You all are my witnesses! I said it first!

OoooO

Stiles was less than ten minutes from his home when his cell rang. A quick glance told him it was Scott and, for a moment, he almost forgot why the alpha werewolf would be calling him. "Hey, man. How'd it go? I was just on my way to you… What took you so long?"

"Me? It's like… almost 2 in the morning…. What have YOU been doing this whole time? I thought you'd meet us at Deaton's ages ago."

Stiles sighed. He knew that he was stuck and that any excuse would just sound outrageous. It was good that he already spent the entire drive slowly coming to terms with the fact that he was going to need the others' help in dealing with Daliah. However, he hadn't planned on coming clean so soon. He still wanted the information that Scott had learned first. "It's a really long story. Just tell me you have something."

Scott proceeded to fill Stiles in on everything Deaton had been able to tell them. With each passing word, Stiles felt the blood draining from his face. No matter how hard he tried to tell himself otherwise, he knew that he was completely and totally screwed. Scott ended his explanation as Stiles pulled into his driveway.

"Nobody has a single clue as to who the feeder might be, so keep an eye out," Scott finished. Stiles sighed again.

"For once it'd be nice for Deaton to tell us that it was all a big misunderstanding," he mumbled. He turned off his jeep only to notice something peculiar: his father's patrol car was in the driveway, but the entire house was dark. Something seemed increasingly foreboding about it and a lump formed in Stiles' throat.

"Hard to misunderstand a dead body," Scott replied. Stiles didn't bother responding as he slowly crawled out of his jeep and towards the house. "Stiles? You still there?"

"Yeah, yeah," he whispered. "Look, I'll call you back in a minute, okay?"

"Is everything okay? You sound-"

"It's fine, Scott," Stiles snapped unintentionally. The teen closed his eyes a second before adding, "I'm sorry, man. It's been a long day… I just gotta… talk to my dad for a second." He turned the unlocked doorknob and stepped inside his black home. "I'll talk to you later…"

"Stiles, wa-"

He didn't bother keeping Scott on the line as he took tentative steps into his home; it was even worse inside. The blackness within seemed almost palpable and a tightness formed in his check that made it hard to breathe. All he could do was think of the horrible things that had happened while he was on his impromptu road trip… Daliah bursting in, surprising his father, her teeth gleaming in the night…

The knot in his stomach twisted and the tightness in his chest made it almost impossible to breathe. Stiles tried to call out to his father, but nothing more than a breath of air escaped his throat. With shaking hands, he woke up his cellphone and dialed his father. The light from the device burned in the dark, but it only seemed to make it more difficult to see. Eventually, he got it to his ear and listened to the seemingly deafening ring.

And it rang…

Despite not seeing a thing, Stiles felt as though the room was spinning.

And it rang…

His eyes began to water as his breath came in short gasps. No, no… he thought, praying that Daliah had not done the unthinkable, that he was not responsible for his own father's untimely demise.

And it rang…

Stiles fell to his knees, no longer able to support himself on his trembling knees.

"Hey, kiddo," suddenly came his father's voice through the receiver. "Sorry about that, my phone was under an evidence box… it's been an insane night… Tell me you have something."

At first, Stiles couldn't reply. The relief that washed through him made tears fall from his eyes. His silence prompted a concerned response from his father, so he mustered up what breath he could to say, "D-dad… Where are you?" Stiles' voice was barely above a whisper.

"It's… nothing good," his father stated. He was quiet a moment – Stiles assumed he was walking away from whoever was within earshot – before continuing. "About an hour ago, we got a call… more bodies with the same bite marks were discovered."

Stiles swallowed loudly as the relief he felt before was quickly drained away. "…bodies?"

He heard his dad sigh into the receiver. "Three of them," he replied. "Deputy Newman and I have been working with the forest service on digging them out of the brush… The kills look fresh, like they're less than a few hours old, but whoever did this went through a lot of trouble to hide them… They're also scouting the area just in case…" He paused as a muffled voice spoke to him. The sheriff responded and then continued. "…in case there are more bodies."

"More bodies…" Stiles whispered. Once again, the room was spinning and he found it hard to breathe. This time, the now-familiar pain in his chest had flared up, as well as yet another migraine.

"Looks like Willis and Greene are headed back to the station to fill out missing-persons reports. I'll head back with them."

"Yeah… okay…" Stiles whispered as he clawed at his chest. The pain was breaching unbearable and he was starting to feel claustrophobic in his darkened house…. He had to get out of there.

"Did you learn anything that can help us?" his father prompted after a moment. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut.

"Yeah," he said as calmly as he could. "Yeah, I'll… I'll just meet you at that station, okay?"

"Alright," the sheriff replied, though concern laced his voice. "I'll see you soon, son."

Stiles didn't even bother hanging up.

His phone slipped from his hands and his entire world seemed to move in slow motion as he stumbled up his stairs. Recalling what had saved him from his earlier temporary incapacitation, the teen could only think of one thing other than Daliah's bite that would help him… and like hell he was going to let her anywhere near him ever again. So, despite barely being able to keep his eyes open against the pain, he forced one foot in front of the other until he fumbled his way into his father's bathroom.

"Gnn!" A painful stab in his brain sent shivers down his spine as he flicked the bathroom light on. However, he pressed onward, flung the cupboard doors beneath the sink open, and began tearing through old toiletries. "Damnit," he growled, blinded by his goal. In his mind, he heard his cousin Maggie's voice warning him yet again.

'Stiles… you can't…'

"The hell I can't," he said as he finally discovered his prize.

In his slim, pale fingers was a small orange bottle addressed to his father. The label read 'oxycodone' and it was prescribed to the sheriff after the Nematon incident. Unfortunately, the Dark Druid that had been hiding out as his English teacher had busted two of his father's ribs when she snatched him away for sacrificial purposes. Luckily for Stiles, his father had only bothered with half of a pill before putting them away… Whiskey had always been his father's painkiller of choice, anyways.

Stiles just stared at the bottle for a moment as the rush of blood in his ears grew louder. His father hadn't even drank. He just… put the bottle away, forgetting about it as he busied himself with saving lives. And Stiles? What had he done when he was in pain? He had been doing nothing but lie… and now he was stealing…

But… it was for the better… right? He had to resist Daliah… weaken her…

"We found more bodies…"

Those bodies… had they been his doing? In leaving town, had he forced Daliah to kill? The thought was so overwhelming that Stiles put his head to the ground and let out a small cry. He truly was pathetic.

Unable to bear the pain both mental and physical much longer, Stiles unscrewed the top of the bottle and grabbed two small pills. He took a moment to stare at them in his sweaty, shaking hand. "You won't win," he whispered, finally popping the pills. "I won't… let you… win."

OoooO

"And just what do you think charging in will do?" Scott asked, trying to hold back his frustration.

Derek crossed his arms and leveled his blue eyes with the alpha's. "You'd rather just sit here and wait on the word of someone you've never even spoken to before?" he asked.

"Since when did you listen to Peter," Isaac piped in from his leaning post across the room. Peter narrowed his eyes at the youth.

"Thanks," he growled.

"No offence," Isaac replied, "But your reputation isn't any more reliable than Clyde's."

"Oh, now I'm just hurt."

"Guys," Scott said tersely. "It doesn't matter what you say, Clyde is right about one thing: we're completely unprepared and we have no way of finding this thing or any clues on how to defeat it."

"That's what I've been trying to say," Peter said from the stairs in exasperation. "We're being kept in the dark."

Ethan and Aiden exchanged glances. "He's right," Ethan finally said. "We can't just sit here and wait for a potential threat to give us orders."

"But it's not just about waiting for orders," Aiden added. "It's the fact that this… maagrim is running around, killing people…"

"And then it gets stronger… and stronger… and stronger…" Peter said, standing, "And then we're totally unable to stop it."

Scott looked at the ground as his fellow wolves threw their logic at him. The more they spoke, the more he knew that they were right. However, it wasn't just the werewolves that had to deal with the maagrim. "And the police? And the other citizens that get involved? What if we fail? What if there's some key element in her defeat that we completely miss out on because we were too anxious for blood?"

The others were silent for a moment.

"And we still have to find the feeder," Isaac mentioned. Scott crossed his arm.

"There's too much we don't know yet," he said, looking Derek in the eyes.

The older werewolf stared right back before conceding. "…fine. The full moon is in a week. By then, she'll be strong enough to detect… And we'll be strong enough to take her on."

"Not if we can find her feeder first," Scott replied. "Lydia is going to get Clyde to open up, with our help… and the Argents might be able to help as well."

Peter sighed. "I like the plan without the screaming girl and the werewolf hunters…"

"Until the full moon, then?" Scott asked, willing to take any time he could get. "And… when the time comes… we'll help you."

Derek stared at Scott and the others for a moment. Finally, he stuck out his hand. "Deal."

Scott reached out to grab his friend's hand, but the sound of his cellphone ringing startled them all. With a confused expression, he grabbed his phone and checked the caller, thinking it might be Stiles. He was surprised yet again. "It's Allison."

"Maybe she found something," Isaac offered.

Scott answered the call. "Hey, please tell me you…" His sentence trailed off as all the werewolves listened in on the call. Human ears may have been able to hear the urgency in her voice, but the wolves in the room were able to make out almost every word. Finally, "…okay. I'll be there soon."

"Well," Peter said with a sarcastic tone. "This certainly changes things…"

OoooO

Everything around him seemed to move slowly; Stiles didn't mind it. The pain he had been in… permeating almost every inch of his mind and body… it was reduced to a very manageable, dull ache. In fact, he had forgotten more than once that it was even there. The oxy had been an effective choice and performed beautifully. Not only had it managed to suppress the physical pains, but his emotional distress seemed to vanish entirely.

Even as he was pulling into the police station at a god awful hour of the morning with people rushing in and out of the building, the potentiality of several deaths being his fault, and that he was hiding so much from his friends… though these thoughts still itched at his subconscious, he was much more capable of pushing them back down. He didn't know if it was entirely the drugs or their coupling with years of suppressing anxiety after his mother's death… but it didn't matter. They worked. He was free of Daliah for the night, he just knew it… and that was all that mattered.

The fact that it was an ungodly hour made it easier to hide his apparent lethargy. He yawned and rubbed his eyes as he walked in, the long hours finally taking their toll. "Stiles?" came the familiar voice of his father.

Stiles turned to face his father. He wasn't even sure how it was possible, but the sheriff looked even more haggard than he did. "Dad," the teen mumbled.

"Stiles… Thank god you're here… I could really use a hint at what we're dealing with here." He lead Stiles into his office. Before anyone else could catch his attention, the sheriff closed the door and locked it.

"How many bodies did you find?" Stiles asked quietly.

His father sighed and sat down at his desk before replying. "Thankfully, only three… they were in the same condition as the first body… one big tear at the throat followed by several smaller ones… it just doesn't make any sense to me… But, uh… I admit that I'm pretty new to all this."

"Just three…" Stiles repeated quietly. He stared at the empty space before him.

"They look like transients… No one's sure if they were local or passing through… Once again, the preliminary M.E. exam looks to be an animal attack."

"Yeah, if only," Stiles replied.

"I take it you got more solid information on what we're dealing with here?" his father asked, hopeful.

"Solid enough to work profile, as they say," Stiles replied. "Although, I just wanna say that the people's faith in animal attacks around these parts is unusually unshakeable."

Sheriff Stilinski smirked. "If they knew better, they might sing a different tune."

"Well, I can guarantee that this wasn't an animal attack… that none of these were… To put it simply, there's some sort of… hybrid-vampire-angel-demon-monster-thing running around, sucking the life out of people." His father stared at him without blinking. Due to his reduced state of self-control, Stiles couldn't help but laugh. "…sorry. It's, like... I-hate-myself-o'clock in the morning… I'm a little… sleep-loopy." Sleep loopy? He chuckled again at his own explanation. Why on earth was everything so comical?

"Huh… a vampire…"

"Not, not a vampire," Stiles replied. "She's more like a vampire-like… thing?"

His father quirked an eyebrow. "She…?"

Stiles' heart gave a hard beat, but he recovered flawlessly and explained in detail everything that he could remember. Admittedly, his mind was so foggy and his limbs so heavy that he wasn't even making sense to himself anymore.

"Stiles… Stiles!" his father finally shouted. The teen stopped and looked up at the sheriff. To his surprise, that same, sad smile was on his father's face that he used to see when he had anxiety attacks. "You're beat. I didn't even understand that last part about feedings or feeders or… whatever else you said. I'll get the rest of the story from you tomorrow, so go home. Sleep. You have school in the morning."

He stood and walked past his son, only to stop in surprise at Stiles gripping his arm with surprising strength. "Wait," he said quietly. "…will you be here? All night?"

The sheriff sighed. "Most likely… I'll just crash in the back and catch a ride in the morning. It'll be fine, I just have a lot of work left to do."

"…can I stay here?"

Sheriff Stilinski blinked in surprise and gave his son a concerned look. "Here… Why?"

"Dad, just… can I?" he asked again, his expression even more hazed over. It was far too difficult for him to focus, let alone drive home. But, more than anything, he didn't want to be caught alone with Daliah. "I'll just sleep here on the couch. I'm small enough."

"…alright, that's fine," the sheriff replied, though his concerned expression didn't waver. Stiles just ignored it and curled up on the small sofa to the side of the room. It was possible the most uncomfortable thing on the planet, but he was asleep within seconds. Sheriff Stilinski returned within the minute to offer his son a blanket, only to find his jacket balled up under Stiles' head and the skinny boy in the fetal position. He sighed, throwing the blanket over the teen before leaving and closing the door behind him. Deep down, there was a small ping of discomfort, as if something were wrong with… something… But he ignored it. There was work to be done.

And so, he left his slumbering son and dove back into bloody waters.

OoooO

Scott almost took the door off of its hinges as he and Isaac burst into the Argent's home. "Allison!" he called out. He heard the soft thunder of her footsteps before he saw her.

"This way," she said, poking her head around the corner for only a split second before disappearing again. Isaac followed instantly, suddenly causing mixed feelings to well up inside the alpha… but he ignored them. There were more pressing matters at hand.

Allison had lead them to the bathroom. Even before the door opened, they werewolves were overwhelmed by the strangest scent… it was sickly sweet… with a hint of death. Allison shoved open the door to reveal the bloody mess that was Clyde Duke. Chris Argent was also there, haphazardly stitching up a large wound on Clyde's pale, bare chest. He cried out in pain, the sound surprisingly grating to the werewolves' ears.

"Wha…" Isaac began.

"I was hoping you could tell me," Allison's father growled.

The situation seemed pretty dire; compared to the last time Scott and Isaac had seen the strange boy… he was fifty times worse now. Bruises and bite wounds covered his thin body. With every jerk and convulsion he made, a new wound peeked through a gash in his clothing. The most disturbing part, however, was that the profuse amount of blood everywhere… was solid black.

Clyde gave a gurgling cough and thick black liquid ran from the corners of his mouth. Allison covered her own at the sight.

"Someone better explain to me what the hell is going on and help me before this boy bleeds out on my bathroom floor," Argent said through clenched teeth.

Scott snapped out of it and dropped to his knees beside Clyde. "Hey… Clyde, look at me," he said gently. The alpha grabbed Clyde's trembling hand and drained away only a minute fraction of the pain he felt. Despite the miniscule amount he alleviated, it was enough for Clyde to slowly open his amber eyes and look at Scott.

"Sh… she's… killed again…" the pale boy spat out. "I tried t-to s-s-stop her…"

"Who did she kill?" Scott asked urgently.

"Who the hell is killing who!?" Argent demanded.

Allison came to her father's side. "Dad, please… I'll explain it all later."

Clyde coughed up more black blood, followed by a pained cry. Both Scott and Isaac flinched. The motion didn't go unnoticed. "I tried…" he whispered. "But… she's too… too strong…" Another cry of pain as Argent finished stitching. At this point, Clyde's eyes fluttered as he teetered on the verge of consciousness.

"No! Clyde, stay with us… Where is she!?"

"They were going to die anyways," Clyde whispered.

Scott felt a lump form in his throat. "Who?"

"The addicts, the victims… her prey…" Clyde coughed again. "I didn't… find her in time… and even though I… I chased her away… they were going to die anyways…"

Scott looked up at Allison, then to Isaac; they were all reaching the same conclusion. "Clyde… did you drain them?" No response, just Clyde's labored breathing. "Clyde! Did you finish them off!?"

"I needed to end their suffering! I needed to survive long enough to reach you!" the boy shouted back. At this final exertion, his eyes rolled back and he fell into Scott's arms.

The silence that followed was nearly overwhelming. It came as no surprise that Argent was the one to break it. Pointing to the unconscious boy, he said, "Explanation. NOW."

OoooO

"So he just… showed up like that?" Scott asked after Allison explained everything to her father. Argent had listened intently with his arms crossed and his eyes to the floor. Everyone could tell that he was wracking his brain for any clues of his own in regards to the maagrim.

Allison pointed to the trail of blood on the carpet. "Yeah, pretty much. He just kept telling me to call you here… for protection."

"He was afraid she would follow him here," Isaac concluded.

"Then why bother showing up at a teenager's home at all?" Allison asked. "If he was looking for a safe place to hide, a civilian home wouldn't have been my first choice."

"But you're not really civilians, now are you?"

Four heads turned to see a conscious and slightly less bloodied Clyde standing in the doorway to Argent's study. Scott kept his claws and teeth at bay, but Isaac didn't bother. Clyde just raised his eyebrows at the display.

"You're alive," Scott said, surprise coloring his voice.

Clyde 'tsked' and replied in his strange accent, "yes, thanks to Mr. Argent's steady stitching."

"Why did you come here?" Argent replied, cutting to the point.

"As I said… you Argents are not civilians. Your family hasn't been 'civilian' for hundreds of years."

"No offense," Argent stated, "but being an expert on my family history isn't going to save you, pal. In fact, it should have made you the other way."

"Sorry, but you were the closest thing to safety I had. I would've gladly run to the wolves first, but over half of them are plotting to capture, torture, and then most likely kill me," Clyde retorted.

Scott crossed his arms. "I already talked to them. I've managed to stall them until the full moon next week."

"How reassuring."

"We just extended your lifeline, man. The least you could do is tell us exactly what the hell is going on!" Isaac snapped.

Clyde was quiet a moment, looking between all their faces before finally saying, "I'm certain she's already chosen her feeder and has been draining them. It's the only explanation for how she could be this strong."

"So, that moves our timeline up a bit," Scott said quietly.

"True… and she's stronger, so she'll be difficult to defeat. However-"

"-she'll be easier to find," Argent piped in.

Clyde grinned, a macabre expression considering his appearance. "Exactly. Both she and her feeder will be more easily detected… All that's left to do is determine who the feeder is and use them to find her."

"You told Derek once that you knew who it might be…?" Scott asked.

Clyde shook his head. "It's more like an idea of who it might be."

"Care to share?"

"She likes young men," Clyde began. "The more beautiful they are, the better, but that's not all." He paused to inspect the wound on his chest. "They have to possess a sadness that's potent enough to draw her to them."

Isaac leveled a flat stare at Clyde. "Soooo we have to find a pretty-boy-angsty kid? In high school? Thanks for narrowing it down."

"It's not just anyone," Clyde retorted. "The pain they feel has to be so deep-seated that she can leech off of it… indefinitely."

"Does this she-maagrim have a name?" Argent asked. Clyde shook his head.

"She was Atalya when I knew her… many, many centuries ago. She shed that name when she chose to abandon me."

"Wait," Scott said, a question burning in his eyes. "That reminds me… Ever since Deaton told us how the maagrim were formed, I've wanted to know… Why aren't you the same as her? It sounds like the mutation affected all of your kind."

Everyone was silent as Clyde fought within himself on whether or not to answer. Finally, "because we were once the same."

"You used to drain innocent, tormented people?" Allison asked. Clyde sighed.

"It was a very long time ago. I was reborn among my people as maagrim… a young man once dead from typhus, now an angel of mercy come to cure the Goths of their pain and strife."

"The Goths!?" Allison asked in disbelief.

"I told you, it was a long time ago. We were primitive and violent. Atalya and I were the Angels of Mercy they thought they needed."

Scott, along with everyone else, finally put the pieces together. "…she's the one that made you a maagrim."

"She made me a killer… something I'm sure everyone in this room can relate to," he growled. Silence. "Everyone assumed the Huns had pushed us to the borders of the Roman Empire, but it was Atalya and I… after she showed me how intoxicating using our gifts for evil can be. We drove them apart and disintegrated their culture."

"So," Isaac said as he inched closer. It was obvious what was on his mind. "How exactly does this help your case?"

"Feeding off of human misery gives us power… do you really think I would have shown up like I did if that were the case with me?"

Isaac backed down slightly. "…good point."

"Then we need a list," Allison interject. "We need to find out who in our school might make a potential feeder. Morel might be able to help with that."

"Isaac and I can try to sniff out the feeder as well," Scott replied. He turned to Clyde. "You said that they would smell like her venom? Like… honey or something?"

"Yes, but… the fact that she killed so many tonight most likely means that the feeder is trying to resist her. It's good and bad for obvious reasons," Clyde grimly answered.

"Dad," Allison said, turning to her father. "We have to keep Clyde safe."

"…no. I won't have a mystery monster in my house."

"Dad, please!" she plead. "He's the only one with the knowhow on finding and killing this thing!"

Argent looked at all of the intense expressions directed at him. Finally, he sighed in defeat. "…fine. But we are gonna get nice and comfortable. Right here. With my .45."

OoooO

Despite sleeping on the cramped couch, Stiles didn't feel nearly as awful as he had anticipated. His father was gently shaking him awake, saying something about school. Stiles rubbed his eyes, noting the dull ache in his head and chest had returned. Thankfully, it was not yet in full force.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm up," he mumbled.

"We've got time to get home and have some breakfast," his father stated. Stiles stood, swaying slightly as he continued to rub his bleary eyes.

"Not hungry…" he mumbled again.

"Tough luck, kiddo. I am and you're my ride home."

Stiles eventually nodded and lightly slapped his cheeks to wake himself up. They made it home where his father began fixing himself breakfast and Stiles made his way upstairs to his room. Every step made the pain behind his eyes throb, but he ignored it for the time being; he was too busy trying to spot any evidence of Daliah having been there in his absence.

He walked into his room and was relieved to see that everything seemed in order. He dropped onto his bed and closed his eyes to the morning light. Not only was his home undisturbed, but his plan to survive the night had gone off without a hitch… the oxy had worked. In fact, he was so relieved that he even mentally applauded himself for remembering to clean up the mess he made searching for it… as well as keeping it safe in the meantime. Only the tiniest hint of guilt pinged at his heart for the secrecy, the lies, the stealing… but he just couldn't find it in himself to care. Until…

"Stiles?"

"Mmm?" he said from his face-down position on the bed. His father remained in the doorway.

"Let me know if Scott hears anything about the bodies, alright? Even if I can't explain it to my deputies… I can't stay in the dark for much longer while something goes around killing people with reckless abandon… okay, son?"

Stiles was glad that his father couldn't see the horrified expression in his eyes. "…okay, Dad."

As soon as the sheriff left, Stiles looked at his phone for the first time since the day before – several missed calls and texts from Scott flashed at him. They all asked about the bodies, though one text mentioned something about Clyde and the Argents, then a few more about 'where the hell he was'… He found it impossible to read as his hands shook and pain blurred his vision.

Quick as lightning, the teen flew from his bed and began rigorously searching through his bag. "C'mon," he whispered, feeling the panic attack set in. "Damnit!" he cursed, but he was soon rewards for the fruits of his labor; he had finally discovered the carefully hidden bottle of oxy and forced two of the white favors down his throat. Stiles sat back against his bed and attempted to control his breathing until they took effect. He knew it wouldn't take long. "C'mon… c'mon…"

Finally, the numbness enveloped him and warmth seeped back into his frigid bones. He stood, though not without swaying dangerously for a minute. Eventually, however, he found his balance and slowly changed his clothes.

He wasn't worried about facing the others. In fact, he was eager to help them, filled with a strangely renewed sense of determination. A nauseous feeling had overcome him, but he attributed it to popping two pills on an empty stomach. He shuddered for a moment, then made his way downstairs to munch on some toast. His father enjoyed the company and Stiles…

…Stiles was just happy to have an alternative tucked away in his bag. It didn't matter how wrong it was; he'd deal with that later. More than anything, he was ready to combine powers with Scott and the others.

He was ready to bring Daliah down.