A.N.: So, I was having a bored day at work and it gave me plenty of time to think: I've come up with some lovely variations on our Teen Wolf that I think people will enjoy. Rewriting some of the storylines to make more sense! Introducing my own characters - my own creatures. I don't like the Dread Doctors arc, but I do like that Theo Raekin has kind of brought out the worst aspects of Scott's being a True Alpha - his refusal to get his hands dirty; being a super-judgemental prick to Stiles, the only person who has always only ever been on Scott's side - without Stiles, I don't think Scott could have made True Alpha status.

So I've got one 'creature' to bring in; some OC characters tied to Mary's past; and I'm going to actually do something with Cora's character! Oh, and Hayden's sister Valerie, I'm going to give her a bigger role. As in, she and Derek went to high-school together; she was friends with Paige… And I'd love to bring in a Siren, but have no idea how! Imagine someone with an insanely beautiful singing voice who can also flay the skin off you - with their scream.

Jekyll and Hyde

08

Mentor

"How are you this morning, Mary?" Mary glanced up from the textbook in her lap, from which she was copying notes into her composition-notebook. What AP Calculus had to do with balancing her cheque-book and applying for a mortgage, she didn't know, but it was "essential" for her diploma - and unless she wanted to take the GED and run, she had to play the game. Turn up, hand in homework. Not sass-mouth the teachers. A few of them, she liked. But she'd rather study Vonnegut and Coriolanus, budgeting for running her own home, practical mechanics and plumbing, home-improvement skills, interview strategy and résumé-writing, than revisit Hitler for the umpteenth time, rattle off bullshit about Beloved and pretend she understood the convoluted ins and outs of a democratic system designed to fail its people. And she hated, hated, hated pulling back in P.E. and during practices. She needed to stretch her legs. To run, to fight, and to spar.

"Everyone's making me angry," Mary confessed, and Ms Morrell smiled calmly. Of all the teachers and guidance-counsellors Mary had come into contact with during her extended, oft-disrupted education, she liked Ms Morrell. She had a dry sense of humour, gave great advice, and had a lovely voice Mary liked listening to. Plus, Ms Morrell had made the effort to remember her name, get to know her. Most of Mary's teachers couldn't remember her name, she was in their classes for such a short duration.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ms Morrell smiled. "Come on in."

"Have you thought about my suggestion?" Mary asked, shoving her books into her backpack and following the guidance-counsellor into her small office.

"I don't think the Beacon Hills Board of Education would appreciate me turning my office into a functioning day-spa," Ms Morrell chuckled.

"I'm just saying, women get more therapy at the salon than in any doctor's office," Mary sighed, shaking her head. "I'd be more inclined to open up lounging on a plush sofa with a chocolate-mud-mask on and a heated treatment moisturising my paws than stuck in one of these rickety smelly Judas chairs."

"I think a Judas-chair would be much more uncomfortable," Ms Morrell smiled, tucking her blazer in as she sat down at her desk, pulling a little yellow bag out of her desk-drawer. Bananagrams. She had learned Mary loved words, and had a competitive streak nurtured by Games Night with her dad when she was little. She tipped out the little tiles, and they got to playing. "So, any particular reason why it's barely nine a.m. and you're already angry?"

"Well, I'm finishing this homework for Calculus and am still no closer to understanding different mortgage types," Mary grumbled irritably. "Why isn't the standard curriculum geared to us learning how to adult? Like, how to hang pictures straight, fix a leaking sink, change a tyre, file our taxes, budget income so we can balance utilities and hobbies? I mean…"

"Life-skills," Ms Morrell said softly, and Mary pulled a face. "Most you learn through experience. You can hire an accountant to file your taxes: all you need to hang a picture is a hammer and a level - and your landlord's permission: and I hire a plumber when my drain blocks up. Helps the local economy."

"That's not the point," Mary sighed.

"I assume you're still as focused on moving out of your parents' house as you were in our first session," Ms Morrell guessed.

"Yeah," Mary said softly. "I'm almost there, I just…"

"How are things at home? Last session, we discussed your dread that new people who don't know you view you the way you fear your mother. That your anger and hurt and sense of abandonment by your friends has turned you into someone you know you're not," Ms Morrell prompted gently, and Mary nodded. "You also mentioned things are a little warmer between you and your sister. Given your family dynamic, I'd say that's a positive step."

"I still don't want to be in that house," Mary said softly. "I don't feel safe, can't relax… What did you call it - hypervigilance? And my dad's sister is there and I don't trust her… I dread her influence on Allison, and the fact my parents don't see it as a bad thing."

"Where do you see your sister's place in this new life you're building for yourself, away from your mother?" Ms Morrell asked.

"I want her to believe she's welcome at my place any time," Mary murmured. "I know it's a long way off, but…"

"Perhaps not as far away as you think," Ms Morrell said. "You two will always have a shared history, even if you experienced it differently; you have similar interests; and you've made sure Allison can come and talk to you about the important things, things she may feel uncomfortable asking your parents about. She has something you never had; she has you, as a role-model."

"I'm not much of one," Mary scoffed, reflecting shamefacedly on her recent behaviour. The last few weeks had not been her finest hours; but she was grieving. Again. Her entire adolescent life was defined by grief.

Ms Morell smiled. "Mary, just by looking at you, I can tell something significant has changed in your attitude. Ever since your…apostrophe, as you called it. You've shed a huge weight, and I'll bet I'm not alone in noticing it. You're not hungover, you're not feeling…irritable and ashamed by your appetite."

"Well, I bought some batteries," Mary said, giving Morrell a smirk. She chuckled.

"That smirk on your face, I'll describe it as 'lascivious'."

"That is a great word," Mary said, grinning, arranging her tiles. "Going cold-turkey sucks."

"But you feel better."

"Emotionally, I guess," Mary grimaced.

"Going back to Allison," Ms Morrell smiled, shaking her head. "You're making the effort, which is the first step and half the battle. Sibling relationships are always complicated. But you don't resent Allison's relationship with your parents?"

"It's a very different relationship; I know a lot of things about our family that she doesn't. That changed how I look at our parents," Mary said. She liked being able to talk to Ms Morrell, having someone to talk to, give honest advice; and Mary found she didn't have to lie. Everything they had discussed was real; the issues with her family, with her friends, the accident, her nightmares, her fear of her mother, stemmed from the everyday, ordinary tragedies of childhood abuse from her mother, an absent but beloved and still respected father, a life-defining accident, misplaced trust and a betrayal of her loyalty.

Ms Morrell was the first adult Mary had ever confessed to that she felt unsafe in her parents' house, and while the full extent of why she lived in terror remained unsaid, her mother's history of mental instability and brutal, unexpected violence were enough. The guidance-counsellor was not at all out of her depth, dealing with Mary's many psychological issues; Ms Morrell had actually been impressed and relieved that Mary had already taken steps to get out of a place she felt so under threat.

"And what about your aunt? Is she still staying with you?"

"She is," Mary said grimly.

"You've said before that she's a master manipulator. That you worry about her influence on your younger-sister, and the effect of her on your dad," Ms Morrell said. "How does her being here affect your relationships at home?"

"Kate and my dad are always locking horns. My dad…has a great sense of integrity. He's a lot more patient, and wise through experience. Kate's a lot younger, and I think she's never really had to take responsibility for anything," Mary said thoughtfully. "My dad's always been there to clean up her messes… And she knows which buttons to press. My dad's a lot tenser with her here, but...sometimes when we catch each other alone, we get to talk. I wish I could talk to him, like we used to. Have his advice on things."

"Like moving into your own place," Ms Morrell smiled gently.

"Yeah," Mary murmured.

"There's nothing saying you can't," Ms Morrell said. "You respect your father, value his opinion, and you've told me you wished you two had a more open relationship. It's clear to me you regret cutting ties with your father; but you don't have to."

"You sound like Derek." Mary sighed heavily.

"And who's Derek?"

"Kind of a new…person. I don't know if friend is the right word yet," Mary said. "We met on a run in the woods, and had dinner together the other night. We just…talked. And it was really, really nice. He's like me."

"How so?"

"He's angry and closed off, and crippled under survivor's guilt. Most of his family died a few years ago, and his sister was found murdered," Mary said quietly. "I think he's been…hurt, not just by losing his family. He's distrustful and - cantankerous." She chuckled to herself, spelling the word with her tiles after rearranging some. "And very, very lonely."

"We've discussed self-awareness in previous sessions," Ms Morrell smiled.

"Yeah," Mary agreed. They had discussed Mary's evolving sense of self-awareness. At length. And because she could identify everything she hated about that angry, hurt version of herself, everything she valued in her strengths and what her weaknesses were, she could identify them in Derek Hale. "I don't think he likes himself like this, either."

"What did the two of you talk about?"

"Lots of things. Nothing. My plan to get out," Mary said, smiling slightly. Dinner with Derek was the best night she had had in a long, long while. "He said I should tell my dad that I'm moving out, rather than just have my family find my bedroom empty one morning… Says I should tell my dad, because I respect him."

"You're taking steps to forge your own path, build your life on your own terms," Ms Morrell said. "You have the power to set the terms of your relationship with your father. You and your dad, together… This Derek sounds like he already appreciates who you are."

"Well, his glowing silver eyes could pierce right into your soul," Mary sighed, and Ms Morrell chuckled. "I guess we recognise each other. I think a lot of our experiences have been similar, even if I don't know the details of his."

"But Derek knows the details of yours?"

"I told him…about the accident," Mary said softly, and Ms Morrell's eyebrows rose. "I told him about Tommy, and Candice and Nate." She remembered the way Derek had said the single name, Paige, as if it had been wrenched from the deepest pit of his heart, kicking, screaming, imprinted on every fibre of his soul and inseparable from it. Paige. The girl he had loved, the girl he had killed. A mercy-killing, to end her suffering. She had tasted his grief, his guilt, his loss. His love. An evil man did not carry the weight of the dead; Derek did. A decent person, buried beneath grief, survivor's guilt, a broken heart, betrayed.

She had no trouble believing Kate had something to do with the fire that killed Derek's family. And she was sure Kate got a kick out of leaving him alive, to remember.

"That's a big step," Ms Morrell said softly, looking…proud. Mary never spoke about the accident with her family. She had written off the 'friends' who had rejected her, abandoned her. Betrayed her. The only people who knew. The ones who had helped her survive it all.

"I think we both need a friend," Mary said, fiddling with her tiles, neatening them on Ms Morrell's desk.

"That's a big step, too," Ms Morrell smiled. "A very big step for someone who, only a month ago, was actively pushing away any overture of friendship made by her classmates."

"They don't get it," Mary said softly. The nightmares and distrust and devastation.

Plus, Derek was a werewolf. She had experienced a profound sense of openness with Derek at Beacon Burger the other night; she hadn't had a conversation so honest with anyone in years. And it was significant that she had opened up to Derek; and he had relaxed the more they had eaten, the more they had talked. Even when they weren't talking, they were communicating, tasting each other's emotions on the air, sharing their meal like it was a time-honoured tradition, as if they had eaten together a thousand times before, knew each other. Maybe she was reading too much into it, maybe she was so achingly desperate for…companionship. A friend.

Maybe he was, too.

There was danger in befriending Derek Hale, and Mary was hyper-aware of it. Of her involvement, even her passive association with him, with her family still so close.

She wanted to befriend Derek Hale. But she wasn't stupid; she couldn't be seen to be associating with him, not with her family still in town, not with a Hunter presence so uncomfortably close behind her ass was hurting. If she had to keep him her secret, she would; she was too lonely to give up the opportunity to engage in a friendship with someone who could appreciate her foibles, neuroses and flaws.

"But Derek gets it. He gets that you don't want to hurt your father," Ms Morrell said, and Mary glanced up from her Bananagrams tiles. No, she didn't want to hurt her father. She would never wish any harm on him; she wished he was her only parent. That it was just him and her and Allison, together. No Victoria, no Kate, no Hunters. "What did you and your father do together? Something that bonded you; just the two of you."

Mary licked her lips, fiddling with some tiles. "Shooting. Dad sells guns to law-enforcement. We used to go to the range together. I know Dad's entire arsenal off by heart; he wanted me respectful of the weapons as I grew up."

"When did the shooting lessons start?"

"I was seven," Mary said softly. She swallowed. She hadn't told Ms Morrell why her dad had wanted to ensure she was respectful of guns. She had once picked up a pistol, to protect herself. Protect Allison.

From her mother. She had been very young when she understood that her mother was ill; that she was little but strong and brave and had to protect baby Allison; that Daddy carried a gun to 'keep the monsters away' and that she needed to keep a monster from hurting them. She remembered how heavy it felt in her hands. Her dad had taught her to strip and reassemble several different guns blindfolded with her hands tied behind her back, just by touch, different pieces from multiple weapons scattered about in a mess.

"Why did he start teaching you to shoot, Mary?" Ms Morrell asked gently. So Mary told her. She had wanted to protect Allison; and she had emulated the father she adored. Allison wouldn't remember; she had been in kindergarten. But Mary remembered the weight of that gun in her little hands; and her dad would never forget that his little girl had stolen a pistol to protect herself and her little sister from their own mother.

"Going to the range, learning to shoot from your father…it gave you a sense of security," Ms Morrell surmised. "A sense of power."

"It was more…a sense of calm," Mary said softly.

"You could relax around him."

"I knew I was safe," Mary said, and Ms Morrell nodded slowly.

"I want to return to the discussion we had during our last session," she said. "Your thoughts on earning extra credits to count towards graduating early."

"Yeah, I'm just missing some community-service," Mary grumbled.

"I've been thinking about how you can earn the hours," Ms Morrell said. "Something that utilises your natural strengths, and helps others." Mary didn't want to waste her time; if she was donating her hours it was to a worthy cause, like teaching an art lesson at the Paediatric ward at the hospice, or visiting the elderly with Meals on Wheels. "I'm involved in the organisation of the student-mentoring programme. How would you feel about earning the credits by tutoring someone?"

"I guess," Mary said. "I've never tutored anyone in anything, and - my schedule is a bit hectic, with work."

"I'm sure you can make it work," Ms Morrell said gently, and Mary took the hint; that this wasn't a request or negotiation. It beat picking trash at the edge of the highway, she guessed. "I'd like your help particularly with one student who comes to see me. He's a talented athlete, but reclusive. He's a sophomore, and I can see him going to a junior-college or even a four-year university after high-school; he just needs a little help getting there. I'd like to pair the two of you together."

"Okay…" Mary said dubiously.

"His name is Isaac Lahey."

"Isaac Lahey," Mary repeated, nodding.

"You're going to meet him in the library during your afternoon free-period," Ms Morrell smiled, handing Mary some paperwork. "That's a copy of Isaac's timetable; I've asked him to provide copies of the tests and essays he's had trouble with, so you can figure out where he needs some support."

Isaac Lahey was a gangly kid with pretty blue eyes and sugary blonde hair that curled adorably; he had a skittish look about him, seemed self-conscious of his height, aware of his sharp elbows, tended to mumble, couldn't meet Mary's eye, and was, in short, freaking adorable.

He also reeked of pain, and his heartrate skittered like a frightened rabbit, his eyes darting to his textbook, when she mentioned the bruise on his jaw, the faded bruising around his nose: lacrosse was a contact sport, and his teammates were rough. Especially Jackson, who existed on adrenaline and rage. And he'd collided with Scott McCall on the field; Isaac joked that Scott was a lot more solid than he looked.

Mary frowned, reading his scent, his anxiety that bordered on terror, his…embarrassment. He was getting hot and flustered under her scrutiny, his sweat giving of chemo-signals that made her instincts sharpen. Ms Morrell was a lot of things, and intuitive was one of them; she had coaxed Mary into opening up about her mother's violent episodes and history of emotional and physical intimidation and abuse. Mary could scent the anxiety and sorrow Isaac Lahey was drenched in; she could taste his fear, his…desperation. His loneliness…his depression.

She decided not to press him. "You know Scott?"

"He's on the team. We've had classes together since third grade," Isaac said, glancing back to his notebook.

"But you're not friends," Mary guessed, and Isaac shook his head, shrugging awkwardly. "I'll tell you something, I think he needs some tutoring help. The amount of time he's spending with his tongue stuck down my sister's throat, he can't be doing much studying." She chuckled, and smiled teasingly at Isaac. "Are you blushing? You are. Oh, that is gorgeous. I'm sorry - I promise not to torture you; what do you need help on?"

"Uh…" Isaac pulled out his last report-card, which was slightly crumpled as if he'd been fiddling with it; the scent of his anxiety had drenched the paper. "Chemistry. I… I have a D in Chemistry. It has to be better."

"Okay. So Chemistry's the big one," Mary nodded. "Any others?"

"I'm…I'm not so good with Geometry," Isaac swallowed. "And English…English could be better." Mary held out her hand for the progress-report, scanning it.

"You got a B-minus in Econ, that's good, but we can bring it up. An A in French - that's better!" Mary smiled. "And an A-plus in Industrial Arts. And the semester's not even over yet." She bit her lip, frowning at the report-card. Aside from the C-plus in Geometry and the D in Chemistry, Isaac's grades were okay. But he was skittish, and bruised, and his grades needed to be better.

"So…how do we do this?" Isaac asked.

"I'm not really sure; I've never tutored anyone before," Mary admitted. "I guess we'll just try and find a study-method that works to help you absorb the information better. With the Science teachers in this place it is not a shock to me you don't feel you can ask for help. I have a special word I hate using for that AP Biology teacher. There comes a point where asperity turns into cruelty; and a zero-tolerance Darwinist policy on students you'll accept in your class is the line. There is no 'waste of time' when you're encouraging kids to be better than they believe they can be."

"I haven't had Biology yet," Isaac said softly.

"You're in for a treat," Mary sniffed. "First you have to get through Chemistry. Do you have any assignments you need to complete?"

"Yeah," Isaac said dubiously, biting his lip, pulling out his school-issue organiser. For the rest of their free-period, Mary sat with Isaac, going over his Chemistry assignment. She scented Isaac's relief and sensed his body relaxing, realising that he understood the key points, remembered the formulas.

"So, you're on the Lacrosse team and I have work after school; we should probably figure out our schedules so we can find time to meet up," Mary said, as Isaac carefully tucked his assignment into a binder. He rooted around in his backpack, eventually frowning and unfurling a ragged timetable from the very bottom of his bag, under all his binders and notebooks. Mary flipped open her organiser, to the front-page where her timetable was taped in, annotated and highlighted and doodled over. They figured out that one night a week when Mary didn't work was one of the afternoons Isaac didn't have some form of lacrosse-practice or weight-training, or his own part-time job.

"Where do you work?" Mary asked. Isaac was almost painfully shy; reclusive, like Ms Morrell had said. He got a little chattier while they had been working on their assignment, focused on doing the work, but he clammed up when she brought up anything outside of school or Lacrosse.

"Uh…at the cemetery," Isaac blushed, eyes downcast. "I, uh…I dig the graves."

"How morbid! With a Caterpillar? You can drive one of those things?" Isaac nodded. "Cool. It must be kind of lonely, though. I'm a social being; I need people. The only time I don't like 'em is when they're nasty in Sephora. Is it my fault Kylie Jenner Instagrammed a photo of herself wearing the exact shade of lipstick you wanted and it's sold-out across the States? No! Step off."

"Step off?"

"Have you never seen School of Rock?"

"Ages ago."

"I took a lot of life-lessons away from that movie," Mary admitted, and Isaac smiled. The bell rang, and Mary winced. "I'll see you later, Isaac."

"Thanks," Isaac said softly, and Mary nodded, shouldering her bag. She noticed the slight wince as Isaac pulled on his backpack, scented his pain, a redoubling of his earlier tension, his shyness as he glanced away from a pretty girl who'd eyed his bruised jaw, his healing nose. It was still January; she could excuse Isaac wearing a school sweatshirt over his jeans, but she wondered if he maintained long-sleeved t-shirts and jeans throughout the year. To cover up the bruises.

She guessed why Morrell, an intuitive woman, had paired Mary with the bruised and reclusive Isaac Lahey for tutoring.

Mary set off for her next class, thinking about two things: her potential friendship with Derek Hale, and whether Isaac Lahey had ever admitted to anyone that he was being abused at home.

A.N.: Our adorable Isaac. Oh, I love him. And I intend to keep him around. Tsk, tsk, Daniel Sharman - that accent in The Originals set my teeth on edge. Sad thing is, I can't see any point to keeping Jackson around.