A/N: Excuse the terrible timeline of this story. I don't really understand what's going on, and Teen Wolf isn't exactly the best show for linear and easy-to-understand timelines. My bad.

I don't own Teen Wolf. Shock Horror.


I waited impatiently for the bell signalling the end of seventh period, tapping my foot against the bar of my seat and marching out of the room as soon as I heard that sweet, piercing ringing. I only managed to get a few feet down the hall, however, when someone pulled on my sweater and yanked me back until I hit a nearby locker. My instant glare didn't faze Stiles nor Scott, who just stared back at me with crossed arms and narrowed eyes.

"What?"

"What's going on with Jackson?" Stiles demanded. I shrugged, my lips pulling down in innocent ignorance.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar," Scott said without missing a beat, and I sighed. I'd forgotten about his built-in lie detector.

"I'm going to ask you again," Stiles murmured, taking a step closer and totally ignoring my scowl. "What is going on with Jackson?"

I huffed, pulling my lips in between my teeth and keeping silent. After a few seconds of raised eyebrows and pointed eye contact between the three of us, Stiles let out a great, loaded sigh, flinging his arms out to the side before turning to Scott.

"She's a nuisance!" he exclaimed, to which Scott shrugged, opening his mouth to say something before he stopped, tilting his head as if he was listening to something. He looked down the hall, his eyes searching, and I followed his line of sight until I found Allison, alone by her locker and smiling down at a piece of paper in her hands. From Scott's pleased grin, it wasn't hard to guess that it was from him.

I rolled my eyes and the soppy gesture, leaning back against the locker and turning back to the boys, ready to make my excuses and leave, but when Scott's grin slid off his face, replaced by a frown, I paused. Allison wasn't quite as alone any more, an unfamiliar face smiling at her from his locker. Scott continued to frown, looking too much like a kicked puppy for me to do nothing. I rolled my eyes again, pushing off the lockers and turning in Allison's direction.

"I got it," I told him over my shoulder, knowing he'd hear it over the chatter of the students around us and strolling down the hall. I leant against the locker next to Allison's, smiling at the girl in greeting, and turning to the boy holding the camera. "Who're you?" I asked, not too friendly. He drew back, his mouth hanging open at my obvious distaste.

"Amber!" Allison hissed quietly. Her anger quickly dimmed down, however, when we all heard the muttering from the other side of the hall.

"… her aunt." I looked to where the voices were coming, noting the faces and committing them to memory.

"You mean the crazy bitch who killed all those people?" one of the sniggered.

"Yeah, the fire, all those animal attacks? It was her aunt," the other replied. I saw whatever-his-name-is looking over his shoulder at the girls, staring back at Allison almost cautiously.

"Are you kidding? I sit next to her in English." I narrowed my eyes at the two girls, pursing my lips as I contemplated their fate.

"Find a new seat." Before I could rip anyone's throat out, Allison was storming off, away from the snickers. But, instead of pushing off the lockers and stalking over there to rip someone's throat out, I smiled at them. A cold, threatening smile that told them I wasn't stupid enough to make them regret everything they'd said in the last minute or so right now, but it was coming. With one last quirked eyebrow, I casually strolled back the way I'd came, heading towards my locker, where I found Stiles waiting for me.

"Everything okay with Allison?" he asked, genuinely sounding concerned about his best friend's not-quite-girlfriend, what with her dad threatening to kill him and all. I sighed, spinning in my combination and shrugging.

"Just some snarky girls making not-so-clever comments about Kate," I explained, grabbing my notebook to get some homework done during my free period next. "I'll deal with them later. How'd you know, anyway?"

"Scott," Stiles said simply, rolling the back of his head against the lockers. "Her heartbeat was abnormally fast, apparently."

I wrinkled my nose. "Does that ever stop being weird and kinda freaky?"

"Nope."

Stiles continued to lean there in silence for a few more moments, watching the students pass him with his foot tapping a beat against the floor. I waited, and waited, but nothing happened. I sighed.

"Is there a reason you're still here?"

Stiles balked, then shrugged. "What, I can't stand here in companionable silence until next period?"

"No," I answered, shaking my head.

"But we're-"

"What do you want, Stiles?" I asked, and I raised an eyebrow when he tried to argue again. His shoulders slumped.

"We need to know what's going on with Jackson."

"Then ask Jackson," I smiled, slamming my locker shut and heading to the library.

"Oh, please," Stiles scoffed, quickly following me down the hall. "Like he would ever grace me with his presence." I rolled my eyes.

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Stilinski," I sang.

"And you would know all about the lowest form of wit, wouldn't you, Wilson?" Stiles smirked back, proud of his own joke. "In fact, I'd take an educated guess and say that you know all about the lowest form of any kind of intelligent remark." I scoffed.

"And how is that assumption 'educated', exactly?" I questioned, pausing and turning on my hell to raise an eyebrow at him expectantly.

"With my amazing observation skills, obviously," Stiles said as if I was stupid. Though, I suppose he thought I was. Mr Harris chose that amazingly opportune moment to come to my aid, opening his classroom door on his way out, stopping abruptly when he saw the two of us.

"Mr Stilinski," he grumbled, like Stiles' presence personally offended him. Stiles just sneered back. "And Miss Wilson," Harris greeted in a much friendly manner, actually smiling. "Not a combination I thought I'd ever see in person." I scoffed, tipping my head in agreement.

"Me neither," I admitted, smiling back at Stiles' insulted gape.

"I was actually wondering if we could talk for a minute," Harris asked, now turning just slightly so he didn't have to acknowledge Stiles anymore.

"Yeah, of course," I agreed. "What about?"

"Just about your latest test scores," he stated, and as I nodded I heard Stiles scoff beside me. I'd bet my car and Poe that he was thinking I'd failed them all miserably. "I've been talking to all of your teachers, and I wanted to set up a meeting between you at the school counselor to talk about possible college scholarships, if that's where you see yourself in a couple of years."

Well isn't that a nice surprise. "Yes, I do, definitely," I nodded, and Harris smiled. "I'd like that."

"Good, then I'll get right on that. Tell your father to expect a call from me to schedule a meeting with Miss Morell and I," Harris smiled again, sending a more sarcastic smile in Stiles' direction before turning around and marching down the hall.

Stiles frowned. "How the hell do you get a scholarship?"

"Possible scholarship," I corrected, already turning around and returning to my path to the library. "And because I'm on both the track and the gymnastics teams, I've already signed up for the Cyclone Spirit Club next year, I volunteer to help both the drama club and the music club with productions and concerts, and I take part in community service and local fundraisers, all the while maintaining an A minus average in every class, and having a part time job." I turned to look at Stiles when I reached the library doors, taking note of his astounded face, before smiling and stalking through the doors. Just before the doors swung shut behind me, I heard Stiles' surprised voice.

"How are you not dead?"


I'd been sat on the floor by Stiles' locker for what felt like hours when he finally rounded the corner and saw me waiting.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked as he quickly piled all of the books in his locker into his backpack and slamming the locker shut again, already marching down the hall again.

"You're sneaking into Kate's funeral, right?" Stiles stopped, turned back to me, gaping, and tried to defend himself.

"Wha- no… why… what makes you think… no, I am not!"

I rolled my eyes. "Don't worry, I ain't going to rat you out or anything," I promised, holding my hands up, palms facing him. "I was just wondering if you wouldn't mind me tagging along." My voice got higher as I finished the sentence, making it sound like more of a question.

Stiles frowned, almost grimacing. "Really?" I shrugged, a little self-conscious with the way he was studying me.

"Well, yeah," I muttered, looking at me feet. "Despite everything that happened with Kate and my… conflicted feelings about her death, I still want to be there for Allison."

"You have 'conflicted feelings' about her death?" Stiles asked, mockingly.

"Yes," I huffed, feeling more and more defensive as the conversation went on. "She was friendly and charming, and I totally get why she was always like a sister to Allison. Besides, she was the one who told me about my mom." I shrugged, crossing my arms over my chest. "I owe her for at least that much."

Stiles stared at me for a long moment, his face calculating, before finally nodding. "Come on, I'll drive."


By the time Stiles and I finished the almost silent drive and crept up to the cemetery through the trees, there was already a mass of photographers and journalists being held back by deputies, and Allison and her parents were seated in front of the closed casket. Stiles looked up and down the tree line, keeping an eye on all of the officers before grabbing my sleeve and pulling me out into the open and to a crouch beside Scott behind a statue, who looked back at us with a smile.

"Hey Amber, I didn't know you were coming," he grinned.

"Apparently there were conflicted feelings involved," Stiles explained with an eye roll. I slapped the back of my hand again against his arm, to which he responded with only a surprised gasp and a glare before turning back to Scott. "Who the hell is that?"

I looked over to the Argents, focusing on the older man that Stiles had gestured to with a nod of his head. I hadn't seen him before, but something told me there was nothing to trust about this Argent either.

Just as the three of us were watching the older man talk to Allison, they both glanced over. The only reaction I managed was to flinch and hunch my shoulders, but lucky for me, the two boys were prepared for my terrible reflexes. Stiles grabbed both of my arms and shoved me to the left enough to hide behind the stone statue, while Scott flung out an arm to keep us both out of the eye line of any of the funeral party. We held our breath for a few seconds, but when no one called out to us or dragged us away by our ears, we figured we were safe.

"You're gonna get us all killed," Stiles muttered, to which I pouted.

"It's definitely an Argent," Scott reckoned, and I nodded my agreement. We peeked around the corner of the statue base again, more careful this time, and after another minute of talking, the older Argent sat down, allowing Allison to peep out of the corner of her eye in our direction. I smiled at her, and saw Scott send her a wave, and she smiled back tightly.

"Hey, you know, maybe they're just here for the funeral," Stiles suggested. "What if they're the non-hunting side of the family? There could be non-hunting Argents." I rolled my eyes. "That's possible, right?"

"Possible, yes," I agreed, not looking away from Allison's miserable face. "Probable? No."

"They're reinforcements," Scott explained, looking back at us with a grim face. We all turned to look at the Argents, the army of hunters, the deadly-

A lot of unexpected movement from either side of me almost made me squeal in fright, and I turned around with my mouth open in shock to see Stiles and Scott being held up at the collars by the Sheriff. The very, very, angry looking Sheriff.

"The two of you… unbelievable," he spat between his teeth, before turning his glare to me. "And I expected more from you." Oh, lord. It was that disappointed look that no one ever wants to see. "Get up Wilson. If you're going to hang around with delinquents and act like a delinquent, then I'm going to treat you like a delinquent."

I stood up, pouting and whining. I didn't like getting trouble.

The Sheriff led us back to his cruiser, throwing Stiles in the back and telling Scott and I to follow. We did so, without question or complaint, and sat quietly, waiting for our punishment. After a few minutes of silence and the odd check of my phone, my knee started to bounce. I leant forward from my place in the middle of the back seat, trying to grab the Sheriff's attention.

"Sheriff-"

"No."

"But-"

"No."

"I don't-"

The Sheriff turned around in his seta with a glare so forceful I fell back into my seat, almost hiding behind the two boys. "What part of 'no' don't you understand?" I pouted, sulking in my seat, and the Sheriff turned back around when the radio buzzed to life.

"Four-one-five Adam."

"I didn't copy that," The Sheriff responded through the radio. "Did you say four-one-five Adam?"

"Disturbance in a car," Stiles whispered beside me, leaning across enough that I could hear him without any trouble.

"They were taking a heart attack victim DOA, but on the way to the hospital something hit 'em."

"What? Hit the ambulance?" The Sheriff asked, confused.

"Copy that. I'm standing in front of it now. Something got in the back, there's blood everywhere. And I mean everywhere."

The Sheriff's face looked grim as he replied. "Alright Unit 4, what's your twenty?"

"Route 5 and Post. I swear-" I didn't get to hear anymore, as Stiles prised open the car door, incredibly quietly, and pulled me out behind him, sprinting across the parking lot until the three of us were safely hidden in the trees.

"What's going on?" I asked, checking behind us to make sure the Sheriff hadn't tried to find us. Stiles and Scott didn't stop, quickly manoeuvring through the trees.

"We're going to the crime scene," Stiles explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I laughed. "You say 'we' like I'm involved in this." Stiles frowned at me over his shoulder.

"Aren't you?"

"No!" I argued, very nearly stomping my feet. "I need to go, like, now."

Scott stopped to turn to me in surprise. "But-"

"No, no buts!" I shouted, then quickly remembered we were basically running from the law and that maybe I should be a little quieter. "I have work in less than fifteen minutes, and do y'all have any idea how bad it would look on my college applications if I have a criminal record?!"

Stiles turned to me, rolling his eyes and sighing. "You're not going to have a criminal record."

"We were trespassing during a funeral and caught by the Sheriff, before evading whatever punishment he was about to give us by breaking out of a police car!"

Stiles scoffed, smiling. "Okay, first of all, my dad has bigger things to worry about than a couple of irresponsible teenagers hanging out around a funeral for moral support," Stiles explained, ticking off one of his fingers. "And second of all, he probably wouldn't arrest you even if he himself were a witness to your criminal ways."

My eyebrows came down over my eyes in utter confusion. "Why not?"

"Because he loves you," Stiles answered, turning back around and following Scott through the trees. I picked up my pace, trying to stay close in my heeled boots. "You never get into any trouble around here, you've raised money for the station, every time you organise a bake sale you bring a load of the leftovers for all the cops… and let's not forget that time you pushed him out of the way of an oncoming car." I smiled, ridiculously pleased.

"Does your dad like me more than he likes Scott?"

"Oh, yeah," Stiles answered without missing a beat, to which Scott let out a loud noise of hurt a few feet ahead. "Without a doubt. He's been trying to bribe me into hanging out with you basically since you moved here. Thinks you'll be a 'positive influence' or something," Stiles said, his fingers making air quotes. I laughed.

"Okay, so there's one problem down," I admitted, still, for some reason, following the boys further into the woods. "But I still have work soon."

"Amber," Scott said, bringing out the puppy eyes. "What if it's Lydia?" I was silent for a second, before I sighed heavily. That one question was enough to me to make up my mind. I took my phone out of my back pocket, sending a text to Joe and telling him I was joining the search party looking for Lydia.

"One of these days, my boss is going to get fed up of my excuses and fire me."


It had gotten dark quickly after that, and I couldn't tell you if we'd been walking five minutes or five hours. All I know is that when we finally got close enough to see the bright lights of the ambulance and cruisers, I started feeling sick. Not the weirdly, possibly not-entirely-human way I'd been experiencing over the last couple of months, but sick with nerves. What if this was actually Lydia? What if she was turning, despite not healing or seeming at all werewolf-like, and she was eating people? Or parts of people, at least. I had enough going on with Jackson; I couldn't handle anymore werewolf drama in my life right now.

We crept along the tree line, staying hidden in the shadows, but close enough to see what was happening as we approached the road. The deputy on the radio hadn't been exaggerating about the blood.

"What the hell is Lydia doing?" Stiles asked rhetorically as we hid behind a boulder in the dirt.

"I don't know," Scott answered, completely at a loss.

"What kept you from doing that?" Stiles inquired. "Was it Allison?"

"I hope so."

"We still don't know it's Lydia," I argued, looking anywhere but the inside of the ambulance.

"You know anyone else around town who can do something like that?" Stiles said. I didn't have an answer for him. "Do you need to get any closer?" Scott took a whiff of the air, before shaking his head.

"No, I got it." He started to back up, to follow the scent, when Stiles pulled him back.

"Just… I need you to find her," Stiles pleaded, looking between Scott and the mess of the ambulance that I absolutely refused to admit Lydia had made. "Please, just… just find her."

"I will," Scott said surely, nodding. With one last convincing smile at the two of us, Scott took off, bounding back through the trees after the scent he had caught.

We crouched in silence for a few minutes before it started getting awkward.

"You know, for a werewolf, he ain't half bad," I joked, smiling as I looked back over at Stiles. His eyes hadn't strayed from the bloody ambulance, and I sighed. "Stiles, he's gonna find her."

"What if he doesn't?" he asked quietly, moving his focus from the ambulance to the forest floor.

"He will."

"But what if-"

"He will," I insisted, tilting my head enough to catch Stiles' attention. "When am I ever wrong?"

"Before this afternoon, I probably would have said most of the time, but…" he trailed off, wincing.

"But what?" I asked, curious.

Stiles huffed. "But… maybe you're not as stupid as I thought. If what Harris said is anything to go by, which it usually isn't."

"Lord, you just cannot bring yourself to let me have one thing, can you?"

"I really can't," Stiles agreed, shaking his head and shrugging. "I don't know what it is, but I just can't accept that you're anything other than the idea I have of you in my head, no matter what tells me differently." I narrowed my eyes, intrigued.

"So what is it?" I asked, and Stiles frowned at me. "The idea of me in your head. What am I like up there?" I asked, tapping my own temple. Stiles pursed his lips.

"You're stupid, but you knew that."

"Well yeah, that one's a given."

Stiles smirked, laughing through his nose, but continued to voice his thoughts. "You're spoilt. You hate being bossed around, especially by someone you think is inferior to you. You're selfish, greedy, shallow. And really aggressive. Violently aggressive." I thought about it, narrowing my eyes and tilting my head, before nodding.

"Yeah, I think you're pretty much spot on, Stilinski."

"I knew it." I laughed at his victorious outburst, only for the smile to fall off my face pretty quickly when I saw a familiar face glaring at us through the trees. Turns out, we weren't as hidden from sight as we thought we were.

"Uh oh."

"What?" Stiles asked, following my line of sight to see his dad, pointing an angry finger at us and then at the floor at his feet. Stiles groaned, standing up and holding out a hand to help me up too. "I'm gonna be grounded until graduation."

I winced at the way the Sheriff was eyeing us as we climbed the tiny hill on the side of the road. "Yeah, maybe college graduation." Stiles whined, shoving his hands in his pockets as we got closer.

"What the hell do you two think you're doing?" the Sheriff asked us, his nostrils flaring.

"We were looking for Lydia," I explained hastily, and the Sheriff's icy glare turned from his son to me, and I think I actually took a small step backwards.

"Behind a rock?" he asked, the sarcasm seeping through his tone just as his son had mastered.

"It's my fault," Stiles started, kicking the ground with the tip of his shoe. "When we were…" He trailed off and looked over my shoulder, his mouth hanging open slightly. I followed his gaze, turning around completely when I caught movement behind the trees, until, finally, after a full day of panic and worry and search parties, I saw Lydia. Beautiful, dirty, naked Lydia.

"Lydia?" I heard Stiles call out, almost unsurely. I took a step forward, and then another, watching her tremble in the cold, before I tried it myself.

"Lydia," I shouted, just loud enough to make sure she heard me. And she did. She looked up, searching for the familiar voice, and her eyes finally found us. She stared for a long moment.

"Well," she finally said, spreading her arms wide and showing her body for everyone to see. "Isn't anyone gonna get me a coat?"

I heard rustling behind me, before a loud thump sounded at my feet. I looked down, finding Stiles face-first on the floor and struggling to get back up.

"Get a grip, Stilinski," I muttered, before rushing over to try to save some of Lydia's dignity.


Lydia had been checked out by the paramedics and admitted back into hospital after she'd wandered out of the middle of the woods, and, apparently, she was fine. They didn't have a clue why she'd ran off, or why a trip through the woods completely naked had seemed like a good idea to her, but she was okay, and that's what mattered.

Well, that and finding out why on earth she'd been feeding off of humans since she went missing.

Although, according to Scott the next day at school, that wasn't exactly how things had gone down.

"So, Lydia wasn't the one who stole a dead girl's liver?"

"No."

"And she wasn't the one who broke into the back of that ambulance and caused that whole mess?"

"No, Amber," Scott promised, his head falling back as he answered all of my questions.

"So if it wasn't Lydia, who was it?"

"An omega," Scott sighed, hiking the strap of his bag higher onto his shoulder. I'd come in early to drop Josh off at school for a morning practice, and Scott had stopped me on my way to the library, explaining the situation to me as we wandered through the few parked cars towards the school. It had been a great way to start the morning. "I don't really know anything about it, other than he didn't have a pack, and that he was the one eating dead human parts."

"Gross."

"Also that he's dead now."

"Wait, what? You didn't…"

"No, I tried to talk to him, wanted to help him. But Derek showed up and dragged me away, right before Gerard showed up."

"Who's Gerard?"

"You remember the new hunter that showed up at Kate's funeral?"

"The old guy?"

"Yeah." I nodded. "That's him. He cut the omega in half with a sword."

"In half? With a sword?"

"Yeah, he just pulled out this massive sword and cut him right across his stomach."

"That's what Mr Argent was talking about the other night." Scott nodded, looking sick to his stomach. "Are you okay?" I asked, concerned. "It can't be fun, watching a guy get cut in half."

Scott scoffed. "You can say that again. To make matters even worse, I'm pretty sure the Argents declared war on all things supernatural." As we neared the doors inside, Scott stopped and turned to me, crossing his arms over his chest. "Stiles told me about your mom. About what happened to her."

Of course he did. "And how is the business-intruding little gossip this morning?" I asked, wondering why I had ever thought it wouldn't get around the small group we seem to have unconsciously and reluctantly formed eventually.

Scott sighed. "Yesterday, when you said you didn't like me, 'because of the werewolf thing', it… I guess it kind of hurt my feelings."

"Everything hurts your feelings. You really should think about growing a thicker skin."

"I'll add it to my growing to-do list," he quipped, before sighing. "I asked Stiles about it, and he told me pretty much everything he knew. We're gonna figure out what happened to her."

"I know what happened to her. Werewolves killed her."

"C'mon, Amber. You've seen what the werewolf killings around here look like. There tends to be a dead body involved."

"Lovely."

"Sorry, I just… I don't think – we don't think someone, a werewolf, would kill your mom and then go through all the trouble of hiding her body. It wasn't just some random werewolf attack, I'm sure of it. There's more to it than that. We just have to figure it out."

"We don't have to do anything."

Scott mumbled under his breath, and for a second, I thought I'd broken him. Then he sucked in a deep breath, nodded, mostly to himself, and looked me in the eye. "I'm a werewolf; the only one that you've had more than a three-sentence conversation with that isn't dead. That makes me the most qualified person you know to help you answer questions that have been messing with your head since your mom died. And if you don't want my help because you're still pretending like we're not all connected now, because you want to cling to the very nearly perfect life you had before all of this happened, then fine, you do that. But when you're done trying to kid yourself into pretending everything's fine and that everything you thought you knew about the world isn't a complete lie, then you come and find me, and we'll figure it out together." He nodded again, pleased with himself, and turned on his heel.

"And how long have you been practising that one in the mirror for?" Scott shrugged as I followed him into the building.

"Only for the past three hours or so."


"Do I want to know why you have chains in your gym locker?" I asked Stiles as he and the rest of the team passed me on the bleachers on their way out to morning practice. The library hadn't held my attention like it usually does. I blame the early morning conversation I'd had with Scott. Stiles' shoulders slumped, and he took a minute to feel sorry for himself before turning around to face me.

"What are you doing here so early?"

"Josh needed a ride for practice," I explained, shrugging. "And then I got a beautifully scarring text from him about your… extra-curricular activities."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "It's for the full moon tonight," he said defensively, sitting down on the bench below me as Scott jogged across the field to join us. "Last time we had handcuffs, and that didn't exactly go to plan."

"Handcuffs?" I asked. "Seriously? You thought handcuffs would restrain a werewolf during the full moon?"

"Yeah, okay, and I have realised my mistake since then," Stiles muttered, shaking his head. "Ergo, the handcuffs."

"Did you tell her about what happened in the locker room?" Scott asked when he finally reached us, sitting down beside Stiles. I laughed.

"Oh, I know all about what happened in the locker room. First the lacrosse balls Stiles was assaulting you with, now chains…" I shook my head slowly, smiling. "You guys just love the kinky stuff, huh?"

"What?" Scott asked, his brow furrowed. "No, not that. The other thing."

"What other thing?" I asked, my smile slipping as I grew worried.

"Scott smelt another werewolf in the locker room," Stiles explained. Oh, god, I thought, looking up to search the field for Jackson. I saw him sat on one of the other bleachers, pulling on his gloves next to the guy Allison had been talking to at her locker yesterday.

"It was kind of like a scent, but I couldn't tell who it was."

"Well, what if you could get him one on one?" Stiles asked, and I could almost hear his mind at work. "Would that help?" Scott thought about it for a second, then nodded. "Okay. I think I got an idea." With that, Stiles shot up and ran across the field, talking animatedly with Coach for a minute, his arms flying around as he tried to pitch something to a sceptical looking Coach. After a shrug and a reluctant nod from Coach, Stiles grabbed some things from beside Danny and raced back, dropping everything in his arms at Scott's feet. "I told Coach that you're switching with Danny for the day."

Scott frowned at his best friend. "But I hate playing in goal," he complained. Stiles just rolled his eyes.

"Remember when I said I had an idea?" Scott nodded, and Stiles gestured at Danny's goalie belongings with his hands. "This is the idea."

"Ohh," Scott murmured slowly.

"There we go," Stiles sighed, relieved that Scott was beginning to understand before it became apparent that, actually, he wasn't.

"What's the idea?"

Stiles shook his head slowly. "I seriously don't understand how you survive without me sometimes."

Before Stiles could further explain his plan to a confused Scott, Coach blew his whistle and started bellowing at the lacrosse players." Let's go, line it up. Faster!" The boys all lined up, Stiles and Scott talking quietly for a second before the latter headed for the goals. "Make Daddy proud."

The next few minutes passed in a spectacular blur of Scott throwing himself at players and – not even subtly – sniffing them. It was really, really hard to watch. And I've seen some terrible things in my short time in Beacon Hills. When I saw Danny's jersey number next in line, I had to look away, only turning back to see Scott sniffing him after the sympathetic groans from the rest of the students on the bleachers had died down.

And that's when I saw Jackson, standing at the front of the queue and hesitating. I waved my arms a little, pulling his attention from the Danny-Scott heap on the floor and to me, where I swiped my fingers across my throat quickly, shaking my head. After taking another look at Scott pulling Danny up off the floor, Jackson nodded at me, and spoke to Coach for a second before pulling out of the line and heading towards me.

"What the hell is McCall up to?" he asked as soon as he was in hearing distance, pulling his helmet off and sitting beside me. I opened my mouth to answer him, before I remembered Scott's super-sensitive hearing, and that neither he nor Stiles know about Jackson. Yet.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said instead, unlocking my phone and typing out a quick 'later' and showing it to him. He nodded, handing the phone back to me, and sitting where Stiles and Scott had sat a few minutes earlier. By the time the two of us returned our attention to the practice in front of us, Scott had found another victim and the two were currently crouched in front of the other, staring, sticks lying abandoned besides them. That's when the police showed up.


"They trust you," Jackson argued quietly, and I snorted, raising an eyebrow. Jackson rolled his eyes. "Okay, sure. But they trust you more than they trust me."

"That really ain't a hard feat, Sonny."

Jackson groaned, though either at the comment or the nickname, I couldn't be sure. "Just go," he muttered, shoving at my shoulder until I gave in with a growl and moved towards the duo.

"His father's dead," I heard Scott say, his eyes trained on the Sheriff and one of the lacrosse players as he was led away. I vaguely recognised him, but I couldn't place where from. "They think he was murdered." I took a few more steps closer, pushing into the conversation and receiving a patent-pending Stilinski Eye Roll for my efforts.

"Who is he?"

"Isaac Lahey," Scott answered, not looking away from the retreating figures. "He's on the team, and the werewolf I smelt earlier on."

"Lahey," I repeated quietly, realisation hitting me in the face. Jackson's neighbour. "Oh, I know who he is, now."

"Lucky him," Stiles muttered sarcastically. I scoffed. "Are they saying he's a suspect?" he asked Scott, who slowly shook his head.

"I'm not sure. Why?"

"Because they can lock him in a holding cell for twenty-four hours," Stiles answered, and I sighed when I realised what that could mean for a werewolf tonight.

"Like, overnight?" Scott asked, already knowing the answer and all the trouble that came with it. Stiles nodded.

"During the full moon."

Scott hesitated. "How good are these holding cells at holding people?"

"People? Good," Stiles answered, nodding. "Werewolves? Probably not that good."

"Stiles, do you remember when I said that I don't have the urge to maim and kill?"

"Yeah," Stiles responded slowly and unsure.

"He does."


Chemistry was a nightmare.

Harris had his back to the class as he drew a few molecular structures on the board, and I was too busy wondering how on earth I'd managed to get dragged into all of this werewolf business in the first place to pay any attention. I'm pretty sure Allison was to blame. I should've known that girl was trouble. To make matters worse, I'd lost Jackson for the second time in less than a week. He'd been stopped on our way here from our free period by Harris, who had told him he was needed in the principal's office, and I hadn't seen him since. I could only assume it had everything to do with his friendly neighbour werewolf and his murdered father. Which couldn't equal anything good.

Scott and Stiles were doing their usual too-loud-to-be-considered-whispering as they tried to piece together the puzzle and figure out a way to help Lahey. I saw Danny give them the odd strange look as he pulled out his textbook, but when he looked at me I simply shrugged, rolling my eyes. He smiled, shaking his head at the duo until the more annoying of the two spun around in his seat and started hissing at us.

"Where's Jackson?"

"In the principal's office," Danny answered truthfully, for some reason. "Talking to your dad."

Stiles eyes widened comically at that. "What? Why?"

I huffed as Danny rolled his eyes. "Because he lives across the street from Lahey, dumbass."

"Witness," I heard Scott say like everything had just started to make sense.

"We gotta get to the principal's office," Stiles said.

"How?" Scott asked, and I closed my eyes on a sigh, praying that they weren't about to do something monumentally stupid.

Can you believe it? They did something monumentally stupid.

I heard Harris tell everyone to turn to the relevant chapter in our textbooks just a balled of piece of paper flew from Stiles' hand to the back of Harris' head. He whipped around, scanning the room as some of the stupider students in the room giggled. "How in the hell did that?"

Immediately, his eyes landed on Scott and Stiles, who responded by pointing a finger at the other. I swear, these boys are going to annoy the wrong person one day and get themselves killed.

The bell was only a few minutes from ringing by the time Jackson came back, his face annoyed as he made his way through the tables to our desk at the back.

"What the hell were Dumb and Dumber doing outside the principal's office?" he asked me, as though he already knew that I knew.

"They decided it would be fun throwing paper balls at Harris," I answered back, suggestively moving my eyes over to Danny's form, hunched over his notebook, before widening my eyes at Jackson until he finally got it. "Don't ask me why." A few minutes of me pretending to work, Jackson pretending to not be dying on the inside at not knowing what was going on and Danny pretending not to notice the two of us were acting weird later, the bell finally rang. Jackson and I immediately got up from our seats, waiting until we were finally in the crowded hallway and headed towards his locker before he spoke.

"So what's going on?"

"As you probably already know, Isaac's dad was murdered."

"Yeah, pretty much everyone in Beacon has heard that," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Get to the point."

"Watch the attitude," I warned, poking him in the chest with a finger. He barely moved, only raising an eyebrow at me, and I continued. "Scott smelt a werewolf in the locker room this morning."

Jackson's eyes widened. "Me?"

I shook my head. "No, because you have excellent timing. I don't know how Scott didn't smell it on you, but I guess your smell and Isaac's mixed, and once Scott realised Isaac was a werewolf, why would he think to look for another?"

"So they don't know about me?" he clarified, asking as though he'd expected me to tell them everything about Jackson's new lifestyle choice.

I raised an eyebrow. "They know even less than I do," I promised, though soothing his ego was not what I wanted to be doing right now. With the way he'd been acting since the formal, he deserved a lot less than my total loyalty right now. "And it's going to stay that way until something drastic happens."

"Until?" Jackson repeated, his amusement at my choice of words evident on his face. "You make it sound like you're waiting for the shit to hit the fan." I scoffed, turning around and leaving him to head to economics.

"That's because I am, dumbass."


Scott didn't show up for economics. I took my seat at the back of the class, and just as Jackson sat at the desk beside mine, I heard my phone vibrate from its place in my bag on the floor.

Lydia – Your best friend is a dick and I hope he gets hit by a bus.

Harsh. But probably justified.

"What did you do this time?" I asked Jackson, turning in my seat to face him fully. He scowled at me.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Lydia," I answered. As if he didn't know exactly what I was talking about. At my answer, Jackson smirked a little, returning his attention to the front of the class as Coach settled behind his desk.

"I just made sure she knew that we're never getting back together," he replied, smug grin still on his face. "I didn't want her to think that saving her life meant I still had feelings for her."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "You can lie to her all you want, but I saw you that night," I reminded him, and the grin fell just enough to confirm my suspicions. "I saw the tears in your eyes when you saw all the blood and how freaked out you were. So don't think for a second that you can lie to me about this, Whittemore." Jackson scoffed back at me, but otherwise ignored every word I had said, pretending to pay all of his attention to Coach as he clapped his hands together and started the class.

"Okay, guys, pages 43 in your textbooks, and quickly, because I am not in the mood for- Stilinski!" Coach cried, and I looked up to see said student skidding to a stop just inside the door to the classroom. "So glad you decided to grace us with your presence! Where's McCall?" Stiles gaped, frowning as he looked around the room, and I assumed he was asking himself the same question. Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times, his eyes finally landing on me as he struggled.

"McCall went home, Coach," I answered, and he turned around to face me with a quizzical expression. "He wasn't feeling well."

"Ah, it was probably all that running he wasn't supposed to be doing at practice this morning," Coach muttered, mostly to himself, before gesturing erratically for Stiles to sit down so he could start the lesson. He did, taking the empty seat in front of mine and instantly turning around to face me.

"Scott went home?" he asked, and I shrugged.

"How the hell am I supposed to know? He's your best friend." Stiles frowned, and I sighed. "Last I saw, he was headed to the principal's office with you."

"You haven't seen him at all since?" I shook my head at Stiles' question, and his shoulder's slumped. "He left the office ages ago. He should be here."

"Maybe he really did go home," I suggested, not liking the look of complete unknowing on Stiles' face. He's usually very open about the fact that he knows too much. "Try and get a head start on the Isaac situation?" Stiles shrugged, running a hand over his face, and opened his mouth to respond when he stilled, throwing a glance over to Coach, who's attention was on Greenburg's inability to find the correct page, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He let out a long breath, tapping on his phone.

"It's Scott; he's with Derek," he explained quietly, shooting a quick look at Jackson, who was too busy smirking at Coach and Greenburg to pay us any attention, and continued. "He said they're going to Isaac's house."

"What?" I asked, wondering what it was with these boys and crime scenes. "Why?"

"I don't know, he said he'd explain later." Stiles slid down in his seat some more, seemingly calmer.

"I wouldn't relax too much, if I were you," I warned, and Stiles groaned. "You might have found Scott, but in case you've forgotten, tonight is the full moon. Not only will you potentially need to chain Scott to something, you've also got Isaac, the fresh, baby-faced werewolf, locked in a holding cell in a station full of blissfully unaware cops."

Stiles huffed, running both hands over his face as his head slumped back. "Tonight is gonna be awesome."


A/N: P.S. I know nothing about how college scholarships work in the US, but I just wanted to make a point of the kind of life Amber is still desperately clutching to in the whirlwind that is Beacon Hills at the moment.