A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed and favourited my story. I know I haven't posted for four months, which is embarrassing, but I clumsily spilled water on my laptop and had to save up for another one. However, I am back and cannot wait to write my version of 'Teen Wolf' season 4, so please review! More reviews = more motivation! Thanks guys! ~Catherine

2: Stiles.

When Stiles pulled up outside the church in his jeep, he was already running late. Behind him, the Sheriff parked up in his squad car. Stiles had offered his father a ride, (he didn't like the idea of riding to a funeral in a car with flashing neon lights), but the Sheriff had declined, explaining that although he was attending to mourn Allison and pay his respects to Chris Argent, he was still the Sheriff and that meant he was on official business. Stiles knew why. His father had been told the truth about Allison's death as soon as it had happened, but unfortunately the Sheriff couldn't just waltz into Beacon Hills P.D. insisting that his son's friend had been murdered by a Japanese demon. So the F.B.I's investigation into who had mugged and murdered Allison Argent continued in earnest, and his father continued to lie.

Stiles dashed up the steps of the church, taking them two at a time. He was about to enter when the Sheriff called him back.

'Stiles.'

He turned reluctantly to face his father, unable to meet his eyes.

'Yeah, Dad?'

The Sheriff watched Stiles' face carefully as he said, 'It wasn't your fault. You know that. Right?'

Stiles' vision blurred suddenly. He blinked back tears, fighting the moisture threatening to spill from his eyes at any moment.

'Yeah, Dad, I know. It wasn't my fault.' It wasn't my fault, it wasn't my fault, he repeated internally. It wasn't my fault. But no matter how many times he said it, or thought it, he just couldn't believe his own lie.

His father appraised him cautiously. Stiles could see the worry in his eyes, the crippling fear that his only son was still a ticking time-bomb which could detonate at any moment, destroying everything in its wake. Stiles hated it. He hated what had happened to him, to Allison, and in turn to Scott and Lydia. He even resented what had happened to Aiden, and they hadn't exactly been best buds.

'Okay, buddy,' his dad said, clapping him on the shoulder as they both made their way into the church. Before they could enter, however, a long shiny black hearse pulled up directly in front of the ornate oak double doors. Inside was a perfect white coffin, gilded in silver. Argent. Silver. Stiles remembered how Scott had arrived home one evening in a panic, fretting about how his girlfriend's father was out to 'murder his werewolf ass.' Stiles had reassured him that everything would be okay, he hadn't hurt anyone, so big bad Chris Argent had no reason to go after him (other than the fact that Scott was sleeping with his daughter). You killed her, the voice said, the one in his mind. Only, like before, it wasn't the Nogitsune talking; it was his guilty conscience. You're the reason she's dead, Stiles, the voice insisted. Do you really think Scott has forgiven you? Or that he ever will?

Stiles looked down at his hands; he had been digging the nails of his right hand into his left palm, so hard that tiny pricks of blood joined the patterns of lines his mother used to read for her enjoyment when he was young. Little Stiles had never really believed in the art of palm-reading, but now…he supposed, anything was possible.

Sitting in the front of the hearse with the driver was Chris Argent. Stiles was too far away to read his expression, but he didn't want to look into the eyes of the man whose daughter had died on his account. So he turned away and let his father pay his respects on behalf of both of them. He entered the church and walked along the packed aisles until he found Scott in the second row to the front. Lydia sat to his right. Stiles sat down on Scott's left.

'How are you feeling, man?' he asked his best friend, before realising how stupid a question that was. How are you feeling? The voice mocked him. You really are as dumb as you look. Stiles pinched his arm. Lydia gave him a look that suggested he looked as if he was still in the process of losing his mind.

Great.

'Where's Kira?' Stiles looked around the crowded room of mourners.

'A few rows back.' Scott replied monotonously.

There was a deafening silence then, one unlike any of the three friends had ever experienced. Because in a perfect world, three would be four. It didn't matter where Kira, or Isaac or Malia were, because they hadn't known Allison. Stiles, Scott and Lydia had known her, and loved her in different ways. They needed each other.

An organ began to play, the sound coming from the back of the church, reverberating off the beige stone walls which held holy pictures of the saints. Given the recent events which had occurred in Beacon Hills, Stiles' faith hadn't been very strong lately, or ever, really. As Allison's coffin was brought forth, Scott tensed suddenly, his whole body gone rigid.

Lydia took his hand.

Stiles put his arm around Scott's shoulders.

They never let go.