for keepswingin

pairings: wyatt & eliza (friendship/possible relationship), willa & wyatt

rating: T+

summary:

You're all I have left to lose.

Waiting for no one (except you).

Set me free, let me go.

This room had never felt so empty.

With not nearly enough to hold onto.

Your ghost haunts me.

But I will wait for you. Always.

tags: watch for those torture scenes. if the demand requires a sequel, I'm sure i could whip something up.

don't leave me here alone…

He didn't mean to be on edge.

But it's been four days, he hasn't slept or washed and he's barely eaten anything, too tense to stomach anything. It's been four days of searching the forest for any signs of her. Four days of stifling silence in the den every time he walks into a room, worried glances and silent whispers.

Every slightest noise makes him jump. So it's no surprise that when Eliza sneaks up behind him, poking him in the ribs, he whips around and nearly slams her into the lockers—okay, he /does/, and everyone in the hall looks at him, and Eliza's eyes go wide, and it's all just really bad.

"Shit dude! Relax!"

Wyatt curses himself, letting go of her collar. If his dad saw him, he'd be punished for acting out like that. 'Bad wolf,' he scolds himself. It always hurt him a little to hear Wynter say it, a stupid thing that had been beat into their brains since they were kids. It hurts, saying that to himself. He's not a bad wolf, no one should belittle themself like that.

"I'm so sorry, Liz," he mutters. "I didn't—shit."

She smiles, thin lipped and clearly not happy. "You're good. You just don't usually react like that. It was…weird."

Wyatt rubs the pad of his hand against his stubble, groaning. People were still looking, watching, whispering. Getting under his skin. Every hair on his body stood on end.

Eliza takes notice, placing a cold hand on his arm. She steps closer, her voice low so no one else can hear. "Is everything okay?"

He tenses as a burly football player walks past, fearing the worst. Eliza's fingers press into his skin, forcing his attention back on her. "We've already searched all of Zombietown," she tells him. "We're gonna hit the Seabrook History District after school. You're welcome to come with."

He wants to. He really does. If they're all looking together, they'll finish faster. They'll find her faster.

But he has to go back in the woods. He knows she was there. It's where her scent still lingers, where he can still hear her giddy laughter from their supply runs.

"She was in the woods, Liz," he says. "I-I can find her scent. I can find her."

"If you keep like this you'll run yourself into the ground," she tells him. He scoffs but she fixed him with a look, crossing her arms. "I know you have some weird wolf-tuition, but you can't go out there alone, Wyatt."

"I won't be alone, Willa will be there—"

"Willa isn't even in school," Eliza argues.

"Protecting the pack, like I should be. I could be helping her, I could be out there right now looking—"

Eliza drops her arms and Wyatt flinches. Her anger dissolves into something sadder, more desperate and petulant. "If you go out there alone, you'll get taken too!"

"Eliza…"

"I'm serious," she says, her voice whining on the end. "It's not safe, okay? Wynter's the fourth wolf to go missing this week. Someone's targeting you guys. You have to stay safe."

He wants to protest, but Eliza is genuinely concerned, something she doesn't often express. And she's right, too. Another wolf goes missing everyday. Someone's after them. Walking in the woods alone was asking to get taken.

"Yeah, I'll be with you," he says.

She smiles, then the bell rings. "Come on, you've skipped math everyday this week. I'm pretty sure Mr. Steevens wants to strangle you."

Wyatt hums, not quite caring. Eliza's smile fades and she fixes him with a knowing look, to which he just shrugs innocently. He starts walking backwards, pushing through the crowd, and calls to her, "I'll stay on campus, promise."

"Wyatt!"

"Just gonna go freshen up. I'll see you in history, okay?"

"Wyatt!"

He turns though, heading for the bathroom.

By the time he's pushing the heavy grey door open, the second bell is ringing. The halls are empty except for Principal Lee on her tardy sweep, and he ducks into a stall. His boots step onto a toilet seat and he sits, perching, letting out a huff.

Part of him wants to cry. Someone's kidnapping his family, picking them off one at a time, leaving no trace but their scent that never leads anywhere. They took his best friend from him. They didn't deserve to walk freely.

He was going to find whoever was after his pack and he was going to make them pay, no matter what. Screw Eliza and her stupid plan and her begging. He couldn't waste another second waiting, while someone else got hurt.

He stands, pushing out of the stall and walking to the mirror. "You're going back out there," he tells himself. "You're gonna find Wynter." His expression darkens at the thought of Wynter, his best friend, alone, afraid. She didn't deserve that. No one did.

"You're gonna sink your goddamn razor sharp claws into their skin and make them regret the day they were born," he hisses to himself. "Whatever it takes."

Heavy feet hit the ground and he jumps. His fingers tighten their grip on the counter. 'Stupid, stupid,' he thinks. He should've checked the stalls, should've made sure he was alone.

A stall door swings open, he's enough to bang against the wall. Wyatt looks through the glass, catching the reflection of a hooded figure approaching him. His brain scream run, but his stays in place.

Wynter's scent lingers on the stranger.

It's the last coherent thought Wyatt had before he's grabbed around the middle. He tries to fight, kicking and screaming and doing everything in his power to get out of there to get help to get away. But something breaks over his face, a liquid-like powder, and his sense get more sluggish, before going black entirely.

…waiting for no one (except you)…

Dr. V's classroom is an old science lab. According to Addison, the school built a whole new building a few years back, with state of the art equipment, and gave the old labs to history and art teachers. The lab benches weren't too bad—Addison always sat with her boyfriend, and Eliza always ended up with an above average human as her partner who didn't want to end up working with an idiot.

At least until the wolves started at their school officially and Eliza ended up in a lot more classes than she'd like with her new friends. So while Addison and Zed canoodled at the bench on front of her, Eliza and Wyatt would bother each other for the entirety of forty seven minutes. It was mostly Wyatt annoying her with notes or elbows or whispered conversations, none of which she minded. Zed and Bonzo did the same thing.

Eliza sits, and waits. Three minutes between every class, plenty of time to get from most classes to the next. It was plenty of time for Eliza to see one of her human friends in the hallway and have an entire conversation about last night's episode of The Good Doctor.

It should be plenty of time for Wyatt to get from wherever he had spent math class to Lab 116.

The second bell rings and the still beside her is still empty. It's fine. Everything is fine.

She pulls out her textbook and her notes, ready to learn about ancient Babylonian civilizations.

'Where could he be?' she thinks.

Wyatt didn't break promises. And if she remember correctly, he promised he'd be in history. Lab 116.

It was fine.

Addison glances back, then does so again, this time frowning. Eliza catches the way she elbows her boyfriend, and he looks back too. She must look stressed, because a second later the screen of her Z-Band lights up with a message from Zed. A simple question mark, mostly because they weren't supposed to use their Z-Bands as a way to communicate.

The next time they glance over, she gives them what she hopes is a reassuring nod. But their eyes fall on the empty stool again.

Eliza tunes them out, tunes out all thoughts of Wyatt and the missing wolves and just focuses on world history. He'd show up.

(He doesn't.)

…set me free, let me go…

He's cold.

He can barely open his eyes, his body wracked with shivers. The floor is smooth but cold and wet, the walls the exact same. The skin on his hands burn but he doesn't care because it's so effing cold.

"Do you know why you're here?"

He can't even register the voice. It's deep, haunting, echoing through the cell and penetrating him skin deep until it's everywhere in him, around him, apart of him. Wyatt tried to speak, though he knows it's useless, cloth tired around his face, covered in a fine powder that stings his skin and burns his mouth.

He heard the footsteps, the man walking closer to him until he's stopped right in front of him. Wyatt should look up, try to look him somewhat in the eye. But he can't, his body weak and cold, everything burning and icy kind of pain that leaves him almost numb.

In the end, he regrets it. A sharp fist cracks against his jaw, sending his head careening one way, droplets of blood flying out against the gag. He screams, his voice muffled and barely heard.

'Save me from this hell,' he pleads.

Another hit, something sharper that sting as it connects with his face. He jerks hard enough that he falls over, pulling against the nonbudging silver chains holding him in place.

"You beasts make me sick," the man spits.

Wyatt groans, fighting to keep his eyes open. It's been like this for hours—days—weeks. He doesn't know how much time has passed since he was taken, since he was first hit, since he saw his best friend get tortured before his very eyes. It all blues together into dark nothingness. Pain and hate and pain and hate. Punching, kicking, screaming.

He doesn't know how many there are. The first time he'd counted six. He can't count anymore, fighting to remember his own name, not how many men are beating him within an inch of his life, only to let him recover just enough to do it all again.

Hot tears run down his face, stinging his cuts in the worst way possible.

'Please,' he silently begs, 'someone save me from this hell.'

…this room has never felt so empty…

Zed sits down beside his best friend, letting out a sigh. Neither of them notice the smell of the boys bathroom, just two feet away from them. There were more important things.

The broken mirror, for start. His cologne heavy in the air. The claw marks on the counter, the stalls, the walls.

Jacey had stumbled upon the scene in second period, and they had all stayed on lockdown for another two hours. The police, as well as the monster patrol, had come and gone.

Eliza stares at the wall of lockers across the wall. She can't look at Zed. She could lose him in an instant, just like she lost Wyatt. "What if we're too late?" she whispers. "He could be hurt, or-or dead."

"He's not."

"He could be!"

"Eliza."

She swallows, then glances at him, her brows knit together and a pout on her lips. "I just—"

"Feel like it's your fault."

She sighs again, feeling her eyes water.

It was her fault. If she had insisted he go to class with her, he would be and they would be off looking for other wolves. Not for Wyatt.

"Eliza, it's not your fault," he tells her for the umpteenth time. "And we're gonna find him!"

"And if we don't? Then what? How do we explain this to Willa?" Eliza demands. "How do we tell her that her pack can't even come to school without the fear of being kidnapped."

"We…"

"How can we just go on with our day? Our friends are missing! We have to do something."

They stare for a moment, Eliza determined and defiant, while Zed silently pleaded with her tone it down. "You know we can't, E," he whispers. "We have to stick together. We can't lose anyone else."

She wants to argue. To fight him—fight everything.

But she can't.

…with not nearly enough to hold onto…

Everyday is worse than the last.

Some days he wakes up, face swollen, throbbing, body aching everywhere. They'll poke him with needles, putting something in his blood he's too weak to fight against.

It hurts, what they're doing to him. He can't think, can barely breathe. He's hot and cold all at once, sweating and shivering. Every waking minute, he was less and less himself.

They feed him live animals, prey he has to catch and kill himself. It's the only time he's free, completely unchained. They jeer and mock him, kicking his food away.

When he's not eating or being testing, he's chained against the wall, taking punch after punch. Some days, he barely feels them, letting them use him as a personal punching bag, blood and saliva spilling out around his gag.

"Fucking monster," they curse. A boot connects with his gut, knocking the air from his lungs.

Some days are worse than the last. Days when all he can think about is the never ending pain, silver rings breaking his jaw, blood and sweat drying on his skin. Days when he can't move, can't catch his own dinner, can't do anything but moan and groan. Some days, he'd rather die than live like this.

Worst of all, he can hear his pack. Screaming, crying, getting beaten and tortured just like him. It worse than any bearing or starving he's given. It breaks him from the inside out.

One night, when the moon shines in from the tint space between the wall and the ceiling, he sits, nibbling on his dinner. Every bite makes his head dizzy, his jaw too swollen and aching to even enjoy the food.

A foot slams into his head and he falls over with grunt, dropping his kill. "Ungrateful son of a bitch."

He wants to growl, but there's no fight left in him. He barely remembers his own name, let alone how to defend himself. All he knows is if he doesn't eat now, he won't eat for days to come.

He's hit again, curling within himself, trying to ebb a never ending pain. Another foot, and another. He's squeezing his eyes shut, tears running down his cheeks. It hurts so much he can barely breathe.

"Oughta kill you!" a man bellows, his voice shaking Wyatt.

He can't even lift his head. But the next thing he knows, something big and flat and hot–so, so hot—burns his side. It penetrates him deep, the smell of his own skin burning not nearly as bad as the constant, everlasting stabbing in his side. He howls, his vision dancing red and black, screaming into the sky. His voice is raw.

The men snap at him, fists pounding his face because of his scream. They pull the silver brander from his side and beat him until he's unconscious, the pain still lingering as he slips away.

…your ghost haunts me…

All monsters have a curfew, but this time it's for their own protection. The whole town is on edge, human activists in a rage because of the governments complete lack of action, because monster hunting is still legal, because seven werewolves have been missing for two weeks and no one has any leads.

Monsterphobic humans are outraged. The council is doing too much, they say. They've lost their freedom if they can't hunt werewolves and zombies for fun. They never should've re-elected Mayor Wells.

It gets so bad that zombie won't leave their house, keeping their children inside out of fear. No friends, no hanging out or going to work, not even school.

It didn't bode well with Eliza.

Everyday is wasted because she's locked in her room. The wolves are out in the woods, afraid, being hunted, and no one is helping them. It's enough cause to have her locking her room door and pulling up her bedroom window, slipping out and climbing down the tree in her backyard. The Zombie Patrol is stationed at the main gate, but the fence between Zombietown and the Forbidden Forest is still broken.

She runs through the dark forest. It's shorter to get to the den from Zombietown than from Seabrook, or maybe it just feels shorter because Zombietown is so much closer to the woods. Either way, she gets there in record time, slowing down until she's walking over the rocks blocking the entrance.

She manages one step forward, before an arm wraps around her middle and another around her neck. A big, clammy hand covers her mouth, muffling her scream. The arm choked her, the other strangling her middle and lifting her in the air.

Eliza screams and kicks, scratching at her captor wherever she can because she refuses to go down like this—sneaking out in the dead of night, where no one will know she's missing until it's too late. She's kicking and screaming but they bend her so her legs kick at nothing but the air.

Another person materializes and grabs her legs. She keeps kicking, keeps struggling, but they're bigger and stronger than her. Then a third shows up, pale face illuminated by the light of the full moon. Something glints in the light and she freezes, her scream getting caught in her through at the sight of the knife.

'Nonononono.'

"You monsters think you can run this town," he sneers.

She shakes her head, and the man grabs her by her jaw, forcing her head straight. "I don't recall asking you nothing," he spits. "I oughta cut that pretty little tongue'o'yours right outta your mouth."

She's never been so petrified in her life. Her eyes follow the edge of the blade, floating dangerously close to her face. Briefly, she thinks of Wyatt. His claw marks all over the bathroom. How long had he struggled? What horrors did he face before he was gone, probably mercy killed somewhere and left to rot, alone.

In the distance, a high howl shakes the night, too far to be from any of the wolves in the den. It's enough to shake up the men holding her, to set her on edge, even though she doesn't know why.

"The hell was that?" the one behind her mutters.

Voices drift up from the den. The two men in front of her turn in time for a low growl, before a wolf pounces. It's all a blur, one wolf versus three or more monster hunters. Eliza gets thrown to the ground, gasping for breath in the dirt. She's sure more wolves come from the den. But the next thing she's registering is Willa pulling her to her feet while another wolf cuts the binds on her legs.

"Eliza," Willa breathes. "What are you—"

"I—" she wheezes, her voice raw from the arm that had choked her. She's sure she's even brushing on her throat, her stomach, everywhere those monsters had held her down.

She can't talk, and Willa frowns, her brows drawn together. She wraps Eliza in a hug instead, holding her close, but gently. "It's okay," she tells her. "We got you."

Eliza sighs, closing her eyes and letting her friend hold her. It only lasts another minute, before Willa is pulling back, her demeanor turning serious.

"That was Wyatt. His howl." she says. "He's out there and he's—he's hurt."

"We have to get to him," Eliza whispers.

"No. If he's out there, then the other are too. They need their alpha. No one else can get hurt."

Eliza takes a moment to observe their surroundings, where the wolves are slowly retreating back to the den, and the men who had been holding her are now gone, the only sign they had even been there being the rope and knife at Eliza's feet.

"I'm coming with you," Eliza says, her voice barely even there. Willa opens her mouth to protest, but Eliza adds, You'll need backup. I can call Addison. She'll send the Zombie Patrol."

Willa scoffs. Both of them know that there's a 50/50 chance that they'll even get help, but neither say anything.

"Let's go then," Willa says, already walking. "We need to get there before those men do."

…but i will wait for you (always)

They get there too late.

The building on the edge of the woods is surrounding with cans and cruisers, blinding white lights filling the night sky. Officers stand, guns pointed at the building while others are going in or coming up, escorting out humans in handcuffs.

There are ambulances, where Willa can recognize some of the missing members of her pack getting medical attention. Voices blend together, cracklings conversations coming through walkie talkies. There are even news reporters.

"Holy shit," Eliza whispers.

"I-I can't find his scent," Willa whispers. She's moving, speed walking through the crowd of emergency responders. "Wyatt! Wyatt!"

The lights, the shouting, the people. All of it is overwhelming. Eliza can barely breath, blinding lights flashing across her eyes. She walks, slow and steady, squinting in the light, following Willa. "Wyatt!" she cries.

There are wolves in ambulances, paramedics bandaging them up, while others are with Zombie Patrol. There's no sign of Wyatt anywhere. But Eliza's eyes land on several stretchers, with white sheets and belts covering what can only be bodies.

She refuses to believe he's there, under one of those sheets, off to the coroner's or where they take dead werewolves. He has to be okay.

"Wyatt!" she shouts.

"Willa!"

Eliza turns, seeing Wynter running towards her and Willa. Willa holds Wynter's face in her hands, whispering to her, but Eliza stands back, straining her eyes to find Wyatt. She smiles at the sight of the two wolves embracing each other, but a bitter taste fills her mouth. Where was Wyatt?

Like an answer to her prayer, another wolf runs toward them. Eliza's heart stop, and so does Willa, pulling away from Wynter, standing directly in front of her brother.

Relief floods her. Her feet remain glued in spot, eyes welling with tears as the siblings hug in front of her. Then…she swears he's looking at her, over Willa's shoulder. He slowly pulls away from her, walking—no, limping—to Eliza.

"Eliza," he whispers, his voice rough and raw.

A sob breaks from her throat and she throws her arms around his neck, pulling him down close. "Oh my Z," she chokes. "Wyatt."

His arms wrap around her back stiffly. She cries, harsh, broken sobs into his shoulder. She pulls back a second later, staring at him through watery eyes. She can't believe he's here, he's actually in front of her. It's been two weeks but it feels like a lifetime. He's bruised and bloody and dirty, scared skin red and black all over his face and arms. His shirt is torn everywhere, hanging loosely off his thinning frame.

He looks awful. But he's still Wyatt, white bangs and slight smirk, despite being so injured and pained.

"You look terrible," she says. She notices the downturn of his brows at the sound of her barely there voice, but he doesn't say anything about it.

"I feel terrible," he agrees. He turns his head slowly to his sister and asks, "Can we go home now?"

"Of course," Willa says. "You've been missed." She pauses, glancing around, then saying louder, "Wolves! You all have been missed. Let's go back to the den."

Eliza's sure the chief hears, and starts to protest, but Willa is already moving, arm around Wynter, helping her walk. So Eliza ignores the humans too, slowly wrapping an arm around Wyatt.

He looks at her with question in his eyes and she just glares, muttering, "Shut up. Don't scare me like that again."

"I won't," he whispers. He presses his lips to the top of her head as they start walking, muttering, "Promise."