HAPPY THURSDAY MY LOVES!

Okay so holy crap on a stick this took me like almost three hours to type up (I write out the rough draft in a notebook because paper is definitely my medium) because I ended up taking out parts and adding in new parts and adding in more parts because I have a problem and also discovered an AWESOME NEW THEORY ABOUT PARRISH details will be included at the end of the chapter to avoid spoils.

Here you have some more friendly Marrish, as well as awkward but well intentioned big brother Derek. Expect some girl bonding next chapter. Expect it. Long for it. Give me ideas because I've never been great at girl bonding.

I also made this chapter longer because short chapters or for WEAKLINGS and I'm challenging myself as a writer so I hope you enjoy and that this is as much fun to read as it was to write.

You're all lovely!

The Deputy blinked a few times, eyes narrowing as he studied the creature in front of him. He'd never met anyone like Lydia. SHe wasn't so much a mystery as a sum of unanswered questions, contradictions. How could someone be so strong, but so easily wounded? So caring, but at times unbelievably cold and aloof? She was reserved, but was sometimes forced to wear her heart on her sleeve. Undoubtedly rooted in the supernatural, but seemed to find her sanity in logic and reason. He generally wasn't fond of hard-to-figure-out people, but Lydia intrigued him.

Realizing that he had been staring at her, rather intently, for about half a minute, he averted his gaze back to the book laying open on his desk. He could ask her why she wanted to help, but instead of making her uncomfortable, he added it to the list of unanswered and unasked questions.

Lifting a hand, her traced the drawing on the page. "Where do we start?" He heard her exhale, and wondered if she had been holding her breath for some reason.

"Well, you're not a Kanima, that much I know. Or a werewolf, you'd know by now know if you were a werewolf. I don't think you're a Kistune, but I'm not ruling it out completely." Lydia paused, becoming hesitant. Her hand skated over his as she began flipping pages of the Bestiary.

"What is it?"

"You were sort of vague about the.. Fire. Exactly what you experienced. It might help if I knew more details. If you told me everything you can remember."

Whether she meant it might help him, or help them find out what he was, was made unclear by her tone. Either way, it was becoming an odd habit of his to give in to whatever the girl wanted. Even if it meant reliving one of the most terrifying moments of his life.

"It was… Kind of strange. The pain was psychosomatic at first, I think. I saw the fire, it was all over me and it was like I knew I must be burning, so I felt pain at first. But then.. As my clothes burned away, I saw that the fire wasn't doing anything to my skin. So I stopped screaming. The zipties he put around my wrists and attached to the steering wheel had melted, So I got out of the cruiser, and.. Came here."

"I didn't know whether to assume you had felt it or not, although I sort of did, after how angry you were at the station with Deputy Haigh.."

Jordan grimaced, glancing up at her. What he regretted most about that moment was that Lydia, Stiles and the Sherrif, three people he had grown to respect, had been there to witness his unbridled rage. The Deputy prided himself on self control, being a force-when-only-necessary type of individual. He had seen so much useless violence during his time in Afghanistan, it made him sick. But Lydia didn't seem at all phased, and he supposed she had grown used to the violence. A thought he hated. "There's only a handful of times I've felt that angry." Angry enough to kill. Although thankfully, he had not. Haigh was now handcuffed to a hospital bed with a broken jaw and minor concussion, but it could have been much worse. Especially if Jordan was some supernatural creature.

Lydia hummed, as if his statement made her think of something.

"What?"

"Was it like normal anger? Or did it sort of feel like maybe there was something else, some force pushing you you couldn't quite control?"

Biting the inside of his cheek, he mulled over that statement for a hot minute. "Well, it felt pretty uncontrollable. I didn't think I'd be able to stop myself, honestly, which isn't a feeling I've ever really had before." That wasn't entirely true. At Eichen, there had been nothing stopping him from pulling the trigger in Brunski. But he'd had a clear mind then, so it was different. "But I've never had someone try to burn me alive for money before, either."

She hummed again, nodding as she continued flipping through the pages. "It's frustrating, because we don't even know for sure if what you are has anything to do with fire, or if you just have exceptional healing abilities." Her fingers paused, piercing brown eyes flickering up to delve into his own pools of green. "And let's do our best not to test that theory, hm?"

He smirked, his tired expression lighting up marginally. "Well, the more I'm around you guys, the less I feel like I can make that promise." The red head frowned, his weak attempt at humor failing miserably. "Sorry."

Unamused, she averted her gaze back to the Bestiary, resuming her slightly obsessive flipping. "Well, your eyes aren't all glowy, so that rules out a few things.."

"Uh.."

Fingers froze mid flip, eyes darting up. "What do you mean, uh?"

"Well, I found Argent in a sewer right before Mexico. He had tracked Peter there, unfortunately enough for him Peter had still been there." Lydia grimaced. "He was stuck to the wall by metal rod Peter had shoved through his abdomen and bent sideways to keep him from following." He gave an apologetic frown as she sucked in a sharp breath, aware of how much Allison's father meant to her. "It was too deep into the wall to pull out, so I pulled it back with Argent's help.."

"And?"

"He said he saw my eyes turn, or I guess, glow a sort of orange. But I mean, he could have been delusional from the pain?"

"Did he say he could have imagined it?"

No, he hadn't, but Jordan was holding onto his last shred of hope that maybe he wasn't some supernatural creature. He still didn't see how he could be when he had been so normal his entire life. A bit of a nerd, but normal.

"Listen, I know this is confusing and a little bit terrifying. You've just found out you're not exactly who you've always thought you are, and that's hard to accept. But denying it is pointless, and won't change anything. It will just make the process of figuring everything out that much harder. Trust me, I know." His forehead crinkled as he gave her a confused look. "I tried to fight it, after the bite. At first we didn't know what I was. We didn't know for a long time. And then when we did find out, it was because some crazy murderous dark druid told me while she was torturing me. I didn't exactly want to be a harbinger of death. I used to hope I was just crazy, because I felt that way anyway." Her normally full lips pressed into a thin line. "I never wanted this. Scott never wanted this, Liam never wanted this. We know how you feel, and we'll never let you go through this alone."

He was amazed, once again, by the strength of her character. And not just her, but all of them. They were all so connected, a type of connection he had only ever witnessed and experienced among his own unit in the army. He had never met a group of teenagers who had been through so much, and come out the better for it. Or any group of people, really. They were like a family, but almost something more than that. It was an amazing thing to witness. Instead of thanking her, as he intended to do when he opened his mouth, he asked; "How much sleep have you had?"

She quirked a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "How much sleep have you had, Deputy?"

He'd had approximately twenty minutes, slumped awkwardly against the wall of the evidence locker, actually. Although he doubted she would find that answer satisfactory, so instead he replied; "I'm used to it."

"So am I." Her stubbornness was frustrating, but he let it go. For now.

"Any theories yet?"

"A few. None that really make any sense. Any mythical creatures come to mind when you think fire?"

A stupid little grin formed on his lips. "Dragons," he retorted, earning an exasperated look from the red head.

"You should hang out with Stiles sometime. I think the two of you would nerd well together."

"Did you just use nerd as a verb?"

"No." Her eyes held a playful glint, something he was relieved to see, but she was obviously exhausted. He wanted her to go home and rest, but had learned Lydia didn't like to do so until she had finished whatever it was she had set out to do. However, he had a feeling there was one way he might be able to convince her to pack it in for the day.

"Will you go home and get some sleep if I agree to do the same?" He was surprised to see she looked almost relieved as she nodded in agreement. "Okay, give me fifteen minutes to finish up this last bit of paperwork, and I'll drive you home."

"I drove here."

"Lydia, driving fatigued is one of the leading causes of accidents among teens-"

"Parrish, I'm not leaving my car the Sheriff's station."

"At least let me follow you home?"

"Fine." She sighed, hunching over his desk and continuing her study of the Bestiary. He was sure they looked like quite the pair, both

completely silent and engrossed in their separate labors for the twenty-seven minutes it took him to complete his paper work. It took him longer partially because the Sheriff was already gone for the day, having left early to spend time with his son (which was entirely understandable, considering). That meant several officers stopped by his desk with questions, which he answered as quickly as he could without being rude. Lydia finally shut the Bestiary when he shut the file drawer under his desk harder than intended, causing her to knock the book to the floor in the process. They both reached for it at the same time, and while their hands never touched, he suddenly found his face impossibly close to her own, and became temporarily entranced by the depth of her brown eyes. Her voice brought him out of it. "Finally finished?"

He chose not to answer her question, which had an obvious bite of sarcasm. "Come one, let's get you home."

She stood, stretching her arms above her head and making tired little noises. He was caught between thinking she was kind of adorable, and also seriously considering pulling the Deputy card to stop her from driving home. However, he didn't want to be that person with Lydia, or a total hypocrite. As they walked silently through the parking lot to their separate vehicles, she gave him a small wave. He clicked the beeper for his subaru, sliding into the driver's side. His car was clean and wall maintained, partially because he kept everything he owned as such. Also because he usually drove the cruiser. However, after the incident he had inherited Haigh's, and preferred to drive it as little as possible. He followed the blue toyota mostly on auto pilot, nearly to the point of pulling into her driveway behind it. Instead he slowed, waiting for her to get out and giving a little wave before driving off. He could have sworn she wore a slightly amused expression, but couldn't imagine why.

()

Jordan awoke in his apartment, which was as clean and orderly as the inside of his car, moments before his alarm went off.

He silenced it with one swift movement of his hand, sitting up and leaning over the side of his bed. His head was heavy with sleep, so much so he barely remembered falling asleep the night before. It was all a bit foggy, but he vaguely recalled the drive home, as well as showering and having a small dinner before climbing into bed. So, at least he hadn't sleep in his uniform. One thing was for sure, he did not feel up to going to work. He could power through it, he knew, but one luxury of no longer being in the military was that he didn't have to. Still, it was unlike him to call off, so he had to reassure the Sheriff nothing had happened except for the events of the past few weeks finally catching up to him. Stilinski wasn't at all mad, telling him to relax and get some sleep. Jordan would gladly do the former, but on the latter he could make no promises. Once the Deputy was awake, it was nearly impossible for him to get back to sleep for at least twelve to fifteen hours.

His bare feet made small slapping noises against the stone floor of his apartment as he made his way to the small kitchen. The apartment wasn't large by any means, but the architect had apparently gone for an industrial look, providing somewhat vaulted cieling in the living area. It was the mean reason he'd chosen the place, that and it was close to the station. It made things feel a little less cramped, even with living in the center of town. Somewdays, if the traffic on the street below wasn't too bad, he'd open the double doors to the sorry excuse for a balcony, illuminating the apartment with California sunlight. Unfortunately, he doubted today would be one of those days, even when the sun did rise. It was one of those rare days where the sun was shrouded by ominous clouds, threatening to drop a heavy load of rain on them at any moment.

Setting the percolator on the gas stove top and cranking the dial, he gripped the edge of the countertop. During his time in Afghanistan, they were lucky to have coffee, and obviously they didn't have any fancy electric coffee makers available. He'd grown used to the richer taste, and it was one of the first things he'd bought upon returning home. All around his apartment was evidence of his time in the military. The organization, for one. There was a place for everything, and everything was always in it's place. The few DVDs he owned were lined alphabetically on one of the shelves of his TV stand, and on the shelf next to it the remotes to his TV, DVD player and sound system lined up by size. He picked up after himself as he went, never leaving dirty dishes in the sink or clothes on the floor. His closet was immaculate, clothing organized by function and then color. His bed was always made, something he realized he had almost forgotten to do that morning, and quickly shuffled back to the bedroom. His OCD was fueled more by paranoia than a need for things to be clean. If he knew where everything was supposed to be, and he always kept everything the same way, he'd be able to tell immediately if anything had been moved. If anyone had been there in his absence.

Unfortunately for him, werewolves could get around without much disruption, and as he went to return to the kitchen he was greeted by the sight of Derek Hale standing with a stoic expression in the middle of his living room. Had he not been so easily recognizable, Jordan might have reached for his gun. Which would have been rather embarrassing, since it was resting unloaded in his nightstand drawer.

"How did you get in?"

"Balcony."

Jordan blinked towards the doors, expecting one of them to be broken since he always, always locked them at night, as well as all of the windows. He must have underestimated just how exhausted he had been the night before. His attention was quickly diverted back to Derek, when the prickling worry of why he was there came to mind. Anxiety bubbled in his throat as he asked the question he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to. "Is everyone okay?"

Derek chuckled, finally relaxing his posture. "Yes, everyone's fine. I thought you might want to talk."

"About?"

"Your nightmares."

Jordan's bright green eyes snapped shut, the remnants from his most recent bout of night terrors flashing behind his eyelids. Were werewolves telepathic? Was Lydia telepathic? That could end badly. It could end badly either way. He had recently been corrected on his assumption that Lydia was psychic, having been informed that she was in fact a Banshee. Someone who predicted death. Which was, in his opinion, just like a psychic with a specialty. A thought he had been smart enough not to express out loud. He was still missing a lot of details however, and wondered if this was one of them.

Derek seemed to sense the question of how lingering in the air. "Scott and I have a sort of.. Patrol." Jordan opened his eyes, giving the wolf a confused stare. "He would go before he went to bed, around ten or eleven, then I'd go some time between two and four. To check on people. People on the dead pool." The Deputy's eyebrows shot up at that.

"Everyone on the dead pool?"

"No, although Scott probably would have if he'd had his way. I managed to talk some sense into him, and we kept it to the people we knew more.. Personally."

"So, Lydia, Stiles, Kira, Malia, Liam.."

"You were added more recently."

"Okay. And.. How do you know..?"

"Your heart rate, for one. And you weren't always.. Quiet."

Jordan grimaced, remembering the first time he had woken up screaming, something he hadn't done since first returning to the states. He was used to nightmares. The ones about the fire, in which his brain produced a phantom pain that he knew he should have felt as the fire licked his skin, weren't his first. It was doubtful they would be his last, and even now they weren't his only. He'd attended the recommended therapy sessions after his tour, and had been deemed psychologically stable enough to carry a gun and work on the police force. If his nightmares were his biggest problem, he considered himself lucky. He also didn't feel a particularly strong need to talk to anyone about what he was feeling.

Disturbed by Parrish's silence, Derek spoke again. "It's a good thing I was here the first time and not Scott, or he might have busted in under the impression you were being attacked."

Jordan managed a small smile at that.

"Listen, you don't have to talk to me. This is normally Scott's area, but since he's a little.. Preoccupied, I thought I'd offer."

"I appreciate that, really. But I'm.. Not very good at talking about myself. Especially, no offense, to someone I barely know."

Derek looked almost relieved, and stepped forward to place a friendly hand on Jordan's shoulder. "Understandable. But.. You should talk to someone."

Once Jordan nodded in acknowledgment, Derek walked past him to the door, leaving the Deputy a little embarrassed and a lot confused. But most of all, alone.

Usually he thrived in solitude. There was less disruption, routine was easier to maintain. That wasn't to say he didn't have friends, of course. He had several back in his hometown, at least. After Haigh, he'd been a little wary of people in the department, and was too busy to meet anyone outside of it. Besides Lydia's group, anyway, but that had started off being work related. Started off? He supposed that driving down to Mexico to face off against Berserkers and a were-jaguar with a bunch of hunters went a little above and beyond the call of duty. Did it though? Wasn't it his duty to help people? No, it's your duty to uphold the law. Something you haven't been very good at doing lately. He grimaced, thinking of all the lies he had just put in his paperwork, documenting recent incidents.

Before moving back to his coffee, he went to lock the door behind Derek, checking the balcony doors and all of the windows in turn. As he sipped the black coffee, Jordan thought perhaps he should put more effort into making acquaintances his own age, instead of just hanging around a group of mostly-teenagers. Then again, none of them really acted all that much like teenagers. Everything they had been through had not only brought them closer together, but launched them far above their peers in their level of maturity. It was painfully obvious all of them had been through the ringer, and not just in the supernatural sense. Jordan knew that the Sheriff's wife had passed some years before, leaving a mark on both him and his son. They'd all lost their friend Allison, which obviously weighed heavily on them even now. Most of all, it seemed to him, Scott and Lydia. He could tell they shared a special sort of pain over her loss. They had lost people in other ways, at least from what he had put together from the snippets of information he received during their conversations, and from what Lydia had told him in the cemetery. Another girl and boy had been killed in their fight with some sort of Alpha pack, and in turn on of them had been killed not long after joining them. The guy who had been turned into a Kanima had been shipped off to somewhere in Europe after he wasn't a Kanima anymore, and another named Isaac had left shortly after Allison's death. He really didn't understand the whole Malia situation, and wasn't sure he wanted to, but knew she hadn't exactly had it easy either. They had all experienced so much loss just in the past few years, and it had aged them.

Despite all of that, they were still good kids. Just not so much the kid part. Especially Lydia.

Why did it always come back to Lydia? He still couldn't quite put a finger on why the red head fascinated him so much. Either way, he had come to the conclusion he was satisfied with his.. Sort of group of friends.

()

Lydia Martin had not, a day in her life, gone to school looking anything but her best. Not after she had spent several days in the hospital after being attacked by Peter, and then several days running naked through the woods. Not even after her best friend was killed. That wasn't to say she went to grand measures to hide her struggles, no. Lydia had no reason to hide anything from the blissful idiots who attended her school.

So of course today was no exception, despite the fact that she opted out of wearing heels. Instead she went for a very typical fall look, enjoying the relaxed wardrobe while she still could, donning a sweater, skinny jeans and some mid-calf boots. Having some extra time as she had woken up at an ungodly early hour, she decided to take the hour it took to straighten her hair. Once she was satisfied with her makeup, she stood to gather her things and head to school, only to be told by the digital clock on her nightstand that it was barely after 6 a.m. She groaned, pivoting as her eyes scanned the room for something to occupy her time with. They landed, of course, on the Bestiary. Several colored sticky notes now stuck out from the tops of the pages. Red for less than likely, yellow for possibly, and green if they held some solid probability.

As she picked up the book, nibbling on her bottom lip, she held an internal debate. She didn't want to harass the poor man, but he had to be at least as curious as she was to find out what he was. The debate ended in her whipping out her phone, as his address was one she didn't have, but she had someone in mind who might.

Lydia: Parrish's address?

The response was almost immediate, bringing a smile to her lips.

Derek: 14 South Avenue Apt. B7. Why?

Lydia: Helping him with the whole unidentified supernatural creature thing. I have some time before school.

Derek: Have you slept yet?

Lydia smiled, enjoying big brother Derek much more than perpetually broody Derek.

Lydia: Lots, promise.

Derek: Good. He's awake, just talked to him.

She itched to ask what about, but refrained.

Lydia: Thank you.

As she went to put the phone in her purse, it buzzed again.

Derek: Try to get him to talk to you, he's been having nightmares. Don't want the only sane person in this town to lose it.

Lydia frowned. She knew about Derek and Scott's little nightly routine since she didn't get much sleep herself, and it took her only a few seconds to assume they much have added Parrish to their route.

Lydia: How bad?

Derek: Bad.

She bit her lip. Thinking about it now, he had looked more tired since the incident, and it was a friendly reminder that while he apparently hadn't felt anything, it wasn't just pain that caused nightmares. A fact she knew well enough.

Lydia: Okay. I'll do what I can.

The phone remained silent this time as she tossed it into her purse, hurrying to her car and speeding to Parrish's apartment. She was thankful she didn't get pulled over, as the amount of irony would have been painful.

Knocking on his door, she listened to the soft footsteps approach, pausing, she assumed, as he looked through the peep hole. It didn't take him long to swing open the door, an adorably confused expression painted on his features.

However, her brown eyes didn't stay on his face long, and she decided no one should be allowed to look that good in a t-shirt and sweats. Especially someone so unattainable. Her eyes flickered back up just in time to see that his own had been roaming. While normally a playful smirk would have lit up her features, the lightest of blushes instead crept onto her pale cheeks.

Lydia Martin didn't blush.

()

Lydia Martin just caught you checking her out. Whatever, it's not like it's the first time. And she knows she's never seemed overly bothered by it before. Underage Lydia Martin just caught you checking her out. And blushed. Fuck. The blush is what caught him off guard. It was so uncharacteristic of her that he must have made her uncomfortable, and he immediately felt like a total creepy. Regaining his composure, he stepped to the side to let her in. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, much to his relief, moving quickly inside. "I had some time before school, and I did a little more reading last night…" Lydia gave him a weird look as he immediately locked the door behind her, and he felt like an even bigger creep.

"Habit, sorry." Even though it made him irrationally nervous, he slowly turned the lock back. Much to his surprised, her lips formed a warm smile as she reached over, sliding the dead bolt shut.

"It's okay." Without another word on the matter, she made her way into the living room. "This is nice." He was unsure whether or not to be insulted by her somewhat surprised tone, but she quieted his concerns. "Not that I was expecting it to not be, it just wasn't exactly what I had expected."

"Oh?" He couldn't help but wonder what sort of place she imagined him living in.

"I thought it would be more.. cabiny. You give off a sort of, secretly-a-mountain-man-in-my-spare-time vibe."

"Seriously?" He shook his head as she gave him a little smirk. "What, disappointed?"

"Mildly." Perching herself on the arm of the sofa, she held out the Bestiary. "I marked my theories."

He stepped forward, taking the Bestiary in hand. He'd been around the Sheriff and his son long enough to recognize the red-yellow-green system, and opened to the first red. "Fire Kistune? There are different kinds?"

"Yes. Kira is a Thunder Kitsune. Although it's pretty unlikely you are for several reasons, one being that they are most commonly identified as-"

"Women, yeah," he said, scanning the page.

"However, that's only specifically mentioned in some accounts, so it could just be that male Kistune are rare, or have generally been more reclusive throughout history."

He shook his head, mind already muddled as he began flipping to the next. They finished off the red markers fairly quick, spending barely any more time on the three yellows as Lydia explained why he could be but probably wasn't those particular supernatural creatures. It was when they reached the first green that Lydia's flow of speech became more hesitant. "What is it?" He squinted at the name, written in painfully fancy hand writing. "Phoenix? Aren't those supposed to be like giant, flaming-"

"Birds, supposedly. But shapeshifting isn't exactly uncommon among us supernaturals. Mythology isn't always concrete, anway. I do have a few questions."

He sat down on the couch finally, staring at the pages. "Ask away."

"Was anything different, directly after the fire? Did you experience any memory loss? Did anything about your body change, maybe scars seeming to disappear?"

He didn't need to think long before shaking his head.

She sighed, running her long, pale fingers through her hair. "It says just about everywhere, including the Bestiary, that Phoenix' are 'born anew from their ashes.' If you remember correctly and you didn't burn up into a little pile of ash, and rise out of it.. I guess it could have some bothersome metaphorical meaning. Everything else fit, which is why I marked it." She paused, then began reciting from memory. "The Phoenix is a rare, elusive creature. Many cultures associate the great fiery bird with justice, and in some Japanese folklore is said to appear with the rise of a new, virtuous ruler. In other cultures the Phoenix is thought of as a guardian, coming about in times of war to protect the people." Another, heavier sigh as she flipped to the other green marker, the farthest one back in the book. "I have a feeling you won't like this one."

He squinted at the name, trying to figure out how to pronounce it. "Bar-guest?"

"Barghest, yes, more or less. That's what it's called in this, anyway. The broader term for all it's different forms in European folklore is just the black dog. It's been called things like the Bogey Beast, the Churchyard Beast some think they're hell hounds, some mythology says they're the same thing as a Grim, but in the Bestiary they're two different things-"

"Wait, you think I'm a hell hound?"

()

Lydia very nearly recited what was becoming her own little mantra, not all monsters do monstrous things. "No, Parrish, I think there's a possibility you could be a Barghest." His confused and slightly wounded expression nearly broke her heart. Parrish was one of those undeniably good people, and here she was telling him he could be a beast commonly considered to be malevolent. "Look, here." She slid off the arm rest and onto the couch next to him, gently pointing to a line on the page. "The nature of the beast can be determined by the nature of its human counterpart." He seemed unconvinced until his eyes scanned further down the page.

"In either form, whether beast or man, the Barghest cannot be harmed by fire… One can identify a Barghest in it's human form by the red or orange glow of it's eyes when excited. Excited?"

She nodded. "I think it means the more general definition." As her finger slid lower on the page, directing his attention to another part of the description, she felt her throat thicken. Her voice was barely audible when she next spoke; "A Barghest will often appear at the death of any notable person." His green eyes looked to her, obviously waiting for an explanation. "You came to Beacon Hills.. Not long before Allison was killed."

Those damned eyes of his widened, and she knew he what he was going to say before he could open his mouth. "Lydia.. You think I caused Allison's death?"

She shook her head fervently. "No, I think you were drawn here by it, or the possibility of it. Like how I find bodies. I thought it was just the Nemeton that brought you here at first, and it still could have been that in part. But if this is what you are.. It makes sense. Allison was well liked, and came from a sort of noble family in the hunter world." Thinking, and talking about her best friend so much made her throat tighten further, so she let him read the rest of the information the Bestiary had to offer in silence.

()

The Barghest is a weredog, taking the shape of a great,

black beast with large teeth, grotesque claws and glowing

red or orange eyes when in animal form. While often

considered a malevolent creature, the nature of the beast

can be determined by the nature of its human counterpart.

That being said, the Barghest is not always aware of who

he is when shifted into animal form. In either form, whether

beast or man, the Barghest can be identified by the red or

orange glow of it's eyes when excited. They are often

associated with The Grim, due to their similar appearances,

and that a Barghest will often appear at the death of any

notable person. The lineage of a Barghest can be most

commonly traced to and English heritage, however Scottish

ancestry is not uncommon.

Jordan felt like he was going to puke.

The fact that he could have had anything to do with Allison's death, even in the most remote way, nearly drove him insane. The girl's death was something that had bothered him even before he knew it was involved with the supernatural, however more so after he found out her connection to Lydia and her friends. From all accounts he could tell that Allison was the kind of person who deserved to live a long, happy life. The kind of person who should have a better death than at the hands of some vengeful spirit. More over, her death had stuck with Lydia in a way that he saw her grief almost every time he looked into those big, brown eyes. It also terrified him to think a similar fate may someday befall Lydia.

"Parrish?"

He looked to her, not sure how long he had been quietly staring down at the Bestiary. And at the sight of her, looking at him with so much concern and a little guilt, he felt something inside of him shift. Something that he quickly pushed aside, clearing his throat and closing the Bestiary. "So, demon dog."

"No. Possibly a Phoenix or a Barghest. I'm still going to talk to Deaton, Noshiko, get their opinions and any information they might have. Maybe even Peter, if they'll let me."

"No."

She seemed surprised by his abrupt objection. "What?"

"You are not going anywhere near that lunatic, especially not on my behalf, okay? I know you're stubborn, and I know you think you have to figure everything out but you don't, and you're not going. He's done enough damage for a lifetime." He himself was surprised by the sternness of his voice, and he thought perhaps he had gone beyond the limits of their new friendship.

"Okay."

He gave her a wide-eyed stare, shocked. She merely smiled. "Okay?"

"I won't go to see Peter." He raised an eyebrow. "Well, I mean, he really might be able to help, but if you're going to pitch such a fit.."

Not used to Lydia Martin giving in so easily, he was quiet for a minute, Also because he didn't entirely trust that she would keep her word and stay away from the mass murdering maniac.

"Come on Parrish. Quit worrying so much."

"No Promises." It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "It's my job," he added, not wanting to give her the wrong idea. And what idea would that be, Deputy? "Should you be getting to school?"

"Should you be getting to work?"

He shook his head. "No, I called out."

"Are you okay?"

That thing that had shifted inside Jordan did so once again, and he looked away. Only to have his eyes drawn back by a gently hand on his arm, her skin shockingly cold.

"Talk to me, Parrish."

And he wanted to. As he looked back to those eyes, which were giving him such an intense look, he wanted to tell her everything. The

nightmares, and not just the ones about the fire. He wanted to share with her all the ghosts from the war that still followed him around. He wanted to tell her more about his friend in Beacon Hills cemetery. He wanted to tell her he hated everything that she had been through, but that it easier for him to talk to her. But it was for that very reason that he couldn't unload his miseries onto the girl. She'd had enough of her own over the past few years, she didn't need to sit around and listen to the woes of a soldier. So instead he put his hand over hers, just as she had that day in the cemetery, and gave those cold fingers a little squeeze. "I'm fine Lydia, really."

The red head seemed entirely unconvinced, but he hadn't been too hopeful about convincing her. She was too smart for that. She relented, however, giving him a soft smile. "Well, you know how to reach me if you change your mind." They both stood, Jordan quickly letting go of her hand before walking with her the short distance to the door. "I'll call you once I find out anything else?" He nodded. "See you, Parrish."

He opened the door for her. "Be safe."

With a roll of her eyes, the red head walked out and down the stairs, a pair of bright green eyes trailing after her.

Okay so first of all the Barghest theory was introduced to me by this lovely tumblr user. With her permission, I took what she had come up with, put my own spin on it, and ran. I am moderately in love with it because the black dog is so prominent in folklore but not mocked like werewolves and vampires pretty much are nowadays, there's still like mystery to it.

Also as promised there will be some (and by some i mean a hella amount of) girl bonding between Malia/Kira/Lydia in the next chapter beCAUSE WE'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR SOMETHING MORE THAN THE LITTLE MOMENTS THAT IMPLY THEIR BONDING (I love you Jeff Davis I really do but sometimes).