Disclaimer: Still don't own Darkest Powers. Still don't own the lyrics. I forever bow down to Kelley Armstrong and Paramore. :)

A/N: Thanks for the response you guys! Here's the next chapter — hope you like it. :D

Oh, and before anyone asks, yes, this was written exclusively to Paramore songs. I'm writing this at the end of my craziest summer yet, which ended with a road trip to Orlando to see Paramore on my birthday (best birthday everrrrr! :D). It felt like the perfect soundtrack.

Enjoy! - Christine.

.: two :.

Yeah, the friends who stuck together
We wrote our names in blood
But I guess you can't accept that
The change is good

Maybe it's morbid, but I couldn't help thinking about cemeteries as Derek walked up to the car. Generally, I made sure to avoid them — no repeats of that disastrous lesson with Margaret, thanks.

But there are certain kinds of ghosts you just can't avoid.

Derek stopped in front of the hood, and stared at me through the windshield. I forced myself to stare back. This was not my idea. This was not my idea. This was not— but telepathy isn't included in the werewolf skill set.

Derek opened his mouth, but Simon spoke first. "Could you come out here, Chloe?" he asked. He said it the way a parent might when presenting their kids with a new puppy. I stayed put.

He leaned into the car and gave me a hopeful look. "Please? I'm going to explain everything."

"You swear?" I asked. I glanced at Derek again, and he looked equally pissed. Whatever Simon had to say, he better say it fast.

"Swear," he agreed, smiling. I was too content with my glare to smile back. I got out of the car.

The three of us stood on the sidewalk, Simon in the middle. The last time the three of us were alone together, there was a lot of yelling, mainly between Derek and I. Simon had kept himself between us to make sure we didn't murder each other. This time he wasn't as obvious, but I could tell it was another precaution. Apparently, Derek saw it too — he gave an aggravated sigh and stepped back.

"Better?" he growled. Simon chuckled, and I tapped my foot. Any day now.

Simon shifted his weight to his other foot. "So. This is awkward."

Derek rolled his eyes, and I snorted, "No kidding." But Simon just gave another stilted laugh.

Another full minute of silence, and Derek lost patience. "Talk, Simon," he said. The words sounded like mud in his mouth, like they'd been composting for days rather than an hour.

I could connect the dots. Simon called up Derek at the gas station, and said something about taking off for a few weeks. He just left out a tiny detail: me.

Looking at Derek, still larger than life, I felt like Simon had left out the biggest detail of all.

Simon cleared his throat, and after making sure he had our attention — which he'd already had for the past ten minutes. He inhaled slowly.

"Twenty-four hours," he said. "That's all I'm asking."

That was it. Two sentences, and then silence. I felt my nails dig into my palms. "Twenty-four hours of what, Simon?" I deadpanned. I only had one guess. "Tori put you up to this, didn't she? She convinced you to bring me over here-"

He shook his head. "No, this is all me. She did ask me to go with you, but I…" He looked at his brother. "I had some previous obligations."

I made myself look at Derek, who was already shaking his head. "Not in a million years."

"But you said you didn't care who came with-"

"I thought you meant some new girlfriend, not her," Derek said, gesturing at me like an annoying bug.

"You guys used to love long car rides—"

"Slow down," I huffed, before they could really start arguing. "Why does it sound like I'm the tagalong? It's my car, remember? My vacation? If Tori didn't put you up to this — which I doubt — then why am I here?"

Derek snorted. "Tell her, Simon. Tell her what you did."

The spotlight was on him again, and he fidgeted under our gaze. "About a month ago…"

Derek swore. "Cut the crap," he said, and looked me dead in the eye. It was the first time he'd addressed me in who knew how long, but I didn't have time to dwell on it before he started talking. "You see that over there?" He pointed to the far side of the parking lot. A blue car I barely recognized as Derek's huddled in the corner, the passenger side doors completely smashed in, making the car look like a wounded animal. The only thing missing was the blood — otherwise it would've made the perfect stage piece for a crash scene.

"That," Derek said, commanding my attention, "is why you shouldn't let Simon drive your car. I gave him the keys and two hours later, I get a call from him saying he ran a red light. He's lucky he didn't kill himself."

Wide-eyed, and wondering why Tori never said anything, I gave Simon a more detailed once-over. He looked fine, even though I could now see the faint scratches on his hands and arms from broken glass. I looked at the car again. Lucky was an understatement.

Then I paled. "And you wanted to drive my car?" I spluttered.

Simon shrugged, and he swallowed again. "Well, mine's in the shop—"

"What for?" Derek and I blurted.

"Engine trouble," Simon said, but when he threw us another guilty smirk, I knew it was anything but.

Holding back every urge to strangle him, I held out my hand, hardened my already stony look, and he reluctantly plopped the keys into my palm. Then I was jabbing my finger in his face, fuming. "If you ever think you're getting behind the wheel of this car, I will—I will—"

"Give it a rest, Chloe," Derek sighed, stepping forward and pushing us apart. I swear his touch burned my skin, and for an instant, I was disoriented, not sure who I was angrier at. Derek, definitely Derek, I reminded myself, shrugging out of his grip. He didn't notice. "Tell her what else," Derek prodded, and now Simon was quick to answer questions, knowing his neck was on the line.

"Derek was supposed to go out of town this weekend, but since I wrecked his car, he can't make the trip. I was going to make it up to him by paying for a rental car and food, but then Tori called and—"

And Simon was forced to compromise. I bristled. Yeah, poor him.

"Go with Derek," I said. "I don't need a chaperone. I don't want one. Thanks for the free gas, Simon. I'll see you when I get back." If ever, I thought, pissed that I'd let him take advantage of me — that he of all people had tried. It was time to get out of town, and possibly find a way to stay out.

But Simon caught my wrist, another guilty smile on his face. "See, Chloe, that's the thing-"

"You're kidding me," Derek blurted. I could practically watch the pieces fall into place in his head. "You never booked a rental car."

I shook off Simon's grasp and held up my hands. "Not my problem," I said, half-smug that Simon had to ward off a Derek-tirade of his own.

"You swore you'd taken care of it—"

"I've been busy—"

"With what? You don't have school; you don't have a full time job. What the hell could you be busy with?"

"I'm sorry, okay? It was stupid, I get it, stop rubbing it in. I'm trying to fix it."

"This is your idea of fixing it?" Derek said, and there was that gesture again, the one that said I was less than human, and I found myself with one foot in the car and my eyes focused on the boys in front of me.

I don't know what it was, but I felt riled. Derek wasn't fighting with me but it felt like he was. Every five seconds he shot this glassy-eyed stare in my direction. There was nothing behind or in front of that eerie shade of green, but it triggered the memories — I'd seen it before.

It was like watching a montage of those last few explosive fights. Derek was just angry. At me, at Simon, at the world, who really knew? Did that mean every source of aggravation should get the blast of them all combined? No.

Maybe it was because I'd thought it before, but all of that passed through my mind before I could blink. A millisecond later I was back on the sidewalk, cutting in. "Excuse me, but I'd appreciate it if you referred to me as a person instead of an object. Yeah, Simon screwed up, but that doesn't mean you have to lord it over him. It was a mistake — you know, a common symptom of being human."

He spun, and I felt the full force of his annoyance, but I didn't care anymore. Better me than Simon — at least I understood where it came from. "You're one to talk, it wasn't even your car he wrecked and you started threatening him—"

"He lied to me!"

"He lied to me, too," Derek pointed out. "Or did you think I was in on it, that I asked for him to bring you here?"

"Where is here anyway?" I asked, looking around the deteriorating apartment complex. "Your new place? It looks great, Derek, I'm glad you found something that fits your personality so perfectly—"

"Would you both just shut up?" Simon yelled, and I reflexively took a step back. Hanging out with Tori had taught me to watch out for sparks whenever tempers flared.

Derek started to argue but Simon cut him off. "You want me to talk, fine. Here's what I think: If anyone here needs to fix anything, it's not me. It's you two. I get that you resent each other, but that doesn't mean you have to put the rest of us through hell. It's been a year, and the first thing you do is start yelling at each other? Seriously?"

I didn't say anything. I just kept wishing I was a witch, that I could zap them both and drive away and be done with them for good. It wasn't worth it anymore. Derek could keep Simon — I didn't want any part of it.

"Twenty-four hours," he repeated, and still we didn't say anything. "You need to get to Hollywood, and you need to get to Chicago. I checked the maps — it's a day's drive from here to Chicago. Just give me one day."

"Why should I?" I said. "What have you done for me in the past year?"

Simon didn't know how to respond. It was childish to say, but I couldn't help it. Apparently, I was bitter.

Simon nodded, seeing where I was coming from even though I was just coming to terms with it myself. "Okay, fair enough. But you have to see why I haven't really been around—"

"Yeah, you took his side," I said. "As expected. Bros before hoes, right?"

Derek frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

I didn't bother explaining the divorce analogy. "I got Tori, you got Simon. That's just how it… worked out."

Simon took a deep breath. "Not exactly."

There were so many things going unsaid, it felt like flashbacks to Lyle House. I held up my hands in surrender. "Whatever. I'm leaving." What was the point in standing around here anyway?

"I miss it, okay?" Simon said as I opened the car door. Without meaning to, I paused. "You two are my best friends, but after you broke up, you pushed me away. It's been a year and I only see you when Dad or your aunt gets us all together." He said it all in a rush, embarrassed to admit he thought about it this much. "I—I miss how it used to be the three of us."

"I don't," Derek snorted.

I shot him a glare. He looked impassive as ever. "Neither do I."

Simon groaned. "Good for you, but this is about me, okay? Give me five seconds where the world doesn't revolve around how pissed off you are at each other. Chloe, I'm sorry I didn't ask you sooner. Derek, I'm sorry I screwed up your plans. But I'm not sorry about suggesting this. You both need to get somewhere, and I'll get you there. The whole thing, it's on me. The food, the gas, the blame, everything. Twenty-four hours. All I want in return is that you try to get along. How hard can that be?"

Hard as diamonds, I guessed, but I kept my mouth shut.

"You see that?" Simon said, pointing at Derek's destroyed car. "I was in that. You're right, I could've died. So which one of you would've come to the funeral?"

"Don't talk like that—" I said, but Derek's stance looked less confident too, and I knew I wasn't the only one a good guilt trip would work on.

"I think maybe I will," Simon said, stepping back a bit. "If I was dead, would you two get over yourselves long enough to spend one day together to remember me?"

I didn't answer. Of course I wanted to, if it ever came done to that. But every time Derek fidgeted, breathed, or made a point of his existence, I wanted to walk away. I honestly didn't know how strong that impulse could be.

"What's more important?" Simon asked. He said it rhetorically, scuffing his shoes on the ground, but I think he was really asking, sincerely wondering. "Being angry with each other and ignoring me, or fixing this? Time is short—"

"So why waste it fixing something that's better off?" Derek said. "There's no point."

Simon stared. "No point? Are you joking?"

It didn't need an answer, but Derek chose the wrong time to pretend. "No."

Simon threw up his hands. "Okay. Fine. If that's how you feel, Chloe can leave, and we'll figure something else—"

"How badly do you need to go to Chicago?" I blurted. The stares were hard to ignore.

Simon huffed, "Chloe, just go—"

"No." He tried to help me to the car but I pushed his hands away. "It's one day. I can handle a day." I kept thinking about getting a phone call from Tori, or Kit, and trying to imagine my reaction if they called to say Simon was dead, if any of them were gone. I tried to imagine going to a funeral, but no scenes came to mind. I couldn't imagine myself as I was anywhere near a group of people hurting more than I was.

I still wanted to leave Boston. Earlier, leaving without a goodbye was almost the equivalent of oxygen. But now it seemed as bitter and careless as Derek.

I'm not Derek.

"I'm not going," Derek said. "Take your party and get out of here. Hope he doesn't convince you to let him drive."

"Why do you need to go?" I persisted.

He shrugged; Simon answered for him. "Some side work for one of Dad's cases, but he has a—" he faltered, a grin tugging at his lips "—a friend in town."

Even if I didn't entirely believe that Derek had other friends, I could justify this. "Get your stuff," I told him, ignoring the argument. "It's for your dad, and Simon. It's one day. After that we'll never have to see each other again."

Simon looked confused — he still didn't know I wanted to move — but Derek saved me from announcing it. "One day. You swear?"

"If we drive straight through," Simon piped up.

"We'll take shifts," I agreed. Then I cast another glance at Derek's addition to the scrap heap. I mentally shivered. "Derek and I will take shifts," I clarified.

"That's cool with me," Simon said, "My license is suspended for a month anyway."

I whirled on him, past angry and veering towards taking him to get his head examined. "And you drove my car?"

"Hey," Derek said. Simon stopped peppering me with apologies. "I didn't agree to anything."

I bit my lip and sighed. "What've you got to lose?"

This was a compromise. I'd get to Hollywood, Derek would get to Chicago, and Simon would have us all together. He'd probably regret that and be glad when the day was over — the karma he deserved for hijacking my trip in the first place.

I knew I could handle it. It couldn't get any worse than it already was.

Derek stared at me, and I swear something in him flickered — he relaxed, the tension slipping away, and his eyes were familiar again. I looked away, focusing on a scratch on my car. Blood rushed in my ears.

I don't know what he saw, but he uncrossed his arms and took a deep breath.

"One day?" he asked again. Simon nodded. "Guaranteed?"

"I'm betting my savings and a loan from Tori on it," Simon said. "Does it get anymore guaranteed than that?"

Forget schizophrenia — I felt bipolar while I hoped for a yes and a no. Derek took his sweet time answering.

"One condition," he said.

"Which is?" I caught his eye again, but he was back to glass and stone.

He held out his hand. "I get the first shift."

I tossed the keys his way. "Deal."

We were barely on the road when the trouble started.

"Turn here," I said, pointing to the right. I was shotgun, and Simon sat behind me. I could see him from the side view mirror — he looked excessively smug.

"I know how to drive, Chloe," Derek said, legs crammed beneath the steering wheel. My name came out like a swear.

I held in a sigh. "But you don't know where we're going. Turn here."

He replied just as terse. "There's a faster way up ahead."

"Yeah, if we were going to Hollywood, Florida." We passed the turn. "You missed it."

"I said, there's a faster way—"

"Anyone want food?" Simon asked, sticking his head between us. He waggled his eyebrows. "I'll buy."

"I already ate," I said. "Derek, turn around."

"I'm not turning around—"

"This is my car—"

"Then why don't you drive it?"

"You wanted to drive—"

"I could drive," Simon said. Derek glared at him through the mirror. I shut my eyes and pressed my head against the window, fighting back a stream of curses while Derek let his out unfiltered.

That first shift was horrible. Derek was better at handling the city driving, and in the end I was glad I let him drive. As usual, the traffic was horrible. By the time we left Massachusetts and entered Connecticut, he was gripping the wheel so tight I was afraid he'd break it off.

It probably didn't help that Simon kept talking, desperate to fill up the silence with something other than tension.

"Hey, you guys remember Peter, right? From Lyle?"

An image of a boy with a video game attached to his hands formed in my mind, even though I'd seen him since he left Lyle House. We found out he was a sorcerer, but the modifications the Edison Group did to his genes made his powers next to useless. We'd found him a few months after escaping the Edison Group for the last time, living in Rhode Island with his parents, who eventually admitted to placing their son in the experiment.

I couldn't remember much from that visit to the little house in the suburbs. Afterward, Derek and I went for another one of our walks, and back then, those had a way of blocking everything else from my memory.

I couldn't help blushing. I hadn't thought about those walks in months. But I nodded, letting my hair fall to cover my cheeks. I doubted Derek was thinking the same thing, but he looked uncomfortable too.

Simon just kept talking. "Him and I have been emailing, you know? And he started telling me about this game concept he has. He's been working on it at school — he's graduating next year with some technology degree — but hasn't had a chance to actually design the game. Guess who he commissioned for some concept art?" He slapped the back of our seats. "Yeah, me! And get this. His school is paying me to do it. It's like a research thing for some new platform, and they have to 'compensate their outside sources'. Sweet, right?"

"How much?" Derek asked blandly. I peeked through my hair; my steering wheel was still in danger.

"Enough," Simon said, waving away the question. It didn't matter to him how much he earned, as long as he could bring his own style to a project. "That coupled with the new e-comic I've been working on, and I'm actually bringing in some decent money. And who said you need a degree to be successful in life?"

Neither of us replied, but I did smile. So much for Derek's earlier jab.

Unlike Simon, who spent a few semesters at an art school, Derek and I ended up going to college. I went for a film degree, and he studied genetics. He wasn't really in it for the career — those were hard to come by in a world that doesn't understand you morph into a wolf every once and awhile. But he learned some stuff from it, mostly about what exactly the Edison Group did to us. His last two years in college had been the most revealing, and not just scientifically.

When it came to us, everything went downhill after high school. The more Derek studied, the angrier he became. The angrier he got, the more he lashed out. The more he lashed out, the more I gave him the cold shoulder. It got to the point where we were either yelling or not speaking at all.

Honestly? I resented him. He was never angry with me, but somehow I was always the one he attacked. He was obsessed. All he ever talked about was how the Edison Group had ruined our lives.

Maybe I'm sentimental. But if there was a flip side to being a part of Project Genesis, I always thought it was finding Derek. I guess he didn't agree.

I felt used.

And that still wasn't the half of it.

Simon stopped talking around the time we hit New York. Derek stopped at a drive-in for dinner, and Simon paid, and we all ate in silence while Derek navigated through the city and out to Pennsylvania. Eventually, Simon fell asleep.

I watched the lights of New York City shrink away before I said anything.

"Do you regret it?" I murmured.

It was a full five minutes before he answered. "No."

I nodded. It was the answer I expected. "Not even a little."

"No."

I swiped my hair out of my eyes and faced him. His eyes were on the road, and the passing car lights lit up his face.

It flickered again, but it was probably just my imagination. He still looked the same. His hair still fell into his eyes because he was too cheap for regular haircuts. His clothes fit better — I had to convince myself it was just a hardwired response when I lingered too long on his forearms.

One thing was off, but familiar in an old way. I scrolled through all the stills I'd collected in my mind until I caught it. The skin underneath his eyes was bruised, a faint smudge of purple beneath each one. Once, when we were on the run, hitching a ride in the back of a truck, I'd opened my eyes to see that same sleepless look.

I was staring. I knew it bothered him. He leaned back a little, to stretch his legs, but the car never fit him. Maybe I never did either.

"Want me to drive?" I found myself asking. He glanced at me, confirming the bags.

He didn't answer right away. "We'll trade in a few hours. Get some sleep. We'll stop for coffee later."

I sighed. Then I grabbed my pillow from behind me, and tried to press myself as close to the door as I could. I squirmed until I found a position that wouldn't mess up my neck too much, and watched the scenery speed past as I tried to fall asleep.

I didn't get much rest. The forests of Pennsylvania reminded me too much of the ones in New York, of being fifteen and in love, and the deep color of the trees against the purpling sunset reminded me too much of Derek's eyes. The flashing patterns the streetlights made on my eyelids didn't explain why he was losing sleep, and they definitely didn't help me find it.

We traded places a few hours later at a gas station. He didn't say anything; he just fished some money out of Simon's shirt pocket and went inside to top off the tank. When he came back, he had a Styrofoam cup in his hands, steam billowing through the lid.

He handed it to me when we got back in the car. I took a sip — coffee, with tons of cream and sugar. The only way I drank it.

"Thanks," I mumbled, pulling out of the station. He grunted, smashing my pillow into a more comfortable shape.

"Just don't fall asleep."

It wouldn't be hard. Ten minutes later, both of them were snoring.

A/N 1: Gotta give a huge thank you to my best friend Marguerite, who read two different versions of this chapter and helped brainstorm huge chunks of the remaining story - even though I refused to give her the main plot twists I have in mind. I'd get nothing done if it wasn't for her personal brew of sarcastic patience!

A/N 2: Thanks to the reviewers and anyone who added this to their alerts/favorites. This chapter is slow, but the pace will definitely pick up in the next one. :D