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Warning: Non-graphic mention of rape

Darkness surrounds her.

Even as she feels her eyes opening, no sight comes to her. For a moment, she fears she has gone blind as she holds her hand out in front of her, nothing but darkness meeting her. No light, no reflections, no shadows. Nothing.

The dark room is mostly silent. Her slightly uneven breaths are loud in her ears, along with the constant sound of water dripping, echoing off the walls and reverberating in her ears. Her body trembles with a pang of discomfort, causing her to remember what happened before she succumbed to the darkness.

Bea peels her aching back from the cold, hard ground beneath her. A harsh pounding thrums in her head, and she can feel pain radiating from her left shoulder.

Her mind recalls Aiden showing up at the Stilinski household, nearly killing her by wrapping his fingers around her neck in a death-like grip. Bea rubs her neck gently, wincing when the gesture sends a sting through her skin.

She remembers being dragged up to Derek's loft by Aiden, Ethan meeting them there with Ms. Blake trapped in his embrace. The twins were using them as bait for Derek.

Another tremble shakes her body as she recalls the unimaginable agony she felt from being bitten by Aiden and feeling her friends' electrocution simultaneously. Her veins still feel as though electricity is still running through them.

The girl starts to wonder how she ended up here, wherever here is. She wonders if her friends know she is stranded. Or if the Sheriff is aware of her absence.

Stiles.

Her bones creak in protest as she attempts to push herself up from the ground, wobbling a few steps before she regains her balance. She stretches her arms out in front of her as she beings to walk, eventually finding the smooth surface of a wall, seemingly made out of cement.

Nearly five minutes tick by until Bea's hands touch something other than cement, wrapping around the cool metal shape of a doorknob. As she explores the door, she can feel the left side is lined with a column of locks leading to the knob at the bottom. She replaces her hand on the knob, the ring on her left, middle finger sending a tink through the room as she struggles to open the door.

It remains closed as she concludes that it is locked.

Her hands pound against the door as her sore throat yells for help. "Hello? Somebody, help me!" she shouts, her voice hoarse from the lack of speaking as her hands sting with the continuous impact with the door.

Minutes go by as she continues calling for help with no answer. Her throat is scratchy with her cries, and she can only guess her palms are a bright red, maybe even bruising by now. She has nearly lost her patience enough to kick the door when she hears something behind her, halting her movements all together.

A whimper.

Turning around slowly, Bea leans her back against the door as she tries to keep herself pinned to the wall in an effort to keep away from whatever could be lingering in this room with her. "Hello?" she asks hesitantly, her voice shaking as she looks out into the darkness.

Another whimper sounds from somewhere in the room, but it echoes off the walls, making it impossible to determine which direction it had come from.

"Hello? Who's there?" Bea reiterates, pressing herself farther into the wall. Her body shakes with fear at the thought of what could be trapped in here with her. With her recent knowledge of werewolves' existence, she does not want to imagine what other creatures could be lurking the earth.

"Help me. Please, help me," a younger, slightly familiar female voice pleads into the dark expanse between them, sobs escaping their lips. A small breath escapes Bea, relieved whatever is in here with her appears to be human—or half human.

"Sweetie, I don't know where you are," Bea responds honestly, the girl's cries echoing off the walls. "Everything is echoing."

"Please, someone. Please, help me!" the girl continues, ignoring Bea's words as she continues to choke on sobs.

"Honey, can you tell me your name?" Bea tries again, hoping her calm voice will incite a response out of this mysterious girl.

"Someone! Please, help me!" the girl screams this time, her shrill voice surprising Bea as she jumps backward, not having realized she'd been creeping further into the room. She bangs her head against the steel door, causing mumbled curses to leave her lips.

"Son of a—"

The redhead is cut off when the door begins to shake, sounding like the locks are being unhinged. However, Bea does not have a chance to move out of the way before the door bursts open, hitting the girl in the back and sending her flying to the hard ground.

A groan leaves Bea's lips as her head harshly smacks against the cement floor, only worsening the pounding in her head. Her vision is blurry as she looks around the now-illuminated room, a single, dim lightbulb hanging from the center of the ceiling, reminding her of an interrogation room.

Bea's breath hitches as her eyes observe the brick walls of the square room, something very familiar about them. The lightbulb hanging from the ceiling swings slightly from the breeze created by the door swinging open, creating strange shadows on the walls.

Even with her blurry vision, Bea spots a small cot in the left corner of the room, a small girl with messy, curly, red hair sitting on it, chains clasped around her ankles.

Tears stream down the girl's pale face as she fearfully looks up at the large, brooding man before her, his five o'clock shadow casting a more intimidating aura to him. His eyes are bloodshot, and Bea can smell the alcohol from here. His greasy, brown hair sits on his large head like a bird's nest, and she wonders when he last took a shower.

Her eyes fall down to the little girl's face once more, taking in the pink, silk nightgown that adorns her small body. Grass stains litter her feet and ankles, dirt stuck to the underside of her feet. Her legs are slightly scraped up as if she had been running through a thick brush in the woods. And suddenly, Bea realizes why she looks familiar.

It is her.

The eleven-year-old Bea pushes herself further into the brick corner as the man Bea recognizes as Gavin closes in on her, a beer bottle clutched in his left hand, his golden wedding band glinting in the light from the single lightbulb.

The younger Bea lets out a strangled sob, tears pouring down her small, flushed cheeks as she looks away from the man. Gavin hates it when people do not make eye contact with him.

He throws the beer bottle at the brick wall, just a few inches above the small girl's head. The small eleven-year-old lets out a scream as a few shards of glass cut up her arms, one scraping the side of her face right next to her ear. It left a faint scar, and the older Bea brings a shaking hand up to her right ear, feeling the raised skin right next to it.

It is a struggle to get up as Gavin corners her younger self, but Bea manages, wobbling more than she had before. With all the strength she has left, Bea runs full force at the man, hoping to run into his side and tackle him down. However, surprise spreads through her as it does not go according to plan.

She falls right through his body, hitting the ground once again. Bea sticks her hands out in front of her, keeping her head from hitting the ground once more. She flips herself onto her back, watching as the older man gets onto the cot with her younger self, the girl screaming for help. But the older Bea knows that it will not come.

Not for two whole months.

Bea lays there, crying as she relives the first time she was ever raped, and it certainly was not the last time, either.

She closes her eyes, desperately attempting to push the images out of her head. Bea tries to focus on something else as her younger screams fill her ears. And a spastic boy with moles littering the side of his face pops into her mind.

As soon as his face flashes behind her closed eyes, it is almost like a switch has been turned off. She no longer hears her younger self's screams. She does not hear the sound of Gavin grunting like a disgusting pig. She does not hear anything...

...besides another person's breath behind her.

Quickly, Bea's eyes snap open as she whips her head around to face the lingering presence with her now. She takes notice of the turquoise walls that surround her, various sketches and paintings on canvas hung up.

A woman with pale skin and dark, short hair stares back down at Bea, her brown eyes so familiar and filled with such love that Bea has not seen in years.

"Mom?"

//

Stiles is not expecting what he sees when he bursts into Bea's hospital room.

He makes it to the hospital in record time from the other side of town. Stiles is not even sure if his driver door is shut all the way as he races in through the double doors of the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, getting soaked from head to toe by the rain.

The boy's wet sneakers squeak against the tiles of the hallway floors as he pushes passed several bystanders and doctors, going far too fast to acknowledge the dirty stares he receives. He mumbles insincere apologies under his breath, opting for the stairs rather than wait for the elevator.

Finally, he arrives at the third floor, several people jumping at the abrupt opening of the door to the stairwell. Stiles pays them no mind as his eyes frantically search the halls, locking in on the D-Wing. A little farther down, he can spot Scott sitting in one of the cushioned chairs right outside of Bea's room.

Scott can hear Stiles before the Stilinski boy reaches him, causing the werewolf to look up at the boy rushing at full speed toward him. He stands up, amusement in his eyes as he watches Stiles slides to a stop right in front of him.

"Is she okay?" Stiles questions frantically, taking sideways glance at Bea's hospital room door, the small window not giving him a clear shot of Bea's bed.

"She's okay, but Stiles, there's something you should—" Scott starts, only to be cut off by his best friend as the boy starts walking toward the door.

"Oh, good. I was flipping out. I'm gonna go see her."

"But, Stiles—"

The Stilinski boy does not listen to his best friend as he opens the door to Bea's room, walking inside, and expecting to see Bea's smiling face as he walks in. However, he is highly disappointed when he sees her lying down, staring blankly at the white, popcorn ceiling.

Sheriff Stilinski stands next to Bea's bed, Melissa McCall showing him a clipboard with papers attached to it. The two adults turn toward the door as it opens, frowns evident on their faces as they spot the teenager at the door. Obviously, Scott failed at his job to keep the teenager out.

"What happened? What's wrong with her?" Stiles questions as he walks further into the room, standing at the foot of her bed. He does not think he has ever seen Bea with such a blank countenance. Not even in econ. "You said she was awake."

"She was," Noah tells his son, a sigh falling from his lips. "But she fell into some kind of...comatose. They don't know what happened."

Stiles looks from his father back to Bea's pale face. She has not blinked once since he entered the room, and she does not look like she is going to any time soon. "How long is she going to be like that?" Stiles asks, taking a seat in the plastic chair by the redhead's bed, running a hand through his wet hair that has fallen down on his forehead.

"They don't know. They said it was up to her," Melissa states, tucking the clipboard under her tan arm. She gives Stiles a sympathetic stare, wishing she could give a better answer.

The younger Stilinski lets out a sigh, clasping his hands together and resting his elbows on his knees. He places his chin on top of his clasped hands, his foot tapping against the ground anxiously.

He has decided he is not leaving until she wakes up.

//

This is impossible.

Bea stares at her mother through wide, glossy eyes as if she has seen a ghost before her. She might as well have, considering her mother has been dead for the better part of five years.

"Hi, sweetheart," her mother greets in a kind voice, putting her small hand on Bea's uninjured shoulder. The dark-haired woman smiles down at her daughter warmly, sending a chill down the redhead's spine.

"Wh-what are you doing here? Where are we?" Bea questions frantically, standing up to face her mother chest to chest.

"Look around, Beatrice. Doesn't anything look familiar to you?" Katy Knight asks the younger girl, gesturing around the bedroom as she speaks.

Bea glances around the room, most of the sketches very familiar to her wandering eyes. She spots the familiar bedspread, white ruffles all over. The blue and white pillows match perfectly with the color of the walls, and Bea realizes exactly where she is.

She is standing in her old bedroom.

The girl glances up at the beautiful crystal chandelier that was already placed in the Victorian house when the Knight's moved in when Bea was five. Katy immediately knew that this room would be Bea's. There was no doubt in her mind the little girl would grow up to love it.

And Bea did.

At night, she would stare up at the chandelier, admiring the way the moonlight would stream through her window, reflecting off the crystals in the most beautiful way, casting refractions onto the walls. Several sketches on the same walls replicate what it used to look like.

Bea turns to her mother, her eyebrows knitted in confusion. "Why am I here, Mom?" she questions her mother.

"This was the last place that we ever talked," Katy answers, taking a seat on the edge of Bea's bed. The comforter wrinkles beneath the older woman, running the perfect smoothness of it. "Do you remember that?"

The younger Knight nods, a small smile painted upon her lips. "Yeah. It was the night you and Dad left for San Diego. The place you got into the car accident," Bea explains, closing her eyes as she remembers her eleven-year-old self receiving the news of her parents' passing.

Katy smiles sadly at the memory, though Bea notices something in her eyes. Something that tells Bea there's more to the story than she knows. Katy runs her hand across the silk pillow that decorates Bea's old bed, looking up at her daughter. "Do you remember what I told you, Beatrice?"

Bea wracks her mind for the conversation, remembering it so vividly. Throughout these years, she has held on to every word of the last conversation she ever shared with her mother. "You told me that no matter what ever happens, you will always be with me. That I would always have you to count on."

"That's right. That's exactly what I told you, Bea."

"But that didn't pan out exactly how you planned, did it, Mom? You and Dad died three days later, leaving me completely and utterly alone in this world. Grandma Knight died a few months earlier, your side of the family wanted nothing to do with me. I was alone," Bea recalls, tears collecting in her eyes.

Katy stands from her spot on the bed, walking over to stand before her daughter. She places her dainty hands on the shorter girl's shoulders, being careful to avoid Bea's bite. "I'm always with you, baby girl. I've never left. You just have to let me in every once and a while," the older woman comforts, smiling at the broken girl before her.

"I've missed you so much, Mom," Bea cries, wrapping her arms around her mother's torso. She forgot how good it felt to be in her mother's arms; the comfort of a mother's touch. Katy wraps her own arms around the girl's shoulders, resting her cheek against the girl's red hair.

"I've missed you, too, baby girl. But I've been watching you. All the time, I'm looking down on you. You know that? I haven't missed a single thing," she informs, pulling back to look into the girl's sapphire eyes.

"You haven't?" Bea asks quietly, looking at her mother with raised eyebrows.

"No, I haven't."

"So, you know about the supernatural? You know about me getting bitten?"

Once again, the mother smiles sadly at her daughter. "Unfortunately, I have known about the supernatural far longer than you would probably believe."

Bea's eyebrows crease as she backs away from her mother, caution evident in her steps. "What do you mean?"

The older woman sighs, walking around the room as her eyes glance over the many sketches and paintings her daughter created over the years of living in this house, having had such amazing talent for such a young girl.

"That Stiles boy is very clever, you know? It took me years to discover what I was. It took him only a few minutes to find out what you are. Well, part of what you are," Katy starts, turning around to look at her daughter again.

"So, he was right? I am an empath?" Bea questions, earning a nod in response.

"Yes, just like me. But that's not the only thing you are, sweetheart. You are so much more than you realize."

"Mom, what are you talking about?"

Katy's nude heels click against the hardwood of Bea's bedroom floor, the woman pulling her light pink cardigan closer to her body over her floral dress. A normal outfit for Katherine Knight. "There are different kinds of supernatural blood that run through our family, Bea. Your father, me my mother. It's very rare when someone has more than one kind of dominant supernatural blood in them. You are one of those very rare people."

Bea's eyes widen slightly, her jaw dropping at this new information. "Wha—so, I'm like, I'm more than just an empath."

Her mother nods solemnly. "Yes, Bea. In your kind of situation, there is always one bloodline that is more dominant than the others. You can still experience the powers of the other ones, but it's almost like they're dormant compared to the other ones. Unless..."

The older woman's eyes trail to Bea's injured shoulder pointedly, causing the pieces to fit together in Bea's mind. "Unless you get bitten," Bea finishes, her hand coming up to rub the injury gently.

A small smile graces Katy's lips. "Correct. And now that you've been bitten, you're going to experience every supernatural creature that is in your blood. It's going to be hard at first, but I know you can do it, baby girl."

"Well, what else am I?" Bea questions, confusion flooding her veins at all the new information being thrown at her in such a short amount of time.

"That's for you to figure out, Bea."

The woman starts fading away, causing panic to rise through Bea's body. Her eyes widen as she rushes toward the woman she desperately misses, wrapping her arms around her disappearing figure.

"No! Mom, don't leave!" Bea pleads, tears in her eyes as she begs for her mother to stay with her. She just got her back, and she does not want to let go again.

"I have to go, sweetheart. Talk to Dr. Deaton. He'll tell you. You'll see me again, I promise," Katy assures to her daughter, placing a kiss to her forehead before her figure completely disappears, leaving Bea alone in her childhood bedroom.

All alone.

//

A loud gasp fills the room.

Her dry eyes open to a white, popcorn ceiling glaring back at her as she lies back on her hospital bed, the loud beeping of the EKG machine deafening in her left ear. Bea's lungs burn as if they have been deprived of air for years, and she greedily sucks air into them.

The fabric of the hospital gown and blanket cause her skin to itch everywhere, wishing she could tear the clothes from her body. She blinks the bleariness out of her eyes, her corneas dry and irritated. A groan leaves her lips as she turns her head, awakening her stiff neck.

Despite the chill temperature of the room, a warmth envelops her right hand, and her eyes investigate the large hand cover her own, its long, skinny fingers tucked under her palm. She follows the arm up to the body, an amused smile painted on her lips as she spots a blurry Stiles leaned back in a plastic chair, his head lolled to one side. His neck is bent at an awkward angle, and Bea knows that it is going to be very stiff when he wakes up.

She moves her hand, shaking his in the process. He only slightly stirs, making Bea roll her eyes. She softly calls his name, her voice raspy and hoarse from not talking in who knows how long. He still does not wake. Bea clears her throat despite the pain, calling his name louder and jerking the arm attached to the hand in her grasp, and finally, his eyes snap open in surprise.

Stiles blinks the drowsiness from his whiskey eyes, darting them around the brightly lit hospital room. Eventually, his gaze rests on her, and Bea watches the wheels turn in his mind for the few seconds it takes him to fully realize she is awake.

"Hi," she whispers to him, breaking the silence that had settled between them. And almost like a trance is broken, Stiles shoots up from his seat, carefully wrapping his arms around the small girl. Bea smiles, returning his embrace with her skinny arms, breathing in the scent of spearmint he always carries with an underlying hint of fresh rain.

"Thank Jesus Christ that you're okay," Stiles mumbles into her hair before pulling away, sitting on the edge of the seat as he grips her right hand in both of his. "I was going out of my mind worrying about you."

She feigns a look of astonishment, bringing her free hand to her chest. "Stiles Stilinski, worried about me?" Bea sarcastically gasps, causing the boy to roll his eyes with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. She smiles at him, tilting her head slightly as she asks, "How long was I out?"

"About four days. But you haven't missed anything, really. Derek left to be by himself for a while, and we found out why his eyes are blue. Other than that, there haven't been any more sacrifices," Stiles explains. He reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing her glasses and putting them on her face for her. She squeezes his hand back in gratitude.

"Good. We've had enough death to last us a lifetime. How's Boyd? Is he okay?" she questions obliviously, the most innocent of looks upon her pale face, causing a solemn expression to fall over Stiles'. The smile instantly disappears from Bea's lips. "What's wrong?"

"Boyd is gone, Bea. He's dead," he states softly, his heart dropping at sadness that overtakes her countenance.

Tears sting the back of her eyes as she shakes her head in disbelief. "W-what do you mean? How—what happened?"

"After you passed out, the twins held Derek's arms up with his claws, and Kali threw Boyd's body onto them. They had Derek kill him to make a point and to further incentivize Derek to joint he alphas."

While Bea may not have been close with Boyd, he was still an acquaintance. He still protected her despite her practically being a stranger. She still cared for him, and now he's dead. Another one gone.

After several minutes, Stiles ventures, "So, how do you feel? Do you feel any...different?" His eyes stare pointedly at her left shoulder, bringing Bea from her thoughts and to the reason why she is in the hospital.

Her eyes widen as the thought had completely slipped her mind, immediately trying to pull her gown to the side to see the damage. "Did it heal? Am I a werewolf? What's happening to me?" she fires out, her heart rate picking up slightly.

Stiles rubs the back of her hand in an attempt to calm her down. "Hey, hey, it's okay. No, the bite didn't heal. It's still there. We have no idea what's happening to you, but you haven't been bleeding any black blood. We think you're immune, just like Lydia," he explains, and Bea relaxes back into her pillows.

But then she remembers the conversation with her mother.

"Stiles, there's something very important I have to tell you, and you have to promise you won't think I'm crazy," Bea tells him, earning a humorless chuckle from the boy.

"Bea, there is nothing you can say to me that will make you sound crazy. Have you seen our lives lately?"

"Stiles, I saw—"

The door to her hospital room opens, revealing Melissa with a wide smile on her face, the Sheriff right behind her. Though she puts on a smile for the two adults, she mentally sighs at the lost opportunity to discuss with Stiles her true supernatural history.

She will just have to tell him later.