A/N: Final chapter of Season One! I'm still not sure whether or not I'm going to continue Season Two in this story or a new one, so I won't say it's the final chapter of Empty Casket. Instead, I'll say: watch this space.

TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING: there's a little talk of gore in this chapter (only what was in the episodes anyway, but I thought it best to give fair warning), so if anything regarding murder and/or blood upsets you, I would maybe avoid this chapter. Or ask me to re-post it with that part rewritten, whatever you want.

Finally, thank you to TooChey and Just Anonymous for your reviews on the last chapter. Just Anonymous, in answer to your question, the plotline would essentially stick to canon, but change just slightly - e.g., the Whittemore's wouldn't move to London just because they decide not to, the presence of Amber and Jackson at the fight with the Oni saves Allison, etc., kind of like a butterfly effect.

I don't own Teen Wolf. Shock Horror.

Jackson finally turned up, his face a mixture of fatigue, frustration and total sorrow. He sat down beside me as soon as he saw I was still here, his façade crumbling as he rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Within seconds, his breathing became laboured and his shoulders were shaking, so I put one of my arms around him and rested my forehead against his back, and for a little while, we cried together.

Once he'd let it all out and pulled himself together again, he left to grab the two of us some of the disgusting but only coffee available from the hospital, and we met again just outside of Lydia's window, where he'd stopped on his way back to me.

"What's happening to her?" he asked when I stopped beside him, handing me a polystyrene cup full of milky and hopefully sweet coffee.

"I don't know," I answered honestly, blowing on the hot beverage. "Ms Martin ain't been out of the room since she got here, and nobody will tell me anything."

"At least we know she's alive," Jackson muttered as he rested his forehead on the glass. He closed his eyes and laughed a short, breathy and bitter laugh. "For now."

"Alive is better than dead."

We stood in silence for a few more minutes, forgetting about the rest of the world and the rest of our problems as we waited and watched Lydia continue to breathe. Continue to live.

"I lost my keys, I had to run all the way-"

"Stiles, I don't care!" I heard the Sheriff shout from behind us. We both turned around at the noise, Jackson huffing a small laugh at the sight of the argument between Stiles and his dad before turning his attention back to Lydia. I, on the other hand, caught Stiles' visible sigh of relief when noticed me, conscious and relatively unharmed – though he couldn't see the dark bruising on my face from where he was stood. He smiled at me quickly, a smile that let me know he was at least a little bit pleased to see that I was okay, before he turned his attention back to his dad, and I turned mine back to Lydia. That only lasted for a moment though, because the panic in Stiles' rising voice quickly caught everyone's attention.

"What do you mean, is Scott not here?" he asked his dad, casting Jackson and I a questioning glance. I shrugged, not having seen him since the dance, but Jackson's reaction was not one of ignorance. He copied my movements, and shrugging while mouthing 'I don't know', but the panic in his eyes and the clench of his jaw said it all.

"What did you do?"

Jackson glared at me in response. "I didn't do anything."

"You're lying. I know when you're lying to me, Jackson." He huffed, remaining silent and obviously panicked as he stared through the window again. I sighed, turning slightly so I could lean back against the glass and crossing one over my chest, taking small sips from the still too-hot coffee.

We stood there in silence until Stiles had finished following his dad around the hospital and came back to us, his face looking freaked out and anxious.

"Did your dad say anything about Lydia?"

Stiles nodded solemnly. "He said her body keeps going into shock. The doctors' said it's like she's having an allergic reaction."

I frowned. "What does that mean?" I asked. "She ain't turning?"

Stiles shrugged, staring past me into Lydia's room, his face tight with worry. "I don't know. But something Peter said… I don't think the bite necessarily turns you."

That didn't sound good. "What's the alternative?" I asked, and I could hear my voice trembling. The fear only grew when Stiles turned to me, his eyes grave and angry.

"Death."

"There's something else," Stiles said finally, after letting the solemn news sink in.

"Happy news?" I hoped aloud with a struggling smile.

Stiles shook his head. "Not at all, and definitely not for you, since you've been so chummy with the Argents lately, according to the oh-so-informative alpha."

I scoffed. "Do you blame me?" I asked, throwing a hand out to gesture pointedly at him and Jackson. "At least I can trust them."

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"

Well, not when you say it in that tone. "Yes?"

"In that case, you might want to re-think your personal judgement skills," Stiles said on a bitter laugh. "All the animal attacks and random killings around town? Turns out, not so random!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Jackson asked, talking for the first time.

"Peter has been going after the people responsible for the Hale house fire; the people who pretty much murdered his entire family," Stiles explained, shoving his hands in his pockets. "And now he's going after the ringleader."

"And who's that?" I asked, desperate for some real answers.

"My dad said it was a young woman, probably in her late twenties by now."

I rolled my eyes. "That could be anyone!"

"Ah," Stiles remarked, holding up a finger, telling me to be patient. "The only other thing we know about her is that she worse a pendant. It's like a neckla-"

"We know what a pendant is, Stilinski," I cut in, rolling my eyes again as I pulled my own out from under my sweater to prove my point. "I'm wearing one right now, and we're not stupid. Get on with it."

Stiles frowned at my pendant, before shaking his head and continuing to relay the information he'd learnt from his dad.

"The pendant she was wearing, it was unique. Something distinctive and really easy to remember. Something she may have passed along to the next generation, to continue the family tradition. Maybe she, I don't know… gave it to a niece." Stiles looked at me pointedly, tilting his head at my gape as though he'd made his case. "You know any women around town who fit that description and also happen to hate werewolves?"

I shook my head, not believing it. Until it actually started to make sense.

Stiles nodded, smiling bitterly. "Yeah, your little buddy Kate Argent. She burnt the Hales alive in their own home because of some stupid vendetta she had against werewolves. And now she's out to finish the job." With that weighty parting speech, he spun on his heels racing down the hallway. Jackson and I looked at each other for all of three seconds before we were setting down our forgotten coffees and darting off after him.

"Where are you going?" Jackson asked, the two of us only a few steps behind Stiles.

Stiles didn't slow or turn around as he answered. "To find Scott."

"You don't have a car," Jackson pointed out, and finally Stiles stopped, spinning around to glare at Jackson.

"I'm aware of that, thank you."

"I can drive," Jackson suggested, much to my surprise.

"Okay, just because you feel guilty all of a sudden doesn't make it okay, alright? Half of this is still your fault," Stiles said angrily. I frowned, confused as to what he meant, before it finally hit me with a gasp.

"That's how Allison knew about Scott. You sold him out?"

"It was a mistake," Jackson responded guiltily, as though he genuinely meant it. "Besides, I have a car; you don't," he pointed out again to Stiles. "Do you want my help or not?"

Stiles seemed to deliberate it for a second, before the anger seeped away from his tense shoulders and left them slumping. "Alright, did you bring the Porsche?"

Jackson nodded, pulling his keys out from his pocket. "Yeah."

"Good," Stiles said, snatching the keys away with a tiny smile. "I'll drive."

Stiles and Jackson both turned around, ready to continue their race down the hall, before stopping in their tracks with their eyes wide. That couldn't mean anything good. I turned around slowly, not entirely sure I really wanted to see which one of the baddies around town had crept up on us.

"Hey, kids," the creepier of the Argents asked us, two bulking guys on either side of him. "I was wondering if you could tell me where Scott McCall is."

"Scott McCall?" Stiles asked like he was making sure he'd heard the name correctly. He shook his head slightly. "Haven't seen him since the dance." I shrugged, humming agreeably as Mr Argent raised an eyebrow in doubt. "Jackson, you?"

Jackson looked between me and Stiles for a second, panic in his eyes. Uh oh. "Uhh…" he started, looking back to Mr Argent and gaping. "I… umm…" he sighed, giving up on his failure of a lie. Failure of a sentence, actually.

I heard Stiles huff beside me as I winced in apprehension of what was coming. "Oh, for the love of god." The next thing I knew, the two sidekicks were grabbing a boy each, shoving them down the hall and through some double doors. Mr Argent just continued to smile pleasantly at me, sending shivers down my spine. I hooked a thumb over my shoulder, rolling my eyes while smiling.

"You know what?" I laughed at myself. "I totally forgot-"

"Just get in the room."

"Okay." I quickly burst through the same doors Jackson, Stiles and their two friends had just barrelled through, immediately rushing over to where Jackson was already waiting for me with his hand out for me to take in my own. Mr Argent shut the doors behind him as he followed me in, reaching up to bolt them in place and keep us locked in there alone with just Argent and his lackeys.

"Let's try this again," Mr Argent said menacingly, looking over his shoulder with his back to us. "Where is Scott McCall."

"I said I don't know," Stiles repeated slowly. "Which part of that are you struggling with?"

"Stiles," I muttered quietly, not taking my eyes off the hunters stood in front of us. "Maybe it's best not to provoke the angry man with the easy access to assault rifles." Said angry smirked at me, tipping his head.

"Maybe you should listen to Amber, Stiles. She seems to be the smarter one of the group." Stiles scoffed, looking at me in disbelief.

"Her?" he asked, throwing an arm across Jackson and shoving a thumb in my direction. He scoffed again, and I rolled my eyes. "You've got that totally back-"

Stiles was interrupted in his insult by Mr Argent picking him up by the collar and shoving him into the cupboards lining the wall with a loud crash.

"Let me ask you a question," Mr Argent said, quiet and intimidating as he held Stiles up on his tiptoes. "Have you ever seen a rabid dog?"

"No, but I can put it on my to-do-list if you just left me go."

"Well, I have," Mr Argent continued, thankfully ignoring Stiles' predictably sarcastic remark. "And the only thing I've ever been able to compare it to is seeing a friend of mine turn on a full moon. Do you want to know what happened?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Not really," Stiles replied casually, and my hand hit my face in awe of his complete idiocy. "No offence to your story telling skills."

"Stiles!" I hissed, widening my eyes and silently asking him what the hell he thought he was doing.

"He tried to kill me," Mr Argent snapped. "And I was forced to put a bullet in his head. The whole time that he laid there dying, he was still trying to claw his way towards me, still trying to kill me, like it was the most important thing he could do with his dying breath." He leant forward, pressing his face closer to Stiles' threateningly. "Can you imagine that?"

Stiles shook his head. "No. And it sounds like you need to be a little more selecti-"

Mr Argent threw himself at Stiles again, slamming a hand against the rattling cupboards on either side of Stiles' body, now almost nose to nose with the boy.

"Did Scott try to kill you on the full moon?" he demanded, his voice loud and furious. "Did you have to lock him up?"

"Yeah, I did," Stiles finally answered truthfully, his face turning defensive. "I had to handcuff him to a radiator. Why? Would you prefer I locked him in the basement and burnt the whole house down around him?"

"Stiles." He looked over Mr Argent's shoulder at me, giving me a warning look as the older hunter backed off a little, holding a fist to his smile.

"I hate to dispel a popular rumour, Stiles, but we never did that."

"Why?" I asked, and Mr Argent took another step back from Stiles so he could turn to me. "Because of your family code?" Stiles scoffed, drawing his attention again.

"Yeah, I guess no one ever breaks it," he muttered sarcastically.

"Never," Mr Argent growled.

"What if someone does?" Stiles asked pointedly, and the look on the hunter's face told me he knew Stiles was getting at something.

"Someone like who?" he inquired carefully, his voice low.

"Your sister."

"Kate wouldn't," Mr Argent argued, shaking his head.

"Are you sure about that?" Stiles asked him as his face hardened.

"Think about it, Mr Argent," I chimed in. "It all starts to make sense with Kate in the picture, right? And everyone knows she has a hell of a temper. She told me once she set a guy's car on fire."

Both Jackson and Stiles started to splutter.

"And you continued to voluntarily spend time with her?" Jackson asked me, his eyes accusing. I shrugged.

"Hey, to be fair, he cheated on her. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

"But Kate wasn't scorned by any of the Hale's," Mr Argent pointed out, trying to argue his way back into blissful ignorance.

"No, but you can't tell me she didn't despise werewolves with a passion."

"That doesn't mean she burnt a whole family of them alive in their own home," Mr Argent shouted, looking desperate for a way out. "There were children in that house. Human children," he finished quietly, not believing even his own words any more.

"Hatred can make you do surprising things, Mr Argent."

He looked up at me then, questioningly. "So why did you never tell her about Scott?" he asked me, genuinely surprised that I hadn't.

Stiles frowned, still leaning carefully against the cupboards to make as little noise as possible. "You never told Kate about Scott?" I shook my head.

"You also never told Kate about the alpha, about knowing his identity," Mr Argent continued as if Stiles hadn't interrupted him. He watched me, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Why not?"

I refused to make eye contact with the hunter, instead choosing to stare at the wall just to the right of his head, shrugging. "She would have killed him." I heard a laugh.

"So what?" Mr Argent asked me stepping closer again. No one else in the room moved a muscle. "Why would you have cared what happened to a werewolf?"

"He hasn't done anything wrong."

"Yet," he said quietly, lowering his head to line up with mine. "He's one of them, Amber. Eventually, instinct will take over, and he'll join the pack, hunt down his prey and rip it to shreds just like those werewolves did to your mother."

I ignored the little noises of surprise coming from Jackson and Stiles, instead deciding to finally look the hunter in the eye.

"I don't know where Scott is," I told him, not blinking. "But I do know that the alpha is going to find Derek and Scott, and then he'll be hunting down his prey. His prey being your sister, and if he's feeling particularly aggressive, your daughter too."

I saw Mr Argent sneer at me, his lip twitching as if he were about to growl, before he spun around, unlocked the doors and stalked out of the room, his bodybuilder friends hot on his heels.

We stood in silence for a few minutes, both boys staring at me in shock while I just stared at the Converse on my feet. Stiles was the first to make a sound, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"Porsche?"

"So, how unstable are you saying Kate is, exactly?" I asked Stiles from my cramped seat in the back of the Porsche. Stiles blew his lips out on a breath, thinking about it.

"Maybe around the Norman Bates mark," he settled on. Then he looked into the rear view mirror, tilting his head. "Norman Bates is a fictio-"

"I know who Norman Bates is, Stiles," I stopped him, tilting my head with an eye roll in annoyance.

"She made me watch Psycho on Halloween," Jackson added on a sigh, his arms folded over his chest as Stiles raced his most prized possession down the dark roads towards the school. "Two years running."

"And for the rest of our friendship," I tacked on the end of Jackson's sentence. I could feel the eye roll. "What I don't know is why you continue to think I'm stupid."

Stiles scoffed. "Because you usually are stupid. I really don't know who you're stealing all this intelligence from – and it certainly isn't Jackson – but you should really give it back."

"Whatever," I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Can we just focus on the problem at hand, here? That being the killing sprees that might be about to happen."

"Sprees?" Jackson asked, turning around in his seat and widening his eyes at me. "Plural?"

"Yes, Jackson, plural," I confirmed, nodding my head. "Kate is going after the three werewolves that we know of, and Peter won't just stop at Kate. He's out for revenge on anything named Argent."

"Which is why we need to get this done quickly, and get up to the Hale house," Stiles said, braking sharply in front of the school doors and jumping out. I climbed out after he pulled the driver's seat forward, and the three of us looked up at the unlit, still formal-decorated building.

"It looks a lot more terrifying than it did a couple hours ago," I muttered, folding my arms over my chest like they were some kind of shield against the memories of that night we all spent running through the dark halls.

"If it makes you feel any better," Stiles said quietly as he rocked back and forth on his feet beside me, "I'm pretty sure Peter's a little too busy enacting his revenge to find the time to stalk us tonight." I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, that makes me feel about zero percent better," I snapped. "But thanks for the effort. Really."

"No need for the sarcasm, Wilson."

"Oh my god," Jackson whined, walking towards the building and pulling me along with him. "We do not have time for your bickering. Why'd you bring us here, anyway, Stilinski?"

"Well, we can't really turn up at a werewolf fight without something to help, can we?"

I scoffed as we climbed the steps. "Oh, sorry," I laughed. Now was really not the time to laugh, but I couldn't help it. I think it's a nervous tick. "I didn't realise Beacon Hills High School was the Walmart for the fight against the supernatural."

Stiles did not look impressed. "Maybe, if Jackson hadn't been acting like a child that night, the Molotov cocktail that Lydia made would've actually worked," he suggested sarcastically as we quickly jogged through the halls and find our way to the chemistry classrooms. Again, Harris' was the only one unlocked. He really needed to learn from his mistakes. "I figured we should give it another go."

"Do you even know how to make them?" Jackson asked Stiles, already making his way to the replacement cabinet to break it again.

Stiles' eyes went wide seconds before his whole body deflated. "You were the one helping her!"

"Helping her didn't necessarily involve paying any attention, Stilinski," Jackson argued angrily. I rolled my eyes and unlocked the cabinet through the hole Jackson had made, pulling out all the necessary components. "Amber… what are you doing?"

"Oh, god," Stiles muttered quietly. "Please don't. You're gonna blow us up or something, and then he won't be of help to anybody."

"Can the both of you just shut up?" I asked, laying the bottled out in the order I'd need them, so I wouldn't have Jackson hand me the wrong bottle. I won't be repeating Lydia's mistakes.

"You shouldn't play with these kinds of things if you don't know what you're doing," Stiles pointed out, sounding like a scared child. I guess we all kind of were right now, though.

"Don't know what I'm doing," I repeated, scoffing as I rolled my sleeves up over my elbows. "Just stand away from the table and let me do my thing."

Jackson did so quickly, moving to stand behind another desk just in case. Stiles, on the other hand, stayed put with a nervous face and his fingers tapping against the desk. I looked up from the bottles to raise an eyebrow at him in question.

"My best friend's life is on the line, Amber."

I smiled, feeling his anxiousness. "I think all of our lives are. So get out of my way, and we'll be out of here in no time."

"We don't have a second chance with this. We can't afford for you to screw this up."

"I won't," I said confidently, quietly. "Trust me."

He stood there for a long moment, seemingly trying to figure out whether or not he did trust me. Then he gave me the smallest nod, taking only a few steps back so he could still watch what I was doing carefully. Nobody said a word for a long time. Long enough for me to make up two self-igniting cocktails and present them to Stiles. He stared at them for a second, flicking his eyes back up to meet mine.

"Are you sure they'll work?" he asked nervously.

"Yes."

He nodded, letting out a long breath and taking one from me. "Then let's go save our friends."

We rounded a corner sharply for the umpteenth time this ride, and despite my seatbelt, I ended up lying uncomfortably across the back seat.

"Nice one, Stilinski," I muttered.

"This isn't exactly an all-terrain vehicle," Jackson added, huffing.

"Yeah?" Stiles asked, his eyes, thankfully, never leaving the dirt road. "Did you pay for it?"

I could almost feel Jackson's glare from here. "No."

"Then shut up."

Jackson didn't open his mouth again for the few minutes it took for us to pull up in the clearing surrounding the Hale house. As soon as the car stopped, the three of us were barrelling out, Stiles only just sparing the time to help me out, before he was honking the horn and drawing Peter's full, terrifyingly wolfed-out form as he threw the cocktail towards him, only for the alpha to catch it easily in one hand. I took a second to take it in, to feel the fear bubbling in my chest, rising up my throat at the unearthly roar he let out, before I forced it back down, looked away and sprinted over to Allison, kneeling on the floor beside her and her father's unconscious body.

"What happened?" I asked her.

"The alpha threw him. I think he's okay, just out of it."

"Allison!" Scott shouted from behind us, giving her time to look up before throwing a bow her way. She caught it deftly, and she had an arrow nocked and aimed before the alpha had really figured out what was going on, letting it loose and smashing through the beaker, the resulting fire spreading to the alpha in seconds. The alpha started flailing, as if he were trying to shake it off, and Jackson quickly stepped forward to throw the other cocktail, hitting him square in the chest and enveloping the rest of his body in bright flames.

The roars of pain and anger were loud, deafeningly so, and it felt as though it tore right through my head. I winced at the sudden pain, glancing up at Allison's worried frown to see the roaring alpha slowly stalking over to us. My hands dropped from where they had been covering my ears, grabbing her arm and yanking her backwards, simultaneously shoving forward to push myself between them, just as Scott jumped up and lunged at the alpha. He kicked him, forcing him to fall backwards and roll, almost putting out the fire completely. Once he had finally rolled to a stop, he pushed back up onto his knees, and Peter was human again. His face, burnt like it had been the first time I'd seen him, stared at his smoking skin in shock and horror, and from where I knelt I could hear the quiet, strained gasps for air. He fell back again, his body not moving, and I felt the sigh of relief that each of us breathed.

I felt Allison's hand on my shoulder, squeezing it for a second as she laid her forehead beside it, and when I looked back, her eyes were smiling at me gratefully, before being drawn to Scott as he crouched protectively in front of us. Or, more correctly, in front of her. I smiled back at her understandingly, tipping my head in his direction, and with one last squeeze, she stood up, taking slow, careful steps towards him. He looked back to her as she knelt beside him, and he tried to hide his transformed face, ashamed. Allison didn't let him, instead tucking his chin in her hand, forcing him to look back at her, and she kissed him.

When I felt a stirring beneath my hands, and I looked down to see Mr Argent's eyelids flickering, opening slowly with a quiet groan. One second, he seemed drowsy, barely conscious and dreary, and the next, he was bolt upright, alert and scanning the scene, from the smoking body of the alpha, to Jackson and Stiles and the Porsche, to Allison, kissing a boy he had just earlier realised was not entirely human.

I let him stand up, not caring enough about this Argent to help him, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Jackson round the Porsche and walk towards me quickly, hoisting me up by the wrists and pulling me into a tight hug.

"Never put yourself between someone and an alpha again, okay?" he muttered, his arms around my back not loosening the slightest.

"But it's Allison," I answered, my voice only slightly whiny.

"I don't care if it's your brother or the second reincarnation of Christ. Never again." I smiled, nodding into his shoulder and squeezing tight until he finally let go. He kept an arm around my shoulders, leading the way back to the Porsche and sitting me in the down in the driver's seat. He flicked the lever under the console, opening the boot and rounding the car to pull out the blanket I insisted he keep there.

He stopped though, we all stopped, when we heard a kind of rustling coming from across the clearing. Coming from around the place where Peter had last fallen. I stood back up slowly, grabbing the top of the car door tightly as Jackson rushed back over to stand next to me. Stiles stood on my other side, breathily heavily as we all watched Derek approach his uncle's burnt body. I hadn't thought he was still alive, but now that my attention was focused on him, I could hear the laboured breathing, see the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

Scott jumped up from Allison, running over to Derek as crouched over Peter.

"Wait," Scott screamed, holding out a hand and pleading with Derek. "You said the cure comes from the one who bit you." I turned when I saw Allison move from the corner of my eye, and I watched as Mr Argent pulled his daughter up and moved her back a few steps, out of harm's way. "Derek, if you do this, I'm dead. Her father, her family. What am I supposed to do?"

Derek paused for a second, and we all held our breath. I expected him to step back, to give this to Scott. To let him be human again. But then Derek raised a hand, his claws extended, and I turned away to avoid the ugly sight. I couldn't avoid the ugly sound, though. The ugly sound of Scott crying out for his last chance at normality, of flesh tearing, of the gurgling as the alpha choked on his own blood with his last breaths. After a moment or two, Stiles touched a hand to my side, tilting his head back to Derek when I looked up at him in question. Derek, who was now standing from his uncle's dead body. Derek, who turned to us, his eyes glowing the same bright red I was slowly, very slowly, becoming accustomed to. Derek, who locked those eyes with Scott's, speaking to him in a rumbling voice that I felt run through every inch of my body.

"I'm the alpha now."

The wolf moved closer.

Or, at least, the man-sized mass of black fur and shadow that I knew now to be both man and wolf that had been haunting my mom, day and night, in both her life and dreams, moved closer.

And then, the dream I had gotten so used to over the last couple of years shifted, shimmering until the wolf became more defined, less abstract. It was Derek Hale. He stood at the top of a set of stairs, ones I hadn't ever seen before but knew to be the stairs in the charred remains of the Hale house.

"It's time for me to get what I want," I heard myself say in Jackson's voice. I saw Derek jump from the top step through what I assumed were Jackson's eyes, and he landed right in front of us, smiling. He bared his teeth, opening his mouth as his fangs grew to an inhuman size and, with a growl, he pounced.

I woke up to a sharp pain in my right side, but by the time my brain had cleared enough from the deep sleep I was in to fully comprehend what had happened, the pain had dulled, like it was never even there in the first place.

I laid in my bed, the covers rumpled around my feet as if I had been tossing and turning in my sleep. Turning my head to the side, I saw the clock read 12:43, and huffed. After everything that had happened to me, to us, over the last few weeks, I don't think I'd ever be able to sleep properly again. On the rare occasion I actually managed to fall asleep at a respectable hour, I would be woken up throughout the night by the nightmares that still plagued me, and then I'd be up for hours.

I sat up, switching on my lamp and moving to my desk to grab my laptop, thinking a couple episodes of Breaking Bad might lull me to sleep again, but the view from my windows diverted my attention. There was no McCall there this time; the leaf-ridden grass and bare trees surrounding the house were deserted. But I could still see him, looking up at me the night all of our lives had changed.

Biting my lip, I turned my gaze to the jewellery box on my dressing table, untouched since Friday night. I still hadn't read the note, spending my Saturday working, visiting Lydia in the hospital and recovering from the previous night's adventures. But now, in the middle of the night with no excuses or distractions, it seemed like the perfect time.

I opened the box, going straight for the false base and prying it open with the same tweezers as before, gently pulling the note from where it was taped to the base.

'Dear Amber, I'm so very sorry'.

I sucked in a deep breath, closing my eyes to gather as much of my courage as I could, and sat down in the window seat, crossing my legs under me and pulling the throw there over my lap. I stared at the words for a long moment, my knee bouncing in anticipation and anxiety, before I shook my head, unfolding the note quickly so I didn't lose my nerve.

'I don't have much time. They're everywhere, following me, haunting me, so I know I only have a few days left.

Firstly, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I stole the stars from your daddy's eyes, and I'm sorry I can't be there for you and Josh when you need me. I'm sorry I have to burden you with this. I'm sorry I can't be around to help you come to terms with what will happen to you, or, and I hope this isn't the case, what is already happening to you.

If it is already happening, I know everything seems so surreal right now, like maybe you're losing your mind, but you have to believe when I tell you this is just a natural part of who you are, of who you're supposed to be. It will get better. Until then, I have a friend in Beacon Hills; he'll look after you, and tell you everything you need to know. His name is Alan Deaton. If you can trust no one else in this world, you can trust him. But if you're heading there, to Beacon Hills, please, be careful. It can be a dangerous place, so tread cautiously and, above all, trust your instinct. It won't steer you wrong.

I love you so much, Amber, and words can't convey how sorry I am that I left you alone in this world, in my world. Don't be scared, and, whatever you do, never lose hope. Everything will make sense in time.

Keep the necklace and the key. Keep them safe. You'll need them both somewhere along the way.

Look after our boys for me.

All my love, Mom'

I sniffed, blinking away the moistness in my eyes, and then barely managed to stifle a scream in the throw. That had answered about none of my questions, and just gave me a couple hundred more. The only thing I got out of that entire letter was that my theory was more plausible, Mom probably had known about werewolves, about her fate, and Dr Deaton hadn't been a lying creep. I closed my eyes, groaning in my hands, and then folded the note again, placing it back in its home at the bottom of the jewellery box, and snapping the lid shut.

Yeah, Breaking Bad definitely wasn't going to cut it anymore.

I slumped back down onto my unmade bed face-first, rolling over a second later when I heard my phone vibrating. Sitting up, I saw Jackson's model pout staring back at me from the screen, and my mind instantly went back to the dream that had woken me up. The dream where Jackson had confronted Derek, and the werewolf had lunged for him. My arm shot out, grabbing the phone and quickly answering the call, with a worried, "what's wrong?"

Jackson paused for a second, before scoffing. "Someone a little jumpy?"

"After the last couple of days we've had?" I asked sarcastically, making sure to keep my voice quiet, so I didn't wake up any of the sleeping beauties in the house. "Yeah, I am. Especially when you call me in the middle of the night."

"Sorry if I woke you, I just…" Jackson paused again, and then giggled. Jackson giggled. "I wanted to tell you my big news."

"What big news?" I demanded, my voice harsher than I meant it. All I could think about was that dream, praying that it hadn't actually come true. "Jackson… What did you do?"

He giggled again, giddy and excited, before reeling it in and taking a deep breath. "I finally did it, Amber," he said simply, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Jackson…" I whispered, too shocked and scared and shaken to say anything else.

"I got the bite," he whispered back, almost dreamily. "I'm going to be one of them. I'm going to be a werewolf."

A/N: And that's it; Season 1 done and dusted! Thank you all for your help and support, and I hope you guys enjoyed the ride.

I might take a (very) short break before starting to upload Season 2 to catch up on my other fics, or to build up some chapters so I can update this fic quicker, but we'll see.

I'll see you guys next time.