"Well, I guess we should've seen that coming," Isaac admitted, knowing that their luck was never favorable and things always managed to back-hand them across the face.

"Shut up," Derek muttered yet unable deny the truth in Isaac's words. But he had to at least try to overcome this hurdle and look for a new solution to this, right?

"Derek, what's going on? What happened?" Stiles pleaded, wrapping his nimble fingers around Derek's forearm while the werewolf avoided eye contact at all costs.

"Do you remember who put you there in the preserve? Anything that you haven't told us?" Derek pushed. His only response was a nervous headshake.

Whatever led to Stiles being dumped in the middle of the preserve had caused him to act like a clingy child, Derek's certain of this. It's like he's not even Stiles anymore because the gangly teen he knew wouldn't act so vulnerable or pleading. He would hone down on his weaknesses until threats were eliminated for the time being, putting his friends' welfare before his own. That's what made Stiles undyingly loyal and . . . strong.

This boy squeezing his arm wasn't Stiles.

"Derek, please. Say something."

Derek breathed in; he couldn't stand to look at Stiles lest he wanted to lose his calm. "You were screaming in your sleep. You were trying to get away from someone but never mentioned a name."

"I—I don't remember any of that." Derek could smell Stiles's rising worry with each passing second—it was a strange mixture of bitter tart and chlorine.

"We'll deal with that later. Right now, we need to get you home before your dad calls the entire police force looking for you," Derek advised while motioning at Scott to drive the bewildered boy home. Scott only shook his head and Derek raised an inquisitive eyebrow, not fully understanding why Scott couldn't take up the task.

"Is it okay if Erica drives you home, Stiles?" Scott had put an arm around his friend's shoulder and Stiles had released Derek's arm to solemnly nod his consent as he pushed himself off the table. Derek tensed when he detected something amiss in that gesture. Derek wasn't an idiot; Scott and Stiles's friendship had stagnated ever since the beginning of the school year but they've been fruitlessly trying to hold up a facade that all was fine.

Derek shook his head. Despite what had happened in the past twenty-four hours with Stiles, the spastic teen still remembered his strained friendship with Scott. Derek guessed that some things were harder to forget.

Entering the school's front doors, Stiles trudged towards his locker with his head ducked down. He didn't want to talk to anyone given his current sour mood. He managed to get to his locker without a problem but looking down, he saw that the numbers on the lock were coming in and out of focus. He felt a headache coming on but nontheless turned the dial to what he hoped to be the correct combination of numbers.

Hope wasn't enough because the lock wouldn't budge as he pulled on it. Then he tried again. Nada. He stood there for a solid ten minutes trying to get his damn lock to open as his headache started getting worse with each spark of irritation.

"Need any help?" An all-too-sweet voice asked from his left.

"What help could you provide?" Stiles spat, hating that Theo spotted him alone in an all-too-frustrating dilemma. "Are you going to break the goddamn locker?"

Theo shrugged, a smile ever-present on his face. "If you want me to. I was just thinking of picking the lock from its keyhole on the back." He leaned forward to grab the lock from Stiles and slightly turned it within its restricted position to reveal a small keyhole. Stiles let out a groan at not having thought of it sooner.

"Right," he hissed. Not appreciating Theo's uncomfortable proximity, Stiles pushed against his chest but only managed to move him back to his prior spot, which was still too close.

"You know, we can skip this whole 'walking on needles' stage. Come on, it's really not that hard," he chuckled, spreading his arms grandoisely and offering an appeasing smile. Theo can try to charm him all he wanted but he's not going to fucking buy it.

"Actually, it is. Now, leave me alone," he spat, irritation forcing him to just grab the first textbook out of his locker before hightailing out of there. He sped walked toward chemistry and he was about to let out a breath of relief when he heard heavy footfalls behind him.

Damn it.

"Stiles, don't be like that," Theo breathed and Stiles suddenly felt a pressure on his shoulder.

He stood in front of Theo's crouching form eying the black sludge dripping from his elongated claws. Heavy breaths. Thudding heart. Silence.

"You killed him."

Silence.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

"If I didn't, then he would've killed you."

Stiles jerked away from Theo, whipping around so fast that he's surprised he didn't get whiplash. He stared at Theo with mix of horror and confliction. Where did that come from?

Theo merely invaded all levels of personal space and whispered in his ear, "You don't have to like me. Just know that I would never turn my back on you." Warm breath hinting of peppermint blew against the sensitive skin of his neck and he carefully angled his head, making sure to avoid any physical contact with the bastard, to glare at him.

He flicked him off and briskly walked away, uncaring of the shrill bell signalling he was late.

"Wait, wait, let me get this straight," Isaac backtracked. "We're going to see to some guy who goes by the name 'Dr. Valack', the same one who fucked with Deaton's mind last year and who wrote a novel about the very things that are happening right now?"

"Don't forget he's currently in Eichen House. . ." Kira added.

"Sounds like fun," Erica purred, eying the worn book in Malia's hands with the title fading into a dull yellow against the cover's ominous backdrop displaying three figures decked out in mechanized gear. "'The Dread Doctors', that's pretty fitting. Do you think he's ever met them before?"