Sooo, this chapter is kind of choppy to be honest. Uh, sorry about that. I was hoping it'd piece together a little more nicely, but after struggling with it for a while, I decided to just let it be. You guys have been waiting long enough for an update the way it is. I hope you enjoy it, despite its faults.

Also, still no beta, so any mistakes are my own and I apologize in advance.

I am invisible. I am the master of stealth. Assassins have nothing on me. I am an ethereal being unseen by the naked eye. I am-

"Fern!" Scott called from down the hall.

...-screwed. I am so screwed.

Nearby, Erica's head snapped in her direction. She smiled predatorily, and began advancing through the packed crowd of teenagers.

Nope. Nope, a million times nope, nope forever and always.

I am noping the fuck out of here, this is not happening, reality is only comprised of what I accept to be true.

Which definitely does not include this.

Fern swallowed hard, gripped the straps of her backpack, and let the current of students swiftly carry her away, before veering down a random hallway and praying for sanctuary.

"Fern, wait- "

Not today, buddy.

One floor up, three turns of varying directions, and she found herself near the trophy cases, and far away from the danger of past acquaintances. She only felt a little guilty- Scott had been a nice dude. But she really didn't need to accidentally join a gang war or something, which is a lot what last night had looked like.

The PLC, whose list of offenses now extended to breaking and entering, had been right. She couldn't avoid school forever, but she could avoid people forever. A task at which she excelled.

The warning bell rang, and Fern ducked away to her first class, taking a detour of her usual route.

The first half of the day was easy. Classes kept her gracefully segregated from certain individuals, and escaping notice at lunch was painfully easy. Once or twice, she caught a glimpse of Erica prowling the halls, searching for her, but Fern easily evaded the blonde bombshell by camping out near the music department, camouflaging herself as one of the band geeks.

Chemistry was the kick in the pants to a successful day. To start the whole mess off, she had just barely made it before the bell. Upon entering, it became obvious that a trap had been set for her in advance. One seat remained, and that seat was next to Stiles, who paused jiggling his leg only to raise his eyebrows, and look at the seat next to him meaningfully.

The table was bracketed by the windows, and the table Scott and Allison had occupied. Directly behind them, Erica and Isaac hovered menacingly in the background.

To think, just a day ago, the girl looking at her like a half-starved lion would at a lamed zebra had sat next to her and discussed Dracula, and the wonders of self-confidence.

Fern lowered herself stiffly into the seat in between Stiles and Scott, staring forward.

Don't let them win, the day is almost over, you just have to get through this class...

"So," Stiles chirped casually, tapping his pen on the desk (the kid was constantly in motion) "Care to mention how you ended up at Scott's?"

"Didn't Allison tell you?" Fern asked softly, pulling out her notebook.

"Well, yeah," he confirmed. "Except that's complete bullshit." Fern raised an eyebrow at him as calmly as she could manage.

Stick to your story. Stick to your story. Stick to your story, stick to your-

"The store isn't anywhere near Scott's house." Stiles deadpanned. "Also, your freak-out in chemistry the other day? Not exactly subtle."

"I was sick." Fern snapped. "I suppose you have a conspiracy theory for that, too?"

"Okay, first of all, that wasn't sick. You were violently ill in the hallway. There's a difference," he insisted when she gave him a bland look. "-then, you showed up at Scott's house, when most people would have elected to, you know, stay home and make friends with the toilet."

Fern opened her mouth to retort, but was saved by Harris' droning, I'm-upset-at-the-entire-world voice as he started off the day's lecture with something about the molecular structure of hydrogen.

Thankfully, it was not a lab day, and so things were quiet, aside from ignoring Stiles' attempts to get her attention by whispering and jabbing, as well as the chilling looks Isaac and Erica were giving her.

Seriously, what did they want? The PLC with the murder eyes told her to stay out of it, which she fully intended to do. Because murder eyes. Why would they mess with that?

Erica sidled up next to Fern as she closed her locker in preparation to escape back home, where she would securely lock all of the doors and windows, and barricade herself in her room as soon as her mother left for her night shift.

"Well, well. Looks like I finally caught you." Erica smiled, leaning her shoulder against the row of lockers, blocking Fern's path.

"Look, Erica." Fern tried to keep her voice firm as she faced the taller girl. "I'm trying very hard not to get involved, because the creepy fucker that broke into my house told me not to, and I really don't have a death wish, but you are making this very difficult for me."

"Relax, bambi. I just have a few...questions."

"Fern!" someone calls from down the hallway. Erica growled- honest to god growled- at the sound of pounding feet approaching them.

I really shouldn't be surprised by the whole growling thing after the past two days, but what the hell.

Scott skidded to a stop next to Fern, slightly out of breath, and wrapped his hand around her bicep.

"We're talking," Erica snarled, but he tugged Fern a safe distance away (for which she was immensely grateful).

"No," Scott said firmly. "You guys don't get to manipulate while she has no idea what's going on. She can pick a side by herself."

Uh, have I suddenly disappeared from the room?

"We're not manipulating her!" Erica gave him a dirty look. "Derek wants a couple of questions answered, and after that- "

Scott let go of Fern in favor of making angry hand gestures. Recognizing an opportunity, she slowly began inching away. She just needed to get out of grabbing distance, and then she could run for it-

"-After that, what?" he demanded. "You'll have made her a target, without her even knowing?"

Scott turned away sharply from the confrontation, obviously making a point to ignore Erica, and anxiously herded Fern towards the school's front doors, foiling her escape attempt. Damn. So close.

The parking lot was mostly empty by the time she found herself in front of a faded blue jeep, where Stiles was casually waiting, drumming his fingers with pent-up energy.

Yeah, this was starting to feel a lot she'd gotten in the middle of a territorial pissing war.

"Scott!" he straightened when he noticed his friend's presence. "You're alive."

"Yeah," Scott confirmed. "Obviously."

"I'm going home," Fern sighed, in an attempt to be assertive.

"I'll give you a ride," Stiles offered, shrugging. "You're already here, so I might as well."

There was that guilt, worming its way into her conscience again. Why did these idiots have to be nice? They were lucky she was desperate for friends. She should know better than to fraternize with people who were involved with attempted murders.

….Even if they had prevented an actual murder. They still led ambiguous lifestyles.

"Okay," she relented, albeit hesitantly, and climbed into the back of the jeep, while Scott took shotgun.

"A beta is a siamese fighting fish." Fern blurted, unable to take the awkward silence of the car ride.

"What?" Scott turned, giving her a look akin to a confused puppy. Stop being adorable.

"A beta," Fern repeated. "is a siamese fighting fish. So, what the hell does it have to do with..." she made a vague motion with her hands.

"...Werewolves?" Stiles casually finished for her. Scott jerked, whipping around to face his friend, who was calmly focused on driving.

"Stiles!" he hissed.

"Yeah, werewolves, I guess. Is that what you are?" she asked Scott. "I saw you do your...furry thing. When you fought Isaac."

"Your furry thing, oh my god," Stiles wheezed, cackling behind the steering wheel.

"Shut up, Stiles!" Scott snapped indignantly. "You saw me when I shifted, yeah." he turned back to her. "A beta is a kind of werewolf."

"Uh," Fern commented eloquently.

"There are betas, alphas, and omegas." he explained.

"Betas are the most common type," Stiles interjected. "Alphas are the leaders of packs, which consist of betas. Omegas are werewolves that get kicked out of their pack, or choose not to join a pack in the first place."

"They don't survive long," Scott added.

"The dude who broke into my house said he had three betas. So, he was an alpha, then?"

Stiles slammed on the brakes.

"Derek Hale broke into your house?" Scott demanded, a little hysterically, as the jeep lurched.

"The guy with the unnecessary leather jacket and serial killer vibes." Stiles clarified.

"That...describes him pretty well, actually," Fern nodded. "Yeah, he broke into my house, and told me to stay out of...whatever this is."

"Well, that actually wouldn't be a dumb choice," Stiles agreed.

"Why would Erica be harassing you, if he wanted you to stay of it?"

"You tell me," Fern sighed.

"What if I want to kiss you?" the hand of a rotting corpse caressed Lydia's face, dead, burned flesh against healthy, soft skin.

"Maybe I don't want you to," she breathed, leaning against a white column.

She strode back inside, bare feet on expensive kitchen tiles, gingerly cupping the purple flower the dead man had plucked from the garden's vines.

"Fern!" Fern's mother snapped her fingers in front of her face, and she jolted, blinking.

Cold lasagna and half a glass of milk sat in front of her at the kitchen table. The heater hummed gently in the background, now that winter was setting in more viciously.

"Sorry," she mumbled, and stabbed at the remains of her dinner with a fork.

A beat of silence passed between them. Suddenly, her mother slammed her fork down on the table.

"Is this an attention thing?" she demanded.

What?" Fern looked up from her plate dumbly.

"You're spacing out all the time," her mother sighed. "You've been so melodramatic lately."

"You moved me across the continent. I think I'm coping pretty well, all things considered." Fern glared at the red smear of lasagna on her plate.

"We could get you in with one of the school counselors- "

"I don't need a counselor," she snapped, cutting her mother stood abruptly, dumping her plate and glass in the sink on her way out of the kitchen, and locked her bedroom door.

Scott is arching on the table, straining to breathe. The school receptionist plants a foot between his shoulder blades when he rolls off the table, and tuts.

An ocean of sweaty ravers don't notice the body behind the tarp.

Derek sinks his teeth into the secretary's shoulder, blind with rage. He carries Scott away, unconscious and gasping.

Jackson wakes up at home.

Her feet were wet and cold. Water dripped from her hair and her teeth chattered, but it didn't matter. She kept walking, even after she didn't know the names of the streets, and when the buildings were unfamiliar.

Rain poured over the world around her, drenching her pajamas, flooding the gutters, and rushing through the storm drains. A flash of lightning brought her to an inconspicuous brick building. Thunder rattled the glass panels of the door as she opened it, despite the closed sign and the dark windows.

Chairs sat in the shadowy corners, glossy magazines piled on a coffee table in front of them. The reception desk was empty, but the storm told her where to go.

She slipped through the door in the back, tracking rainwater every step of the way, until she reached a dim-lit room with a stainless steel examining table.

A man stepped out from the shadows, near the exit.

"We're closed." his voice was calm and mellow, in a way that both put her on edge and made her want to sag to the floor in relief.

He felt...safe.

"Hello?" The vet waved his hand in front of Fern's face, and her head snapped up, the fog quickly receding from her eyes.

Fern hesitated, confused. "Where am I?"

"You're in my examining room, after hours."

"Oh," she mumbled, as if that had been remotely helpful. "I should go home."

"Perhaps when the rain stops," he agreed. "Let me get you a towel."

"Thank you," Fern paused. "I don't know your name." she gazed at the wall, unfocused.

"Please, call me Deaton." he handed her towel. "Do you sleepwalk often?"

She took the towel, limply settling it in her lap. "No," she blinked and shook her head, reaching up to towel her hair dry. "This is the first time I've ended up somewhere different after a dream like that."

"What kind of dreams?" Deaton asked carefully, settling near the wall across from her.

Fern looked up. "Sometimes I see things before they happen."

"What kind of things?"

She hesitated. "Bad things."

Deaton nodded. "I think it's time you headed home." Fern bobbed her head in agreement, and slid off the exam table, pausing to fold the towel neatly.

"Thank you, Deaton." she padded to the waiting area, silent.

"Something to think about, Fern." he appeared in the doorway behind the desk.

"Yes?"

"The door was locked."

Skree, skree, skree, skree-

Fern lazily slapped the general area of the clock that contained the snooze button, and sat up, rubbing her eyes.

It wasn't until she was shoving cereal in her mouth that she remembered.

The door was locked.