Hello everybody!

Here is it – your Veronica Mars/Teen Wolf cross-over. This story should be easily accessible to both fandoms without you getting lost, so I hope you'll give it a shot. You can treat the characters from the other fandom as OCs, since they'll pretty much bet introduced that way.

If you aren't familiar with one of these shows, you MUST watch them. They are both shot in noir style and include snarky teens doing rogue investigations. And banter. Lots of it. Even if you're not a fan of both shows, you should be able to follow this easily regardless, since it doesn't really touch the mythology of either show.

It takes place at the end of the Summer after Veronica and Logan's freshman year at Hearst, after she gets back from her first FBI internship, and corresponds with the Summer after senior year for the TW crew. It follows canon through 3.11 (ie- Derek is still an alpha), and Allison and Scott have gotten back together.

This story is a gift to my amazing beta, silverlining2k6, who introduced me to Teen Wolf a few weeks ago, only to stand helplessly by as I binge-watched the entire series and talked her to death about it.

Also, seeing as I'm writing this for my beta, I'm forging ahead with it beta-free. Please be kind about any little mistakes I happen to make - if there's something glaring, don't hesitate to PM me about it. I'm always happy to receive a PM.

Obviously, I don't own either of these shows, or I wouldn't be writing fanfic.

Without further ado...

Between his parents' vast estate and the windfall paid out from the double indemnity clause in his father's life insurance policy, Logan Echolls could afford almost anything that tickled his fancy. However, the only thing he truly coveted was another chance to make things right with Veronica – and that couldn't be bought – it had to be earned.

After her dad's arrest for evidence tampering and subsequent political loss, Veronica was having just as much trouble looking at herself as she was looking at Logan. She was adrift in an uncharacteristic sea of self-loathing and and the one thing she needed was an anchor.

Taking into account his recent, atomic lapses in judgment, Logan was looking less like the solid rock she longed to moor herself to, and more like a sand bar, ephemeral matter that shifted and changed with the tide. He wasn't stable. He was heroic, sure, but his reactions weren't predictable in a crises.

And Veronica needed predictable. She needed somebody like Piz, whose idea of living dangerously was to eat lobster without a bib. And since Logan loved Veronica more than he needed her, he backed off.

Just as he had all but numbed himself through a strict regiment of tequila and online gaming, fate intervened in the form of a Nick Cave serenade.

From the first day I saw her I knew she was the one
She stared in my eyes and smiled
For her lips were the color of the roses
That grew down the river, all bloody and wild

The phone rang continually without a break, rousing Logan from his half-slumber. With Dick touring the donkey show circuit in TJ, Parker never speaking to him again and Mac on a family camping trip upstate, there was only one other person who had his personal line...but she had all but declared their friendship dead, so he was sure it couldn't be her. Could it? Luck was never on his side, it was probably a wrong number.

When he knocked on my door and entered the room
My trembling subsided in his sure embrace
He would be my first man, and with a careful hand
He wiped at the tears that ran down my face

He wasn't feeling too inclined to walk the seven feet required to grab his phone from the other side of the couch, but the incessant ringing was beginning to give him a migraine. It was also depressing him, because Nick Cave was the musical equivalent of cutting. What the hell was he thinking when he chose this song for a ring tone? Probably that the love of his life wanted nothing to do with him and that every member of his family was either dead, repulsed by the idea of him, or too wrapped up in their own lives to give him a moment of their time.

"Fuck!"

The floor shifted slightly beneath Logan's unsteady feet, sending him reeling into the edge of the coffee table. A half-full bottle of Cuervo tipped on its side with a crash, propelling the amber liquid contained onto the face of the table, where it quickly dripped over the lip and onto the floor.

"Naturally."

They call me The Wild Rose
But my name was Eliza Day
Why they call me that I do not know
For my name was Eliza Day

Logan rolled his eyes at the morbid lyrics and swallowed the saliva pooling in the back of his throat. The acrid stench of hard liquor was the absolute last thing he wanted to come into contact with in his current state. His only solace was knowing that he wouldn't be the one cleaning up the mess. That's what housekeeping was for.

He lunged for his phone and violently pushed the answer button, then released a shuttering sigh at the quiet that greeted him before lifting the phone to his ear.

"Echolls 'House of Pain'."

"Logan?"

Rubbing the heel of his hand roughly over his left eye, Logan leaned into the closest wall for support.

At one point, the number displayed had been logged in his 'favorites' list, but not any more, not since the day Logan walked into the Mars Investigation office with bloodied fists and a white hot rage that he was sure he could never quell.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Mars?"

"I've known you since you were twelve, Logan, you can still call me Keith. I'm not your fifth grade gym teacher."

"I certainly hope not. My fifth grade gym teacher was a butch, Bulgarian lesbian who preferred to be addressed as Tren'or Stanka. Oh, how she used to tease me with those squat thrusts..."

"Can't blame you, son, a solid woman doing 'the burpee' is always something to behold."

Logan bit back a sad smile. Obviously, Veronica's father would choose now to be friendly, now that there was no chance of them ever becoming family. If irony were a woman, he would have fucked her hard and dumped her cold. Withholding his heart's desire while he was working his ass off for it, only to finally offer it at the one moment it mattered least, was a special brand of cruelty.

"Not that I'm not enjoying our little chat, but considering how Ronnie and I left things, I'm a little surprised to hear from you."

"Yeah..."

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line as Logan waited for a response. As the seconds ticked by, his anxiety began to rise.

Keith Mars, like his daughter, was cool under pressure and never at a loss for words. The only time he'd ever seen Veronica completely lose it was on the roof of the Neptune Grand after Beaver blew up the plane she thought her dad was on. The possibility of her father being gone wrecked her, but other than that, she knew how to keep her fears locked down when it counted.

Suddenly, the bottom dropped out of Logan's stomach and his vision blurred. "Keith? Veronica's not...please tell me she's not...oh God..."

Logan pressed his face into the wall and rutted his forehead into it in anguish.

"Logan – no! She's not...well, we don't know anything concrete yet. She's missing."

The sound of labored breathing on the other end of the line echoed his own. A strangled groan tore through the back of Logan's throat, breaking as he spoke. "Where was she Keith? Where was Veronica last?"

"Beacon Hills."

"Sounds fictional. Is it near Sunnydale, perhaps?" Logan couldn't help himself, though he was positive Keith would be stumped by this reference.

"What? No, it's a town in Northern California."

"This is really happening." Logan flipped his back against the wall and sank to his knees. "She's really missing..."

Saying it out loud didn't make it any easier to comprehend.

"It's been three days. The sheriff up there phoned this morning. Somebody called in to report a small blonde woman being attacked by an animal of some kind - maybe a mountain lion - they're not sure. When they got to the scene, they found her bag. That was how they ID'd her."

"That's all they found? Just her bag?"

"No, there was also some blood, but we don't know if it was hers or not yet. The thing is, if it were an animal attack, it would have just left her there after it had...after it was done. Or maybe it would have dragged her off. Either way, there would have been substantial evidence of some kind, a bloody trail or...parts."

A shiver ran down Logan's spine and his eyes drifted longingly to the felled bottle of tequila on the rug. "How much blood was on the ground?"

"There was a little blood, but nothing consistent with a violent attack or a death. I FedExed a sample of her DNA to the lab to have it cross-matched."

Logan's eyes shut tightly and all he could see was Veronica. His Veronica. Veronica laughing, running down the beach after she'd impishly splashed him...Veronica straddling his lap, face flushed with lust, breath heaving as she rode him hard to completion...Veronica combing her fingers through his hair to soothe him as he tried to fall asleep...

Veronica slumped on the ground, her straw-colored hair matted and covered with blood.

Logan banged the back of his skull against the wall hard. He needed to be clear-headed if he was going to find her. Sentimentality would not bring her home...and rest assured, he would bring her home to him.

He would bring her home to Piz.

"Did you call Piz?" Logan had to ask, but was dreading the answer anyway.

He heard Keith's mouth open and then pull in a hit of air. "I know things haven't always been...easy between us, Logan, but whenever Veronica has had a crisis, you were always the first one there, regardless of how it was between the two of you."

"I love her." It came out as a whisper, but there was a strength and a certainty behind his words that couldn't be denied.

"I know. And she loves you."

Logan chuckled bitterly and shook his head. "I know she's not always forthcoming with personal information, Keith, but I'm pretty sure that's not true. Not any more, at least, if she ever did. I haven't heard from her all Summer." He took a deep breath and forced the words from his lips like he was vomiting bile. "She loves Piz now, I guess. He's the sort of guy she deserves. A nice guy."

A full-bodied and genuine laugh rumbled through his earpiece. "Much to my chagrin, my darling daughter has never truly been interested in nice guys. Veronica likes a challenge. Stosh is a wonderful person – probably a much better man than either of us – and if I thought for a moment he could make her happy, I would encourage her to toss you aside like a five day old piece of fish – but he's a placeholder, just a way for her to catch her breath until she's ready to try to be with you again."

Logan's mouth fell open and silence gripped his throat. He was a jaded guy, with good reason. Having lived through a hundred shades of hell at a young age, it was nearly impossible for him to be shocked by anything. He refused to be shocked. It was much more manageable to have no expectations, because the only way to go was up. "You can't be serious..."

He could practically hear Keith rolling his eyes over the phone.

"Logan, I'm an old man, so you're going to have to trust me: I've seen this film before, and it's on a loop. I'd really like to see a happy ending some point soon."

"What's a happy ending?" Logan was joking, except that he also wasn't.

"When we find her, and I do mean when, Veronica will have a better appreciation for the things in her life that matter. You are one of those things. Hopefully, you'll both stop being so stubborn and work it out. Not just for my sake, but for the emotional safety of every man and woman of eligible dating age in the greater Neptune area."

"Pretty sure Piz would give that particular film a thumbs down...assuming his thumbs are opposable." Logan tugged his sleeves over his hands and buried his face into them.

Speculating like this, about his relationship with Veronica, was a perfect distraction. If he really took a moment to really think about his girl's blood all over the pavement of a random street in the middle of some podunk town they'd never heard of before, he would have several holes in his wall by now.

This was Keith's way of keeping Logan from going out of his mind, and it was much appreciated. He, more than anybody, knew what Logan was capable of when he had nothing to lose.

"Eh, he'll get over it, and if he doesn't, I don't really give a crap. My only concern is finding my daughter right now. He won't be much help with that."

"Do you want me to go with you, Keith?" He was praying the answer would be yes, because he was going to be there, regardless. It would all go down much more smoothly if his presence were officially sanctioned. "Or, you know, maybe Piz might be able to..."

"I find it's always handy in these situations to have a guy with you who knows how to throw a punch. I mean, if I needed a guy who could charm the socks off of people...well, I'd probably still have called you first."

Keith's confidence in him brought a smile to his face.

Logan looked around the suite and saw signs of Veronica everywhere, from the red, velvet throw pillows she brought over from her house to make his place seem 'more homey and less douchebaggy', to the oversized mason jars filled with various kinds of flour and sugar, the remnants of something she'd dubbed Snickerdoodlefest '07 (the result of a lost bet to Wallace). He couldn't even bring himself to erase her presence from his suite, so he sure as hell had no plans allow her to be erased from his life.

Logan grabbed a picture frame off of the side table - the one photo of Veronica that he'd flat-out refused to remove from sight after his banishment - and stared at it intently, almost like he thought it might give him a sign as to where she had been taken.

In it, Veronica was lying in his bed, wearing only his 'Slacker' t-shirt. She was reading a case file that she'd spread across the mattress, barely leaving room for him to join her. All night, she had worked on that case, and all night he pouted and drank impatiently.

He'd snapped this shot just before he'd finally reached his outer limit of patience, hoping to keep it as visual proof of her obsessive nature, should he need to reign her behavior in at some point (it always helped to have evidence during their spats).

Alerted to his presence by the flash, Veronica immediately tossed the file to the floor like it was an empty milk carton, and grinned up at him with bald, lascivious intent. She offered to stop working and give him attention if he promised to delete the photo. He agreed, knowing full-well that he never would.

Logan tugged at a lock of his hair to make sure he wasn't imagining all of this. Hoping to a God that he didn't believe in, that he was dreaming. His psyche was so tied to hers that he literally had no idea what would happen to him if she ceased to exist in the world.

"I can be there in 20 minutes."

Beacon Hills was about as different from Neptune as a town could get. Instead of soccer fields and beach volleyball, they had lacrosse pitches and badminton courts. They also had trees – real trees – not just the weak-looking ferns, garish copper pennies and towering royal palms that were scattered through their lovely hamlet.

The woodlands snaked throughout the city, dropping patches of forests - actual forests, like out of Grimm's fairy tales - in large swatches that dotted the landscape.

Even the air smelled different in Beacon Hills – crisp, woodsy, with a cloying undertone of rotting, wet moss that lingered like an old woman's perfume. Whereas, in Neptune, the air was tinged with a salty tange, a constant reminder of how close the town was to the ocean. The only other scents around belonged to the wealthier residents, who left the stench of bad values and imported colognes in their wake.

Ever steeped in the macabre, Logan gazed into the vast clusters of trees and wondered if the number of bodies that found their final resting place in the shadow of the brush rivaled the number of those that had been claimed by the dark, swirling waters under the Coronado Bridge.

"Do you think she's in there? In Mirkwood forest?" he said, without thinking it through. "Maybe complaining about the temperature of her porridge or following a trail of breadcrumbs to a witch's house made of candy? Veronica always did love candy. And following clues."

Keith bristled at Logan's use of the past-tense from the passenger's seat next to him.

"Sorry." Logan clamped his back teeth together and tried to keep himself from saying anything else stupid. The only way he knew how to deal with high pressure situations was to either punch or snark his way through it. Veronica used to remind him frequently that one could not sue for verbal abuse.

Keith's expression remained tight as he stared ahead at the white lines slipping under the wheels on either side of the car. "Let's save those asinine theories for after we've spoken to the sheriff, okay?"

Logan nodded, feeling guilty for his verbal diarrhea. The last thing he wanted to do was irritate Keith, not in his current mind frame, anyway.

The sky in the distance faded into a swirl or salmon pink and denim blue, providing a dramatic backdrop for the burnt-orange hue of the waxing moon, which had just begun to rise.

"Harvest moon tonight," Keith said, absently, gesturing to the sky with his eyes. "It's pretty low, too."

Out of nowhere, a dark figure darted across the road accompanied by a terrifying growling noise, causing Logan to swerve wildly to avoid hitting it. He slammed hard on the breaks, but he had already lost control of the truck. As the front right fender clipped the animal, it sent the car into a dead spin, causing all six airbags to deploy at once.

Smoke rose from the burned rubber of the tires as the car finally skidded to a stop.

"Logan! Logan! Are you okay?" Keith wrestled with the passenger's side airbag while he scrambled to unclick his seatbelt.

"I'm okay! I'm not hurt! Are you hurt, Keith?"

"I'm fine, just a little shaken up."

Logan turned the motor off and pulled the keys out of the ignition, then opened up his utility knife keychain and slashed the airbag in front of him with the small, jagged blade. He reached over and did the same to the one in front of Keith.

Air hissed out of the fluffy white clouds until the men had each other in their sight lines again.

Logan's brain felt as scrambled as his nerves. His vision was still turning over, carrying through the motion of the car. "Did you see what I hit?"

Keith opened the door and stumbled out of his side of the car. "Maybe a coyote? I'm not sure. It looked kind of big to be a coyote, but it sure as hell screamed like one when you clipped it."

Bringing both hands to his head to hold it still, Logan compressed the sides of his skull hard and squeezed his lids shut. "Fuck," he said under his breath.

As Keith walked around the car to survey the damage, he knocked on the back window to signal for Logan to roll it down.

Logan slipped the key back into the ignition and slid down the power windows. "What do you need?"

A whimpering sound could be heard coming from under the back of the car.

"My gun. It's in the glove compartment." Keith's face was grim. Though an expert marksman, he wasn't exactly much of a hunter and hadn't had much practice putting an injured animal down.

"I can do it," Logan volunteered, reaching for the gun. "My dad used to take me hunting every year. You know how much he loved killing innocent creatures."

Keith winced at the confession. "I know gallows humor is kind of your thing, but...you need to get a new thing."

Logan wrenched the door open on his side and slowly rose to his feet. "Everything's still spinning to the left. Any chance we can convince this animal to limp in the opposite direction to compensate, so I can get a better lock on it when I aim?"

"Give me the gun!" Keith extended his hand and Logan gingerly dropped the weapon into it.

"Suit yourself. I happen to be an excellent shot."

"I don't doubt it. Anybody who plays video games as much as you do had better be a good shot, if only to justify the massive amounts of time you waste every day."

Logan pulled a flashlight from under the driver's seat and bent over to check the underside of the vehicle. "You say massive waste of time, I say supporting the tech industry, like every good Californian should."

As soon as Logan clicked the light on, he found himself staring directly into a set of large, blue eyes. "What the fuck?"

He quickly shot up, slamming his head into the side-view mirror of his car. "Dammit!" Pain surged through his cranium, the force of it making it hard to breathe.

"What happened?" Keith reached out and rubbed the back of Logan's head, checking it for a bump. "Did you see something?"

As soon as the pain died down enough to speak, Logan nodded frantically. "There's – fuck. I hit a man, Keith."

"What?" Keith's brows knit in consternation. "You hit what?" he asked again, sure he must have heard him wrong.

Logan braced himself on the side of the door and caught his breath. "There's a dude under the car. He's alive."

"A man? I think you hit your head harder than I thought." Keith snatched the flashlight from Logan's hands and dropped to his knees. Pressing the side of his head to the road, Keith gasped at what he found there. "Oh my God. Are you okay under there?"

"I can see the headlines now: 'The Echolls Curse, Back in Center Stage'." Logan laughed weakly, but with his voice breaking at the end of his sentence, it was clear he thought he was going down. "Luckily my affairs are still in order from the last time I was arrested for murder."

"Logan, please." Keith's hard look was enough to shut Logan up, then he turned his attention back to the person pined under the car. "Hey, is anything broken?"

"No. I um, I think I'm okay." The blue eyes blinked rapidly, looking frightened, but not in pain.

"My name is Keith Mars. I don't want to move you until an ambulance gets here. Stay calm." Keith pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed 911.

"I'm okay! Really, Mr. Mars! I – I'm pretty sure I can get myself out," the person under the car called out, with only a hint of apprehension. "Don't call the police! Please!"

Keith ended the call and laid his head against the road again. "Look, I don't know if you're illegal or wanted for something or what, but I'm a former sheriff, and I'm telling you, those are the last questions the hospital is going to be asking you. You need to see a doctor."

A pair of converse shoes inched their way out from under the trunk of the car, followed by a pair of jeans-clad legs and a badly torn, baby blue polo-neck shirt.

"What are you doing? Stop moving!" Keith crawled around to the back of the car and watched in horror as the teenage boy emerged fully from under the car and sat up, seemingly unharmed.

"See? Good as new." The boy's smile dazzled, just before he grabbed his left arm by the elbow and wrenched it back into place, using the back bumper of the car for leverage.

Logan winced at the noise of bones rubbing together. "Shit. Dude, I am really sorry about that. I didn't see you at all." He walked around to the back of the car and helped the kid up. The boy was a couple of years younger than he was, at most, and though he'd never laid eyes on him before, something about him felt familiar. "If you have medical bills or whatever, I'll take care of them, of course." He extended his hand out to the boy. "I'm Logan Echolls."

The kid pulled himself up to stand and rewarded Logan with another bright smile. "Isaac Lahey." He brushed the dirt off of his mass of golden curls and crinkled his eyes. "I'm really sorry, man. Sometimes, I'm daydreaming and I just - I don't look where I'm going, you know?"

Nausea gripped Logan as the full realization of what had happened sunk in. "You're sorry? You're the one who got run over."

Isaac shrugged. "It's cool. I'm fine."

Logan's eyes fell to the shredded shirt Isaac was wearing. It was soaked through with blood, but there didn't seem to be any cuts on the kid. "The least I can do it give you the shirt off my back. You can't go around looking like Freddie Kruger got to you."

Isaac laughed and looked down at his chest. "Shows what you know about fashion. This was on purpose. You must be from out of town if you can't see how fashionable this is. Somewhere in flyover country, perhaps?"

Keith observed the exchange from afar, not sure what to make of it yet.

"Not quite. We're from a town called Neptune. Halfway between LA and San Diego, on the coast." Logan pulled his shirt off over his head and handed it to Isaac. "Come on. I'm not taking no for an answer. I've got a change in the trunk."

Nodding, Isaac pulled off his own shirt and replaced it with Logan's in-tact one. "Thanks."

Logan turned to Keith, who met his look with a raised eyebrow. They had both noticed the anomaly. For a kid with a shredded and bloodied shirt, he lacked injuries.

"Fits perfectly." Isaac admired the way the shirt clung to his body and then glanced up at Logan. "I actually think I came out of this this endeavor slightly ahead."

Logan tilted his head to the side and bit his lip to prevent the onslaught of nerve-induced sarcastic remarks brewing rapidly. "Looks good on you." He turned to the trunk and pressed the button to pop it open, before leaning over to dig through his clothes. "Especially now that you're...completely healed. Apparently."

From behind, he heard a short gasp from Isaac, followed by quick, shallow breaths. He closed his eyes and cursed himself for exposing his damaged back to a stranger. He'd barely spoken with Veronica about the abuse he suffered, so he sure as hell wasn't going to talk about it with some strange kid.

By the time he turned around, Logan had donned a fresh shirt and covered up the evidence. Isaac's chest was still heaving, and a terrified look crossed his features. Logan worked his jaw as he tried to keep his cool. "Whatever you're gonna say, man – don't."

Isaac took a small step forward, and peered directly into Logan's eyes, searching for something with childlike intensity. "The ones I had weren't moon shaped like that. My dad used to use a belt with a Western buckle, they leave a bigger mark. Deeper." He held his fingers out in the shape of a square.

All of the air escaped from Logan's lungs at once and he struggled to stay erect. That was the last thing he expected to come out of Isaac's mouth, but looking into his face, he could tell immediately they were kindred spirits. "Oh."

"How long has yours been dead?" Isaac whispered, his eyes flicking to Keith briefly before settling back onto Logan. "Mine's been gone over two years. I finally feel free, you know."

Logan nodded, wondering how in the hell Isaac knew his dad was dead. "A little longer than that."

Keith cleared his throat, unsure of how to handle this situation, which was quickly turning into the world's strangest group session. "I think we should get Isaac checked out by a doctor."

"I'm fine. I promise."

Keith shook his head and put the safety back on to his gun. "I won't feel comfortable until I get a professional to check you out."

Isaac's face dropped for a moment, before picking back up into his usual upbeat state. "I live at my friend's house. His mom is the head nurse at the ER. Would she do?"

"You really hate hospitals, huh?" Keith motioned with his head for Isaac to get into the car.

"Weird, considering how much everybody else adores them..." Logan locked eyes with Isaac, and a look of understanding passed between them. "You play Halo?"

Isaac bounded into the back seat of the car like an untrained puppy. "I would kick your ass so hard at Halo it's not even funny."

A/N - Well? Good/Bad/Ugly? This is my first foray into the TW world, so I'm feeling my way through it. Please let me know what you think and if I should continue. Feedback is king!