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Slayer's Pack

Chapter Text

The bad seed, that’s what they told him. He was the bad seed, Tyler Summers. Black sheep of anywhere he happened to call home, no matter for how short of a time. Perhaps that was why he was the way he was now. Every set of adopted Parents, anyone who took him in, always ended up telling him it was a mistake, a thought that ran through his subconscious and knocked him down, stopping him from ever getting close to anyone. He was no good, and no matter what he done, it was never good enough. There was never a doubt in his mind that this was why he had never known love, or happiness. It was always an anxious thought, pressing on his mind and making him see the worst in people.

When he was informed of whom he was, the legacy that he was meant to uphold, the only thought that stuck was that his birth parents didn’t even want him. Once he knew who he was, he left his life behind, became a shadow. Protecting people without them knowing. He had had Watchers, though they had never been able to fill that emotional need of a parent, someone to offer direction. He had met his Birth Mother once, or more happened upon her. He had seen her disregard for helping innocent people, and before he had a chance to do something about it, The Powers that Be had stepped in and removed him from Los Angeles, saying that it was far too soon in the timeline for him to speak with her. It’s why he held resentment to the Powers. They had informed a Child that his Birth Mother who he had never known was in front of him, and then forbid him from speaking with her to protect a timeline they wanted changed. It didn’t make sense to him to be honest.

It was why now, 4 years later as he stood on the balcony of his New York Loft, a tumbler of Bourbon in hand, that he looked uneasy at the message he had been sent. He was never able to accept compliments, never able to see what he could bring except danger and destruction. He had redeemed some of his actions in the past few years, though was still paying the price, and that would be paid for years to come if not the rest of his life. He took it day by day, sometimes minute by minute never forgetting the damage that he had endured, and that which he had dealt.

He had come a long way in the last 4 years, though he felt that all of that was about to come crashing down. He looked over the Note in his hand with a sense of anxiety;

“Its Scott…. Get to Beacon Hills”