Author's Note: This chapter is really freaking long. I hope you guys don't mind, though. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your reviews. I'd hug you all if I could, but for now, you'll just have to believe me when I tell you that this chapter came right from the heart where I store all my love for you guys :') Okay, I'm gonna stop before this literally becomes the cheesiest author's note on the planet. Enjoy!

"Well, this is disturbingly familiar," Stiles said as he and Lydia rounded the corner of the hospital and stood in front of the door to the morgue.

Lydia looked up at him with her brow furrowed. "Familiar? When's the last time you broke into a morgue?"

"Not me. Scott. I was just keeping watch while he went to sniff Laura Hale's bottom half and then I saw you sitting over there but you were on your Bluetooth and- never mind," he cut off quickly, turning to the door. Lydia raised her eyebrows at his back, still caught up on the part about Scott sniffing Laura Hale's bottom half, but she shook off the thought with a roll of her eyes. Werewolves.

Stiles tested the doorknob and he visibly fist pumped the air when he saw that it was open. Lydia cursed him under her breath for his complete lack of discretion and looked around to see if anyone noticed, but anyone who was in this hallway had their noses in clipboards or otherwise didn't care.

"Okay, it's open," Stiles said casually as he turned around.

Lydia just stared at the doorknob.

"Lydia?" Stiles asked.

But Lydia was frozen in place because, yes, the door being unlocked saved them the trouble of having to explain to Melissa McCall why - or a convincing cover story of why - they so desperately needed to get into the morgue. But on the other hand, it also meant the plan was in motion, and Lydia found herself overwhelmed with the truth of what they were about to do. She had taken a stronger red potion of Dr. Deaton's earlier that day - which, by the way, wasn't appetizing at all - which would mask her plans from the Darach, but not from the humans around her.

"Come on, Lydia, you can't back out now. Not now," Stiles said desperately, lightly touching her bicep. His hand was so big and warm, and it pissed her off so much that it pulled her from her thoughts. Why is he always so comforting and heartwarming like a goddamn overgrown hyperactive teddy bear all the fucking time? When did that happen? And how was she supposed to concentrate on anything with his hand on her like that?

She shrugged him off and gripped the handles of the wheelchair she had wheeled through the hospital. "Yes, I'm ready, just do it."

Stiles nodded determinedly and looked around with his hand on the doorknob, but no one was there. It was deserted. So he pushed open the heavy door and held it open while Lydia quickly wheeled the chair into the room. He shut the door with his face pinched tight, obviously not wanting to make any noise.

"Okay. Alright. Um," Stiles attempted to speak, but failed, because his whole body slouched and his face morphed into one of disgust. "Oh God. Oh God, this is so wrong. This is so wrong, Lydia."

Lydia waved her hands for him to shut up and he did so, his mouth hanging open and his chest heaving.

Lydia let go of the wheelchair and put her hand on her hip, feigning bravery. "Okay, one? You have to stop repeating things for emphasis because it's getting on my nerves. And two, I know it's wrong, but I'd rather steal the body of somebody who's already dead than kill someone, okay? Just keep that in mind."

And with that, Lydia got to work, making her way around the room to find a John or Jane Doe. They'd decided that if they were going to take a body, it should be one that is unidentified and unclaimed.

"Please, please, please," Lydia begged softly, because she really didn't want to have to take the body of someone with a name.

They're dead, Lydia. She reminded herself. They don't care.

But that was a naive argument because every single body in here must have family. A real, grieving family who would be traumatized and - god forbid - hopeful for the rest of their lives thinking that their precious cousin or sister or son actually got up and walked away.

"Here," Stiles said dryly. She spun and saw him looking down at a chamber solemnly. As Lydia approached, she could see Jane Doe on the label. There was no POLICE EVIDENCE label on the chamber, so that was a good thing, at least.

Stiles took a deep breath beside her and let it out shakily before pulling open the door to the chamber, muttering something along the lines of please don't be a kid, please don't be a kid.

And it wasn't, because as Stiles' pulled away the top of the cover, they saw the cold, dead face of an old woman. At least 70 years old, with thin grey hair and deep wrinkles, mostly around her mouth. She must have smiled a lot.

Lydia shook it off and looked up at Stiles, who was looking down at the woman with his mouth in a tight line and sad eyes.

"God, I really hate death," he said softly.

Lydia just looked at him. Good old Stiles who looked like he was about to shed a tear for this woman he'd never met in his life. But maybe it was something more than that.

"Yeah," she agreed in a whisper. After a few seconds of silence too heavy to have been placed on the shoulders of teenagers, Stiles inhaled sharply. "Okay. Could you...? You know, dress her?" he asked.

Lydia sighed. Of course, it was probably more decent and respectful if a girl were to dress this old woman than a teenage boy.

Not that there was anything at all respectful about this whole situation.

Lydia nodded once and Stiles shoved a hospital gown in her hands, turning away to go fiddle with the wheelchair and prepare their props.

She was going to have nightmares for the rest of her life after sliding the gown over this woman's cold, dead skin and pinning it up like she was a doll. How could anybody do this for a living? Go to work every day just to simultaneously try to restore dignity to and strip away the dignity of a dead person by dressing them up for funerals. In this case, however, she and Stiles were going to wheel the woman out in a hospital gown, pretending to be young people taking their sweet old grandma out for a stroll.

"Okay, done," Lydia said finally, and Stiles made his way over and hesitantly began to pick the woman up. One arm under her knees and the other across her upper back, Lydia watched the muscles in his arms ripple and the look of disgust on his face as he carried her over to the wheelchair and set her down none too gently.

"Stiles!" she hissed.

"I'm sorry! She's heavy," Stiles' said, and he looked honest to god guilty, so Lydia dropped it.

Lydia and Stiles got to work putting a sunhat on the woman - they had brought all sorts of hats and caps, since they didn't know what kind of person they would be bringing out of the hospital - and sunglasses. The woman was very pale, and Lydia's heart lurched. Someone would notice. Someone would question the pallor of this woman and would stop them in their tracks.

But they had other problems, because someone had just arrived outside the morgue door. They saw his blurry figure through the distorted window in the door. His voice was muffled as he spoke to someone they couldn't see, and judging by his position, his hand was on the doorknob.

"Fuck," Stiles said in a harsh whisper.

"You told Deaton to keep watch around the corner, right?" Lydia said, turning a fiery glare towards him.

"Yes!" Stiles said.

There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere. If that guy walked in, they were in oh-so-much trouble that Lydia could hardly breathe thinking about it. Her heart thumped in her chest, threatening to escape her body and making her feel lightheaded.

They crouched behind the woman's wheelchair - not that that would help them at all - and Lydia felt a chill down her spine as she accidentally brushed her hand against the Jane Doe's cold arm. She flinched away from her and then felt Stiles' familiar warm hand suddenly around her waist and pulling her towards him. She leaned into him as they huddled behind the chair, keeping their eyes on the figure through the window.

There was an excruciatingly long moment with only the sounds of the man's muffled talking and the two teenagers' synchronized breathing. Stiles ducked his head, leaning it against the back of the wheelchair with his eyes screwed shut. Despite their seriously terrifying situation, Lydia found herself wondering about Stiles' religious standing. Was he praying? Did he ever pray?

And then the man was gone. He took his hand off the knob and drifted down the hallway, obviously caught up in something else now. Lydia briefly wondered if Deaton had anything to do with that, or if it was just dumb luck.

As her heart slowed down, she let out a breath that turned into a breathy laugh. Relief flooded her body, leaving her bones feeling like lead. She moved her head to look up at Stiles who laughed nervously with Lydia, his hand still hugging her to him. It never struck Lydia how much of a height difference there was between her and Stiles, and she found herself having to crane her neck to look up at him as they crouched together.

Just as Lydia was beginning to become painfully aware of his breath in her hair and her hand on his thigh, Stiles untangled himself from her, clearing his throat. "Uh, we should probably get going."

"Yeah," Lydia said, nodding and clearing her throat as well. The two got up and took another mournful look at the woman in the chair, who was now propped up and accessorized to look like a sick grandmother going for a detour. The hat and sunglasses helped cover her lifeless expression, and the knit blanket over her legs helped give the impression that she was old and cold.

"So wrong," Stiles whispered.

"Stiles," Lydia said in warning that she was about to slap him.

"Yes, okay. Go out and see if anyone's there," Stiles said, pushing the woman towards the door.

Lydia looked through the window and gazed down the hall as far as her eyes would let her. No one was there, and so she cautiously stepped out of the morgue. There was no one around. Not even a peep. She opened the door for him as he pushed the woman out into the hall, and the pallor of her skin was even more shocking in the bright lights of the hospital hallway.

They had to keep moving. They had to make it to an exit and into the Jeep before anyone got a good look at the body. And so they wasted no time chitchatting.

Stiles pushed the wheelchair at a speed that no Grandma would find pleasurable. They passed an intersection where Deaton was standing around looking awkward but not suspicious, and he gave them a wide eyed look as they passed. Lydia and Stiles nodded, but continued on their way. They were to make no contact with Dr. Deaton just yet, as they had to get the body out of the building as quickly as possible.

Stiles continued pushing at this speed until they reached another intersection in the hall where someone in a white lab coat was making their way towards them. He smoothly slowed down and just to add to the act, Lydia bent over the chair and smiled at the dead woman as they walked. They continued like this until they were passed the intersection and the man continued walking the opposite way, paying no attention to them.

"I feel like I'm playing a really screwed up game of Frogger," Stiles muttered as he sped up, keeping a hand on the woman's shoulder so she didn't fall forward.

"Or Pacman," Lydia offered thoughtfully, catching up to him.

"You play Pacman?" Stiles asked, looking overjoyed.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Everyone's played Pacman, idiot."

There was a pause before Lydia added, "I'm just considerably better at it than most people."

Stiles grinned and they walked down a never ending hallway and were only disturbed twice more without any conflict. Lydia had just started to think about how she could not believe their luck, when they turned a corner and none other than Melissa McCall was walking towards them wearing those awful green nurse scrubs.

"Yeah, thanks, Paul!" she called behind her shoulder, smiling. Currently, she was too busy looking at her feet to notice Lydia and Stiles, but that wouldn't last for very long.

Stiles and Lydia made a series of squeaking noises and gestures, and Lydia smacked Stiles on the arm repeatedly while he mouthed "go go go" frantically, waving his hand to turn them around. Stiles had only turned the wheelchair around halfway when it was too late.

"Stiles?" Melissa called, suddenly only roughly 15 feet away from them.

Stiles' face scrunched up and his whole body seemed to tense beside her. He could not have portrayed the words we are so fucked better. Lydia's heart was sinking in defeat, and though she was glad it was Scott's mom and not anyone else, she wasn't so sure how understanding the nurse would be when she saw-

"Who's that?" Melissa asked, nodding her head toward the wheelchair. She was smiling pleasantly like she had had a good day and would love to meet the old person in the chair.

But Stiles wasn't even trying to make a cover story as Melissa was now two feet away from them and turning to look at the woman in the chair. Lydia watched the show as she frowned, and then took a step back, and then widened her eyes in horror. Her mouth dropped open as she looked up at Stiles and Lydia, her eyes darting back and forth between them.

"Is she...? Stiles, did you...?"

"Look, okay, please don't freak out, I can explain-" Stiles started, raising his hands in an appeasing gesture.

"Oh my God," Melissa said out loud, but her voice dropped to a panicked whisper immediately. "Oh my God!"

"Shh, shh! Can we please have this conversation somewhere else? Hide us somewhere," Stiles said.

Melissa, who looked absolutely dumbstruck, seemed to finally realize that they were completely out in the open and momentarily calmed down.

"Okay. In here, go in here, we'll use Kay's office," she said, running three doors down and taking a key from her pocket, shoving it in the hole. She opened the door and waved her arms frantically for them to go in, so Stiles was practically tripping over his feet trying to push the woman's wheelchair in the room.

When they piled into the small office, Melissa immediately locked the door behind them and leaned against it, looking considerably paler than she did before.

"Why do you have a key to someone else's office?" Lydia asked, genuinely curious.

Melissa looked incredulous. "How about we address the fact that you're wheeling a dead woman around the hospital," she cried, though she whispered the words "dead" and "woman."

She turned to Stiles' first, her hands on her hips. That didn't surprise Lydia. After all those years of Stiles hanging around her son, it must have become habitual to immediately assume everything was Stiles' idea.

Stiles put his hands over his face and made a groaning noise. He looked like he would like to claw his flesh off and crawl under a rock for the rest of his life than try to explain this to Melissa, and Lydia couldn't help but feel the same way.

But Melissa wasn't backing down, and she was giving the dead woman a sideways glance like she was about to jump up from her wheelchair and start riverdancing at any moment.

"You can't tell Scott about any of this," Stiles started.

"You mean he doesn't know? This doesn't have to do with werewolves? Or giant lizards or whatever else is going on in this godforsaken town-"

"No, Ms. McCall. This is worse," Lydia said solemnly.

Melissa took a deep breath. "Great. Talk. Both of you."

Stiles sighed and shared a look with Lydia.

We have to; he seemed to say with his eyes. So Lydia responded with a look that she hoped conveyed the words I know. It's okay. She must have delivered the message, because Stiles turned to Melissa and sighed once more.

"We need a body as a sacrifice to whatever is killing all of these people," he said simply.

Okay, there were a couple hundred details left out of that. But hopefully it would be enough to make Melissa drop it and let them be on their way.

The nurse crossed her arms and shook her head. "Why? Why you? And couldn't Scott help with this?"

"It's a really long story, but I'm a kind of target for the thing whose been doing all of these sacrifices. It's my responsibility, not Scott's or anyone else's. Although, dumbass over here just so happened to get involved," Lydia said, throwing a pointed look at Stiles. Obviously, this wasn't exactly the truth, but it was paving the way.

"Oh, honey, I know you think you have to protect your friends but you don't have to do it alone. You could have perfectly capable help at your side. Scott and Derek and Isaac..." Melissa said, looking at Lydia like she wanted to hug her.

Lydia felt a mixture of annoyance that Melissa thought she couldn't take care of herself, but also appreciation for her caring about her at all. In fact - as random and absurd as this thought was -, Lydia was reminded of the same caring look that Sheriff Stilinski always seemed to give her, and for a moment, she couldn't help but think how cute he and Melissa would be together.

Typical Lydia Martin, playing matchmaker while in the process of explaining to her werewolf friend's mother why she needed to get a dead body out of the building.

"Oh, we're not alone. We have an adult helping us, and some other people that you haven't met. We're in good hands and we just didn't want Scott to get involved. He's got enough on his plate right now," Lydia lied.

"Look, Melissa, we're okay. Really. Once we get the body out of the hospital, it'll be a kind of peace offering. We'll be fine," Stiles lied.

"Stiles-"

"Please, just drop it," Stiles was begging now.

"I can't just drop it-!"

"Please, Mom!"

It took every person in the room a few moments to process what Stiles had just said, but one by one, they did. Melissa's whole body seemed to grow taller when she heard the word, and there was a mix of surprise and something that looked a lot like pride in her kind eyes. Lydia found her own eyes downcast, feeling like she was intruding on a personal moment between the two. Stiles took a step back and put a hand on the back of his neck, his mouth hanging open. He immediately began shaking his head slowly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"No, no. It's okay," Melissa said earnestly. She seemed conflicted, like she knew that calling someone mom was a common slip up, but she also felt something different in the exchange, like it was less of a slip of the tongue and more of an unveiling. Lydia could see in the woman's eyes that she wanted to believe the latter.

Lydia wasn't very familiar with the motion of losing a loved one, but she was certain that it probably wasn't easy to make the mistake of calling someone Mom when you haven't used the word in a while.

Stiles, on the other hand, looked completely uncomfortable with what he'd just said, and was rubbing the back of his neck and upper back convulsively and looking anywhere but at the two other people in the room, and so Melissa changed the subject whilst trying to hide a flattered smile.

"Listen, both of you. I won't tell Scott. I won't tell anyone. But you are going to keep me updated on whatever this thing is that you're doing and you're going to let me know that you're safe and you cannot keep me in the dark on this, do you understand?"

The two nodded.

"And I want you to give me the contact information of the adult whose helping you," Melissa demanded.

"Oh, you already have his contact information. It's Dr. Deaton," Lydia said, nonchalant.

Melissa looked nonplussed. "Dr De- Scott's boss? He knows about all this...werewolf stuff too?"

"You have no idea what this guy knows about," Stiles said.

Melissa stared at them for a long moment before shaking her head, but eventually she began unlocking the office door again. "Okay. Well, I'll help you get her out of here," she said, nodding towards Jane Doe.

Lydia felt bad for Ms. McCall. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her to go to sleep every night knowing that her son was out there fighting unimaginable beasts and bleeding for his friends. She couldn't imagine what it was like to feel somewhat responsible for a kid who was only dragged into this dangerous mess by becoming friends with her son. She couldn't understand how the unveiling of her son's true identity didn't leave her crying and panicking in a corner for the rest of her life.

Maybe that's just how truly overwhelming and horrifying love can be. And Lydia longed for it. She longed for it, and God did she fear it.

Author's Note: So, I can't remember if Melissa ever found out that Deaton knows about the supernatural world, but for the sake of the story, she didn't yet. Until now. Anyways, I really wanted to include Mama McCall in this, cause she is a joy to write and one of my favorite Mom characters on television. (Plus, I totally agree with Lydia. She should date Papa Stilinski right the hell now.) Let me know what you guys thought of this chapter, and I can't wait to get writing on the next one!