(A/N): Cosmetic author's note for spacing at top of chapter.

Enjoy!

Bea climbed off the school bus and plonked directly into a deep puddle. It had been raining all night, and then continued to rain all day long. They'd had recess inside that day, which meant they had a rare opportunity to decide what activity to do inside for once.

Kelly-Ann and her troop of girls had tried to beg their way into getting more time for them to work on their group project for the upcoming presentation—a poster featuring a collage of themselves that they had somehow twisted into relevancy for the designated topic, technology—but Derek managed to pull off Heads Up Seven Up. He knew how much Bea loved it and they'd grown significantly closer after their movie excursion over the past weekend. Derek went out of his way more often to spend time with her during class, and he helped her sweep the classroom with five wins in a row—five! It had been a good day.

Well, leading up to that moment, it had. Now, the bottom of her jeans were soaked and clung unpleasantly to her ankles. She felt the moisture seeping further up the longer she stood, and she let out a loud whine at her predicament. Over her shoulder, she heard as one kid pointed out the window at her, laughing loudly.

Bea huffed and pulled her shoe up to inspect it. The puddle was muddy, too. She already knew she'd have to be careful when she went inside, and that she'd be better off disposing of her shoes at the front door.

Before she could even step away from the bus, though, she noticed that the front door of her house was gaping open. And it had been raining all day. Slowly, she frowned, and as the school bus door finally hissed shut and the giant behemoth squealed away, Bea started forward.

It was dark inside the house, she could see it from the sidewalk. She glanced at the driveway and saw her mom's car. As she climbed up the stairs on the hill in the front yard, she went slow and strained her ears for sounds from inside. It was eerily still, save for the soft pitter-patter of the rain that still fell from the sky, soaking everything in the air with a cold mist. "Mom?" She called once she was on the porch. "Stiles?"

She had lifted her foot to step inside and then remembered her disgusting shoes at the last second. She let her foot fall with a squelch on the porch and turned around to kick her shoes off haphazardly at the door, kicking them to the side. For good measure, she also peeled the damp and uncomfortable socks from her feet and slung them alongside the shoes.

Then, when she leaned in the house and peered into the darkness, she noted that the TV was running. There was a weird light she could see in the kitchen, and neither her mom nor Stiles were in sight.

The floor just inside was also wet, drenched with what little rain water blew inside from the storm. It wasn't raining near hard enough now for that so she figured the door had to have been open for a while, when it was thundering earlier. It pooled in the doorway and seeped into the decorative rug that ran along the wooden floors.

"Mom!" She hollered again. Cops played on the TV in the background—a program that her mom hated to watch, but Stiles loved, which came on after her favorite soap opera that she watched while she folded laundry, and hated to miss.

Claudia Stilinski had very strong opinions on day-time television, and it was this new development—seeing Cops playing to an empty, dark living room—that made an already unusual situation turn frightening for Bea. Something wasn't right, and she suddenly wished her dad was there to help. Hands trembling and heart pounding in her ears, she felt a cold trickle run down her spine as she shed her bookbag and laid it in its usual spot on the couch.

As she turned the corner into the kitchen, she finally saw what that strange light was. The day was overcast which meant that there was very little natural light to stream through the windows, and Bea was used to the house being lit up from within during such weather as this, but none of the lamps or overhead lights were on. The fridge, however, stood wide open, and its light streamed across the floor and the counters across from it.

Bea's eyes widened and the gnawing, uneasy feeling in her gut graduated into dread. "Mom!" She called out again, more frantic now. "Stiles! Anyone?"

She slammed the fridge shut harder than she meant to, and her feet slid along the linoleum floors in the kitchen uncomfortably. Then she hurried down the hall and came to the first room she saw. Stiles' room. It was cracked open, nearly shut, and the white door creaked as she nudged it open.

"Stiles?" She called out, and she saw a small lump under the covers on his bed move. He peered over at her with sleep-filled eyes, and she noticed immediately that his cheeks looked streaked with dried tear tracks. "Hey! What's wrong?!"

He immediately put his arms up when he saw her. "Bea!" he cried, almost in relief. His lower lip wobbled like he was ready to start bawling again. "Bea, Bea, Bea…"

Alarmed, she wrapped her arms around her brother and pulled him into a hug. "Hey," she said, working to sound calmer than she felt, her heart racing and fingers cold with adrenaline. "What's with the waterworks, squirt?"

He sniffled and pressed his snotty nose into the crook of her neck. "Mom's sick."

"What?" Bea pulled Stiles out of bed and he made a noise of protest and tried to grab for her arms again, which has always been the way he indicated that he wanted to be carried. "I can't, Bud, you're too big now!"

But she held her hand out to him and he wrapped his sticky fingers around hers and blinked up at her with wide, shining brown eyes. "She went to lay down."

"Come on." Bea tugged at his hand and they moved down the hall to their parents room.

Inside, they found their mother's sleeping form turned on her side away from the door with the blankets pulled so high over her shoulder that she was almost completely buried from sight. Stiles dropped her hand and lingered in the doorway, refusing to go inside with her. She could see from the look on his face that he was not happy with their mom, and that in and of itself was worrying.

Bea turned back and called again. "Mom. Hey, wake up."

She reached out and shook her mom's sleeping form. Claudia snorted as she woke with a start and her hand flapped erratically as she sat up in bed with a gasp, knocking Bea back a step on instinct. "Whoa!"

"Huh?!" Claudia's hair stuck out in every direction possible and her face had lines in it from having slept for so long. "What? What happened?!" Disoriented, she turned to blink rapidly at Bea.

"Nothing!" Bea was quick to assure. "I mean—I don't know! Nothing… but… are you okay?"

She knew even before her mom responded that she wasn't. Claudia groaned and flopped back into the pillows. "I feel like death warmed over."

"Mom!" She cried with a frown, turning to glance at Stiles, who looked stricken by the comment. "Don't say that."

"Well it's the truth," Claudia grunted. Then she paused long enough to glance at Bea and then at Stiles. "Why, what's wrong?"

Bea blinked at her crumpled form. "Are you sick?"

"I'm trying to sleep," Claudia said, like that was an answer. "I'll feel better after a nap."

Bea wondered how long she'd been sleeping, but before she could, Stiles decided to speak up and voice his opinion.

"I'm hungry!"

Claudia sighed loudly. "I know, but lunch isn't for another few hours, Stiles. Go grab some—"

"Wait, what?" Bea frowned at her mom and that same gnawing unease she felt at seeing the front door wide open was back. Her mom just frowned blearily back at her, her eyes squinting like it was bright. "Mom, lunch was a while ago."

"What are you doing home from school?" Claudia suddenly asked. "How'd you get here? Did you walk by yourself?"

"What? No! It's—schools out, mom!" She paused and lowered her voice to say the next part as her mom frowned at her in bewildered confusion. "I rode the bus home and when I got here the front door was wide open!"

But now Claudia was settling back into her pillows with a groan and pressing at her forehead. "My head is killing me, can you get me some aspirin from the medicine cabinet?"

Her parents never let them into the medicine cabinet. Bea's eyes widened and she frowned at her even harder. "Are you listening to me? It's almost four o'clock! Did Stiles not have anything to eat for lunch?"

Claudia lowered her hand and made a listless noise, appearing to think about the question. "Uhhh, n-no. I guess not. I guess he didn't. Can you make a sandwich for him, too?"

"What?" Bea gaped. "Are you serious?"

"Bea," Claudia practically pled. "Yes, can you help me out, please? I must have come down with something, I think I'm sick."

Bea hesitated, then. She blinked a few times and her hands fell limply at her sides. She still had a lot a questions, and a lot of concerns—why had the door been left open? The rug was soaked, did she know? That was something her mom should have been upset about; she knew how she fussed over those rugs, vacuuming them almost daily and sighing at anyone who tracked something on them.

And why was Stiles left to fend for himself in his bedroom? Why was her mom acting…. so not like her mom?

But at the proclamation that she was sick, that their mom was sick enough that she couldn't make them food or close the front door, Bea felt something heavy settle over her shoulders. The tension drained out of her and she sighed deeply. "Uh, yeah. I can make him some food. Should I… do you want me to call dad?"

"No!" Claudia suddenly exclaimed, and Bea jumped at her vehemence. "Don't do that! He's working. It's very important for him to be able to work. What he does, it's a very important job." They'd had this lecture before—many times over, in fact. As she continued, Stiles angled into the room and shuffled his feet, stopping just behind Bea. "You don't want to worry him, do you?" Bea hesitated, and then shook her head no. "That's my girl. I'll feel better soon, I promise. It's probably just a stomach bug, it just needs to run its course."

"Okay," Bea said slowly, and then tried to recall what her mom did for them whenever they had come down with a stomach bug. Last year, she had to stay home from school for a couple days because of it, but she remembered that her mom had said that was a pretty nasty case. "Should I make you some… warm tea or something?"

Claudia smiled softly and reached out to pat Bea's arm. "That would be so great, honey, thank you."

She nodded and started to turn away, and then thought of something else. If Stiles hadn't eaten, then… "Are you… hungry at all?"

Claudia's face went even paler and she shook her head, touching her stomach. "Oh, no. I don't think so, not right now."

"Okay." Bea finally turned away and ushered Stiles out of the room by his shoulders, closing the door softly behind them. He turned to look up at her with wide, uncertain eyes, his hand on his stomach like Claudia's had been moments before.

"Can I have chicken nuggets?"

She felt a grin tug at her lips. "Sure, if you don't mind that they'll be microwaved."

She was sure Stiles didn't even know what that meant. He turned to set off down the hall at a rapid pace, and she realized he was still in his teddy bear pajamas. "And juice!" He eagerly announced. "A juice box!"

"All right, all right—slow down!" Bea affectionately huffed, trailing after her small-tot brother. "One second, let me get the front door. I forgot to close it when I came in."

She furled her nose at the puddle, and when Stiles backtracked from the kitchen to check out what she was doing, she stilled at the way his eyes went wide when he saw it. His face lit up with an excited smile and he gasped, going to rush over, and she held her hand out like their dad did to signal him to freeze. "Wait!"

He screeched to a halt, his arms windmilling.

"Don't!" Bea warned. "Mom's sick." And where Stiles normally might ignore her directions and plow headfirst into the puddle, he hesitated at that, eyeing her from where he stood. "Which means you might catch what she has. It's cold in here because the door's been open all day, and if you come stomp around in this mess, you'll be cold and wet. No way! Not happening."

"Catch?" Stiles was confused by the phrase, since it was the same one that their dad used to ask him if he wanted to play with the ball in the yard.

"As in, you might catch her bug." She could tell that the meaning didn't seem to register in his mind. "You'll get sick."

"Sick!" Stiles said with a nod, his eyes serious. "Mom's a bug."

"Pretty much, Bud." She sighed and gestured for him to follow her. "Let's go grab some towels. If you help me clean this up real quick, I'll give you a special treat with your nuggets. And we can watch Cops." Then, as an afterthought, "But don't tell mom."

"Let's go!" And with that said, Stiles took off at a determined pace down the hall. She heard his hand smack into the wall when he tried to steer in a straight line as he walked, and she shook her head with a wry grin.

As it turned out, her dad ended up having to stay over at work that night. He didn't get home until early morning, and by that point Bea had cleaned up the house and ended up using the Easy Bake Oven to make extra snacks with Stiles for dinner, and the only evidence of the whole incident was a chilly house.

"I thought we were past the point of having to turn on the heat," her father groused over coffee at the table. "It's almost April." He spent the rest of the morning grumbling about the power bill, after that.

Claudia had already showered and started breakfast, and as she multitasked helping Stiles help her make breakfast, she bragged to her dad about how well Bea had taken care of her and watched after her while she was sick in bed all night. Stiles informed both their parents that on no uncertain terms were they ever allowed to get sick again (using slightly different phrasing), and they all considered the matter settled.

Bea stood with her arms crossed, glaring at her dad as he was doubled over laughing at her.

"It's not funny."

Claudia looked over at them from where she was folding up clothes and arranging them carefully across Bea's bed. They were coordinated by purpose—sleep clothes go in one pile, day clothes in another, swimming suits in another, 'play' clothes in yet another still, and at her father's advice, there was an excessive mound of socks that would take up a good portion of her pack.

"Oh, come on!" Her dad exclaimed, gesturing at her. "It's a little funny."

"Mom?" Bea frowned over her shoulder at her mom pointedly. "Tell him to knock it off already! If he keeps this up I'll get a complex!"

Claudia's eyebrows rose and she shot her husband a look, and his laughs stilled in his throat. "A complex," she said, her tone way too somber and edging into poorly concealed amusement. Her dad's lip wobbled with the effort it took him not to burst out laughing again.

"Mmm," he hummed, in that tone that parents use when they think something their kids say is funny but they're trying to pretend it isn't. "I'm sorry, you're right. I shouldn't laugh at you. In fact, I'm not. Laughing at you, that is."

Bea threw her hands up and rolled her eyes, stomping her foot with a huff as she stormed past her dad through the open doorway. "Whatever!"

"I'm laughing," her dad continued, undeterred, "at this list. Because whoever wrote it thought bringing a net on a camping trip is necessary. I honestly didn't even know we owned a net. It caught me off guard."

"We're going snipe hunting!" She declared, hands on hips. "How else am I supposed to catch one?"

Her dad openly gawked. "You're what, now?"

"Snipe hunting?" Her mom frowned over that for a moment and Bea waved them both off.

"Well it's not like we're going to kill one for Pete's sake!" She grabbed her net and swung it around meaningfully. "That's what this is for! So we can capture it and then maybe we can tame one. Hey dad, have you ever seen a snipe before?"

Her dad rubbed his face tiredly. "Oh, dear god…"

"Hunting sounds kind of dangerous to me," Claudia said, peering over at her father uncertainly with a question in her gaze. Bea could guess what she was thinking—that she was on the verge of asking her dad whether Bea should be allowed to go hunting—and Bea hurried to assuage their hesitation.

"No, listen!" She stepped between them with her arms raised again. "It's perfectly safe. Peter said that snipes are more afraid of us than we are of them. Well, more afraid of Derek. He said that I probably couldn't scare a mouse, so I told him about that time that Stiles caught one outside and he told me that my brother probably caught some disease, and I said he was a disease—"

"Bea!" Her mom cut in. "Are you always rude to your friend's family?"

Bea's jaw dropped. "Mom! He said Stiles had diseases!"

"Who's Peter?" Her dad asked them both.

"Derek's uncle," they answered in unison.

"Oh," her dad said after a moment. He frowned to himself about something and then shook his head, hands on hips. "How old is this 'uncle Peter', anyway?"

"He's…" Bea hesitated. "I dunno, maybe high school age?"

Her dad leaned forward with his eyebrows raised and then looked to Claudia. "A high schooler? Our daughter is being harassed by a high schooler?"

"Or college? I don't know for sure. It's hard to tell with his family. They all look younger than they are. Except Derek, actually. And his little sister, Cora. And his dad. They look older. They look alike, now that you ask…"

"I didn't ask for a family description!" Her dad tried to interrupt with his hands waving. "I'm more concerned about this Peter character. College age Peter!"

"Okay, jeeze," Bea muttered, barely heard over her dad's rambling.

"Snipe hunting, camping trip Peter!" He continued as he gesticulated.

Her mom spoke over her dad's noise of protest to be heard clearly. "He's a very nice boy," she said to him. "You met him, don't you remember? He took them to the movies that one time!"

Her dad's face scrunched up and he shook his head, thinking deeply. "The movies…?"

"Stiles threw a ball in his face," Bea helpfully supplied. "That time he answered the front door without asking first. Remember?"

"No," he scowled. "Oh—wait. Maybe. He drives a pick up, right?"

Bea rolled her eyes. Of course her dad would remember his vehicle better than the person himself. Probably knows the license plate, too. You can take the deputy out of the station, but you can't take the…

"Relax, Noah," Claudia sighed. "I thought you said that camping was good for the kids? You were excited not five minutes ago!"

"Well…" He started, and then trailed off, trying to think of a way to justify his shift in mood without sounding like an overbearing father. "I just… I'm trying to be cautious about the adult figures in our children's lives."

"Oh," Claudia snorted. "Well in that case."

"Peter's hardly an adult," Bea waved dismissively. "He tries too hard. He's too bossy."

"Bossy?" Her dad pressed, and she wondered if there was anything she could say about the guy that wouldn't make her dad's hackles raise. "What do you mean, bossy? Is he bullying you?" He asked, jabbing a finger at her like she was Peter.

"Uh, well, I mean…" Bea thought about it for a moment as she swatted his hand out of her face. "Not really. Not in a targeted way, he's pretty indiscriminate about it."

"Hey!" Claudia praised with a grin, her hand outstretched for a high-five. "Now there's a five dollar word, Bea-Bop! You can take a bill out of my purse before you go, okay?"

Her dad reached between them to snap his fingers. "Hello? Can we stay on track?"

Bea was still smiling about her mom's praise when she tried to refocus on her dad's interrogation over Peter. To be honest, she'd long since lost interest in the topic, more concerned about how she would spend her money. "I'm just saying he kinda bullies everyone. I really don't think it's personal, so you can relax."

"Oh, well," her dad mocked, floating his hands out like he was laid back without a care in the world. "That's very reassuring. Sounds like a real stand-up guy!" He threw his hands up and shook his head, and Bea sent a pleading look to her mother, who discreetly shook her head as if to reassure that she was still allowed to go. "Okay. I don't know if this is such a great idea. If I didn't have to work double shifts this weekend, I'd think about dusting off my tent from the garage and going along myself! To supervise!"

"We don't need supervision," Bea practically hissed, her irritation growing. "I'm nine years old now! Have been for a while!"

Her dad held up a hand as though to stave off any more comments like that. "Really, that's not the comfort you think it is, kiddo."

"Noah," Claudia said, looking at him meaningfully. "It's going to be fine. Both his parents will be there. All his siblings. The whole family. They're even sticking to their property."

Her dad licked his lip and chewed at it as he thought about that, hands on hips as he studied Bea and then looked back to Claudia. His foot tapped the floor, and Bea sighed dramatically and shook her head. "I'm going to get my tooth brush."

As soon as she left the room, she heard her parent's whispered voices hissing back and forth at each other. When she made her way back from the bathroom, whatever they'd been in the middle of saying cut out abruptly and her dad and mom both turned to her with smiles.

Her mom's was almost too bright, her eyes crinkled shut, and her dad's was too forced like more of a grimace than a grin. Claudia elbowed her dad discreetly and he grunted, rubbing at the spot. "Okay, okay! You can go."

Bea tried not to make a face as she looked back to her mom, who just kept her sunny smile on her face and helped her start to gather her clothes into her pack. She didn't comment, but she could feel her father's disapproval radiating off him in waves as he hovered behind them. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "You have your flashlight, right?"

"Yep."

"What about your blanket?" He wondered, casting his gaze over to the soft pink blanket that was still balled up by her pillow. "Can't forget to take that or you'll never get to sleep."

Bea's face warmed and she scratched at her ear. She tried to make a brave face as she laughed and weakly said, "Oh, that old thing?"

Her mom and dad's gaze snapped together and they tried not to look alarmed as they digested her words. "Yeah," her mom said slowly.

"No, I can't take that. What if I lose it?" Bea tried to play off, not wanting to admit to them that she was too embarrassed about still having one at her age. She forced a scoff and rubbed the back of her neck, unconsciously mirroring her father. "It's safer to leave it here."

"Honey, are you sure?" Claudia began, and Bea waved her off.

"Yeah, plus, what if it gets ruined or something? We'll be in the woods!"

Her dad hummed lowly but at Claudia's expression, he chose not to comment.

"What if we stick it at the bottom of the pack, then?" Claudia offered. "Keep it buried down low so you will only pull it out if you really need to."

"No, you know me," Bea insisted. "Always forgetting stuff at the last second. I'll just leave it."

"Well, if you're sure," her mom reluctantly agreed, focusing her worried gaze on her dad.

"Guys!" Bea cried. "Relax, would ya? It's just a lousy blanket."

Her dad snorted and Claudia reached over to pat her head and plant a kiss to the top of her hair. "Okay, honey. We're just not used to you being so grown up, that's all. Ignore us old sentimental fools."

"Old?" Noah scoffed. "No, not for another fifteen years, at least."

Bea gasped as she caught the time on her yellow, sun-shaped alarm clock. "Crap! It's already a quarter past two! They're late, did anyone hear the doorbell?"

"No," her parents said in unison.

Noah was the first one to track after her down the hall. "Wait a second, slow down, Bea!"

As they came into the living room, there was a knock at the front door. She rushed ahead and then stumbled as her dad's hand wrapped around her shoulder and pulled her to a halt. He sent her a disapproving look that she sheepishly shrank away from, and then hurried to stand impatiently aside as he pulled the door open.

Her dad's spine straightened and he drew his shoulders back. On the other side of the door stood Peter Hale, alongside Derek. Peter's eyes flicked from her dad's tense stance to Bea's burning face, and then tossed aside whatever he'd been chewing on to put both hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. Subtly, he angled himself in front of Derek, which surprised Bea a little.

"Hey, Bea!" Derek chirped, oblivious to the tension between the two taller figures between them. "We're having s'mores!"

Bea blinked at the declaration and then allowed an answering smile to bloom in response to Derek's enthusiasm. He was practically vibrating with excitement. "Cool."

He reached up and pushed Peter to the side so he could step closer to Bea, and Peter shot him a dirty look and then quickly cleared his face of emotion as her dad continued to burn holes in his face with how intensely he was staring him down. "You brought a sleeping bag, right?"

"Yeah," Bea said, and then paused. "Crap!"

Her dad never broke eye-contact with Peter as Bea turned around to call out to her mom.

"Where's the littler one?" Peter was asking, his eyes scanning around their legs as though waiting for a small figure to pounce out like a lion and attack. Bea reached up to scratch her head at him.

"Stiles?" She clarified, surprised that he'd ask.

Peter pursed his lips. "Do you have any other siblings?"

"No—uh—he's at his friend's house. For a play date."

Her dad shouldered his way onto the porch, forcing Peter and Derek to retreat and allow him room. "You must be this Uncle Pete that I've heard about."

Peter's face didn't change, but Bea could feel the retribution that he swung her way with merely a gaze, and Derek snorted loudly. "Peter, actually." He held his hand out to shake his hand. "Deputy Stilinski, if I'm not mistaken?"

Their hands clasped so hard that they clapped. Bea scratched at her head again, and she and Derek shuffled closer together as they watched her dad try to intimidate Peter, who just took it in stride and kept his face the perfect picture of boredom. "That's right."

"You can call him Noah, though," her mom said from the doorway, a bright blue and yellow sleeping back in her arms. "Bea, here."

"Deputy Stilinski is fine, I think."

"Oh," Claudia snorted, swatting her dad's shoulder. "Relax!"

Bea reached out and easily accepted the rolled up sleeping bag, tucking it into her arms as they all stood around and watched the two males try and squeeze their hands to death, not breaking eye contact.

Derek leaned over. "What's wrong with your dad?"

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "He doesn't like your uncle."

Derek smirked widely. "Cool."

Bea sighed. Her mom reached out and placed a hand on her dad's forearm. "Let the poor boy's hand go," she said with a forced smile. "Before you hurt him."

Peter didn't look hurt. In fact, he looked inordinately pleased about something as her dad unwound his fingers from his hand, and she saw that her dad's hand looked a bit paler than Peter's did, like he'd had all the blood squeezed out of it.

He clasped his hands behind his back and Derek frowned beside her and scowled over at Peter as her dad wrung as his hand, keeping it out of Peter's sight. But something told her that he knew exactly what he was doing, if the smug look on his face was anything to go by.

"Do you want something to drink?" Her mom finally offered. "Or we made some muffins earlier, do you like blueberry?"

Derek grabbed Bea's elbow, fully expecting Peter to politely decline, but they both froze when Peter said, "Oh, I love blueberry."

"We don't have time for that!" Derek rudely objected, and Peter's eyes snapped to glare at him.

"Derek!" He admonished. "Use some manners and apologize."

Derek's jaw dropped. "Peter!" He practically whined. "You said we would go fishing if we kept this trip short as possible!"

A muscle jumped in Peter's jaw and he didn't blink as he stared down at him, and Bea had to stop herself from backing up a step at the intense expression. After a beat, Derek sighed dramatically and turned to her mom like a prisoner who was about to be cuffed. "Sorry," he muttered. "But future reference, cinnamon rolls are way better."

Claudia grinned widely like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. "I'll try to remember that."

Her dad had his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he looked on like a silent sentinel, his narrowed gaze never leaving Peter's face. "Hmph," he said, as Claudia motioned them inside.

"I'll put them in a doggy bag, how's that?"

Derek let out a loud, almost violent snort, gasping for a moment before he dissolved into riotous giggles. "A doggy bag!"

Bea looked at him with wide eyes and this time she did take a step back from her friend as he continued to titter to himself. As Peter passed, he reached out with a fist and knocked it into Derek's shoulder once, not hard, but enough to make him stumble—which Bea knew from experience was no easy feat.

He gasped and then visibly tried to get himself under control, his face red and eyes shimmering with mirth. "Oh, god," he muttered under his breath, looking at Bea. "I love your family. Seriously."

Bea eyed him strangely as they moved inside, her dad lingering in the doorway like a specter, and she felt a loud sigh building in her chest. "Yeah…"

Peter's eyes glinted as he spotted the television. "That would be nice, thank you," he absently called to her mom where she'd disappeared into the kitchen. "Say, what resolution does this flatscreen get?"

"Oh, ummm," Claudia stammered, and Bea heard her snapping a Tupperware container shut. "I'm not sure, honey. You'd have to ask Noah."

Her dad inched into the living room cautiously, looking torn between discussing the TV and glaring. "It's… high definition."

Peter's eyebrows shot up. "HDTV? Really?" He moved closer to inspect the screen, close enough that his nose was mere centimeters away. "And it's Samsung, too. Do you find that the speakers are loud enough?"

Noah dropped his arms and went to point at the various speakers he'd arranged around the room, and Bea's eyes nearly rolled back in her head as her dad showed Peter his surround sound system and discussed the merits of flat panel televisions and "SDTV" versus "HDTV", and it was all going straight over her head.

Derek signaled her over to where he lingered near the door. "Dad and Laura are at home cleaning out the firepit."

She grinned. "Did you say s'mores earlier?"

He beamed back. "With different kinds of chocolate to try. Hershey's, Reese's, Kit-Kat's—it's going to be so sweet. Literally. Oh, Tyler's coming too, is that okay?"

Bea felt her smile wane. "Really?"

"He can't stay the night, though. He's just going to help us go snipe hunting."

"Oh," she brightened. "Cool!"

He nodded eagerly. "You two will get along great, once you give each other the chance."

"Okay!"

"Derek," Peter suddenly called, a large container of muffins in hand. Bea saw her mom shoot her dad a knowing look behind him when Peter turned away, and as she edged over she gestured to Peter meaningfully. Her dad shrugged subtly and cocked his head. "We have to go now. I told your dad to wait for me to chop the wood—his back's been acting up—" he added to her parents, "but you know how he is. Impatient. We should get back before he does something dumb."

"Let's go!" Derek grabbed Bea's sleeping bag from her arms, and then her hand, and pulled them rocketing out the front door.

"Bea!" Her mom called as they bounded across the porch. "Call if you need anything, okay? Peter has our number, too! We'll be home all night!"

She turned to wave at her parents as Peter came down the steps behind them. "Bye," she hollered. "Love you guys!"

Peter pressed his hands into their backs to urge them forward faster. "Hurry up."

(A/N): please leave a review to let me know your thoughts :)