note: Okay, so just as a fair warning, this story take place in season 2. These chapters will go unbeta'd, so expect to see a few errors here and there. I'll attempt to maintain as many canon events as possible, but I do plan switching Sydney in for some characters in certain scenarios. And I have to go and rewatch all of season 2, just to be sure I don't miss anything important; so it may take a while to post chapters. Also, I'll put a little note at the beginning of each chapter that says what episode the chapter takes place in, along with any other things I have to tell you. Hopefully this story won't end up being complete shit. c:

note2: I'd also like to note that I'm dedicating this story to my cousin (devynnrenaee on here), who I've inducted into the Teen Wolf fandom. You're welcome and I'm not sorry for ruining your life. ;D

note3: This chapter takes place a few days before Omega (2x01).

Sydney just stared at her ceiling, like she had been doing for the past - she picked up her phone to look at the time - four hours. Trying to get to sleep was difficult, when your best friend was in the hospital due to a previously incapacitated and probably mentally insane werewolf. At least that psycho-wolf was no longer around, due to Scott, Stiles, and Allison. She only wishes she could have been the one to throw the molotov cocktail; yeah, that would be at least a little satisfying, but she had been at home, busy with doing some work for her online college course.

She sighed, picking up her phone again, but this time as soon as it was in her hand, she threw off her duvet and crept across her dark room. She felt around as soon as she reached the other side of the room, looking for her dresser. As soon as she felt the smooth wood under her fingers, she knelt down and reached out for a shoe, for one of the many that were piled next to her door. She saw no need in putting them away if she was just going to put them back on, so they stayed in a heap next to the door until they spilled past their little pile and in front of the door. Only when they got in the way would she put them in an orderly fashion in a shoe rack that hung on the back of her door.

After she concluded by feeling the entirety of the pile of shoes that she was indeed wearing a matching pair of sneakers, she felt for the third drawer down on her dresser. Getting it open, she retrieved a sweatshirt and pulled it over her head. Seeing as she was properly dressed - in a sweatshirt and sweatpants - she shuffled to the left, feeling the wall for the memory board that was hanging to the left of her door. There were pictures of her and Stiles, her and Lydia, her and various other friends and relatives, and a family photo that had been taken on her and Stiles' third birthday, the twins covered in blue and purple frosting (and Stiles' blue frosting-covered hands smearing across Scott's face just outside the picture) with their dad laughing in the background, and their mom rushing over with a wad of wet wipes in her hand.

Finding the board, she moved her fingers to the bottom of the frame, looking for the hook out the four that were screwed to it that held her keys. Her fingers brushed over each hook, until she found her keys. She grabbed them from the hook and made her way back over to the door, quietly opening it, so she wouldn't wake up her brother. Their dad had carted him home, much to his sleepy protests, and away from Lydia's hospital room so that he could get some actual sleep in an actual bed, not just napping in intervals in uncomfortable hospital chairs. That's to say she assumed he was sleeping - he didn't really seem to grasp the concept of a sleeping schedule.

She snuck into the living room, and finding no evidence of any lights left on or cupboard doors that were left open accidentally, she assumed her dad wasn't home yet and probably wouldn't be home for several more hours. She tossed one last look down the hallway to make sure Stiles hadn't gotten out of bed to see who was creeping around the house before she went outside and to her car, a '71 Nova, which she thought was way cooler than Stiles' '76 CJ5. She slid into her it - which was cobalt blue with white racing stripes - and shoved the key in the ignition. She twisted the key and put the car in reverse, backing out of the driveway and heading in the direction of the Beacon Hills Forest Preserve.

.

Sydney had made the decision to walk on a trail, one that loops back around to the dirt and stone lot that she had parked her car just outside of, having hopped over the chain fence that was meant to prevent cars from entering the parking lot after-hours. Sadly, it didn't keep out teenage girls that can hop fences. The forest surrounding the trail was nearly pitch-black, if it wasn't for the moon shining between the trees. Even then, there was hardly enough light to see the forest floor. Luckily, the trail that she had chosen to walk on was one that she frequented most often, using it to run on since it was only three miles long, just long enough to get a good run in.

To be honest, she should be scared of the forest, since she knew what was lurking in it - werewolves, dead bodies, dead werewolf bodies, and the like. But she had gotten that adventurous curiosity along with Stiles from their mother, which their dad had a strong dislike for, since it usually ended up with him finding his children at crime scenes; it didn't help that Stiles had temporarily misappropriated their dad's old police scanner with no intentions of returning it. But hey, at least they were showing up at crime scenes instead of doing and dealing illicit drugs that they could've taken from the evidence room in the station, with the help of their (scary) good skill at being able to slip a key from its ring without anyone noticing.

She held her phone in her hands, her earbuds tucked into her ears. She was concentrating intently on the dimly screen before her. Her fingers flew rapidly against the glass, typing letters, numbers, and symbols in different combinations, the writing turning red, green, blue, yellow and white as they were added to the algorithm she was producing. She thought she might as well get some coursework done while trying not to stress out about your best friend possibly becoming a werewolf - or dying. Dying was definitely an option that was on the table, and an option that she wouldn't be ready to deal with. She shook her head, trying to rid the thoughts from her brain. Of course Lydia was going to live, even if it meant she was to become a werewolf. That girl could charm the pants off Death and come back to the world of the living with his phone number and a coffee date with him on Sunday.

She'd glance up briefly every now and then, to make sure she was still on the trail and heading in the right direction; it was kind of hard not to, since the trail was essentially a tall "u" shape. You just went straight for 1.4 miles, made a half circle for .2 miles, and then walked straight again for another 1.4 miles. And with how fast she was walking, she'd make it home just before her dad did. But he'd be too tired to notice that -

She was pulled out of her thoughts when she ran into something, causing her to drop her phone and successfully (and painfully) rip the earbuds that had been occupying her ears out.

"Shit," she muttered, crouching to grab her phone and earbuds off the forest floor, hoping the fall didn't cause any more cracks to appear in her already partially-spiderwebbed screen.

At first, she just thought that it was a tree, but then brain kicked in, and she made a quick mental list: a) trees aren't warm when you touch them, b) trees don't move when you run into them, and c) trees don't wear pants. And right now, she was staring at the legs of a pair of pants - or what she assumed was pants, it was really too dark to tell. She stood up quickly, realizing that her head was just basically in the crotch of whoever this person was. Hopefully it wasn't a murderer, because her dad would kill her. Well, hypothetically, since the murderer would most likely kill her, so she'd already be dead. It was too dark to see, so she flicked on the flashlight on her phone and pointed it in front of her to reveal tall, brooding, and previously a suspect in a case of mass murder - Derek Hale. He squinted under the light, seeming mildly annoyed.

"You shouldn't be in the woods," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Why? Because it's illegal to be in the preserve after dark? Because it's "private property"? Because it's where murders tend to hang out? Or are you going to go for the "there's mountain lions killing everybody" option?," she said, crossing her own arms over her chest to mirror him. "Take your pick."

He didn't reply, only looked her over; but she didn't know if he was checking her out (which seemed highly illogical, since she was wearing the least flattering clothes ever) or sizing her up like a python that's planning to kill you would. Most likely the latter, considering he was an alpha without a pack right now, except exchange the word "kill" with "bite", and not the kinky kind. Like full on, sinking my fangs into your skin like a werewolf Dracula imitator, "I'm gonna bite you and you're going to become a werewolf" bite.

"And you're going full out Starbucks here, not ordering off the menu," she muttered, dropping her arms and taking a tentative step back.

He just moved a step closer, asking, "what?"

"You shouldn't give me the bite, like you think you want to," she spat out quickly, her heart rate spiking slightly in correlation with the big bad alpha stepping close to her. He didn't seem to mind that she knew he was a werewolf, or frankly didn't care; for all she knew, he could've thought she was a hunter. "I've got ADHD a-and I've got really bad anxiety a-"

"The bite is a gift," he replied, cutting her off and closing the small space between them with a single step. "And it can take care of those...imperfections."

"Excuse me?" she said, (acting) clearly offended. "Do you know how fragile a teenage girl's self-esteem is?"

He just rolled his eyes.

"And your "gift" is something I don't want," she said, glancing around her subtly, looking for a point of escape. It didn't matter, though, because he'd probably just run her down and do a bite-and-run, like what happened with Scott. "I'm fine being 100% human, my defects included, thank you every much."

"Are you sure about that?" he asked, gently placing his hands on either side of her face (that caused her heart rate to spike once again), giving her a look that was she assumed was supposed to look seductive, but it just turned out condescending.

"Yep, I'm pretty sure that you're just a condescending asshole that'll do anything to get his way."

At that, he growled. Actually, legitimately, growled. Before she process what happened, Sydney was pressed up against a tree - causing her to groan at the impact - and Derek's hand around her neck. Her hands shot up to her neck, her fingers curling around his wrist and the back of his hand. "You're lucky I'm even giving you a choice," he growled, eyes flashing red.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she choked out, fingers prying at his index finger, making a weak attempt at getting free from his grip.

"Do what? Bite you?" He let out a laugh that was filled with cruel humor.

"Fingerprints make pretty good evidence," she mused with a smile, which confused Derek. "Especially when you're leaving five perfectly good ones on my neck."

"They'll heal," he spat out, like he was assuming I was actually going to let him bite me. He pulled - yanked would probably be a better choice of a word - my neck to the side, then hooked a finger under my sweatshirt, tugging it to the side to expose my shoulder. Holy shit, he was actually going to do it. Her heart was practically trying to break its way out of her ribcage at this point. Derek leaned down, to get better access to her shoulder. He wolfed out, a fangs almost touching her bare skin, but he stopped for a second, smelling something familiar. Then it hit his nose - the familiar, annoying smell of Stiles just barely clinging to the sweatshirt, under layers of soapy and sweaty smells.

He suddenly backed off, leaving her slumping down against the tree and rubbing the her lightly bruised neck. How he hadn't noticed was beyond him (he'd later chalk it up to just being the lighting and the fact that the wind way blowing into his back). They had the same general face shape - with the the exception of hers being narrower - the same skin tone, the same eye color, the same hair color, and a similar splattering of moles covered both of their bodies. They were both lanky, although Sydney particularly liked her long legs that came with the lankiness. They had the same mannerisms - sarcasm, stuttering when afraid, and being stupidly smart.

"You're Stiles' sister," he said, wolf features shrinking back into non-existence.

"No shit Sherlock," she said with sharp annoyance, still rubbing her neck. "I'm surprised you even know who I am. It's not like my brother to mention me, considering the eternal grudge match we have going on." She pushed up against the tree, making her way into a standing position.

"You should go home," he stated, like it was a fact.

"Again, no shit. I would," she said before taking a deep breath and leaning back against the tree, "if I wasn't about too...break into an anxiety attack...you fucking jerk." She leaned her head back, closing her eyes. "Shit," she breathed out. A roll of nausea hit her stomach and she groaned, before leaning over to spit out bike that had risen in the back of her throat. "You are the biggest...asshole, you know that...right?"

He just stood there, unsure what to do.

"Come here," she said, swallowing with a grimace and beckoning him to her with her finger. "You're going to...help me to my car. I don't want...to fucking pass out."

.

Derek did (eventually) walk Sydney back to where her car was parked, but left her as soon as it was in sight.

She rested her head against the steering wheel, taking deep breaths, deciding that she better try and calm herself down before attempting to drive back home. Fucking hell, sourwolf, way to scare a girl shitless.