"And how come he didn't tell me?" Coach Finstock growled as he flung the next few days' worth of handouts at Scott.

"I'm sorry, coach… It was kind of unexpected for everyone in his family. Y'know… his mom's side…"

The eccentric couch pursed his lips a moment before snorting and turning away. "Just make sure you tell him to do these before Wednesday next week or he's failing for the rest of his high school career."

"Will do, coach," the werewolf replied with obvious irritation. He shoved the papers into his backpack and strode towards the door. He almost made it to the hallway before a familiar head of strawberry blonde entered his vision, soon followed by a loud crack and several stars.

"OH! Oh… Oh my god…"

Scott stumbled backwards into Finstock's desk, illiciting a few choice words from the coach, but not before registering Lydia's freaked voice. He slowly reached up and put a hand to his now throbbing forhead. "…aaah, that hurt."

"Seriously, Scott? You'd think that with your reflexes you'd be able to avoid a full on collision!" she snapped.

"Yeah, yeah, just…" He glanced back at Coach Finstock, "just distracted." He shot his heartless coach a nasty glare. "Tragedy and all."

Lydia blinked. "Tragedy..?"

"See you later," he mumbled as he shoved past her.

"McCall!"

Scott stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Yes, Coach?"

Finstock seemed to fumble over his words for a moment, but eventually was able to force them out. "Tell Stilinski to take his time. If he needs to. Within reason!"

"Stiles…?" Lydia asked aloud. Scott ignored her.

"Thanks, Coach." With that, he quickly made his way down the hall.

"Wait!" Lydia called after him. Her heels echoed as she scurried to match his pace. "What do mean, 'tragedy'? And what's it got to do with Stiles?"

"It's nothing, Lydia," the werewolf replied. He had nothing against Lydia, but he knew that this was less about how Stiles was doing and more about satisfying the curiosity of a teenage girl.

"Is there a reason he's gone?" she asked, completely ignoring his attempts to rebuff her. He sighed.

"Look, he's just gone due to some family issues, alright?" Lydia blinked at him with her big green eyes, so he elaborated. "A cousin of his suddenly passed away and he and his dad are going to the funeral… It's on his mom's side of the family, so…"

"Oh," she finally replied. She looked away, an unreadable expression on her face. "Well. As long as it's nothing immediately detrimental to his health."

Scott smirked. "Wait… is that… concern I smell?"

Lydia's neutral expression was replaced with one of disgust. "Eww, gross! Don't ever say that again! And no! And… gross!" With that, she walked away, her heels clacking in the emptiness of the hallway. Scott couldn't help but grin as he overheard her mumbling something about all men being dogs, regardless of whether or not they were a werewolf.

It was harder to be around the grief than Stiles initially thought.

Despite the death that had become rather rampant in Beacon Hills, Stiles hadn't actually visited the homes of the deceased during the grieving process. There was nothing but an endless supply of tears, pain, and casserole. All in all, it made the teen sick to his stomach and he found himself fighting off a panic attack more than once.

He and his father had arrived the night before. Instead of staying in his aunt's home, they opted for a motel. Neither said they would rather have a motel, it just seemed like the easier option. They were able to prepare themselves better that way… During the drive, Stiles came to the realization that he hadn't seen most of his mother's family since her funeral several years back. It wasn't just his aunt's grief he'd be experiencing; without a doubt, everyone was going to be curious how the estranged father and son were doing… They would comment on how much Stiles resembled his mother and how greatly they missed her and old wounds would be reopened… He basically regretted the decision to go as soon as they started backing out of the driveway.

And he was right.

"Stiles?" said an elderly, but familiar voice. He turned to see his grandmother approach him with a warm, but sad expression. "Oh, my sweet grandbaby…" she whispered as she reached up to cup his face.

"It's been a long time, Gramma," he replied with a small smile. Tears welled in his grandmother's eyes as she took in his appearance.

"Too long," she continued in a whisper. "Claudia would scold the both of us were she here now." She gave his cheek a light pat.

Stiles couldn't help but smirk in embarrassment. "Yeah, you're right about that…"

"Stiles," his grandmother said, suddenly sounding very serious. He looked down at her frail hands as they gripped his. "You have to take care of yourself, okay sweetheart? I don't wanna lose anymore grandbabies. I've lived too long to see this much pain in our family."

For a moment, Stiles didn't know what to say. Finally, he nodded, suddenly aware that his voice had abandoned him. He grandmother gave him one last smile before moving on to other family. The teen just stood there as the tightness built in his chest and his breathing became pained. For a second, he thought he heard someone say his name, but the blood rushing in his ears blotted out most of the noise. It wasn't until the carpet beneath him gave way to linoleum, patio, and then grass before he eventually realized that he was being dragged away from the commotion.

Small hands were placed on his shoulders, forcing him to sit down on an uneven, wooden bench in what he assumed was the backyard. It was considerably more quiet out there, so Stiles figured he was alone with this stranger… No, not a stranger…

"Hey, kiddo…"

He knew that voice…

Finally, the tightness in his chest gave way and he took a deep breath of cool air.

"Woah, woah… slow down there, slugger." Those same hands were suddenly on his face. "Don't do that or you'll hyperventilate."

He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. It wasn't long before he was finally able to open them again. It was then that Stiles recognized his rescuer. "…Maggie?"

"Yeah, in the flesh," replied the petite girl. She took a seat on the bench next to him. "I could tell you weren't doin' so hot so I brought you out here for some fresh air…"

Stiles blinked in silence for a moment. "Me… me? But… Wait… YOU!" he exclaimed, jabbing a finger in his cousin's direction. "Everyone says you've been MIA since yesterday…"

"Yeah, well…" She paused a moment to light up a cigarette. "Forgive me if I don't wanna hang out in the house my brother died in at the moment." She pulled her shawl tighter around her small frame.

"…I'm sorry," Stiles replied. "I guess everyone's really worried about you." He turned towards her and finally got a good look at the cousin he hadn't seen in over seven years; what he saw shocked him.

He remembered her as an obnoxious and spirited little girl, but now she looked worn and haggard; aged beyond her physical years. He was certain that the death of her twin Bastian had a great deal to do with it, but it was more than just that. It was as if her skin was stretched over her skeleton, dark circles were prominent beneath her eyes, and her eyes themselves were… empty. Stiles saw nothing in them, not even grief.

"Maggie-"

"You shouldn't have come here," she whispered, flicking ash into the grass before them.

Stiles was a bit taken aback by her response, but didn't argue. "To be honest, I didn't really wanna come."

"No, you don't understand!" Maggie retorted. She flicked her cigarette away and grabbed Stiles' arm with a surprisingly iron grip. "You're in danger."

There was a moment of silence between them before Stiles erupted into laughter. Maggie seemed utterly surprised at his reaction; offended, almost.

"Danger?" he repeated, running a hand through his messy hair. "Oh, wow, if only you knew."

"Stiles!" his counsin growled. "I'm not kidding! It was incredibly stupid of you to come!"

"Sheesh, tell me how you really feel."

"I'm not talking about some stupid funeral dinner party!" she exclaimed. Stiles frowned.

"…I don't follow."

"I honestly didn't think you would have shown up… or I would've called and said to stay away…" Maggie was up and pacing by this point. "Shit, shit… first Bastian and me… then... No, no, I can't let that happen!"

"Maggie, what the hell are you talking about!?" Stiles exclaimed, standing as well.

Suddenly, the frail girl was inches from Stiles' face as tears formed in her eyes. "I brought this on Bastian… and now I've brought it on you… I should've seen this coming…"

"Maggie, Maggie," Stiles cooed as he attempted to hold her at arm's length. "This isn't your fault… okay? I know, I know it feels like it, but-"

"Damnit, Stiles!" his cousin exclaimed as she broke free of his hold. "She…" Without warning, Maggie's voice dropped to a whisper. "She likes our blood, our skin…" She reached up to touch Stiles' head. "Even… even our hair…" Slowly, Maggie began to push up her sleeve.

His heart sank to his stomach.

"I'm not following yet, but I definitely don't think I like where this is going."

A sob erupted from his distraught cousin. "Oh, god, Stiles… I'm so sorry… I'll fix this… I'll save you… as penance for what I did to Bastian… Oh, god it is all my fault…"

Maggie eventually revealed redness around the edge of what looked like a wound on her arm, though Stiles couldn't place what it looked like before she jerked her sleeve back down.

"Maggie!?" came a voice from the porch. It was obvious she wanted to hide whatever it was from the rest of the family. "Oh, Georgine! It's Maggie! She's come back! C'mon, dear, let's get you inside… get you cleaned up…"

One of Stiles' distant relatives approached and began to lead Maggie away, but not before she leaned in and whispered to him, "Tonight… in front of your motel around midnight… it'll be safe… I'll tell you everything… so you can save yourself…" Maggie was finally pulled away. "Tell no one," she added.

Stiles just watched as relatives ushered Maggie into the house and out of view, leaving him to contemplate her words.

"'She'…" he repeated. He ran a hand over his face. "Great… I should've brought a werewolf with me."