Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or any of its characters. I only partially own Joanne since she was inspired by a name on The Deadpool, but any other OCs you happen to come across are 100% mine.

My skin starts to crawl
I'm gon' tear down these walls if I don't get out
I've lost heaven to hell
And I know very well I'm gon' get it back

"Waiting Game" – Parson James

Chapter 4

The following morning, Joanne had to go to a law office for the reading of Grams' Will and it had been pretty straightforward. Everything she owned went to Joanne, with the exception of some money that went towards her funeral, donated to the university, and set aside for her mother's medical bills at Eichen. There had also been the matter of her guardian. The legal age of maturity in California was eighteen, still two years off for Joanne. Grams had not named a guardian for her though, a surprising development given the woman's meticulous attention to detail regarding everything else. The Sheriff had reiterated that Joanne was under his protective custody until the investigation was closed and her ultimate protection ensured. Until such time that her safety was not a concern, he was her guardian and, after then, well, they'd just work something out.

The "best" part of the entire process had to of been when she'd stopped by her house to get some more clothes. Not only did she spot that strange cowboy, leaning against a tree down the street with his gaze on her, she'd had to deal with a realtor trying to buy the house from her. This led to her screaming at the insensitive woman and Deputy Parrish – Joanne's assigned babysitter since the incident of sneaking into her house – threatening to arrest for harassment and trespassing on private property if she didn't leave immediately. That had actually been a little fun, if she was honest. What kind of asshole rolled up to a house, that was still part of an ongoing murder investigation, and asked to "take it off your hands" to sell? She'd kicked up a little wind to push the lady off the lawn and scare her a little bit. When Joanne turned to glare at the strange man – maybe get Parrish to scare him off, too – she was stunned to find he was gone.

After everything was said and done, Joanne had no choice but to return to school. It was a reprieve she was actually looking forward to. Throwing herself into her education would provide a good distraction. Of course, it wouldn't be so easy since she was still living with the Sheriff. The fact that there'd been a deputy posted outside his home to guard her while she was alone was one thing, but her grand return into society would prove difficult with a babysitter. Until whoever murdered Grams was caught, Joanne was under the unequivocal protective custody of the Sheriff and he took that duty very seriously. They'd been arguing about the very subject they were currently arguing over for the last two days. While Joanne was insistent that she would no longer be in-need of her armed guard since she'd be amongst the sprawling public once again, the Sheriff seemed bound and determined to have her all but handcuffed to her appointed guard at all times.

"Why exactly do I need a police escort to school?" she wondered as she glared at Deputy Parrish, who was patiently waiting in his squad car. The Sheriff was standing beside her on his front porch, giving his deputy a friendly wave and smile. He was trying to reason with Joanne, matching her arms crossed position.

"Until we catch Cynthia's killer," he reminded her, "your safety is my highest priority. Ergo: police escort." Joanne wanted to tell him that she thought a 24/7 police escort was wholly unnecessary, overkill even, but she knew it was pointless.

"You think whoever murdered Grams is gonna come after me?" she guessed, trying to sound nonchalant. She already knew that – she'd told Scott as much already – but she didn't need the Sheriff to know that she was more than aware of the target on her back.

"I don't know," he answered with an exaggerated shrug, lying through his teeth. "Hence the escort." Joanne hummed and nodded skeptically.

"Sooo is this deputy supposed to just sit around the whole time I'm in school, then drive me back here after?" she questioned sassily. "You can afford to be down a deputy for a solid eight hours today?" Okay, he saw the problem with that.

"Well…no," he hedged and, for a moment, Joanne looked triumphant. "But you call me and he'll come pick you up." Joanne pursed her lips and nodded, struggling to not roll her eyes.

"This really isn't necessary. Besides, I have practice after school." No she didn't; volleyball didn't start till late February and it was still early January, but he didn't need to know that. "I likely wouldn't even be calling until well after seven or eight o'clock." She fake winced and told him he probably wouldn't want an officer hanging around a prep school till eight o'clock at night, especially not with multiple murderers running around free. "If someone following me will make you feel better, then do it but I'm taking my car." The Sheriff stared at her a moment before smiling.

"You drive a hard bargain." Joanne just smirked and shrugged.

"Learned from the best."

"Cynthia always was a tough negotiator," he agreed. The pair shared a fond smile at Grams' memory. "Okay. You win." Joanne grinned triumphantly, bouncing a little excitedly, and he couldn't help but grin back at her. That was probably the first real smile he'd seen from her in days. "Parrish will follow you and check the school before he reports for duty at the station. Tonight, when you're done with practice, you'll call him or me and we'll escort you back the house. Deal?" he bargained, offering her his hand.

Joanne took it and shook firmly. "Deal. I'll see you later tonight. Have a good day."

"You, too, Joey." He winced and quickly corrected, "Joanne."

Parrish had made Joanne walk with him while he checked the perimeter of the school. He apologized for it, but it wasn't as if he could leave her in her car to wait alone. Wouldn't exactly be doing his job if something happened while he was checking things and she was unattended, he explained. It was just easier to make sure the school was fine if she was with him so he could keep an eye on her. She understood. She was completely embarrassed, since there was no way to do but under the gossiping gaze of her peers, but she understood. Once he was certain things were okay, he reminded her of the plan and took off back to the station. Finally alone, Joanne took a breath and braced herself for her first day back. It had been a weird morning already without her normal routine, but she was hoping school would at least be as uneventful and monotonous as it had always been.

"Joanne!" a voice called out. Or the world would turn upside and things would be completely different, she supposed that was another option. Stopping in the hallway, Joanne turned to see a girl from her calculus class rushing up to her. "Joanne, hey!" she greeted with a big smile.

"Hey," she drawled, perplexed. She couldn't remember the girl's name for the life of her, which Grams would've said was rude, but this girl had never spoken to her. Not even to ask for a pencil or paper in class. "What's up?" she asked hesitantly, glancing around her. People were staring. Fantastic, she thought sarcastically.

"I just wanted to say I am so sorry about your grandmother." Oh. No. She. Didn't. Joanne's face of confusion quickly morphed into one of stony silence. "She was just such an amazing person—"

"Shut up," Joanne hissed.

The girl paused, stunned, and said, "Excuse me?"

"I said, "shut up"," Joanne repeated, much more forcefully. "You didn't know her." A few people in the hall had stopped to watch, but Joanne didn't notice them. Her entire focus was on the insolent girl in front of her. "You didn't know her," she repeated forcefully. "You didn't know that she took two lumps of sugar with her tea. You didn't know she always wanted a garden full of sunflowers. You didn't know she went to Woodstock and made out with Janis Joplin. You didn't know that she always dreamed about exploring the pyramids. You didn't know she hated ice cream but loved froyo, which makes absolutely no sense but try telling her that." Joanne took a breath, trying to calm herself but it was too late. She could feel the sting in her nose and pressure in her eyes that told she was going to start crying.

"You didn't know she would peanut butter on literally everything, but especially on fried chicken. You didn't know Christmas was her favorite holiday and she always bought the biggest tree to decorate in those hideously huge colored lights. You didn't know she hoped for snow every winter even though we both knew it'd never happen. You didn't know red was her favorite color. You didn't even know her name, so don't fucking stand there," she snapped angrily, "and tell me how amazing she was to, what?" She shrugged and looked around at the little crowd her ranting had gained. "Garner fake sympathy from our peers to make yourself feel more important?" The girl opened her mouth to rebuttal but Joanne stepped into her personal space and cut her off before she could even try to mount a defense. "I know she was amazing because she was my grandmother and you didn't know shit about her. I bet you don't even know her name." The girl at least had the decency to look ashamed as she stared at the ground. "That's what I thought. So shut up and walk away before I embarrass you even further."

The girl mumbled a quick apology before darting around her, running down the hall to escape. Joanne looked around at the other students. They were staring and some were whispering. She could only imagine what they were saying. Fed up, she shouted at them and a few scattered and the rest left as the bell signaled first period would be starting soon. Joanne sighed and let her head fall back. The Headmaster had told her to take all the time she needed before returning. She'd thought being in the thick of academia would distract her or help her through everything. She'd hoped it would give her something to focus on, but she obviously hadn't been ready to go back at all. Her cell phone buzzed at that moment with a text message from the Sheriff. Apparently, the CDC had put Beacon Hills High on quarantine. Okay, that was definitely weird. He wanted to let her to know that the majority of the police, including him, were going to be there so she ought to remain at the school until he could arrange an escort home for her. A few stragglers ran past her as the second warning bell echoed throughout the school.

"Screw this," she muttered as she stalked back to the entrance. For the first time in her entire life of schooling, Joanne skipped.

Joanne didn't have a specific destination in mind when she'd driven away. She just knew she had to leave Devenford. She'd overestimated herself by returning to school, that had been abundantly clear. The only place she could think that would offer her any bit of piece was her house, but the Sheriff had made it clear that she wasn't to go back there. With Grams' killer still on the loose, returning to the scene of her murder was ill advised. That wasn't how he'd put it, of course. Last thing she wanted to do was end up getting caught there and having a tracking bracelet attached to her ankle, per the Sheriff's threat. The only other place Joanne knew she could go to for some quiet, to get some shred of peace away from all the whispers and the gossip, was to go to Grams herself. What Joanne didn't expect when she went through the cemetery toward Grams' grave was the strange cowboy standing over it. Cautiously approaching the stranger, she noted the flowers he reverently placed before the temporary marker. The ground had to settle before the joint headstone could be placed, however long that took, but at least there was something.

"Sunflowers," she noted, announcing her presence.

"They are her favorite," he stated calmly. He didn't seem surprised by her approach; he'd heard her coming. And he was right, of course: sunflowers were her favorite. But how did he know that? "I have found that people bring all types of flowers to funerals. Roses, lilies. As lovely as they are," he mused, eyes never leaving the marker, "I often wonder if the person actually likes them. And why would their loved ones not leave gifts of what they like if they know." The teen stared at the man, utterly perplexed.

"Maybe people just go with the roses and lilies cause its easier than thinking about what your dead friends favorite flower is," she bluntly stated. The cowboy smiled and nodded.

"I suspect you might be right."

Clearing her throat, Joanne casually accused, "I know most of Grams' friends. But I don't know you."

"Most is not all," he calmly retorted. The witch quirked a brow, waiting for him to explain or elaborate in some manner; he didn't.

"No. It's not," she drawled, jaw clicking. Taking a breath, she let her eyes run over his form; skinny but there was definitely some muscle. He could probably do some damage if he wanted to, but his posture told her he meant no harm. He was completely at ease around her while she was tense and coiled like a snake, ready to strike at any moment. But Joanne refused to be intimidated and proudly squared her shoulders. Grams raised her better than to let some stranger rattle her nerves. Unfortunately, that's exactly what he was doing. Either he was putting on a very good act, or he really didn't notice how suspicious she was of him. Or maybe he did notice and just didn't care. She honestly wasn't sure which scenario was worse. "There aren't many guys walking around Beacon Hills wearing Stetsons." Absently, she noticed he wasn't wearing his and asked where it was. In his truck, he answered, out of respect for the dead. His answers were short but, from what she could tell, they were honest. He was forthcoming, friendly even, and it was throwing her off. No one was this honest, not without some sort of agenda. What was his game? "You stand out," she stated tersely.

The man smiled again, chuckling under his breath. Amused, he replied, "So I have been told."

"Look," Joanne snapped, having had enough of his relaxed yet evasive attitude, "it's obvious you aren't from around here and I would've remembered Grams having a cowboy for a friend, so who are you? Where'd you come from? Why were you at my house? Were you spying on me?"

"I am not a cowboy," he answered with an exhausted roll of his eyes, indicating he'd been hearing that a lot recently. Joanne clenched her fists and grit her teeth in frustration. Seriously? That's what he was choosing to focus on? "And I am from Wyoming."

"Wyoming?" she echoed, gaping at him. "That's a long way to travel for a funeral."

"It is not so far as you might think. No distance is too far when it comes to good people," he answered with a kind smile. Unsure what to do or how to respond, Joanne crossed her arms and focused on the marker. It was a large slab since Grams shared the space with her late husband, who Joanne had never been fortunate enough to meet. She remembered there being two doves holding an olive branch etched at the top of the actual headstone, but this slab had no such adornment. Instead, it was simply engraved with their names and dates; for Grams it read, Cynthia Adele Warren March 10, 1943 – January 5, 2012 Beloved Wife Mother & Caregiver. Grams would've been sixty-nine in a few more weeks, Joanne thought listlessly. "The people here are not quite what I am used to," the stranger stated lowly.

Joanne scoffed, "You mean Wyoming doesn't have racists and assholes?"

"Oh, it does!" he laughed. "But there are plenty of good people to balance out the bad."

"Same thing here, I guess. Not all of them are awful, but the majority?" She let the question hang there but she saw him nod understandingly in her periphery. He simply replied that that was unfortunately for such a beautiful town. "Uh-huh," she toned sarcastically. "And you were spying on me because why exactly?" The man smiled at her and shook his head, amused.

"I was not spying. I was checking on you," he admitted.

""Checking" on me?" the irate teen snapped. "More like stalking me. I don't know you!"

"No, you do not remember me. There is a difference." Joanne stared at him, genuinely at a loss for words. What the hell did that mean, she didn't remember him? She was pretty sure she'd remember knowing a damn cowboy! "For that, I cannot blame you since the fault lies with me. The last time I saw you, you were two and trying to run before you could walk," he explained, his tone full of affection. Looking her over, that same affection shown in his gaze, he smiled and said, "You have grown quite a bit since then."

"You…I…I don't understand…" she gasped, feeling panic flood her body. "Who are you? How'd you know Grams? How'd you know she loved sunflowers?" How do you know me, she desperately wanted to ask but couldn't find the stomach to utter. The man nodded slowly, a frown forming on his tan, weathered face.

"Your grandmother and I knew each other many years ago," he answered honestly, "but your mother and I were better acquainted. Your father introduced us actually." Joanne felt herself flush, panic swelling in the back of her throat. Her father. This stranger knew her mother, her grandmother and her father.

"You know him?" He nodded and smiled at her, as if he hadn't just dropped a huge atomic bomb all over her life. "That's funny." It actually wasn't. In reality, it was nothing short of horrifying. "Cause he took off before I was born, and Mom and Grams never mentioned knowing a cowboy from Wyoming so forgive me if I'm not inclined to believe you," she snapped scathingly.

"I have already told you: I am not a "cowboy"," he replied. Again with only focusing on the non-relevant portion of what she'd said! "I am Cheyenne."

""Cheyenne"?" Joanne echoed incredulously. "Your name's Cheyenne?" It was kind of feminine. Not that she was judging! Thought it definitely wasn't what she was expecting.

With a heavy sigh, he retorted, "Cheyenne is not my name. It is who I am, in my blood. The Cheyenne tribe." Joanne stared at him.

"You're an Indian," she bluntly replied.

Rolling his eyes, he dryly answered, "Yes."

"So definitely not a cowboy," Joanne muttered under her breath.

"No," he drawled sarcastically. Trying to get back on track, he told her, "And it does not surprise me that Cynthia would not mention me. We were not what you would call friends. But I respected her a great deal." Yeah, you and everyone else in town, Joanne wanted to snipe. "She was a good woman. I was saddened to hear of her passing." How he'd heard about it all the way in Wyoming was beyond her. Hesitantly, he broached the subject of Grams' death. "I have heard that you were with her when she died. Did she suffer?"

Joanne stared at the marker solemnly before answering, "Yes."

She wanted to lie and say Grams hadn't suffered at all. Isn't that what most people did? Lie about someone's suffering at the end of their life to make people feel better? That's what Joanne thought people did at least. It all seemed so sterile and sanitary, the way people acted when someone died. Everyone had treated her with kid gloves, everyone except Scott. He'd just been there. He didn't judge her, or ask her if she needed anything, or check on her every five minutes, or try to hide her from the public when she felt like she was going to break down. To be fair, she hid her break downs all on her own but Scott had let her cry, and rant, and get mad and just let her be in her grief without trying to force some fake platitudes down her throat. He was just there, and that had been enough. It had been everything. And this stranger, he was doing the same thing. Joanne didn't understand it. It didn't make sense, but nothing had since that night.

"Cynthia did not deserve what happened to her," he murmured solemnly. The witch chuckled mirthlessly, shaking her head.

"You mean getting stabbed and choking on her own blood?" Joanne asked bitterly. "You're right. She didn't." He sighed heavily, reaching and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Joanne tensed, ready to strike back and defend herself if she needed to but he didn't do anything. He just gently squeezed and rubbed her arm, comfortingly.

"And you do not deserve this pain, Jo."

"Okay, enough pleasantries," she snapped irritably, pushing his hand off of her. The teen was at her wits end and him calling her "Jo" as if he knew her on top of all his talk about her family was the last straw. Who the hell did this guy think he was? What gave him the right?! "Who the hell are you?" The man finally looked at her, his dark eyes meeting hers.

"My name is George Tall Grass," he answered with an easy smile. "I am your godfather."

A/N: Whaaaaaaaat?!