Disclaimer: I claim no ownership to Teen Wolf nor its characters. This piece of fiction is created purely out of love for the show and no profit will be made.

An Ye Harm None

Chapter 4 – Sunflowers

Stiles' knee bounced erratically in the waiting room of the hospital. Sheriff Stilinski sent me with Lydia in the ambulance, and now he was off talking to Lydia's parents. Stiles followed us in his car, and sat down opposite me when Lydia was brought in for a check-up. That was at least an hour ago.

Occasionally, he glanced up at me, on the verge of saying something, but each time he changed his mind while making a face. There were no grins from his side this time.

Seeing as Lydia left with my flannel shirt and I only wore a gray tank top now, the Sheriff had been kind enough to provide me with a blanket of my own. I fiddled with the edges, churning Lydia's foreboding words over in my head. I tried asking her in the ambulance, but she didn't even remember. You died…

"Okay, I don't get it." Stiles finally broke the silence, shrugging dramatically. "I don't. I need you to clarify something: How'd you know she was there? How did you know that the cousin you haven't seen in ten years was there, in the middle of nowhere, next to an unrelated crime scene?"

I sighed and crossed my arms underneath the blanket. To be honest, I kind of waited for this question. Not that I had any better answer for that reason. "I just did."

He scoffed, looking appalled at my inconclusive answer, his entire body moved in sync with his speaking. "You just – you just did? You just happened to stumble over a crime scene and find your missing cousin?"

"Why were you there?" I shot back, raising my eyebrows. "I didn't know it was 'Bring-your-kid-to-work'-day for the sheriff's department."

"I…I had a perfectly good reason to be there," he rambled, using his hands to gesture about. Liar.

"Which is?"

"I-I don't have to tell you anything," he said, sitting back in his chair with crossed arms. I mimicked his position as well as his stupid expression.

"So that means I don't have to tell you anything?"

He fell silent again. Why had he been there anyway? Come on, he was the only one visiting in the hospital when I got here, he was the first one to rush into the bathroom when she went missing and now he just coincidentally happen to be there when she's found? And I'm the weird one here? So far, Stiles quickly climbed to the top of my suspect-list.

Stiles opened his mouth to retort, but stopped to look at something behind me. Twisting my head around, it turned out to be Mrs. Martin and the Sheriff. The latter took a look at his son and signaled for him to follow; they walked out of the waiting room. I stared at Aunt Natalie – Mrs. Martin, I mean – a few seconds before looking at the ceiling. I'd been seven when she had a fall out with the family, but I caught some of the rows between her and Mom, the things she called us. She wouldn't react positively to my presence.

"Cassandra," she said and I squeezed my eyes shut. She sounded just like Mom, only younger and…alive. "Lydia told me you were here, I almost didn't believe her first."

Okay, this was good. No shouting, no obscenities or even the tiniest hateful glare. I couldn't exactly claim to be close to her, but she was my biological aunt after all. Her hair held a more brown shade, but the high cheekbones were all from our side of the family. But she didn't come to the funeral…

"It was very kind of you to visit Lydia," she said, her voice calm and collected, the perfect trophy wife. Was she putting on a show? We were in a very public place after all. Maybe she didn't want to create a scene? "Do you have a place to stay for the night?"

Did she just offer me a bed? I gaped at her, trying to collect my thoughts to answer. This was way beyond what I expected. She reached into her expensive looking purse and pulled out a wad of bills. I accepted them numbly. What the hell?

"I hear the motel over at I-191 is safe and clean, but I suppose it doesn't matter, you'll only be staying there one night after all. I guess you want to get an early start back, it's a long way to Pennsylvania."

It didn't sound remotely like a threat; her voice so indifferent I got the impression she actually believed I drove all the way here just to visit my cousin at the hospital and immediately return.

"Aunt – I mean, Mrs. Martin," I stuttered. "I'm not leaving."

She cocked her head to the side, giving me a shallow smile. "Oh?"

"No, I…I'm going to finish the school year here, I transferred and everything…" I trailed of, her expression hadn't wavered even a fraction.

"Oh?" Her voice was painfully cheerful and false. "Oh, that's – that's lovely. I'm sure Lydia will – how lovely."

What on Earth? Okay, so she hadn't shouted at me or threatened with a restraining order, but she hadn't thanked me either or asked how I even knew Lydia was in the hospital in the first place. Was it just for appearances or had she swept everything so far under the rug she couldn't find it herself?

"Well then. Take care, Cassandra," she said and walked off before I remembered I still had her money in my hand. I could always give it to Lydia to give back later. Or you know, save it for a rainy day. Compensation for ten years worth of missed Christmas presents?

I slumped back in the uncomfortable chair. Of all the receptions I envisioned, this one was actually the most painful. It'd been ten years, for crying out loud. And eight since Mom died. She didn't even mention her. Yeah, sure, I suppose a hug and some words of concern for my wellbeing was a little too much to hope for, but I would actually have preferred yelling. She didn't care at all.

"Cassie?"

The Sheriff crouched before me; I realized he'd been trying to get my attention. He wrinkled his brows, taking in the flesh-colored band-aid covering my little head bump. "You got a doctor to look at that?"

I pushed my hair behind my ears and nodded. "Yeah, it'll be fine. No concussion, just a nasty bruise."

"You got someone to take you home?"

Home? Where was home? 2,000 miles away in Pennsylvania or that morbid house up in the woods with sheet-covered furniture? The Sheriff sighed when I didn't answer.

"Do you have anyone I can call?" he asked and it hit me that getting teenage girls to safety was part of his job description. Maybe he expected me to go along with Lydia and her mother. Hah. But then again, if I told him I basically lived alone in a 90 years old house he might actually call social services on me.

"I live with my sister," I said before thinking too much about it. I hated lying. "She's away right now, business trip."

I wished my voice didn't come out as sad as it did, but he nodded in an understanding manner. He patted my hand awkwardly, got up and had a low conversation with Stiles, who lurked in the doorway.

They kept their voices hushed enough for me not to catch anything besides "But Dad!" and the sentence: "She spent the last night sleeping in the woods looking for her cousin," followed by something indiscernible. What was going on?

"Cassie? Come on, Stiles is going to drive you back to our house for the night," the Sheriff said and Stiles slumped defeated behind him. "We have a guest room that hasn't seen much use the last years. It's not much, but…"

"It's okay, I'll just take a cab home," I hastily evaded, not meeting either of their eyes. "Really, I'm fine."

"Come on, it's a school night. Stiles will take you up to route five tomorrow to pick up your car," the Sheriff said and Stiles practically rolled his eyes back into his skull.

I planned on staying in the hospital until Lydia was released, but if she went home with her mother, where would I go? Of course I didn't want to be alone tonight up at the House, but intruding on the Sheriff's hospitality when his son really, clearly didn't want me there or he might turn out to be the one after my cousin…nope, not exactly tempting.

The Sheriff turned to have a staring contest with his son, the latter throwing his hands out in a 'Are you serious?'-motion. A few seconds later, Stiles tossed his head back and made a powerful exhale.

"Fine! Whatever, let's go," he whined and grabbed onto my wrist, dragging me out of the waiting room. My blanket trailed behind me like a cape.

"I'll be by later, just need to finish up some stuff here," the Sheriff said as a parting and Stiles continued to lead me through the front doors and down to his jeep.

"For the record," he said when we were inside and buckled up. "I didn't agree to this."

"Technically, neither did I," I said meekly. "Look, you can just take me home, it's just a fifteen minute drive from here."

Stiles drummed his fingers on the steering while, his jaw clenching and unclenching. He looked at me, back out the window and then started the car.

"No, Dad's right. You shouldn't be alone tonight," he muttered and made the turn onto the main road. "Besides, he threatened to make me pay for my own gas."

The rest of the drive went by in silence. Well, no talking at least, the motor of this beast had a life and voice of its own. There wasn't even a radio. I'm not saying it was a wreck, but even my old, beat-up Honda from '85 seemed like a modern spaceship compared to this thing. Apart from the engine roar though, it was a smooth ride.

We slowed down at a quaint two-story house in a cozy neighborhood. Stiles put his car on the driveway, leaving room for his dad to drive into the garage. I followed him out without a word, noticing the small front yard, but lack of flowers. Stiles rummaged around in his many pockets – jeans, sweatshirt, and outer jacket – and eventually found his keys to lock us inside. There were tablecloths on the dresser I suspected neither Stiles nor the Sheriff had ever put there, but I got the feeling Stiles' mom was out of the picture.

No, she was in the pictures. The hallway walls were riddled with family photographs, most of them depicting a happy family of three, although some were just Stiles and one of his parents or just his parents. She died, I realized, letting the mood of the house settle on me. And she was missed terribly. At least he had his father. I smiled thinly. I never had a father. Well, I'm sure I did, once. No one bothered to tell me about him, that's all. Sabrina knew more about him than me, but she never talked about him either. I stopped asking when I was five.

"You hungry?" Stiles' sour tone pulled me out of my reminiscing. He didn't say anything, but his face betrayed just exactly what he felt about me looking at the family photographs.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" I trailed off, remembering how sick I became of hearing people say they were sorry for me.

He avoided my gaze, preferring to look at the floor. "Come on, we got some leftover quinoa casserole."

"Quinoa casserole?" I asked, following him into the neat kitchen where he went to heat up some food for us both.

"Yeah, you know. Super healthy grain with tons of protein?" His sarcastic tone didn't falter a bit.

"I just – it's hard to picture the Sheriff making anything else than pancakes or, you know, hamburgers. Honestly, I expected more take-away boxes."

"Yeah, well, he doesn't. I'm the one who does all the cooking, have to make sure the man doesn't kill himself by high cholesterol." He slammed the microwave door shut, putting a bowl in front of me on the breakfast bar. "He'd be living on curly fries and donuts if it wasn't for me."

He kept ranting, and I half-expected to hear the sentence 'And do I ever hear a thank-you? No!' come out of his mouth. He shut up to eat his own casserole, slurping loudly while glaring at me. I hastily picked up my own spoon and burned my tongue the first time in my eagerness.

"How did you know Lydia would be there?" he asked, snatching my bowl away just as I finished.

"How did you?" I countered before I took a sip from my water.

"I had my reasons," he said and shrugged.

"So did I."

"If you're Lydia's cousin, why didn't you go home with her and her mom?"

"That's none of your business."

It was pretty obvious that me showing up at the murder scene made me a suspect in Stiles' book. I'm not sure if it was for the murder itself or if it had something to do with Lydia's disappearance. Whatever goodwill Stiles bestowed upon me earlier at school had disappeared the instant I ran off into the woods to get Lydia.

And likewise, Stiles' behavior seemed increasingly suspicious to me. There was something seriously weird going on in Beacon Hills and my gut told me Stiles and possibly Lydia were right in the thick of it.

We glared at each other, but Stiles broke first, playing it off with scratching his neck. "Come on, I'll show you where you'll sleep." Truce, for now at least. He took me upstairs and I made a point of not stopping to look at the pictures this time.

"That's my room," he threw his hand out to a door on the left, "that's the bathroom, that over there's my dad's and this," he opened the door closest to the stairs, "is the guest room." He flicked the light switch.

Don't get me wrong now, I did not have a bad childhood. I grew up surrounded with tons of family and people who cared about me, but still…I never had my own room to decorate or settle into, I always shared with my sister or cousins. And my family preferred slightly traditional values and styles; no one would ever, in their life, paint a room yellow. I loved it; it was the color of sunflowers. The bed was covered in frilly pillows and white bedspreads and there were more lace tablecloths on the dresser by the wall. It wasn't a big room, not much more space than for the single bed and dresser and I could cross the entire width in a big step.

"It's not much, I know, but the sheets are clean and there's some towels in the drawer if you want to take a shower or something, I don't know, you can probably borrow some of my clothes," Stiles rattled on, suddenly sounding embarrassed by the room.

"Not much?" I breathed, finally walking in on the carpet-covered floor. "It's amazing."

"Uh-huh, yeah," Stiles said and hastily coughed into his arm when I turned to look. He appeared uncomfortable. "So, I'll drive you to school tomorrow. You wanna get your car before or after? 'Cus I got practice after classes, so unless you want to hang around to watch those, we'll have to go-"

"Can I? Is that allowed?"

He did a double take. "What? Can you what?"

"Watch? The practice, I mean. I've never seen lacrosse before, it sounds like fun." And it'll help me keep my thoughts of other sore subjects.

"Uuuuh, sure, I guess. There are a lot of girlfriends who watch from the bleachers." He caught himself and stuttered, "N-n-not that I'm implying that you're my girlfriend. Or that I want you to be. Not that I don't want you to be, I just have my sight set on someone else." He scratched his neck again and said in a singsong voice, "I'm raaambling."

"It's oka-"

The door slammed downstairs and cut of whatever I had to say, I couldn't even remember anymore. The Sheriff came up the stairs with a small convenience store bag in his hands.

"I, uh, picked up some stuff for you," he said, giving it to me. "Just a toothbrush, a comb, some und – stuff like that."

It didn't hit me how long my last few days had been or exactly how relieved I was that Lydia was okay, before I stood in that yellow bedroom with the white plastic bag in my hands and started to cry. Not sniffling or silent tears falling either, but real ugly crying, sobs and snorts, the whole package.

"I-I-I'm so-horry," I bawled, sinking down onto the bed and letting my hair cover my face. "I'm just really, really tired. And really, really far away from ho-ome. And you're being so nice to me and you don't even know me-heee…"

"Stiles, go get some tissues," the Sheriff ordered and his son bolted out of the room. The bed dipped down as the Sheriff sat down next to me, leaning forwards on his knees with hands clasped together. He was probably used to hysterical teenagers.

"You'll be fine, Cassie. When was the last time you slept? In a bed?" he asked, gently and I had to remind myself to go easy on the details, because the Sheriff was the kind of person you wanted to tell everything. The kind of person you knew would make everything better once he knew the problem.

"Um, a few days ago," I admitted. I used my palm to wipe away some tears and sniffled. "I was so scared for Lydia, that she wouldn't make it. I drove here pretty much in one go."

"Okay, now I'm no doctor, but I think, with that head bump you got and the amount of stress of the last few days, you'll feel like a brand new person tomorrow morning," he said and I smiled through tears and snot.

A bang and a crash later, Stiles threw himself into the doorway. "Tissues! I got the tissues!"

He forced the box under my chin and I started to dab at my face before blowing my nose thoroughly. The Sheriff gave me a solid pat on the shoulder, before they both left me with promises of being right down the hall if I needed anything. I took up on Stiles' offer on a shower, and the blessed Sheriff even included underwear and socks in his gift bag while I borrowed a blue plaid shirt from Stiles.

Gods, when was the last time I cried in front of someone like that? I must have made them insanely uncomfortable. I smiled to myself while I sat on the multi-colored bed in the yellow room, braiding my hair back. My suspicions towards Stiles were somewhat diminished when I fell asleep, but not eradicated. Tomorrow I'd find out more.


The next day went by in a blur. Stiles had some grumpy, sarcastic remarks for me hogging his bathroom time in the morning, but made it up by fixing breakfast for everyone. The Sheriff wished us a good day at school and reminded Stiles that he needed to take me to get my Honda. It was surreal, like an episode of a sitcom, like I was part of their family. But I knew the Sheriff was just a really decent guy and Stiles didn't want me near their house anymore.

His earlier delight regarding our parallel lockers seemed to have vanished and I was thankful we were in different classes the first period. Well, I say class, but everyone else called it 'Homeroom' and it lasted only ten minutes with attendance being taken and everyone rushed of to their prospective lessons. My first proper class was Economics, with yet another new teacher and another book to drag around. I looked around in the classroom, but didn't see Lydia or anyone else I recognized. I didn't expect her to be back today. After all she hadn't been properly released from the hospital when she ran of a few days ago and I doubt her time in the woods helped her general state. I tried to take notes about government regulation, but drifted of.

Class ended and I finally noticed that my entire notebook page was covered in drawings of a flower – monkshood. That was really odd, usually I tended to doodle daffodils or cartoon cats with moustaches. Monkshood? Of all flowers? Odd.

I wished I had Lydia's number, so I could at least text her to see if she needed anything or if it was okay for me to visit. We hadn't spoken much yesterday, in the ambulance she'd been dreamlike before snapping out of it and complaining about the state of her hair. And at the hospital, she'd been taken straight to see the doctors with her parents fussing around her. If she thought my presence weird, she hadn't said anything then. I wonder what she was like now…

"Hey, Stiles," I said to my locker buddy between classes. He froze for a second, but kept rummaging in his locker instead of answering. "Do you know where I can get Lydia's number?"

"Nope," he said, slammed his locker shut and walked away. He met up with a tanner, longer-haired boy down the hall and they stopped to talk, occasionally giving me looks. Okay, so we were definitely not on speaking terms anymore and I'd used up my sympathy-quota after my breakdown last night. And the way those boys looked at me-

"Hey, if you want Lydia's number, I'd talk to Jackson," a dark-skinned girl I'd never seen before said. She apparently was my other locker buddy. "They used to go out."

"Wait, who's Jackson?" I asked, furrowing my brows. Was it normal to just listen in on other's conversations in high school? The girl laughed.

"Um, I don't know, only the hottest guy in school, co-captain of the lacrosse team, drives a killer Porsche?"

I'd heard the name before, but where? So far, the only one I knew the name of at the school was Stiles and the teachers.

The bell rang, but I couldn't move. A lump of ice rested in my stomach. No. Way. Black-nose blood guy? That was Lydia's boyfriend? Mother of good, what have you gotten yourself into, Lydia?

I sprinted down the hallway to get to Biology, and nearly smacked right into the man of the hour – nosebleeder.

"Watch it, ginger," he sneered and pushed into the classroom before me. Charming. Drop-dead-gorgeous though. He stalked – believe me, he did not walk – over to a seat in the front and practically threw himself down. The lesson dragged on forever, the teacher didn't even acknowledge my addition to the class, and the second we finished I rushed out of my seat to catch up to the infamous Jackson.

"Hey, excuse me, wait up!" I called after him, and he turned just as he unfolded a pair of expensive sunglasses. He already reached his car, the aforementioned Porsche. When I caught up to him, he sighed and looked me up and down. Okay, I felt violated somehow. I shook it off, now was not the time to be awkward.

"Maybe," he said just as I prepared a speech on exactly why I should be given Lydia's phone number without coming of as a weirdo. "In a dress and if you did something about that hair."

"So you – what?"

He raised his eyebrows, as if to say 'Are we done?'.

"What? Dress? What?" I started, but waved my hands about to change the subject. "Never mind, I need Lydia's phone number. You are Jackson, right? Lydia's boyfriend? I'm-"

"Whoa, I am not Lydia's boyfriend," he clarified, throwing his hands up. "Ex-boyfriend is the term. And if she sent you, you can tell her there's a bigger chance of Danny getting freaky with a girl than us getting back together again."

Okay, this was not going so good. "Um, first of all, who's Danny? And second, if Lydia sent me, why would I need her phone number?"

"Look, I got better things to do. Who are you again?" he said, reaching into his leather jacket to retrieve a pen. He walked around with a pen in his inner pocket? Someone is a diva...

"I-I'm Lydia's cousin," I stuttered as he grabbed my arm and pushed Stiles' sleeve up to write on my wrist. Solid, readable digits – hopefully the right number.

"And Lydia's cousins don't have names?" he taunted; capping his pen and stuffing it back into his jacket.

"It's – it's Cassie," I said, taken aback with his abrupt change in personality. He smirked, like, really smirked and leaned in.

"Here's a tip, new girl. Introducing yourself as Lydia's cousin might not be the smartest move right now, social status vise. When the whole ordeal with crazy aunt Kate blows over, Lydia's going to be the subject for discussion, and trust me, it won't be pretty."

He laughed in my face without humor, and grabbed a bag out of his car before stalking back into the school. Why would he go ba – ah, yes, lacrosse. He was co-captain, apparently. I walked around a bit and found my way to the bleachers Stiles mentioned. There were a few girls there, some reading, but most chatting to each other about the players or the upcoming game. My heart stopped. The field. This was the field I saw Lydia on, this was where someone attacked her.

I hardly felt sitting down onto an empty bench, keeping my gaze fixed on the exact spot she'd been laying. There was a small-sized patch of dead grass, hardly noticeable if you didn't look specifically for it. I really needed to talk to her about this.

Players started to fill in on the field, led by the Economics teacher – Finstock – and I recognized Jackson as well as Stiles' friend from earlier being given instructions. Other players included Stiles, Jackson's tan friend from Chemistry, Gravedigger Boy, who gave a miniscule nod in my direction, causing an eruption of butterflies somewhere in my stomach area and…those were the only ones I recognized. Possibly number 8 was in my Bio class.

I tried to follow their practice, see if I actually understood something, but realized the warm-ups were pretty much generic. I took out my phone instead and typed in the number Jackson scribbled on my arm. Should I call? Text? Leave a voice mail? I was pretty socially backwards to start with and I don't think there's any protocol to follow when contacting your ten-year-lost cousin who spent the preceding week either in a coma or out in the woods.

'Hi, is this Lydia?' I wrote, sending it before I could change my mind. A few minutes went by that I spent sneaking glances at number 14, the name Lahey on his back.

'Yes, who's this?'

What do I write next? I wonder if Stiles saw me as this total Lydia-stalker-freak, because that's what I'd been feeling like for the last days. It's just this connection thing, I can't explain it.

I typed, 'Cassandra. How are you feeling?'

The next reply came almost instantaneously.

'Still in hospital, mom's making me do more tests.'

My fingers were frozen over the touch screen. How could I do this without creeping her out? I frowned when the phone buzzed again.

'We need to talk.'

Okay, cryptic much, Lydia? I asked her for time and place and we settled the details. I'd come over to her tomorrow night – her mom would be out on some charity auction and she would positively be out of a hospital gown by then. Waiting until tomorrow seemed like forever, there were so many things I needed to ask her. Let her heal first. I put my phone back into my pocket. And hope she remembers anything.

So this was Lacrosse, huh? The players wore really tough-looking protection and carried sticks of various lengths with a pocket on the end. It was like a mix of hockey, football and basketball. And not without - I flinched when 37 tackled 11 pretty hard - a little bit of violence.

Practice ended and I waited for Stiles by his jeep. Time ticked by, and I started to think he'd forgotten all about me, until he emerged from the locker rooms with his friend from earlier.

"Scott, Cassie," Stiles said, devoid of any emotion. "Cassie, Scott." I suppose this was his version of an introduction, and Scott smiled – my heart skipped a beat, gorgeous smile – before extending a hand. I shook it, hoping my palms weren't clammy and-

Scott, still with my hand in his, leaned forward and sniffed me. Like, really trying to soak up as much of my odor as possible with his nose. I didn't even wear perfume! Oh gods, was it B.O? The Sheriff had provided me with a deodorant, but it hadn't been the kind I usually wore and maybe I'd gone all day smelling like the bottom of a gym bag without anyone telling me and…

I nearly missed the microscopic headshake Scott directed towards Stiles. I snatched my hand back out of his grip. "Did you just sniff me?" I asked, putting my arms across my body.

"Uh, yeah – he has allergies," Stiles blurted out, almost diving between us. "Real bad, allergies, yeah. Uh-huh."

"Allergic to what exactly?" I asked, inching my way back to the jeep. Figures that Stiles' friend would be as weird as he was.

Scott hesitated only a fraction before, "Emm, cigarette smoke! Yeah, I tried to smell if you smelled like cigarettes, because then I can't get in the car with you, my eyes they swell and…"

"Run and..." Stiles provided.

"And itch, yeah, real painful," Scott finished.

I looked from Tweedledum to Tweedledee, raising my eyebrows. I let this one slide. "You could have just asked," I mumbled, pushing back the passenger seat so I could crawl in the back. In the side-mirror, Scott and Stiles gave each other a silent high-five.

"So, Stiles told me you haven't seen Lydia for a while," Scott said after we'd been on the road for ten minutes without conversation. Stiles seethed in the driver's seat, occasionally exchanging looks with Scott.

"Yeah, almost ten years," I said back over the roar of the engine. The back seat was cramped and I felt lucky being shorter than average for the first time in my life. 5 ft 4 in, not exactly supermodel material – Sabrina got all the height in the family.

"What?" Scott said, cupping his hand behind his ear.

"Almost ten years," I said a little louder, leaning forward so I spoke directly into his ears. Oh boy, I should have sniffed him, he smelled good.

"Can you say it again? A little slower?"

"I haven't seen Lydia for almost ten years," I spelled out, wrinkling my eyebrows as Scott gave a small nod to Stiles. Apparently I passed some sort of test.

"And you're her cousin, right?" Scott asked now. What's with all these questions it was obvious Stiles already told him the answers to?

"Yeah, on her mother's side," I said, still leaning forward so I wouldn't have to shout anymore.

"Come again?"

How bad was his hearing? "Are you serious? My mom and her mom are sisters," I said, exaggerating my pronunciation of each word. Again, Scott nodded to Stiles! What. On. Earth?

I looked back and forth between the two dumbasses. I couldn't believe I'd been nervous around them at first, they were even more socially awkward than me.

"And what brings you back to Beacon Hills?"

Really? That's all we're going to talk about now, with still another fifteen-minute drive ahead of us. I don't get why Scott even tagged along.

"Lydia." I gave a one-word answer, and Scott didn't ask me to repeat it.

"What about her?" Stiles decided to join the thrilling conversation.

I bit my lip, wondering how I should say it. We have a code, of some sort, and I try to avoid telling blatant lies for the most part. Sometimes it was necessary however. Now, I just decided on a modified truth. "I heard about her attack and figured it was time to bury the hatchet. Someone shouldn't have to die before we realize our mistakes. Family's important."

Scott's neck muscles tightened and don't ask me why I noticed. It wasn't like I had been admiring them, not at all.

"Can you say that first part again, I didn't catch it." Scott's voice sounded different, darker.

"When Lydia got hurt, I-"

"No, exactly the way you said it before," he ordered and there was something about his tone that warned me about disobeying.

"I heard about her attack," I started, now glancing nervously between them. "And figured it was time to bury the hatchet." It dawned upon me that there was a slim chance I was in a car with two serial killers out in the middle of a forest. "Someone shouldn't have to die before we realize our mistakes." My pulse rose, palms got slick. "Family's important."

"The first line, one more time."

Stiles now gave Scott a confused look, but quickly switched it back to the road. I tried to retreat unnoticeably backwards in the seat, away from Scott.

"Slow," Scott said, and there was practically a growl on the edge of his voice.

"I." Thank gods, I could see the glimpse of my gray Honda through the trees. "Heard." Just around the next bend, come on. "About." Please stop the car, Stiles, please. "Her." Oh crap, I was in the back, one of them had to get out before I did. Otherwise I'd have to crawl over them. "Attack."

The jeep slowed down to a full stop. I pushed on Stiles' seat.

"Stiles, please move."

He didn't answer, but gave his friend a worried look, before glancing at me. Why didn't he move?

"Stiles, please. I have to get out."

It was like he was waiting for Scott's approval. Was Scott the killer? And Stiles just his accomplice? I glanced at Scott, whose neck muscles tightened even further. I could hear my heartbeat thundering.

"Please! Let me out!"

"Alright, alright!" Stiles unbuckled in record speed, jumped out and I nearly fell out of the jeep.

I gasped in a huge breath of air, making a beeline to my car and fumbling with the keys, taking worried looks over my shoulder. Stiles leaned back into his jeep and had a rapid conversation with Scott. Scott looked directly at me and I swear to all things sacred his eyes flashed yellow.

"Oh Mother," I prayed. Finally, the right key and I yanked the door open and slammed it shut. At the harsh sound, Scott shook himself, almost like he came out of a trance. Even from this distance, I saw his face turn into a worried look. Stiles followed his gaze, and asked Scott something.

I plunged the key into ignition, willing myself to control my foot so I didn't choke the engine when pushing in the clutch-pedal.

"Cassie, wait!" Scott came out of the car, coming towards me. "Wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

The Honda, while not as powerful as the jeep, started up with a roar and I made the sharpest U-turn of my life to get out of there. In the rear view mirror I saw Scott throw his arms out in apology, while Stiles seemed pissed off at him. Behind them, fragments of police tape fluttered in the wind.


A/N: Longest chapter so far! Hope you enjoyed reading it. Even though the reviewing has been a bit lackluster, I love every one of you who put this story on your favorite-list or follows it. Lots of love to you guys! It seems like there's a good deal of people reading this, so I hope that trend continues.

If you have some feedback or encouragement or criticism, please review! I may not be able to update so frequently for the next weeks - final exams are coming up, first one on Monday! - but notifications in my inbox will probably persuade me to update sooner :)

Until next time!