A/N: An entire original chapter this time guys :) To answer a few questions, the relationship drama won't really start until next season, but that's not too far away really. Also, no, there will not be any love triangles in this story. The drama comes from a different place entirely. Also the coming few chapters – not this one, though – are pretty heavy on dialogue from the show. It's done this way for a reason, but there are original things woven throughout. I think you'll still like them though. See you on the other side!


So you're tired but you're alive

So open up your eyes

And you can get your sleep when you are dead

Kill the clock inside your head

Bring your normalcy to the edge

And watch it drown in new horizons

New horizons

New Horizons – Flyleaf


Finding a bloodstain on my living room carpet wasn't what I was expecting when I made my way home after school. The scent of the blood invaded my senses, and my gut ached with a sudden hunger.

I was confused for only a moment before a loud whimper from the kitchen caught my attention. "Kol," I muttered under my breath in displeasure. Making my way through my house, I was only minimally surprised to see a naked girl sprawled across my table, Kol positioned between her legs as he drank from the spot between her breasts. "What the actual fuck do you think you're doing?" I asked him dangerously, and though the girl gasped in shock, Kol merely propped his head up, catching a stray droplet of blood with his tongue.

"I didn't think I'd have to explain the birds and the bees to someone as slutty as yourself-"

"Don't get smart," I snapped, baring my teeth at him warningly. "I know what you're doing, what I don't know is why the fuck it's happening on my kitchen table. You know you have a bedroom, right? Or at least enough money to buy a hotel, let alone rent a room."

"Don't pretend you don't like to do the deed in exciting new places," Kol smirked, leaning down to lick at the wound on the woman's breast. "Klaus is definitely one to, what's the phrase these days? Kiss and tell."

I narrowed my eyes at him, but his smirk only seemed to grow as he stared up at me. I was thankful he was at least still wearing his jeans, that was one eyeful I certainly didn't need to get. "Out," I barked, losing my patience for banter.

"That's no way to ask for a favour," he tutted, bending down to suck on the compelled girl's nipple. She gasped, and I grit my teeth.

"It's not a favour if it's my house."

He stopped his playing, glancing up at me, mischief sparked in his eyes. "Stop acting like you don't want to be in on the action," he taunted with a leer. "Please, by all means, join in; there's plenty of blood to go around."

I was ashamed to say I considered it. Well, not really considered. I didn't think that I wanted to, but I doubtlessly felt that I did. "Get her off of my table or I'll-"

"You'll what?" he challenged. When I didn't reply his smirk only grew. "You know the rule, little miss Adams. Don't make threats you can't follow through on, you only look more the fool in the end."

Having had enough, I sighed as I turned, heading for the door.

"Leaving so soon?" he called after me, amusement in his tone. He was ignored.

The run to Stiles' was short as usual, and I slipped through the front door, pulling off my coat and wringing the water out of my hair. "My house has been overrun by a sexual-deviant with a superiority complex-" I paused in my careless shouting, realising that there was only one heartbeat in the house, and while at first I'd assumed it was Stiles, the sound was much too thick to be my young, healthy boyfriend. The sheriff stepped around the corner, raising an eyebrow at me dubiously. "Sheriff..." I trailed off awkwardly, attempting to plaster a casual smile on my lips.

"Stiles isn't home," he said slowly though not unkindly, watching me through narrowed eyes.

"Yeah, I'm getting that," I nodded, clicking my tongue for lack of a better way to fill the silence. "Uh, well I guess I'll just come by later on-"

"Don't be ridiculous," he exclaimed suddenly, the moment of tension seeming to pass. "It's pouring outside. I was just about to make some soup for dinner, why don't you come eat with me? Stiles will be home soon."

I wanted to say no, but the man had his kind blue eyes focused on me, and it was the first time I'd ever even had the opportunity to meet a partner's dad, as all of my exes' parents were long gone by the time I showed up. The Sheriff and I had spoken before, sure, but we'd never really been alone for extended periods of time. In some way I felt myself, for the first time, longing for the in-law's approval.

"That would be lovely," I eventually said, shuffling to the side to toe off my boots, the soles making squelching noises as I cast them aside. "Thank you, Sheriff."

"Oh please, Jules, " he replied with an easy smile, waving off my gratitude. "How many times have I said it? Call me John."

"John," I corrected with a nod, following him into the kitchen, hesitating by the table, not sure where to go from there.

"I'd offer to let you help, but I'm well aware of your misgivings in the kitchen," he said lightly, turning to throw a kind smile over his shoulder as he moved to a big pot on the stove.

"You are?" I asked in surprise, taking the initiative and slipping into a seat at the table, crossing one leg over the other and propping my chin up in my hand as I watched the man cook.

"Oh yeah," he nodded with conviction. "Ever since you came to town it's been 'Juliet can barely use a microwave' and 'I'm pretty sure Jules studied calligraphy, you should see her handwriting' and 'did you know Jules can play piano?' and 'guess what colour jeans Juliet wore today'." He paused his stirring of the pot, glancing over his shoulder at me amusedly. "I feel like I know pretty much everything there is to know about you."

I laughed, the sound only slightly awkward.

"I'm sorry to say I don't know the same about you, John," I replied as lightly as I could, trying not to think about how sure he was to eventually find out what I was, and wondering what he'd think of me then.

"Not much to know, really," he shrugged, a simple lift of his shoulders. He kept his eyes on the meal he was cooking as he spoke. "The soup is gluten and fat free, because of Stiles' ridiculous health kick. Honestly, a bullet's more likely to take me out than high cholesterol."

"He just cares a lot," I said gently, though I was sure I wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know.

John was silent for a long few minutes as he finished cooking, finally dishing out two bowls then leaving the pot covered for Stiles to get to later. He placed the food in front of us on the table, sitting down with a small grunt. "So, what're your intentions with my son?" he asked bluntly, and I was taken aback by the abrupt question.

I blinked a few times, processing what he'd said. "Uh..." I mumbled incoherently, completely stumped on how to answer.

"I'm sure you knew this conversation was bound to come at some point," he continued, lifting his spoon to his mouth and slurping the soup. I copied the action, though in a much more refined manner. It tasted good, as far as human-food went. I decided to stay silent, continuing to eat the food before me, buying myself time before I had to say something. "I like you, Jules," he said frankly, and I didn't have time to murmur a 'thank you' before he was talking again. "I think-no, I know that you're good for Stiles, but something about you...I can't put my finger on it. You seem almost...dangerous?" he didn't sound very sure of himself as he spoke.

I pasted my most innocent expression on my features, blinking at him virtuously. "What do you mean?" I asked smoothly, stopping my consumption of the soup and focusing on him.

"I don't know if it's all the leather, or the smoking-" he paused, shooting me a stern look that made me feel oddly and embarrassingly chastised. "-but you give off a kind of dangerous vibe. I want to know that you're not getting Stiles caught up in any trouble."

A sick feeling curdled in my gut, and I fought to keep the wince from my face. I wasn't getting Stiles into the normal things humans considered bad news (smoking, drinking, etcetera) but in a way I had pulled him into a whole other world of trouble, a kind that could do much more damage than any party or drug could.

Late at night sometimes the guilt would hit me, and I would try to reason with myself, tell myself that with Scott getting bitten he would be caught up in the supernatural anyway. At least I was here, at least I could protect him.

Then my ingrained selfishness kicked in and the guilt faded, replaced with a warm feeling of protectiveness and pleasure.

I didn't want to lie to the Sheriff, but I also couldn't tell him the truth. "I love your son more than anything in the world," I said sincerely, meeting his eyes to convey my seriousness. "All I want is for him to be safe and happy. That's all that matters to me, John."

He wore a calculating expression for a long while. "How old did you say you were again?" he asked, something like suspicion in his tone.

"Sixteen," I lied with ease. I considered it a white-lie, even if it was a few hundred years off the mark.

"You act a lot older," he murmured, taking another sip of soup. There was a lengthy pause. "I think, under the tough exterior, you're a good kid, Juliet," he finally said, meeting my eyes once more. I glanced down at my leather pants, the old damp Strokes shirt hanging onto me haphazardly and the chunky rings on my fingers, nails painted with chipped black polish. I suppose I did dress to fit a certain archetype, perhaps I could start changing things up a little. "And if Stiles is happy, well, that's all I care about too."

His tone conveyed that the conversation was over, but I was pleased with that. We consumed our soup in silence for another long few minutes, before I spoke up again. I asked how work was going, and he sighed before replying, though with more enthusiasm than I expected. He really did enjoy his work.

We talked about some traffic violations he'd dealt out recently, and somehow the conversation transitioned into a questionnaire about my non-existent (or at least, long since dead and no longer relevant) parents.

I relayed my fake backstory, mumbling about how I had to leave at the age of fifteen, and how there was no other family to take me in so I had emancipated, deciding I'd handle small-town life better than that in New York City. He drank it in, clearly genuinely interested in the bullshit story I was weaving.

I promised myself that when he eventually found out about me, I'd sit down and tell him the real – and very long – story.

"Stiles has never really had a girlfriend before," John said suddenly, turning to me with something like mischief in his gaze, an expression I was all too familiar with, it was the same look I saw on Stiles' face every other day. "I think I should pull a cliché and show you the baby pictures."

A smile spread across my lips as I finished off the last of my soup. "That sounds perfect," I told him with a pleased smile, desperately wanting to set my eyes on the most embarrassing photographs from Stiles' childhood.

We'd cleaned up after ourselves and moved into the living room. The Sheriff disappeared for a minute and I heard him going through drawers in his office. He reappeared a moment later, three very thick photo albums piled in his hands.

"We'll start with the earlier ones," he said, tone business-like but somehow still light and playful.

He spread open a green album, turning to the first page and revealing photos of a tiny little baby boy in a dark blue onesie. Baby-Stiles was in the arms of a stunning woman with bright chocolate eyes, and I knew instantly who it was.

"This was the night after he was born," John said, turning the page quickly, his heart stuttering as he glanced at his late wife. I wanted to do something to express my sympathy, but didn't have a clue where to even begin, so I settled for pretending like I hadn't noticed anything. "This is him on his first dip in the pool," he continued, pointing to a picture of a chubby little monster being held halfway into the water by his grinning father. "And this was the first picture we got of him smiling," he told me proudly.

The photo made me ache in a way that I wasn't sure was necessarily pleasant or unpleasant, just an ache deep in my gut. In the back of my mind, I registered the feeling as pain and instantly knew the reason behind it.

I would never see a baby with that combination of chocolate eyes and impish grin ever again. I would never be able to give Stiles that, one of his very own, one that we made together.

Irritated at myself, I shoved the ache and the matching thoughts away, not in the mood.

The first album finished, then after that another one was pulled out, this one a deep red and filled with all of his school pictures. Feeling like we were on safer waters now, I leaned forwards, eager to see the embarrassing photographs.

We were at the seventh grade when the distinctive sound of the Jeep met my ears as it trudged down the road, finally pulling into the driveway. The front door opened and closed, and Stiles wandered into the room. His footsteps didn't falter as he made his way past the couch we were sat on, heading directly for the kitchen.

"Hey dad, hey Jules," the kid greeted us casually, and I followed him with my eyes as he suddenly froze in the doorway, slowly turning back around to stare at us. "Jules," he said again, meeting my amused gaze. I lifted my hand and wiggled my fingers at him lightly. "You're here," he said pointlessly, eyes darting between me and his father, "...with my dad." His eyes flickered down to the albums in front of us, "...and the photo albums."

I moved forwards, leaning in closer to the photo like I couldn't see it perfectly already. "Seventh grade..." I mused playfully, glancing back up at the human who had gone bone white. "I like your mohawk. And a shark tooth necklace? It's a wonder the girls weren't all over you."

"Okay, photo time is over!" Stiles exclaimed suddenly but unsurprisingly. I grinned up at him widely as he tripped forwards, gathering the albums in his arms and alternating between glaring at his father and wincing at me. "I'd like to show him your old pictures. I bet he'd get a kick out of the poodle skirts and shoulder pads."

"Shut up," I grumbled at him with a sour twist of my mouth before glancing back at John innocently. "I went to a lot of decade-themed parties growing up," I explained falsely, pulling Stiles' foot out of his own mouth.

"I'd love to see them some time, you should bring them around," John said enthusiastically, but I didn't react the way he expected.

I wouldn't be able to do that, not until he knew. I stayed silent, and this time it was Stiles who dug me out of a hole. "Sure, then we can laugh at your terrible fashion choices," he said casually, pretending like nothing was wrong.

A beat passed and I recovered, pasting a smile on my face, rolling my eyes at the kid playfully. "Whatever you say, shark-tooth necklace," I teased back easily, and he grimaced before rolling his eyes, depositing all of the albums on a table in the corner before moving over to the kitchen.

"What's for dinner?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Soup," John called back, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at his son. "An hour ago."

I heard the sounds of Stiles getting himself a bowl, and not a minute later he wandered back into the room. "I'm gonna eat this upstairs, dad," Stiles said flippantly, one hand holding the dish while the other was held out to me. Though my brows furrowed, I still took the offered hand, allowing him to pull me up and off the couch.

"Oh," the Sheriff said, and I'd had to have been deaf not to hear the disappointment layered in that one syllable.

"Well, we could-" I began, glancing at the kid's father with sympathy.

"Enjoy the game, dad," Stiles interjected before I could finish, tugging me out of the room. I frowned, eyes focused on the back of my boyfriend's head as he pulled me up the stairs, never letting go of my hand.

I wanted to make a snarky remark about how I could get there without assistance, but decided something was clearly bothering him, so it probably wasn't the best time to be my usual, mordant self.

Once we were in his room the door swung shut and he moved over to his desk, sitting down and proceeding to practically inhale his dinner. I watched him warily. He didn't seem upset, more pensive and wary. Whatever he'd been up to that evening had taken it's toll.

"I didn't even know you could hold your breath that long," I muttered with a smirk, keeping things light as I watched him slurp at his soup without pause. "We could be putting those skills to a much better use."

He choked on the liquid, and I watched in amusement as he put down the bowl, wiping his mouth messily and glancing over at me with a glare.

"Attractive," I teased, wagging my eyebrows and making him roll his eyes. "So, what was so important that you had to ditch your own father on family game night?"

"...we don't have a family game night."

"Maybe that's the problem in the first place," I hummed, and, having had enough of my shit, he rolled his eyes again and rolled his chair closer to me.

"Are you ready to hear a story?" he asked seriously, meeting my eyes head on.

Baffled but not unwilling, I nodded cautiously.

He opened his mouth, then paused. He did this several times before he finally began talking. And once he started it was like he couldn't stop. Words spilled from his mouth as he began babbling about Derek's history, all he had learnt from the two remaining members of the Hale pack.

I wasn't too sure why it mattered to us, but Stiles seemed to think it was important information, so I let him gush on about how Derek had fallen in love with a human and had eventually gotten her killed.

The similarity to my own situation made my gut churn uncomfortably, but I shoved the negativity aside, not wanting to concern myself with it.

The story was tragic, and I couldn't help the feeling of pity that simmered in my chest for the wolf. If something like that happened to Stiles, I wasn't sure I'd ever fully recover. Though, I supposed, with the way the werewolf acted most of the time, that attitude of his was probably just the visible scarring from the event.

Poor guy.

Not in the mood to spare it any more thought, I glanced back up at Stiles, who had finally finished rambling and was now fingering a healed-over cut on his hand, brow furrowed in deep thought. "Does any of this tell us where he actually is?" I asked, then cringed, realising how insensitive I sounded.

Stiles was used to this, however, and he merely sighed, rubbing his temples gently. "Not really," he huffed, dropping his head to his hands and rubbing his eyelids with his palms. "I wish compulsion worked on werewolves."

"Don't we all?" I murmured back with a click of my tongue. Stiles still looked put out. "I'm sure he'll turn up," I assured him as best I could, though my heart wasn't really in it. "And even if he doesn't, it's not like we won't get by without him," I added, then felt like even more of a dick for just opening my big mouth.

Stiles sighed again, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning back in his chair, eyes trailing over me for a long moment before they flickered up to the cream paint of the ceiling.

I didn't want to bring up what was bugging me; it was stupid and embarrassing, and yet I couldn't help but feel a niggling itch in my stomach, urging me to just say it already.

"Do you want kids?"

Horror and irritation filled me, and I fell back on the bed, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring up at the ceiling so I wouldn't have to watch his reaction. His heart stuttered, but other than that I didn't see any other strong response to my left-field question.

"Why do you ask?" he questioned cautiously, I could hear it in his voice.

I shrugged against the mattress, even though he probably couldn't tell. "I don't know," I lied, and he was quiet. Even in the silence I knew what he was thinking. I huffed a breath out through my nose, closing my eyes and rolling them under the shut lids. We'd talked about it before, sure, but never so seriously. "I was looking at your baby pictures," I admitted, cursing the hold the human had over me. "You were a cute kid." I paused again, wondering how to continue. "You don't ever want little Stiles' running around? All big brown eyes and wild dark hair and mumbling nonsense in their sleep?"

It was bothering me, and I had to know, even if asking made me feel uncomfortably insecure.

"If it happened," he began, uncharacteristically serious. "Then I would be happy." I winced, the words hurting more than I expected them to. "But it's not like that's all I want out of life."

I bit my lip, trying to stop myself but not able to rein in my curiosity. "What do you want out of life?"

He didn't even hesitate as he answered.

"You."

I melted like butter, muscles relaxing as my eyes flickered open. I still didn't look at him, instead keeping my head tipped back so I could easily stare at the ceiling.

"I love you, you know?" I had to be sure he knew.

The springs of his desk chair squeaked as he stood, socked feet padding on the carpet as he moved over to the bed, dropping on top of me and crawling up my body. Though reluctant, I still met his gaze when his head reached mine, blinking up at him with vulnerable eyes. "I love you," he told me, heart steady in his sincerity.

Finally I smiled, feeling mostly reassured. I lifted my head, bumping his nose with mine before pressing our lips together, knowing that I had exactly what I wanted out of life too.