"Just so you know," I said quietly, pressing my face closer to the grate, "I'm not afraid of you."

Derek looked up at me with an expression so cold and fearsome I knew that if he wanted me dead right now, I would be dead. I leaned away from him ever so slightly and decided to reevaluate my previous sentence.

"Ok," I admitted, "maybe I am. Doesn't matter. You're threatening my friend and you bet your ass I'm going to defend him."

Derek rolled his eyes, the smirk threatening to make a reappearance. Jesus, this guy was smug. Don't know why. He was just arrested for murder and is sitting in the back of a cop car waiting to be processed. I wanted to tear him a new one so badly, but I resisted the urge in order to satisfy my own curiosity.

"Listen," I continued, Derek still staring daggers at me. "I just want to know something. The girl you killed, she was a werewolf, but she was a different kind, wasn't she? She could turn herself into an actual wolf and I know Scott can't do that." At the mention of the girl, Derek's face darkened even more, if that was possible. This girl was striking a real chord with him.

"Is that why you killed her?" I pondered out loud.

"Why are you so worried about me when it's your friend who's the problem?" Derek finally spoke at last. His words took me aback slightly.

"When he shifts on the field what do you think they're going to do?" Derek asked bitterly. "Just keep cheering him on?"

We both knew the answer to that question. Scott was in real danger tonight of being exposed, killed, or worse. I knew the concern was clear on my face as I sat back in the front seat taking in the reality of his words.

"I can't stop him from playing," Derek continued, "but you can."

"You don't think I've tried?" I spat back at him. "I told him he couldn't play. Hell, he might have even listened to me, but then some creepy-ass werewolf snuck into his room and threatened him. Now he's made it his personal mission to play tonight just to spite said creepy-ass werewolf. So yeah, thanks for that."

I looked Derek up and down with my most accusing expression, but he didn't get phased by it; he just looked more frustrated. Now that I did look him up and down, however, I felt the attraction to this man return. I slid my eyes over his tight black t-shirt, chin stubble, and messy dark hair; let's not even get started on the fact that he's in handcuffs. Goddamnit, Stiles! Why do psychotic supernatural beings have to be so appealing to teenage girls? I suppressed this sudden influx of hormones, but Derek gave me a knowing smile. I bet he could smell it or some shit. Fucking creepy as hell!

"I don't think I can stop him now," I muttered, my words shaky.

Derek leaned forward and said using a low gravelly voice, "Trust me. You're going to want to." His voice was so chilling that any arousal I previously felt turned to stone cold fear. Suddenly I was gripped tightly on the arm and yanked from the vehicle. I was so startled when it happened that I literally yelped. It turned out to be my dad and he dragged me away from the cruiser painfully by the shoulder with me complaining the whole way. Finally when we had put some distance between us and the murder suspect, he let me go.

"There," the Sheriff grunted. "Stand. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm just trying to help," I told him.

"How about you help me understand exactly how you came across this," my dad retorted.

I sighed. "We were looking for Scott's inhaler."

"Which he dropped when?"

"The other night," I elaborated.

"The other night when you were out here looking for the first half of the body?"

"Yes," I confirmed.

"The night you told me you were alone and Scott was at home," my father prompted.

"Yes!" And then I realized my mistake. "Wait. No! Shit."

"Language, young lady," my dad warned. "So you lied to me?"

"That depends on how you define lying." Maybe I'd be able to smart-ass my way out of this situation. It didn't work often, but it was worth a try.

"I define it as not telling the truth," he replied. "How do you define it?"

"You know," I scrambled for a response. "Reclining your body in a horizontal position."

The Sheriff stared at me unamused. "Get the hell out of here."

I gave my dad a thumbs up and proceeded to fast-walk back to the jeep where Scott and his judgemental eyes were waiting. Not once did I look back, but I knew that Derek's eyes were on me.

"Dude." Scott shook his head. "What the hell?"

"I told you I was going to have a conversation with him," I reminded Scott while climbing into the jeep. He walked around to the passenger side and got in. "I felt this was the best time to do it."

Scott didn't say anything as we began our drive away from the Hale property. He kept his eyes looking out the window. Whether he was scanning the trees or deep in thought, I couldn't tell. I took the silence as an opportunity to think. Scott shouldn't play in this game tonight. Derek had made that very clear. Back on the subject of Derek, who was the girl he killed exactly? Why could she turn into a werewolf? What was with the spiral of wolfsbane around her grave?

"Hey," I got Scott's attention. "Do me a favor. See what wolfsbane has to do with burial on your phone." Scott pulled out his phone and began searching. It was nice to see him doing something productive instead of sulking.

"I can't find anything," Scott said after a while.

"Just keep looking," I said. "Maybe it's like a ritual or something. Maybe they bury you as a wolf. Or maybe it's a special skill, something you have to learn." I looked over at Scott who was still typing away furiously on his phone. It would be so goddamn cool if he could turn into a wolf.

"I'll put on my to do list," Scott wheezed, "right after I figure out how I'm going to play this game tonight."

"Maybe it's different for girl werewolves," I continued.

"Ok!" Scott exclaimed. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" I asked. Scott didn't look too hot.

"Stop saying werewolves," Scott continued to rant angrily. "Stop enjoying this so much!"

Was I smiling? I usually tried not to smile about this stuff around Scott. Plus, it wasn't my fault that I enjoyed solving mysteries with a werewolf sidekick. I glanced at Scott and he looked awful. He looked clammy and his entire face was covered in a sheen of sweat. His breaths were ragged, but I didn't know if he felt nauseous or was just pissed.

"Are you ok?" I asked concerned.

"No!" he yelled back. "No I'm not! I'm so far from being ok!" His face contorted in pain and it looked like he was about to throw up. I thought that reality was finally crashing down on him. The same thing happened to me after my mother had died. I acted like I was fine and then a few days before her funeral I had a panic attack. I had a complete sobbing meltdown and refused to leave my room for two days. Scott and my dad tried with all they had to calm me down, but I just couldn't. Turns out I was going through denial.

"Look," I said, attempting to calm Scott down, "you're going to have to accept this, Scott. Sooner or later."

"I can't," Scott said through heavy breaths.

"You're gonna have to," I pressed.

"No," Scott huffed. Before I could lecture him any further he said, "I can't breathe." He let out a painful grunt and slammed his hand on the roof of the car.

"Whoa," I said shocked. I didn't know what werewolves were capable of during panic attacks. The car began to swerve a little as a panic attacked threatened to overtake me as well.

"Pull over," Scott demanded.

"Why? What's happening?" This definitely didn't look like any panic attack I'd ever seen before. It was more like he was drugged. Scott didn't answer me because his attention was drawn elsewhere. He opened up my backpack and rifled through it. Suddenly, he found what he was looking for; the wolfsbane rope I had so haphazardly thrown in there the previous night.

"You kept it?" Scott asked accusingly, a part of the offending rope in his hands.

"What was I supposed to do with it?" I defended. I had no idea that it was going to make him sick. He seemed fine around it last night.

"Stop the car!"

Scott's voice was deep and full of rage. His eyes had flashed golden yellow and I wasn't too keen on what could follow. I decided to do what he said and slammed on the brakes. The car swerved a little, but eventually came to a stop. I put the car into park, grabbed my backpack, and exited the car. I decided to throw the wolfsbane, backpack and all, as far into the trees as I could. I just wanted to get it away from him. As soon as it had landed a good distance away, I turned around to head back to the car.

"Ok," I sighed in relief. "We're good. We just-"

I looked back at my car to find it empty, the passenger door ajar.

"Scott?" I asked quietly. Obviously I was talking to myself because the boy was nowhere in sight.

"Fuck my life," I whispered to the empty air. I had no idea what that wolfsbane had done to him, but it was now my job to find my possibly wolfed out friend. Again. Seriously, was this going to become a regular thing with us? He freaks out and I drive around the woods looking for him? I hoped not. All that aside, I climbed in my jeep and began my drive out of the woods and into town. I decided to call dispatch and see if anyone had reported someone acting strange. They were no help and reminded me I couldn't call them whenever I felt like it just because I was the Sheriff's daughter. Then what was the fucking point of being the Sheriff's daughter if I didn't get any special favors?

Dusk had fallen by the time I got back into town. I searched almost every back street, alley way, and wherever else a werewolf might decide to lurk. The game started at 7:00, but I was fairly confident that neither Scott nor I would make it. Just as I was about to give up the search, I got a miraculous phone call; it was Scott. I answered instantaneously.

"Where the hell are you?"

"Don't be mad," he said from the other end. For some reason he didn't sound freaked out or nervous. He actually sounded kinda happy.

"Of course not," I said sarcastically. I kinda regretted being so snobby with him because it was me who had taken the wolfsbane with me and inadvertently caused him to lose his shit. But no, I was still mad at him.

"Listen, I don't know what happened," Scott said after a moment. "I kinda went into this haze and found myself at Allison's house-"

"Of course," I mumbled, interrupting him. "Why would I think any different?"

"Anyway," Scott continued, "I got control back for just a second, and then her dad hit me with his car, and now they're both coming to the game, so I have to play."

"Yes, logical conclusion," I mocked.

"Stiles," Scott whined. "This is important to me. I have to play tonight. And it doesn't matter what you or Derek or anybody says. I have to do this. Not just for Allison, but for myself too. This is my chance to have a semi-fucking-normal life."

His colored language took me back slightly. It was clear that I was the potty mouth in our relationship. When Scott swore, it meant he was serious. After hearing what he had said, I knew he truly was serious about all of this. I wanted him to have a somewhat normal life too.

"Alright, fine. I get it and I totally support you. Go kill them out there." Then realizing my choice of words I added, "But don't actually kill anybody. I just hope you know what you're doing out there." Scott didn't say a word, so I knew he had no clue what he was doing.

"Just try not to worry too much when you're out there," I offered. "Or get too angry."

"I got it," Scott muttered.

"Or stressed," I added. "Don't think about Allison being in the stands. Or that her father is trying to kill you." I couldn't stop adding things because I couldn't stop thinking of things to be worried about. "Or that Derek's trying to kill you. Or the girl he killed. Or that you might kill someone. If a hunter doesn't kill you first. Or if-"

"Stiles," Scott said firmly. "Shut the hell up."

"Right. I'll stop. I'm sorry."

"Thanks," Scott said sarcastically.

"I'm going to be there the whole time," I reminded him. "Good luck."

I hung up the phone and began the drive to our high school. The parking lot was packed and hundreds of parents and teenagers crowded around the field. Concession stands were set up everywhere and merchandise was being sold. Lacrosse at Beacon Hills was huge. It was like our football season. I managed to find a parking space not too far from the field and headed toward the bleachers. I saw Ms. McCall getting her seat and decided to join her.

"Oh, hi Stiles," she said pleasantly. She smiled and patted the space next to her. I sat and we both looked to the field to try and find Scott. We eventually spotted him and his mother waved enthusiastically. I just looked at him queasily.

"So Scott told me about the whole Coach thing," Ms. McCall said. Of course he did. I didn't really mind though. Melissa was my girl.

"It's bullshit," she said. She looked at me and then looked away with a smile, clearly embarrassed at her use of profanity. This was one of the reasons I loved her.

"No," I said, "you're right. It is. But it's fine. I'll get over it."

"If you ever need to talk about it," she soothed, "you know where to find me." She looked at me with all the love and affection only a mother could. She truly was like a mother to me.

"Thanks," I replied with a smile, "but we're here for Scott."

"I'm so excited for him," she beamed. "I have no idea what he's capable of doing out there."

"Yeah, no idea," I echoed. And with that, the referee blew the whistle and the game began.