A/N: Fair warning, this chapter's a little graphic and gory. I know most of my chapters are, but even for me this one felt bloody. Enjoy.

So let me just give up

So let me just let go

If this isn't good for me

Well, I don't wanna know

Let me just stop trying

Let me just stop fighting

I don't want your good advice

Or reasons why I'm alright

You Don't Know – Katelyn Tarver


The receptionist at the hospital flew up from her chair at the sight of me, gaping at the bloody mess of my face and neck for a long moment before slamming her hand down blindly at the phone and shrieking for a doctor.

She must have been new.

I paid her no attention, brushing passed the nurses running at me like they were nothing but brief inconveniences. Someone tried to stop me, grasping me by the arm, shouting something about needing a wheelchair, but I whirled around and met her eyes.

My panic and determination was so strong that I didn't even need to utter any words. One look in her eyes and she was forced into silence, dropping away from me as though a commanded dog. I turned, heading through the halls as quickly as I could without running and drawing even more attention to myself.

Stiles' scent was easy to pick out amongst the rest of the gathered humans. I followed the alluring smell of mint and chocolate, and all but thirty seconds later I was bursting into a smaller patient room, where my human was sitting on an uncomfortable bed, glaring at his hands and anxiously tapping his foot against the floor.

"Stiles," his name left my lips like a prayer, and he spun around to look at me, jaw dropping when he spied me standing in the doorway, practically dripping blood onto the sanitary floor.

"Jules-" he tried to speak, but I didn't wait around to hear what he had to say. Deciding that I didn't actually care about acting human, I ran at him full-speed, throwing my arms around him, burying my face in the junction of his neck and shoulder. The blood was mostly dry now, from the speed of my run to the hospital, but a little bit probably still stained his clothes. "Jules," he said again even as he wrapped his arms around me, squeezing tightly, like he were afraid if he let go I might float away. "What happened?" he asked, throat sounding tight.

I didn't immediately answer and he gently pulled back, just enough to look at me properly. His honey eyes trailed over my blood-smeared chin and neck, concern and a hint of fear in his eyes.

"You didn't...?" he trailed off, but it didn't take a genius to figure out how that question ended.

I shook my head, though my throat was still thick with shame for my actions. "No, he's alive," I promised him. "On his way here now."

"Who?" he asked, and I met his eyes, noting that his pupils were dilated, and he was wincing sensitively at the light.

"Assassin-of-the-day," I told him distractedly. "Concussion?" I asked, although I was already sure. "And you were hit?" I added, taking in the light bruising beginning to stain the pale skin below his eye. "What happened?" I all but demanded, insides coiled with anxiety.

"You're the one covered in blood," he reminded me, but almost unthinkingly, like it were instinct to argue – which I knew it basically was, for him. I levelled him with an even stare, and he sighed, stepping back and taking a seat on the bed. "Door?" he murmured, and in the time it took for him to blink the door was shut and I was perched in the spot beside him, legs folded under me on the bed, hands reaching out to grasp his, staring at him imploringly.

He sighed, squeezing my hands like my touch was the only thing keeping him centred.

"Lydia and I went to Eichen to bribe that asshole orderly to gain access to the files on Lydia's grandmother," he began, voice even and matter-of-fact. My hold on his hands tightened, and I had to remind myself not to squeeze too hard for fear I'd crush his delicate human bones. "It was a stupid plan," he admitted with another sigh.

"I'm sure it didn't seem like one at the time," I said gently, my tone taking on an almost hypnotic quality. I wouldn't compel him, but it was all I could think of to try and keep him calm.

"Well, Brunski – the head orderly – he had a taser," he told me, reaching up to absentmindedly prod at a spot on his side. Throat thick, I gently lifted his shirt, exposing the smooth plains of his stomach. My eyes swept his body until they landed on two little marks on the side of his ribs.

It looked like a cliché, Dracula-esque vampire bite, but I knew better, cautiously running my cold fingertip down the taser marks, where I knew at least 50,000 volts of electricity had been forced into his body. He shivered under the feather-light touch, but I knew it wasn't from any sort of pleasure, and the thought made me sick.

"He got the better of us, and well..." he trailed off as I dropped his shirt, reclaiming his hands, intertwining our fingers for my own comfort. "We woke up chained to a beam. It was...it was bad," he said, swallowing thickly. "He was some kind of...self-proclaimed angel of death," he muttered the word with heavy disgust. "He'd been killing patients for years – making it look like they committed suicide – to...'put them out of their misery'. He – he killed Lydia's grandmother, Jules."

The devastated note in his voice made my stomach churn with rage. That and the knowledge that he had killed somebody that someone I cared for had held dear. I would find the man and make a collage out of his intestines.

"He played the tape he had of him killing her," he murmured, a haunted glint to his usually-warm eyes. "He played it and forced Lydia to listen."

From a fellow torturer standpoint, it was pure, unadulterated brilliance; from a friendship standpoint, I was going to make him watch while I carved open his chest with a butter knife and used his still-beating heart as a pin cushion.

"I have the tape with me," he added lowly. "You'll need to listen to it too – see if you can hear something I can't."

"How did you get free?" I asked as I nodded in agreement, my voice more of a growl as I struggled to withhold my fury.

"Parrish figured it out and found us – if it weren't for him, we'd both be dead from an overdose right now." The thought made me want to scream and tear apart those responsible, and Stiles knew me too well, seeing as much written in my expression. "Parrish had to shoot him," he revealed, squeezing me as tightly as his human hands could manage. "He's dead."

I exhaled, the sound loud and filled with frustration. "Is it bad that I'm disappointed about that?" I asked, attempting dark humour – apparently succeeding when Stiles gave a wry sort of chuckle.

"You wouldn't be the woman I love it you weren't," he assured me gently, relaxing his grip on my hands and instead dragging his thumb across my skin, the action soothing. We were silent for a moment while I regained control of my temper. The fresh blood was still making me feel unbalanced – the power it had given me needed an outlet, but bar my run to the hospital, I'd had no opportunity to expel it. "There's more," Stiles said softly, shifting slightly closer to me on the bed, "but first tell me why you're covered in blood, and exactly how much of it is your own."

I smirked, but the expression fell flat. "This week's assassination attempt has been fulfilled," I told him dryly. He ground his teeth anxiously, and I let go of one of his hands to reach up at nudge his chin, a silent prompt to relax his jaw. "Haigh apparently had minions," I said with distaste. "They did something to the music at that bonfire party that the school was holding," I informed him quietly, allowing my fingertips to brush along the underside of his jaw, feeling a faint prickle that told me he hadn't had a chance to shave in the last few days. "It only affected the supernatural, but it was...bad."

"How bad?" Stiles asked, looking very much like he dreaded the answer.

"Bad enough to make my ears bleed," I admitted, turning to the side to show him the dried blood that had trickled from my ears to join with the rest of the deputy's blood on my neck. Stiles reached up with his free hand, brushing his fingers over the shell of my right ear, a frown on his handsome face. "It didn't affect the wolves as badly – but vampire hearing has always been a tad more sensitive than theirs. I guess the pitch of the track was too much for my ears to take, or something," I murmured, clutching at our still entangled hands strongly.

"And the blood?" he asked, voice weak.

"They knocked me out, but by some miracle the music was stopped and I was able to regain consciousness. Derek and that girl – Braeden – were there to save our asses, which was nice. But once I was awake, my first instinct was-"

"To feed," he finished for me, giving an understanding nod.

"One of the would-be assassins/shitty deputies was aiming a gun at Derek. I figured if I saved his life he'd have to owe me one, plus I got to feed – so it was really win-win." It hadn't exactly been such a thought-out process in my head, really more a lethal instinct than anything else, but Stiles nodded nonetheless. "Scott pulled me away before I could kill the guy," I assured him quietly, a hint of shame colouring my voice though I tried to hide it. "I'm sure he's already here, in surgery or something to sew up his shredded throat."

"And Scott's definitely okay?" he confirmed, clearly sensing I didn't want to continue down that topic of conversation.

"Even better than me, I'd say," I promised him. "Liam and Malia were there too, but both of them seemed fine when I left. No worse for wear."

"Just a typical Tuesday then, I guess," he mused wryly, and I felt a relieved smile spread across my lips.

We were silent for a minute, Stiles breathing steadily while I listened to the soothing sound of his familiar heartbeat. "What else was there?" I finally asked, curiosity getting the better of me, gently holding one of his hands in both of mine.

"Hm?"

"You said there was something else to tell me," I reminded him, and he winced.

He took a long few moments to gather his thoughts before speaking, and when he did, his voice was rough. "It's Meredith," he said in a rush, and I blinked.

"Who's Meredith?" I asked, genuinely confused.

He turned to look at me, a hint of exasperation in his eyes. "Meredith, the banshee from Eichen?" he prompted me hollowly.

"Oh, right," I nodded. With everything that had been happening over the last week, it'd been easy to forget about that poor girl who'd hung herself after Lydia's callous outburst of panic. "What about her?" I questioned, still not understanding.

"The Benefactor," he said slowly and deliberately. "It's Meredith."

We were silent, allowing that to sink in. "But she's dead," I reminded him, brow scrunched in my confusion. "Isn't she?"

"Faked it," he revealed, voice a lot more casual than I'd have expected. I supposed he'd become rather desensitised to the whole thing after the past year of his life. "She was blackmailing Brunski, and she all but admitted to being the Benefactor."

I swallowed. "Where is she now?" I asked as evenly as I could.

"At the station. Parrish took her in, and my dad's questioning her now."

Exhaling loudly, I leaned forwards, gently pressing my forehead to his shoulder. "Why must everything that happens in our lives be such a massive cluster-fuck?" I asked rhetorically. I was blessed by his responding laugh, and I nuzzled into his neck, shuffling closer on the bed as he disentangled our hands, reaching around me with his arm, pulling me into him tightly, stubbornly prompting him to hold me.

"I dunno about that," he mused, fingers floating up to card gently through my hair. "Some things in our lives are pretty great, I'd say."

The smile that quirked at my lips was almost instinctual. "Yeah," I agreed softly, reaching up with my hand, splaying it across his chest, my thumb brushing against the material of his shirt, feeling the lean muscles underneath. "They are."

We sat in blissful silence for a long few minutes, enjoying the peace and the illusion of safety that the hospital room provided, like we were wrapped in our own little bubble, away from the dangers of the outside world.

The illusion was burst by a knock at the door, and I very reluctantly pried myself away from him, turning to eye the interrupter grumpily. Melissa peeked in through the cracked door, an apologetic smile on her face that was wiped the moment she caught sight of me, my skin stained red with human blood.

"Oh God," she muttered, eyes widening in shock. "What happened?"

"It's best if I don't tell you," I assured her. "Plausible deniability," I added as an afterthought, and she swallowed this response slowly. I could see her chewing on my words to come to terms with them. "Everyone's fine," I promised quickly, and this seemed to calm her significantly.

"Did you find a tape player?" Stiles asked, sitting up straight and eyeing her hopefully. Melissa took another moment to set herself right before speaking.

"No, but I found someone looking for you," she responded as she stepped aside, revealing a hesitant looking Malia, toying absently with her hands as her eyes flickered between us both. Melissa smiled softly, nodding her head at us before stepping from the room, letting the door close after her, sealing us back in our bubble.

"I heard you almost got killed," Malia was the first to break the tense silence.

Stiles blinked. "I heard you almost got killed."

"You okay?"

"Yeah – Brunski punched me in the face," he said matter-of-factly, "turns out he was a serial killer."

Malia nodded understandingly. "Makes sense," she agreed, and he gave a huffed sort of breath in response.

"What about you?"

"I'm sure Jules has already filled you in," she said, voice carefully emotionless. "We almost got set on fire," she added as an afterthought.

"Huh," Stiles hummed, casting me a squinted stare. "She left that part out, funnily enough." I lifted my shoulders in a meek shrug. "Everyone okay?" he continued, really just making conversation, as I'd already told him that everybody was fine.

"Basically," she confirmed evenly, only to look away, staring somewhat mournfully at the floor, something clearly weighing on her mind.

"I never stuck around to make sure you were alright," I said, shame flooding my insides. I'd heard Stiles was hurt and run out of there without checking the Pups were unharmed. It was actually rather pathetic, and I promised myself I'd make more of an effort in the future.

"It's fine," Malia assured me, voice gentle though there was a strange echo of pain to her eyes that made me frown. "I can imagine how worried you were."

"Yeah," I breathed, relieved she understood though still wary, as though she were a bomb I was expecting to go off.

Her eyes wandered, trailing over the unused machines filling the room before finally refocusing on the pair of us. "I'm gonna go," she said abruptly, turning sharply to leave.

"You don't have to," Stiles said instantly, and I knew what he was feeling – a mix of regret and responsibility. He wanted to right his wrong, and that was something I more than understood, even empathised with.

"I should," she argued anyway, turning and grabbing the handle only to be stopped by a resistant thud. "The door's locked," Malia said needlessly, shoving at the slab of wood like it might magically unlock itself.

"Why would she lock the door?" Stiles asked as he shuffled closer, grasping the handle himself and tugging, trying unsuccessfully to open it.

"I could break it," I offered as I settled down onto the starched sheets of the hospital bed, preparing for the long haul.

"I already owe this hospital enough money," Stiles muttered back through a crinkled expression.

"What the hell is Melissa doing?" Malia asked in a voice that made me think she wasn't really expecting an answer.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" I replied nevertheless, the words drawled and measured.

"What?" she barked back severely, an argumentative glint in her eye. I hadn't even answered her and she was already on the defensive. I couldn't help thinking affectionately: 'that's my girl'.

"She's hoping we'll all kiss and make up," I revealed with a roll of my eyes, covering my sappy thoughts with a much more characteristic indifference, one much more suited to the company I was in.

"Well, I hope she's looking forward to disappointment," Malia all but hissed, arms crossed tightly over her chest, alternating between glowering at the door and squinting at us in consternation.

There was a sharp inhale from the human in the room, and Stiles was scowling in deep thought when I looked over at him, and he waited a beat before blundering onwards bravely. "Look, Malia," he said with the resigned tone of somebody attempting something they already knew to be pointless, "I've been texting you for days, left you countless voicemail messages, I don't know what else to do. You won't listen to me, but if you just gave me a chance to explain..." he trailed off, but the rest of his sentence was obvious.

"I already know why you did it, Stiles," Malia told him flatly, and the human sighed heavily, shoulders sagging. Like we were magnetised, I felt myself climb to my feet and wander over to him. My hand found his arm, following the curve of his bone until our palms met, and my fingers twisted through his his, gripping in reassurance. I just barely resisted the urge to glare at Malia, who I knew was dealing with her own shit, and had more important things to worry about than hurting Stiles' feelings – still, it was an instinct, something I could barely control, the need to protect him from everything; even if that something was a slighted were-coyote with questionable morals. "I'm not interested in apologies," Malia added gruffly, and Stiles winced.

I couldn't deny that the pair shared a bond, but it didn't make me jealous like it might have before. Instead I was thankful for her, for being there when I couldn't, and for adding herself to our ragtag little pack, filling the open void for a supernatural with a prickly personality and a lack of basic social know-how.

Now I was back, and I supposed there was a hint of fear within me that there wouldn't be room for two – but I was wrong, and we fit together like the family we never thought we could ever have. I vaguely remembered what it was like to have a sister – but it had been over 200 years since I'd seen my own, and she was long gone by now. All I had left were memories and the odd keepsake I'd stolen from the house before I'd run away with Klaus.

It was funny that Malia now seemed more of a little sister to me than my real one ever had. She grew on me. Like a fungus.

"Why is it so difficult for you to even just try to forgive us?" Stiles was asking, gripping my hand firmly as he stared back at the were-coyote in dismay. I'd only really found out about Malia's heritage around the same time she had, so it wasn't as though I'd had a hand in the deception, but I supposed Stiles and I were a package deal; we always had been.

Malia frowned, eyes glinting with something I might have even described as despair. She pursed her lips like there were words in her mouth that she was taking time to chew on before saying. "I don't have much practise in things like forgiveness..." she finally spoke, voice thick with emotion. "Some things I'm picking up fast," she continued valiantly, "but other things are like..."

"Like math?" Stiles finished for her, gentle but probing as he shuffled ever-so-slightly closer, attempting a weak smile of encouragement. I followed him, my eyes locked onto the shifter in curiosity, watching as her pretty eyes glistened. I supposed that there were a lot of emotional complexities that came from spending a third of your life as a coyote.

"I hate math," she agreed vehemently, brow furrowed as she looked away, focusing on a random spot on the floor.

"It's true that life is tough, darling," I told her with a rare, secret sort of affection, and though Stiles looked surprised by my heartfelt interjection, Malia didn't so much as blink, "but so are you."

The coyote swallowed and her thoughtful expression deepened, that glimmer of pain remaining in her rich eyes. Deciding the time for earnest displays of sentiment was done with, I disentangled mine and Stiles' fingers, stepping away from him and silently edging closer to Malia.

"Look," I began in less of a gentle tone, and she finally looked back up, the sad glint gone from her eyes, replaced by a steely determination, like she would be wholly prepared if I started suddenly throwing punches, "we fucked up-" I didn't think I actually did anything wrong, but like I'd said, Stiles and I were a package deal- "but we're done chasing after you, begging for you to forgive us, so here's one final apology." Malia's combative glare dropped into more of a blink of surprise. "We're sorry for not telling you about Peter. It was a dick move, and we promise to be more forthcoming in the future."

Malia narrowed her eyes at me in perturbation. Stiles made a squeaking sound from behind me, but thankfully didn't contradict my words, instead shuffling forwards until he was standing beside me. "She's right, Malia," he agreed though his voice was far weaker than my own, lacking the resolved force that mine had held. "We really are sorry, and if you're not ever going to forgive us, then we understand, but Jules is right, we're not going to grovel any more," he said, then took a deep breath that somewhat negated his cogent statement.

Malia seemed to stew on these words for a long minute, her dark eyes flickering between us both, never settling on one of us for more than a second. I could pinpoint the moment she came to a decision, her shoulders sagging as she lost her fight, the stubborn gleam to her gaze melting away like ice cubes in the sunlight.

"I still haven't seen those living car-alien movies you told me about," she finally said, the words a subtle offering of peace, and the grin that appeared on Stiles' face was nearly blinding.

"Transformers?" he asked happily, though he already knew. I wondered whether he had taken professional classes in understanding the socially inept. "Movie night at our place?" he suggested hopefully, leaning into me and making me warm from my toes upwards.

Malia snorted, the sound deprecating even though it lacked a sting. "When?" she asked sourly, but at least this time she met our eyes. "Before or after we put a stop to the dead pool and can finally stop worrying about whether or not we're about to be murdered for money every time we turn a corner?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"The invitation's an open one," I supplied rather than acknowledge such a harsh truth. "Show up any time, and if nobody's getting murdered, I'll make us tea and we can watch the movie."

Malia's lips twitched upwards, and I felt like I'd accomplished something momentous. "You're such a boring old woman," she said, and if I didn't know better, I would have called her tone argumentative. Instead I was able to hear the hint of fondness buried beneath the layers of false contempt, and it made me smile back. "I really should go," she eventually said, looking away from me to meet Stiles' eyes, who smiled back at her softly.

"Does this mean you finally forgive us?" he asked meekly.

Malia paused. "It means that I think everything's finally going to be okay," she admitted in a gentle sort of voice, and Stiles smiled back happily. She looked back at me, a grateful glint to her dark eyes that made me grin.

From behind her the door clicked open, Melissa appearing in the doorway, a meek but somehow still smug smile on her face, a large stereo held under one arm. "I'm guessing from those smiles that the water's all under the bridge by now?" she ventured knowingly, and I rolled my eyes as I leant closer into Stiles' side.

"Something like that," Stiles agreed flippantly before changing the topic with very little subtlety. "That's the tape player?" he asked, gesturing to the hulking device under her arm.

"Cassette player," she corrected him with a hint of exasperation.

"Right," he nodded, paying her no attention as she carefully deposited the stereo onto the end of the bed. Malia eyed it with a frown, and I reached out to run a finger over it's dusty plastic surface. "Can I leave now?" Stiles asked, leaning down with a wince to gather the machine in his arms, but I was having none of it. Without hesitation I swiped it from his hold, balancing it on my hip with laughable ease and trying not to smirk at Stiles' grimace of displeasure.

"I'd prefer you to stay a while longer, just to be safe..." Melissa trailed off, but there was a stubborn, argumentative glint to Stiles' eyes that had her sighing before she'd even finished. "But I couldn't actually stop you from leaving if you really wanted to."

"Great," Stiles said with false cheer, shrugging on his jacket with a pained grunt that he tried to cover up with a cough.

"Go up to the front desk, Jessica has your discharge forms waiting."

With a nod and a somewhat thankful smile, Stiles made a beeline for the door. Malia quickly followed, but when I made to do the same, Melissa's hand snapped up to grasp my forearm, bringing me to a stop. Stiles paused in the doorway, looking back with a wary frown. "Go ahead," I prompted he and Malia in a casual voice. "I'll be right behind you."

Though suspicious, Stiles agreed, nodding at us before slipping out into the hall, Malia dragging her heels after him.

I waited until their footsteps had turned the corner at the end of the hallway before speaking. "Everything okay?" I asked the nurse, who had a look of kind concern on her pretty face.

"His concussion isn't something to be taken lightly," Melissa told me quietly, stepping back and quickly untying a hoodie that was wrapped tightly around her waist. "If he falls asleep, you'll have to wake him at least once every three hours to make sure-"

"I actually have a degree in medicine, Melissa," I interrupted her calmly. "I know the drill."

She looked gobsmacked by this piece of information. "Really?" she asked with a stunned blink. "When did you have time to get a medical degree?" she continued in bewilderment. I opened my mouth to tell her that being an immortal with little need for sleep left one with a lot of free time on one's hands, but she barrelled on without letting me even start. "Never mind," she murmured, shaking her head to herself before handing me the jumper from her waist. "Put this on."

Confused, I took the baby pink fabric from her, holding it up with a frown.

"You can't just go wandering through a hospital drenched in blood, Jules," she rolled her eyes. "At the very least, you'll scare the patients."

"Fair point," I agreed, shrugging on the lightweight material. We were roughly the same size, but her arms were longer than mine, so I had to roll her sleeves back up to my wrists. Once it was in place, I nodded and picked up the cassette player once again, hooking it under my arm and making towards the door.

"Look after him?" Melissa sounded vulnerable when she asked it, and I turned back to look at her with a befuddled frown. She was staring back at me with hope shining in her dark eyes.

"Always," I swore without hesitation, and she smiled in obvious relief, reminding me starkly of how loved Stiles was by everybody in his life, not onlyme. I was glad he was loved, glad he was surrounded by the sort of family I never dreamed I'd ever have. I shot Melissa a final smile before ducking out into the hall and following the corridor back towards the desk where Stiles and Malia were hovering.

Stiles was scribbling his signature onto a stack of documents, and Malia was stood off to the side beside a small water fountain, irritatedly kicking at its base when the water didn't come out as commanded.

"All done?" I asked, appearing to Stiles' left and making him jump. He turned to me with a glare that lacked genuine heat and finished his clunky signature while he pulled a childish face at me. Glancing down at the document, my curiosity was piqued when I caught sight of a Stiles name. It was only a flash, so I missed the whole thing, but I managed to read the 'M' of his illusive first name before the papers were snatched from view.

"Thank you, Mr Stilinski," the watery-eyed nurse said as she took back the papers and immediately began tapping away at her computer with pointy plastic nails.

"Ready to go home?" Stiles asked me as Malia abandoned the fountain and met us on the way to the doors.

"More than you know," I agreed, and we stepped out into the light of the day.


We'd been listening for a long time, long enough that the crackling sound of the tape seemed to be permanently etched into my brain. My ears were still faintly ringing from the attack at the party, and even with my tolerance for sleep deprivation I was growing weary.

"Take a break," Stiles said to me under his breath as Malia impatiently replayed the tape from the beginning, eyes closed as she listened. "Go drink some blood, or make some tea or something."

"Tea sounds nice," I admitted reluctantly, lifting my head from where I'd dropped it tiredly in the crook of my arm. "I'll make you guys some while I'm at it," I added with a weak smile, climbing off the chair, my bare feet sinking into the soft shag of his carpet.

Stiles nodded, though there was a concerned glint to his eyes that made me sad. Ducking closer, I smacked our lips together chastely, pulling away and attempting a reassuring smile. He smiled back weakly before turning his full attention back to the old stereo, which was still crackling like an antique record player.

The kitchen was empty and silent, but I enjoyed the quiet, filling up the kettle at a human's pace and leaning back against the counter as it slowly boiled. It was halfway done when my phone began to buzz from my pocket. I checked who it was, relieved to see Scott's name flashing before me, then held it up to my ear.

"Hey Scott," I answered it, tugging at Stiles' old Batman shirt, which had replaced my bloodstained one the moment we'd arrived.

"Is he okay?" he asked in lieu of a proper greeting.

"He's got a nasty bruise and he's just about as exhausted as I am, but otherwise he's fine," I assured him gently, and I could practically feel his relief radiating through the phone. "How're things on your end?" I asked, fumbling like an imbecile for a beat before finally turning the phone onto loud speaker and setting it down on the counter as I pulled out three mugs and tossed a teabag into each. "Satomi's pack? They're alright?" I added curiously, knowing he and Kira were currently harbouring them somewhere safe and out of the way.

"We're okay, so far," he murmured. "I just spoke to Lydia, she's having a go of getting Meredith to talk, since she won't say anything to the Sheriff."

"I wouldn't put my money on it working," I muttered with a hint of bitterness, filling the final mug with boiling water, then putting the kettle off to the side and picking up the teabag strings, dunking them while I spoke. "That girl's wound tighter than a monk's asshole."

"Lydia or Meredith?"

"Yes."

Scott gave a huffing sort of laugh that made it clear he didn't want to laugh over the crass comment, but couldn't help it. I smirked in triumph that went unseen. There was muted muttering from the other end of the line, and I paused, reaching for the sugar and beginning to spoon it into the steaming mugs.

"Do Malia and Stiles need you there?" Scott finally asked, and I could hear the frown in his voice.

"I'm not really being that much help," I said slowly. "Right now I'm just making tea. My ears are still ringing, I can barely hear much of anything. I'm think I'm being more of a hindrance than anything, really."

"We could use an extra set of hands over here," he revealed quietly.

"But you guys are hidden, right?" I asked, stirring the sugar until it disappeared into the dark water. "Are you really expecting anyone to find you?"

Scott paused. "It's just a feeling I have," he admitted, and the sounds on the other end got softer, like he was moving away from the people so he wouldn't be overheard. "Like...I don't know," he tripped over his words, struggling to find the right ones. "I think I'd just feel...better...with you here."

I didn't have to wait to make my decision. "What's the address?" I asked without hesitation. He rattled off their location, and I nodded, mentally taking note of where it was in town as I lifted my mug to my lips, taking a deep, satisfying sip. "I can be there in ten," I told him.

"Okay, sounds good," he said. "And Jules?" I paused before hitting the end call button, the silence filled with a strange sort of expectancy. "Thank you," he told me, voice thick with sincerity.

"Don't mention it, Teen Wolf," I said with intentional flippancy, but I knew he'd be able to see through my apathetic act, and I might as well have been able to hear his smile through the connection, it was so obvious.

Just as I was hanging up the phone there were loud, clunky footsteps on the stairs as Malia and Stiles tripped down towards the first floor. They tumbled into the kitchen, spying me leant against the counter, hands wrapped casually around a steaming cup of tea. "We need to get to the lake house," Stiles told me, hurrying over to his tea and swiping it from the counter, tossing it back with impressive speed considering it was still scalding hot.

"I have to go meet Scott and Kira," I replied in kind, watching as he coughed at the burning temperature but didn't complain for a moment. "He wants the extra backup."

"Is that such a good idea?" Stiles murmured as he placed his now empty mug in the sink. "You're still weak from the attack at the school."

"Girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do," I shrugged, attempting a smile that fell completely flat. I was exhausted, but that wasn't about to stop me from helping a friend in need...and ugh, what had I become? "Promise me that you'll text me if you need anything," I ordered him gently as I threw back the last of m own tea and placed it beside his in the sink.

"Only if you swear to stay safe," he countered stubbornly, a worried gleam to his caramel eyes as he shifted closer. His scent enveloped me, making me want to sink into him and fall asleep.

"I'll do my best," I promised, but the concern in his eyes didn't diminish.

"Ugh," Malia gave a loud grunt of disgust from the doorway. "Can you just say goodbye so we can leave already?" she complained through a grimace.

I felt the urge to make a rude gesture in her direction, but Stiles reached out and grabbed my hand, squeezing tightly then ducking closer to brush our lips together before he turned and headed for the door, his car keys jingling loudly in his hand. The door shut after them, and I sighed before gathering my wits, then my things, before slipping out the door after them.

The address Scott gave me was about a six-minute run from Stiles' place, and when I arrived, it was to find a half-finished building, plastic hanging from the ceiling like something out of a bad horror movie about a good-intentioned serial killer. I hoped today's assassins weren't of the supernatural variety – because the entire place reeked of werewolves.

Stepping further into the shady building, I eyed the shadows warily, on alert. Still, I was taken by surprise when a wolf jumped from behind a beam, fangs protruding from his cracked lips, eyes glowing amber in the dark.

"Fucking-" I began to curse, whirling around and meeting his attack head-on, lifting my leg and slamming my foot into his chest, propelling him back into a draped sheet of plastic. There was another snarl from behind the sheets of inconvenient plastic, restricting my usually-perfect vision. Swinging around in preparation to defend myself again, all the action came to an abrupt pause when there was a familiar, if not slightly desperate, shout.

"Stop!"

Staying perfectly still, I didn't look towards Scott, instead eyeing the aged werewolf before me with intense distrust, silently calculating whether I could reach her in time to snap her neck before she could get a good hit in.

"She's the one I called!" Scott was saying emphatically, edging closer to me, his hands still held out protectively.

The kid I'd kicked back had climbed to his feet, glaring at me with contempt, claws clacking against each other in the following beat of silence. "She's a vampire," he spat the word like the very sound of it disgusted him, and my hackles rose in response. I had to bite back a furious growl.

"She's part of my pack," Scott insisted vehemently, eyeing the group of nervous werewolves pleadingly, begging them to trust me.

"Part of your pack?" he repeated in revulsion. "She's a vampire!" he repeated like we hadn't heard him the first time.

"And you're a prejudice asshole, but you don't see me being a dick about it," I snarled at him, and Scott shifted back slightly to press a calming hand against my arm. His skin was warm to the point of burning, but his touch was comforting, and I forced my muscles to unclench with only a little difficulty.

"She's good," Scott tried again, his tone smooth and calm. "She's one of my best friends, and we can trust her." He turned to the old lady, who had yet to say a word, eyeing me thoughtfully, like I were a piece of art she was pondering the meaning of. I stared back unflinchingly, chin raised, a silent warning that I would take no shit from her or any of her mangy little mutts. "She's only here to be a help, and she will be."

The wolf narrowed her eyes, and I could see years of wisdom and intelligence whirring away behind her beady gaze. I wondered what she was thinking; whether she'd encountered other vampires before, and what they'd done to earn her distrust.

"Satomi," she said rather than answer Scott, inclining her head ever so slightly in my direction; an olive branch, if ever I did see one.

I understood who she was now, and I wondered how I hadn't realised before. I supposed I hadn't been expecting her to look so...frail.

"Juliet," I responded in kind, nodding my head back, arms crossed over my chest, body perfectly still. My eyes flickered over to Scott, who raised his eyebrows meaningfully, and I grit my teeth before speaking again, my voice measured but convincingly sincere, "it's nice to finally meet you, Satomi."

"Likewise," she nodded carefully. The rest of the occupants in the room gave a shared sigh of relief, probably glad we weren't about to have a showdown in the middle of this hollowed-out apartment complex. The boy I'd dropkicked before was scowling at me, but the contempt was gone from his eyes, replaced by just a lingering distrust that was honestly understandable.

"You've heard of me?" I asked, keeping the conversation flowing, while also genuinely curious.

"You're Klaus' Juliet?"

My expression flattened into something far darker, but the old wolf didn't so much as flinch. "Not anymore," I answered her evenly. She nodded, digesting this information slowly, still eyeing me contemplatively. "You know Klaus?" I asked, suddenly wary. Was there a chance the she-wolf was some kind of informant for the Original Bastard? But if she was, why would she openly admit to knowing him?

"I know of him," she corrected me, and I felt myself relax. "I've heard the stories. We all have."

"Stories I happen to feature in?" I asked dubiously, the very thought making me feel sick. I didn't want anybody, werewolf or not, associating me with that colossal prick.

She smiled, a secretive sort of twitch to her lips that made me cringe. "I think your reputation proceeds you," she told me slowly, and my eyebrows climbed up my face. One of her pack members coughed from behind her, and she sent me a vague sort of look before turning and disappearing into the next section of the space. I sent a relieved grimace after her, never having been one of inter-species politics.

I turned to Scott, who gave me a weak smile, squeezing my arm companionably. "Thanks for coming," he said quietly, studiously ignoring the way the bitter, kid wolf was eyeing me warily.

"Don't mention it, little wolf," I told him affectionately, reaching up to gently pat his face. He smiled at me, and I could feel his anxiety. Scott was brave, the bravest of us all, but even he knew we were facing bad odds. Who knew how many assassins were on their way, or what they had up their sleeves in terms of weapons?

"Glad you're here," a familiar voice said from the other side of the room, and I looked over my shoulder to see Argent loading a large gun with steady, practised hands. I cocked an eyebrow at the guy, bewildered by the strangely kind words. "Don't look so smug," he muttered grouchily without even glancing up from his task, "another set of fangs will come in handy."

"Thought you were going soft on me, for a moment there, Argent," I told him slyly, and he made a half grimace/half smirk at his weapon. We were silent, Scott having wandered over to Kira, who was shifting her weight from foot to foot as she eyed the entrance with caution, her katana held in a white-knuckled grip. "We sure could use more people who know what they're doing," I muttered to the hunter, who cocked his gun with a sharp click. "Those pups look like a toddler could beat them in a fight." Argent gave a non-committal kind of grunt, but I got the feeling he sort of secretly agreed. "Whatever happened to Isaac?" I asked, turning back to him curiously.

This time there was nothing even remotely like amusement in his grimace; it was just filled with pain, and I almost felt guilty for asking. "On his way to New Orleans, last I heard," he told me, voice carefully void of emotion.

Surprised, I shifted closer, eyebrows raised. "He just bailed?"

"After Allison..." he trailed off, but we both knew he didn't need to finish the sentence. He cleared his throat and pulled out another gun from his pants, holding it up to the faint light filling the room and eyeing it like it was more interesting than the conversation. "He calls, every now and again," he added, though he sounded distinctly distracted, which I understood.

I thought it was a bit of a dick move, skipping out on Argent after his daughter died like that, but I supposed, if the girl or guy I had loved met the same fate, I would have wanted to get away from her father too. I kept my thoughts strictly away from Stiles, knowing the mere thought of anything happening to him would be enough to send me spiralling.

"Thanks for showing up," I said, the words sounding much more offhanded than they really were, "it means a lot to Scott." It kind of meant something to me too, but I'd die before admitting it.

"Scott means a lot to me," he replied in the same casual tone, inspecting his weapon idly. The words were telling, and I hummed my agreement, turning back to stare at the entrance, muscles once again coiling in preparation for an attack.

We waited in relative silence. Every now and again some of Satomi's pack members would murmur between one another, but otherwise it was quiet, all of us waiting for the attack we knew was immanent.

I wasn't sure how I was expecting it to all start. Maybe with shouts to surrender, or gunfire, or maybe the screams of terror from the innocents behind me. In the end it was none of these things, but instead a smoke cannister thrown into the middle of the room. Whoever these assassins were, they were good, because nobody, not even me, heard their approach.

"Fuck," I swore without thought, leaping into action even as bullets flew by my head.

The smoke was enough to impair my vision, so I had to reply on my other senses to fight with. I threw myself at the first thing that came at me through the darkness, hoping it wasn't someone on my side – that'd be a bitch to explain.

I wasn't planning on killing anyone, but I was suddenly struck with the knowledge that I likely didn't have a choice. These people weren't going to stop, the stakes were too high. Not everybody was getting out of this building alive.

With a snarl I let go of my inhibitions, knowing it was what I needed to do to keep my people alive.

Thankfully the scent coming from the cut in my attacker's leg was human, so I didn't hesitate in leaping onto his back with the precision of a big cat, locking my hands on either side of his head and violently twisting. His neck broke with a delightfully satisfying snap, but I had no time to savour the kill, a bullet piercing the muscle of my shoulder, a snarl of pain tearing from my throat.

Whirling around, I swiftly yanked the gun from the man's grasp, grabbing it with both hands and effortlessly bending the metal barrel. To the enemy's credit, he didn't seem shocked by the action, but then again, I couldn't see his face behind his gas mask. Instead of stepping back and gaping, he rushed at me, his fist slamming into my cheek.

Head snapping to the side, I noted that he was strong, and I tasted my own blood on my lips. Anger reared it's head in my gut, quickly melting into a furious hunger, and the blood flooded my eyes, turning them a grotesque red and my fangs joined the party, protruding out of my mouth with their length.

"My turn," I told him cheekily around the teeth, and he wisely took a step backwards, but I think we both knew he didn't have a chance in hell. His helmet was clipped under his chin, but the strap snapped with a twitch of my fingers, and I wrenched the mask from his face, revealing an aged man with a scar running down his eye.

He looked like a man with character, I had to admit, but that mattered little when he was standing between me and my friends' safety. His one good eye widened in terror as I snarled again, swooping in and latching onto his neck like a regular leach.

His blood was warm and thick, and he took out a knife as he struggled. I felt it pierce my gut, but I only retaliated by ripping into his throat more violently, tearing it open without mercy. Once he'd dropped dead, I pulled away and glanced down at the weapon protruding from my stomach.

"God fucking dammit," I cursed, gripping the handle and ripping it from my flesh with a wet squelch. It wasn't exactly painless, but the dose of blood I'd just downed made it heal almost immediately, and when another series of bullets flew by my temple, I spun around and threw the knife with perfect precision at another assassin. It pierced the pathetic cloth he called armour, sinking into the soft skin above his collarbone and rendering him lifeless.

Another wave of bullets flew into my side, and with a groan I ducked out of range, pausing behind a large hunk of metal and taking a beat to assess the damage. Three bullet wounds – four including the one still embedded in my shoulder. Growling, I knew I had no time to dig them out now, I'd have to fight on with them inside me.

"Ah!" a voice screeched shrilly, and in the next moment I was darting smoothly across the battlefield to the far corner, where two men had cornered the three youngest of the pack, all of them staring up at them tearfully, the oldest begging them to have mercy.

I didn't hesitate, not for a moment. A well-aimed kick to the right one's leg sent a snapping sound through the room, and he cried out in agony, his partner abandoning the children to shoot at me. His aim was impeccable, right in the heart, but since they weren't using wooden bullets, it had little effect. He paused, expression unfortunately hidden behind his mask, but I didn't dwell on it, flashing my fangs right before rematerialising on his back, ripping off his mask and tearing into his jugular.

I'd have liked to make him suffer a little more, really draw out and savour his screams, but I was on a time-sensitive mission and didn't have time to feed my deadly fetish, instead just focusing on tearing his throat out enough to kill him.

The other guy was still screaming in pain from his shattered leg, so I took pity on him, shoving my hand through his sternum with all the ease of an arm gliding through water. His heart was heavy and wet in my hand, and although I was already well and truly fed, the flare of insatiable hunger that purred in my gut made me lick my bloodstained lips.

The heart dropped to the floor, his body along with it, now silent.

I turned to the children, but they didn't look grateful, instead just more terrified; which I understood, though it still stung all the same.

I spun away from the trio of horrified werewolves, keen eyes attempting to pierce the thick walls of smoke encompassing us. There was a sound, something animalistic beyond anything I'd heard recently, and the worst part was, I somehow recognised the voice.

Following my ears, I cut through the smoke like a dagger, letting it lead me to Scott. I found him not a moment later, crouched over a guy on a table, but his face wasn't his usual teen-wolf, scruffy-dog-looking mess. Instead it was deformed, like what Peter had been a year ago at the old Hale house, an unrestrained monster.

"Scott!" I yelled, reappearing by his side and grasping his wrist, his hands poised for the final kill. "No!" I screamed louder, seeing no flicker of recognition in his glowing crimson eyes.

I could kill people, that was who I was, what I was, what was expected of me; but Scott? He was too good for this. He was too good to take life like some kind of ravenous animal. He was too pure. And I intended to make sure he remained that way.

He looked away from his prey, meeting my eyes abruptly, and the bloodthirsty glint to them disappeared, his features morphing before my eyes, becoming him once more.

Then, all at once, everything went silent. The fighting had stopped, and phone of the man Scott had trapped buzzed. Scott fished it out, glancing at the screen unblinkingly, then turning it so the man could see.

All contracts cancelled.

Was it really that simple? Could it all be over? Just like that? Scott looked like he wasn't sure what to do, and neither were the assassins, all of them idling rather awkwardly in the space. Briefly, I entertained the idea of killing them all as revenge for their attack, but I knew I couldn't do it. Not with the way Scott was looking at me; besides, enough blood had been spilled for one day.

Knowing somebody had to take charge and run the beasts out of town, I reached down and grasped the bleeding assassin's lapels, effortlessly yanking him out from under a stunned Scott. He was propped up on his feet, sweet smelling blood flowing from the wounds Scott had inflicted.

"Leave," I ordered him, not bothering with compulsion. I got the feeling the message would stick either way. "If you or any of your pathetic little wannabe gang come anywhere near this town or my people, ever again, I will rip your hearts from your chests one by one until you're nothing but a pile of decaying corpses on my porch." The guy's heart was pounding, and the glint of fear to his eyes couldn't be faked. "Do you understand me?" I asked, deceivingly calm.

He nodded, wincing when it pulled at his bloody wounds. With a shove I let him go, and he and his little buddies ran away with their proverbial tails between their legs like the little bitches they were.

We fell back into silence, and relieved to be out of immediate danger, I sagged against a support beam, absentmindedly reaching up to lick the excess blood from my fingertips.

"Is it over?" Kira's voice was shaky as she asked, fatigued and weak. "Really over?"

The same group of children were eyeing me with terrified disgust, so I dropped my hands and turned away, wandering over to Scott and Kira. "Don't know for sure, Vixen," I told her idly, my voice cheerful, in great contrast to the sombre air of the evening, surrounded by the corpses of the assassins who hadn't made it out alive. "But the immediate danger, at least, seems to be gone," I added reassuringly.

She sighed, rubbing at her head and leaning into Scott's touch. "We need to do something with the bodies," Argent spoke up, attention half on checking the state of his weapon.

"I'll take care of it," I volunteered without thought, and both Kira and Scott looked surprised by the offer. "I've had a lot of practise getting rid of bodies," I explained casually, and they gave matching grimaces of disgust that I didn't take to heart.

Derek turned and began talking with Satomi and her shaken pack in undertones, and Argent wandered over to join the conversation, leaving Scott, Kira and I alone. "Where will you go?" Scott asked warily.

"The less you know, the better," I told him gently, and I could see in his eyes that he agreed. "It'll take a few hours, so just let Stiles know I'll see him at home later," I added, and he nodded.

"Jules?" he said, stopping me before I turned away. I looked back, one eyebrow cocked. "Thanks," he told me sincerely, a weak sort of smile on his face, an expression that didn't quite make it to his eyes.

"For showing up?" I asked lightly.

"For always being there," he corrected me smoothly.

I smiled, unable to help it. Perhaps I should have been more effected by the massacre of the night, more impacted by the bones I'd shattered and the deaths I'd caused – but that was my curse, to feed off the carnage and chaos, just as much as the actual blood. But I'd done good things too, I'd stopped innocent people, innocent children, from being hurt. Maybe my soul had a shot at redemption after all.

"Always, Little Wolf," I promised him, smiling broadly, though the effect was probably hindered by the blood staining my teeth. Still, the young couple smiled back before turning and following the others out, some of the younger ones crying softly into their friends' shoulders.

This left me, once again, alone in a room full of still-warm corpses.

Why did it always come to this?

First things first, I took twenty minutes to recover, painstakingly digging the bullets out of my body, allowing the wounds to finally close up. I took a few deep breaths, stretched out my aching muscles and reluctantly got to work.

It was still dark, so transporting the bodies was easier than it might have otherwise been. I contemplated going to get my car, but ultimately decided to just run the bodies into the woods myself. It took a little longer, but it drew less attention, and was environmentally friendly, or whatever.

The spot I chose was far enough away from civilisation that they wouldn't be found by any family camping trips or young hikers. I considered burying them, but knew burning was a better way to destroy the evidence.

It took some time to make it seem like animal attacks. I had to painstakingly dig out the bullets in their bodies, pocketing them for safekeeping before beginning to chew on their cold, dead flesh like some kind of pathetic animal.

It wasn't the most glamorous job in the world, but it was one I'd long since resigned myself to doing.

The sun was just beginning to rise over the mountains when I heard the sound of a familiar Jeep's engine cut through the still, silent morning air. I didn't turn to look at him, resisting the urge to fix my clothes or hair. It was pointless anyway, no amount of fussing could hide the blood covering the majority of my skin.

"Why is it that every time I see you, you're always covered in blood?"

"How'd you find me?" I asked as he approached, the sound of his keys jingling in his pocket rattling around in my brain.

"Tracked your phone," he answered casually, coming to a stop beside me, eyeing the pile of mutilated corpses before us.

"That feels like an invasion of privacy," I muttered, but the words were without sincerity. I didn't care, and he knew that. "This isn't something you need to see," I added, frowning down at one body in particular. A fist-sized hole sat clear as day in his chest, heart missing from his body, ripped out by my own hands. I didn't want Stiles seeing the product of my wrath, the product of my bloodthirsty tendencies.

"I figure it's something I have to get used to, right?" he asked, his voice quiet and thoughtful. I glanced over at him through the heavy morning mist, but he was looking back at me, rather than at the bodies. "This is your world," he said, making it sound so simple, when I knew it was anything but, "I want to understand it. I want to be a part of it."

My bloodstained lips curled up in a rueful smile, and I bent down to pluck from the ground the bottle of gas I'd swiped from a local garage on one of my trips that evening. I said nothing as I wandered around the gruesome pile, pouring the gasoline over the lifeless, bloodied husks.

"So, why all the extra damage?" he asked, looking slightly green as he glanced down at the pile before snapping his gaze back to me, and I smiled again, the expression wry.

"Makes cause of death difficult to determine, not to mention identifying the bodies," I answered him smoothly, gesturing to their broken teeth as the burning scent of the gasoline filled my head.

"Where d'you learn this stuff?" he questioned, sounding bemused. "When you're turned, is there some kind of a supernatural-handbook they give you?"

I grinned, the expression less scornful and more amused. Stiles had a talent for doing that, getting a smile out of me even when I didn't want it. I lifted my shoulders in a vague shrug. "You learn by experience, I suppose. Not to mention the people around you. I learnt all this from Elijah," I said evenly.

"Not Klaus?" he asked gently.

"Klaus didn't have time to teach the newborn vampire how to cover her tracks," I told him, and though the spiteful tone in my voice wasn't intentional, it was warranted. "You'd think your sire would be the one to teach you how to take your first steps...but Klaus never really was the parenting type."

Putting down the now-empty jerry can, I returned to my place beside Stiles. With numb fingers, I fished a stray cigarette from my pocket, holding it between my teeth and producing a lighter from the same place. Cupping my hand around the flame, I lit the tip and inhaled. Stiles, for once, didn't protest. I got the feeling he understood how much I needed it in that moment.

"The smell won't be pretty," I told him, and from the corner of my eye I saw him give a disgusted grimace, still deliberately keeping his gaze away from the stack of mangled corpses. I knew how queazy he could get, and idly wondered whether that would change if he became like me.

I took his loud swallow as permission, and with a cold blink I threw the lighter onto the mound of carcasses. They caught alight immediately, the beautiful sound of crackling flames filling the small clearing. The smell hit me instantly, but it no longer affected me.

"Won't someone see the smoke?" Stiles asked uneasily, glancing up to where the dawn sunlight was filtering through the trees.

Plucking the cigarette from my lips, I flicked the ash from the tip and turned to him with a grim smile. "By the time they get here, it'll be too late."

The smell was making Stiles turn even more green, but he didn't complain.

"It was them or us," I said weakly, a pathetic excuse if I'd ever heard one. "I chose us."

"You don't need to justify it," he told me, voice even and steady, thick with a sincerity I didn't deserve. "I understand. I know you wouldn't have done it if there'd been another choice."

I wasn't sure that was true. I probably could have knocked them out, kept them unconscious long enough to ship them off to Madagascar or Australia or some other similarly exotic place, alone and naked, without any money or identification. That was evil, right? Just in a different sort of way. One where no blood was spilt.

I wanted to tell him the truth, tell him how much I'd wanted to take their lives; how much I'd enjoyed doing it. But I knew, deep in my gut, that saying it was pointless. He already knew.

"Now's your chance to get out, you know," I offered, the words sounding offhand but actually being so difficult to say they nearly caught in my throat. He turned to look at me, confused. "Jump ship, get the hell outta dodge before things get real."

"You mean leave you?" he asked, sounding as though the very idea made him more sick than the smell of the cooking corpses.

"Not too late," I said even though I knew it was a lie. We were tied together, I needed him more than anything, wanted him more than anything. If he left, it would decimate me, but at the same time, I would understand. Because nothing else mattered as long as he was safe.

"You're wrong about that," he said, the words catching in his throat. Smoke pouring from my lips, I turned to look at him, his face glowing orange in the flames of the fire. "Things are already real."

He stepped closer, arm winding around my middle, drawing me to him until my body was pressed to his. I was covered in blood, my skin sticky with it, but he didn't seem to care, pressing closer to me. Blinking up into his eyes, he smiled at me grimly.

"You're stuck with me, Jules," he promised, and I smiled, the expression far less grim than his own.

"Glad to hear it," I said as lightly as I could manage, winding my arms around his neck, cigarette hanging limply between my fingertips. "I do have one very serious request to make, though," I added coyly, forcing the fog of darkness to lift from my mind, replacing it with the warm sort of presence that Stiles always emanated.

Eyebrows climbing his face, he asked carefully, "what's that?"

I smirked, expression wide and flirtatious. "Tell me your real name."

Eyes widening, he suddenly looked embarrassed. "It doesn't matter," he insisted self-consciously, though still holding me close, fingertips pressing against my hipbones.

He seemed embarrassed, and I felt bad for him, so let it go with a frustrated huff. "I'll get it out of you one day, Stiles," I vowed, and he ducked his head sheepishly. "Wanna go home?" I asked, and he hesitated a moment before answering.

"Why don't we stay another few minutes?" he offered instead, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree behind us. "Enjoy the fire a little while longer."

I decided not to remind him that corpses I had created were the thing fuelling the fire, and instead smiled, taking another drag of smoke and leaning back into his embrace, the glow of the fire making my eyes sting, but the heat warming me from the inside out.


A/N: As always, any notes or reviews would make my bloody week – I wanna make sure the story isn't going stale on any of you! Been a rough few days for me personally, it'd be nice to hear from some friends (is it lame that I think of you as friends? I feel like it's probably lame...) In other news, new All Time Low AND new Halsey albums?! If you haven't checked them out yet, I hope you do. 'Drugs & Candy' and 'Sorry' are my absolute favourites. And the song for this chapter is my jam right now!

Love you guys!