Chapter 73

Silver groaned softly as consciousness dragged him back, the first thing he registering being the light – too bright, too sharp. A thin sliver of sun cut through the curtains and landed straight across his eyes, making him flinch and turn his head away with a low hiss.

The room felt familiar in a quiet, grounding way. Posters on the walls. A half – made bed. A desk cluttered with school papers and old lacrosse gear.

Scott’s room.

Silver looked down at himself. His torso was wrapped in clean bandages beneath his shirt, snug and careful. Then he lifted his hand.

His left hand was completely bandaged, palm and fingers wrapped thickly, the white gauze stark against his skin. He flexed his fingers experimentally. It pulled, tight and sore, but it moved.

His hand dropped back to the mattress.

The sunlight shifted slightly as a cloud passed, dimming the room. Silver leaned back against the headboard, breathing through the ache.

That’s when the door creaked open.

“Hey,” Scott said softly, stepping inside with a glass of water and a small pile of folded bandages. “You awake, or just pretending?”

Silver cracked one eye open. “Undecided.”

Scott huffed a quiet laugh and crossed the room, setting the glass on the nightstand. “Here. Sip.”

Silver obeyed, wincing slightly as he shifted. Only then did he really take stock of himself. His left hand was wrapped thickly in gauze, fingers stiff. When he lifted it, the movement sent a sharp reminder through his arm. He frowned, then slowly reached up to his face.

Bandages.

Not just around his eye – down his cheek, covering more of the left side of his face than he expected. The skin beneath felt tight and tender.

“…What happened to me?” he asked quietly.

Scott hesitated, then pulled the chair closer and sat, resting his forearms on his knees. The room was quiet except for the muted sounds of the house waking up.

Scott’s jaw tightened. “Ren, Stiles, and Lydia found you on the floor. You were unconscious. Your face was – ” He stopped, then corrected himself gently. “It was turning red. Like it was reacting to something. Blistering. My mom said it looked like a burn, but not any kind she’d seen before.”

Silver swallowed. “Great.”

“But,” Scott said quickly, lifting his head to meet Silver’s eyes, “my mom checked you over right away. She said it should heal fine. No permanent damage. The skin just reacted… aggressively.”

Silver let out a slow breath, tension easing just a fraction. He leaned back against the pillows, careful not to shift the bandages that wrapped from his temple down across his cheek.

Scott reached for Silver’s left hand, moving gently, adjusting the bandage where it had loosened. His touch was careful, familiar. “She looked at this too,” he continued. “Your hand was really red. Blistered. Same thing as your face.”

Silver watched him, jaw tight.

“I know you, Silver,” Scott said quietly. “I know you pretty well.” He paused, then added, softer, “And I don’t know why you didn’t tell me.”

Scott’s thumb stilled against the gauze. “Is it connected to your headaches?” he asked. “Or… anything you’ve been seeing?” His voice lowered. “I know what Valack said to you.”

At the name, something cold twisted in Silver’s chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Scott asked quietly.

Silver stared at the wall, jaw tight. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable, before he finally shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said again, sharper this time. “Maybe Valack’s right. Or maybe he’s completely insane, because – ” He cut himself off with a short, humorless laugh. “Scott, the man drilled a hole into his own head. And I don’t know if you realize this, but I only have one good eye.”

The words came out harsher than he meant. He felt it the second they left his mouth.

Scott flinched – not much, but enough.

Silver exhaled hard, frustration boiling over. “I’m allowed to be freaked out, okay? Jesus. Everyone keeps acting like this is happening to everyone, and it’s not. It’s happening to me.”

He swung his legs off the bed, ignoring the way his head throbbed when he moved. His left hand – still wrapped and tender – ached as he pushed himself upright.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he continued, voice rising despite himself. “I didn’t ask to see things. I didn’t asked to be covered in bandages all the time.”

Scott stood. “Silver – “

Silver turned away before Scott could finish, pacing the short length of the room. His chest felt too tight, breath coming faster now. He stopped in front of Scott’s dresser, yanking open the top drawer.

“Where did I put them?” he muttered, rummaging with his good hand. “I left them here, I know I did – “

“Silver, don’t – ” Scott said sharply.

Too late.

Silver’s fingers brushed something smooth – sunglasses – and just as he was about to grab them, Scott stepped forward and shoved the drawer closed with a solid snap.

Silver froze.

They stared at each other.

“What was that?” Silver asked, anger flashing hot and sudden. “Why are you slamming drawers on me now?”

Scott’s jaw tightened. “Because you shouldn’t be digging around in there.”

“That’s not an answer,” Silver shot back. “I was just looking for my glasses.”

“I know,” Scott said, too quickly.

The tension snapped tight between them.

Silver ran a hand through his hair, then immediately winced when it pulled at the bandages on his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, but the apology came out rough, unfinished. “I’m not trying to yell at you. I just – ” He swallowed. “I’m scared, Scott. And I hate that I’m scared.”

Silver folded forward suddenly, the fight draining out of him all at once, and Scott caught him without hesitation. Silver’s forehead pressed into Scott’s shoulder, his hands clutching at the fabric of Scott’s shirt as the tears finally came.

Scott’s arms wrapped around him tight, protective, like he could physically hold the fear back. His own eyes burned as he pressed his cheek to Silver’s hair.

Scott felt his own tears spill over. He hated this – hated seeing Silver like this, hated that he couldn’t fix it..

Scott shifted just enough to press a gentle kiss to Silver’s forehead, careful of the bandages.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

🎭

Sunlight filtered in through the McCall’s living room windows, warm and ordinary in a way that felt almost wrong. The house was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator.

Silver sat curled on the couch, one knee pulled up, his left hand wrapped thickly in bandages and resting carefully against his leg. More bandages covered the left side of his face, running from his temple down across his cheek.

A knock sounded at the door.

Silver barely had time to stand before Lydia was already inside, Ren right behind her.

“Hey,” Lydia said softly, eyes scanning Silver from head to toe in a single, efficient glance.

Ren stopped short when he saw the bandages. “Jesus,” he muttered.

Lydia crossed the room immediately and sat beside him, careful not to jostle his arm. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a truck that reversed and did it again,” Silver said. “But Melissa says I’m fine. Medically.”

Ren leaned against the armchair, arms crossed, concern written all over his face. “And… everything else?”

Silver hesitated. “I’m not going back to Michael,” he said quietly.

That surprised them both.

“I mean it,” Silver continued. “I’m done with that. Whatever answers he had, they’re not worth what it does to me. I don’t want to keep putting everyone through that.”

Lydia’s eyes flicked to the coffee table, where a familiar book sat untouched. The Dread Doctors. “So the book is… what. A replacement?”

Silver followed her gaze. “Yeah.”

Ren straightened. “Silver – “

“I know,” Silver said quickly. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“Do you?” Ren asked. “Because from where I’m standing, that book has ‘terrible idea’ written all over it.”

Lydia didn’t argue right away. She studied him instead, voice quieter. “Why do you want to read it?”

Silver swallowed.”I know what it could do. I know Valack’s insane. I know it might make things worse.” He looked between them. “But something already started. I don’t think I get to pretend it didn’t.”

Lydia leaned her forehead briefly against his shoulder, careful of the bandages. “You’re stubborn.”

“You love that about me.”

She smiled faintly. “I love you. That’s different.”

Ren stepped in without asking, wrapping his arms around both of them in a loose, awkward hug that pressed them together anyway.

Ren pulled back just enough to look at Silver, eyes serious but tone still light. “For the record, I don’t love that you’re stubborn. I tolerate it. Aggressively.”

Silver let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

🎭

Everyone stood around the coffee table like it might bite. Copies of The Dread Doctors lay spread out, covers facing up, stark and unsettling. No one touched them.

Lydia folded her arms. “My mom’s book club usually has more wine.”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, and significantly fewer books that cause violent hallucinations.”

“That’s why Malia’s here,” Scott said, glancing at her.

Kira added, “So no one goes running into traffic?”

“Or worse,” Scott said.

Malia tilted her head. “Like what happened to Judy.”

A beat.

“Chapter fourteen,” Malia added.

Everyone stared at her.

Lydia exhaled slowly. “Maybe I should have my mother read it. She might remember a girl with a tail dropping from the ceiling and attacking half the police station.”

Stiles grimaced. “Big if this thing actually works.”

“It has to,” Lydia said, sharper now.

Scott frowned. “What does that mean?”

Lydia hesitated, then admitted, “I think I saw them during my surgery. When I look at the cover, it’s like…” She searched for the words.

Theo spoke up quietly, eyes on the book. “A memory trying to surface.”

Lydia nodded. “Yeah.”

Kira glanced between them. “Isn’t that exactly what Valack wanted when he wrote it?”

Lydia’s jaw set. “If they did something to me, I want to know what it was.”

Silence fell again.

Silver stood closest to the table, gaze fixed on the book like it was staring back at him. Ren shifted beside him, trying – unsuccessfully – to lighten the mood.

“So,” Ren said, clapping his hands once, “anyone want to establish a safe word before we all collectively lose our minds?”

No one laughed.

Ren sighed. “Worth a shot.”

Everyone had settled in, books open, the room lit low and quiet. Scott sat on the couch with Silver beside him, Lydia on his other side. Ren and Kira occupied the armchairs across from them.

“Anyone feel anything yet?” Scott asked.

“Bored,” Ren said, flipping a page.

“Tired,” Kira added with a sigh.

“Hungry,” Lydia muttered.

Theo glanced up from his book. “I think he meant the book.”

Scott leaned closer to Silver, lowering his voice. “You okay?”

Silver didn’t answer right away, eyes fixed on the page. Scott nudged him gently. Silver blinked, then nodded. “I’m fine.”

Kira marked her page and leaned back, closing her eyes. “I’m just resting,” she said when Ren glanced at her. She reached over and switched off the lamp.

Hours passed.

Eventually, everyone but Theo drifted off – Lydia curled in the armchair, Stiles sprawled on the floor with his head in Malia’s lap. Ren shifted so his legs rested across Kira’s. Silver had ended up pressed against Scott’s chest, Scott’s arms wrapped around him as they slept, the book forgotten between them.

🎭

Silver sat on the edge of the exam bed, paper crinkling beneath him as Melissa adjusted the light. The room smelled like antiseptic and something faintly metallic – sharp enough to make his stomach twist.

“Any dizziness?” she asked gently, checking the bandages along his cheek and down to his jaw.

“No,” Silver said.

Melissa nodded, lifting his wrapped left hand to inspect it. The skin beneath the gauze was still faintly red, but no longer angry. “This looks better than yesterday,” she said gently. “Whatever caused it isn’t active right now.”

Silver swallowed. His chest felt tight anyway.

She glanced up at him, her expression softening. “Hey,” Melissa said quietly. “I know this is scary. But you’re not alone in it.” She squeezed his fingers carefully. “I love you, okay? And I love how much Scott loves you. You matter. To both of us.”

Silver tried to answer – to say thank you, or I know –

The steady hum of the lights deepened, dropping into a low vibration that rattled behind his eyes. The white walls blurred at the edges, stretching, pulling away from him. Melissa’s voice slowed, warped, fading like it was coming through water.

“Silver?” she said – too far away.

But the room shifted.

The smell changed.

Sterile. Cold.

Voices echoed, layered and distant.

“He won’t survive the night without intervention.”

Silver’s breath caught. He wasn’t in the living room anymore.

He was small. Too small. The world loomed above him, edges soft and unfocused. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t cry.

Machines beeped steadily.

“We’re proposing an experimental oxygen treatment,” a voice said – calm, clinical. “Infused with colloidal silver. It may reduce inflammation. Increase lung function.”

“It’s not approved,” another voice added. “There are risks.”

A pause.

Silver felt a presence beside him – familiar, desperate.

His father.

“Do it,” Chris Argent said, voice tight. “If it gives him a chance – any chance – do it.”

There was movement. Gloves. Masks.

The lights flickered and the Dread Doctors appeared in front of the baby version of him. They injected a familiar substance into his IV. Silver heard the flatline of his heart monitor.

Silver felt the burn in his lungs, sharp and terrifying – then air, flooding in where there had been none. His chest spasmed. A thin, broken sound escaped him. The soundof a baby crying filled the room.

“He’s responding,” someone said. “Oxygen levels stabilizing.”

Another voice, lower.

“Successful.”

The pressure behind Silver’s eye spiked without warning – sharp, blinding, like something had been cranked too far, too fast.

He cried out, the sound tearing from his chest before he could stop it, and his knees buckled. Melissa barely caught him before he hit the floor, one arm wrapping around his shoulders as his body shook.

“Silver – hey, look at me,” she said urgently.

But the room was already slipping away.

A shrill burst of static flooded his head, layered with distorted voices, like a radio scanning channels too fast. His vision fractured, lights streaking, the edges of the room vibrating. He gasped, clawing for air, then suddenly shoved himself upright, panic driving him forward.

“I – I have to go,” he choked, already staggering toward the door.

“Silver, wait – !” Melissa followed, reaching for him, trying to slow him down. “You’re not okay – “

He didn’t hear her. The static was too loud.

Down the hall, Scott was already moving, urgency snapping into place. “Find Stiles and Lydia,” he said quickly to the others. “I’ll find my mom and Silver.”

They split without argument. Malia took one hallway at a run. Theo disappeared down another.

Then Malia stopped.

The air changed – heavy, metallic. A low, mechanical sound echoed faintly, just on the edge of hearing.

Breathing.

Not human.

And then – Scott gasping.

Malia spun and sprinted back the way she came.

She rounded the corner just as Silver and Melissa burst into the hall, Silver barely upright now, his face pale and slick with sweat.

“It’s here,” Malia said, breathless. “Scott – “

They didn’t stop running.

The elevator at the end of the corridor chimed softly as the doors slid open.

Inside a Dread Doctor stood motionless, one gloved hand lifted, Scott suspended off the ground by his throat. Scott’s feet kicked weakly, hands clawing at the grip around his neck, his face already turning red.

“Scott!” Melissa shouted.

Malia snarled and charged without hesitation.

The Doctor released Scott like he was nothing, tossing him aside. He hit the wall hard and slid to the floor, gasping. Malia slammed into the Doctor, swiping wildly, forcing it back just enough.

Silver didn’t hesitate.

He ran straight past them, dropping to his knees beside Scott and dragging him into the open elevator. “I’ve got you,” he said hoarsely, arms shaking as he pulled him upright. “Breathe – just breathe.”

Melissa was already there, snapping open a small device. “Scott, stay still.”

“What – what is that?” Scott rasped.

“A bronchodilator,” Melissa said calmly, despite the chaos. “It’ll work.”

She plunged it into his leg. Scott cried out, pain flaring – but then his chest expanded in a deep, ragged breath. Air rushed back in, harsh but real.

“Malia – now!” Silver yelled, looking back.

Malia stood her ground, trading blows with the Doctor. It caught her wrist mid – swipe, twisted, then slammed a fist into her chest. She staggered – but didn’t fall.

The Doctor’s hand closed around her throat.

Silver felt it before he thought it.

The pressure behind his eye surged again – but this time, it focused.

He stepped forward, voice cutting through the chaos. “Hey.”

The word landed like a hook.

The Doctor froze.

Slowly – unnaturally – it turned its head toward Silver.

For a split second, the static vanished. The air went still.

The Doctor’s grip loosened.

Malia tore free and stumbled back, coughing. Silver grabbed her arm and yanked her into the elevator just as the Doctor began to move again.

“Now!” he shouted.

Melissa slammed the button.

The doors slid shut as the Doctor raised its hand, striking the metal with a heavy blow that rocked the car. The elevator shuddered, lights flickering – then it began to descend.

They stood in silence, all of them breathing hard, the echo of impact still ringing in their ears.

Scott leaned back against the wall, exhausted, shaken. After a moment, he let out a rough breath.

“We never should’ve read that book.”

Silver stared at the closed elevator doors, his hand trembling where he’d touched them.