I walk back to the motel to find empty rooms. They must be meeting with the pack. Still, I investigate, because in our line of work you can't be too cautious. First, I check Riley's and my room. A quick scan shows that Riley's laptop bag and laptop are gone. No signs of rushing, or panic, and everything else is still there, so again, no reason to panic. An inspection of Mac and Jack's room shows the same conclusion. Nothing to worry about. So, instead, I settle down to wait. Mac and I can go see the Yukimura's tomorrow, so for now I'm going to relax a bit. I sink into the bed with a sigh. How in the world has life gotten this crazy? Man, I had hoped to leave this life behind when I joined the Phoenix Foundation. Huh, ironic. We need a phoenix and the Phoenix Foundation came to help. It's a shame that all the creatures that we need are extinct. Supposedly. It's a big world out there, but if there are any out there, the chances of us being able to find one is astronomical. I'm brought out of my thoughts by a knock at the door. I get up silently, peeking out of the peephole. My eyes widen as I see the Sheriff. I quickly open the door.

"Sheriff, how can I help you?" I ask.

"Why are you here?" He asks curtly.

"Sheriff, we're just here to help with that stupid tree." I reply.

"No, why are you here. I know government agencies usually avoid sending agents on missions that are personal to them."

"I have a hard time letting anything get personal to me. Sure, it's great to finally be able to talk, and interact with my family, but I get just as much 'thrill' taking down world renowned assassins that are hunting me and my friends. Sure, there are people like Mac who are experts at compartmentalizing their emotions so they can go on missions that hit close to home, but I just don't really feel them." A flicker of fear and pain passes over the Sheriff's face.

"So, why did you tell us who you were?" The Sheriff asks.

"Well, something tells me lying about who I was wouldn't go well if we're trying to work with you guys. I can fool werewolves when I lie, but my friends can't. Eventually, someone would realize I'm not being honest about who I am, and that would be counterproductive. If we want to deal with the Nemeton, then we need to work together. If we want to work together we need to trust each other. Lying, as I understand, is the biggest thing that destroys trust."

"So, you really are my daughter…" His voice trails of, guilty.

"It was never your fault. There was nothing you could do to prevent it." I find myself reassuring him.

"But I'm your father!" He yells. I can't help but smile. "What?" He frowns. I feel oddly satisfied.

"Well, it's just, I've waited a long time for someone to say that. I don't blame you. I get to protect everyone now. I work for the government, I get to try to make up for everything I've done." I give him a soft smile.

"Can I come in?" I can't help but blush, because I completely forgot that we were standing in the doorway of a motel.

"Yeah, totally, sorry." I step back from the door, letting him in. He steps in, and I gesture to the bed. It's the ideal place to sit in here, the chairs being really uncomfortable. He sits on the edge of Riley's bed, and I sit cross-legged in the middle of mine.

"Do you mind me asking what I missed out on?" He said, gesturing loosely at me.

"I don't mind, but I'm not sure you really want to know." I say. A storm seems to pass over his face.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize. You didn't even know I was alive, you couldn't have known what I was going through." I reassure the Sheriff.

"I feel like it's my responsibility to know, though." He responds, mutedly. I nod.

"Well, ask away." I shrug.

"Deaton warned us about you, about being the Silver Wolf. Stiles texted me today, though. He said you're not a wolf, you're completely human. How did you get that title?"

"Well, simply, humans can do a lot of things wolves can't. It helps when people try to fight you like they would a wolf when wolfsbane and mountain ash don't affect me. But, I got the title because I'm a vicious fighter, and for a while I had a 'pack'. A small family I knew I could trust with my life, even though we couldn't trust the Goblin King."

"So it's true then. You were an assassin?" The sheriff asks, slack jawed.

"Yeah." I answer simply.

"I- how many people?" He asks quietly. I hesitate.

"The only reason I learned how to count over a hundred was to keep track of all the missions I took. I was best known for never having failed a mission." I nearly whisper. As I say it, all the faces flash before my eyes, the sharp stench of blood, the final gasps of breath. I close my eyes, clenching my fists. I force the thoughts down. I stiffen as arms wrap around me. I feel tears dripping off the Sheriff's face, landing softly on my shoulder. I softly embrace the Sheriff back, surprised to find my eyes moistening as well.

"I'm so sorry." Is all he can say.

"It's in the past, there's nothing you can do to change that." I try to reassure. "Just have to live life from now on, getting farther and farther from the past." I say, repeating what Jack tells me all the time.

"You're wise beyond your years." The Sheriff states. I chuckle.

"That's something my friend always tells me."

"Then you've got great friends."

"That I do. That I do." He finally releases me, and sits back on the bed.

"What was it like, working for the Goblin King?" He continues.

"Hell. He, well by the time I was seven I was one of his best assassins, but I was only a tool, a weapon, and when I got rebellious I would need 'breaking in'. I- I'm not quite sure how I managed to survive. I just know that every time they brought me to the brink of death, I let that make me stronger than ever." I curse myself for the stutters, the breaking of bearing, before reminding myself that it's okay. This is my father. My father. God, I've always wanted to say that.

"If- if you don't want to, or can't, tell me, it's fine, but what did they do to you?" He says, reaching a hand to put on my leg.

"To discipline us, they'd torture us. To train us, they'd have us fight until we had nearly killed each other, sometimes they would make us kill each other. Missions were essentially vacations for me. Being the best of the best got me 'trained' the hardest, disciplined the worst when I messed up. Sometimes, they'd have me fight creatures that they had captured. When Mac and Jack found me, I had just killed three alphas that they had locked me in a room with."

"How did they get you away from the Goblin King?" He asks, scowling at the thought of what I just told him.

"They didn't. They opened the door, revealing me standing over three dead bodies, and the guards caught up with them. But I saw them, the way they looked at me was something I'd never seen before. They didn't look at me like I was disgusting, nor did they look at me with pity, or like they were above me. They looked at me, and I saw compassion in their eyes. I knew that they were my only hope of getting out, alive. That was when I made my decision. The guards knocked them both out, and I killed the guards. It was pathetically easy, and part of me wondered why I hadn't done it before, but I knew why. They were my only hope of having a life after getting away from the Goblin King, but I knew I'd never have a life if the Goblin King were to hunt me down. Instead, I tied them up in loose knots, and took the to the court of the King, still unconscious. I told the Goblin King I caught the intruder, and when he came forward to inspect them, I snapped his neck. I was surprised at how easily he went down." I take a breath, clenching the bedsheets in my hands to try to stop the shaking. "They came to minutes later, and we had to fight our way out. Their boss gave me the opportunity to make up for what I'd done, and I took it."

"I- I know I sound like a broken record by now, and you said I don't need to apologize, but I still need to say it. I am so sorry." He tells me, looking me straight in the eyes. I can see the tears streaming down his face.

"Would you like to join us for dinner? Stiles and me, I mean." He asks suddenly. My eyes widen, and I feel a shock of excitement.

"I'd love to. I'll tell these three that they're on their own tonight. What time?" I ask.

"Nine o'clock, at our house. The address is-" He starts.

"Erm, not to sound like a stalker, but I know where you live. Ever since I found out how the Goblin King got all his 'soldiers', I searched for you guys. That's how I knew y'all were rather invested in the supernatural. I've come to town every once in a while, just to see you guys." I admit carefully. He chuckles at that.

"Yup, you definitely have Stilinski blood in you." He smiles in apology. "Sorry, I've got to get back to work, but I'll tell Stiles we're having you over." He gets up and walks to the door.

"See you there." I smile


It was about seven-thirty when Mac, Riley, and Jack came back to our rooms.

"How'd it go with the pack?" I ask the three as they walk in.

"They don't know much, just what we've learned so far." Jack replied.

"How did it go with Argent?" Mac asks.

"Well, not much better. Basically, just that the only hope we'd have lies in the extinct 'pure' creatures. Unicorns, dragons, and phoenixes are the things that could help us if we could find them…" My voice trails off.

"Wait, phoenixes are real?" Mac asks, surprise written on his face.

"Well, they were up to a couple hundred years ago." I tell him.

"That's a bummer…" He replies.

"Yeah, so that just means we're back to square one." Riley states.

"Yeah. Basically." I nod. "On a completely different note, I'm going to have dinner with the Stilinski's, sooo… yeah."

"Wow. Congrats." Riley says.

"Thanks." I smile at her.

"Now, I'm happy for you Krystie, but just remember what the priority is here." Jack warns.

"Jack, when have I ever let my emotions get in the way of a mission before?" I respond. He pauses, obviously trying to come up with an instance.

"Fair enough." He finally concedes after a few moments of silence.

"Alright, there's a pretty good diner just down the street if you want, or I'm sure you can ask the person at the desk for suggestions if you don't, but I'm going to head off now." I say, glancing at my watch.

"Hey." Mac says, catching me before I get out the door. "Don't forget, you're a human." I smile at him, and he nods in return.

"Got it." I slip out into the cool evening air and set off at a leisurely walk. I feel excitement, and to my surprise, nervousness bubble up in my chest. I'm going to go have dinner with my family.


It's eight forty-five, and I find myself staring at a door I've only ever seen from a distance. I take a moment to calm my surprisingly racing heart before knocking on the door. Almost instantly the door flies open.

"Heeeey! Krystie! I can call you Krystie, right?" He says, wrapping me in a hug. Instinctively I stiffen at the contact, and Stiles lets go of me instantly. "Heh, sorry. Scott says I'm clingy, but he's so wrong. I'm just very tactile. But he's the one that cuddles with anyone in a five-foot radius. I guess at least it's understandable for him, considering that he's a wolf. Cause, you know, wolves are very pack oriented and such." He rambles on and on, and a smile creeps onto my face.

"Don't worry, I'm just still getting used to the whole fact that most people who touch me aren't going to try to kill, maim, or torture me. And I don't mind being called Krystie. I like Krystie or Kay." I reply. He gives me a giant grin, and steps back, waving me into the house.

"Dad! Krystie is here!" Stiles calls out. The sheriff comes thundering down the stairs.

"Hey. Glad you could make it! So, do you prefer Krystie over Krystiana, or is my son just being his annoying self?" The sheriff asks playfully.

"I prefer Krystie, or Kay." I say, smiling at him.

"Well, Kay, dinner will be ready in about ten minutes. We could sit in the living room and chat if you'd like." The sheriff suggests.

"That sounds delightful." I reply. I follow the two into a lightly furnished room with a T.V. and a coffee table. There are a few pictures scattered around, but not much else. I settle down in a comfy arm chair, Stiles splays out on the couch, and the Sheriff sits in a recliner. "So," I start, a bit awkwardly. "go ahead and ask anything. I'll answer whatever I can, without disclosing confidential intelligence of course." I offer.

"Okay! So, I know you explained why you let the nickname stick around, but why did people start calling you the Silver Wolf? Like, there had to be a reason people thought you were a wolf, rather than a kanima or something? Did you have a pack? Did you kill the supernatural exclusively, or did you, like, kill normal human beings too? And what about hunters? Did you ever go after hunters?" He only stops for air. "And-"

"Son, I know she said to ask anything, but usually when you ask a question, you get an answer back. Give her a chance to respond, will you?" The Sheriff interrupts the torrent of words coming out of Stile's mouth.

"Oh, sorry." He says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head."

"It's fine. Let's see. People started calling me Silver Wolf because I wore bone white armor. I don't know why they didn't call me white wolf though. Uh, they called me a wolf specifically because of the mask I wore. It was a Japanese mask of a snarling wolf. At one point I had a 'pack', people I trusted with my life, but it turned out I had too much faith in their abilities. They- well, they weren't as good at surviving as me." I curse myself as my voice catches in my throat. I see the Sheriff take a breath, probably to either comfort me, or to say I don't need to go on, but I continue before he can say anything. "Let's see. I killed whatever the Gobling King wanted me to. I was one of the few that were good enough to take on the supernatural, so that's what I took on most of the time, but I would occasionally do 'normal' humans. As for hunters, I never did go after them, I don't know if it's because the Goblin King thought they were allies, or if he simply didn't see them as a threat, but I never did." I go through Stile's rambling in my head to make sure I answered all his questions. Both the Sheriff and Stiles look at me, slack-jawed. "What?"

"You actually kept up with me?" Stiles asks, perplexed. The sheriff shot him an irritated look.

"Stiles, she just told us that the people she was closest to during the hell she went through were killed, and that's what you're surprised about?!" Sheriff scolds Stiles.

"Erm sorry." He says, giving me an apologetic smile.

"Don't worry. The past is the past. There's no use being fixated on what's set in stone." I reassure him.

"So, how long ago did you get away from the Goblin King?" The Sheriff asks.

"A little less than two years ago." I shrug. This warrants another slack jawed look from the Sheriff. Seeing the look on his- our- father's face, Stiles face contorts in confusion.

"What's so amazing about that?" Stiles asks.

"Well, I'm just surprised at how well off she is, considering what she went through. Two years isn't really that long, especially when dealing with trauma's like what she's been through, Stiles. I'm no psychologist, but I'm pretty sure being tortured and pitted against other kids to the death usually leaves some pretty big scars." The Sheriff explains to his son.

"Well, you're right. It does leave some pretty big psychological scars. I suffer from PTSD, survivor's guilt complex, OCD, paranoia, depression, and a whole slew of others mental disorder. I've just been trained to never let that interfere with a mission." I say simply. Now the both of them are back to staring at me like I've grown another head. I raise an eyebrow at them, and they both jump as a timer goes off in the kitchen.

"Oh! Well, that's dinner, so I'd better, uh, go." Stiles said, standing up and gesturing wildly towards the kitchen, before dashing out of the room. There's a moment of silence as the Sheriff and I watch Stiles rush off.

"So…" The Sheriff starts. I raise an eyebrow as I wait for him to continue. "You really suffer from all that?" He continues quietly.

"Like you said, dealing with those traumas leave pretty big scars." I answer with a nod. The Sheriff hums thoughtfully. "By the way, what should I call you? I- well, I'm not sure I'm ready to call you dad or father or anything like that, no offence, and I don't want to keep referring to you as 'the Sheriff', so, what can I call you?" I ask tentatively.

"No, worries, I understand. I suppose you can just call me John." He answers with a soft smile.

"Thanks, John." I respond.

"Now let's get into the kitchen. Stiles may seem like a hopeless fool, but he's a wonderful cook!" John exclaims.

"Now that sounds like a plan!" I agree with a smile. John leads me to a small dining room, adjoining the kitchen. The table has three place settings set and John pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit. I give him a mock bow and sit down as he pushes the chair in for me, chuckling at my antics.

Stiles comes out of the kitchen holding a large mixing bowl of salad. "Go ahead and start serving the salad, I just need to grab a few more things from the kitchen." Stiles says, setting the bowl down with a flourish, nearly tipping the bowl.

"Careful Stiles!" John reprimands gently.

"Aww, come on! I had it all under control!" Stiles shoots back as he heads back into the kitchen.

"That boy." John sighs. I give a chuckle.

"This salad looks delicious." I comment, taking in the vibrant colors of the vegetables.

"Well, as I said, Stiles is an amazing cook."

"Why thank you, dear father!" Stiles says, rushing back into the room. He's carrying a platter laden with a complete roasted chicken. My eyes widen in surprise.

"Wow! That looks great." I tell Stiles.

"Well of course it does. I made it after all!" He replies proudly.

"Alright, I think he's got a big enough head already, let's chow!" John complains. Chuckling, I do just that, digging into my salad as Stiles serves the chicken.

"This is really good Stiles." I affirm one more time.

"D'awwww." Stiles fans himself with exaggerated movements. Dinner passes quickly, as the three of us make small talk over the delicious meal.


As the meal comes to an end and Stiles brings out a small tray of cookies.

"So, we've asked you plenty of questions, do you have any for us?" John asks.

"Yeah, I can think of a few." I answer playfully.

"Well, ask away!" John encourages.

"Okay, first question: How did the two of you get introduced to the world of the supernatural?" John shoots a glare as Stiles, and said teenager chuckles nervously.

"Uh, well, funny story really." Stiles starts, rubbing the back of his neck.