letting her slide to the ground. Both of them know that arguing with Uncle Peter is futile.

Face slightly pink from so much laughter and from being upside down, Vera lightly punches Derek in the shoulder and then sticks her tongue out at him before running away. "Sucker!"

"You're a brat!" Derek calls after her. Vera merely huffs as she darts up the staircase in the middle of the Hale house to seek refuge in Cora's bedroom. All of his insults always bounce off of her like water on oil; she knows he never means them. They're too close for them to fight very hard.

The memory brings a fresh stab of pain to Vera's heart. She sits on the floor of Scott's bedroom with her back against his bedframe, knees pulled to her chest. She's been staring at nothing for the past fifteen minutes. Her mind is chaotic, pulling at tangled strings in an effort to unravel them and comprehend what had transpired at the mall. So far, her brain has done nothing but hurt her even more by bringing up memories of Derek.

Allison had dropped her off here per Scott's invitation. Neither of them had wanted to be alone, and even though Isaac is living in the house now, Vera suspects that Scott had been looking out for her more than himself. She'd wanted to stay with Cora and make sure she was alright. However, her sister's time spent in South America had sharpened her edges even more, unused to having a family to fall back on this time. Cora had already started to shut herself down by the time Vera had stumbled over to her. She had wanted isolation in order to cope.

Scott lays on his bed, propped up by a stack of pillows against his wall. He's been uncharacteristically quiet since they'd all arrived here. There's been a sense of despondence in his eyes that she isn't used to seeing, an emptiness to his face that makes her almost glad she's facing the other way. Seeing him like this makes her feel worse— if Scott has an air of hopelessness to him, she isn't sure what will happen next. He's the backbone of their group. If he crumbles, the rest will soon follow.

The doorbell rings downstairs. Vera can hear the distant sounds of rapid footsteps, then the door opening and muffled conversation before it closes again. Outside of Scott's window, a car engine starts and fades as the person drives off.

Isaac appears in Scott's doorway a few moments later with Vera's duffle bag clenched in his hand. When her eyebrows pinch slightly at the sight of it, he explains, "Allison brought this. She said Dominic helped her get into your house— she knew about our meet tomorrow and wanted to make sure you had everything you needed."

Vera stifles a groan and leans her head back against the side of Scott's mattress. She'd forgotten about their cross country meet tomorrow. In fact, she'd forgotten about all of her responsibilities. The strangest thing about death is the realization that life continues on for everyone else. There's no pause, no spare moment to catch your breath. The world keeps spinning and everyone keeps moving even though it feels so unbearably wrong.

"You can just put it anywhere," she tells him in a quiet voice, still hoarse from all the screaming and crying she'd done earlier. Now she feels nothing but emptiness. Even so, her love and appreciation for her friends cause her heart to warm a little as Isaac places the bag to the right of the door.

She hasn't looked at her phone since arriving here— mostly because she doesn't want to read messages and have it sink in that this is real. She knows Dominic is probably blowing up her phone. It jars her for a moment, remembering that she should probably tell her mother, but reaching for the device seems like a monumental task right now. Her body has been completely zapped of its energy.

Isaac flutters around Vera and Scott like an anxious mother hen. He seems unsure of what to do in this situation— unaware of how to provide comfort, but wanting to do something to keep his mind off of his own pain. She can see it trapped in his eyes and in the way he's been sniffling every so often. It's like he doesn't want to break down in front of them in fear it'll make them feel even worse.

A pained groan from Scott catches all of their attention. Isaac's head snaps up at the sound, concern filling his blue eyes as he takes a step toward the bed. "Scott, you're hurt."

At this, Vera straightens up enough to place an elbow on the mattress and twist her back until she can see Scott. He's laying practically motionless except the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. A hand is pressed to the place where Ennis' claws had slashed into his abdomen, the fabric of his shirt around it stained ruby red. His tanned face is twisted into a permanent cringe of agony.

"I'm fine," Scott insists through a breath, clearly lying with how strained his voice sounds. "I'll heal."

"Yeah, but you should be healed already." Isaac takes another step closer, holding out a hand. "Here, let me—"

"No!" Scott exclaims with more strength in his voice than ever before. Isaac takes a step back immediately, blinking in surprise. Scott's face falls in regret a moment later, eyes flickering with despair. "I'm fine."

Vera knows he's not; even a cursory glance at her friend would tell her that. But part of her understands what he's doing. He needs the pain. It's a tether to the present, an anchor to reality to keep him from drifting too deeply into the suffering within his heart. The well of grief is bottomless, and if he tumbles down it without something to hold him steady, he may never make it out.

That's why she hasn't asked for any medication for the splitting headache still threatening to cleave her brain in half with its intensity. She had used too much of her powers during that battle. She'd been too excited to transform with that phantom face, but her body wasn't ready for the toll. Even though every thud of her heart sends a stab of pain to her temples, she does nothing to relieve it or the sting of the scraped skin of her hands. It's her tether keeping her from plummeting into the well of despondence lurking beneath her feet, its gaping mouth waiting anxiously for her rope to snap.

Isaac eventually backs down and takes a seat in Scott's desk chair. He absentmindedly fiddles with his fingers, eyebrows pinched so a chasm forms between his brows. First they'd lost Erica. Now Derek. Vera wonders if he has the same abyss trapped in his gut as she does, or if it's stronger because he's a wolf. Even though they haven't been the best of friends since he'd been bitten, they're bonded together whether they like it or not. It seems like whenever a tragedy has occurred within these past few weeks, they've been together through it all.

Thinking about their bond reminds her of Boyd. Similar to Cora, he hadn't wanted to do anything but go home to rest and heal. She's not sure if he would have joined them here if Scott had offered. No matter how adamantly she tries to reassure him that he can talk to her, he seems to want to suffer in silence.

This is a time when they should all be together. Without an Alpha, they've become Omegas, the most dangerous state for a supernatural creature to be in. It makes them more vulnerable to other packs. But with the loss of Derek so fresh, they've started to drift like balloons released into the sky. They'll figure something out later. For now, they have to try to recover.

"Vera, you can take my bed," Scott says through a grunt as he starts to sit up. "I'll go sleep on the couch."

Vera jumps, snapping her eyes open. She hadn't realized that she'd begun to doze off, the utter silence in the room and the fatigue filling her body overpowering her hyperactive mind. Her head begins shaking in protest before she even registers the movement.

"Scott, no. You're injured– you need proper rest." She pats the wooden floor. "I'm fine here. Besides..." The words don't come out at first, forcing her to swallow and start over. "Moving seems like too much effort right now, anyway."

Vera doesn't think she has the strength in her body to climb onto Scott's bed if she tried. Her grief is all-consuming, making her a kind of despondent that bruises her bones, a sorrow so deep that she has shot all the way past crying now. It feels worse than the loss of a limb. It feels like a loss of self.

She doesn't remember a life without Derek. Her parents had been friends with Talia Hale before she was born, so Derek had been there to hold her as a baby and had helped her learn how to talk. In almost every significant memory she has, minus the time he'd spent in New York, he's there. The thought of having that ripped away from her so soon is too much for her to bear right now.

Closing her eyes, Vera slowly curls into a ball on the wooden floor of Scott's bedroom, not even bothering to use her hands as a pillow. Her hair slightly cushions the discomfort. It's exactly what she needs right now. Falling asleep in comfort feels too normal for a situation that is anything but.

She doesn't know at what point she begins to doze off, but soon she's being roused by an abrupt change in her position that brings a stab of pain to her brain. Someone's arms slide beneath her knees and around her back as she's lifted. The side of her face rests against the soft and warm material of a knit sweater, the sensation of movement making her head swim.

Her eyes open blearily to reveal Isaac carrying her out of Scott's room and into the dimly-lit hallway. He brings her to a bedroom that's much more sparsely-decorated and darker, illuminated only by the pale moonlight sneaking in through the open blinds.

"You don't have to pretend to be nice to me," she mumbles, her words an echo of his when she'd offered to let him crash at her house after Derek had kicked them out.

His response is almost the same as hers had been. "I'm not pretending."

Normally, she would have more of a teasing reaction to this uncharacteristically pleasant conversation, but she's exhausted and has too much of a cavernous ache in her heart to muster a witty reply. Instead, she sighs against the warmth of his chest and fights against the slumber already trying to pull her back under.

"You know, you have every right to be sad, too," she says. "You don't have to hide it."

In response, he sets her carefully on the mattress of his own bed and says, "Go to sleep."

Even though he's scarcely said more than six words to her since she'd woken, she can detect something other than desolation in his quiet tone. It's rage. Though the things he's said are civil, they're backed with the hard-edged glint of a razor. He's angry at the Alphas, at the loss of Derek, and possibly even at himself.

Vera wants to talk some sense into him. Isaac's wrath almost never goes without someone's face getting beaten in, and he never thinks twice before launching himself into a fight. However, the pillows are comfortable and the blankets are warm as he folds them over her, and she's becoming too sluggish to properly argue.

"Just don't snap and do anything stupid," she tells him in a voice half-slurred with fatigue.

"Mmhmm," he hums. "Go to sleep."

He doesn't need to tell her a third time; Vera is already out by the time he finishes his sentence.

— ✯✯✯ —

Another swoosh of the basketball going into the net greets Vera's ears from behind her, followed closely by Dominic's cry of dismay as the ball bounces on the concrete of his driveway. The arrival of spring has made their mothers usher them outside for some much-needed physical activity in their front yards. While Vera has been tossing a lacrosse ball back and forth with Cora, Derek has been absolutely annihilating a nine-year-old Dominic in a game of basketball.

"That's basket thirty-five," Derek announces matter-of-factly.

"This isn't fair!" Dominic cries, indignation clear in his voice. Vera turns around to see him with his skinny arms crossed over his chest and a frown pulling down his lips. The red tint of his Teen Titans shirt nearly matches the flush of his cheeks from trying so hard to play against Derek. "You're older than me and you're literally a" — he stops, then glances around to make sure no other neighborhood children are there to hear when he hisses — "werewolf."

The fifteen-year-old boy does not look fatigued whatsoever. Even after scoring thirty-five baskets against a little kid who's getting more determined to win by the moment, he seems completely unperturbed.

Vera tries to toss the ball back to Cora, but it only ends up flying a few miserable feet before dropping to the ground and rolling in the grass. Her sister sighs before shuffling forward to retrieve it.

"I can't even reach the basket," Dominic continues through his pout. "You're no fun to play with sometimes."

"He's never fun to play with," Cora jabs so quickly it's like it's a reflex. Derek turns to glare at her, so she sticks out her tongue at him, an expression made less threatening by the multicolored barrettes holding back her brunette hair.

"Well, last time when I went easy on you in baseball, you called me a wuss because I kept 'accidentally' missing the ball when you hit it," Derek points out, momentarily pausing the game by tucking the ball beneath his arm.

Dominic's head turns down so he can stare at the concrete. "Maybe you're just getting too old to play with me. That sucks because Vera's bad at basketball and Cora is scary."

"Hey!" Vera shouts in offense, narrowing her eyes at her friend. Then again... he isn't really wrong. She's proven to be much better at soccer than basketball, and now that she's taken up lacrosse, she hopes she can be better at that soon, too.

Cora smiles at being called scary as she passes the ball back to Vera, who manages to catch it this time.

"Hey, I'll tell you what." Derek crouches down until he's eye-level with Dominic, who reluctantly lifts his gaze from his velcro sneakers. "Instead of playing against you all the time, I'll help coach you. How does that sound?"

The smaller boy considers this for a moment before nodding. "Okay."

"Alright." Derek straightens, launching into an explanation of his favorite sport with complete expertise. Vera easily tunes him out as she focuses on trying not to get nailed in the face with the lacrosse ball. Though Cora is getting better at controlling her strength, there are still dangers in playing any sport with a young werewolf.

A few minutes later, Derek narrates their actions like an announcer on television. "Dominic Shire dribbles down the court. It's incredible– he's wide open! He goes up to take the shot. Will he make it?" He reaches down and scoops Dom up by the underarms, easily lifting him onto his shoulders. It's easy for him to reach the hoop with the added height. Dominic drops the ball through, causing Derek to erupt into cheers. "And it's good! Incredible! The crowd goes crazy!"

Through the grin stretching his cheeks so wide they must ache, Dominic questions, "Can you put me down now?"

Derek obeys this request and safely lowers him to the ground. He reaches out to ruffle Dom's hair. "Good job, bud."

Vera is so distracted by their game that she momentarily forgets about her own present task. She barely manages to duck when the lacrosse bail sails right toward her head, nearly smacking into Derek. His werewolf reflexes allow him to snatch it from mid-air before it causes any damage.

"Ve – ra," Cora sighs, stretching out the two syllables of her name in annoyance. "Not again."

"I'm sorry," she says. "I try to pay attention– I really do."

Instead of Derek tossing the ball back and them all resuming their respective activities, they're interrupted by the front door of Dominic's house opening. His mother appears to ask if they want freshly-made lemonade. Instantly, all sports are abandoned in the front yard as all four kids sprint for the kitchen, united by the idea of refreshments and the innocent joys of youth.

Vera wakes on her own to sunlight streaming through the window and turning the space behind her eyelids a light orange. She stirs slightly, blinking open her eyes to clear her blurry vision as the fog of sleep begins to disappear from her mind. Her eyebrows crease as she registers the sight of an unfamiliar grey wall. Then she notices that she doesn't recognize her surroundings at all, rocketing to a sitting position as her brain fights to recall last night.

Her gaze snags on a sleeping form in the swivel chair near a desk. Isaac is fast asleep, one elbow leaning on the table so he can prop his face up with his fist. All of the harsh lines of his face are smoothed by his apparently peaceful slumber. His lips are slightly parted, soft snores passing through them at even intervals. The sunlight filtering through the blinds of his window bathes him in a soft morning glow and turns his pale skin a warm tan.

Vera relaxes once her brain clears. She remembers him carrying her here now. But the reminder that last night is real, that it had actually happened and wasn't some crushing, horrible nightmare, causes the old ache in her chest to come racing back like a tidal wave waiting to drag her under. One of her hands travels up to her constricting throat. Her brain searches for a distraction to keep her mind off of her rising panic.

"Isaac," she calls softly, fighting to keep her voice even. When he doesn't stir, she raises it a fraction. "Isaac!"

He immediately rockets himself to his feet. Before he's even fully conscious, his eyes dart around as if searching for an invisible threat, posture tense and his guard up. When he doesn't find anything, he turns and meets Vera's eyes.

"Were you... watching over me?" she asks. Her gaze flickers down to the swivel chair that had been facing her, positioned as if Isaac had been sitting in that exact position before falling asleep.

Isaac scratches the back of his neck and looks away. "Well, I didn't know if the Alphas would try to get revenge because of Ennis, so just in case..."

Her eyebrows raise at his reluctance to meet her eyes, his tone and posture seeming almost bashful. It's an emotion she doesn't think she's ever seen him convey.

It's already working. She can feel her panic being pushed to the back of her mind as she distracts herself. Banter with Isaac comes almost second-nature by now, her brain welcoming the diversion with open arms and giving her the strength to pull her lips up into a wry smirk.

"Careful, Lahey, or it may start to seem like you care about me."

He rolls his eyes, dropping his hand to his side with a smack. "Don't push your luck."

She softens a bit. When she speaks next, her voice is sincere. "But really, thank you."

Isaac nods in a silent statement of You're welcome. He leans down and snatches his phone from his desk, staring at the screen for a moment before reporting, "Well, my alarm was supposed to go off in two minutes, anyway. We could always just skip the meet."

"No," Vera protests with a shake of her head. "I need the distraction. Plus, Boyd will be there, too. We can't leave him alone."

He nods again, setting his phone on his desk. The sound of Scott's alarm clock ringing from next door greets their ears a moment later. Vera tosses the covers off of herself and pushes herself to her feet. She notices her duffle bag sitting on the floor near the foot of the bed, meaning Isaac had also moved it from Scott's room. She grabs it with a sigh.

"Get dressed," she tells him, eyeing the clothes he's wearing– the same ones from the previous night. "We have a five-hour bus ride and a meet to win."

_______

a/n:

isaac: i don't care about vera.
isaac: but also i'm gonna pick her up off of the wooden floor, give her my own bed, sit in an uncomfortable desk chair all night, make sure nobody comes to kill her, and fall asleep in said uncomfortable desk chair. also, i'm gonna bring her duffel bag into my room.
isaac: but i don't care about her.

i wanted to try my hand at flashbacks to show what's going through vera's mind and how it keeps bringing up memories of him, which is very common when someone you love passes. i also wanted to include them because baby vera!!! calling peter "uncle peter"!! and baby dominic!!! derek calling dominic "bud"!! ugh. babies.

+ if you haven't already, check out my meet my OCs book to see the incorrect quotes i posted for vera! i spent a lot of time on them pls show them some love😌✨

—kristyn

( word count: 4.1k )