Fanfic: In Her Eyes [Teen Wolf]
Aug. 1st, 2012 03:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
argentum_lsTitle: In Her Eyes
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG
Summary: Scott sees the look in his mother's eyes and understands exactly what it means.
Notes: Reaction!fic. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
angst_bingo prompt: failure. Spoilers for 2x10.
The look on his mother’s face as she backed into the shadows of the jail cell communicated everything more clearly than any words she could have chosen. Her hands were over her mouth, holding back the screams that he knew would wake her up with nightmares for the rest of her life. He’d shown her his face—his other face—and she had backed away. Her “Scott, Scott, baby, are you okay?” vanished, and all he could see in her expression now was horror and fear as she saw his yellow eyes and the stranger he had become.
Scott felt his strength drain out of him, his shoulders slumping, his knees weakening. He cast his gaze down because he had nothing to offer her that would help. She had told him that women loved words, and he had none to offer her. No words, no assurances, not even a platitude (it’s not as bad as it looks). His hands were stained with blood. His shirt was soaked with blood from a wound that had already healed (how easy it was for that wound to heal while this new one ripped open wider and wider). He was a werewolf--he’d always be a werewolf—and his mother had finally seen him for what he really was: a failure of a son.
Everything he’d done had been to protect her, every assumption he hadn’t corrected (he never lied to her, even in those times when any other kid would Are you on drugs? / Right now? / Don’t you care that there’s a curfew? / Not really. / Are you okay? / I’m fine.), every late night and broken promise, and she’d finally seen why, and it (hadn’t been enough) (been too much.)
He could feel his world crashing down. All that was left in the rubble was a little boy who could no longer even pretend to be the son his mother had raised. She’d seen his face, and with that he had taken everything from her. Any illusion he’d been able to build, to maintain, to feed (that he was normal that his problems were hers to help solve that he could fulfill any of the dreams that she had for him) was gone now.
No parent dreamed of her child growing up to be a monster, and that wasn’t what she had raised. It wasn’t. (But it’s what he was) and she’d seen the truth. He had tried so hard to let her hang on to him even as he others worked to pull him away, and he’d failed.
He could rip the bars off the cell doors and force her to confront him, but he couldn’t do that to her. She had backed away, so all he could do was turn away, try to refocus. The other monsters were still out there and he has to stop (save) them and it wouldn’t matter because he had heard her pleading “No, no” and seen the look in her eyes.
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG
Summary: Scott sees the look in his mother's eyes and understands exactly what it means.
Notes: Reaction!fic. For
angst_bingo prompt: failure. Spoilers for 2x10.The look on his mother’s face as she backed into the shadows of the jail cell communicated everything more clearly than any words she could have chosen. Her hands were over her mouth, holding back the screams that he knew would wake her up with nightmares for the rest of her life. He’d shown her his face—his other face—and she had backed away. Her “Scott, Scott, baby, are you okay?” vanished, and all he could see in her expression now was horror and fear as she saw his yellow eyes and the stranger he had become.
Scott felt his strength drain out of him, his shoulders slumping, his knees weakening. He cast his gaze down because he had nothing to offer her that would help. She had told him that women loved words, and he had none to offer her. No words, no assurances, not even a platitude (it’s not as bad as it looks). His hands were stained with blood. His shirt was soaked with blood from a wound that had already healed (how easy it was for that wound to heal while this new one ripped open wider and wider). He was a werewolf--he’d always be a werewolf—and his mother had finally seen him for what he really was: a failure of a son.
Everything he’d done had been to protect her, every assumption he hadn’t corrected (he never lied to her, even in those times when any other kid would Are you on drugs? / Right now? / Don’t you care that there’s a curfew? / Not really. / Are you okay? / I’m fine.), every late night and broken promise, and she’d finally seen why, and it (hadn’t been enough) (been too much.)
He could feel his world crashing down. All that was left in the rubble was a little boy who could no longer even pretend to be the son his mother had raised. She’d seen his face, and with that he had taken everything from her. Any illusion he’d been able to build, to maintain, to feed (that he was normal that his problems were hers to help solve that he could fulfill any of the dreams that she had for him) was gone now.
No parent dreamed of her child growing up to be a monster, and that wasn’t what she had raised. It wasn’t. (But it’s what he was) and she’d seen the truth. He had tried so hard to let her hang on to him even as he others worked to pull him away, and he’d failed.
He could rip the bars off the cell doors and force her to confront him, but he couldn’t do that to her. She had backed away, so all he could do was turn away, try to refocus. The other monsters were still out there and he has to stop (save) them and it wouldn’t matter because he had heard her pleading “No, no” and seen the look in her eyes.
