A/N: So I know it's been a while since an update and I can only appologise! Life got really busy all of a sudden and I just couldn't keep updating under the circumstances. I know you probably don't want to read a big authors note, and you'd rather just get to the chapter. If that's the case please do, however I'd appreciate it if you gave this a quick read. Now this isn't a particularly cheery topic so sorry about that in advance:

I recently lost one of my oldest friends. It came as a total shock and I've been sort of at a loss of what to do since then. Her name was Kelsey and she was the most amazing friend I could have asked for. She was always honest and incredibly loyal, and even though we maybe didn't talk as much as we used to, I still considered her to be one of my best friends. She had struggled a lot with suicidal thoughts and behaviour in the past, and I always tried to help her out when those days occurred. As time went on she stopped talking to me about it and seemed a lot happier, so that's what I thought she was. When I got the call saying that she had killed herself, I basically refused to accept it. I kept saying "I thought we made it" because I thought we had. Now this isn't a sob story for me, this is a PSA to anyone out there who struggles with suicide, or knows someone who does. Please, please, talk to someone, anyone. I know you might feel like your bothering your friends (certainly, that's how I've felt the past few weeks) but if they are your true friends they will care about you and want to help! And to everyone in general, please take the time to tell the people you love that you love them. I am haunted by the words I didn't say to Kelsey. If you're thinking of sending a face book message, don't decide against it because you can't be bothered. Have that conversation. I stared at the green facebook messanger dot the night she killed herself and thought about messaging her, but chose against it. And now I can't help but wonder if I had, maybe things would have turned out differently. However, I just wanted someone to know what an amazing person Kelsey was, and that she always encouraged my writing and inspired me in what I do. 18 years is far too little life to have had, and it's far too young to have to attend your best friends funeral. So please, if any one is ever having issues or needs someone to talk to, send me a message if you don't want to talk to anyone else. 0% judging, I will listen to you and chat to you and do my very best to make you feel better. No problem is too small or too big. I love you all and I hope that you feel comfortable enough to talk to me about any problems, I don't want to lose any more friends. To quote Stiles, "Death doesn't happen to you. It happens to everyone around you. Okay? (It happens) to all the people left standing around at your funeral trying to figure out how they're going to live the rest of their lives now without you in it." I lost my Stiles, don't let go of yours!

Anyway, enough sad stuff (or at least real sad stuff) for now. I hope you enjoy the chapter J

He couldn't help himself. Try as he might, he couldn't resist the urge. Most days, he managed to distract himself for a little while, talking to Scott or spending time with Natalie cleaning up the Lake House. Even in those blissful distracted moments however, the dark thoughts lurked at the edges of his subconscious. Echo House. The thought reverberated around his head in a hushed whisper. Freezing for a moment, he stared blankly at the wall he was painting. His hands were shaking, the cream paint that he had sloppily dipped his brush in now dripping onto the polished wood floor. "Stop it." He scolded himself, in a whisper low enough so that Natalie wouldn't hear him from across the hall. "Stop thinking about it. Just- concentrate on what you're meant to be doing." Breathing heavily through his nose, he screwed his eyes shut and counted to three in his head. Slowly his focus returned to him, and soon he felt ready enough to open his eyes.

Blinking in surprise, he realised that his forehead was pressed against the wet paint on the wall. He hurriedly lurched backwards, wiping the paint off on his sleeve whilst looking around to make sure Natalie hadn't noticed his odd behaviour.

"Stiles?" Although gentle, the voice directly behind him made him jump, scrambling away from the perpetrator.

Running a hand through his hair nervously –and leaving streaks of paint on more than a few strands- Stiles looked across at Natalie, "Hey uh- yes. Um, what're you doing there Natalie?" His eyes flicked rapidly across her expression, trying to decode what she was thinking.

"Wondering what you were doing there." She pointed first to the wall, then to the paint on the floor, and finally to the paint in his hair.

Looking around at his mess he puffed out his cheeks, screwing up his nose and squinting at her from the floor, "Uhhh yeah... sorry- about- uhh- about that" He waved a haphazard arm behind him at the mess, somehow managing to knock over the paint tin that sat next to him. "OH GOD nononononono-" he scrambled into action, grabbing the tin and sitting it upright before staring in horror at the rapidly spreading pool of viscous white paint. Watching as it raced along the grain in the wood floorboards, he faltered, unsure of how to solve the problem. Desperate, he began pulling off his shirt, ready to sacrifice it to mop up the paint disaster.

Half laughing, half shouting, Natalie threw out her hand, "Stiles no! Look here's a cloth to clean it up with." He stared at the neatly folded cloth in her outstretched hand, jumping slightly when she added, "And for goodness sake put your shirt back on."

Gulping and nodding at an alarmingly quick rate, he pulled the grey top back over his head before grabbing the cloth and trying to clear up the spillage. "I am so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Aww no- Natalie it's everywhere- I'm so so sorry." Hands now covered in paint he desperately scrubbed at the floor, creating great arcs of streaking paint on parts of the floor that had been clean until then.

Watching the boy in front of her struggle in vein, Natalie sighed, "Stiles,"

"I am such an idiot I-"

"Stiles!" she cut him off, kneeling down beside him so that he had to look her in the eye. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from talking. "Look, let me clean this up. Maybe you should take a little break? You seem a bit stressed."

Raising his eyebrows he looked away, muttering under his breath, "Stressed is an understatement."

"Stiles." She reprimanded him again, her tone kind but very stern. "Take, a, break." Smiling at the end of her statement, she stood up, offering her hand to help him to his feet as well.

He was about to insist he kept working when a thought struck him, sending shivers of adrenaline through his muscles. "You know what, yeah. I think I do need a break. Hey-" he waved his arms, speaking far too enthusiastically to be considered normal, his face plastered with a jolly mask, "I know! We're gonna need more paint considering I knocked over that tin! I'll run to the store and grab some."

Frowning slightly at his sporadic behaviour Natalie began to resist the idea, "Stiles, I don't think-"

"Great!" He gave her a thumbs up, shuffling towards the door as he spoke, "I'll be back in like, ten minutes tops." Grabbing Lydia's car keys from where he had placed them on the hall table, he bolted out of the door, ignoring Natalie's feeble call after him. Feet crunching on the gravel driveway, he skidded and nearly fell over, coming to a stop outside Lydia's little blue car. The paintwork still showed scars from all of the graffiti. No matter how much he had buffed and polished the exterior, some of the marks just wouldn't come out. He also hadn't thought to buy new paint for the area's which he had worked on, so it was now a patchy, ugly sight. Thinking of how she would react, he winced and pressed his lips together, her furious tone echoing in his head. Shaking it off, he clambered in the driver's side, shoving the keys into the ignition and starting up the vehicle. Looking up he saw Natalie standing at the door, paint sodden cloth still gripped in her hands. Doing his best to reassure her, he rolled down the window and shouted "Ten minutes! I promise!" And then he carted out of the driveway, a little more roughly than he would normally, even with his erratic driving.

By now he was used to driving Lydia's car, and he cruised down the road to Eichenhouse with equal familiarity. "Agh what am I doing?" He shouted to himself, turning to the right suddenly, causing his whole body to swing sideways. Shaking his head he carried on, muttering as he drew closer and closer to the nut house. "I'm not going inside." He was almost lecturing himself, quoting from the many speeches he had received from Scott and the pack. "It's stupid to try and save her on my own. There's nothing I can do but wait." Seeing the tall black gates materialising in the distance, he gulped. Breathing out shakily he began to question just how good on an idea this had been. A chill shiver trickled down his neck, quickly enveloping his whole body. Hand trembling ever so slightly, he turned off the engine. He sat, leaning forwards and peering out of the windscreen for quite some time, unsure of whether he could resist going inside if he were to exit the car. Daylight was rapidly fading, and the cold was creeping inside of the car, turning his breath into pearly clouds of mist.

Lifting his hands to his mouth, he rubbed them together, blowing hot air into them. His limbs had grown stiff from waiting, and his leg cramped up as he tried to stretch. "OH GOD AHHHAHHH" He flailed, fumbling with the door handle, finally managing to burst the door open, only to discover that he had neglected to take off his seatbelt. He was yanked backwards, which only served to worsen the growing pain in his leg. Swearing loudly he punched the belt buckle, which sprang open, nearly hitting him in the face on the way past. Glaring at it sternly for a moment, he then hopped out of the car and tried to stretch out his cramp. Facing the dark street opposite the echo house, he felt the pain begin to ease. Staring at a nearby tree, he could have sworn he saw a beam of light dance across it briefly. "What the-" brow furrowed in confusion, he spun slowly on the spot to look back at Eichenhouse. Indeed, several beams of light were dancing around, moving rapidly but in an organised manner. Squinting, he thought he could make out several shapes. "Torches? What the hell is going on?"

Then, a scream.

Jolted with shock, he stumbled around the front of the car, hurrying into the road. Headlights blared and a car horn crashed in his eardrums. Scuttling to the other side, he only just got out of the way in time. Unfazed, he ran right up to the gates, hands wrapping around the slick black bars. They were so cold they stung his skin, biting into his palms like guard dogs. He did not notice. He was in a trance, he knew that scream, there was only one person it could be. And then, there she was. Lydia. The sight horrified him at first. She was skeletal, matted oily hair whipping around her as she spun from side to side. Her eyes were sunken and dark, and from what he could see her usually beautiful face was now quite frightening. Frozen in a mixture of awe and dismay, he watched as she confronted a guard. "Oh no," he whispered to himself, "Lydia watch out, what are you doing?" When she began attacking the man, he could have fainted where he stood. She was throwing kicks and punches, yelling with force each time she hit a blow. It actually looked like she was winning. He couldn't help but punch his hand in the air, jumping in glee at her victory when she knocked him down. Wild and dangerous, she spun around, focusing her fury on another adversary. Soon enough he too had been knocked down. His hopes were lifting, maybe he wouldn't have to rescue her, maybe she could escape on her own, right now. "C'mon Lydia. C'MON!" He yelled the last part, ripping his throat with the effort. For a moment she paused, staring in his direction. He wasn't sure if she could tell it was him, or if he was just a dark figure in the distance. Either way, it seemed to have some sort of effect on her. Just not the one he was hoping for. She screamed, sorrow and fear and hatred all bundled up into one glass shattering sound.

The two guards closest to her were knocked back, landing a few feet away in either direction. Walking towards him at an alarming rate, she snarled rabidly at anyone who came to close. She was at the top of the steps, only ten meters away from him, when a figure appeared behind her. She screamed, falling to her knees in pain. Dismay flooded his eyes as he saw the taser pressed into her back. "NO!" Another painful, throat ripping scream from Stiles.

Almost as if in response, Lydia moaned, "Please! I have to tell them! My friends, they're all going to die."

And then she fell to the ground, eyes staring blankly towards Stiles. Rage boiling his thoughts to nothing he screamed, banging on the bars and yelling at the guards. "LET HER GO!" He yelled, rattling the gate till it threatened to come apart in his hands. Rolling his eyes, one of the guards stomped towards him.

"HEY!" he shoved Stiles backwards, away from Lydia, "Cut that out, now! Unless you want locked up on this side, I suggest you go home."

Fury oozed out of his every movement as he slowly advance towards the guard, fist shaking as he pointed at him, "You- you can't keep her here forever. I swear to God if you hurt one strawberry blonde hair on her perfect head, I won't hesitate to shove your taser so far up your-"

"ENOUGH!" Yelled the guard, buzzing the taser dangerously close to Stiles' face. "I suggest if you don't want to be re-acquainted with the taser, then you should go home. NOW. Or should I call the police? Daddy isn't there to get you out of trouble any more, is he? I wonder how long they'd lock you up?"

Stiles was now so angry that it consumed his every thought. He couldn't even form words any more. Knowing that anything else but leaving would only get him into trouble, he forced himself to back away from the gate, turning his back on Eichenhouse and stomping over to Lydia's car. He threw himself in the driver's seat and sat, simply shaking with rage. Breathing deeply for a long time, he finally felt calm enough to drive back home. However, he did not take the series of turns and junctions that would lead him to the Martin house. Instead he found himself stumbling out of the car and climbing the familiar wall that led to Scott's window. Once on the balcony outside of his room, he banged several times on his friend's window. Bleary eyed and sleepy, Scott pushed it open, "Stiles? What are you doing here?"

"Scott-" he was nearly crying with a mixture of heartbreak and anger, still shaking violently as he spoke, "Scott we have to do this now. I can't take it anymore. And I think I have a plan."