A/N: A massive thank you to Hurricane.'97 for the review and the love of my stories (yay!). This one's for you, and for all my lovely readers and reviewers, because you make me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

I don't own Teen Wolf. Shock Horror.

Lydia still hadn't woken up.

Sure, the doctor's said she was fine, and that she would wake up when her body was ready to, had healed enough, but that wasn't entirely comforting when I still didn't know whether or not she was going to be a werewolf when she finally opened her eyes.

Which explains why I was so happy to see Stiles half-asleep in the waiting room to visit Lydia that Sunday afternoon.

I hadn't seen him or Scott since Friday, since the Hale house and everything that went down there, but I knew they had to know something about Lydia. Which meant I actually had to talk to him. And there weren't any lives in immediate danger.

It was a weird feeling.

"Hey, Stiles!" I greeted cheerfully, dropping down into the seat next to him with my caffé mocha. He startled back to full consciousness with a flinch and a shriek. Several staff members and other visitors swivelled to stare at us for a second, many of them shaking their heads at our innocent smiles, before everyone went back to what they were doing.

"What do you want, Wilson?" Stiles ground out, obviously not impressed by my entrance. I shrugged, just managing to keep from rolling my eyes and holding onto my smile.

"I'm just here to see Lyds," I answered, rifling through my tote to pull out the peanut butter cups I had picked up on my way here. I noticed Stiles eyeing the bright orange packaging in a way that I assume was supposed to be subtle. I smirked, putting my mocha down beside me to tear open the plastic and offer him one. For a second, he sniffed, looking away and crossing his arms over his chest like he was too good for my Reese's. When I shrugged, pulling my hand back and away from him, he quickly reached out and snatched one of the cups, slumping down in his seat as he reluctantly took a bite. I smirked. "How's she doing?"

I chewed for a second, shrugging and tilting his head as he did. "How am I supposed to know?" he asked defensively. "You're actually allowed in the room with her."

I scoffed. "Not that that stopped you and Scott from sneaking in there and checking things out," I shot back, raising my eyebrows challengingly. "Besides," I sighed, sliding down in my own seat and bringing the peanut butter cup to my mouth. "I meant how's she doing." I stared at Stiles pointedly, raising an eyebrow when he frowned until his mouth finally dropped open in realisation.

"Ohh," he breathed, nodding his head and shoving the rest of the Reese's in his mouth. "Well, she's not healing." My eyes shot wide open.

"What do you mean, 'she's not healing'?" I demanded, while still trying to keep my voice at a level that wouldn't draw unwanted attention. "That's a bad thing. A very, very bad thing."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Under normal circumstances, Wilson, yes, that would be a very, very bad thing," he mocked, leaning across me to steal my mocha from the seat on the other side of me and take a sip. I made a noise of disgust. "But I meant that she's not healing… supernaturally," he whispered. "Like Scott did."

"So, what does that mean? You said the bite could turn you, or it could kill you, right? And she ain't dead."

Stiles stared at me, unamused. "Brilliant observation there, Sherlock," he taunted, trying to hand me back the now-Stilinski-infected cup of mocha. I refused to take it, until he eventually gave up trying and stood up to throw it away. "Whatever is happening to her," he explained as he returned to his seat, "we at least know she's not turning. Which is great news for us."

I huffed out a deep, loaded breath, crossing my arms over my chest. "Unless that means something worse is happening."

Stiles didn't respond for a long time, and when I finally looked over, I caught him looking at…

"Are you staring at my chest?"

His eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open, closing and opening again as he tried to, I'm sure, come up with a good excuse.

"N- no, no, I wasn't… I wouldn't…" I raised an eyebrow, waiting as his cheeks grew pink. "Not that… I- I was staring at your necklace," he finally got out, and I heard him huff in embarrassment. "I was staring at your necklace."

My eyebrow stayed put, raised above the other, and I scoffed. "Uh huh."

"I was!" he defended himself, arms flying out to his sides. "When we were here the other night, talking about Kate's necklace, you pointed it out." I remembered. Stiles had started explaining to Jackson and I what a pendant was, because he thinks we're idiots. I mean, not even Jackson is that stupid.

"So what?" I asked, confused as to why it was so fascinating.

"So, I was wondering where you got it. I mean… wolves," he finished lamely, gesturing to my chest. Or 'my necklace', whatever.

"Yes, Stiles. It has wolves on it. And where I got it ain't any of your business."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. After everything we've been through the last couple of weeks? There's still no part of you that feels like you can confide in me?"

I looked at him, exhaling loudly through my nose and pursed my lips. He raised his eyebrow at me as I thought about it, before I smiled. "No." Stiles groaned and rolled his eyes again, his head lolling to the back of the chair with the movement.

"You're hard work," he moaned, huffing in frustration. I just laughed through my nose, leaning forward to pull my phone out of my tote and checking for any new messages.

Nothing. Nada. After Jackson's phone call last night, telling me he'd finally gotten the bite, just like he'd wanted, I hadn't heard a peep from him. It was like he'd dropped off the face of the planet, and if I wasn't so used to this stubbornly and recklessly independent side of him, I'd be worried.

"Was it your mom's?" I heard Stiles ask, and it took me a second to register his words through the Jackson-fog in my head.

"What?" I asked, turning to frown at him as if he was bothering me. Which wasn't exactly off base.

"The necklace," Stiles explained, tipping his head at where I was twirling the end of it between my thumb and forefinger distractedly. "Does it have something to do with your mom?"

I felt my face harden. "Why would you jump to that conclusion?"

Stiles shrugged, a little uneasily. "After what Argent said the other night, about your mom, and everything that's been going on with you lately… it's not an entirely unreasonable assumption to make."

I didn't respond, and eventually Stiles sighed, leaning back in his seat.

"Something's going on with you, something out of the ordinary. And it's probably terrifying and confusing and I can imagine it's totally screwing with your head, but, I mean, come on…" Stiles reasoned, laughing lightly with an outstretched hand, gesturing to nothing but our entire situation. "My best friend is a werewolf. Whatever you're going through, we can deal with it."

"We?" I asked, turning only to raise an eyebrow in his direction.

Stiles frowned at me, confused. "Well, yeah."

"No, Stiles," I argued, shaking my head adamantly. "There ain't no 'we'. There's you and Scott," I pointed out, gesturing over in his direction before gesturing in my own, "and there's me, and Jackson, and Lydia. Allison may blur the lines occasionally, but that's it. There ain't no overall 'we', so stay in your freaking lane."

Stiles scoffed, staring at the ceiling for a second. "Jackson's in your lane?" Stiles asked, like he was going somewhere with this. "So where is he now, huh? Where is he when you're struggling with some major human-identity crisis and his ex-girlfriend is lying motionless in a hospital bed?"

I hated it, but the guy had a point.

Lydia woke up that evening. After a while of switching between Lydia's bedside and sitting next to Stiles in uncomfortable silence, I finally just had to get up and leave before I started to claw my own eyes out. So I drove home, finished my history homework for Tuesday while Poe played with my blanket on the window seat, and tried to ignore the fact that my phone never once beeped, letting me know Jackson wasn't dead. Yet. Once I got hold of him, he would be.

It did ring, however, when I got a call from Lydia's mom, letting me know she'd woken up, the doctor's said she was fine and healing properly, and that I could come and see her any time. So as soon as I hung up, I grabbed my coat, told Daddy where I was off to and made my way back to the hospital for the fifth time since she was admitted. The route was burned into my brain by this point, and I could probably drive it blindfolded.

If I hadn't shown up at the hospital exactly when I did, hearing that Lydia was finally awake probably would have been the best part of my day. As it turns out, that news was seconded by the sight that welcomed me upon arriving at Lydia's door.

Stiles Stilinski, draped over several of the chairs with a brightly coloured balloon tied to his wrist and what I was pretty sure was drool on his chin. At least, I kind of hope it was. I pressed a hand to my mouth to keep from laughing so hard I woke him up, clearing my throat when I saw Mr Martin come through the door to Lydia's room.

"Hey, Mr Martin," I greeted, a polite smile on my face. "How's she doing?"

"Well enough for mocking, sarcastic remarks, apparently," he sighed back. I grinned. She was gonna be just fine. Mr Martin looked around the waiting room, noticing the same sleeping form I had. He gestures to someone behind me, who I turned and saw to be Scott's mom, Ms McCall, and pointed back to Stiles.

"He's been here all night?" he asked in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer.

Ms McCall snorted slightly. "He's been here all weekend," she corrected. We all turned back to Stiles as he grumbled in his sleep, giggling to himself.

"You're dirty," he murmured quietly, and oh my god, this was gold. He kissed at the air, and I let out a loud bark of laughter that had him waking up with a jolt and blinking hard before turning his attention to me. I grinned, narrowing my eyes teasingly at him as I stepped closer.

"No, you're dirty," I smirked, my tone as suggestive as his was, and I heard at least two smothered chuckles behind me. I dropped down into the seat beside him, his glare, while not directed at me but still certainly in my honour, boring holes into the floor. "She's awake," I said quietly in lieu of a real apology. He looked up at me, his eyes wide and hopeful.

"Really? Is she okay?"

"Ms Martin told me she's fine," I answered to a relieved sigh from Stiles. "She should heal up normally, and naturally, thank the lord, but other than that, she's fine." Stiles nodded, letting his head roll back onto the back of the chair, blowing out a long breath.

"Good," Stiles breathed, nodding his head and closing his eyes again. "That's good."

I frowned at his tired voice, the slightly darker circles under his eyes. I might not like the guy, but I'm not completely cold-hearted. "I'm gonna get some coffee," I stated, standing up and swinging my bag onto my shoulder. "You want some?" He seemed surprised by the offer, but he quickly got over it, standing up with me and nodding.

"Yeah, sure, I'll come with you," he agreed, the balloon bobbing around enough with his movements to hit his head and grab his attention. "Let me just…" he started untying it, struggling with it as I rolled my eyes, until he finally got it undone, only to struggle with where to put it. I groaned, grabbing the thin blue string from him and tying to the chair arm, pursing my lips as I gestured to it with both hands.

"Can we go now?" I asked, the answer to which was evident in Stiles' eye roll. I turned on my heel, marching down the hallway to where the coffee machine waited, calling to me, and eagerly grabbed a little cup to fill. It's an acquired taste, and with the amount of time I'd spent in here over the weekend, I'd acquired it. Now it almost tasted like real coffee.

Stiles rattled the change in his pocket, yawning as he waited for me to make our coffees and surveying the snacks in the vending machine. I heard the sound of coins clattering together and the pushing of a button. And again. And again. And again. The fifth button push pulled a groan out of me, and I turned around to see Stiles glaring at the machine like it had personally offended him.

"What now?" I asked, shaking my head.

"The damn vending machine won't give me my Reese's," he whined, his shoulder's slumped and a pout on his face. He pounded on the glass a few times, to which I snorted.

"Yeah, because that always works," I mocked, smirking at his responding glare. "I'm sure the tiny vibrations your hand is making on the glass a solid foot away from the actual candy will make the whole, two hundred kilogram vending machine move enough to dislodge the Reese's. Nice thinking, Stilinski."

Stiles glared at me as I filled up the second cup of coffee, until he seemed to take that as a challenge. He let out a little 'huh', before grabbing the top of the vending machine and beginning to shake it. I sighed, my eyes finding the ceiling as I prayed for strength, and took both of the cups of coffee to sit on the seats beside the machines. I figured if I was going to have to watch this, I might as well be sitting comfortably.

"You know that shaking and tilting vending machines without the proper machinery causes ten to thirteen deaths a year, right?"

"Shh," Stiles ordered, struggling to speak as he continued to shake the machine. "I'm trying to concentrate here."

"Mm hmm," I hummed, stirring my coffee idly as I watched his attempts in amusement. "Because buying candy is just so challenging." He breathed out through his nose in frustration, glaring at me for a second with his hands on his hips before returning to his objective. He went lower this time, pressing his whole body up against the glass and wrapping his arms around as far as he could. Then he began to wiggle.

I snorted, putting the coffee down all together and placing my chin in my hand so I could give his futile endeavours my undivided attention. It was worth it.

When he realised his plan wasn't working, he sighed heavily, taking a few steps back and observing the machine from a distance. He had this calculating look in his eyes, one that quickly turned to frustration and anger, before he lunged at the machine again. He almost growled at it as his hands rocked it back and forth, back and forth, back and forth… It stopped going back, instead continuing forward as Stiles quickly jumped out of the way and landing on the floor with a loud, almighty crash.

I looked up at his stunned face, my hand covering my mouth, until his eyes finally looked away from the machine in horror.

"I don't want it that much," he said simply, before jumping over the machine and waving me out of my seat quickly. "Move, move! Someone definitely heard that, and being at the scene of the crime looks bad."

"It looks bad because you did it!" I whispered back harshly, practically power-walking down the hallway, making the round-about journey back to Lydia's room. "I told you that was a bad idea."

"Wha- no you didn't!" Stiles argued indignantly, waving his arms about as he glared at me. I rolled my eyes.

"No, you're right, I didn't," I agreed, tilting my head. "The thing you have called common sense should have told you that." Stiles groaned. And then groaned again, this time slightly more whinier.

"Where's the coffee?" he moaned.

"Oh, my bad," I apologised, a hand to my chest as I stopped and spun around to face him. "Did I forget it when you damaged hospital property and had me flee the scene with you, therefore also including me in your felonious activities and potentially damaging my impeccable reputation?"

Stiles snorted. "'Impeccable reputation'?" he repeated sarcastically. "I'm sorry, am I talking to the same Amber Wilson that was caught in a rather, how can I put this delicately… suggestive position with some jock from the next school over last semester?" I gasped, affronted.

"That was one time!" I argued, and Stiles laughed, ready to, I'm sure, pick out another of my few not-so-impeccable incidents, when the whole argument was interrupted by a loud, piercing scream.

Lydia's loud, piercing scream.

Somehow, I don't know how, but we managed to lose an injured, naked, sixteen year old girl.

After we'd heard the scream, Stiles and I had raced back to Lydia's room, making it there just as her dad and Ms McCall did too, and we all ran inside to find the bed empty, the shower still running, the bathroom window wide open and no Lydia in sight. Stiles' face had been enough to tell me how bad the situation had just gotten.

He'd immediately called Scott, who had said he'd heard Lydia's scream and was already on his way. So we waited. And waited. Until Stiles had had enough of not doing anything and went to talk to his dad, giving a rather thorough physical description of the missing girl. The Sheriff had glared at Stiles for about thirty seconds, before grabbing him by the back of the neck and telling him to leave. Stiles must have agreed, because the next thing I know, he's waving me over hastily and messily, waving and smiling a goodbye to his dad a little too enthusiastically to be considered normal, and pushing me past the fallen vending machine and back to Lydia's room.

"We need her hospital gown," Stiles whispered to me, leaning 'casually' against the wall beside her door and crossing his arms.

"What?" I asked, completely baffled. "Why on earth would you need Lydia's dirty, bloody hospital gown? Wait. This isn't some fetish thing, is it? Because each to their own and all, but I'm not going to help-"

"It's not a weird fetish thing!" Stiles whispered harshly. He looked around after he'd said it, ensuring that no one was listening before he continued. "It's not a weird fetish thing," he repeated, taking deliberately slow and even breaths. "Scott might be able to catch a scent and find her."

"Ohh," I said, finally getting it. "That's still kind weird though."

Stiles rolled his eyes, tired of me talking. "Just go in there and get it already."

I gaped, making a sound of protest. "Why do I have to get it?"

"Because you're one of her best friends," Stiles argued, already shoving my through the doorway. "It'll be less weird and suspicious if anyone finds us." He pushed me forward a little more until I was standing in the middle of the room before backing out and closing the door after him. "I think it's in the bathroom."

I flipped Stiles off through the wood of the door, before slowly turning around and taking in my surroundings. This was weird. This was weird, right? I was standing in the empty hospital room of my injured, missing best friend, trying to find her blood-soaked gown without getting caught so the guy waiting outside keeping watch, who I didn't even like, could give it to his best friend, so he could sniff her out and we could find out whether or not she was turning into a werewolf.

When did this become my life?

I moved straight to the bathroom, opening the door slowly and peeking inside. No, Lydia had not miraculously come back and was totally fine. The window was still wide open, the only route she could have taken to escape undetected, and the floor was slippery under my boots from where she'd gotten out of the shower, still dripping wet. She was probably freezing out there.

I shook my head. Now was not the time for thinking. Now was the time for doing. I snatched up Lydia's gown from the counter beside the sink and quickly made my way back to the door, knocking on it gently.

"Can I come out now?" I stage whispered. I heard the knob twist and moved out of the way so Stiles could quickly push the door open, allowing me to slip through and lead the way far away from Lydia's room. "You know this is technically theft, right?" I pointed out when I heard him right behind me, throwing the gown in his direction. "They're going to realise they're missing the gown, and-"

"They lost a naked sixteen year old girl with a great gash in her side. A missing gown isn't their biggest problem right now, and what are you smiling about?" I quickly reined in the grin, shaking my head and clearing my throat.

"Just, uh… The Great Gashby…" I finished quietly, already regretting it when Stiles groaned.

"God, that was terrible."

"Well, I'm not exactly on top of my game right now, am I?" I argued defensively, crossing my arms over my chest as we waited for the elevator.

"Oh no, you can't blame Lydia." The elevator dinged and we both stepped in, Stiles pushing the button for the ground floor and shaking his head at me. "You brought that terrible pun into the world all on your own. Take responsibility for it." I glared at him for the rest of the ride down to the parking lot. Once the doors opened, we both shot out and made our way to the main doors, and I followed Stiles over to his Jeep, where, as we walked closer, I could faintly make out the outline of Scott. I waited in front of the car, tapping the toe of my boot on the tarmac as I bit my lip. Stiles wrenched the driver's side door open, climbing in but leaving the door open as he spoke quietly to Scott. They talked for a second, before I moved closer, rounding the door stopping next to the driver's seat, so I could hear what they were saying.

"Alright, just shove the thing in your face and let's find her." I shook my head with an eye roll. I always managed to catch the weirdest comments from those two. He turned to me, shooing me away. "You stay here." I gaped.

"What? Why?"

"Because…" Stiles thought about it for a second, before he frowned. "It might be dangerous?"

I scoffed at his ridiculous excuse. "'It might be dangerous'," I mocked, pulling a face as he rolled his eyes and turned on the car.

"Can't you just do as your- wahhhow-" the headlights came on, and I turned at Stiles'… unique shriek to see Allison, standing directly in front of the car. She stood there a minute before moving to Scott's side.

"What are you doing here?" he asked quietly, his face close to hers through the open window. "Someone's going to see us."

"I don't care. She is my best friend and we need to find her before they do."

"I can find her before the cops can," Scott argued.

"How about before my father does," Allison challenged, drawing the attention of Stiles and I.

"He's looking for her?" I asked. Allison nodded gravely.

"I just saw him and three other guys leaving my house in two SUVs."

Scott turned to look at Stiles, his eyes wide. "Search party."

"It's more like a hunting party," Allison corrected.

"Get in," Scott allowed her, opening the door and letting her climb over him to the back seat. I raised an eyebrow at Stiles.

"If Allison is going, I'm going." Stiles glared at me for a long moment, as though he were annoyed merely by my existence, before he let out a loud, infuriated groan and jumped out, gesturing for me to climb over the seat as Allison had done. I smiled victoriously at him before I did, and as he returned to his seat and backed out of the parking space. I heard a lot of mumbling and muttered cursing, most of it directed at me.

"So," Scott started, turning around in his seat to look at Allison. "What do they know?"

Allison sighed, ticking things off on her fingers as she spoke. "They know Lydia was bitten by an alpha. They know she was having some sort of reaction to it, and that ultimately, she was fine. And they know that now she's gone missing, naked and without any prior indication that anything was wrong."

"How did they know she disappeared?" Stiles asked, trying to both keep his eyes on the road and figure out what to do.

"I don't know," Allison answered on a defeated shrug.

"How are they going to find her?"

"I don't know," Allison repeated.

"Well, if she's turning, will they actually kill her?" Stiles inquired, to Allison's frustration.

"I don't know. They won't tell me anything, okay? All they say is that we'll talk after Kate's funeral when the others get here."

"What others?"

"Oh my god," I groaned.

"I don- they won't tell me that either," Allison answered.

"They're not telling her anything, Stiles," I cut in before he could ask another question.

He sucked in a deep breath. "Okay, your family has some serious communication issues you need to work on." He turned to Scott, who had been leaning his entire upper body out of the window this entire time. "Scott, are we going the right way?"

He didn't respond for a second, before shouting, "take the next right!" Stiles took the next right, and we continued on our road trip. I sat back in my seat, taking in a deep breath, and when I opened my eyes, I caught Stiles staring at me in the rear view mirror.

"What?" I asked shortly, already annoyed.

"Don't you have some weird, hoodoo thing you can do to find her?"

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up, Stiles."

"No, I'm serious," he argued. "You knew she was in trouble the night of the formal, right?" I nodded, albeit reluctantly. "How did you know?" I shrugged.

"I saw it," I answered bleakly. "I saw it from her point of view, and I could feel everything she was feeling."

Allison frowned at me. "Is that what you meant last week, when you said there was stuff that didn't make sense?" I nodded.

"Next left," Scott ordered. Stiles obliged.

"That kind of stuff has been happening a lot," I explained quietly, more out of self-consciousness than to stop anyone from eavesdropping. "It was the exact same thing the night of the parent teacher conferences, almost like some sort of… premonition, I guess. I felt a car hit me, and then I was fine, but I knew, somehow, it wasn't actually me that the car was going to hit. That's when I saw the Sheriff and realised it was him." I looked over at Stiles' reflection in the mirror, and he smiled at me. "And then again when we were all trapped inside the school, before the ceiling caved in."

"You were totally freaking out," Stiles recalled. "You were looking around like something had frightened you."

"Something had frightened me," I pointed out. "I heard the entire ceiling crash down around us before Jackson and Lydia even showed up. It's happening all the time and it's freaking me out."

"How do you do it?" Allison asked, turning to me as fully as she could in the cramped confinements of the back seat. I shrugged.

"I don't have a clue," I answered, thinking about it with a frown. "The only common denominator that I can think of is danger. I don't do anything, I don't think anything or recite a mantra or whatever, but, occasionally, when something happens that results in bodily harm or injury, either to myself or someone in the near vicinity, I see it before it actually happens."

"So you're psychic," Stiles supplied, like it answered all of our questions. I rolled my eyes.

"I ain't psychic."

"I'm just throwing suggestions out there," Stiles reasoned, defending his answer. "I don't see anyone else doing that."

"Stiles," Scott interrupted. "Pull over."

"Where are we?" Allison asked, gazing out through the windshield as Stiles stopped the car.

"Is this…" I recognised this area. I ran it all the time. "The Hale house is just up the hill." Scott nodded.

"She's been here. Recently." We all climbed out of the Jeep, slowly climbing the hill up to the old, ruined building.

"She came here?" Stiles asked as we reached the top of the hill. We both looked back to find Scott and Allison. "You're sure?"

Scott shrugged. "This is where the scent leads."

He continued to make his way up the hill, and I followed close behind until he stopped again. "Alright, but has Lydia ever been here?"

Allison shook her head. "Not with me." He looked to me, and I copied Allison's movements.

"Me either."

I continued walking with Stiles, leaving Allison and Scott to trail behind slowly.

"Well, this is bringing back some wonderful memories," I commented under my breath. Stiles snorted.

"We sure have had some good times here. Finding half a dead body, getting a werewolf arrested, killing an alpha…" he trailed off, sighing heavily as he cast a wincing look up at the house.

"We'll find her, Stiles."

"What if we don't?" he asked, his arms flinging out to his sides. "What if the hunters find her first? Or the cops? If she really is turning, she'll rip them to shreds."

"We'll find her," I said again, pointedly and determined. We stopped, waiting for Allison and Scott to catch up.

"We're stronger in packs," Scott responded to a question I hadn't heard.

"Like strength in numbers," Allison nodded, Scott shook his head.

"No, like, literally stronger, faster, better in every way."

Allison gazed up at the house for a long moment, until a thought occurred to her. "Is that the same for an alpha?"

"I think they think Derek might be… Stiles, what are you doing?" I asked when I turned around to find him not stood beside me, but crouched, creeping along the leafy floor of the preserve.

"There's something… down here…" he got out, his voice laboured with his crouched position and movements. I turned around more fully, intrigued, and moved to crouch beside him.

It was a wire.

"Uh… guys?" I called, just barely looking over my shoulder as Stiles grabbed a light hold of the thin metal. "Come and look at this."

Allison came and crouched on my other side, watching as Stiles held it up for her to see. "I think it's a tripwire," Stiles commented. He pulled on it before anyone could tell him that maybe it wasn't such a good idea, but nothing happened.

"Stiles…" I heard from behind us.

"Yeah, buddy?" We all turned around only to see Scott hanging from his ankle.

"Next time you see a tripwire," Scott started, his voice struggled with all the blood rushing to his head. "Don't trip it." I heard a soft giggle from my right, and turned to see Allison with a hand across her mouth and a smile in her eyes.

"Noted," Stiles responded guiltily as Allison continued to grin. Both of them took a few steps forward to help him down, but he quickly stopped them.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait," he said quietly, hurriedly. "Someone's coming. Hide." I didn't need to be told twice, already stepping forward to grab both of their sleeves and yank them backwards as Scott continued to shoo them away. I ran down into the tree line, crouching behind a large tree trunk in the shadows, and heard a lot of commotion directly behind me. I turned around to see Allison and Stiles right there. I rolled my eyes.

"Really? There are a thousand trees around here and you pick my tree?"

"Shh," Stiles ordered, pressing a finger to his mouth as I rolled my eyes again. I moved forward just enough to be able to see Scott from where he was hanging, and felt one of my hiding-buddies press against my back to get a better look too.

"Stiles, I swear to God, if-" he cut me off with a hand over my mouth. So I bit him.

"Ow!" He pulled his hand away quickly, glaring at me. "What the hell was that for?" He asked quietly.

"Never touch me again."

"Both of you, shut up," Allison commanded with as little noise as possible, her tone full of authority as she looked around the other side of the trunk. "They'll hear you." I turned my attention back to Scott with one last glare at Stiles, to find he'd been joined by none other than Mr Argent and his hunting party. He crouched down in front of Scott's upside down face, sighing.

"Scott," he said simply.

"Mr Argent," Scott replied.

"How're you doing?"

"Good," Scott answered, nodding. "You know, just… hanging out." I rolled my eyes, barely supressing the urge to slap a hand to my forehead. "Is this one of yours?" Scott asked, gesturing to the wire around his ankle. "It's uh, good. Nice design. Very constricting." Well, I just wonder where Scott got his taste for winding up the volatile hunter.

"What are you doing out here, Scott?" Mr Argent questioned, completely ignoring everything Scott had just said. I didn't realise Allison had moved closer to me until her face was at my shoulder, the three of us crowded around the same side of the tree to see what was happening.

"Looking for my friend," Scott responded truthfully.

"Ah, that's right," Mr Argent smiled. "Lydia's in your group now, isn't she? Maybe 'clique', is that the word you use? Or is there another way to put it?" His voice took on a more threatening tone. "Part of your pack?"

"Actually, clique sounds about right to me."

"Well, I hope so," Mr Argent replied quietly. I leant forward to hear him better, only to have Stiles tug on my jacket and pull me back again, out of sight. "Because I know she's a friend of Allison's, and one special circumstance such as yourself? One I can handle. Not two." I had Allison take in a sharp breath then, and I reached out to find her hand, squeezing it comfortingly. "Scott, do you know what a hemicorporectomy is?" A what now?

"I have a feeling I don't want to," Scott groaned.

"It's the medical term for amputating somebody at the waist," Mr Argent explained, and my free hand flew to my mouth, disgusted. "Cutting them in half. It takes a tremendous amount of strength to cut through tissue and bone like that." He gestured along Scott's stomach, where the cut would be made, and I couldn't help but feel incredibly sick. "Let's hope a demonstration never becomes necessary."

With that friendly parting comment, Mr Argent got to his feet, leading his goons back the way they had come. As soon as they were out of sight, Allison and Stiles shot up and rushed back to Scott, and I followed behind slowly.

"Are you okay?" Allison asked once they'd reached him.

"Just another life-threatening conversation with your dad," Scott responded cheerily. Allison didn't laugh at his joke, instead checking out the wire around Scott's ankle and following it to a nearby tree trunk.

"Stiles, help me with this," she ordered, and they both walked over to the tree, trying to figure out how to release Scott from his binds. Scott just grinned up at me, and with a swipe of his claws, cut himself down.

"Thanks," Scott smiled, back on his own two feet. "But I think I got it."

We'd spent all night searching the Hale house and the surrounding grounds, only to come up empty handed. Scott was convinced that Lydia had been there, but aside from the scent that only Scott could pick up, there was nothing to suggest he was right. By the time I finally got home, everyone was asleep and I only managed to get about four hours of sleep in before I had to wake up again and get ready for school.

After hitting the snooze button on my phone alarm three times, it was finally Poe who woke me up with a swift paw to the nose. I grumbled, pushing her off my chest gently so I could finally get up and went to shower, banging on Josh's door to wake him up on my way past. On the way back to my bedroom, Josh came out of his room, still in his pyjamas, and narrowed his eyes at me.

"What time did you get in last night?"

"Late," I sighed. "I was staying with Lydia at the hospital, and then she went missing."

Josh's eyes went wide. "Lydia's missing?" I nodded.

"Yeah. She got in the shower and then just… disappeared."

Josh was silent for a few seconds, before shaking his head. "Shit."

"Tell me about it," I muttered, pushing past him and closing my bedroom door behind me. I pulled on a sweater and some jeans, covering up the circles under my eyes and leaving my hair in its soft waves. I pulled my mom's necklace from where it had been hanging from my mirror, examining it in my fingers. I'd been wearing it every day since the formal. I didn't know if there was even anything special about it, or if it was just the sentimentality of it, but it felt wrong to leave the house without it.

We'd woken up later than usual, so Josh and I stopped by my work to grab coffee and a muffin, eating it quickly during the rest of the quiet drive to school. Stepping out of the car, I saw Stiles and Scott making their way to the front steps, said my goodbyes to Josh and grabbed the coffees from his waiting hands before jogging over to meet them.

"She ate the liver?" Scott asked, and god, that was not a good way to start the morning.

"No," I interrupted, closing my eyes and shaking my head at the image that popped to mind. "I try to do a nice thing and bring you guys coffee, and that is how you greet me?" Scott smiled apologetically, taking the coffee I held out for him. Before he could take a sip, however, Stiles ripped it from his hand and sniffed it cautiously.

"What did you do it?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at me. I rolled mine.

"Nothing," I promised, handing Scott another coffee. "I just figured that after our… late night adventure, you guys could use a pick me up."

Stiles shook his head. "No, you definitely did something. You don't like me; why would you get me coffee?"

"Because it's polite," I shrugged. "Besides, I like you better than I like Scott right now, and you don't see him complaining."

Scott made a sound of surprise and offence. "What? Why do you like Stiles better than me? I'm the more likable one!"

"Thanks, dude," Stiles smiled sarcastically, patting his friend on the back a little too hard.

"It's the werewolf thing," I whispered, knowing that Scott would still pick up on it, and I saw Stiles' face fall into something akin to empathy. It was a weird look on him. "I don't like it."

"So why did you bring me coffee?" Scott asked, the hurt evident on his face.

I hesitated, shrugging. "Because, like I said, it's polite. Now," I said, turning on my heel and walking up the stone steps, the two of them following me as expected. "Who ate who's liver?" I asked with a grimace, taking a sip from my mocha to take my mind off the statement. I heard Stiles groan.

"No one ate anyone's liver," he argued, and I was sure he was rolling his eyes. "There was a grave robbery last night, and a dead girl's liver is missing."

"'a dead girl', nice," I muttered. "Real sympathetic."

"And you know what," Stiles continued as if he hadn't heard a word I'd said. "So what if she did? It's the most nutritious part of the body."

"I never ate anyone's liver," Scott said defensively. I snorted.

"Sure, Scott, you just tried to attack your best friend," I sang cheerily.

"Actually, hold on," Stiles murmured, slowing to a stop and grabbing Scott's sleeve. I turned around to watch as Stiles frowned at his friend. "You're the test case for this. We should be going over what happened to you."

"What do you mean?" Scott asked.

"I mean, what was going through your mind when you were turning, you know?" Stiles explained. "What were you drawn to?"

Scott hesitated. "Allison." Stiles, expectantly, groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Okay, nothing else?" Scott shook his head. "Seriously?"

"Nothing else mattered," he explained. "But that's good though, right? Because the night that Lydia was bit she was with you."

"Stiles isn't Lydia's 'Allison'," I argued. Stiles nodded.

"She was looking for Jackson," Stiles agreed, glaring at just the thought of him as a familiar silver Porsche sped past us to find a parking space.

"Speak of the devil," I smiled, seeing the matching looks of frustration and slight disgust on both of their faces as I walked between them to Jackson's parked car. "And he shall appear."

"Amber," he grinned when he finally got close enough, looking incredibly smug, even for Jackson. "Isn't it a beautiful morning?"

"Ohh," I breathed, like I'd just realised something. "So that's where you've been all weekend: being abducted by aliens and replaced by a clone." Jackson scoffed, taking my coffee out of my hands and taking a swig.

"I'm sorry I haven't called you back after the thirty five missed calls and seventeen voicemails you left me," Jackson apologised sarcastically.

"Okay, firstly, that is a massive exaggeration," I complained, stealing back my coffee as we walked back towards the front steps where Stiles and Scott still stood. "And secondly, seriously, where the hell have you been?"

"I've been familiarising myself with the ins and outs of my new lifestyle choice."

"So… you've been researching werewolves," I clarified, and by his smirk, I assumed I was correct. "Do you have any idea what's been going on here while you've been stuck in the world of Wikipedia?"

"If you're talking about Lydia, then yes, you've already told me."

"Oh, my bad. I didn't realise you actually read any of the texts I sent you, since you didn't even reply to one of them."

"Like I said," Jackson murmured as we reached Jackson's two favourite teammates. "I've been busy." He blew right past Stiles and Scott without so much as a glance in their direction, and I just rolled my eyes and followed. Maybe Jackson should have stayed MIA.

I almost fell asleep during most of morning periods, and if Harris didn't love the Wilson name as much as he did, I knew, despite a little time for pick-me-up tater tots during lunch, staying awake in chemistry would be impossible and I'd end up with a week's worth of detention. Lucky for me, Harris knew about Lydia's disappearing act and that we were close, so seconds after I'd walked into the room and taken my seat next to Danny, he'd taken a quick break from handing out the pop quizzes and rested a hand on my shoulder, telling me if I needed anything, just to let him know.

Being the teacher's pet had its perks.

I had my head bent over my test when I caught Jackson hovering over his chair and leaning over the desk, trying to peek at our papers. I looked up, raising an unfazed eyebrow at the usual pout on his face, and smirked. I heard Danny's soft snort beside me, and we both went back to our own quizzes, ignoring Jackson's defeated huff.

"This is a pop quiz, Mr Stilinski," Harris droned, picking out his usual victim from the crowd. Stiles made it pretty easy for him though, muttering the entire time. "If I hear your voice again, I may be tempted to give you detention for the rest of your high school career." I snorted, turning to my boys and seeing the matching, barely supressed smirks on their faces.

"Can you do that?" Stiles asked, genuinely sounding amazed by the threat.

"There it is again, your voice," Harris responded, shaking his head at Stiles' utter lack of self-control. "Triggering the only impulse I've ever had to strike a student repeatedly, and violently." The laugh that Danny had been trying to hold back broke free a little, his shoulders shaking as I put a hand to my mouth to hold my own giggle in, and Jackson just let his smirk take over his entire face. "I'll see you at three for detention," Harris ordered, closely followed by "You too, Mr McCall?" when Scott turned around to gape at his friend.

"No, sir," I heard Scott say, and I turned my attention back to my quiz.

"Dude," Danny whispered, and I looked up at him to find him staring at Jackson's paper. On it sat a large pool of black liquid, almost like ink. Looking up, I saw it was coming from Jackson's nose. Danny pointed it out, and Jackson wiped at the black streak coming from his nostrils with a confused frown. "Are you okay?" Danny asked, but before we got an answer, Jackson was up and out of his seat and sprinting out of the door.

I nodded for Danny to reach across and pull the paper closer, examining the black blob. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

A/N: So, I know before, but maybe not in this fic, I mentioned that I've started filling in some character questions to get to know my OCs more. I've got (incomplete) profiles for my OCs on charahub (you can find the link to this on my profile), and I've also decided I'm going to start doing questionnaires on tumblr. You can hop on over to the tumblr link on my profile if you want to find out more or want to check that out.

If I can keep my promise, you guys can check in every Wednesday for the latest chapter of Empty Casket II: Occult.

Thanks for the continued support guys, and I'll see you next time.