Lamb

Clumsily, he attempted to scrape the batter back into place. Stiles fumbled with the spatula. His father's footsteps thumped upstairs. "You want butter Dad?" he shouted up, turning his head slightly towards the kitchen entryway. Stiles kept his eyes on the bubbling mixture. The popping pancake slithered in the pan.

"No thanks son," His father called down the staircase, arguing on the telephone.

Stiles shook his head, sighing, "Plain it is." He reached over to the fridge and returned the butter. Before shutting the door, he savoured the cool breeze that wafted from within.

"I haven't finished with the last one yet though and there's still the killer of the Hale girl to find." His father declared with a frustrated tone. His father shrugged his left arm into his jacket. Listening intently to the caller, his brows furrowed and lips anxiously twitched. He sighed, sitting at the table, "I'll take a look, but I can't promise anything."

Staring wide eyed, Stiles carried the pan over to the table and slipped the mussed pancake onto his father's plate. Stiles leaned in further, trying to hear the caller. John glanced at his son disapprovingly before swinging round in his seat, "I'll see you at the station."

Stiles coughed, hastily tossing the pan and spatula into the sink. "So," he droned lightly with a whistle. His father stabbed a fork into his pancake, avoiding his curious gaze. Timidly, Stiles queried, "They give you a new case?"

John dropped the fork. Startled, Stiles jumped. They stared at each other, unblinking.

"God, Stiles!" His father wheezed, rubbing at his eyes, "How do you do that?"

"What's happened?" Stiles asked, casually cutting into his pancake stack. He cringed as the cold flour flopped on his tongue, but chewed regardless.

"Ugh," John grunted, looking sourly at his son, "A young girl went missing last night after going out to a party."

"Last night?" Stiles chuckled, "How do you know she's not still partying?"

Glaring, John replied, "This is the fifth case in the last three weeks Stiles."

Gulping, Stiles licked his lips nervously. He stuttered, "Fifth person like that Hale girl? Did they find this new girl's body?"

"No," his father certified, "I'm only telling you this, because I won't be able to make your game this afternoon-"

"Forget the game," Stiles rushed, eyes catching sight of the clock. He spoke quickly, demandingly, "These missing people, they all went missing at parties – high-school parties?"

Shaking his head, his father stood. He clasped his hat from the kitchen counter, begging, "Two went missing at the last Lacrosse game." He stepped towards his son, who leaned back in his chair. "I want you to be careful Stiles – you and your friends." He pulled away, heading toward the hallway.

"Well I don't know if anyone would really notice me missing Dad," Stiles snorted, "I mean I am on the bench."

"Don't be like that," John hummed, "You wouldn't be on the team if the coach didn't think you're good."

Smiling slightly, Stiles nodded his head. He waved his father away. Frowning, Stiles hurried into the hall. Before John could leave, Stiles loudly probed, "Dad, you wouldn't by any chance know the name of the girl that's - err… missing. Would you?" Awkwardly, Stiles scratched his neck and idly murmured, "Just that, you know, I'd like to make sure that I didn't kn-"

"Know her?" His father quietly finished.

As he gazed up at his father, Stiles sucked in a deep breath. John's eyes dimmed, chest heaving. He walked by his son and into the kitchen. Following, Stiles stopped at the doorway.

His father pointed to the neighbour's house.

"Jessica." Stiles gasped.

Stiles paced by the bike racks. He swung his car keys vigorously, as he waited for Scott to arrive. Feet briskly tapping on the concrete, Stiles huffed. Young girls in lovely summer dresses, tight jeans and baggy shirts dashed by him and into the school. A torrent of boys followed. Allison hollered a 'hello' to him as she left her vehicle.

"Where is Scott?" she asked, smiling widely.

Stiles shrugged, glancing at the entryway. He chirped, "No idea!"

The bells tolled and Allison anxiously bit her lips. "Well he'd better hurry up," she laughed nervously, "Or he'll miss class."

Sighing, Stiles sullenly agreed, "Yeah."

Awkwardly, she plodded away a few steps. As she looked back at Stiles stood on his own by the bikes, a friend swooped an arm over her shoulders. The girls giggled and Stiles and Scott were forgotten.

Stiles criticized, "You're late."

"By like five minutes! What do we have first period?" Scott inquired, jumbling his Lacrosse gear, library books and bag.

"Err," Stiles slowed his pace, trying to remember. His mind wandered, as a pair red heeled legs walked by. Lydia's skirt swished. Her strawberry curls bounced, as she called to a friend further down the hall. Scott, panicking, shoved Stiles as best he could with his hands full. Shaking his head violently, Stiles cleared his throat. "Art!" He supplied passionately, "We have art, because Lydia has art and I know we have art with Lydia."

"Right," Scott grunted, "Art."

Gossip ran rampant among the students. James consoled his girlfriend, hugging her closely as he listened to his fellow lacrosse players revise their strategy for the game that afternoon. Her fingers coiled with his. Though Elizabeth's eyes were sore and red, her tanned skin less golden, she gossiped along with the rest. She sat on James' lap atop a stool in the Art department. His head was turned to Jackson and Danny, whilst she was facing Lydia.

"The girl they're talking about," Lydia blathered, "I've seen her before."

"Seriously?" Elizabeth crooned, throat raw and aching from earlier wails.

"Yes," Lydia hushed. The pair leaned over to one another. Jackson absentmindedly reached out to restructure Lydia's frizzing hair. She told Elizabeth quietly, "She tried to take Jackson away a few parties ago." Elizabeth gaped, bloodshot eyes wide as Lydia continued, "Being drunk off his arse, he did little to push the whore away." Lydia pulled back. Leaning into Jackson's chest, she proudly professed, "I saved him though, didn't I?"

Jackson smiled swiftly, curling his fingers in her shining tresses. He squeezed her bare thigh with his other hand. Danny tugged on his shoulder, gesturing wildly to the papered plan on his easel.

"I can't believe some stray would go after your boyfriend like that!" Elizabeth exclaimed with bewilderment, holding James tauter.

"I know, right? She wasn't any competition though. After all, I'm perfect." Lydia boasted. Behind her, Scott and Allison grinned at one another. Scott rolled his eyes at Lydia's conceited remark. Allison chortled with a slight hum, as she watched Stiles attempt to move his easel closer to Lydia's. Scott squirted paint onto his palette. Allison was already scrawling a charcoal pencil over her pinned A3 paper. The substitute teacher sat silently behind her desk, marking English essays.

"Too true, but I feel really bad now about ditching Jess at the party." Elizabeth quietly admitted.

A loud bang resounded in the room, as Stiles dropped his easel. Towering, it threatened to fall. He cringed, as students scowled at him. The teacher heavily sighed, downing the last of her morning coffee as she watched him struggle. James angrily called, "Do you mind Stilinski? Some of us were out last night." The lad rubbed at his eyes, Elizabeth stroking his arm soothingly. She worryingly glanced at Stiles who cowered behind the lilting easel.

"Don't," Lydia sneered, ignoring Stiles' behaviour entirely as she painted, "That house was full of people. Each and every one of them is to blame. We weren't there and they were, yet they let a complete stranger take a fellow student."

"I heard they walked right out the door." James murmured. Eyes unseeing, he gazed at Danny's tactics for lacrosse. Elizabeth kissed his cheek.

Lydia, noticing James' remorse etch itself upon his visage, badgered, "Terrible thought though is that Jessica is most likely dead by n-"

"Lydia, excuse me," Stiles interrupted.

Irritated, Lydia glowered. "You're excused," she yapped, "I'm talking."

Timidly, Stiles tapped her shoulder. She turned to face him fully, scowling. "My father is the Sheriff," He began, after she did not speak he continued, "And knowing that you've seen this potential killer – kidnapper, I… well." Lydia sighed, eyes turning back to her easel. She painted as he stammered, "I know it would be a pain for you to have to sit through an interrogation, interviews and so on down at the station," One of her eyebrows raised, eyes widening. She turned to look at Stiles. He held up both hands, hastily waving them, "That's not a threat, I'm just saying that if you could draw the girl for me I can pass that on to my dad, saving you time. I could say it was an anonymous tip." As she relented, brush plastering a bright yellow onto her painting, Stiles more confidently finished, "If you'd like."

Lydia glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. "Whatever." She said with a half-hearted shrug.

Stiles clapped his hands together, enthusiastically exclaiming, "Oh, awesome!" As she returned to her previous conversation, Stiles turned to his easel. His smile shrank, as she ignored him. Stiles muttered, "Whatever."

"Okay, so we've got Lydia's drawing as a form of identification." Stiles established, folding the sketch into his jacket pocket. They marched down the main corridor, eager to sprint from the school. "We can have Derek certify whether or not he knows the wolf and,"

Scott interrupted, "What if it's not a wolf?"

"Well what else would she be?" Stiles asked, snorting.

Lips pursed, Scott relented with a shrug.

Stiles tapped a locker for emphasis, as they meandered between other students in the hall. The metal relinquished a great Bam!

Stiles continued, tone firm, "After Derek confirms it we can hunt down her hiding place by scent – possibly, if we can find something of hers. Maybe she's left something at someone's house." As Scott gave him a dubious expression, Stiles defensively pushed, "I'm still working on that part of the plan, but regardless we still end up saving the day." He finished with a giant grin, staring at Scott as he texted Allison. "Dude!" Stiles exclaimed, nudging his best friend.

"Sorry," Scott apologised. He threw his phone into his backpack. He fumbled with his pack, momentarily attempting to comprise a mental list of the things he had stored away in his locker. Scott replied eagerly, "Hopefully, returning all those people to their parents."

Stiles nodded, saying somewhat dejectedly, "Right - though you know, in most cases after twenty-four hours it's highly unlikely you'd find the victims aliv-"

"Stiles – we'll find them. All of them." Scott swore determinedly, "If they were dead they'd be finding the bodies. There are few places to put them in Beacon Hills that I wouldn't be able to sniff out." Pushing the front doors open, they stepped out into the early evening sun.

Stiles bathed in the brightness, deeply breathing in the fresh air. As Scott hurried ahead to his bike, Stiles remarked sardonically, "Of course, the whole rotting flesh thing."

"Wait!" Scott stopped. He gazed at Stiles, hesitating to pull the bike free of the rack, "What about the game?"

"What about it?" Stiles wondered, removing his car keys from his pocket.

Scott released the security chain of his bike. He moaned, "I've got to be there, I'm playing remember."

"Of all the times for you to actually get on the team," Stiles idly complained.

"Okay," Scott certified, nodding and anxiously tapping his feet, "You said earlier your dad's working late, so he's not at the game. You go to Derek's and I'll stay and play."

"What?" Stiles incoherently spluttered.

"Stiles," Scott forced, "We can't have anyone getting suspicious. If I don't show up then they'll be looking for me – coach will have my head, but no one will notice if you're not there."

"Right," Stiles granted, "As I'm not playing."

"Exactly!" Scott readily agreed.

He patted Stiles on the back heartily, moving back towards the school. Stiles watched his friend go. He turned to walk to his car, dryly saying, "I told you no one would notice, dad."

The gravel groaned. The pair walked side by side along the pathway. Grass filtered between the crevasses of the border. The early evening sun filtered through the leaves of the canopy above. A few birds chatted in the tree tops of foliage of the cemetery.

"Why is it just the two of us again?" Gavin asked, head turning this way and that as they walked.

"Evelyn is ill and you know Ivor and Peter would never do something so… mundane." John replied, hands in his smart trouser pockets. His eyes also ventured round the land. The graveyard was serene. Their footsteps chimed. Up ahead stood a shabby building, it stood stout surrounded by stones. Gavin hastened his pace to keep up with John, who expanded, "That and they don't like sunlight."

"Well I don't either, so next time – well enough or not, Evelyn is coming with you." Gavin persisted, sniffing. He recoiled, lines brutally speared into his face. Running a hand over an aging gravestone as they passed, Gavin grumbled, "I hate these places – they reek of death."

"The odour is better than back at the bank and besides, I know it isn't the sun that's bothering you or you would've taken the sunglasses I offered." John surveyed, "What is it really?"

Sighing, Gavin gruffly yielded, "They're going to think we're together."

"We are together." John said shortly.

"No!" Gavin grimaced, "Together as in lovers."

"Why is that a problem? Would it not make the transition easier? It's not like I'd be your first either, if I'm remembering New York correctly." John jeered, eyes catching sight of the seller. The man stood tall, frown lines evidently etched into his skin.

"Ha, you know I like to play with my food before I eat it." Gavin smirked.

"Aye, though I really wish you wouldn't." John murmured lowly, slowing his pace as he heard the scuffle of machinery. He continued, staring at the man ahead of them, "Evelyn has started picking up on your bad habits. People aren't playthings, they're food."

"Come on John, you can't tell me that in the past ninety-six years you've been a vampire you've never played with your food – not once." Gavin keenly probed.

"Not once."

"Well aren't you boring." Gavin gloomily griped.

"Just be sure to check the measurements of the bedrooms." John strongly ordered, "I'll deal with the seller."

"Fine, but be quick about it. My skin is starting to peel." Gavin picked at his face. He tore away the burned flesh, the under-layer sticking. "Ugh," he grunted indignantly, "I wish our skin could reconstruct itself more quickly."

"I offered you the sunglasses."

"Like that would help against sunlight." Gavin groaned.

"Shut up," John commanded. As they reached the man, he withdrew his hand from his pocket. John shook the man's hand, hastily returning his pinking hand into the dark depths of his pocket. He greeted cheerfully, "Mr Pierce."

"Lahey, actually," The man corrected, "Mr Pierce is busy, so I'll be showing you round. I'm the keeper of this graveyard. You're the new tenants?"

"Us," John said, looping an arm over Gavin's tense shoulders, "Alongside our sister and two children."

Mr Lahey hummed. Brows curling with confusion, he showed them inside.

The crowd cheered. Pitch bathing in the sunset, Scott fiercely fought the opposing team. Jackson passed him the ball. Sifting through the stands, Allison attempted to reach Lydia. Her excited grin had lowered. Her brows were furrowed. Allison grabbed at Lydia's jacket sleeve. Hastily, she pulled the girl to her. "Lydia!" Allison shouted.

Lydia pushed Allison away irritably, cheering for Jackson as Scott passed the ball back to him. He moved forward, edging toward the goal.

"Lydia!" Allison hysterically screamed.

Failing to be heard over the crowd, Allison grabbed Lydia's shoulders. She turned her friend to herself, calling again to her face, "Lydia!"

Pushing Allison away reverently, Lydia shouted, "What?"

"Stiles," Allison said, pointing to the bench. "Where is Stiles?"

Lydia's breath abandoned her lungs. She whispered, unheard as another roar erupted from the crowd jumping around her, "He never misses a game."

Alison nodded furiously, "I know – my dad said today to be careful, because some peo-"

"Some of the missing students went missing at games." Lydia breathlessly confirmed, "Oh, what have you gotten yourself into you idiot?"

Concerned, Alison spluttered with a hoarse cry, "What do we do?"

Gawking expression hardening, Lydia firmly ordered, "Find his dad, call the police – I'll see if I can find him in the school. He might be in the locker room."

"Come on, you have to recognise her - you're Mr Creep." Stiles insisted, chewing on his nails. He stared at Derek who inspected the sketch.

"Why is this so important?" Derek asked, throwing the paper back to Stiles. Furiously stumbling, Stile grabbed the flopping paper as it fluttering in the dusty air of the ruined manor.

"Don't you know anything?" He insulted, "People are missing and she's likely to be the person responsible. She's a wolf, isn't she?"

Derek scoffed, "There are no other wolves in Beacon Hills apart from me, Scott and the alpha." He turned away from the young lad, shoes thudding on the staircase as he retired. Derek called down to Stiles, "She's no alpha – I can confirm that."

Heavily sighing, Stiles held his hands to his head. He sucked in deep breaths. He muttered to himself, "If she's not a wolf then she's got to be human, but that doesn't make sense."

"How so?" Derek inquired, eyes shifting to observe the struggling boy.

Stiles divulged, "She's kidnapped students from dense crowds without notice. Not one person has realised. Yeah, sure, at a house party it would be possible, but not at the school – not when she's a complete stranger. Someone would've stepped in, a friend or something."

Derek contemplated aloud, "You think she could have supernatural characteristics or be using properties to successfully take these people."

"That and no bodies have yet been found." Stiles hissed, "She's keeping them somewhere."

"She must be," Derek gruffly confirmed, fists clenching, "Or I or Scott would've smelt the decay round Beacon… unless."

"Unless?" Stiles eagerly ventured.

"Unless the bodies have been buried in, or nearby, the graveyard," Derek admitted, "We wouldn't notice that."

"You wouldn't notice if the victims are still alive either though," Stiles asserted, "There's still that chance, even if it's slim to none."

Derek tilted his head to the side slightly, "I suppose." He stared down from the second floor, sighing, "You want my help."

Exaggeratingly, Stiles thrust out his arms. "Yes!" He bellowed.

Derek scowled, as the shout shook the glass in the thinned window frames.

"I've got an alpha to deal with," Derek starkly snarled, "If you're so bothered by this, sort it yourself."

"Great," Stiles droned with a sarcastic smile, "Just great."