When I got home from helping Stiles I was beyond exhausted, and I could only imagine what he had to be feeling right now. I had taken him up to the Preserve and I gave him a few exercises to do. The first one consisted of him getting about fifty meters away from where he then stood and attempting to get over there without touching the forest floor. To ease him in to things I took him to a section of the forest where the trees were the closest and there were a large number of rocks on the ground.

At first this exercise had him falling on the ground at every interval, not able to get a proper grip on a tree to pull himself up it, or slipping on a boulder he'd landed on.

When he'd asked me to do it, claiming that there was no way I could do it, I hoisted myself onto a boulder and breezed through the exercise. The look he gave me when I landed safely on the ground was beyond priceless.

After I demonstrated he caught on more quickly and actually finished running this time.

A stroke of genius hit me after we finished that exercise, and I quickly ran to a chicken farm about a half a mile away. I stood outside of the fence, waiting until the coast was clear, then as fast as I could I hopped the barrier and stole a chicken out of its pen.

Thankfully the squawks of the other chickens hid the indignant cry of the other one. I took it and ran back to where I left Stiles, making sure not to drop him on the way. I got back to Stiles, whose eyes widened in fear as I came back triumphantly. He grimaced, "What on earth is that for?" Stiles whined slightly.

I dropped the chicken on the ground. "Catch it."

Stiles and the chicken both had similar expressions on their face. Both a look of shock, the chicken's at being freed, Stiles' at having to recapture it.

"What does this help me with?," he lunged for the chicken, who danced out of his grasp.

"Agility."

Stiles groaned. For the next thirty minutes Stiles went after the chicken. It never ran too far, I always blew it back before it could get thirty feet away from Stiles. Finally, after what I'm sure to Stiles felt like hours, he caught the edge of his wings and pulled him into his arms. He yelled out victoriously, and I clapped for his triumph.

"Okay now take it back to its farm," I ordered.

Stiles gasped, "You stole it?"

I laughed and shook my head, "Of course I stole it! Do you think I found some random chicken running around the Beacon Hills Preserve? Here, I'll even run with you back to the farm, you just have to sneak it back in."

He nodded, resigning himself to the task. We started running in the direction of the farm, my steps slightly faster than his, though that was because he was holding a chicken. When we reached the farm he grimaced at me, clearly not wanting to do this, and jumped the fence. From where I stood I could see the farmer moving around in the coop that Stiles was supposed to go into.

I watched Stiles creep into the coop, his hands still firmly wrapped around the bird. I waited thirty seconds, expecting to see Stiles come running out, but he didn't, and slowly my face morphed into a look of concern. I had to only wait a few seconds longer before I got to see Stiles running away from a very angry looking farmer. "Come on, let's go!," he yelled at me, running through the chickens like he was parting the Red Sea. He leaped the fence gracefully and we went sprinting at full tilt back through the Preserve until we reached the edge.

After we did that I sent him home, as tired as he was, and hopped in the shower as soon as I got back. I half expected my mom to be home when I was there, but then I remembered she was down South and wouldn't be back until Monday.

Of course she wasn't home. She spent half her time out of the house, going on dates with her various boyfriends. So far the longest I'd been alone for a whole period of time was one week. Not that I was too upset that she trusted me that much, but it still bothered me the amount of disregard she had for me. She hadn't been the biggest fan of me for a while, and I full out hadn't seen my dad in half a decade.

When I got out of the shower I put on black sweats and a white top, too lazy to try at this point. I heated up some leftover pasta in the microwave, and counted along with the timer the full minute it was in there, not wanting to seek any form of entertainment. I didn't want to see it, at this point TV had become obsolete as everything I saw on it became painfully boring after about four and a half minutes.

With three seconds to go on the timer I heard a knock on the door. I went to answer it, opening the door on the microwave's second ring.

It was Isaac, he was shaking, and not from the cold. "It-i-it's m-my dad. Not m-my, but h-h-his grave. T-there… they… t-th-they marked it."

I'd never known that his dad was dead, I knew about his mom, but never his dad. I pulled him inside and sat him down on my couch, my food forgotten in the microwave.

I'd never get to eat it.

I sat down next to him, looking at his now tear-streaked face. My knees were pressed against the side of his leg, and I grabbed his hands in both of mine in a desperate attempt to get him warm. I felt like I was pressing my hands against a block of ice.

"Tell me exactly what happened."

He took a long, shallow, rattling breath, "I went to go visit… him, and I was k-kneeling in front of h-him. Over our last name there was the mark," his voice shook even more as he went on, "There were fresh flowers on his grave… why would they put flowers on it?"

I pulled him off of my couch, using all of my weight to do it. "Show it to me."

He nodded, and I led him out to his bike, which was parked on my curb. Isaac walked slowly, and he staggered a bit as he did it. It was like he was in a drunken haze. He swung his leg over his black bike, and before I followed him he gave me his jacket and his helmet. The sleeve hung down past my fingertips, but I was thankful for the warmth it gave me. I wrapped my arms around his waist. He took off, not driving too fast, but we were at the graveyard in minutes.

It was a sprawling mass of headstones, the newer ones were closer to us, and I could see crumbling ones farther away. I expected Isaac's dad's to be close to where we parked, but it was in the back. I found this out when we walked past the ones who had died two years ago.

"Why is your dad's so far away?"

"My dad had terminal liver cancer, and he bought his plot early." I looked at Isaac as he answered my question, his eyes were sad and were equal parts angry.

I took his hand. He glanced at me with an expression I couldn't quite understand, but nevertheless he squeezed my hand back.

While we were busy looking at each other, we didn't notice the figure come to stand in front of a grave. When we looked back up we saw him. We saw the Alpha.

He didn't see us, but his smiles was from ear to ear.