Lydia stumbled out the Stilinskis' house, her vision blurry from the tears filling her wide eyes. Her shoulders were shaking with sobs, and even her legs began to tremble as she felt a sudden weakness, as if she had been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders for too long, and when she realized that she just wasn't able to walk properly, she sat down on the sidewalk, clutching the old certificate between her hands; as if she were praying and the paper were an old relic that might somehow help her. The jeep did belong to Stiles. She knew it, she could feel it in her guts. But how could the Stilinskis not remember? Lydia had quickly solved the puzzle in her mind: Stiles was the nickname of the Sheriff's father, and if he was their friend, he must have been a teenager. And now, the jeep in the high school's parking… He was a teenager, probably still leaving with his parents.

No, only his Dad, a voice corrected her.

There wasn't any doubt. Stiles was Noah Stilinski's son. How could he not remember him? How could he refuse to remember him?

For some reason she couldn't explain, the idea that even his father didn't remember Stiles made her heart break even more. She let out a heavy sob and closed her eyes, hugging her legs to her chest and then resting her forehead on her knees.

Drowning in her sorrow, she didn't notice the Sheriff Department's car slowing down before her. A familiar voice seemed to be calling her name, but it seemed so far away at the moment that she didn't react, keeping her head bowed and her eyes closed.

He would have recognized these strawberry-blonde hair anywhere. The usual warm feeling that rose inside his chest every time he was near her didn't fail to appear once again. Jordan had grown used to it by now, and even if he couldn't just simply ignore it, he tried to convince himself that this was only a reaction from his other self, that it was the hellhound reacting to the banshee and nothing more. He wasn't supposed to feel this way about her.

She was sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, her head buried in her knees in a worrying position that made him frown. He slowed down, but she didn't seem to hear the engine. As the car stopped in front of her, he noticed that her shoulders were shaking almost violently. She suddenly seemed so small and broken, sitting here alone.

"Lydia?" He called, hesitating, rolling down the window.

She didn't respond, not even lifted her head. He called her one more time, this time with more confidence, but it was as if she couldn't hear him, so he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car.

"Lydia," he spoke softly, gently putting a hand on her shoulder.

She started as she felt a warm hand resting on her shoulder. She looked up and saw two green concerned eyes staring down at her.

"What's wrong?" Parrish asked, sitting down beside her.

He kept his hand on her shoulder, and Lydia felt grateful for it. His hand was steady and warm, which was strangely soothing, and seemed to calm her tremors.

"It's Stiles," she blubbered helplessly. "Nobody believes me when I say he was — is, he is real, his parents think I'm crazy, even Scott isn't sure anymore and I just… I…"

Her cries didn't let her finish her sentence, so she looked down, ashamed to be so incapable of controlling herself. She could feel his eyes on her — she often did, but never found a plausible explanation for it. Then he simply said:

"I believe you."

She let out a small gasp and turned to him. For a moment he looked her over, watching her half-open mouth, unable to keep his eyes off her full lips that were still moist from her crying. Then he realized what he was doing, and with a wave of contempt for himself he locked his eyes with hers again. She was blinking at him, startled, with lashes wet from tears.

"You really do?" She asked through a tearful voice.

"Yes," he replied with a warm smile, giving a soft squeeze to her shoulder.

"But… you don't remember him either, do you?"

She sounded full of hope, and Parrish almost regretted his previous words, realizing how she had wrongly interpreted them.

"No, I don't," he began carefully. "But that's not the point. What I mean is, if that means so much to you Lydia, and if you believe that he exists, I don't need any proof. I trust you, that's all. If you believe he is real… then so do I."

He kept his gaze on her face while talking, and didn't look away once he had finished. Lydia couldn't believe what she was hearing — that he was ready to believe someone he had never heard of (at least after Stiles was taken) did exist, even if she had no way to prove it. She felt her brow furrowing slightly as she tilted her head on one side, staring back at him with real wonder.

"Thank you," she finally whispered in response, realizing at the same time that she had been holding her breath, as if she expected him to tell her that he was joking and that she needed to see a therapist as soon as possible.

Her voice was still a bit husky, and she could still feel the dampness on her cheeks, but she had calmed down and stopped crying. She thought of Stiles; she knew he would have believed her too, if Parrish had been taken instead of him.

Parrish smiled at her — a small but honest smile, full of kindness and comfort.

"I wish I could help you," he told her honestly. "I really do. I hope you'll find him, because… you really seem to care about him."

"I do," Lydia nodded. "Very much. I think… I think must have loved him," she murmured while focusing her eyes on her knees, so quietly that she wasn't sure if he had heard. She regretted her words almost instantly, wishing she could take them back, thinking how silly he must have found her; a teenage girl desperate to find the love she couldn't even remember.

The words hurt much more than he had expected. If she had fired a bullet inside his chest, it would have been less painful. Before he could even control it, the warm feeling in his chest suddenly started to burn; and this time it hurt like hell. She wasn't looking at him, but still he dropped his head between his shoulders, afraid that his eyes had suddenly turned into the shade of molten lava. He let his hand fall from her shoulder and clenched his fists, trying to control his body.

It's the hellhound, he told himself, it's trying to take over. Yet he didn't feel the hellhound's sudden control like he usually did when he turned. There was pain and rage inside of him, and as he tried to reach the hellhound to shut him down, he realized with horror that these were his own feelings. The hellhound was here, he always felt its presence when he was near the banshee, but the beast seemed asleep, apathetic, which only left him, the man. He was so unused to such emotions that it took his breath away for a brief moment, short enough for Lydia not to notice. He was furious, furious at himself, and furious at this boy, Stiles, even though he could not find any valid reason to be angry at the poor kid. He had done nothing to him.

But she loves him, a voice calmly pointed out.

The hellhound. It had finally awaken, alerted by Jordan's excessive reaction, but it didn't seem to want to take over him, which reassured Jordan. It was just observing quietly, from the back of his mind.

What did you think, it went on, its voice full of sarcasm and mockery. That she was meant to be with you? That you and her were soulmates?

Shut up, Jordan snapped internally, trying to silence it, although he knew it was quite useless. The hellhound was part of him, always revealing his darkest thoughts and desires when he least expected it.

You poor fool, a voice sighed, and Jordan was unable to tell if it was the hellhound's or his own.

Lydia was eighteen, yes, but she was still in highschool, and he was almost twenty-five and a Sheriff's deputy. It was wrong. He must not — he had no right to feel the way he did. The hallucinations he had, even if they were probably the results of their supernatural bond, already made him feel bad enough. They did have a bond, but it was only because of the hellhound. He had been drawn to Beacon Hills through his supernatural alter-ego, and it was the reason they had grown closer over the summer, however he couldn't help but wonder if the hellhound hadn't been there… would there be anything left between them?

"I'm sorry," she apologized after what she probably thought was an awkward silence because he didn't know what to reply. "I shouldn't have told you that."

"Don't apologize," he reassured her. "I'm glad you told me."

She finally looked up at him, her eyes still a little puffy.

"Why?"

"Because… because that means you trust me. And I know you don't trust people easily, so… thank you."

She offered him a curious look in return.

"Why wouldn't I trust you? You saved my life at least three times, and my friends', back in Eichen House. If it hadn't been for you, I would have killed them all. Besides, this could have killed you too. You put yourself in great danger just to help us."

"It wasn't really me, you know. It was the hellhound."

"Of course it was you," she responded, sounding almost hurt.

"You don't know that. I'm not like you Lydia. You… you are the banshee. You access the supernatural, it works through you… but it doesn't control you like it does with me. It's like… it's always with me. Sometimes I can hear a voice in my head that is not mine, telling me things… I'm aware that it could take over me at any moment, and that I wouldn't be able to stop it. It could hurt people. Perhaps even people I care about… maybe even you."

Lydia blinked at him, startled. When finally she spoke, her voice was soft.

"I'm sorry. I've spoken with the hellhound, once, and it wasn't a nice being. It must be so hard to have it constantly with you… But, Jordan, you are a good person. You remind me of Scott, sometimes. You care about people. And that's why you're also a great cop. This, your kindness, it's stronger than the hellhound. I know it is. You think it controls you, but you can control it. And that's what you did that time you broke through the walls of Eichen House, just to help my friends getting me back."

"I wish you were right," he sighed. "But what if it was just the hellhound, wanting to get the banshee back?"

Lydia breathed deeply.

"What does your heart tell you?" She asked delicately as she tilted her head to meet his gaze, putting a comforting hand on his arm, just above his wrist.

Jordan glanced down at her hand, liking the feeling of it, as if a small bird had just landed on his arm. Then he looked back at her. She was watching him, a sad smile curling her lips.

I came for you, he thought as he gazed at her. I came for you because I couldn't bear the thought of knowing you in that place, scared and alone. I hated myself for letting them take you in the first place. I was so afraid that they would hurt you. The hellhound was ready to kill anyone that got in our way, and I knew I would have let it.

It was me.

The whole time.

Instead he just slightly shook his head before looking down again, sighing.

"You know," Lydia started, hesitating, suddenly almost shy. "Sometimes, Scott couldn't restraint his transformations… but he told me that he had found a way to control this, by finding an anchor. His anchor was Allison, the girl I told you about. Maybe… maybe you need to find an anchor, too. Someone close to you, someone you care about, like… I don't know, maybe Deputy Clark."

"Clark?!" Jordan chuckled, half amused, half amazed to see how unaware of her impact on him Lydia actually was.

Suddenly quite conscious of their age difference and of his deputy uniform, Lydia blushed, taking her hand back and bowing her head bashfully. They had never talked about such personal things before. She just knew he lived alone, and he only knew that she had dated Jackson, because apparently Scott couldn't tell the story of "the boy who had ended up turning into a giant murderous lizard" without mentioning the fact that the said murderous lizard used to be her boyfriend. However, she herself had never once mentioned her love life to Parrish, though she considered him as a friend… but was this feeling even reciprocal? Did he see her as a friend, or just as a teenage girl, a "smart kid", like all the rest of the adults seem to see her? Parrish had always been kind to her, treating her like an equal, but he was nice to everyone. How was she any different? He had never talked to her about Clark, she had just… guessed, seeing them laughing together, him sitting behind his desk, Clark casually leaning on it, both sharing a coffee. She had thought she liked him, — because who couldn't like Parrish? — and that he liked her, because… well, Hayden's sister was a very pretty, very smart and brave young woman. And they worked together, so it seemed predetermined… But now, seeing how amused Parrish actually was, Lydia understood how wrong she had been. It had been silly of her to assume that they were together just from a few interactions. And very heteronormative, she scolded herself. Maybe Parrish liked men. Maybe Deputy Clark liked women. Or maybe both. None of that was her business anyways.

"Or Deputy Gray," she added just to correct herself, still not looking at him.

"I'm not gay," Parrish replied, laughing at her visible embarrassment.

"Oh… Well, maybe Clark would…"

"I'm not interested in Clark," he cut her off.

"Okay," Lydia nodded quietly before biting her lips into a thin line to prevent herself from talking any more nonsense.

"You have a point though," he added carefully. "Maybe I need an anchor."

"Do you think you could find something? Or someone?" She questioned, turning back to him.

He was considering her thoughtfully.

"I think I already have," he finally said, looking straight at her, his gaze steady and calm.

For some reason, his stare made her feel uncomfortable. He had never looked at her like this… or she had never noticed. She squinted, brow wrinkling slowly, trying to come up with some sort of explanation.

"Lydia," Parrish began, "I—"

"Parrish?"

Lydia jumped, but didn't bother turning back to face the Sheriff. Instead she closed her eyes to calm down the beatings of her heart. She didn't know if they were due to the Sheriff's sudden interruption, or to Parrish's penetrating gaze. She had completely forgotten about the fact that she had been sitting on the sidewalk in front of the Stilinskis' house.

"What are you doing there? Is she alright?" Stilinski questioned.

"Yeah, don't worry Sheriff. I was about to give her a ride home," Jordan replied, getting up on his feet.

"Okay. Okay, good," the Sheriff nodded, visibly worried, before slowly going back inside the house, while he kept glancing behind his shoulder.

"We should probably go," Jordan said.

He held out his hand to Lydia, who hesitated before taking it carefully, as if she were scared to burn herself by touching him. He helped her to set upright on her feet, but she staggered a little, so he instinctively put a hand on her waist.

"I'm fine," she assured. "And I can walk back home. I don't live very far from here…"

"You'll never accept my ride offers, will you?" He teased her, trying to act normal, after what he had almost said.

She managed a laugh before replying:

"I just think my mom would freak out if she saw me arriving in a deputy's car."

Parrish smiled. This was probably true.

"Goodbye Jordan," Lydia prompted. "And… thank you. For understanding," she added as she began to walk away.

"Will I see you soon?" Was all he managed to reply, hoping he didn't sound too desperate.

"I don't know… just, be careful with the ghost riders. Don't let them take you. I… we need you around," she whispered.

Parrish nodded seriously, feeling like she had just gave him a very important mission. He watched her as she walked away, her heels clicking on the grey concrete, but she had only made a few steps that she halted to a stop, before spinning around towards him.

"Jordan, can I ask you something?" She asked, suddenly more confident.

"Sure, what?"

"Are we friends? Like… do you actually like me?"

"What? Lydia, of course I like you," Jordan snorted, turning away to laugh.

Way more than I should.

She seemed pleased by his answer, for a sweet smile formed on her full lips.

"Okay. I just… needed to know. Because of, you know, our age difference. And your status. I was scared you might think I was too young to be your friend, or that you were afraid that people would start talking if we were close," she explained, walking up to him again.

"Let them talk," he responded, lowering his head so he could meet her eyes. "If I had to choose between you and my job, Lydia, I'd choose you in a heartbeat."

Her smile faded slowly at his words. Jordan wondered if he had said something wrong, but before he could add any more, she stepped on her tiptoes and planted a small kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you," she breathed again before turning around and walking away for good.

Jordan's jaw had dropped. The cheek where Lydia had laid her lips was burning.

But what a lovely way to burn.