A/N: Wow I don't know how to thanks my betas, they're both so great : ) Sorry for the short lag in updates I plan to be back on track again now. Anywho I hope you guys enjoy this little fic, it's a bit sad, my poor shipper heart just had to add more pain to the mix I suppose, I am a horrible person sometimes lol. I hope you enjoy this little Berica snippet, I plan for happier ones in the future!
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or any associated characters. This is a work of pure fiction.
Summary: Finally free from the bank vault Boyd visits Erica house to properly mourn her. He misses her more than anything, even if he doesn't always show it on the outside.
Special thanks to AwesomeActress1001 and Sass-Bot for Betaing this story :)
A Piece of You by FlyingNymphLady
Boyd scaled the siding of the Reyes' home with a relaxed ease, the kind that only a supernatural being could obtain. Using his claws, he gently jimmied the window open and slipped inside, his feet landing on a pile of unwashed clothes.
So, this was Erica's home?
Boyd wasn't quite sure what he'd imagined her room would look like, but the silly posters on the wall and the empty laundry basket in the corner hadn't been part of it. Breathing in deeply, he caught her scent, a smell which lay thick across the room. Erica.
Approaching her bedside, Boyd was almost hesitant to touch her things, afraid she'd smell his scent on them later and seek revenge for his invasion. The notion was absurd, however. Erica would not be upset with Boyd; she wouldn't feel anything toward him at all.
Corpses weren't able to feel anything toward anyone.
Boyd inhaled again and let himself sink into Erica's comforter, her smell thrown into the air, covering him like a welcoming blanket. Boyd wanted to lay there forever; to him, Erica's smell was intoxicating, like an exotic perfume one only used on the rarest of occasions. Snuggling his face closer into the bedding, he felt his monstrous features regress as his wolf was calmed by the scent of its deceased companion.
We've made up our minds. We're leaving.
He'd been so stupid; of course they couldn't escape the curse of the bite. It didn't matter that they'd tried. Leaving Beacon Hills - or attempting to - had done nothing to prevent Erica's death. They thought they'd be safer with a different pack, farther away from the killings and the Alphas. They were wrong. The bite had gifted them life, but it had also taken away their chance of living. They were hunted. Tortured. And before it was over, Erica had been killed.
Boyd knew he shouldn't have blamed himself, but blame was a constant companion of his since early childhood, and a little more piled onto his shoulders had hardly felt like anything. Boyd should have told Erica to run when the Alpha pack had surrounded them. He should have fought them off to have given her a chance. She wouldn't have run, though - he knew her too well. She was like him: an outcast for the longest of times. She would have given her life in exchange for his in a heartbeat. She did give her life for mine, he thought.
The soft creaking of the bedroom door's hinges sent Boyd flying for the nearest hiding place, Erica's closet. He only dared to peek out from his hiding spot after he noticed the choked sobs of an older woman. Erica's mother, or so he presumed, stood in the middle of the hallway, her hand over her mouth as she attempted to hold back the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. A man appeared beside her with a worried look on his face as he pulled her into his arms.
"I- I came to make sure she wasn't having a-another sei-seizure," the woman cried out in a strangled voice. The man responded calmly, brushing her long blonde hair -Erica's long blonde hair.
"I know Betty, I know. She'll be home soon," he told his wife, before gently shutting the door and leading the woman back to their bedroom. Boyd waited a few moments before he heard the couple lay down in their own bed, and then he exited out the closet door.
She's never coming back. Boyd knew how quickly a family could be destroyed thanks to one defining moment in life. In his life, rather. He was supposed to have been looking out for her, just like he was supposed to have been looking out for Alicia.
Boyd returned to Erica's bed with a heavy weight burdening his chest. He sat down next to her pillows and opened the top drawer to her bedside table. Inside, he found a miscellaneous assortment of papers and stray bobby pins containing strands of hair that were too stubborn to leave their captured confines. Underneath all of them, Boyd pulled a small booklet out.
Opening it, he found a vast amount of sketches, with clippings of exotic creatures taped down next to them. Scanning over the scrawled penmanship, Boyd discovered this was Erica's diary/sketchbook. He envisioned her spending late nights awake, scratching down places she'd like to visit if she ever recovered well enough to travel. A pure fantasy on her part, at least before the bite had happened.
Boyd noticed one entry in particular: it was from shortly after Derek had first bitten and turned her. There wasn't much writing in this entry, just a short snippet describing the exhilaration of being a werewolf, of all her new abilities and senses. The part that caught Boyd's attention was the page aligned next to it, a beautiful butterfly with extraordinary wings filling the paper. Its body looked so lifelike, Boyd almost felt as if it would flutter out the window. The caption underneath it read:
'So this is what it feels like to be able to fly…'
Boyd traced the outline of the butterfly's wings thoughtfully before reaching for the top of the page, gently separating the sheet from its binding. He folded the paper with the greatest care before quietly stuffing both it and the book into his pocket. He stood and took one last look around the room, one last inhalation of his friend's scent, his mate's scent.
Jumping out the window was easy enough for the werewolf, the second story landing proving to be quite relaxed and smooth. He ran then; he ran straight for Derek's place. His wolf howled and whined again at the pain that washed over it with the separation of Erica's scent. The pressure of the booklet in his pocket against his body helped hold its cries at bay; however, a tiny bit of Erica still with him.
- End -