She rested on the benches, scooping her yellow dress under her, dragging her laptop out. Stiles strode out on the field taking notice of her, as if it possible you could ignore a bright yellow dress. Olive blinked once when he waved, tipping her head down towards her chromebook, bringing up the English essay, propping the Iliad up near her, scanning the text. After school practices really didn't seem fun, and she was only here to...work on her homework was a plausible excuse.

There was a collision, and she looked up. It was like being inside a building, and right outside, a crash occurred. It was a faint noise, but directly a hit. She panicked slightly, shifting everything from her lap, and starting down the bleachers. The lacrosse team, previously standing still, albeit worriedly, rushed forward to crowd Jackson, while she made a b-line to Stiles.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Wolfing out," Stiles said, patting Scott on the shoulder. "Come on, get up. Come on. Come on."

She sensed someone else, another bundle of emotions, a veritable calm in the confusion, drawing her attention. Olive stopped, letting Stiles go, making eye contact with the stranger in black, jaw flexing, stepping forward. No reaction. He blinked once calmly, turning away, hunching down, before he shot off into the woods. Werewolf, because no one could creep like that species.

Olive stepped back towards the locker rooms, just as Scott and Stiles disappeared into them, ridiculously high heels slowing her progress. Apparently, the high contrast between bright yellow and cobalt blue was fashionable, or something? She shook her head, stopping briefly to unzip them, stepping out, jogging towards the building now, worried about him, even if she didn't want to be.

"Stiles?" she asked, walking down the hallway. Her voice escalated into hysteria, screaming, "Stiles!"

He stumbled out of the locker rooms, holding a fire extinguisher to his chest, catching sight of her, eyes wide in fright. Stiles was perspiring slightly, lacrosse helmet off, the rest of his uniform still on. She gripped his shoulder, peering into the room, listening to the weak call of his name. Olive narrowed her eyes, releasing his shoulders, striding into the room, hate for Scott's intrusion into the world of Supernatural finally sustained.

When he saw it wasn't a sympathetic party, he groaned, resting his head in his hands. She was yanked back, hand missing the back of his head by a few inches, because Stiles had replaced her with Scott 8 years ago. Olive's throat constricted, and she stood back, thinking back to her bag as she listened.

"What happened?" Scott asked his friend, as he crouched next to her.

"You tried to kill me ! It's like I told you before…It's the anger, it's your pulse rising."

And Stiles remained the smart one of the pair, at least that was a constant. Olive remembered reading while they played, and Scott would go near her dog's little area all the time, while Stiles called him back. Her dog didn't like him, and if her dog was alive, that would remain a thing. She wanted a dog, actually; a dog would be really nice. Or a cat. A short legged cat, like the corgi's of the cat world. Corgis.

She grinned wide, remembered John, a Corgi a neighbor in Ohio had owned. Of course, a trailer park hadn't been any place for a dog, let alone a human, but it'd been nice to know there was still something good in her life; something insanely cute. John's body would wiggle by itself whenever she came by his little post.

"But that's lacrosse. It's a pretty violent game, if you haven't noticed," Scott said.

"Well, it's gonna be much more violent if you kill someone on the fields. You can't play on saturday. You're gonna have to get out of the game," Stiles said simply.

"But I'm first line," Scott tried, and she rolled her eyes, wondering if that would ever qualify as an excuse.

"Not anymore," Stiles said.

She left them as soon as a ride home was secured with Stiles, giving Scott one last unimpressed look over, because she knew he was just as bad as he had been, getting Stiles into trouble, almost killing him. It was like kindergarten all over again, but her control over Stiles had lessened, and it was totally different from Scott telling him to eat a pencil. This involved fangs and claws, and super senses, and what she assumed was another werewolf. Soon, the shit would hit the fan, and she couldn't just smack the problem from hand.

Scott slid out of the Jeep, the noise of the passenger door shutting interrupting her thoughts, along with the vacated seat. She climbed in next to him, arranging her back on her lap; she focused on her heels to avoid conversation, but Stiles was Stiles.

"So, uh, you look- hanging out with Lydia? Did she-"

"No, she did not say anything about you."

He shifted uncomfortably, waving his hand off to the side. "I was not going to say that. But, really?"

"Oh fucking hell."

"Okay, okay. Look, how-"

"Turn left."

"Oh, this is like the big house part of Beacon Hills, ritzy."

She cut a glance over to him, eyebrows raising in exasperation. He waggled his, smiling a bit nervously. "Focus on the road. Right turn, at the end of the cul de sac, left side."

"'kay," he answered slowly, turning into her driveway. "Mission accomplished. Do I get a prize, or, no?"

"You can stop, like, right now."

"Sorry. I just- you aren't the same. I can't read you like I used to be able to. It's weird."

She opened the door, sliding out of the Jeep, stepping up the steps, the pillars stretching high above her. Stiles's jeep didn't leave the drive, and he actually got out. Olive frowned, unlocking the door quickly, stepping inside to throw her bag over on the table in the landing area. The spiral staircase loomed in front of her, the mood of the house to her seeming neutral, and maybe a bit comforting, if she had to say it.

Her father shuffled by then, breaking any semblance of comfort, his eyes ringed, obviously tired. She stiffened, leaning away from him as he moved towards the door, her father registering this quickly, making no complaint against this.

"Someone is banging on the door."

Stiles had been banging on the door while she observed the house, but she'd learned to mute annoying loud sounds in Ohio. Trailers had very thin walls, and quite frankly, two years in one had been hell. But then, so had NYC.

"You left your biology textbook," Stiles explained, looking over Solomon's shoulder. "Oh, hi, Mr. Ainsley."

her father stood a bit taller, smiling kindly at Stiles. "Stiles. You're still around."

"Yup, so is Scott. Where's Milo?"

Olive crossed her arms tight over her chest, avoiding both of their gazes. Solomon cleared his throat, copying her movements, doing the same little shuffle she pulled off. She instantly stopped, disgusted with herself. Her father eventually walked off, rubbing a hand through his curls, muttering quietly to himself. Olive would've done the same, but there were common courtesies she had to follow, even if she didn't particularly like them.

"Nevermind," Stiles said quickly, proffering her book. "You left this. Algebra 1?"

She winced, looking down at her shoes. "I fail algebra every year, so I'm taking it for the 3rd time. Hopefully it's the charm, you know?" Olive laughed nervously now, feeling a bit less smart with this profession. She even had trouble in Biology, because she couldn't handle the concept of the metric system. It just wasn't easy for her to handle numbers, but she made up for it in English in a big way.

"Oh. Oh, okay, that's cool. I mean, do you want help, because I can help; it's absolutely cool?"

"Cool."

"Cool."

She shuffled, digging her shoe into the floor, making a little scratch that her Aunt would most definitely bring up later, bringing instant regret to her mind. Olive gripped her elbow tight, shifting again, hating to request something from him. But she had to. Even if it was only to integrate herself back into his life, and not to finally pass math that had stumped her for years now.

"Cam you- now? Maybe?"

"Scott's probably going to video call me at night, and my dad thinks I'm staying after for tutoring at Lacrosse, so, why not, what do you need?"

He strolled into her kitchen, leaving the book on the island,opening the fridge.

"Oh, please, help yourself without asking me."

"Will do."

Olive smiled slightly, and he smiled back, coming out with a liter of sprite and leftover pizza, pointing behind him. He was holding glaze between his teeth, and was obviously motioning to the cinnamon sticks he'd pulled out. She took it to the second microwave, letting him program it himself.

"Did you like, order from pizza hut and not eat anything?"

"Actually, yea."

"That's really, really not cool. Waste of food, some other starving teen, mainly me. Don't call Scott, call me. Me."

"I get it."

"Call me for pizza, there's your phrase."

"I don't have your number, and I don't want Scott's."

"Are you saying you want my number, because a girl asking for my number is a huge first."

"No it isn't."

He nodded, eyebrows raised high, pointing to himself. "Scrawny does not drop underwear."

Olive smiled slightly, tipping her head to the side, watching him move around, using magic to float some things back to him. Sometimes he'd overshoot, and have to duck, the plate hovering directly over his head. He smiled a bit nervously at her, giving a shrug, eyes widening briefly.

"I forgot you're like an amplifier for me."

"Whatever."

"Dude, you've been gone 8 years, I almost forgot your name."

She raised her eyebrows at the name dude, wondering briefly why it annoyed her to have him refer to her in such a friendly term, eventually shrugging, and looking off to the side. At least she was comfortable around him; most guys made her nervous, and since they'd begun to talk to her randomly, this fact had been made even more apparent. She was only cool around Scott because she harbored dislike for him, and Jackson because she viewed him as friend. Even if he was something of a douchebag these days.

Lydia just scared her. She was like the new and improved version of Olive, and she was slightly jealous, to tell the truth. Maybe if she hadn't moved as much, she'd be able to dominate the social pyramid like that, instead of drifting to the back of everyone's mind by the second week. For now, Olive wished she was like Lydia Martin in a large way, wished she wouldn't fade, wished she was smarter, just was a teenage girl. So Stiles wouldn't forget her name.

"Doesn't matter. I almost forgot yours too," she lied, because his name had gone through her mind every single day since she'd left.

Stiles nodded, now focused on taking the pizza and the like out, nosing around for the living room. Teenage boys could not only find the fridge as soon as they crossed the threshold, but the most comfortable spot to make a mess. He spread himself out on the couch, waving her over, pizza hanging from his mouth now. Olive looked worriedly at the expensive leather couch, then to Stiles, who had her book open on his lap.

Maybe she'd made the wrong choice, inviting him in; what he currently had in his mouth had been a potential dinner. Terrible.


Olive was always up late, and had something of insomnia these days. It was just frustrating for her, because her thoughts would turn to Milo, and she'd be on her computer, logging into complied evidence, and sitting there, the glow lighting her room.

Her finger slid through her fringe, messing it up a bit, hair coming loose from her ponytail, frowning at the screen. The most she'd learned about his disappearance, and eventual death, was that a woman was responsible. A woman who could beat the shit out of a fairly large 19 year old. Olive stared at the grainy image, nodding off once or twice, and eventually trundling back to bed.

Maybe she should just move on, get an actual life, rather than starting at that picture. Olive covered her face with her hands, staring into the pitch black provided by her hands. No.