A/N: How good is Paramore's new album, by the way? Send me a message so we can freak out over it together!

As if the first cut wasn't deep enough

I dove in again 'cause I'm not into giving up

Could've gotten the same rush from any lover's touch

Why get used to something new?

'Cause no one breaks my heart like you

When you kiss me, I wish we could see what happens next

For a moment, I could forget what happens in my head

If I doubt you, would you come through?

Happy second chance or happy ending

But this time you don't leave me sinking

Pool – Paramore


It wasn't often that I found myself absolutely and utterly at peace; like the irritated buzzing of skin and the burning ache of hunger in my throat had finally stopped, given way to a numb sort of pleasure. Happiness in the absence of rage.

I was wrapped up in Stiles, somewhere I hadn't been sure I was ever going to find myself again. He was curled around me like he were afraid if he let go I might float away. I certainly wasn't complaining, my fingers intertwined with his, his palms pressed flat to my bare waist, his warmth a comforting impossibility against my stone cold permanence.

He was dozing, but I was too lost in the feel of him to sleep, staying awake so I could take the time to revel in the situation I found myself in.

Lydia was the one to break my carefully constructed slice of heaven, but I couldn't find it in myself to hate her for it; it had to end at some point, and reality was bound to find us eventually.

I knew it was her as she walked up the drive, mostly from the sound of heels clicking against the pavement, but also from the familiar sound of her pumping heart. Reluctant but resigned, I extracted myself from Stiles' grip, climbing to my feet and pulling on my underwear, followed by Stiles' Lacrosse jersey, which hung limp over the back of his desk chair.

By the time Lydia was knocking at the door, I was already pulling it open, blinking at her calmly, leaning rather ironically innocently in the doorway, at least considering my state of undress.

"Oh my God," Lydia blurted rather than forming a more standard greeting. Her green eyes scanned the length of my body, taking in my bare legs, pale skin practically luminescent in the moonlight, the rumpled jersey I was dressed in, then finally my blatant sex hair and extremely satisfied expression. "Would it kill you to put on some pants?" she finally murmured, shooting me a pinched expression, clearly more than unimpressed by my little show of promiscuity.

"But then how would you know I just got laid?" I asked with an innocent blink.

Her expression of exasperation turned into one of vague disgust, and I grinned wickedly before stepping aside, gesturing for her to head on in. It was the perfect opportunity for her to make a snide comment, but she surprised me by merely sighing tiredly and walking through towards the kitchen. Curious, I shut the door and headed after her, my bare feet silent on the timber floor.

She took a seat at the counter and rested her hands in her head. Bewildered and more than a little wary, I cast a glance at the time on the microwave, noting with surprise that it was a little before midnight; earlier than I thought, but still a little late for a social call.

"Coffee?" I asked pleasantly, wandering over to the fancy coffee machine by the wall and staring at it with a frown. Lydia was silent from behind me, but the silence might as well have been a question for the weight it held. "I feel like whatever's coming is going to require caffeine," I added with a hum, and she let out a huff that wasn't quite a laugh, though it came close.

The floorboards from above me creaked, and I smiled to myself, glancing up at the ceiling like I might see something more than streaks of old paint.

"Pants, Stiles!" I shouted to above us, the sudden volume making Lydia startle. "We have company!"

I could hear him muttering unintelligibly to himself as he fumbled around for clothes, and couldn't help the way the smile grew on my lips. I was glad Lydia couldn't see the expression on my face; I probably looked like a complete idiot.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" I asked Lydia over my shoulder, my happy expression melting into a frustrated frown as I jabbed at the buttons on the coffee machine, only for it to beep repeatedly, the sound like a small child screaming, and just as irritating.

"Was the sarcasm necessary?" Lydia asked dryly.

"I know it sounded sarcastic, but that's just her voice," Stiles appeared in the doorway, zipping up the hoodie he'd thrown over his bare chest. "She was being genuine," he added, an amused, fond sort of smirk on his lips that made me feel warm from the crown of my head to tips of my toes. "Quit jabbing that thing," he said with an exasperated huff. "You're making it worse."

"I pressed the cappuccino button, though!" I argued stubbornly as he made it to my side, effortlessly flicking a switch that made the beeping stop, then hitting a button that made it whir obediently. "It doesn't like me," I muttered bitterly, glaring at it like it had wronged me.

"Nothing likes you," he said, but there was a warm, adoring sort of tone to his voice that kept the sting from it.

I turned to him, casually tossing my arms over his shoulders, pulling him closer. "Except you?" I asked, voice flirty as I fluttered my eyelashes innocently.

"Something like that, yeah," he agreed, eyes going foggy as he ducked his head for a kiss before I could make a clever comment, drawn closer to me like we were planets in one another's orbit.

A throat loudly and pointedly cleared from the bench, and Stiles jerked away from me with a cough, bright red blotches appearing over his face as he awkwardly shuffled out of my grip, eyeing Lydia uncomfortably. "Forget I was here?" she asked, still sounding tired, but there was definitely amusement somewhere in there, too.

Stiles cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassed.

"It's okay," Lydia murmured, the teasing glint to her eyes fading, replaced by a warm sincerity. "You're in love. I get it. I've been there," she added with a hint of wistful longing, and I was reminded of Jackson for the first time in a long time. The half-lizard slime-ball hadn't seemed particularly like the romantic type, but everyone had their kinks, I supposed. "I'm happy for you both," Lydia said genuinely, smiling gently, and Stiles grinned back, like the compliment meant the world to him.

I guess, in some ways, it was closure for him; his old crush accepting his new love, and I couldn't begrudge him the happiness.

The coffee machine beeped, and I took the cup from underneath the nozzle, handing it over to Lydia without a word, my own silent gesture of appreciation. She seemed to understand, taking it with a still-tired smile and nod.

"So, I assume this isn't a social call," Stiles said, taking a seat at the bench, folding his hands on top and leaning forwards, preparing for the conversation to follow.

"Where should I start?" she asked rhetorically, reaching up to rub at her eyes, before realising she was wearing makeup and dropping her hand. I picked up the remaining cup of coffee, cupping it in both hands. "The part where my grandmother wrote the original code for the dead pool, or the part where I think she faked her own death?"

She was met with stunned silence, neither Stiles or I quite knowing what to say.

Tense, I settled into the seat beside Stiles, passing him the coffee, knowing he and his human brain were going to need it more than I was. "Start at the beginning," I suggested as patiently as I could, and Stiles agreed as he lifted the coffee to his lips, taking a generous sip before handing it back to me without looking, his focus on a weary looking Lydia.

"So, I was in the boat house with my mom," she began, her voice weak but determined, like what she was saying wasn't easy, but she knew it needed to be said. "She told me that, when my grandma – my dad's mom – died, she requested that I spread her ashes over the lake when I turned eighteen."

There was a pause, and it was clear neither Stiles or I were following. That didn't stop him from trying to keep up. "So I guess that brought up a lot of rough memories, huh...?" he asked gently, like he were afraid she might burst into tears at the first loud sound.

She surprised us by laughing, a sharp bark of amusement that made Stiles jump. "God – no," she said with a chuckle, taking a deep sip of coffee before continuing. "Nothing like that – it's just, inside the urn, there weren't any ashes...it was all Mountain Ash."

The following silence was just as confused, if not slightly more heavy. "Mountain Ash?" I repeated, like there was some chance I'd misheard. She nodded gravely, cupping her steaming mug of coffee in steady hands.

"Why would there be Mountain Ash in your grandma's urn?" Stiles asked carefully, face scrunched as he struggled to piece it together.

"There's more," Lydia continued, determined. "The whole lake house, it's lined with it – built into the foundation."

It was getting more and more bemusing as it went on, and I glanced over at Stiles at the same time he looked at me, the both of us exchanging a heavy, pensive look. After a beat he looked back at Lydia, and I took the moment to drink some more coffee, wishing hopelessly that it were whiskey – or, even better – blood.

"Then mom showed me this piece of paper...it was the last thing grandma wrote down, before she died," Lydia continued, and Stiles seemed gobsmacked that there could possibly be more. "They all thought it was nonsense – more proof she belonged in Eichen..."

"Lydia," Stiles interrupted her, the glint in his eyes sharp. "What was it?"

Lydia took a moment to swallow, the sound loud in the quiet room. "It was code," she said, carefully composed. "It was the code for the dead pool."

Stiles' pulse was racing, and I gently gripped his arm, watching cautiously as Lydia fished a piece of folded paper from her purse, pulling it out and presenting it to us with a grimace. Stiles took it instantly, unfolding it unsteadily then holding it up to the light. There, clear as day, were the incomprehensible scribbles that made up the computer code for the dead pool.

"I have a question," I said suddenly, and Lydia looked startled by my words. She nodded, slightly wary, like whatever I might ask could possibly hurt. "Why was your grandmother in Eichen?"

Lydia hesitated, looking down into the swirls of her coffee. "The official diagnosis was schizophrenia..." she said slowly.

"And the unofficial one?" I prompted impatiently.

Lydia looked vaguely haunted, swallowing loudly before she answered quietly, "mom told me that she used to say she...heard things."

"Heard things?" Stiles parroted, sitting up straight and staring at her with wide eyes. "As in banshee-heard-things?"

"I mean there's no way to know for sure..." Lydia said slowly. "Unless..." she trailed off, growing weary.

"Unless she faked her own death, and is actually the one paying people millions of dollars to kill us off like dogs, one by one," I finished brashly, and Stiles looked like he desperately wanted to face-palm at my lack of tact. "But it doesn't make sense," I added through a frown, blatantly ignoring my human's disapproval, "why would Granny-Martin want to kill all the supernaturals in Beacon Hills? What did we ever do to her?"

"That's the multi-million dollar question, isn't it?" Lydia murmured, taking another sip of coffee, looking older than I'd ever seen her.

"That's only the question if it's actually her," Stiles countered, and the banshee nodded her head thoughtfully. We were all silent, processing the information before us. Stiles reached for the coffee, and I handed it over, watching idly as he took a large gulp of it, wincing at it's heat. "Well, we know what we need to do," he finally said, confident and sure.

"What's that?" I asked, because I genuinely didn't know.

"We need to go talk to my dad."

Lydia looked up, blinking in surprise as she surveyed the otherwise silent house. "He's not home?"

"After the disaster at the hospital, he's working overtime," Stiles revealed with a sigh, rubbing at his face. "We need to tell him – maybe he'll have a lead on your grandmother," he added, but even he didn't sound like he bought it. Still, it was the next logical step, and we nodded in agreement. "Come on," he prompted me gently, setting down the mug of coffee with a click, then looked up at Lydia apologetically, "we'll be right back."

She nodded understandingly. "Take your time," she told us, only to add a narrow-eyed stare in my direction, a message that clearly told me not to get 'distracted' by my recently reacquired boyfriend, one which I received loud and clear.

Stiles was silent as we meandered back into his room, turning to me as he unzipped his hoodie with an absentminded movement, sighing heavily. He blinked and I had my fingers threaded through his hair, his body pressed intimately to mine. I didn't connect out lips, staying a few inches back, waiting for him to come to me.

He groaned, deep and reluctant, shutting his eyes tightly as he clicked his forehead against mine.

"Don't do that," he complained roughly, the growl in his voice enough to make me shiver. "As much as I'd love to stay in bed with you until...the end of time – we have things to do," he added with a note of obvious regret, but even as he spoke his fingers threaded through my hair, tangling clumsily through the knots I'd yet to comb out.

"You're right," I muttered, not bothering to hide my disappointment, and quickly pushed myself up to press my lips against his, kissing him long and languidly for a solid thirty seconds before pulling away and forcing something of a flickering smirk onto my face, even though all I wanted to do was bury myself in him and never re-emerge. "But hey, I love you," I added, gleefully casual, just relieved I could say it without hesitation now, knowing it wouldn't catapult us into the shadowed unknown.

Stiles smiled, eyes still closed, the expression bright and so unapologetically happy that it made my insides burn with delight. "I love you," he whispered it like it were an oath, pressing closer so our noses could brush in a move so unbearably tender that I felt a lump form in my throat. I swallowed around it and pecked him once more on the lips before turning to his chest of drawers, before either of us could get carried away.

"Mind if I borrow your clothes for something other than sleeping?" I asked over my shoulder, digging through the drawer that held his jeans, plucking out the smallest pair I could find without waiting for an answer. I caught sight of a pleased sort of grin on his face, so I assumed that meant he didn't, in fact, mind.

I was dressed in less than half the time he was, one of his belts holding up his jeans on my hips, and a simple grey shirt with one of his thready, dark blue flannels thrown over the top.

"Is it weird that seeing you in my clothes is almost hotter than seeing you naked?" Stiles mused as he tugged on a proper shirt, watching as I dragged his comb through my snarled hair.

"Yeah, it's weird," I told him teasingly. "You're a real freak."

"I said almost," he muttered to himself in playful grumpiness, and I beamed back brightly as I finished with my ebony hair, running my fingers through it before reaching down to hastily tug on my boots. "Ready?" Stiles asked once he was sure he had his phone, keys and wallet in his pockets.

"Ready," I confirmed with a nod, and he held out a hand towards me. I felt like the action was more than it seemed, the weightiness of it making me pause, considering him carefully.

It wasn't quitea test, more like a question, one he didn't know how to ask with words. He wanted to know if we could find a new normal, just like we'd said we would, and I knew in the space of one of his beautifully familiar heartbeats that I wanted that too.

I took his hand with my softest smile, threading my fingers through his and gripping tightly, brushing my thumb across his knuckles as he grinned, inexplicably relieved – as though there was actually any universe where I didn't want him in every way humanly (and inhumanly) possible.


To say that John didn't look thrilled to see me hand-in-hand with Stiles would have probably been the understatement of the decade. Luckily, this wasn't the nineteenth century, so his opinion on who his son was dating really wasn't of that much importance. Still, it would have been nice for him not to hate me – but I was trying to work on being less upset over the things I couldn't control, so I shot him a gentle smile and respectful nod, leaning into Stiles' side and soaking up his warmth like he was my own personal heater.

"You should probably let us do the talking," Stiles mumbled to me as we wound our way through the sea of desks towards his dad. The Sheriff gestured for us to go ahead into his office, and we ducked in quickly, glad for the privacy.

"Because he hates me?" I muttered in a slightly sour undertone.

Stiles was prevented from replying when John spoke up, interrupting whatever halfhearted assurances Stiles would have attempted to convey. "What's wrong?" the Sheriff asked, tensing as we approached, eyes flickering between each of us like he were waiting for us to announce somebody's death.

Stiles and Lydia exchanged a long, searched look before the human began to speak, barrelling ahead without warning. "Lydia found Mountain Ash in an urn, instead of her grandmother's ashes," he blurted with an equal amount of tact to me. "Which must mean she's not dead, which must mean there's something nefarious going on here," he finished in a hissed whisper, sounding rather like one of those doomsday-enthusiasts who stood on street corners and tried to convince you to join their cult.

I really wished Stiles would have let me open. I may have lacked tact, but I could charm the pants off a nun – in fact, I had.

John stared at his son for a long few moments, trying to piece together the nonsense he'd just spewed. "Are you telling me your grandmother is alive?" he finally asked, looking mightily confused.

"It's not just that she could still be alive," Stiles said impatiently, glancing over his shoulder at the doorway to make sure nobody was eavesdropping. The last thing we needed was someone overhearing and going romping about town telling people there was a supernatural conspiracy afoot.

"It's that she would have had to fake her death," Lydia continued with a boat-load more of patience.

"Your grandmother, Lorraine Martin, faked her death?" John repeated skeptically. I wouldn't have been surprised if he asked us whether there had been some kind of alien abduction involved in the matter – which, if I was being totally honest, at this point? I wasn't ruling it out.

"Definitely," Stiles nodded.

"Maybe," Lydia corrected.

"More than likely yes."

"I'm guessing you've got a story to back this up," John drawled, like he wasn't totally sure we weren't just talking out of our asses. Which was fair.

"She...might be helping the Benefactor," Lydia admitted tightly.

"Or is the Benefactor," Stiles continued solemnly.

The Sheriff looked calculating, like he were trying to decide whether or not we weren't totally delusional. He must have found something believable in our earnest expressions, as he agreed a moment later. "Sounds like a story worth hearing," he finally murmured, turning around to gently close his office door. "Go ahead," he said gently to Lydia, who looked vaguely nervous at explaining the whole situation to the older man.

"Well, it started the other week, when we went to visit – Meredith, with Parrish," Lydia stumbled over the name uncomfortably, a glimmer of pain to her eyes that I knew I wasn't imagining.

"Parrish," the Sheriff interrupted her suddenly, holding up a hand. "We should get him in here for this – another set of ears couldn't hurt," he added in explanation, and Stiles nodded as his dad turned to the doorway.

I leant my weight back against the Sheriff's large desk, arms crossed over my chest as my attention flickered around the office. I was growing hungry, so I'd need to feed soon; the last thing I needed – or wanted – was for me to slip up in the worst possible way. That'd get me out of the Sheriff's good graces forever.

"Anybody seen Parrish?" John yelled to the office at in general. "Haig?"

"Haven't seen him," somebody replied in a muted tone, and John nodded before turning back to us.

"We'll fill him in later," he said offhandedly, shutting the door behind him and focusing back onto us. "Start again, Lydia-"

"Do you smell that?" I spoke without meaning to, frowning as my eyes swept the room, looking for the source of the stench. The others froze, exchanging wary looks before turning back to me.

"No?" Stiles murmured, shifting uncomfortably. "What is it?"

"Ash," I muttered, inhaling again, catching the scent of fire, like somebody had set something alight in the building. But the smoke detectors weren't going off, and I couldn't see any flames from where I was standing. Pushing myself upright, I took a step closer to the window, glancing out into the main office, only to stop dead when I laid eyes upon a rather bewildering sight. "Uh, so I found Parrish," I added mildly.

The kid was standing there, naked as the day he was born, covered in a thick layer of soot and ash, like he'd spent the last hour rolling around in a campfire. He was walking with purpose towards another officer, who had leapt to his feet, staring at the naked man like he was seeing a ghost. I wasn't sure what to do. Did I intervene? I could, but I'd have had no idea exactly what it was I was interrupting.

It wasn't until the first gunshot went off that I kicked into action.

Protecting Stiles was second nature, but there was more than just him to consider. One of the bullets hit the glass screen, and I leapt in front of Lydia and my human, shielding them from the shower of shattered glass. The struggle continued out in the office, but I focused my attention on my friends.

"You alright?" I asked over the shouts around us.

"Go pull them apart! Do something!" Lydia cried shrilly, and as though commanded I spun, shifting my weight in front of John and focusing on the two men fighting on the floor of the station. But what I saw, once again, made me stop.

Parrish's fist met the other officer's face with wet, sickening thuds, bone crunching under the force of his knuckles. I could do no more than stand there, holding my breath. Clearly this man had done something to the younger officer. Who was I to stand in the way of justice – or, better yet, vengeance?

"Jules!" Stiles shouted from behind me, and I knew standing idle was no longer an option.

In the space between heartbeats I had grasped Parrish by the arm and yanked him to his feet, shoving him rather roughly away from his victim. "Cool off, smokey bear," I said in a growl, but Parrish's foot darted out, slamming into the other officer's side. There was the loud bang of a gun, and a groan of pain, then the scent of blood in the room only got worse.

"Jules!" Stiles shouted again, this time desperate, and I spun around, noting that John was on the floor with his son hovering over him in terror. Two new cops appeared, one reaching for Parrish, the other kneeling down to the other guy's level, and I knew it was my opportunity to get to Stiles.

A blink later I was beside them, lips sealed firmly shut as I struggled with the temptation of the Sheriff's blood. "Oh God," Stiles was muttering, hands held over his father's leaking shoulder. Without hesitation I pressed my hands down onto the wound, my pale skin instantly becoming stained inky red with his blood.

"It's okay," I said soothingly, though to the Sheriff or his son, I wasn't sure. Leaning down, I checked beneath the injured man. "The bullet's still inside – you're probably going to need surgery, but you'll be okay," I promised him, watching as he blinked his blue eyes up at the ceiling, dazed from the attack.

"Dad?" Stiles asked anxiously, leaning over his other side.

"I'm okay," the Sheriff grunted, face scrunched at the pain. His eyes flickered over to me. "Is it such a great idea for the...recovering blood-addict to be the one applying pressure to my bleeding wound?" he asked, his voice weak.

Stiles laughed, the sound entirely relieved. "Your wit's still sharp, that's a good sign. Right?" he asked me cautiously, and I attempted a smile through a clenched jaw. "You okay?" he asked, suddenly wary.

The sound of the Sheriff's pulse was thudding in my ears like the beats of a ritualistic drum. The feeling of his blood, hot and sticky on my fingers, was driving me nearly insane. My stomach turned with hunger, my throat burned with the need to feed, and my gums were stinging from the pressure of my insistent fangs.

"Lydia," I growled, beginning to feel my control slip, inch by inch, from my careful grip, as the whites of my eyes slowly began to fill with blood. "I need you to put pressure on the wound," I ground out with difficulty, quickly running out of air.

"Yeah, of course," Lydia agreed, kneeling beside me as quickly as she could, replacing my hands with hers, and the second I was able, I tore away with the force of a bullet, disappearing from the room and speeding through the office until I was pushing my way out into the night, sucking in the clean air, trying to get the stench of blood out of my head.

I could hear sirens coming from down the road, but my focus was on regaining control, trying to gather my wits enough to keep the human facade in place.

The ambulances arrived in minutes, finding me standing outside but mostly ignoring me, rushing inside with their gurneys and medical equipment. I could hear them working inside, but paid little attention, focusing on my breathing, trying to keep myself centred.

Stiles was the first to find me, appearing by my side with a tired sigh. "How is he?" I asked immediately, turning to him and stepping closer so we wouldn't be overheard.

"He'll live," he told me quietly, a glint of horror remaining in his caramel gaze. "They're taking him straight to the hospital. I'm gonna go with him," he revealed, then pressed something cold and hard into my hand, contrasted by the warm heat of his soft skin as his fingers curled around mine. "Take the Jeep and go to the loft with Lydia, Derek and Scott are going to meet you both there. She's waiting with the Mr Nudist around back."

"I can come to the hospital with you," I offered weakly.

He gave a rueful sort of smile, "and have you around all that blood?"

We were naturally on the same wavelength, and under different circumstances, I would have felt warm at the thought.

"Go to the loft and debrief with Parrish," he said gently, casting a look over his shoulder as the medics reappeared in the doorway, the Sheriff on a gurney between them. "Try and figure out what he is while you're at it," he added as an afterthought.

"I'll give it a shot," I murmured, and he sent me a not-quite-smile, ducking down to steal a brief but firm kiss from my lips, hands squeezing mine tightly before he was moving away towards the ambulance, and further away from me.

I allowed myself three short seconds of longing-filled staring before forcing myself to turn and slip out of sight. Blending into the shadows with the ease only my kind could achieve, I followed the building around to the back, where Stiles' Jeep was parked. As promised, Lydia and Parrish were waiting out of sight, the unknown supernatural now dressed in clothes, scrubbing a damp rag over his skin, methodically cleaning off the soot and ash that tainted it.

"Keys?" Lydia asked sharply, glancing over my shoulder to check I hadn't been followed by anybody.

I held them up, obnoxiously rattling the items in question, and she gave a curt nod before gesturing for Parrish to get into the back of the Jeep. "Wait, where are we going?" Parrish asked carefully before complying; which was smart, because under normal circumstances, consenting to letting a banshee and a vampire take you on a ride with them to an undetermined location usually wasn't the brightest idea. Granted, he didn't know either of us were a banshee and a vampire respectively, but still, my aura didn't exactly scream 'minimal threat!'.

Lydia cast me a tight look, and I got the feeling she was asking me to take the reins on this one.

"Derek Hale's loft," I finally responded, the answer clipped and curt.

"Derek Hale's loft?" he repeated with sheer incredulity.

"Did I stutter?" I asked icily, and Lydia shifted so she was standing between us, probably on the off chance I tried to take a bite out of him, which was fair. "Would you just get in the Jeep?" I hissed, losing patience. The hunger was like a living thing, growling stubbornly from deep within me, refusing to be ignored.

Parrish's eyes flickered between the two of us, gaze careful and calculating. "If I go with you, am I going to get some answers?" he finally asked, voice weary but insistent. "Some real answers?"

I cast a look back at Lydia, who was frowning pensively in his direction, like he were a puzzle she was trying to solve. "Sure," I told him casually, the answer blasé at best. He didn't look particularly convinced, and in a flare of irritation I found myself wishing he weren't a supernatural, just so I could compel him to do my bidding. "Either you stay here and immediately answer for smashing that human's face in, or come with us and you get to put it off for another few hours - plus get some questions answered, or whatever," I added lightly, and Parrish looked like he wanted to start asking the questions immediately, but a stern glower in his direction had him second-guessing that course of action. "Get in the damn car," I hissed, only growing more impatient.

"Please," Lydia added politely, and with a final heavy sigh, Parrish yanked open the door and climbed into the Jeep. "Politeness works wonders, sometimes," she told me quietly as she walked around to the passenger side.

"Smug isn't a good look on you," I told her scathingly, but she just cracked an unbothered sort of smile before her expression was drawn once again, and we were plunged back into silence. I started the Jeep, feeling it rumble pleasantly from beneath me, and quickly drove from the station, heading for the downtown area with a reluctant grimace.

I tried not to think about Stiles and the Sheriff in the hospital without me – should anything go wrong, I wouldn't be there for them – but I knew I was of more use with Parrish than in such a high-risk environment anyway. To distract myself, I began to talk, which was almost always a bad decision.

"So, why the sudden burst of uncontrollable rage?" I asked, my voice casual and contrastingly bright considering the weight of the question. "I'm always an advocate for the smashing human faces into bloody pulps, but something tells me our motivations are a little different."

There was a pregnant pause. "Is she a sociopath?" Parrish finally asked, quite obviously talking to Lydia, and I scowled at him in the mirror, my eyes flashing an irritated red that went unnoticed in the shadows of the empty road.

"I don't think it's ever been officially diagnosed," Lydia admitted over her shoulder, then slunk down in her seat and muttered for only me to hear, "you're not actually a sociopath, right?"

My blood turned to ice. "So what if I am?" I asked coldly, the question a vague threat that even I couldn't have put words to.

"So you are?" she asked, forgetting to keep her voice low.

"Is this really news to you, Little Miss Genius?" I countered condescendingly, and she looked away, staring out the window so I couldn't see her expression, which made me antsy. "'Sociopath' is just a modern, fancier way of telling me what a terrible person I am, okay?" I hissed defensively, feeling my skin tingle at the uncomfortable conversation topic.

Lydia looked back at me, compassion in her green eyes. "Jules, I think that sentence is, in itself, proof that you're not a sociopath," she told me gently. That was an interesting take on it all, but I gave no response other than a distant sort of huff.

The car settled into silence once again.

"He tried to kill me," Parrish broke the tense quiet, and I glanced at him in the rearview mirror. It reminded me the reason we were even packed into the Jeep in the first place, and I silently chastised myself for allowing the focus to stray to me. "Lit me on fire in my own cruiser," he continued, clearly answering the previous question. He gave a bark of derisive laughter. "No idea how I'm still alive," he muttered, suddenly introspective. "Nobody on earth could possibly survive that sort of thing..."

"Yeah," I grunted, signalling to the right and turning into Derek's street. "Nobody."

Derek was pulling the door to the loft open before we'd even finished climbing the stairs, and I walked past him without breaking stride. Scott was standing by the couch, taking a generous sip of water, and I gravitated to his side like I were the moon to his earth – which, I supposed, in a weird sort of way, I was.

"How is he?" the Alpha asked in a low voice, ensuring Derek was the only one who could possibly listen in. I could hear Lydia leading a wary Parrish into the loft, and Derek making a muttered comment about how the place was going to smell like ash for weeks to come.

"Stiles? Rattled," I told him, hands stuffed into the pockets of my borrowed pants, thinking of their owner with a concerned frown. "Don't know about the Sheriff, but his vitals were steady when I left, and the bullet didn't hit anything important, so I'm sure he's gonna be just fine."

Scott let out a relieved sigh, reaching out and pressing a steady hand against my shoulder, the warmth of his skin seeping through the material of Stiles' flannel. "You didn't wanna stay with them?" he asked quickly.

"Hungry vampire plus hospital equals bloody disaster," I reminded him, and he shot me a sympathetic look, one that said 'that's rough, friend' rather than 'I pity you' – which was certainly appreciated. I reached up to squeeze his hand gratefully, and he cracked a reassuring smile before Derek was impatiently calling us over, wanting to get this show on the road.

"Tell us what happened," the older werewolf said evenly, unwavering eyes fixed on the deputy, making him swallow around his nerves.

"The officer I..." he trailed off, grimacing at the mention of his slip of control. He recovered quickly, straightening his spine and continuing his retelling. "His name's Haigh. I don't know what happened, all I know is that I woke up to him covering me, and my police cruiser, in gasoline. He was saying something about the dead pool, and how much I was worth. Then he threw his lighter onto the car, next thing I know, I'm engulfed in flames." He paused, seeming to consider something before saying more. "You said I'd get my answers," he reminded Lydia and I, and I glanced up at Derek with a meaningful frown that was thankfully reciprocated.

All of us were in a rough sort of circle, and Derek went back to staring carefully at the deputy, no doubt monitoring his pulse for any hint of a lie. "Give me your hands," he finally grunted, and Parrish obediently placed them in his. I shifted closer to Scott, peering down at the officer's hands, which were a hundred percent burn-free. "He covered you in gasoline?" Derek confirmed, and Parrish nodded carefully.

"It's the hair and nails, isn't it?" Lydia spoke abruptly, and I turned to blink at her. "The parts of the body that are essentially dead."

"Well, they should be gone," Derek said, and I could tell he was completely stumped, but unwilling to admit it; which I understood.

"I was set on fire," Parrish reminded us sharply, as though we might have somehow forgotten. "All of me should be gone."

"Not if you're like us," Scott said immediately, and I spun around with a scowl.

"Scott," I barked under my breath, and the Alpha looked down at me patiently.

"He's going to find out eventually," he told me gently, keeping his voice low to maintain the illusion of privacy. "He needs to know."

I resisted the urge to pout. I supposed that the urge to protect the secret was so ingrained that it was almost like a natural instinct to keep it up. I sighed, reaching up to run my hands down my face tiredly, wishing for my couch, a good book, and a glass of microwaved A+.

"Wait, what do you mean, like you?" Parrish stepped in before it could grow into a debate.

"I don't think he's like us," Derek said rather than answer him, meeting Scott's eyes before shifting his gaze to me. I nodded, narrowing my own eyes at Parrish in a stare that would make a lesser man's blood run cold. As it was, he just shifted uncomfortably, like the weight of my stare was almost too much.

"Then what is he?" Lydia asked evenly, she too staring at Parrish, that look of intellectual inquisitiveness reappearing in her eyes.

"Sorry, but I have no idea," Derek admitted readily, giving a little shrug to emphasise his point.

"But you knew about Jackson and Kira," Scott argued stubbornly.

"This is a little out of my experience," the beta retorted evenly.

"Jules?" Scott pressed hopefully. My eyes had never left the deputy, staring at him critically, trying desperately to read the secrets in his eyes.

"If I knew, you'd know," I murmured, reluctant to admit that I also had no clue, but also knowing I couldn't go throwing guesses around and giving the poor kid a heart attack.

"There might be something in the Bestiary," Derek suggested. "Did you try Argent?"

"I don't know where he is," Scott admitted with a sigh.

"If we really think Argent will know, I could always get in contact with a bounty-hunter," I proposed, trying to help. "I know a guy," I added at Lydia's bemused look, "might take a few days to get a hit, though..."

"Okay, hold on," Parrish interrupted before I could fully continue down that road of thought. "What's a Bestiary?" he stumbled over the word clumsily, finding it as odd as Scott first had. "Actually, that's not even my first question," he barrelled on, gaining speed in his desperation for answers. "Just tell me one thing," he said bracingly, glancing down at the floor before looking back up and meeting Derek's stare head on. "Are all of you like Lydia?"

Bemused, I could do no more than blink at him, trying to understand exactly what he was asking.

"Are you all psychic?" he pressed when he received no answer, and I couldn't have stopped the derisive snort from escaping my lips if I'd tried.

"Psychic?" Derek asked, and I smirked at the subtle undertone of amusement in his voice.

"Yeah."

"Not exactly," Scott said mildly, and a smirk licked at my lips like the flames of a bonfire.

"Okay," Parrish murmured cautiously, "then, what are you?"

There was a thick pause, the weight of the blatant question hanging over us. I shifted, my every instinct telling me to cut and run, but I anchored my feet to the floor and looked back over at Scott, watching as he glanced between each of us before steeling himself with a deep breath and shutting his eyes.

The sound of Parrish's gasp filled the loft as Scott's lids cracked open, revealing his glowing, ruby red eyes. To his credit, the deputy didn't flinch, staring back in almost a fascination. I wondered if his reaction would be so mild, should my real face make an appearance.

"You'd better sit down," Lydia murmured, and Parrish swallowed again, the sound loud in the quiet of the room, and he allowed the younger girl to lead him over to Derek's couch. He took a seat, eyes flickering between each of us warily, not knowing what to expect.

"Do you wanna take this one?" Scott asked Derek, who immediately shook his head, nodding for the Alpha to handle it himself. Scott looked like this was the furthest thing from ideal, but agreed with a solemn nod. I wondered why I hadn't been an option, but I guessed 'blunt and sardonic' wasn't the vibe they were going for here. "So, this is going to be a lot to take in, but keep an open mind, okay?" Scott began standing before the deputy almost nervously. I fished out a smoke from the small stash I kept in my boot, sticking it between my teeth before realising I didn't have my lighter with me.

"Got a light?" I asked Derek under my breath, and he rolled his head towards me in order to shoot me the single most unimpressed glare I'd ever had the misfortune of witnessing.

"No smoking in my building," he drawled sourly before returning his attention to Scott, who seemed to be psyching himself up for the big reveal.

"Pretentious dick," I muttered pettily, leaving the cigarette in my mouth, the weight of it between my lips more of an absent comfort than anything. Derek didn't respond, but I almost thought I caught sight of a hint of a smile on his lips.

"I'm a werewolf, and so it Derek," Scott finally blurted, lacking tact but somehow still maintaining his usual puppy-like grace. "I'm an Alpha, and he's a beta – well, he used to be an Alpha, but there was this whole thing with Kate-"

"Kate?" Parrish asked.

"Not important," I interrupted before we could head in that direction, and despite the deputy's confusion, Scott nodded in agreement.

"So, that part doesn't matter, but what does matter, is that we're werewolves. We're part of the supernatural, and that's why we're on that list. Everyone on the dead pool is some sort of supernatural creature."

Parrish took a moment to digest this information. "You're all werewolves?" he finally asked, quiet and contemplative, certainly taking it a lot better than I thought he would. I would have put money on him crying.

"Jules isn't," Scott corrected him quickly. "She's actually...well, she's sort of...a vampire," he stumbled over it, and I got that – it was a big pill to swallow. Parrish's eyes slid over to me, and like a cheeky asshole, I grinned at him, allowing my fangs to slide free, the deadly points extending down past my lips, making the young deputy's breath hitch.

"Right," Parrish was nodding quickly to himself, taking another moment to process what he was seeing. He looked pale, and my grin got larger with an evil sort of pride I knew I'd never be rid of.

"Fangs away," Lydia commanded me in the voice of a tired mother. I wasn't looking at her, but I could hear the roll of eyes in her voice, and I pouted around my expression, grudgingly retracting my fangs and returning my mouth to human standards, just barely stopping myself from muttering a rather rude insult under my breath.

"So, let me get this straight," Parrish said, holding onto the cushions of Derek's couch tightly, like they were the only thing tethering him to the earth. He slowly released one of them, reaching up to point in Scott's direction. "Werewolf," he moved the digit towards Derek, "werewolf," he moved to point at me, watching cautiously, "vampire," then finally landed on Lydia, "psychic."

Lydia gave a grimace. "Lydia's actually a banshee," Scott corrected him. "They sense death before it happens, hear spirits on the 'other side', that sort of thing," he explained at the man's bewildered expression.

"So, Beacon Hills is just full of werewolves, vampires and banshees, then," he said, sounding deceptively calm.

"I'm the only vampire in the area, actually," I informed him, plucking the smoke from between my lips and holding it in a familiar, delicate grip. "There's a kitsune in the group too, but she's out of town. A Nogitsune was on the run for awhile, but we don't talk about that, in case I go postal," I added in a mocking whisper that made both Lydia and Scott shift uncomfortably. "There was a kanima in the mix for a few weeks there, too," I finished, glossing over the comment easily, trying to prove to them I wasn't a bomb about to explode at the first mention of Void.

Apparently I wasn't helping, because Parrish seemed to be more confused than he had when we'd begun. I could see the questions whirling behind his eyes, and eventually he settled on one, meeting Scott's gaze determinedly.

"What's a kanima?" he asked evenly.

There was another pregnant pause. "We'll get back to that," Scott said patiently, moving to take a seat beside the deputy while at the same time shooting me a look that very obviously meant 'stop talking'. "Just know that everyone like us, everyone with some kind of supernatural ability, is on the dead pool."

Parrish mulled over this information, frowning to himself confusedly. "But I don't even know what I am," he finally said, turning to stare back at Scott in bewilderment.

"Well, I'm pretty sure they don't care," Derek supplied, and I clucked my tongue in agreement.

"How many professional assassins are we talking about?"

"We're starting to lose count," Lydia admitted mildly, arms crossed over her chest. I met her eyes, noting the grave glint in hers, thinking that it really made her look years older than she actually was.

"But is this still just professionals?" Scott posed the interesting question, and I turned back to him silently, using my tongue to roll my cigarette from one corner of my mouth to the other.

"I don't think Haigh's ever tried anything like this," Parrish revealed slowly. "I think he was taking a chance."

"Well, that means anyone with the dead pool can take a chance," Derek summed up what we were all thinking. I grimaced at the thought.

"Fuck knows, if I got ahold of it two years ago, I'd have packed a bag and done the same thing," I admitted readily, and though the others didn't look particularly shocked at this admission, Parrish appeared scandalised. I nearly snorted at the thought; the kid clearly had a lot to learn.

"If Haigh had it, who else does?" he asked rather than question it, which was wise. "How easy is it to get ahold of this thing now?"

My phone rang, the sound cutting through the quiet like a gunshot, making everybody else flinch violently. Grimacing, I fished it from my pocket, checking the caller to see if it was worth answering, only to practically sag with relief when I saw Stiles' name flash across the screen.

"Keep talking," I commanded the others, and Derek shot me a sour look that clearly told me he didn't appreciate the order. "Try and figure this shit out," I added bossily, tossing him back an equally dry stare.

Parrish only grew more bewildered at the exchange. He blinked, and I took the opportunity to disappear, smirking to myself as I slipped through the cracked door and out onto the balcony. The wind was heavy against my face, but my dead nerves didn't process the biting temperature, so it was more pleasant than anything else.

"Stiles?" I answered the call, only vaguely paying attention to the conversation happening from within the loft behind me.

"Hey, Jules," Stiles' voice washed over me, and relief coursed through my veins like a hit of heroin.

"How is he?" I asked, one hand holding the phone up to my ear, while my other one rested on the railing, supporting my weight as I stared out at the view. I could see most of the town from my perch, the lights of the buildings twinkling from inside the dark abyss.

"He's okay," he informed me, tone heavy with exhaustion. "The morphine's kicked in, so he's pretty much out cold. He's scheduled for surgery in a few hours, but it's pretty cut and dried, so they're not worried," he spoke evenly, but I got the feeling he was saying it to convince himself rather than me.

"That's good," I reassured him gently. "He'll be fine."

The other end was silent for a long moment. I waited curiously, frowning out at the glittering town, confused by his hesitance.

"You think you could bring the Jeep and come pick me up?" he finally asked, quiet and careful, as though this might be asking too much. He hadn't yet asked about Parrish, but I understood that there were more important things on his mind.

"You don't want to stay with your dad?" I asked carefully.

"He'll be out of it for a while now, and I feel useless just sitting here." There was a hint of pleading in his voice, something that made me want to grab him tight like that might shield him from the pain of life.

"Of course," I told him gently. "I'll come get you now."

"Are you sure it's okay for you to leave?" he asked softly, second-guessing his request.

"Something tells me you need me a lot more than these guys do," I reassured him. "Besides, it's not like I'm actually being any help here."

He paused, and the quiet was telling. "I'll see you soon," he murmured, relief obvious in his voice.

"I'll break every road rule I know of, to get there quickly," I promised cheekily, grinning to myself when I heard him protest wildly over the line. I ended the call before the words could make any sense. Slipping back inside the loft, the attention of the supernaturals inside turned to me. "I'm outta here," I told them flippantly, stuffing my outdated phone into the pocket of my borrowed clothes.

"You're not staying?" Scott asked through a frown.

"You've got it handled," I shrugged, unconcerned. "I'm going to pick up the human," I added as though the fact didn't make me full of a bright warmth that tickled at my skin.

Derek looked irritated by my skipping out so early, but I couldn't have cared any less, shooting the others a nod before wandering over to the door. Scott muttered for a time out before hurrying after me.

"Is something wrong?" he asked when he reached me, keeping his voice low to once again give us the illusion of privacy. "Is he okay?"

"Something was off in his voice," I admitted quietly, casting an absent glance back at the others, who were distractedly debating what Parrish could possibly be. They didn't seem to be making any headway – Lydia's suggestion of a kind of humanoid-phoenix was enough to make me snort. "I think he just needs to decompress," I added thoughtfully, returning the focus to Scott. "Seeing their own dad get shot would mess with anyone's head."

Scott nodded, pensive and worried. "Take care of him?" It sounded like a request.

"Always," I agreed immediately, and he reached up to grasp my shoulder again, squeezing firmly and shooting me an encouraging smile before turning and heading back to the others. Lydia glanced up and I cast her a companionable wave before yanking open the door and slipping out into the hall.

I made a quick stop on the way, dropping by my house and quickly downing a blood bag before stuffing three more under Stiles' front seat, just so I had spares at his house too – for emergencies.

Stiles was waiting on the curb when I reached the Hospital, head ducked as he stared glassily down at his phone. He didn't even notice when I pulled to a stop in front of him. I had to wind the window down and lean across the seat, calling his name gently to get his attention. He still startled, glancing up like a frightened woodland creature. I sent him a soft smile and he practically sagged with relief when he realised it was me.

I was surprised he didn't insist on driving, instead climbing into the passenger seat without complaint, rubbing tiredly at his temples.

"How is he?" I asked quietly, turning down the music coming from the radio, the lilting sounds of a saxophone dropping down to a mere soothing hum in the background.

Stiles face was drawn and exhausted, glowing in the shine of the streetlights. "He'll be fine," he assured me, slumped in the seat. "I'll come back in the morning, but they'll call me if anything – happens."

"I'd offer to heal him myself, but something tells me he'd rather lie in hospital for a few days than swallow a mouthful of vampire blood," I murmured wryly, and Stiles snorted in agreement.

"I wish he wasn't so stubborn," he said suddenly, and I looked away from the road to peer across at him in the shadowed cab of his Jeep. "It's not like we can exactly afford another hospital stay." He sounded bitter about this, and with a grimace I remembered the conversation in the Hale vault only a few short days ago.

Everything had been happening so fast, I'd forgotten the money troubles Stiles had reluctantly admitted to having. Concern stabbed through me, and I returned my gaze to the street, steering the car through town towards Stiles' relatively quiet neighbourhood.

"How bad is it?" I asked after I'd had a moment to process the information.

Stiles sighed again, and a small thud echoed through the car as his head bumped against the glass of his window. "Bad," he admitted warily, voice missing it's usual strength. "If I hadn't had that stupid MRI, not to mention the stay at Eichen..." he trailed off guiltily.

"Hold on," I cut in before he could say any more. "You're not actually blaming yourself for this, are you?" My voice was sharp, daring him to agree.

He sat back up properly, turning to look at me with wide, puppy-dog eyes that could have given Scott a run for his money. "I'm just saying that if I hadn't gone Void-"

"This has nothing to do with Void, and everything to do with the institutionalised discrimination of the lower class in the American healthcare system-"

"Jules, I love you, I really do," Stiles interrupted before my rant could really take off, "but I don't think I could handle one of your social-justice tirades right now."

Feeling strangely embarrassed, I ducked my head, refocusing my attention on the road. I wondered how I was supposed to make him feel better. Was there really anything I could say? Was there anything at all that could make this better?

Then it hit me. "How much?" I asked, determined.

"How much what?"

"How much are the bills?"

Stiles blinked at me uncomprehendingly for a long moment. "Uh, I don't know exactly – maybe about...ten grand, all up?" he murmured confusedly.

"Oh," I blinked at the road, relieved as I turned into Stiles' street. "Great, that's nothing." I glanced over at the human, who only looked more bewildered. "I'll give you the money," I say slowly, making sure he could keep up.

Immediately his spine straightened, a glint of stubborn panic to his eyes that surprised me. "Jules, you can't just give me ten thousand dollars," he said flatly, staring at me intently.

"Why not?" I asked, genuinely not understanding.

"Because it's ten thousand dollars." I remained silent as I pulled the Jeep into it's usual spot in the Stilinski's driveway. With a flick of my wrist the rumble of the engine died, and I turned to cock an eyebrow at him in the dark. "Jules, you can't," Stiles said again, and this time he was the one speaking slow, as though I might not understand if he went too fast.

"Stiles, I'm 204 years old," I reminded him, an edge of wry amusement to my voice, "you really think I wouldn't have enough money in the bank to support my somewhat hazardous, nomadic lifestyle?" I asked with a scoff. "Not to mention the interest I've accumulated after all these years..."

Stiles was gaping at me from across the car, and I cracked open my door, disappearing one moment and reappearing outside his door in the next. It was dark and an extremely late hour, so I wasn't worried about being seen.

Stiles startled as I pulled open the passenger door, and I smiled at him calmly, nodding for him to hop out. He did so, heart racing in his chest as he processed what I was telling him. He remained silent as we wandered up to his front door, and I handed over his keys, which he used to unlock the house, slipping inside and immediately kicking off his shoes. I did the same, the hardwood floor steady under my feet.

He stayed silent as I led him up to his room, and I could practically hear that brain of his whirring away from within his skull.

I pulled his flannel off my shoulders, then wriggled out of his jeans, taking a seat on his bed, clad in only my panties and his old shirt. Stiles stood motionless in the centre of the room, and I chewed on my tongue as I watched him closely.

"Jules, I can't let you give me this money," he finally spoke, a hard edge to his voice, as though he himself didn't like what he was saying. "It's not your problem to fix," he forced out, determined.

Contemplative, I crossed my legs underneath myself, peering at him thoughtfully. "I don't want to overstep..." I trailed off, wondering how I was meant to phrase what was on my mind. But I knew that holding back was what got us into trouble last time, and I wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. "Stiles, you're my family," I blurted, saying the admission quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. "Giving you this money, it's just me providing for my family. I don't mind, and I can more than afford it."

Stiles was silent, staring down at the carpet with a furrowed brow.

"Please let me do this," I begged him gently, voice full of a sort of vulnerability that I would've never shown another soul. "Please let me help you."

He said nothing, instead slowly peeling off his jeans, leaving him in his boxers and shirt, before wandering back over to me and collapsing onto the bed. An arm extending out, he curled it around my middle, pulling me down until I lay beside him, wrapped around him like a monkey.

Affectionate, I nuzzled into his neck, breathing in his intoxicating scent and enjoying the warmth of his body. He cleared his throat loudly, staring up at the ceiling resolutely.

"If you have so much money, why'd you have to steal a car to get one?" he finally asked, and I huffed a relieved laugh into his shoulder, my grin bright against his skin, and I knew that everything was going to be okay.


A/N: I can't believe this story broke over 1000 reviews! I'm gobsmacked! Thank you all so much for your support so far, you're the ones who keep me motivated and passionate! Another chapter is on it's way, and season 4 is coming to a close, then there will be a shorter, original-content-based few chapters, then I'm planning on bringing the story to a close. I can't wait to see what you think of my plans. Love you!