Stiles recovered his jeep and practically flew back to his house. His father was still comatose on the couch when he walked in. And Stiles felt the pang in his gut as he walked by. But he had a goal. And he searched for that goal through all of his father's things.

After nearly ripping apart the entire house, he found it. The kid's file. He scanned through the documents and found what he was looking for.

"He drives a mystery machine?" Stiles muttered incredulously. He flipped back to the photo. "Well…if your hair were lighter."

Stiles quickly wrote down the address, looked it up on Google, and then booked it out of the house. Stiles didn't bother with traffic lights. Until he made it out of the city and all of the sudden life started to trickle back into view and then he slowed it down and remembered traffic laws and such.

Christopher Bailey's house was more like half a house. It sat on one of those streets where it looked like all the houses were cut in half. They were all separated by a wire fence about half Stile's height and looked like it would be painful if he tried to jump over it and failed. His house, specifically, was yellow—a really ugly, peeling yellow with a white roof and a door that looked like it was going to fall off when it opened again. A dog was barking somewhere.

Stiles pulled up and killed the engine.

"Alright, Stilinski," he told himself, glancing in the rear mirror. "You can do this. I'm so sorry for your loss. No that sounds like I'm trying. I mean, I need to try but I don't need to sound like a heartless douchebag out for their money or something. Hello, Mrs. Marcus, I hope things are well. I knew your son from coll—so now I'm a liar? Well, that's not new." Stiles pursed his lips and tapped his fingers on the wheel.

"Fuck it." Stiles got out of his jeep.

He pushed past the gate, stomped up the steps, and then knocked on the door.

The neighborhood was quiet. "Too quiet…" he muttered, eyeing the sunny emptiness. The sun was also weird. But then again it was California.

"Can a help you?" a smoky voice said.

Stiles jumped around. "Oh, hi! Mrs. Bailey…?"

She was a ginger woman maybe in her fifties with saggy blue eyes. "Yeah?" She put a cigarette to her lips and took a breath.

"Uhhhhhh…."

"You need money for some high school fundraiser or can I shut the door?"

"You'd give me money for a school fundraiser?"

"No."

Stiles shook his head. "I was a friend of um Chris—from school."

She raised a brow. "You don't look like a college student."

"I get that a lot. Um, look Chris had some of my stuff in his car and I was hoping…"

"Yeah, look, I don't really care." She took another long draw from her cigarette and then blew it in his face. Stiles forced himself to not breathe. "The cops already took his car. I don't know what's happening."

"Yep," Stiles said, still holding his breath as smoke pooled around his face, "thanks."

He got out of there as soon as he could. Mrs. Marcus sneered and slammed the door. When Stiles got back into his jeep, he pulled out his phone ready to call…someone. Except no one was available. Except maybe Lydia, but then again what if she was asleep, too?

He tried it anyway. She picked up on the third ring. She sounded tired.

"What do you want, Stiles?"

"Lydia? Oh thank God. Were you asleep?"

"No."

"You're not feeling tired or anything?"

"No. God, you're such a weirdo. What do you want?"

"So you're totally okay?"

"What do you want, Stiles?"

Stiles shook his head. "Okay, okay. Some werid shit is happening in case you haven't noticed."

"Oh, I've noticed. We noticed like a zillion years ago. You've just been too holed up in your head to actually notice anything around you , Stilinski. My mother is comatose in her bed. It's been like this for like two days. If Deaton hadn't told me she'd be fine, I'd be cutting a bitch right now. Same thing with Jackson. You know I had to deal with him suddenly not being able to control himself, right? Like, none of the usual stuff worked. He would just change."

Stiles chewed his lip. "I've got a plan, Lydia. Jackson is going to be fine. How is it you're not asleep anyway?"

"Does it sound like I know? Maybe because I'm immune or something? How are you not asleep? Jesus. It doesn't even matter. Now what do you want from me?"

"Uhhh, look I'm gonna figure this out. I know how to stop this."

She was mute on the other line.

"Lydia?"

"I was waiting for you to keep going."

"Oh, well I need to find this thing. I think it's in the second victim's—from the river—car. Except, his mom said it was impounded—the car not the thing. But it can't be at the police station in Beacon Hills because all those people are asleep. Have been."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"I think… I think it might've been towed but it never got to the police station. Is there some way you can find out for me where it might be?"

"I'll see what I can do." She hung up.

Stiles tapped his fingers nervously on the wheel. And then he noticed Mrs. Marcus in one of her windows, staring pointedly in his direction. Five seconds later and he was peeling away from that house.

He drove toward Beacon Hills because he didn't know where else to go. He drove past the freeway entrance at least seven times before Lydia called him back. He stopped at a Panda Express parking lot and picked up his phone.

"The tow truck is parked off Main and Third. The guy is asleep inside. What car are you looking for?"

"A mystery machine—I mean a Volkswagen."

"Yeah there's one here. It's green."

"Wait, you're there now?"

"Yeah—where are you"

"Uhh, I'll be there in like fifteen minutes just—"

"Don't use your phone and drive, moron." Lydia hung up.

Grumbling, Stiles tossed his phone in the passenger seat and pulled out of the parking lot and onto the freeway. He was there in twenty minutes—there was a spot of traffic since it was afternoon rush hour. Main and Third was a road he rarely ever visited. It wasn't in his direct line of places he frequented, but it was on the way to the police station.

It wasn't a tow truck it was a car carrier and it had several other cars on its train. Most notably was the green mystery machine on the end. Lydia was tapping her foot impatiently next to her own car at the curb. When she saw him she put up her hands in frustration.

"You said you'd be here five minutes ago, Stilinski," she said after he got out of the car.

"Sorry, sorry."

"I don't have time for this. I want my boyfriend and my mom back."

"There was traffic."

She put up a finger. "Whatever. Don't you have something to take care of?"

Stiles rushed over to the mystery machine. He tried to peer inside but the windows were too dusty to see anything. He tried the handle. Locked. Lydia cleared her throat next to him. In her hand were a set of keys with flowers and fuzzy dice on the end.

"They were with the driver, dumbass."

Stiles snatched the keys from her hand. She crossed her arms as he opened up the door and jumped inside. The space was a dump. Old McDonald's bags everywhere. The occasional Taco Bell cup and wrapper. And even more often a traffic violation. Stiles sifted through the garbage, checked the glove compartment, and under the seats. Nothing stood out. He climbed into the backseat. It was less of a dump, but still a dump. And there was a broken surfboard, three backpacks, a duffle bag, and a basket of dirty laundry.

"Jesus Christ," Stiles muttered. "Did he live in here?"

He could practically hear Lydia's impatience. "Come on, Stiles, what are you looking for?"

Stiles sifted through some more garbage. His hand touched something soft. "Aw, gross." It was a black lacy panty. "This guy was a mess!"

"Like you're any better?" He heard her shuffled her feet. "So where's Derek?"

"He's… He was taken."

Lydia popped her head inside. "Taken?"

"It's a long story."

She frowned. "Why do you like him?"

Stiles shrugged, checking under another trash bag. A spider fell out. "Euugh. Look, he's not as bad as everyone thinks he is, okay? He's trying to do good. And, you know, that's pretty good for me. Considering."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "I mean why do you like him? I can understand liking me, but Hale? He is pretty hot, but what is the deal?"

Stiles slowly turned around, horrified. "Who said I liked him? Don't look at me like that. Lydia. Oh God. Is it obvious? Okay, fine I really like him."

She raised a careful brow, urging him on.

"I don't know. He's a lot different than I thought. He's actually got a sense of humor. And he's not a complete asshole. And he's actually pretty cool—he's just lonely. God don't tell him I said he was lonely. But look—"

"Misery loves company?"

Stiles opened his mouth and then shut it. "I'm not miserable."

"But you're lonely, too. Just like him. Of course, that's your fault. You pushed your best friend away. You know he misses you right? He talks about you now more than Allison. Which is surprising because I thought he was never going to shut up about Allison. But then winter break happened and you didn't hang out with him and now he won't shut up about you."

Stiles went back to sifting through all the garbage. "It's not completely my fault."

"Yeah he might've started hanging out with Isaac more, but you're the one that got all drama queen about it. Jealousy much?"

He glanced back but only to give her a frown. "Alright fine." He pushed away the broken surfboard. "I need to…fix things." He groaned as he came to the dirty laundry. Disgusting. He decided he wasn't even going to touch that so instead he just peered over the back seat into the trunk in a last ditch effort to find this object.

The trunk was empty except for a perfectly spherical blue rock and folded up piece of paper. "Holy God." The rock gleamed and as he squinted at it he noticed there were carvings along its surface.

"What? Did you find it?"

Stiles picked up the paper and the rock. It was smooth, despite the carvings. "I think I found it?"

Lydia's eyes widened at the rock. "What is that?"

Stiles grinned. "It's going to get your boyfriend back."

She looked unimpressed. "And what's that paper in your hand."

"I actually have no idea." He crawled back through the garbage and out the Volkswagen. When he jumped onto the pavement, he handed Lydia the sphere and unfolded the paper. There was basically a bunch of gibberish written on it. "It's just a bunch of gibberish," he said, frowning.

Lydia looked over his shoulder. "No, that's Latin."

"Latin?"

"Archaic Latin. It's um…" she narrowed her eyes, reading it carefully. "Wow this guy must have been a freak."

"Why? What does it say?"

She frowned and plucked the paper out of his hands. "I would have to study it to be sure. Compare it to some other stuff."

"Why? What does it say?"

She bit her lip. "It looks like a prayer. Weird and freaky. Like Exorcist freaky."

"Okay…" Stiles didn't know what to do with that information.

Lydia shrugged. "Whatever. What are you going to do with that rock thing?"

Stiles refolded the paper and shoved it in his pocket. He checked his watch. The sun was setting fast. If he wanted to find his way through the forest, he'd have to go now. "It would take too long to explain." He skipped over to his jeep and searched the backseat. "Dammit. I don't have a flashlight. Lydia, do you have a flashlight?"

Lydia folded her arms. "Maybe. Where are you going?"

"Into the woods—I have to leave now, it would be awesome if you could lend me that flashlight."

She smiled up at him and batted her lashes. "Only if you let me go with you."

He blanched. "Uhm, no…that's probably—"

"I want my boyfriend and mom back, Stilinski. I'm coming with you." She marched back to her car and pulled a flashlight out of her glove compartment. "I can't believe I'm getting in that thing with you…Jackson so owes me." She hopped in the passenger seat and tapped her fingers impatiently while Stiles' brain recovered functionality.

"Right, okay." He jumped in next to her. It wasn't like he could refuse her. He never could.

A/N: Thank y'all for waiting these three weeks while I was on my hiatus! I got a good handle on my other projects so updates should be consistent once again! This chapter is a bit short, but I've got something special in store so I ended it early. /wink

Uhhhhhh, I don't know what else to say. I'm thankful for all the comments, well wishes, and assurances (esp. in regards for my er smutty plans). I know I'm not the best at personally responding, but I hope y'all know I appreciate every single message and they make me smile and brighten my day and keep me writing!

-J