A/N: To Shadow-wolf78: Sorry about the Malia and Stiles thing. I really do love her. I think she is a flipping awesome character, and hopefully it shows a bit in this chapter. I just see so many relationship problems in her future with her personality and past. I felt that that scene would have been an interesting one to see on the show. And I've always thought that Stiles and Lydia had more chemistry than Malia and him. Not sure if there'll be much romance in this story, but we shall see. Hope you forgive me and like this chapter! Thanks for your review!

(And also thanks to the others who reviewed—much appreciated.)

Brace yourselves

-Kenxi

Sure, Lydia Martin had been through some serious crap in her lifetime, hadn't everyone? She may have turned all Wailing Woman a while ago, but that didn't mean that she suddenly lacked the ability to do hair and makeup, talk about boys, observe when a certain girl was purposefully avoiding a certain guy, as well as said guy avoiding said girl.

No, it did not.

"So, Malia." Lydia smiled sweetly as she fell into step with the werecoyote. Malia jumped visibly like she had been caught doing something wrong. Oh yes, Lydia knew exactly what was going on.

The bell for the end of class had just rung and everyone was piling out through the school doors. As if she wouldn't notice, Malia hadn't sat at lunch with the pack today—where Stiles had been—and she had been far more snappy and uptight than her usual snappy and uptightness. Stiles had been about the same level of weird, although that wasn't entirely abnormal for him. Over the last year or so it seemed he had grown a bit past the entirely consistent, non-stop lack of seriousness. Which wasn't surprising, considering everything he'd been through. Everything they'd been through. But today he had fallen back into the super hyperactive jumpiness. If he hadn't grown his hair out and finally bought a decent wardrobe, Lydia might have thought that they were back in sophomore year or something, back when she hardly knew who he was. Nonetheless, she knew something was going on. She was Lydia Martin, after all.

Malia glanced around as if making sure that there wasn't a certain someone with her. The brightness of the sun was making her hair shimmer like darkened gold. "Me? What?" They walked towards the parking lot basically aimlessly.

Lydia just brightened her smile, tilted her head, and tossed her hair back. "I know something is going on with you and Stiles. Just tell me already, might as well spit it out."

By some unspoken agreement, they stopped walking, standing in the midst of a bunch of used cars. People walking past them hurriedly, obviously not wanting to be caught outside without purpose. With the few deaths of late, students were told to not hang out in one place for too long too late in the evening, and to always have someone with them when outdoors. It felt somewhat strict to many people, but not to Lydia. She knew what was out there, unlike most. So she had no trouble with the new suggestions/rules.

Malia pursed her lips in defeat. "Fine. Strength in numbers, right?" Lydia nodded eagerly, although she didn't really know what that had to do with the conversation. "Let's go to your house and talk, my dad, well, adopted father, I guess, is kind of weird around people I bring over, so I'd rather not talk there."

"And when you say, 'people I bring over,' I assume you mean Stiles, right?"

Malia's eyes flashed a brilliant blue at that, but Lydia held her ground with only a small swallow at the threatening action. Then her eyes faded once more to their original dark color, and she looked around her again, albeit this time like she was looking for something. Not to shy away.

"So," she asked, "where'd you park?"

00000

Against her wanting in having a girl talk, Lydia almost hit Malia upon hearing what she had said in her conversation with Stiles.

She couldn't imagine what Stiles could possibly have been feeling in that position, but all it did was upset Lydia. As much as she so desired to give the girl a serious verbal slap, she knew that it probably wouldn't do much anyway. All she could really do was have Malia talk to her. If Lydia lashed out, Malia would get even more defensive than she already was. And that would collapse the whole operation.

Malia shifted uncomfortably on the colorful, cushy bed, whereas Lydia was totally relaxed into it, despite her tense emotions.

"Sorry," Malia said after she had finished the story. "I'm not really good at this 'girl talk' thing, or however you put it."

Lydia sighed, trying to keep her exasperation and frustration at bay. "It's because you're not used to too many normal things yet, sweetheart. Just say how you feel about all of this. What you were thinking and such. Come on, spill."

Malia smoothed her hair a bit and shifted again, finally leaning back against the headboard of the bed with Lydia. "I didn't know he was so sensitive about his mother. I said that she was selfish because he said that if she had had the chance to live, she probably wouldn't have taken it. I mean, why would you choose to die rather than survive life? With your son? It seemed selfish to me is all. I would never leave Stiles. Why would anyone ever want to? He is so incredible, for a human being." It sounded as if she was getting rather worked up about the whole thing as she continued, and Lydia felt a little sorry for her. In a way, Malia's logic made sense, but at the same time she knew that it was totally and completely wrong.

The werecoyote continued, however, before Lydia could say anything. "I guess I feel like he understands me entirely, sometimes, but other times he is just like everybody else. Clueless." She folded her arms and frowned. "I mean, I get that people are really sensitive about certain things, Stiles has told me that, repeatedly. But I just don't understand why that means that I can't express what I'm thinking all the time."

Oh, boy. This was one of those conversations that most people had at a pretty early age. With themselves. Not really a vocalized one, but Malia was basically an exception to every rule. "Look, Malia," Lydia started, not entirely sure how she wanted to go about with this. "Over the course of forever, some genius decided that people weren't allowed to say what they feel all of the time. Pretty dumb, I know. But for certain things, even if you feel differently than someone else, it just isn't appropriate to give audio to those feelings. For instance, if you see someone with a hideous orange shirt and an awful green jacket, you wouldn't tell them that it was ugly, because clearly they like it since they're wearing it. Telling them how you feel in that situation might just make them sad or angry, so instead we tell them what they want to hear, even if it isn't the truth."

Of course, Lydia used to tell people what she thought of them back in the day no matter how it made them feel, but she wasn't about to bring that up. Besides, her case had been different. Lydia had mostly wanted to hurt people so that she could keep charge of the school. Malia stated her opinions because it was just how she felt.

Lydia could immediately tell that Malia still didn't understand, but the girl didn't say it. She just sighed and let her shoulders fall. And that was when Lydia finally noticed something that had never even crossed her sensitive mind before. How had she not caught it?

Malia was miserable.

She had spent a great deal of her life as a full on coyote, but still. It was clear that she was sleeping, seeing the lack of shadows under her eyes and the acute awareness of things around her. And yet Malia looked tired. Tired of not understanding the crazy freaking world she had been pulled into once more against her will. Tired of people still trying to explain things that she had no clue about. Tired of messing up over and over again.

Lydia flinched at how far she had gone into her thoughts, like catching herself as her eyes slipped shut when she was supposed to be doing her simple homework as opposed to sleeping. She didn't know how she knew that that was exactly what Malia was feeling, but she knew. The werecoyote was just struggling to find her place in this world probably even more than Lydia herself was. Perhaps they had more in common that she had originally thought.

"Hey, Malia," Lydia whispered softly, nudging the girl beside her. Malia turned to look at her slowly, and for once she didn't even try to hide her feelings under a defiant or blank mask. "Things are going to work themselves out, you'll see. Everything is going to turn out okay in the end."

Malia's face screwed up together into a raw, pained expression. "You don't get it, Lydia. Stiles has been the only thing keeping me from losing my mind, and I'm pretty sure I helped keep him from losing his. I thought we needed each other, but now he's pushing me away and—"

"We'll figure it out, okay?" Lydia cut in. "Stiles won't just leave you because of a fight. He isn't like that. Heck, he still cares about me even though I've hurt him an astronomical number of times. I don't deserve that," she added softly, not meeting Malia's eyes. Heaven only knew why he had ever cared for her so much. Finally she took a breath and made contact again. "That's what Stiles does. He helps people. Even those who don't deserve it. So don't give up on Stiles now, Malia, because he isn't going to give up on you."

Relief and gratitude flooded her face at the words. "Is that what you meant before? About not telling people the truth so that their feelings don't hurt? Because I think it makes a little sense now as to why it is the socially accepted response." A smile framed Malia's lips so that Lydia knew she was joking. Or mostly joking, anyway. Maybe Lydia's words had only mostly been truth. Who knew?

So Lydia laughed a little, and soon they were both laughing together, albeit a bit hysterically. Two people who barely knew each other, laughing like best friends. The thought brought images of Allison to her mind, and pain burned in her chest right where her heart was. She noticed something about it, however.

The pain wasn't as bad as it used to be.

"What do you say I help you out with the Stiles problem, and others, perhaps," Lydia said once they were no longer crying with laughter. "I can try and help you understand human emotions a bit better than a guy can, give you some examples and such. And then after we talk, I can take you over to his house, and you two can work it out. Does that sound okay?"

Malia smiled. A real, genuine smile with all her teeth showing.

"Yeah," she relaxed even more into the comfy bed, "that sounds perfect."

00000

Stiles was right. Scott really was a terrible friend.

He had gone over to Kira's, like he had planned. The thing was that after nearly three hours after the end of practice, he still hadn't left.

Scott glanced at his phone again, nervously. He had been expecting a giant text bomb from Stiles—a series of texts in a row to catch ones attention—but he hadn't gotten a single message from his friend since he had left. Scott had sent a message after the first hour at Kira's, to tell Stiles that'd he'd probably be a little late, but nothing had come back from it. Not a spiteful comment or all caps, nothing. It was more than a little disconcerting.

"I think you should go talk to Stiles, Scott."

His head shot up in alarm. "Wha-at? Who?" He tried not to wince. Smooth, McCall.

They had been talking on her bed for the last few hours. Nothing hot and spicy or anything, just regular talking about teachers and weird fads going on, their likes and dislikes. It was nice. With Allison he felt that a lot of their relationship had been passion. Which was glorious, of course, but he felt calm with Kira. Unless supernatural monsters were attacking them. Or unless Stiles wasn't answering any of his texts and he was really super worried about him.

Kira smiled at him without an ounce of anger or exasperation. Maybe a little disappointment, but that was it. "Please, Scott. That is the umpteenth time you've checked your phone. Clearly you need to talk to him."

Scott finally gave in at that, sighing. He didn't even bother asking how she knew it was Stiles he had been waiting contact from. There wasn't really anyone else he texted much, anyway. "I was supposed to meet him after school, but I got distracted," he offered a sheepish smile. "Stiles is normally one to guilt trip me and stuff, but he hasn't said anything. It's just not like him. He always keeps his phone on, so…."

"Like I said, you should probably just go and see him already. You've wasted enough time on me." Kira's cheeks went a bit pink when she said that, and she tucked her bottom lip under her top one in embarrassment. Goodness, she was beautiful.

Scott leaned in and kissed one rosy cheek lightly and whispered, "Nothing concerning you is a waste of time."

She was blushing even more as he pulled away, but she attempted to straighten her face out of its smile so as to appear serious, he assumed. It was incredibly adorable. "Except when you try arguing with me. Now that is a waste of time." For all of her effort not to, she ended up grinning again anyway. Scott reflected her expression with his own.

"Nope. Definitely not a waste of time."

Kira made a face at him, and he knew that she was right. He needed to talk to Stiles. Whatever had happened with Malia had clearly bothered him, and Scott could also tell that he wasn't sleeping well—again. Something was going on, and he was going to figure it out.

With another kiss, this time on the lips, Scott was finally able to pull himself away from the girl whom he loved. But just as he was closing the door to her house behind him, he caught the familiar scent of a certain werecoyote.

And there she was, just a few meters away, standing on the sidewalk. In the car parked by the curb was Lydia Martin. What was going on?

"Scott," Malia said pointedly, her arms folded across her chest. Uh, oh. "Just tell me where Stiles is. I really just want to talk to him, that's all."

"He's just at—"

"Don't tell me he's at his house, Scott," Malia interrupted. Determination was set in her dark brown eyes. "We were just there, and he isn't. I need to talk to him, Scott. What happened is my fault, I think." It looked like she was doing a whole lot more thinking than that. Scott had never seen her eyes more thoughtful since he had met her.

He shook his head. "If he's not at his house, then I have no clue where he is. I was supposed to meet him there." Hours ago, he added mentally. It was around seven now; the sun was just about gone. Maybe Stiles had gotten bored waiting for him and went to go meet Malia?

Malia huffed and let her arms drop to her sides.

Scott winced. "I really am sorry. I've been trying to get ahold of him, too. Have you tried contacting his dad?"

Before either Malia or Lydia—who'd been silent thus far—could answer, Scott's phone began ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket. Who knew? Maybe it was Stiles. So sure of that idea, he didn't even bother checking the caller ID.

"Stiles?" He blurted, wanting to hear his friend's voice, just to make sure he was okay. His car broke down. His phone broke or died and he couldn't find the charger. He had to grab dinner for his dad. Any excuse would have been like music to his ears.

But, of course, nothing was ever that simple.

"Nope, sorry, Scotty. It's your other good friend. Remember me?"

Scott felt his heart sink and his blood freeze. Dimly, he was aware that Malia had stiffened, using her sensitive hearing, and that Lydia was getting out of her car, but it was like hearing it through water.

He forced his voice to work, although it sounded hoarse to his own ears. "If you hurt him, I swear—"

"Oh please, Scott. Your friend is fine. He's just with me to make sure you don't kill me. Because if you try, I will not hesitate to rip his head off with my teeth. I just want to talk."

"Nothing you have to say is as important as to have kidnaped Stiles. Why did you come back to Beacon Hills?" He could feel that his body was shaking, and his words came out as such with an added harshness.

"Is that his name? He's just so taken for granted all the time by everyone—including you—that I tend to forget his name."

"What do you want, Kate?" Scott seethed.

She paused on the other end. "I want to help you, Scott. There is a monster other than me in your midst, and you didn't even know it. The animal killing all those people? I want to help you get rid of it, but you have to promise to not kill me while I do so, understand?"

What? But that wasn't supernatural. The attacks were just animal ones. "You're lying," he settled on saying.

There was a sigh, and then, "Here, talk to Stiles. He knows that I'm telling the truth. Like I said, he's taken for granted far too often." Rustling sounds followed.

"Scott?"

He let out a breath that he hadn't even realized he had been holding. "Stiles?" He breathed. "Stiles, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Scott. Just a concussion, I think. I know this is crazy to say, but Kate isn't lying about this. For once. I mean, she has her own personal reasons for wanting to kill the thing, but the point is that she wants to kill it." He sounded okay, maybe a little tired and breathless, but okay. Stiles trailed off then, however, as if he was hesitating to say something else. "Also, I've been having these dreams. I'll tell you about that later, but listen to Kate. I hate it as much as you, but I don't think this is a trick. Don't kill her, please. I'd like to live to get my butt kicked in Lacrosse some more. And to do some butt-kicking of my own." The last bit held a hint of humor, but Scott was still hesitant in his friend's words.

"You hear that, Scotty?" Kate was talking again. "I'm one of the good guys, for now. Let's just get rid of this one baddie, and then I'm gone for good, alright?"

Scott didn't want to. More than almost anything, he didn't want to believe her. But this was Stiles. This was Beacon Hills. If Kate Argent knew anything and could help save the town, then he was going to have to take this chance.

"Alright," he said. "But if you so much as act like you're going to betray us, I'll kill you myself. Is that understood?"

"I don't think you really want to make threats while I'm the one holding the best friend."

Scott felt his eyes flash red, and he growled low and deadly. "Is that understood?" He repeated menacingly.

He could imagine Kate rolling her eyes on the other side. "Sure, sure, don't get all Alpha on me now. I'll behave. It's a deal then?"

Now Scott was hesitating, not really wanting to be so direct about what he was doing here. Making deals with Kate Argent was not on his to-do list for the day. And although she could have been threatening Stiles to make him say what he did, Scott had a feeling in his gut that told him Stiles was telling the absolute truth. Or maybe that was the werewolf hearing.

"It's a deal," he finally ground out into the slippery phone through his teeth. He was suddenly sharply aware of Malia and Lydia watching him intently. He tried to ignore them as he finished his conversation with Kate.

"Great," came Kate's quick reply. "I'll send you the coordinates for where to meet us. We have much to discuss. But remember, no killing." And then the line went dead. Scott suddenly felt exhausted, and he let his hand that held the phone fall limply to his side.

Lydia was frowning, looking exceedingly confused as to what was going on, and Malia was nodding at him as if to say, "You did the right thing." But Scott couldn't even form any words. All he could do was repeat the same ones over and over again inside his mind.

What had he done?

A/N: Oh, dang. Has Scott just made a deal with the devil? Let me know what ya'll think! Sorry about the slowness of things, I say that a scene will only take a second to write, and then thirty minutes later I'm just finishing it. Whoopsy. I tend to trail…off…. Anyway! Please leave a review if you've got a minute, I'd love to hear thoughts, and feelings. Thanks mucho!

-Kenxi