Stiles had taken a psychology class in high school, believing it would help him during his future career in law enforcement. One unit of the class covered dreams—both regular and Mate ones, both good and bad—and he even learned how to tell when a particularly realistic dream was, in fact, not actually happening.

But unfortunately for him, none of his tips were of any use at that moment.

He couldn't see his hands, the appendages swinging back and forth by his sides as he ran like hell from something—no, someone, his mind corrected, knowing intrinsically that he was fleeing from a person—so he couldn't count his fingers to see if he had any extras.

He was also in the middle of the woods, meaning there were no numbers and no letters around, further meaning there was no way to tell if he couldn't read. That one had come in handy plenty times, when nightmares after his brother's disappearance had seemed a little too real. But numbers on clocks had all been weird symbols and letters had been rearranged and were out of order from the words he knew they were supposed to spell.

And while at that moment, tearing through unfamiliar woods, he knew in the back of his mind it was a dream, but he couldn't quite believe it. The adrenaline and terror coursing through his body felt too real. The way his lungs were burning and his heart was pounding and his legs were aching, they were all too familiar a sensation, harkening back to boot camp like lacrosse practices and cross country marathons back in high school with his sadistic coach screaming at him.

The guy had made them run in the woods at times to build up tolerance and conditioning.

Granted it was never at night. And given the lack of light and the fact that everything was in stark colors and high contrast, like an Instagram filter of sorts, he was obviously using his wolf vision to see, something that was only necessary when trying to look at his surroundings in dim or nonexistent light.

Maybe he was in his wolf form, running under a full moon.

No. He was too far off the ground for that, not to mention the fact that he could feel his arms swinging at his sides and only two feet clomping on the ground. He could feel sweat coating his skin where his arms were exposed from his t-shirt sleeves, feel the mugginess that was hanging in the air from a combination of an earlier thunderstorm and an upcoming one due to happen any moment. Definitely still human.

The fact that the woods were completely unfamiliar and nothing like the Preserve he'd run through and explored countless times before growing up further led to his belief that he was dreaming the whole thing. That, and the fact that he'd yet to trip or stumble or run into anything like he usually did.

And yet...

There was just something about what was going on that screamed this is really fucking happening, something that stopped him short of believing it was a dream and he was gonna wake up any minute. Sure, he'd had night-terrors before—mainly after losing family members—fearful reveries that had felt so real, someone had had to shake him awake and convince him it had all been his fucked up imagination, but this went beyond that. This went beyond something his mind could've created, something his subconscious could've made up as a manifestation of his worries over his twin's well-being. It was truly happening to him in real time and there was no waking up, no making it stop.

No getting out alive.

A whimper left him, ears pricking at the sound of footsteps thundering behind him. His pursuer was closing in fast, he was running out of time, running out of chances...

No. He wasn't giving up. His brother wouldn't want him to. Yeah, things looked pretty grim at that moment, but he hadn't come that far to just give up and let himself lose. He was gonna fight to the bitter end, no matter how close it seemed to be. It was what his twin would do, therefore what he was gonna do. As long as he was still living and his lungs were still burning from lack of oxygen and his heart was still pounding from the exercise, there was still a chance. He just needed to find another option, another choice, another way out.

A snarl sounded out from somewhere behind him and it spurred him on, gave him a second wind. In the back of his mind he knew it was an alpha that was chasing him, although he wasn't entirely sure how he knew. Had to be the speed, he reasoned. Omegas weren't the fastest dynamic, but a beta couldn't have closed the distance between them that quickly.

And they had closed in fast.

Up ahead he spotted a sturdy tree, one with a branch he could haul himself up with. It would be easy to climb and hide out in it, to wait until the alpha raced past and was out of hearing range then turn around and race home.

Then again, it would be just as easy for the alpha to climb the tree right after him and he'd be easy prey, left defenseless and without a chance of escape.

There were no caves he could hide in in this part of the woods and he had a fleeting thought that he shouldn't really know that, shouldn't feel so familiar with this forest that he'd never been in before—or at least couldn't remember having been in before.

He didn't get the chance to fully analyze that thought, thrown off by tripping over a root and faceplanting. The ground was wet from recent rain, half decomposed leaves sticking to him, mud getting in his mouth as he grunted from the fall. Lifting his torso up, he glanced around, everything blurry. He briefly considered a head injury messing up his eyesight, only to realize he hadn't actually hit his head. Whiplash maybe? His head had been jarred upon impact.

His hand instinctively lifted to his face, shoving something up the bridge of his nose. His vision cleared up immediately, confusion growing in his mind at the realization that he'd just straightened a pair of glasses. Glasses he didn't wear.

But Stu did.

Once again, he didn't have time to dwell on any one thought for too long, already focused on the danger closing in on him. Clambering up, he got back on his feet, taking off once more. His frenetic movements and his panic made him sloppy, feet slipping on wet leaves, stumbling on roots, and he nearly fell a second time, barely catching himself on a nearby tree. He ignored the sting of a scraped palm, didn't bother focusing on healing it. The alpha had his scent; blood added into the mix wasn't gonna change anything. Besides, he needed his strength for running, for speed.

A ravine was up ahead, another fact he knew that he really shouldn't have, another fact he didn't think about. Instead, he altered his movements so he could easily slide down the embankment, picking up speed, careful not to fall or get caught in the thorny brush that lay at the bottom. He didn't pause when he hit level ground, booking it once more in an effort to put distance between himself and his pursuer.

It wasn't long before he heard the alpha rumbling down that ravine, grunting as he hit the bottom, snarling and growling in anger as he seemed to be caught in the brush. A small victorious grin pulled at the corner of his lips, the knowledge that his pursuer was tangled up giving him a second wind and allowing him to put more distance between them.

A creek slowed him down, but he still felt safer than he had before as he waded through. His jeans were weighed down by the water, making it harder for him to run, yet he managed, thoughts of his twin spurring him on. His brother wouldn't slow down, wouldn't be deterred by obstructive clothing, and neither would he.

It was just too bad his body wasn't cooperating with him. The muggy air made it hard to breathe in the first place and the fact that he must've run about ten miles at that point wasn't helping. His entire chest was burning, legs made of fiery jelly, scorching and sluggish. He was stumbling more than ever, losing his footing due to fatigue rather than the wet ground and he knew he needed to find a safe place to hide out.

A large tree with an alcove was nearby and he quickly shot behind it, nestling inside the hollow trunk. He thought of his twin once more, hand slipping inside his pocket and sliding out a smartphone Stiles didn't recognize. His fingers trembled as he pulled up a new message, typing in a number he knew by heart but couldn't quite remember who it belonged to.

The sound of splashing water caused his head to snap up, straining his ears to hear better. The alpha was closing in once more, had to be only a few dozen yards away by now. Shit.

His pants filled the small space as he typed out a message without even looking at it, trembling fingers moving with a surety of well practiced movements. He heard a crash as a tree was literally shoved aside in the alpha's haste to get to him and he glanced down at the message he'd typed up.

"Luv u bro. I'm sry"

He didn't have time to be confused, to question what he was apologizing for, hitting send seconds before a clawed hand reached inside and yanked him out of his hiding spot, throwing him aside. He landed on the ground with a loud thud, rolling a few times, and he was dimly aware of glasses falling off his face with the motion. As soon as he came to a stop, he was hauled up to his feet by the back of his shirt, a second hand wrapping around his throat. His shirt was released right before he was slammed back against a tree, his head smacking back against the rough bark, his back throbbing in pain as he groaned.

"I told you," a garbled voice rumbled, the words more of a growl through fangs. "You shouldn't run."

He blinked hard, trying to rid himself of the black spots swirling in his vision from the concussion he most likely just suffered. Everything was still blurry when he reopened them, reminding him of the time he tried on Stu's glasses and everything fuzzed out on him. But he could still make out the shapes of a large male, about his own height, red eyes glowing in the darkness. He could see a black v-neck tee covering his broad frame, a large bicep straining the sleeve as he hauled him in closer.

The stalker smelled of alpha, wolf, faded cologne, the woods, and something else he couldn't quite place. It sent a shiver down his spine at the odd combination of "home" and "danger" and every muscle in his body tightened up, preparing him to flee.

His eyes shut tight as the alpha pressed his face close, hot breath gusting against his ear, the extended rough sideburns of his partial turn scratching at his cheek. A whimper escaped him as he clawed uselessly at the hand still around his throat, the grip squeezing enough to let him know it was there, to alert him to how very fucked and at the alpha's mercy he was, but not choking. He'd wind up with some bruising for sure—if he even made it out alive.

"Now," the alpha rumbled, snuffling all along his face and neck. "I'm gonna show you what happens to little omegas who shove their snouts where it doesn't belong and don't obey their alphas."

The hand around his neck flashed to his tee as he pulled back, giving him another blurry vision of red eyes and tan skin. His own orbs went wide, lips moving as he begged for his life, as he repeatedly pleaded "no" and "please" and "don't".

The alpha didn't listen, not that Stiles was expecting him to. Instead, he raised his clawed hand and slashed down in the direction of his neck...

Stiles woke up screaming like something was being ripped out of him.

Which was actually fairly fitting, since he actually felt like his soul was being torn in two.

He bolted upright into a sitting position, a soul-aching roar tearing from his throat, arms flying about. He was distantly aware of objects vibrating in his room from the force of his howl, of his bed frame shaking and banging against the wall, of the old windows rattling in their frames. A book fell off his desk, a tower of DVDs toppled off his shelves, his alarm clock vibrating its way off his nightstand, a baseball and a model Camaro rolling off the shelves above his bed. But he barely noticed any of it, too caught up in the roar making its way out of his mouth and the gut-wrenching pain of something being yanked from inside of him.

It felt like fiery claws had reached inside, had sunk into something vital, into something important, and had torn it out of him, ripping it to shreds as it went. His chest cavity felt more hollow than ever, a burning ache behind broken ribs and corrupted lungs and fractured heart. Something was gone, something was missing. It was more than just the loss of his mom or the disappearance of his brother. It was.. it was...

His dad burst into his room, claws extended, eyes glowing red. The sight of them had Stiles' hands flying to his neck, feeling for scratches, tears, claw marks of some form or fashion. He could still feel the alpha's bruising grip, still feel his breath on his ear and fur in his cheek and those threats echoed in his head over and over and over again.

He was vaguely aware of his dad sitting behind him, hauling him in for a tight embrace, his name spoken repeatedly and with increasing urgency. It wasn't real. Being in the woods wasn't real. Being chased by that alpha wasn't real. Being held in a strangling hold and threatened and nearly sliced open by menacing claws wasn't real.

But fuck if it had felt like it had been.

His screams slowly died off, shifting to harsh panting. His every inhale was a rough drag against a raw throat, chest heaving and burning, torso feeling as though it was on fire with stinging wounds. He glanced down, only seeing his dad's thick forearms wrapped around him, holding him tight, holding him in place. His omega nature was soothed by the calming presence of an alpha, by the comforting—and tight—embrace. But his wolf was yowling, thrashing, writhing around in pain as it howled long and mournfully.

"You're okay, son," his dad's soothing words made it through the buzzing in his head, past the loud inhales he was still gasping in. "It was only a dream. You're okay. You're fine. I've got you."

Stiles' heaving breaths continued to wrack his body, but slowed down from their previous hyperventilating pace, lessening in their power. He clutched at his dad's forearm, fingers digging in frantically as he tried to ground himself in reality and make himself fully understand the difference between what was actually happening and what was a dream. If he held on too tight or dug in too much, his dad didn't say a word, just kept holding on, kept stroking his hair, kept kissing his head, kept murmuring words of comfort and reassurance.

But all the while, that soul-deep burning wound remained.

He had no idea how long they stayed like that, how long his dad had held onto him like he was a small child who'd been scared by the boogeyman. Not that it mattered. His dad could've held onto him for a month and he'd still feel completely unsettled and lost.

His dad left only due to Stiles' insisting that he should get some rest before his trip, due to Stiles lying his ass off about being okay. His words were rasped through a raw throat, smile fake and forced on a sore face, jaw having been stretched wide from screaming. But his old man must've been too tired to notice anything too wrong, leaving with a worried smile and a declaration that they'll talk in the morning, finally leaving after his fifth time asking if he was sure the omega would be fine.

The truth was Stiles didn't think he'd be fine ever again, not with the way it felt like someone had ripped half his soul out. But he couldn't say that, not to his dad who was already worrying himself to an early pyre. So he just nodded and gave that fake smile, shoving his dad out the door with a quip about needing beauty rest and how no one would take an alpha seriously as a threat with that level of bags under his eyes.

Finally alone, Stiles headed straight for the en suite, flipping in the switch and wincing at the harsh fluorescent light overhead. He had no clue what time it was, just knew that it still had to be early considering the lack of sunlight coming through his bedroom window. Most normal people would be asleep, but not him. Oh no. Not only had his circadian rhythm been fucked since he was about eight—not so coincidentally around the time his mom had died—but his mind was still buzzing with a thousand thoughts, all of them centered on that dream that felt like more than just a dream.

Eyes adjusted, he looked at himself in the mirror. His neck was perfectly fine, lightly tan flesh unmarred save for the scattering of moles that had always been there. A quick check of his palms showed no abrasions from any falls and his clothes were clean and dry. Lifting up his tee, he was surprised to find his skin perfectly smooth there, too, just the light indentations of what could loosely be called a six-pack and a trail of dark hair leading from his belly button down past the waistline of his pajama pants.

He dropped his shirt, heaving out a breath, hands gripping the counter. All a dream. A really fucked up dream. Wouldn't be the first time he wasn't fully convinced it had all been in his head. And at least this time he hadn't woken up in someone else's yard or the sheriff's station while his dad was working overnight.

Or a coyote den. That had been an interesting experience to say the least.

Smearing a hand over his face, he shoved it all aside, flipping off the light as he shuffled back into his room and over to his bed. He sank down with a sigh, absently rubbing the center of his chest. It really felt like he should have claw marks there, giant gashes across his torso, so deep he could see bone, or at the very least muscle fibers. There was no way that aching, burning sting was all in his mind, no way it didn't have a definitive cause.

Whatever. He needed sleep, too. His dad wasn't the only one who had a trip the next day and Stiles needed to be refreshed and clear-headed if he was gonna find his brother.

Something seized inside his chest and he found himself clutching at his shirt. No. He was fine. Everything was fine. Stu was okay and it would just be a few more hours before...before...

His hand was snatching his cell off the nightstand before he'd even thought to grab it, flipping it over and lighting up the screen. A new text was displayed, one from an unknown number, and he felt his heart completely stop in his chest, his entire body going numb but with that burning sting still remaining.

"Luv u bro. I'm sry"

Saying goodbye to his dad that morning was pretty damn difficult. Things were still strained between them, a fact that was exasperated by a last ditch effort to get his dad to stay home and not go to the Meeting, something that earned him a harsh sigh and a tired eye rub.

Truth be told, Stiles wasn't entirely sure he wanted his dad to stay home. Yeah, he didn't want him going to the Meeting, but if he were to flat out not leave Beacon Hills, then it would be damn near impossible for the omega and Lydia to leave themselves. So he was left torn between relief that he wasn't about to be caught and worrying over his dad's safety, something the sheriff insisted he didn't need to do.

But watching that cruiser back down the drive and head to the Martin residence was fucking hard as hell and Stiles had to clench every muscle in his body to stop from flinging himself on it.

The soul deep burning ache had dissipated sometime during the night, leaving him feeling like an empty vessel. He'd spent the few remaining hours of darkness wide awake and numb, sitting on his bed with his phone in his hand, every now and then rereading that text, the text he'd dreamed up.

It was too similar to be a coincidence, too fucking close. As dawn drew nearer, his mind had kicked back online, reminding him of stories and legends he'd heard about twins, about psychic links. He remembered tales of he and Stu sharing pain, finishing each others sentences, saying the exact same thing at the exact same moment. Maybe it was possible that they shared a connection like that. After all, why would he dream of himself wearing glasses or sending a text that he just happened to get in real life?

Then again, he'd texted others in his sleep before, even called Scott on a couple occasions and had full conversations with him, all while completely dead to the world, never remembering any of it. It was entirely possible that he'd texted himself.

Wouldn't explain the unknown number that came with the text though.

He'd shoved it all aside when he heard his dad up and about in his bedroom down the hall, deciding to get up himself and go shower. Breakfast had been made and eaten in tense silence, his dad asking if Stiles was okay and if he wanted to talk about it. The younger Stilinski had lied some more, saying he was fine, just a bad dream, and no, he didn't wanna talk about it. His dad had gone along with it, although it hadn't been all that clear if he'd believed his son or not.

Knowing the sheriff, he probably hadn't and was just placating him. Not that Stiles cared. Suited him just fine really. Whatever it took for the subject to be dropped and him to be left alone.

Once the cruiser disappeared around the corner, Stiles headed back inside and to his room, shooting Lydia a text that his dad was gone, as per their plan. He grabbed his duffel from his closet and plopped it on his bed, cell buzzing in his pocket from her quick response.

"Perf. I'll see you in thirty."

It only took him about ten minutes to pack, another three to triple check he had everything, both he and his luggage downstairs and waiting fifteen minutes early. He contemplated a second cup of coffee, filling a tall thermos of the hot and caffeinated as he gave in, settling at the island counter to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

He slipped his phone out his khaki pocket solely for something to do, eyes coming across his brother's text again.

"Luv u bro. I'm sry"

"Mates don't always mean happy ever after."

Fuck.

His vision got blurry but not due to losing dream glasses. Holding a hand in front of his mouth, he sniffed loudly, leg shaking underneath the counter as he willed the tears to disappeared, as he fought gravity to hold them back and not let them fall. There was no proof his brother was dead, that anything bad had happened. All he had was circumstantial evidence, a gut feeling, and a hollow sensation within his soul that something had been ripped from him. Not only would that not hold up in court, but it wasn't even enough to bring charges against someone. Or even investigate them in the first place.

"Stiles?" Lydia called out from the front door, inviting herself in as always.

"In here!" he replied, still staring down at his phone as it now lay on the counter, that same text still displayed on the screen.

Her heels clicked on the floor as she sashayed in, Prada pursed bumping against her side as it hung off her crocked arm. Tiny pastel pink shorts barely covered her legs, paired with a low-cut gray tee and her favorite nude booties—a term he only knew because of her—hair hanging in loose curls around her shoulders with a singular braid rubbing across the top like a headband. Her attempt at comfy, casual road trip wear left a lot to be desired in the comfy part, but she was a lot more put together than the baggy khakis and wrinkly white ringer tee he wore. Not that he actually put any effort into it. He was too brain dead to do anything except grab clothes off hangers and put them on.

At least he'd remembered to pack underwear.

"You ready to go?" she asked as she filled a pink bedazzled travel mug with the rest of the coffee Stiles had made, the silver "princess" and crown glittering in the kitchen light.

When he didn't answer, she turned to him, brow furrowed in concern, lips pursed. "What's wrong?" she asked softly, the slight rasp of her voice soothing in a way only hers could be.

Stiles still didn't speak, just slid his phone across the counter. He watched as she stepped closer, concern and curiosity warring to be the dominant emotion in her scent when she picked the device up and scanned the screen.

"I had this dream last night," he rasped out, pausing to clear his throat before telling her about it, about the alpha chasing him and the blurred vision from askew glasses and the texting and the threats and the swiping claws that had been the last thing he'd seen. "And when I woke up, that was on my phone and I can't get rid of this aching, gnawing feeling in my gut that something is wrong and missing and that I'm half of me," he wrapped up, hand on his chest and tears in his eyes. Fuck, saying it out loud made it feel more real, like it hadn't been a dream and that Stuart had somehow transmitted something to him, possibly his last moments, and that he was now laying dead in the woods somewhere just waiting for someone to find his body.

Lydia was silent for a long moment, carefully placing the phone back on the counter and sliding it to him. Her lips were pressed in a hard line, green eyes focused on her fingers as they remained on the cell, scent sad but with an underlying determination he'd come to recognize and expect from her.

"That was you last night, wasn't it?" she questioned lowly, not looking up at him. "That roar I heard? You let it out."

He swallowed hard, throat aching at the memory of the noise he'd made, not at all surprised that she'd heard it on the other side of town. "Yeah," he choked out, fingers curled up against his lips to hold back a sob threatening to bust out of him.

She nodded, not saying anything for a long time, licking her lips and pressing them together as she collected her thoughts. "Until we know for sure that he's dead," she began roughly then raised her eyes to meet his. "Until we get one-hundred percent confirmation that he's no longer alive, and until we see his actual body, we're gonna continue to operate as though he's still living, understood?" Her voice and eyes were both hard, brokering no argument, and he found himself slightly tilting his head to the side to expose his neck to her.

"Understood," he agreed, then swallowed hard.

She nodded once in finalization before marching over to grab her mug and purse by the coffee maker. "Then let's get this show on the road and find that twin of yours," she declared, striding out the room in a whirlwind of Chanel perfume and bouncing strawberry blonde hair, leaving Stiles no choice but to shoot up to his feet and follow, barely remembering his phone in his haste.

Locking the front door, he gave a mental goodbye to the house and his dad, apologizing for his rebellious actions. But it'd be worth it, had to be worth it, and he knew that his dad would eventually forgive him. The only thing Stiles truly needed to worry about was Stuart's state of being at that moment and what condition they were gonna find him in. The hollow ache in his soul flared up and he knew he wasn't gonna be thinking of anything else until they found his brother.

Stiles somehow managed to fit his duffel and pillow in the trunk of Lydia's blue sedan, cocking an eyebrow at the sight of her two suitcases and large makeup case. "How long are we planning on being away?" he questioned, stepping back so she could shut the trunk door.

She simply shrugged a shoulder, lips pursed in a nonchalant pout. "I like to be prepared for anything."

He bobbed his eyebrows in dismissal, knowing it was better just to go along with her than question her further, choosing instead to head to the passenger side door and get in.

The journey through town was quick and efficient but not to the point where they drew anyone's attention with a speedy getaway or broken speed limit. It was almost like Lydia was just as anxious to get on the road as he was, just as anxious to get to Oak Creek and find Stuart, find some answers. Nervousness and fear were a heavy scent in the car and he knew it wasn't coming from just him, given the way she was gripping the wheel a little too tightly. Not that he had any room to talk. His entire body was tensed up, hands wringing in his lap, knots in his stomach pulling tighter and tighter the closer they got to the city wall.

When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he damn near jumped out of his skin.

Lydia's wide eyes snapped to him, quickly looking him over to make sure he was okay, and he gave her a sheepish smile in apology.

"Sorry," he murmured, hand wringing the back of his neck. "Guess I'm just nervous about being caught."

Which was the truth, even if he hadn't fully realized it until that moment. For all their planning and careful steps taken to cover their tracks, they could still be busted at the gate, still be turned in to their parents, still be ordered to turn around and head home, leaving the whole thing for naught. And that would be more devastating than actually reaching Oak Creek and finding out Stu wasn't there, hadn't ever been there.

A sympathetic smile formed on her face, hand rubbing his knee in a comforting manner. "You'll be fine once we hit the highway," she assured him softly.

He snorted at that. "If we hit the highway," he corrected.

"When we hit the highway," she argued firmly, his cell buzzing against his thigh once again. "Check your phone," she instructed, moving her hand back to the steering wheel.

He sighed but did as he was told, slipping his smartphone out his khaki pocket and lighting up the screen. Two texts from Scott were displayed and his heart started pounding, afraid he'd already been busted before they'd even hit the exit.

No. No way. As much as he loved Scotty, the guy wasn't the brightest light bulb in the box and wasn't all that observant. Plus Stiles hadn't seen or talked to his best friend since his birthday get-together two days ago, so it wasn't like he could've given anything away. If anything, Scott was tryna make up for forgetting what the day before was.

Taking a deep breath to calm both himself and his wolf down, he unlocked his phone and got a better look at the messages.

"Dude wanna come ova 4 halo fest? Al's spendin time w fam. Can order pizza n eat junk all day"

"Ik ur not sleepin saw sheriff car leavin town u wouldnt let him leave w/o sayin bye. U ignorin me? U mad bout yday? im sry. :( Hmu bro"

The sad face practically killed Stiles, picturing Scott pouting like a puppy with big brown eyes and lopsided jaw. Hurting his feelings was like telling a little kid there was no Santa, no Easter Bunny, and no Tooth Fairy all in one go and he heard his wolf whine a little at the guilt he was feeling at what he was planning to do. It wasn't just his dad he was leaving behind and if shit went south, it wouldn't just be his old man mourning his loss. Scott had been a brother to him since they were kids, as close to Stiles as his own twin, sometimes maybe even closer. He didn't wanna hurt the guy's feelings but sometimes it was necessary.

He made a mental note to text Scott later when he messaged his dad, telling both of them the truth about what he and Lydia were up to when it was too late for them to be stopped. Then he typed up a reply for that moment, assuring his best friend that he wasn't being ignored but no he couldn't hang, he had plans with Lydia.

"Cool. Mayb 2moro?"

He swallowed the lump of guilt in his throat, honestly having no idea if he'd be able to rain check for the next day, not knowing where he'd be it what he'd be doing.

"Maybe."

He left it at that, turning his phone off after confirming the message had sent and slipping it back into his pocket. A heavy sigh left him as he turned to look out the passenger window, chin cupped in his hand, eyes taking in the familiar sights of the more rural part of Beacon Hills, the power plant in the distance, the tended fields of grass lining the road, the wall a couple miles up ahead.

"He'll understand," Lydia assured him, not needing to ask who'd texted or what was going on, most likely scenting it in the small car. "Once you explain it to him. If no one else, Scott will get it and he'll forgive you."

Stiles just nodded, knowing she was right but not exactly in the mood to be comforted. He felt guilty as hell for lying, the friend in him hating not letting his best friend in on it, the omega in him nauseous from lying to an alpha, the wolf in him not liking keeping someone who was essentially a Pack Mate in the dark.

The checkpoint to leave the city came up sooner than Stiles expected, a deputy he thankfully didn't recognize manning the gate that day. He handed over his ID with a slight scowl, not all that thrilled with the red "OMEGA" next to his name.

Not that he was all that thrilled with his name on it either, but he could've lived with the eye chart of a moniker if it didn't have such a glaringly obvious eyesore of a dynamic after it.

The deputy did a double-take with his card before raising her eyebrows in an "all righty then" fashion, before reading over a sheet of paper Stiles hadn't noticed being handed over.

Leaning closer to his friend, he whispered in her ear. "What is that?"

"Permission slip from the Town Alpha to leave for a few days," she stated in an obvious fashion, slightly rolling her eyes at him. "Remember how we talked to my mom about our road trip and she said it was fine and that we didn't need to document where we were headed since we didn't have a real destination in mind? Plus we both know how difficult it can be for an omega to leave the city without his registered alpha's consent or accompaniment, so my mom gave us her blessing." She wrapped it up with a shrug like the whole thing was no biggie when really Stiles knew she'd broken several laws. Falsifying signatures, taking an omega beyond the walls without his or the Town Alpha's permission, lying on official documents. Nothing majorly serious—well except for maybe the second one but he was treating that with the contempt it deserved—but it all added up to jail time.

His guilt ratcheted up, knowing he was now putting his other friend at risk, was causing her to break the law and get in serious legal trouble, County Alpha mother or not. Fuck, he seriously hadn't thought things through, hadn't thought past his brother. He'd operated with blinders on and his friend was gonna pay the price for his single-mindedness.

Lydia squeezed his knee reassuringly, murmuring at him to relax, all while smiling sweetly at the deputy and taking the IDs and falsified paperwork back. She stuck it all in the center console, waving at the guard as the gate rolled to the side and they were granted permission to exit. The sedan easily rolled through, tires avoiding the spikes that ensured no one entered the wrong way, picking up speed as it hit a minor highway.

But Stiles couldn't relax, was full of anxiety and guilt, mind obsessively worrying over what it was that he had done. Lied to his dad. Essentially ran away from home. Lied to his best friend. Left town without permission. Had his other best friend commit a couple misdemeanors. All on a gut feeling and a whim. So fucking stupid.

Fingers carded through his hair at the back of his head, perfectly manicured nails scratching his scalp. He sank lower in his seat, eyes drifting shut as he allowed himself to be placated by the soothing touch of an alpha, his wolf practically purring.

"Everything's gonna be fine," Lydia stated in her reassuring rasp, fingers still scratching as she focused on the road. "Relax and quit stinking up my car."

He nodded, giving in to his omega nature and allowing the slight command in her voice dictate his actions. Sometimes it just felt good to give in to instincts like that. Was better than the other option really and worrying himself onto his own pyre.

Eyes closed, he drifted off to her soothing scratches, the hum of the car engine, and the low rumble of tires over the smooth tar road.

Stiles woke up after about an hour and a half of uninterrupted dreamless slumber, feeling a lot less like death. He stretched the best he could in the cramped confines of the car, tilting his neck this way and that to try and get the crick out of it before deciding it was useless and he was just gonna have to live with a sore neck.

Lydia updated him on their progress as he drank cold coffee from the thermos, letting him know they were a little behind on their schedule because she'd been taking detours to drive around any and all walled cities, sticking to smaller ones with no gates or checkpoints. He shrugged it off, saying he had no issues with that. The less checkpoints they had to go through, the less likely they were to be found out by someone back home.

Music played from an app on Lydia's phone, some station claiming to play all the summer hits, volume low so it was mere background noise. He tuned it out more than paid attention, focusing instead on the passing scenery or chatting with her over whatever random topic came to mind. It was nice, companionable, laughs shared between friends over college experiences, tales from high school, her complaining over her mother trying to argue her into accompanying the County Alpha to the Meeting and he adding in his own problems with his dad going at all.

The subject was quickly changed to Scott and Allison's fixer-upper house and how they both thought it was just a nice way of saying "shithole", laughing once more over tales of what they'd witnessed in that place or stories they'd been told by the couple themselves. Stiles found himself smiling more than worrying, forgetting for a moment that they weren't actually on a random road trip with no destination in mind, that they were really in their way to Oak Creek to find his brother—and find him potentially no longer amongst the living.

An hour outside of Oak Creek and three hours north of Beacon Hills—or at least usually three hours, but for them on that day, it was more like four and a half—the highway split in two directions: the right leading towards the rest of Northern California, the left leading towards Oak Creek.

And only Oak Creek.

A diner sat a mile or so before it, aptly named the Oak Fork Diner, and Stiles would always make a point to stop there on his trips to and from Stanford. The burgers were the right kind of big and greasy, the curly fries the perfect level of crispy, and drinks were always refilled before you got to the nasty diluted dregs created by the melted ice.

He and Lydia took a break there to stretch their legs and eat, he ordering his usual cheeseburger and curly fries while she opted for a small salad that wound up being the size of her head. They ate leaning in close to one another, quietly going over the rest of their plan. Well, Lydia did. Stiles just nodded and listened closely, ignoring his wolf's whimpers to get back on the road and quickly find his twin. His anxiety was back in full force, churning his stomach, and he only ate because of Lydia's glares and hissed out orders to do so.

He paid the check, smiling politely when the waitress-slash-cashier told him they were a cute couple, not wanting to set her straight. It would raise too many questions, concerns over why an omega was so far from home with an alpha, and one he didn't technically belong to-a phrase that caused his hackles to rise so fucking fast it was ridiculous. Keeping a cover of an unofficially Mated pair taking a road trip during their college break just made things a million times easier.

They hit up the gas station situated within the same parking lot, filling the tank and grabbing a couple drinks before hitting the road again, Lydia taking the left fork towards Oak Creek, the highway soon bracketed on either side by thick forests. Conversation hit a stand still, some pop tune Stiles didn't recognize playing low in the background, his wolf whimpering and clawing to get out. He ignored it as always, shuffling in his seat to get comfy, knee bouncing up and down, chewing a barely there hangnail on his thumb.

His anxiety seemed to ratchet up with every passing mile, every marker they went by. But it was more than that, more than just worry over his brother. There was a strange... pulling in his chest, like someone had stuck a hook in his heart and was yanking at the rope, reeling him in to its source. He rubbed between his pecs but nothing made it go away, the sensation getting stronger the closer they got to Oak Creek.

But the most unsettling part of it was how his wolf wasn't unsettled at all. Yeah, it was still scratching and clawing inside his head like it could actually get out that way, but it wasn't out of agitation or anger. It was impatience, a need to get to wherever they were being pulled to, his tail wagging as he yipped excitedly with pricked ears and a lolling tongue.

None of it put Stiles at ease though and when they'd reached the halfway point down Oak Highway, he finally turned to Lydia to say something.

Only to pause with his lips parted at what he saw.

She was squirming in her seat, hand absently rubbing below her collarbone, spine stiff as she stared out the front windshield. Her arms were fully extended, elbows locked, like she was pushing back against the wheel for some reason.

Like she was pulling against whatever was tugging her in.

He turned and faced the front windshield, smearing a hand over his face, not entirely sure how to deal with the situation at hand. It was one thing when it was just him and he could chalk it up to growing anxiety as they neared their destination, that possible psychic link he had with his twin pulling him in and proving that Stu wasn't dead after all and he'd been freaking out over a made-up night terror.

But if Lydia was feeling it, too...

"So, uh," he began then paused, licking his lips and squirming a bit before continuing. "Does Oak Creek happen to be the Death Star and it's dragging us in with its tractor beam?" he questioned with a laugh, twisting his head to give her a smirk, trying for a lightheartedness he didn't completely feel.

"Don't be an idiot, Stiles," she snapped through gritted teeth, not moving her line of sight from the road before them, like glancing away for even a second would cause them to crash or someone to die or some other catastrophic event.

"Oh, come on, Lyds!" he cried out, arms flying up then landing on his lap with a smack. He turned in his seat to fully face her, leaning back against the door only to lean forward to get closer to her. "Seems like a legit question. I mean, you're feeling it, too, right?"

Her eyes narrowed as her jaw ground and her lips twisted in agitation. "Yeah."

Stiles scented the air, catching a whiff of her nerves and curiosity, but also a strange sort of calm rolling off her. Lydia nervous about something was enough to push him over the edge, yet the relaxed undertone to her scent was calming him, his omega nature soothed by an unruffled alpha.

Wringing the back of his neck, he glanced out the front windshield, noting a sign stating they were twenty-five miles from Oak Creek. His wolf let out a triumphant howl that he couldn't even begin to figure out the cause of, choosing just to brush it aside and focus on the convo at hand.

"And it's not freaking you out or making you wanna turn tail and run?" he asked dubiously, dropping his hand to wring his fingers together on his lap. "Since when does Lydia Martin charge head first into something scary and unknown?"

She shrugged and shook her head, playing it off. "Maybe you're just rubbing off on me," she teased, though it lacked the usual buoyancy of her normal jokes. When he didn't react, she sighed, flipping a hand. "Look , I have no idea what exactly is going on or what I'm feeling. All I know is that my wolf feels calm and like what I'm experiencing is right. So I'm going to keep driving down this godforsaken highway like nothing is wrong and like everything is going according to plan."

Stiles nodded, chewing a fingernail, thinking she made a lot of sense. Growing up, they'd all been taught to trust their wolves and their instincts, that their animal-half could sense things they couldn't and would never steer them wrong. So if his wolf was interpreting the strange pulling as something good, something right, then it had to be.

Slumping in his seat, he let out a sigh, knee bouncing once again. A sign showed they were now another mile closer, that tugging getting stronger, and he swallowed hard, eyes drifting shut while his head leaned back against the chair. He almost felt like he was adrift in the ocean, being pulled to safety by a life raft around his chest, his wolf assuring him that all would be okay. Opening his eyes to the trees zooming past and the road disappearing beneath them, he had no choice but to believe his animal half knew its shit and wasn't about to become the first wolf to lead its human down the wrong path.