Lydia had just dropped Stiles back at the Station, and was driving back to his house to grab a few things that would help them explain what happened to the pack. Pulling into his driveway, she looked up at the rear-view mirror to check her reflection. At first glance, she didn't notice the man sprawled on the back seat. However, he slowly came into focus and she froze. How could he have been there all this time, without her noticing? Turning ever so slowly in her seat, she looked at the man. He was shrouded in shadows, but she could still make out the Sherriff badge gleaming on his chest. "Sherriff?!" She sprung into action, unbuckling her seat belt and throwing open the door of the Jeep. As she stepped out, she was shocked to find herself in a new location. The Jeep was gone, and instead she was in a dark, musty room. The only source of light was a crack in the ceiling, from which water dripped laboriously. Turning slowly on the spot, she found who she was looking for.

The Sherriff was propped up against the wall, hands clutching a point on his stomach. His face was ghostly pale, and his clothes worryingly red. His breaths were ragged, hitching before he could get a proper lung-full. She was just about to approach him when he spoke up. "Oh God I must be going crazy. Lydia?" He was squinting at her through bleary eyes.

Now she was finding it hard to breathe. "You- you can see me?" She took a tentative step forwards.

"Sort of-" he tried to sit up straighter and gasped in pain, "You're sort of flickering, I can hear you though. How- aw crap."

"What is it?"

"Is this some sort of Banshee thing?" His words were spaced out between heavy pants.

Looking at the man before her, she realised what he was thinking. The fact that they were having this conversation couldn't bode well for him. "I- I think so. But, we have everyone looking for you, this doesn't mean anything. I'm sure that-"

"Lydia." He cut her off, sounding strangely at ease. His calmness acted as a slight comfort to her. "Lydia, how many times have you been wrong about this sort of thing? Look, it's alright. Maybe we can figure this out in time, but I don't have much of that left," he looked down at his wound, "so we're gonna have to hurry."

"Alright," she was doing her best not to cry. She had no idea how brave the Sherriff was, he must be who Stiles got it from. "Okay, so do you have any idea where we are?"

He strained himself to look around, swinging a heavy head left and right, before settling his eyes back on her. "Honestly, I have no idea. There's a pretty major crack in the ceiling over there, so it must be abandoned. Then there's that smell, I can't place it."

Lydia took a deep breath in, only now noticing the odour. Coughing slightly she answered, "It smells like mould. Plus there's that water over there, we must be somewhere damp."

"Lydia it's Beacon Hills, everywhere is damp." Desperately trying to help, Lydia began pacing the room, looking for any clue as to where he was. The Sherriff watched her for a moment before speaking up. "Lydia would you stand still, it's exhausting just watching you. Look I know you want to help, but this is pointless. I have something much more important that I need you to do."

She spun to face him, walking over and crouching down beside him. "What? What is it? Tell me what to do Sherriff."

"I need you to tell Stiles something."

Some force took a vice like grip on her heart, and her eyes began to water profusely. "O-okay."

"I need you to tell him, this isn't his fault. None of any of this is his fault. Not me, not his mother. Would you tell him I love him? He needs to know that, I should have told him more often but-" another spasm of pain overcame him and he fell silent.

"Sherriff? Sherriff?! NO. NO I WONT TELL HIM. You'll just have to stay alive long enough to tell him yourself. So WAKE UP! C'mon Stilinski, stay awake. What else, what else are you gonna say to Stiles when we find you?"

The man groaned, opening his eyes, "That his friend is almost more annoying than he is. And that he should seriously reconsider his relationship with Malia." He chuckled and Lydia laughed in relief. The blissful moment was cut short however, as a tall, ominous figure appeared behind her. The Sherriff tried to warn her, and seeing his change in expression she whipped around. Now she was face to face with the creature. It wore a metal mask, with mesh covered slits that she assumed were to let him breathe. Feeling her courage building up inside her, she stood her ground.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

"We are the Dread Doctors. And you are trespassing, again."

"Let the Sherriff go." The doctor was edging closer and she found he voice wavering slightly in fear.

"Didn't I warn you to stay where you belong, Banshee? No second chances."

Watching as the doctor reached towards Lydia, the Sherriff gathered what little strength he had left and grabbed her jacket. Pulling back hard he brought her crashing towards the ground, yelling at her to go while she could. The surprise of her fall had caused her to screw her eyes shut. When she opened them, she found herself sitting in Stiles's driveway, leaning against the side of his jeep. Overwhelmed, she began to openly sob, no longer caring who saw her cry. When a figure appeared in front of her and called out her name, she was relieved. Grabbing the persons offered hand and pulling herself up she pressed herself against his chest. "Oh Stiles!" She was still sobbing.

The person spoke up, "Uhhh nope. I'm Scott, remember?" She jumped back, instantly embarrassed at her mistake. Hastily she wiped her eyes, trying her best to salvage her ruined makeup. "Lydia? What happened? Stiles called and said you hadn't come back, asked me to look for you."

Sniffing loudly, she brushed off her skirt. The weight of what she had just seen was still weighing heavily on her shoulders, and she wondered whether or not to tell Scott. Looking at him as he waited patiently, she realised that he was probably actually the best person to tell. "Scott? I had another Banshee moment, but this one was stronger. I was with the Sherriff and he could see me."

"Really? That's great! Right?" She remained silent and waited for him to figure it out. "Oh."

"Yeah. But, I think I have some ideas that might narrow down where he is. We should go tell Stiles right now, I just need to grab a few things from the house."

"Lydia, wait." Scott grabbed her arm as she turned to go. Looking at him in confusion, she waited for him to explain himself. "Maybe, maybe we shouldn't tell Stiles about this. Not straight away anyways."

"What? Why not? He needs to know what's going on. It's his dad Scott."

"Yeah, I know that. But it's Stiles. Is this the sort of information that's going to make him more motivated to find him, or the sort of information that will make him break down. I don't know how much more bad news he can take. He's only human."

She thought for a moment, seriously considering what her friend was suggesting. "You're right, he is human. But he's not just a human, he's Stiles. He can handle this, and he needs to know." Thinking back to their connection, she wondered aloud, "He might know already."

"Huh?"

"Nevermind. C'mon." She grabbed his hand and pulled him inside.

Meanwhile, Stiles was sitting at his dad's desk, looking at the room around him. The desk was a mess as usual, papers scattered everywhere. Amidst the chaos sat a framed family photo. It was from years ago, back when his mother was still alive. Stiles smiled sadly, it was one of his favourite memories. They had gone on an impromptu picnic, calling up the McCall's and heading to the nature park. It had been a really hot day, so they all got ice creams. The photo had been taken by Melissa the moment Stiles and Claudia had decided to shove their cones into the Sherriff's face. All three of them were laughing, even if his dad looked super surprised. Smiling, he put the photo down and turned to the computer.

Without a second thought he logged in, using the password he had found in his dad's notebook years ago. The internet browser was open, and Stiles flicked through the windows his dad had been looking at. It was all pretty dull until he came to the last page, which had been bookmarked. Opening it, Stiles felt a surge of pride. It was a website explaining how to play chess. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd tried to teach his dad the game, and had eventually given up. Seeing there that he was still trying to learn, probably so that he could play with Stiles, made his heart swell. There was a game still in progress, and Stiles examined his dad's technique. To his astonishment, the way he had been playing, his dad was set up to win. It made Stiles wonder how much time his dad had spent practising. The temptation to complete the game was strong, but he forced himself not to. "You're gonna have to do that one on your own dad," he muttered, locking the computer as he did so.

Turning around, he looked at the floor behind the desk, and found it covered in a collection of cardboard boxes. Each one was full of old case files. On closer inspection, he saw that the boxes were all labelled differently. Kanima, kitsune, werewolf, werecoyote, oni, nogitsune, other. The 'Other' box was nearly overflowing. The thing that was overwhelming Stiles was how hard his dad had clearly been trying to understand his life. Everything in the office hinted towards the fact that the Sherriff was doing his best to learn what was important to Stiles. The realisation caused the hollow feeling to return to his chest, and he sat back in the chair with a resounding thud.

He spun in circles aimlessly for what felt like hours, waiting for his friends to return. Parrish poked his head round the door once, offering him a cup of coffee. Stiles had declined, saying that if he took it, he'd probably never sleep again. Being stationary for so long was killing him, and boredom was pressing in at him from all angles. When his friends finally burst through the door, he jumped up, a hopeful expression on his face. Seeing the way they glanced at each other, clearly trying to figure out what to say to him, his heart turned to lead. It was so heavy, in fact, that it pulled him back towards the chair behind him. He gave in, lowering himself slowly till he was sitting behind the desk. Looking between his friends, he gripped the chair arms, waiting for the bad news.