were (you)

by bhanesidhe

• question everything • Bestfriends Scott, Stiles & Lydia were struck by tragedy when trapped in a car accident that took Claudia Stilinski's life. Scott & Lydia were rescued from the crash, Stiles body was never recovered. Traumatized & grief-stricken, Scott & Lydia drift apart until 6yrs later when a Monster descends on Beacon Hills. [AU]Were!Stiles Playlists @ 8tracks/bhanesidhe

18. frenemies

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Track 01 - Loosen Your Hold by South

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{Friday/Saturday: Midnight - Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, City Central, BH. CA}

The process of signing out of Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital turned out to be disturbingly quick. Or at least Kira thought so. One moment they were virtually strapping her to the bed, exaggerating a head wound as if her brain would leak out and the next minute, they had her family packed up and exiting through the side door like thieves in the night.

When Kira looked in the bathroom mirror, she saw tired, puffy eyes and matted hair but couldn't find a scratch anymore. Even the Doctors stopped ordering tests. When she brought it up to her Dad, he insisted the Doctors backed off because laughter was the best medicine, therefore she should just sit still and listen to more of his rendition of 'Hamilton'.

Mercifully, her Mom returned soon to cut him off. Kira had never been happier to see her.

"Dear, you're meant to make her feel better, not homicidal," she said when she took in the scene. Fatigue made her laugh lines lengthen but her smile stayed hidden.

A striking woman clothed in entirely in white silently followed in Noshiko's wake. But not in the same Doctor's lab coat sort of white, something made of a significantly higher quality in ivory and pulled off a designer rack with the intention of framing her statuesque form just to have the dark waves of her hair fall over the lapels.

"Kira?" Noshiko called sharply but not harshly, concern flooded her. "Did you hear her?"

"Wha?"

Her Dad gave a mild snort.

"Hello Kira," the woman voiced with a smooth and distressingly compelling accent. "I'm very happy to've met you darling but I think you're going to want to get dressed now. The reception is chilly out."

"Dressed?" Kira fumbled out of bed and wished she could remember how to detangle her limbs from a blanket. She was grateful her Dad was there to help. She wished she knew how to form sentences with more than one word. Unfortunately, no one could fix that glitch.

"We're going home now, Kira," Noshiko urged. She held bag of clothes in one hand and ushered Kira toward the bathroom with her other hand.

"Home?" at the bathroom door Kira stopped and stared blankly at their encouraging if not slightly edgy faces.

"Dear, much as it delights your parents to remain fretting at your bedside unending, I thought you might prefer it at the bed within their home. Would you like me to arrange that?"

After the briefest pause Kira nodded emphatically.

"Excellent. We're in agreement," the woman uncoiled a coaxing grin.

Realizing she had nothing else to say Kira closed the bathroom door between them, not that they paid her any mind.

The woman turned toward Noshiko and lifted a brow, "the papers for you to sign are with me. And as soon you and your bundle of ambitions are ready the car will be waiting by the side entrance."

Inside the bathroom, Kira hurriedly dressed while standing at a crooked angle, propped half against the door while she tried to hear what the adults said.

"I've made certain your path is clear," she assured the Yukimuras. A familiarity was still there, but the friendliness was clipped and only formality remained.

"Thank you," Ken said.

"Of course," the woman responded with instead of 'you're welcome.'

"We're grateful," Noshiko continued or started to.

"Gratitude is hardly a purview of the job darlings," her voice held the same chill in it that Kira sensed earlier; somewhat supportive and just shy of haughty. "I assure you when it comes to our working relationship, I can be very enthusiastic, but gratitude isn't my raison d'être. Let's hope that's not all you have to bring to the table."

"Are we bargaining?" just as Ken's voice came out in a gulp Kira also felt her throat constrict.

She felt like she had to decide between listening to her parents get condescended to by their Florence Nightingale in a tailored dress or make for a dramatic escape. Well, it was in her nature to make a runner, so she rushed out the door and stumbled into the fray.

When Kira asked where they were going next, both women answered 'home'. But she meant in that moment, she wanted to know where to aim her feet. Thankfully, her Dad understood and took her hand to lead her to the elevator.

When the elevator doors began to close on their descent a resident doctor along with a nurse headed in their direction. But an arm stretched gracefully across the divide and the woman attached to it explained the medical staff weren't allowed access to the elevator at this time.

"Why?" asked the resident.

"How many years of education have you accumulated thus far? And you've yet to learn not to question your betters?" she responded arrogantly, with just enough flair the staff members knew not to question her, so the doors shut between them.

"Livy!" groaned Noshiko in disapproval.

With nearly a foot's height difference between them Noshiko's glare wasn't misaimed but when Livy swung around her expression feigned confusion.

"Oh, of course," Livy ignored the implication she'd done anything rude and moved onto the next topic of importance. stooped and gave Noshiko her arm to lean on to sign paperwork.

When Noshiko looked to Ken for moral support her husband shrugged his ambivalence. With a groan, she scratched her signature along several forms without reading while Kira fretted her parents sold her into slavery. But whenever she looked to her Dad his goofy grin gave her confidence that he liked her too much to throw her away.

Fortunately for Kira's nerves the woman didn't follow them to the parking lot, she just ushered them to the ambulate entrance and where a man named Leveque escort through the hospital's maintenance vehicles to where a man named Ulrich had the car ready and running for them.

Even when the hospital disappeared from view through the back of their car window Kira felt anxious as hell.

"Mom, are you a spy?"

Ken scoffed, sniffed and glanced back, "don't be silly Kira. Maybe that concussion knocked things around. You know your Mom works in antiquities, just like you know you need some rest. Stop goofing around now."

"Mom?" Still no reaction. "Mom?" Kira repeated a little louder.

"Kira, what is it?"

"Are we spies?" Kira asked.

Ken didn't laugh that time. He looked to his wife as she drove with a smooth stillness, he couldn't master in a hundred-hundred years.

"Spies, Kira" she said irritably. "No, we're not spies."

Along the awkwardly sporadically trafficked throughway on their way home Kira considered her parents' miraculous appearance on the bridge when she needed them and their unquestioning behavior throughout the night.

"That's exactly what a spy would say," she grumbled.

From the sour expression of her Mom's face to the awkward chuckle she heard her Dad try to stifle there was an obvious sense of secrecy.

Despite the power restoration around the city, electricity hadn't reached as far out to where they lived in The Hills neighborhood. It was late enough to be early the next morning. They could get away with a single candle in the hallway to keep from bumping shins on the way to the bathroom and another candle by the stairwell to prevent a slip-and-fall. Her parents went to the task of pooling their emergency resources and directed her straight to bed. Kira didn't put up an argument. She found she didn't have a voice at all when she lit a candle on her bedside table, and everything lost explanation.

She wanted to change out of the 'appropriate' clothes her Mom chose for her because everything she wore the day before had been burnt or bloodied. She wanted to wear pajamas she could burrow into her covers with, something mixed cotton blend covered in superheroes icons and positive vibes. What she didn't want was to turn around and face her vanity mirror and find her reflection aglow from within. Not vibrant but totally something along the definition of glowing. When she looked down at her hands nothing stood out as interesting, absolutely nothing special but the reflection made it seem like a sheen of gold dusted the air around her.

In a panicked habit, she reached to turn on the lamp on the nightstand to see things clearer. She shouted in surprise when instead she pulled it too far and detached it from the wall. Afterward she kept quiet in dismay when the lamp turned on anyway.

"Kira, are you okay?" her Dad called from the kitchen. It smelled like he had put some coffee on to brew. He would go to work in a few hours, he would go back to his regularly scheduled program and to pretend like none of the night's events happened.

Kira let the lamp go. Once her touch disconnected the power deactivated and it bounced lifeless onto her bed.

"I'm fine," she lied. If they were going to be spies, she was determined to be better at it than her parents were. "I knocked over a lamp while getting dressed."

2 rooms away Noshiko pulled her head up from where it was cradled in her hands. She had a look of hope in her expression that her husband disapproved of because he translated it as cowardice. Kira expected her Mom to be stern and forbid her to go to school, to order her to homebound rest and obtuse double-talk throughout the day. But when Kira bound into the kitchen freshly showered hours later, it was her Dad who looked uneasy and showed disapproval, as in genuine stern-voiced disapproval about her quick return to school. In turn her Mom gave her quiet gazes and simply wished her well before she left to go to sleep herself.

Father and daughter did argue, all through breakfast, right through his organizing paperwork for advising students coming on the weekend for make-up assignments, through the bathroom door as he showered and shaved, and the duration of the drive to school.

"Why couldn't you have stayed home and rested?" he pleaded once he slammed closed the car door.

Kira closed the passenger side door, her hair caught in her mouth and gave her a second to think of something clever. To cover up why she wanted out of the home, to gloss over the fact that her reflection frightened her, to skip over the fact that their backyard haunted her with visions of a red haired waiflike woman with an ominous message and to ignore the fact that she wasn't 100% sure her parents were being honest with her anymore.

"Because I really think Mom's a spy," she flubbed up her reply.

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Track 02 - Hell Around The Corner by Tricky

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{Dawn - Argent's House, 1st Floor, Chris' Study}

After plenty of practice being the son of a single mother, Scott knew the signs of an angry Mom. Maybe Isaac sensed her nearing presence but ignored it because curiosity had the better of him. Or maybe Isaac sensed her but ignored it because raised in a household of Werewolves with hyper-senses meant things like hiding under the covers weren't worth the effort.

With seconds to spare Scott managed to squirm under a duvet while Isaac stared expectantly at the door as it swung inward. Stiles gave a meek, inexcusable wave as he staggered by them, and Isaac came to face Victoria. They stood side by side listening to a succinct threatening lecture about what she would do to either of them if she caught them sneaking out of the room to see their 'girlfriend' again.

"Again?" asked Scott as he kicked off the covers as soon as she closed the door behind her.

"Remember, I got caught in the stairwell after I searched for passersby," Isaac reminded and with amusement in his voice, he searched Stiles' face for an explanation.

"I got caught in the closet with Lydia after we escaped Meeting/War Room," Stiles shrugged like he hadn't painted a picture that explained the reason for Victoria's maternal outrage. "Never mind what I've been up to," Stiles waved off Scott's lecherous grin as he plopped down beside him on the couch. "What have you 2 been up to? You guys, okay?"

"I wish everyone would stop asking that," Isaac grumbled and moved to lean on the doorframe. "You're fine. We're fine. Everything is going nuts in this town but we're all okay."

Stiles looked to Scott in aggravation and gestured to Isaac with a flick of his wrist as if to demand an explanation.

"I think he's worrying." Then Scott lowered his voice, "I thought he'd be relieved when you got back."

Stiles glanced over toward the door sensing Victoria somewhere nearby wandering around, "what is it? What's going on?"

"She's staying. She hasn't gone back to the Lodge," Isaac complained. After a huff he turned and dragged his feet over to them.

"Makes sense," Scott laughed lightly. Both sets of eyes looked to him, expectant of an explanation. "It looks to her like you keep sneaking out to see your girlfriend." They groaned in acknowledgment and relaxed a little, Isaac finally sat across from them. Scott added with a smirk, "I would stand a better chance of sneaking out and seeing my actual girlfriend than either of you have of asking to go out and take a leak."

Ignoring the icy reception from his comment Scott reclined along the sofa, shoving Stiles over and went on to question, "how did you escape?"

"Things didn't exactly go as planned. Lydia started to have some anxiety attack or something," he lied blithely.

"Lydia doesn't get anxiety," Isaac raised an eyebrow smelling something distinctly fishy "she gets results."

"Whatever, then she got us out," Stiles waved off any longer explanation.

"Figures," Isaac leaned back sidelong onto the smaller couch but he looked about as comfortable as a broken toy, his angles were ill at ease. The furniture wasn't the problem, "it sounds like Mrs. Argent's on a conference call." He cast a glare at the door. The other 2 had to concentrate hard to confirm it. Obviously, something in Isaac's tightly wound nerves left him more high-strung. "We're not going to get any sleep, are we?"

With a grumble Stiles looked to him and gave a nod. But Scott in turn struggled to stay awake and yawned through an apology.

Isaac stared at the ceiling and listened to the lady of the house in the den whisper angry orders over her cellphone. Someone somewhere didn't show commitment to the cause the way Victoria anticipated, someone somewhere disappointed her and didn't turn up to the main house and wouldn't because they had more important things, but she was adamant nothing mattered more than family. The way she said it made Isaac picture the Hunters he feared in his youth. Isaac might not have been locked in the 'Family' room upstairs, but he still couldn't break out of the Argent's house. Throughout the night, over dinner and in the past several weeks Allison proved she was nothing as heartless and shallow as the impression her family gave off. He glanced at Scott who drifted back and forth into dreamland under a Hunter's roof and Stiles flitted through his notes again. Isaac practiced breathing mindfully and while he wondered what it would take for him to adjust to this new mindset when his cellphone went off.

"I'm in the bathroom," Allison started off then rushed with an explanation after she thought otherwise. "I have to rinse toilet water off me. My Mother surprised me. She was in my room when I got here, so I had to- I did something. I couldn't get to them right away. But they went and broke out, the idiots-"

"I noticed," Isaac snorted. He felt relief wash over him. Somehow her ridiculous and unnecessary phone call made everything better. "It's fine. How's everything? How're you?" he asked when the sound of stress hadn't dissipated.

"I'm- I'm- everything is alright. Lydia is a little frazzled but okay, Prada is making her feel better. We're going to try to get some sleep. You should try to get some sleep," she took in breath and held it. There were sounds around her, the odd echoed sounds a bathroom gave at the opening and closing of a mirrored-cabinet when you can't find what you need. Finally, "I'm sorry."

He sat up, "why?"

"I said I'd go back and get them. I wasn't quick enough. I screwed up."

"No. It's fine." Isaac wanted to explain how he knew she tried her best, because Allison settled for nothing less. He also wanted to re-explain how stubborn and hardheaded Stiles and Lydia were and if they were determined not to wait for Allison, there was nothing she could have done. But it seemed an improbable statement to be believed from him anyway.

"It's just you were worried."

"All of us were."

"Yeah but-"

"Get some sleep," he gently advised. "It's all good."

Allison paused again, the non-sound felt different. Her breath came easier, and she sighed deeply, accepting his acceptance of her apology before she hung up.

When Isaac tucked the phone back in his jean pocket, he caught Scott with one eye open and a sly smile, no longer pretending to be asleep.

"Whatever," Isaac whispered, smiling in gratitude that they considered his anxieties and didn't judge him too harshly for it.

"What? What did I miss?" Stiles peered around between the 2 of them, expectantly.

"Everything," Isaac nagged. "How can you notice anything with that stuck up your nose?"

Like a heart attack victim would clutch their chest, Stiles clutched the notebook to his in extreme offense.

"You're obsessed," criticized Isaac, concerned with yet another friend's over-worrying.

"I'm not obsessed," Stiles came back and after bringing the notebook onto his lap added "Scott, tell him I'm not obsessed."

"Stiles," in a groggy voice Scott added as mildly as he could, "you do seem a little obsessed."

After considering the accusation Stiles rubbed at his chin and explained it, "I'm not obsessed. I just have questions."

"And now that you have answers," Isaac reminded teasingly but with worry threading throughout "you're scouring through that notebook more than the day after someone sat us down to explain why boys and girls were different."

At that the last layers of sleep peeled off Scott and he sat forward kicking out from the covers, a dopey grin on his face. "You had to have someone sit you down and have that talk? But you'd met girls before?"

"He means explaining why they're different during the full moon," Stiles said. He shook his head a little, not enough to shake off his aggravation but enough to embrace a distraction "the way their change has more power than ours. Kids don't take that with a lot of seriousness which is why I took notes. I didn't want to forget anything."

"Unless," Isaac emphasized the word ominously, "you're learning something the rest of us aren't-"

Stiles tossed him a glare and responded low, "no."

"Then you're keeping something from the group," Isaac accused in a correspondingly low tone of voice.

"Is that what you think?" Stiles voice got angry but not louder. "If my nose is in this, then I'm not with you guys?"

"No one is saying that," Scott assured him.

"Why not?" Isaac openly contradicted. Slowly his temper rose and with it he came to stand over Stiles. "You've disappeared before. From him, from me." Stiles jumped to his feet, his notebook rolled into a clenched fist while he stood nose to nose with his foster-brother.

"Wait, guys," Scott said as he got up.

"What's keeping you from running off to make another big mistake that leaves you half dead in a ditch?" Isaac took a deep breath and waited for a rebuttal from Stiles that didn't come. There was only a fueled and hurtful glare.

"Isaac!" Scott tried to warn him off of saying something he might later regret.

"Scott, stay out of this!" Stiles snapped at him without looking. His eyes remained penetrating Isaac and demanded to know. "Is this because I said I didn't trust you?"

"This is because you still don't trust me," Isaac replied, realizing that in Stiles' glare there was sadness but not remorse.

"And now," Stiles said, his fist clenching tighter around the notebook, the sound of it twisting being the only thing that came between them, "you're trying to figure out why you should trust me at all with all our family obligations stripped away."

Isaac wiped at his face and took a step back. He was humiliated to realize how close to tears he felt. He admitted, "something like that but at a higher volume and with broken furniture."

"Maybe some broken bones?" Stiles shook his head. His voice went weak with the lame offer.

"Maybe," Isaac shrugged.

"Raincheck." Stiles smacked the notebook against his open palm and tried not to take offense when Isaac walked off to find something solid to lean against. Stiles thought about how much his friends had stood beside him, burglarized beside him, ran beside him, hid beside him, and generally remained beside him without being asked and how easy it had been to take it for granted. "Guys, there's nothing in here. Nothing in here more important than whatever we do next. These are dumb notes that are probably weighing me down more than helping at this point."

"You know," Isaac nodded from where he leaned against the fireplace, "I can think of one thing you can do with them, then."

After a deep breath Stiles said, "I have a better idea." Then he walked around the couch, across the study, opened the grate for the fireplace and threw the notebook in.

On the left side of Stiles, Scott rushed over and stared at him in confusion. Isaac stood on his right side, looking over his shoulder staring from the fire to Stiles and back again in abject mortification. Stiles watched and admired the flames while a sense of strained disbelief and strangling relief wrapped around him.

"That's great Stiles," Scott comforted, putting a hand on his left shoulder. "But I'm pretty sure Isaac was going to suggest you shove them up your ass."

"I really was." Isaac nodded.

"I realize that now," Stiles said, his voice cracked.

"Just a little late," Scott figured.

"Just a little," Stiles confirmed and looked to Scott with a slow growing smile.

"But I appreciate the gesture," Isaac beamed, putting a hand on Stiles' right shoulder.

"Keep your gestures to yourself, dumbass," Stiles brushed them both off. He came back to life, his eyes bright, neither angry nor happy but with the flames lit around him he looked incensed, something akin to a phoenix reborn. "What do we do now?

Isaac followed him away from the fireplace but stopped just shy of pacing behind him. This felt familiar; it felt better and right, like scheming with a pack once more. Finally, "I don't know. You were always the plan guy."

Stiles rolled his eyes and waved his hands dramatically at the fireplace "that was my plan book!"

"Guys," Scott said in a warning voice. He held a finger over his lips reminding they should keep it down in case Victoria would overhear them. They stilled and listened hard to hear if they were being listened to. Nothing. Then they looked to one another and after a second Scott assured them with a grin, "we'll figure it all out together."

"I knew we weren't getting any sleep tonight," Isaac sighed. Stiles shared the sentiment.

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Track 03 - Gasoline by Halsey

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{Saturday: Sunrise - Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, ICU}

"That's 'Esquire'." Jackson was pleased to brag about, it was one of the few things he was proud of when it came to his folks. He loved to throw around the fact that if people didn't do what he wanted he could sic his Dad, David Whittemore, Esq. on them. "It means lawyer."

That sort of subversive threat didn't make Dr. Geyer sweat, not just because the hospital had its own troop of lawyers but because he had Jackson's best interests at heart.

"Hold on, I'm not saying you can't go home, I'm just saying I'd advise against it," he gave the Whittemores his patented authoritative inarguable look. "It was less than 12 hours ago your son was brought in due to massive physical trauma, severe burns over 90% of his body on death's door. A turn-around that quick is worth at least observing."

"Maybe it is," Mrs. Whittemore said, her arms crossed, and hair pinned back in a bun as severe as her glare, "but it will damn well be in a different facility than one that would professionally declare him 'at death's door.'"

Jackson grinned ruefully and looked from his parents to his Doctor, an expression made more severe by faint scabbing that ran the line of his jaw, like tendrils along the right of his face up into his hairline. Eventually and unsurprisingly his parents wore the Doctor down and he left to get the discharge paperwork together.

"We'll get you home," his Mom promised and touched his hair. She jerked her hand back with the feel of its crisp, cooked ends. Jackson pushed her hands away to spare her the embarrassment of indignity. Instead, she promised, "we'll get you the best help. We'll take such good care of you."

"You're kidding me, right?" he derided and shuffled away, making it seem like the hospital slippers were the reason for his limp and not the nerve-endings giving hundreds of tiny spasms as they rejoined. "I've got this," he called from behind the curtain where he flinchingly peeled back the layers of his hospital gown. "I just need you guys for the paperwork."

Mr. Whittemore looked to his wife, sadness darkened her eyes, but she said nothing, just hugged her arms tighter around her. He put a hand on her shoulder and tried to share some strength which was in fact sheer stubbornness and admittedly the only thing Jackson inherited from them.

11 years ago, Jackson started in on being unreasonably hard on himself, an overachiever with a need to make someone proud, which replaced affection in his mind. There was no convincing him otherwise, it was easy to assume it was directly connected to that day they sat him down and told him he was adopted. Dependency replaced trust and their household simply functioned, instead of belonged.

"That isn't all you need us for, son," Mr. Whittemore fished for something, anything to connect. They'd just spent a night mourning their only child, but Jackson played it off like it was as inconvenient as being pulled over for another D.U.I.

After a moment, he pulled the curtain open with a yank, he looked from his Dad to his Mom with practiced arrogant expression, with an expression 'only a Mother could love.'

"Nah," he walked across toward them but instead sat in the chair nearest the door.

It was a space awkwardly close to his Mom for someone who felt emotionally distant. She realized quickly, his sneakers remained in his hands because his fingers were too cramped to uncurl fully. The hard look in his eyes went away as she made a gesture to ask if he would allow her to help. When she mouthed along with the rhyming mechanism, while moving her fingers to laces through the hoops, as 'Mr. Bunny went over, under and through' Jackson smiled a little.

"My car is totaled. Can I get keys to the truck?" he asked, looking up to his Dad.

"You can't drive like this," he looked devastated to deny his son but did so anyway.

"The Doctor said I wouldn't get anymore mobility without practice," he reminded grudgingly.

"He meant taking it slowly. Getting out of bed to take yourself to the bathroom and maybe even walking around the block."

"I'll get someone to drive me, I just can't go home," Jackson insisted. He didn't know how to explain, they made him feel comforted and wanted but they couldn't make him feel secure there.

Mr. Whittemore wiped at his face, and then crossed his arms taking his officious stance to give it some thought.

"I love you kid," he said, understanding that the statement made Jackson uncomfortable, but it was exactly the sort of moment where it would win as a strategic argument. As a Dad he would regret not saying it. "I really do, but I'm not letting you take off."

"I'm not taking off, I've got lacrosse," Jackson argued. He knew how petulant he sounded in his own ears, but he also knew that if he made a decent argument, his Dad would give him wiggle room. "I'm getting better by the minute. I want to be around people and not in some hospital room. You said as long as I find someone to drive me around-"

A rapping came to the door announcing the Doctor's return with their paperwork. They mentioned Jackson's intentions and again he advised against it, but he couldn't deny it.

"You are looking better by the minute. I still feel that you should be under observation, but if you're insisting, you'll have no problem finding someone to help." He seemed a little amused to admit it. "You've had everyone, from classmates, to teachers, to neighbors checking in on you. I'm sure there is someone still hanging around and willing to help."

Jackson nodded his head, a little less confident now that Dr. Geyer signed him out and the prospect was real.

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Track 04 - Bedroom Hymns by Florence & The Machine

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{Daytime - Argent's House, 2nd Floor, Allison's Bedroom}

Earlier, Allison had barely managed to grab on a plaid shirt from a 'possibly on a desperate day' pile and yank on high waisted shorts. She made for her bedroom door just in time for her Mother to shove Lydia through it. The relief masked her shock easily and she kept Lydia at arm's length when she went for a hug. An explanation was given that made a sort of sense, the sort of sense that went with teen drama, something about sneaking rendezvouses in closets.

When her Mother had gone, she asked Lydia about her well-being instead of how she had gotten out of the Meeting Room. After all, she wouldn't put it past Lydia to figure out some clever escape.

"I got caught rubbing up on Stiles in a linen closet," her face screwed up in distaste. "I need to get clean. How are you?"

"I gave myself a swirly to make my Mother think I'd been in the shower after I'd been missing her texts all-night," Allison's grin went lopsided until it managed a sort of frown.

"Alright," Lydia conceded, "you win."

While Allison hopped into the shower, Lydia yanked off her outfit and tugged on an oversized T-shirt to use as sleepwear. Afterward, Lydia pulled over the desk chair, pulled Prada onto her lap and spoke through the bathroom door and the sounds of a shower and explained how they escaped, that because of the Hunters they felt they couldn't wait for Allison and how she memorized the door's code. Afterwards, Allison dismissed Lydia's apology as she stepped out, drying off her hair by scrubbing it hard with a towel as if she could scour straight through her scalp into her brain.

"I trust you," she insisted with a smile. "After you offered to stay behind without me asking you to. That means a lot. You don't need to apologize for how well you know me."

They discussed what they uncovered after leaving the Family/Meeting Room and how well they knew it until they fell asleep, which was rather quickly with the frenzy of the evening's events past.

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The alarm on Allison's phone went off on her bedside table. At first it seemed like any other weekend where she'd head in for extended cram sessions BHHS (that was, if the school had been re-opened) had set up for midterms and maybe catch up with her friends for lunch (outside of her family's watchful eye). When she hunted, she rarely if ever carried with her the stress from the night before but when she woke to find Lydia beside her stretched out scribbling away, she felt the oppression of where they left off.

"You couldn't get any sleep?" she turned to her side, her voice croaked with sleep.

"I did. A little," Lydia swiped at her face, batting back hair and tiredness.

"Did you have nightmares?" Allison's worries started to move nearer but Lydia blinked up in confusion. Lydia dropped the notes she wrote onto the bed between them. It looked like in the middle of the night she rolled over, grabbed the nearest thing, and started to write away, and the nearest thing happened to be a 3-year-old unused address book with chibi animals decorating the pages.

"Nope. No nightmares," Lydia assured Allison. "I just had an idea."

Allison wanted to probe but she had the sense Lydia wanted to playthings close to the chest for a reason. Not that it didn't make Allison feel just as nervous as climbing rooftops by moonlight, but it meant approaching with just as much care.

"There were just some ideas I had for Mr. Harris's Genetics class that I wanted to get down. Thinking about them kept me up," her smile wasn't as bright as it could be.

Allison stayed still and waited. Lydia certainly didn't need help in her classes and maybe it was because of this. Maybe it was because in the middle of the night inspiration hit and she worked out theory in her unrest and it chased out chibi bunnies and baby chicks across a landscape of geotechnical engineering. Or maybe Lydia was full of crap, which is what Allison's instincts said.

"How can I help?" she pushed, and Lydia scoffed a little.

"With my Genetics research? Extra credit from Harris's class of Biotech and Genetics?" Lydia continued to emphasis the incredulity of this and the more she did so the more eagerly Allison nodded. After a deep breath she sat up and encouraged Allison to follow. "It's not strictly for class but it is something I am researching because-"

"Lydia, can I help?" what Allison meant was if she was capable of it, put her to work.

With another sigh Lydia heaved herself up into the sitting position and flittered through the scribbles on the pages between them and poked at her newly alive phone. Allison followed studiously, ready for anything.

"I've been thinking for a while now- Do you know what junk DNA is?" she asked assuming Allison would say no so she gave no pause and continued. "It's a vague term. But there is no such thing really as junk DNA just noncoding DNA, kind of like DNA that hasn't found a purpose yet. I think the Alpha's bite finds a purpose for it."

Lydia glanced down to the notes on her phone and tapped for it to highlight in emphasis. Then she met Allison's eyes begging her to follow along, "but that's a really naïve way of putting it. The bestiary had a really basic hypothesis; saying the bite caused the person to take the shape that reflects their personality."

"Now that is incredibly basic," Allison added dryly, however her attention was entirely captivated. "Do you think the bite or the stuff the bite is made from can be unbound from junk DNA?"

"Still, too basic," Lydia reminded and with her left hand tapped the pencil against the page. "This isn't actually a virus we're talking about. It's likely a genetic mutation- not an evolution which some Hunters seem to think. Some shapeshifters seem to think so too" with that comment she scrolled through notes on her iPhone with her right hand. "The mutation can be dormant in family members which is why some natural born pack members might never shift. While everyday people who're predisposed to the mutation, if they don't violently reject exposure to the bite, they might shift or if they have the dormant genetics at all and it's introduced into their system..."

"And that's when the non-coding DNA responds," Allison followed but barely.

"The junk DNA's response is the mutations. But there is an outlier parasitic element not considered that makes it so Alphas can get inside their Beta's heads. It's the same for all of them; Werewolf, Werecoyote, Werelynx, Werebear, Were-anything that have the junk DNA's response to the mutation introduced into the system except-" frustration heightened her tone and strangled out her words. Her calculations along the pages were a lot more complex than the explanation the supposed "-except a regular parasite can be eliminated. A virus could be cured. A mutation is a part of the person's natural genetics." Uncertainty held her tone, but her expression had a distinct feature Allison was familiar with.

She leaned closer to Lydia and peered over her shoulder as if she could make heads or tails of her notations. There were familiar markings, there were names and categories, there were priorities that Allison knew certainly, and Allison got exactly why Lydia could not give up.

"Lydia, how can I help?" Allison insisted. There was something in this pile that was driving Lydia to obsession and Allison had no intention of giving up either.

After a few more moments of glaring at the pages Lydia let out a groan of aggravation and took to her feet. She tore the pages from the book and held them tight in her hand, not tight enough to ball them up but tight enough to disfigure them. Unless you knew how Lydia's mind worked and her obsessive equations to save the world, they were useless.

"Allison, what does any of this matter if they're going to screw it up anyway?"

With a few blinks Allison's amusement at the comment faded quickly, then sat further upright, "how are they going to screw things up this time?"

While she paced, she looked over her shoulder, "you know what they're going to do, don't you? If I could hypothesize a way to block the mutation- if I found a way to protect them from being some stray Alphas targets, if I made it so that they weren't Betas anymore, it still wouldn't keep them safe."

The prospect hit Allison full force. It was something aside from beheading an Alpha that could return her boyfriend to being a regular teenage boy and she clambered to the edge of the bed, throwing back the tendrils of sleep as hastily as her bed sheet. Prada didn't appreciate getting kicked out of bed. She wished to God she understood genetics better and that Lydia's notes didn't read like hieroglyphics.

"Are you saying that you're looking for a cure?" Allison asked. Lydia gave her a warning look and did not answer. "Okay, right. If it isn't a virus, there isn't a cure. But you are looking for something, right?" Lydia gave her the look again. She pressed a curled knuckle against her lip in thought while Lydia paced crop circles into her carpet. "Lydia," she said finally a lot more awake than she'd felt all morning, "don't you think this has been tried before?"

"Not by me it hasn't," that stopped Lydia in her place. She tossed the papers toward the garbage bin on floor beside Allison's desk. "Anyway, it doesn't matter if those idiots end up dead," she shrugged trying to downplay her disappointment.

After giving it a little thought Allison remembered how the boys left off last night. "They aren't as vulnerable as you're making them seem," she frowned mildly, and Lydia simply rolled her eyes. "They are together now and they're stronger together. That's something."

"That's worse."

"Isn't it good now that they have some answers," Allison glanced from the garbage bin back to Lydia. She strained to keep the worry from her face.

"Answers seem to bring more questions or haven't you noticed, now that they know Cora is alive, they're probably going to run off on senseless mission to find her," she crossed her arms and had a small smirk, waiting for Allison's expert argument.

The thought made them distressed the realization that they knew the boys well enough to sense an expedition underway. Danger was already on the horizon, and they hadn't even gotten a full night's sleep.

"I need time," Lydia whined mildly, "and the fact is they're going to be too busy doing exactly what got Derek killed to care about saving themselves."

"Should they just let their last living pack member die?" Allison could hardly believe her own words, only she was so used to spit-balling ideas the words were out as soon as she thought them. She might as well follow the thought through. "Do you really think they would sacrifice someone else's life so that they would be safe?"

"I think, if it means saving everyone maybe they should remember if she's still trapped, whoever held her hostage this long think she's valuable and will keep her safe for a little while longer," said Lydia lightly, stepping forward to drop onto the bed and sit beside Allison. She clearly didn't want to seem cruel, inhumane but rather practical but knew presenting an idea like that to the group would never ever be accepted. Allison, however, would not judge.

"Even if it were possible to take their Beta status away, you're not saving them." Allison took a deep breath and shook her head resignedly. "Yeah, you're taking the targets off their backs and the Monster out of their heads but you're still leaving them vulnerable. That's not saving, that's just changing the playing field and without even asking."

Allison wondered how many times she could watch heart's break in 24-hours. Every time Allison lied to her family she felt like the worst daughter. Just like every time Lydia's Banshee ability failed to yield results, she felt useless. Every time her theories and notes came to nothing she felt like her mind, her very thoughts were coming apart. Lydia kept a brave face, but her jaw went tight as she held back emotions and eyes went soft as she looked to Allison for answers, but nothing came.

Knock-knock. The dog ran to the door with excitement.

Mrs. Martin poked her head in, and Allison told her to come in the rest of the way. She explained she had to go home to change before making an appointment and if Lydia wanted the lift to tutoring, she would have to leave 'now-ish.' Lydia latched onto the prospect like a lifeline and pulled on a fluttering floral dress number from the depths of her Betsey Johnson bag and that she yanked a cardigan over. After stepping into the boots at the bedside, she made it seem like she had been born ready.

Before she could escape through hall Allison followed along like a shadow and stopped at the top step, she knew one or both of her parents would linger downstairs, and she wanted the intimacy of their goodbye. Allison asked if they could talk about this later with a false lightness incase their parents overheard, and Lydia gave reluctant smile and nod. "I hope so" she said perkily but the stilted response meant she wasn't sure there was much more to say.

In the following stillness, Lydia carried worry with her that didn't shake even as she pulled her hair over her shoulder and straightened her back. Allison smiled briefly and ran a finger along a stray red hair and put it right, sliding it with the rest over Lydia's shoulder, helping her keep poised.

"You can never save everyone, Lydia." Allison added very quietly, she closed her eyes for a moment to reflect, she heard the words Scott once used to try and comfort her and she felt the hypocrisy run viral through her veins. It didn't make her mean it any less.

Lydia didn't answer at first. Instead, she adjusted her designer satchel bag between them and focused on that before she brought her bright eyes back up to Allison's and addressed her obstinately. "Maybe not," Lydia said. "Maybe not," she repeated in a mutter as she stepped out of Allison's range.

There was nothing left to say. Allison went back to clear her thoughts, much like Lydia's notes were left scattered around.

.

Track 05 - Get Lucky (on Savage Sunday) by Gavin James

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{Daytime - Argent's House, 1st Floor, Kitchen/Dining Room Adjacent}

"I think I get it now," Chris conceded although his expression was what he thought exuded coolness, instead it looked stamped with the grayness of unrest.

"Get what?" Natalie Martin asked. She stood at the stove and slid eggs off of the Teflon frying pan onto a platter with ease. She wore a borrowed bath robe to cover the back splatter from staining up her clothes, but it was obvious from her hair, shoes and the bits of pattern peeking from between folds, she was quite ready for the day. Possibly even ready to take on a Hunter. "What is it that you think you get now?" she smiled and brought a platter of newly fried bacon over toward him, slipping her dog a little snack as she did so.

He smiled fuzzily over the edge of freshly made coffee. He took a sip before he pushed a few bits of this pancake and those eggs onto his eager and empty plate. "I think I'm getting why people have sleepovers."

"Flirt." Victoria hit him lightly in the arm as she entered the kitchen from around the den. She padded in practically silently, still damp from the quick shower she grabbed from the downstairs bathroom. Just as she sat down on the stool at the kitchen island beside her husband, Natalie poured her a Screwdriver. "Oh, bless your heart."

"Flirt," Chris smirked as he portioned his eggs onto 2 plates and shared it with his wife.

"I'd be happy to lounge all day, but I've got to leave soon. This is just my way of saying thanks," Natalie came over and provided some toast.

"You didn't have to," Victoria said.

"But you have raised the bar for houseguests," Chris said. Victoria gave him a look. "What? I didn't say she had to. Just all of our houseguests from now on should make a three-course gourmet breakfast to say thanks."

Victoria shook her head in embarrassment. Natalie switched off the stovetop and disrobed, by literally just taking off the robe to reveal a summery v-neck floral dress.

The wall clock ticked loudly, and Natalie poured herself a cup of coffee into a thermos. "Can't stay long enough to finish it but," she held it to clink. They each leaned around and touched the tips of their cups against each other. "Thanks, for everything. I can't offer a generator but if you need advice, an evening in, a break from the kids-"

"That one," Chris nearly sputtered mid-sip. "That's the one."

"Okay, you can count on me." Natalie smiled and after another sip she slipped from the stool and headed down the hall.

.

"Food!"

"Real food. Actual food, not 'from the road' or whatever."

"Yes," Scott groaned from where he laid prostrated on the floor.

"So, you smell it too?" Isaac asked while he pressed against the study door.

"Yes," Scott answered smothering his face with his hands.

"Pretty sure I smell coffee too," Stiles said bouncing around, looking in no way like he needed coffee.

"Pretty sure the whole house can hear you smelling coffee," Scott muttered fairly sure no one heard him over the growling of his stomach.

"Boys?"

They'd been so involved in their own bemoaning they hadn't noticed her approach, not until her voice came from a few feet down the hall. Mrs. Martin sounded like a native of an angelic land as the only adult who didn't want to confine them to the Study or passive-aggressively threaten their well-being.

"I know you're awake. I can hear you," she said as she drew closer along the hall.

Isaac and Stiles jumped away from the door in fear that maybe she had joined the parental enemies, instead Scott moved closer in hopes for the best.

Knock-knock. Prada padded alongside her, happily scampering in her wake.

"I made breakfast," she spoke softly as she pushed the door open incrementally. "If you guys want any-" she didn't have to finish the words before they zipped past, shouting back quick words of thanks while they peeled down the hall to the kitchen.

They didn't even mind the Argents sitting down and having their own quiet meal at the kitchen island as they piled on layers of eggs mixed up with bits of vegetables, sprinkled with layers of cheeses and sides of peppered-bacon and fruit salad.

"I missed this," Stiles said as he shoveled another mouthful. When his friends looked to him with faces full of food and curiosity, he clarified "Mrs. Martin home-cooked hangover breakfasts."

"Class act," Scott answered with a greasy grin obscured with too much bacon intake.

.

Lydia hurried into the kitchen and looked at the eclectic crowd. "I think I'll wait in the car," she said and took the travel mug from her Mom's hand. She was going to need a lot more caffeine to deal with this and on a Saturday.

Mrs. Martin looked on piteously, even though she laughed a little she took it as a sign to leave. "And to show my gratitude I'm going to also offer to take the boys off your hands."

Everyone perked up at that.

"I figure some of you have practice this morning, so if anyone needs a lift?" with a lift to her brow, she pointed toward the front door as a sign of freedom for all mankind.

Isaac leapt to his feet and even as he raced to the kitchen to wash his plate as he continued to eat from it.

Stiles and Scott looked to one another in worry. "Sorry." Stiles reminded, "I'm supposed to wait for my Dad."

"Why don't you call him?"

.

When Stiles got through to the Sheriff, he had been minutes away. It should have been a relief, but then again Stiles should have known better. Mr. and Mrs. Argent seem eager to speak to his Dad and they were happy to leave their dirty dishes behind for the boys to clean up so they could meet the Sheriff by the front door.

By the time Allison finally dressed and readied herself, she could see from the walkway upstairs a small group of parents accumulated in foyer at the front door. She descended quietly and at the foot of the steps slipped in the opposite direction and snuck into the kitchen. Once there she grabbed an apple and watched the guys clean up while perched on a kitchen stool.

"Is there another arrest about to happen?" she gestured to Stiles. "Should I get out my phone and take some pics?"

"You're a riot," Stiles flicked soap water at her. "I want to get to school today."

"Why?"

"Because the rest of us are there," Isaac answered drying off a frying pan.

"We have a lot to talk about," Scott said leaning onto the countertop beside her after he wiped it down.

"All of you, together?" she checked. Allison leaned back and watched, concerned Lydia's words were some self-fulfilling prophecy.

.

"How long do you think we can make them suffer like this?" Sheriff Stilinski smirked.

"Oh, we could probably B.S. for hours and talk about the fascinating weather and those boys'll piss their pants the whole time," Chris said wryly. "But I'm sure you've got better things to do."

"Yeah," the Sheriff stood with his hands shoved in his pockets and cracked his neck. "I can't thank you enough for watching out for these idiots."

"It was the most entertainment I've had in weeks," he nodded into the house. The Sheriff could read something in his face. They agreed working together in this town was considered entertaining with all the bloodshed they've been uncovering. But that wasn't the sort of thing you brought up over coffee. Chris made the effort to excuse himself, "I might actually stand here for hours if I didn't have something to do with my sister."

"Not a problem. In any case, thanks for the lend of your man last night," the Sheriff's tone went from jovial to formal, back to business.

"Who? Tyhurst," Chris asked and answered.

Stilinski nodded, they were on equal footing when it came to being worried parents but when it came to being investigators, in a few hours they'd be butting heads. "Boys!" Sheriff called into the house.

Moments later heads appeared in the foyer, Allison led the troops. She paused at the foot of the stairs and said goodbye to each of them one at a time.

.

Mrs. Argent said goodbye to each of them with a handshake and pulled each of them in for a kiss on the cheek. Although her hand squeeze was a bit (by a bit, think crushing) tighter on Stiles and Isaac's handshake.

"Love you," Allison whispered when she leaned up and kissed Scott's cheek. He froze because he faced the angle her Father could see.

"Yeah, cool," he said instead as he pulled away and shook her hand before heading out.

Isaac waited to the side and found himself beside Mrs. Argent. She smiled and seemed extra pleasant, but he sensed a prickliness. He tried for pleasant, he wasn't sure it came off as anything other than fidgety.

"Thanks. For letting me stay. And for not, you know, not castrating me," he grinned.

She nodded.

Stiles and Allison laughed in their little murmuring, perfectly contented with Isaac's discomfort. He looked out through the front door and wondered if it would be too suspicious to make a break for the Martin's car. In the car, Lydia looked contented enough sipping her Mom's coffee, oblivious of his torment. Or she probably predicted it which was why she made the early exit, because she was a smarty-pants and he had been more seduced by food than smarts if truth be told.

Victoria's Motherliness must have kicked into overdrive because she started to whisper unsolicited advice and Isaac imagined a strangling grip wrap around his throat. Now there was no way he could make a run for it.

"You know, I know a little something about love triangles," she consoled. They watched Stiles where he laughed awkwardly when Allison kissed him on the cheek goodbye. Isaac nervously laughed but his infuriation she took as nervousness. Stiles pretended not to notice them in the corner but made a little acknowledgement of goodbye as he zipped by. Their eyes followed Stiles as he raced out to meet his Dad and face his fate.

Mrs. Martin stood with the Sheriff along with Mr. Argent in a circle of parents, like a tribunal preparing to dictate what was next to come. Isaac looked on uncertain of which he preferred; 3 sleep deprived disappointed parents or an overbearing one who wanted to overshare sage advice.

Lydia honked the car horn to urge on the proceeding and Isaac understood that impulse.

"She's fiery but she's smart. Believe me, from my experience when 3 people are in a relationship eventually someone falls in love," Mrs. Argent pat his chest as pushed him over the threshold. Isaac shuffled along confused about where he should head but not willing to argue. "Don't worry, it won't be the one she pulls into closets for a quickie, it'll be with the one she looks for to bicker with because she doesn't want the conversation to stop."

Mildly stunned, Isaac stumbled down the next 2 steps and looked back to see Mrs. Argent stay in the doorway, smiling and waving him off.

"Thanks again Mrs. Argent," Isaac searched for the words but could only give lame gratitude for a scary-ass-Momma-Hunter who took the time to watch out for him.

"You're very welcome, Isaac. Trust me, it'll work out."

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Track 06 - Since Last Wednesday by Highasakite

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{Daytime - Argent's House, 1st Floor, Chris' Study}

Scott thought he had cleared some hurdles. He made it out of the Argents' home (finally), but right on the front steps he ran into Natalie Martin, who in turn had run into Chris Argent. Caught up tripping over his own tongue he thanked them profusely for having him over, for letting him stay, for being good hosts etc. etc. etc.

"Alright, Scott." Natalie interrupted and put a hand on his arm. "It's alright. We understand you're grateful. Now, breathe."

So, he did, taking nice long deep breaths.

"The Sheriff's here to take you," Chris added intending to sound ominous. Natalie gave him a warning look while Scott just looked sheepish and answered 'yes sir' robotically.

Scott shoved his hands deep into his jean pockets to keep from fidgeting. He felt his fingers turn from twitchy to stiff and feared there might be claws appearing at any moment. He didn't mind looking tense but the last thing he wanted to look was suspicious, to let off any sign that he might have emanated to say 'Hey, dude totally dating your daughter in secret. And thanks for letting me dig around in your super-secret family files because I'm totally a Werewolf. Totally.'

Scott clutched to Natalie when he hugged her goodbye and whispered 'thanks' in her ear, for what exactly he couldn't explain. For sticking around? For sticking up for him? He knew the time for theorizing was over when Sheriff Stilinski stepped beside him and clamped a hand on his shoulder hard enough to leave likely permanent creases in the fabric of his jacket and indents straight into his soul.

"Morning, Scott. Can I get a minute?" Sheriff asked to which Scott gulped and nodded. He explained that he tried to swing around to the McCalls', but no one answered the door. He didn't want to let Scott off without facing the music, but he didn't want to keep him and Stiles around the station all day either.

"She's probably still asleep," Scott said feeling terrible. His Mom worked to the bone, sometimes she called Scott to come pick her up after work because she felt too weary to drive.

All of that for them while he ran off with others breaking promise after promise. Not to mention taking risks that would send her flying off the handle. All he could do was promise to try harder at everything, to make better grades and to help more around the house- to continue promising to be more present instead of adding danger to the growing distance between them.

What would she say when she woke up to find out not only had he broken her trust and snuck out, stealing her car as well, but he had to have the Sheriff drag him home again?

"She'll be upset, but she'll understand," the Sheriff assured Scott reading every worry on the boy's face. "I'll talk to her with you."

"I have to make drills," he mumbled glancing down at his feet. It wasn't an excuse; it was another obligation he didn't want to mess up. He wanted to enjoy lacrosse for as long as his Mom would let him, and he didn't want to let the team down. "I can't miss it."

Stilinski thought about it for a moment then smiled slightly. "Let me make sure the school reopened. And let me call your Mom again and leave a message."

It was a compromise but to Scott it was a ray of light cutting through dark skies. A kindness that he didn't deserve. Scott hesitated "No, it's alright. I can call her."

"Listen kid," he said with a lengthening grin, his expression had a cockiness and warmth to it. "This is your figurative get out of jail free card. Don't waste it. I'll take you to school then talk to your Mom so you can manage both. I'll see if I can explain the scene here."

"The scene?" Scott asked with worry. He knew it was unlikely verging on impossible for the Argents to have figured out their Meeting Room had been invaded. If they had, he suspected they would rather have dealt with it on their terms, but he panicked anyway.

"Once Stiles snuck out it was pretty likely you'd follow. You have his back and that's great, I appreciate it, but you gotta let the rest of us pick up the slack." The Sheriff had a faraway look in his eyes suddenly and pulled Scott further away from the house. His voice lowered, and he draped an arm over Scott's shoulder. "There are better ways of making up for what you lost than acting out."

Scott realized the Sheriff was worried about him. Not 'let's have the drug talk' worried but more like they should seek family counseling.

When Stiles first vanished Scott was afraid to be around the Sheriff. He thought Stiles' Dad would blame him for the car crash because he was in the car and did nothing. Or resent him for surviving the crash and not his son. That was, until the Sheriff's department came to the elementary school during their 'If You See Something, Say Something' campaign. They reconnected in the middle of the hallway moving in opposite directions and from that day on stayed connected. After a hesitant recognition, the Sheriff waved hello and then Scott burst into tears, broke away from his classmates to run and hug him. The Sheriff trembled while he held onto Scott, then he whispered things in a calm and steady voice. To this day, Scott didn't remember the words just the voice. They sat in the seats outside of the principal's office for over an hour and talked. About some of the dumbest things, that Scott remembered but the Sheriff listened and sometimes even laughed. After one of the many times the principal would walk by, he asked (in a condescending tone) how much trouble had Scott gotten into this time. At that shame filled him up and he didn't know how to explain to the Sheriff why he never felt like paying attention, why he always got in trouble or why he never felt like staying seated or quiet. Scott only knew he felt like he should explain himself, but Stiles' Dad gave him a somber smirk. Without prying he understood and very much like he said on the lawn of the Argents, "there were better ways of making up for what you lost than acting out."

"I'm sorry sir," he frowned. "I didn't mean to step on any toes."

The Sheriff shrugged. "It's bound to happen. You're as close as family but you need to learn to back up, too."

Scott nodded. He understood the words but wasn't sure about how to apply them.

Stiles and he were so wrapped up in one another, sometimes he didn't know where he ended, and Stiles began. How was he supposed to learn to curb that impulse when the Werewolf in him longed for a pack? Finally, he understood Isaac's reasoning for semi-stalking him the past few weeks. And the idea of 'backing up' felt wrong. When he looked up at the Sheriff, at Stiles' Dad, he recognized that look of wordless understanding. Scott wanted to involve him. Why not? When he'd unburdened himself in the past, it had felt like the right thing to do. Stiles worried about his Dad getting himself in over his head and wouldn't this grant them both peace?

Scott sensed Stiles and turned to see him bounding out of the Argents' home. Scott smiled sadly, said nothing, just stepped back to make room for his friend. There, he had to 'back up' and it wasn't easy. The Sheriff's beating heart skipped at the sight of Stiles, and he knew it was the right choice even if it didn't feel easy.

Despite his joy in seeing the boys the Sheriff harshly instructed them both to wait in the car.

"This is the worst. He's too mad to even yell at me," Stiles whined in the back seat of the cruiser and Scott smiled. "It's not funny. He's going to freeze me in carbonite to keep me from ever leaving the house again!"

They watched the parents culminate at the house stoop, Stiles' Dad among them. They seemed severe but from what they could hear nothing severe was being said. And the more Scott thought about it the more he realized the silence was the Sheriff's punishment.

"Stiles," Scott leaned forward and lowered his voice "don't worry about it. Where would he even get enough carbonite?"

Stiles turned back, his indignation flipped and directed at Scott. "What do you mean- What are you saying? It's carbonite!"

The word didn't sound familiar to Scott as much as he searched his mind for the definition.

"It isn't real, Scott!"

"Ahh," he sighed and grinned at his oafishness. Well, he tried.

But Stiles upset only turned comically heightened, his freaking out over his Dad now forgotten was replaced by rage toward Scott.

"It's in the Empire Strikes Back... 'Star Wars', Scott!"

Scott adjusted his collar to hide his flinching and prepare for the oncoming storm he sensed. "I've never seen it."

Stiles' face turned red, but he said nothing. He sputtered a little then crossed his arms and sulked. There, they'd reached yet another impasse where they did not match up and Scott (unlike Stiles) was okay with that.

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Track 07 - Kids by Mikky Ekko

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{Meanwhile – Argent's House, Driveway}

The interior of his Dad's cruiser had started to look warmly familiar to Stiles. The rooftop with its fraying material at the corners, to the boxes of takeout shoved under the driver's side just enough to make it seem clean. It was a welcome sight of sorts. Fortunately, Miranda rights and handcuffs weren't involved. This time.

His Dad shushed him twice, once before he started the car and once afterward. They drove slowly off of the driveway and along the property line, they made it as far as the neighbor's mailbox before Stiles had to ask, "refresh my memory, do you usually reserve the silent treatment for when you're only kinda mad or really really 'I'm going to donate all your stuff to charity' mad?"

The car slowed and both boys jerked back into their seats to avoid the Sheriff's angry backlash. The car bumped a bit before it reversed.

"Are you taking us back?" Scott asked. His voice rose in pitch along with his nerves. The last thing he wanted was to return to the Argents'.

"I'm not mad," the Sheriff said pulling up near the bumper of Melissa McCall's forgotten Chevy Malibu. After putting on the parking brake he turned to look at them, his expression read mild amusement masking concern. "I'm going to walk this guy to his car, then we'll finish up breakfast at home where we can talk about some things. Okay?"

"Okay," Scott said relieved to see his Mom's car and a chance of escape.

"Okay," Stiles said confused to not have gotten some sense of anger off of his Dad, not even a little.

Scott seemed too pleased with himself to feel bad for Stiles as he left the car in a hurry. And just before his Dad closed the door he ducked his head back, "and son. You can sit in the front seat."

"Yeah? Really," he grinned. It felt like a privilege.

"Yeah, for this conversation I'm going to want your full attention."

Ah, there it was. That rumbling of anger he had expected all morning. Stiles hopped out of the car and watched his Dad and Scott talk. He rested, leaning with arms folded onto the roof of the car and listened. Not extra special powers listened. Just listened to the wisps of voices and tones he could make off the wind. From their faces he could see they got along well. It both warmed him and saddened him.

Scott's Dad left when they were kids, really really young kids. They were barely around the age to start first grade and they thought it was great at the time because it meant Scott spent more time at his house. They were too young to account for the fact that Melissa had just become a single parent and would soon take on 2 and 3 times as many shifts to make up for their suddenly halved income. Stiles watched the way his best-friend talked to his Dad, the way he never cut him off and smiled a lot even when it seemed more like a wince of pain when it was obvious something critical had been said. But he had never known his Dad to be critical without being kind and sure enough, within seconds he had a reassuring hand on Scott's shoulder. Stiles wondered if after he left did Scott and Melissa turn up to help a recently bereaved parent/widower and run around his home doing things like the dishes and making the bed? He bet they did, he bet they showed up with Tupperware dishes filled with more food than his Dad could stomach and that they sometimes still did. Stiles bet that as the years progressed his Dad might have come up from a stupor to find Scott took out the trash and that Melissa harangued him into coming over for dinner. Yeah, that sounded about right. It looked like it anyway and it was a lot better than any alternatives Stiles could imagine.

"You okay kiddo?" his Dad asked while he neared the driver's side.

"Yeah Dad," Stiles snapped his head up out of his daydream. He liked the way his Dad's face lit up every time he said it, so "what's up now Dad?"

Stiles couldn't go back in time and take out the trash for the past 6 years, not that he would because he probably would have blackmailed Scott into doing it anyway but that was hardly the point. The point was if he could make his old man happy by simply calling him "Dad" he'd end every sentence with it.

"Enough of that 'son'" his Dad pursed his lips, a little amusement still and caught onto his scheme straight out of the gate. "Get in," he urged, and Stiles complied.

"What's up? Someone said something about breakfast I think-"

The beep-BEEP of the Sheriff's warning siren bleated off a warning. Stiles lurched forward in surprise. Ahead of him Scott seemed less surprised and waved at them through his driver's side window before he led his Mom's car onto the road.

"First; we're going to escort your friend to his lacrosse drills then we'll see about food," he kept glancing at Stiles while he drove along after Scott, Scott who drove obnoxiously slow adhering exactly to the speed limit and obviously took the time to count his pause at the Yield signs, down to the 'Mississippi'. It was like he looked for Stiles to crack.

"We were going to talk," Stiles cracked, he was loathed to do it, but he wanted to tear the band-aide off the wound already.

"How're you doing?"

"How am I doing?" Stiles laughed.

"Yeah," his Dad looked offended to be snubbed so early on in the proceedings. "How are you doing? You keep running away from home and you haven't even been back a week. It makes a Dad feel a little insecure."

Stiles stopped laughing, his throat closed up a little, "no. It's not like that. Everything is great. Better than great."

"Yeah?" the Sheriff had his eyes on the road when he said it but cockiness in his tone. Stiles could sense the distress lifting off of him like a scent on the breeze, probably the only fresh smelling thing in the car.

"Yeah Dad. I love it, being back. I'm sorry running around with Scott made you think something else."

"Nah," he waved a hand at him. "I should have figured you running off and having your adventures with Scott means everything is back to normal. Except you're older now-"

"Bigger too," while grinning Stiles stretched in his seat to remind of that, he wiggled his feet to show gratitude for the new yet scuffed up kicks his Dad picked up the other day "don't forget bigger."

"Things have really changed," he looked Stiles in the eye, while they cruised leisurely along and let Scott catch some distance. "We've got to make room for escalation."

"Escalation?" Stiles didn't like the sound of that. He didn't like the sound of change either, frankly he thought that they had all changed too damn much and if he could make it all go back to how it was again, he would jump at the first chance he got.

"You're not going to sneak off to build forts or bury your broken toys in the backyard. Instead, you're sneaking with your friends' and meeting your girlfriend in secret."

Stiles winced. While he was afraid that girlfriend/boyfriend rumor might have gotten around to his Dad, he was not 100% sure it had. Reading from his Dad's expression it didn't seem as though he had but the guy was real damn good at playing aloof. But it would make his life a whole lot easier if he didn't have to lie to his Dad about whether or not he was dating childhood best-friend Lydia Martin. Not that he was sure if they qualified as best-friends at the moment, although he thought so, and it wasn't like he saw her as a child either; a fact that was getting increasingly hard to ignore.

"Uhm, Dad? I could still bury my broken toys in the backyard if it makes you feel better?" he offered lamely while he tried to keep focused on one worry at a time. "It's just my last toy was my Jeep and kinda prefer it at the shop than six feet under."

"Smart-ass," when his Dad spoke again his words were measured like he had maybe practiced this part. "All I'm saying is no more sneaking out but I'm okay with you going out-"

"Really?!"

"-I get veto power if it's overnight. For god's sake would it kill you to check in with your Old Man every now and again?" his Dad paused briefly, and it wasn't because he made an off-handed joke about a dead Stiles. No, he just waved over the driver trying to cut into their lane. When he looked back at his son it was obvious, they knew the words were said but words were now just that, words. "But in the future if something is wrong just call the Sheriff's department. I have pull there. I might be able to get you out of a jaywalking ticket or 2."

A honk reminded them that Scott had just turned into student parking, and they could leave him off there.

Stiles waved at him through the glass and from Scott's window he could see the curiosity on his best-friend's face. Stiles' grin must have seemed unfathomable at that point.

"What about school, Dad?" Stiles swung back around to face him.

"What about school?"

"Dad can I pleeaassee go to school today?"

This time he did laugh, and Stiles looked wounded for it.

"What? I can't want an-"

"So, help me, if you say 'an education'..."

"I wasn't going to say that!" Stiles' voice squawked in a way that conveyed he was exactly going to say that. "It's Saturday. I can meet up with Scott after lacrosse practice. Until then there are study groups for the upcoming exams where I could catch up with coursework. I can join some of the other students volunteering to clean up the library," he jabbed a thumb toward the banner some unfortunate kid had trouble putting up at the end of the field that read 'Volunteering to clean out the Library is mandatory. - Coach Flinstock.'

The Sheriff seemed tempted with the latter option.

"Plus, I'd really like to hang out with my friends," he concluded sincerely.

They rode in silence for a few minutes and with each minute that went by stress weighed down on Stiles, he felt like he would gnaw through his thumbnail until he reached a knucklebone.

"Alright-" his Dad sighed.

"YES!" Stiles bounced nearly out of his seat and smacked the dashboard in his excitement. He couldn't wait to text Scott to meet him in front of the school and show him around.

"-alright, alright." The Sheriff shook his head and felt he quite possibly made a mistake, but it was by far the more promising mistake of the options available. "But before that, I'm taking my son to breakfast."

Stiles was in no way going to mention that saying 'son' like that could get annoying pretty quickly, just like he wasn't going to mention that he had already eaten breakfast. That might bother other people but not him.

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Track 08 - Beauty Queen by Foxes

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The interior of the car smelled faintly of her Mom's Flora perfume and black coffee. One smell reminded her of strength the other just smelled strong and in need of sugar. The car was tiny compared to the Argents' home and sloping green lawn haloed in the fresh morning blue sky. But to her it felt less stuffy in the car than outside with the rest of the fam(s), plural, playing at playing nice. Not that morbid curiosity didn't draw her interest as each new person showed at the Argent's front door.

Petting the fidgety pup in her lap, Lydia kept her eyes on the road, her blank stare leveled with the horizon, and she wouldn't be coerced out of it by her Mom's meaningful glances or Scott's bothersome texts.

When the Sheriff arrived, she waved 'hello' as he passed by looking unsurprisingly harried. She stayed facing forward but watched each development unfold via sideview mirrors. Her Mom chatted with Chris until the Sheriff arrived creating grownup guards to pass by while just inside Victoria stood close to her friends, giving them the third degree.

Scott escaped first which didn't surprise her much. Stiles passed through second which she had expected. After that Isaac zipped through and Allison brought up the rear. Something in their system made Lydia feel a little paranoid that the grownups had planned this exact way of herding out rowdy teen boys like prey from hiding. But it made Lydia appreciate the Argents' and how they could almost telepathically communicate the others' actions, Hunter or no you had to be some intuitive person to communicate subtleties. But Isaac, after talking with Victoria, seemed to particularly offended with the Argents' presence.

When Isaac rushed into the backseat he barely said 'morning' before he broke into a full-on sulk, scowling through the window. She sipped her Mom's coffee deliberately slow and didn't acknowledge him because she refused to be sucked into his pity party. Over the lawn she watched her Mom, the way she effortlessly navigated an angry Sheriff, a cranky sleepless Father and a Mother that seemed a little out of her depth with a sleepover filled with too many kids. When her Mom gave her a weird look, not a glare exactly but something between disappointment and sympathy that translated to 'they just told on me.' She sipped the coffee slower still, leaving only her eyes showing over the lid. Again, she caused her Mom pains over these boys' stupid lies and a fake romantic life. She'd stressed her Mom out enough in the past with Jackson, and her Mom had faked tolerating Lydia's bad choices with over-friendliness to cover strained tolerance. She didn't want that again.

"What is it?" Isaac asked and Lydia dismissed him with an annoyed glance. He backed off. She figured she must be virtually vibrating with her negative feelings. Even though he was partly involved he didn't have any business in her family matters.

She caught another look from her Mom, something she recognized meant 'let's get out of here' so Lydia turned the car on. She crossed, re-crossed her feet in impatience and when she did Prada jumped into the backseat, then it became suddenly hard not to think of her purse down on the floor. Looking over paperwork her Mom left in the car was normally something she used to distract herself and kill time. But in this instance, any paperwork was not something she wanted to take out in Isaac's company.

In the backseat Isaac occasionally glanced at the dog that ignored him entirely and pressed his paws up against the window, then he'd look to his feet and kept his hands bunched up at his knees. If they weren't distressed jeans before they soon would be. She could have told him some kind words to soothe out the kinks, but she didn't. Not because she wanted him to stew in anxiety but because she wasn't sure how to talk to him anymore. Lydia had gotten so used to being annoyed or angry at Isaac it was like she'd forgotten the way they used to tease each other or the way they used to play little games with stolen glances. Despite deciding she wanted a better interact, she'd been stunted for too long to figure out how to get there. She knew schematically how Isaac fit into the lives of her friends, but she felt a little off-kilter when it came to placing him into hers. When she felt his eyes move up to look at hers, she looked away. The only thing she did know is it was too early in the morning to try and think through these sorts of things.

Natalie slid into the driver's seat and grunted inelegantly when she leaned back into the headrest. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she took in a deep breath then let it out slowly. When she turned her head against the headrest to look at Lydia the corners of her lips curled up in what could have been misread as a smirk.

Lydia's brows shot up as she gave a wide smile. "What's going on, Mom? Heard any juicy gossip lately?"

Her Mom kept eye contact while she reached forward, took the parking brake off and started to pull them out of the driveway. Her Mom loved to give a good glare, with blue eyes that looked brighter with the peak of their annoyance.

"You're going to apologize," she shook her head, a little humph of amusement made it between her lips.

Lydia glanced around and knew the best thing to do in this option. "Sorry," she winced comically and exchanged drinks with her Mom as an act of contrition.

"Not to me, Lydia." She snapped taking the coffee over the smoothie anyway. "You need to apologize to Victoria."

"I am. I will." Lydia sipped the smoothie but gave up after a sip. It was too citrusy for her liking and mixed with the taste of coffee made her tongue feel tangy and singed. She winced and looked back to find her Mom smugly drinking from the coffee. "As soon as I see her, next time I'll totally-"

Natalie cleared her throat when she put the coffee back into its cup-holder. Her fingers began to drum on the steering wheel and Lydia knew to try again.

"-send flowers. I will definitely send a bouquet."

"She isn't telling Allison's Dad about sneaking around last night. I didn't ask her not to. It's because she isn't certain exactly how Chris' temper would handle it. And she doesn't want him to have it taken out on Allison."

"I'll send a whole arrangement."

"Don't you think a bouquet is too impersonal?"

Lydia gave it some thinking, mulling options over in her mind while they waited out a red light. The view gave her the idea, "I can send her one of her favorite plants."

"Well, that's more thoughtful at least but don't you think it's a bit gouache. Sending a gardener more plants to plant?" her Mom said in a tone that suggested to 'try harder'.

"It's perfect. A little 'Digitalis Purpurea' would be a bright spot of purple against the 'Digitalis lanata.'" Lydia insisted. Her aesthetics were flawless, and she took offence to anyone who would argue, her Mom included.

"Purple and white?" Natalie's voice lost a little harshness as she considered it, and Lydia knew she'd won.

"I'll call your regular florist," Lydia reached for the phone in her Mom's purse.

"Fine, but you're delivering it in person."

They took longer pauses at the Yield sign and every stop sign so they could find the right information. The first florist produced no result. Once they went through her back up Natalie decided to get on the line and harass one of the party-planners she used. Lydia went into her purse to pull out a pen to take note.

"Lydia. Lydia? What's the name of the flower?" her Mom insisted.

What use was the pen if Lydia didn't give her the info? But she had almost forgotten her private investigatory notes until they spilled at her ankles. She waved off her Mom's pestering while she scrambled to get them all as if they were sacred items.

"Lydia, I can't remember the name-"

"What?" she sat upright and felt lightheaded from the rush. Irritation fueled her tone, but it was obvious she was upset with the florist, with the notes and with the lack of a hypothesis but not her Mom. (Not listed in order of priority, obviously.) "Tell them it's also called foxglove. Tell them do their job and get me purple foxglove!"

Natalie looked surprised but then very amused, "Oh, you heard her, did you? Well then add fruit or chocolate if you have it and if you include a bottle of your best cabernet, I'll be happy to pay extra. I expect you'll have it ready for pick up this afternoon. I wouldn't want her waiting around if I were you."

In surprise Lydia covered her mouth with a hand. Surprised at her snapping not in the venomous way she felt, but in the way she felt like that more often of late than she could remember feeling otherwise. Natalie hung up the phone and reached over to caress her daughter's head.

"Lydia, you're fine. Maybe this has all been too much activity," she smiled faintly. "You've barely recovered from what happened at your Dad's. Then those strange incidents with the police. Then the blackout left you stranded at that Dive-y Café in the Styx. On top of all that you're just processing Stiles coming home. It's no wonder you're overwhelmed."

"I'm only tired Mom." Lydia said and tried to reassure herself as much as her Mom. "I've got everything handled. I just had a bad night's rest."

"You did warn me it was a bad idea to go to the Argents'."

Lydia laughed softly and calmed a little, she leaned her head against her Mom's touch. "It was still my bad idea."

"So, no more intruding sleepovers," as Natalie suggested it Lydia already nodded her head along eagerly. "And no more sneaking through hallways and off into closets with boys."

"I don't know about that," Lydia smiled and her eyes shifted toward the back seat. "I wasn't the only one to blame."

"My god, Isaac!" Natalie sat upright with a gasp. "You are so quiet. I'd forgotten you were back there."

"It's okay Mrs. Martin," he shrugged and looked discomforted to the point of torture at being there. Sure, she offered the lift to school but he had no idea this is what it meant. "I promise I've learned my lesson. Definitely don't plan to sneak off with boys in closets in the future."

Lydia's upper lip curled, and her brow creased. She doubted he picked up on subtleties either, otherwise he would have realized Mrs. Martin did not find him funny.

"Are you trying to be charming?" Natalie said in an icy tone.

"No Ma'am."

"So, you were trying to be funny?"

"Not at all!" his voice dropped in horrification.

"Shame," she faced forward and started the car on the road once more. "If it were either of those you could put in the work to get better."

"It's neither, I swear."

"Otherwise, you're just deficient."

Lydia sipped her smoothie to keep from laughing. Then she gagged a little when she remembered the distaste. Isaac searched to her for rescue instead she continued to clear her throat.

"I never meant to- I just wanted to say that last night, I was embarrassed to get caught."

"Alright, that's enough." Natalie waved a hand for him to stop. "You can get out now?"

"What?!" he didn't sense a stinging nature from Natalie so he couldn't be sure at which point he stepped over a line.

"Isaac we're in front of the school," she said in a no-nonsense tone, but her expression held sympathy. "Lydia, I'll see you at home later. Can you give me a minute with your boyfriend?"

At the title Lydia looked startled. She gave Isaac a look that promised a painful future if he messed with her Mom, then she grabbed her bag and left the car. She didn't take kindly to the presence of Scott and Stiles hanging outside by the benches in the front of the school, in fact the swish of her purse made brutal contact with Stiles' elbow as an example to move on.

"Young man," she began in the traditional verse, Natalie turned at the waist and leaned between the 2 front seats. She pursed her lips and looked him over, her eyes severe and raking "you say you're going to try harder. Don't try, be better or things are going to get ugly. She's counting on you."

Isaac glanced at Lydia through the car window and wondered if they were talking about the same girl. Lydia didn't seem like the person who counted on anyone, except today he'd watched how she behaved around her Mom and knew there were layers. Everyone had layers but Lydia was like one of those optical illusions of a staircase twisting in on itself to become a tunnel which led to a labyrinth.

"She shouldn't," he muttered and forgot not to say it aloud.

"Why not? I can see you count on her," she reached over to touch his shoulder, "I have eyes like a hawk, and I see so much potential. Just. Stop. Messing. Around. And do better, for yourself."

"I guess," Isaac finally said then heard himself and startled "I meant I will. I don't guess."

"Isaac. Get to practice," she sighed and pushed him toward the door.

Isaac scrambled out and had trouble catching his breath curbside. He figured by now he should be used to a Martin woman shoving him out of a car. But no, there was no getting used to having to talk to a girlfriend's Mom, even a pretend one. He hadn't really had that experience since he'd changed to being a Werewolf and before then dating wasn't really high on his list of priorities. His original family life had been volatile and morose but definitely less distressing than sitting alone in a car facing Natalie Martin. But without even a lick of preparation he had survived, except not really since he turned to find himself face to face with a livid Allison Argent.

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Track 09 - Headlights Look Like Diamonds by Arcade Fire

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{Early-Morning – from Argent's House to BHHS}

"Am I grounded?" Allison asked. She couldn't understand exactly why there was so much tension.

The den had filled up with Hunters. Rumy looked like he hadn't slept plus he hadn't even said 'good morning' to her which was a bad sign. Livy finally returned to the Main House and despite everyone's nagging she smoked indoors. Axel even managed to drag himself in from the Lodge. Bennet and Roman raided the kitchen for leftovers of Natalie's breakfast. Tyhurst avoided attending (because of some diplomacy stint with Werewolves) but Ulrich and Leveque finally turned up. After she'd dodged the meeting at the Lodge the night before, in favor of a sleepover with her friends, her Father was insistent about driving her to school. He wouldn't allow her to drive alone.

"Norm could drive me," she suggested. Somehow the idea of sharing confined space with her Father intimidated Allison.

"Norm is in the Lodge doing something important for me," Kate reminded leaning over the kitchen counter. She spun the car keys in her fingers and smirked goadingly.

Alright it wasn't the best suggestion, but Allison could maybe poke at Kate and get more out of her than her Father.

"I don't think so," he said snatching the keys from his sister's hand. "We need some Father-Daughter time don't you think."

Allison couldn't argue not that she didn't agree but his tone left no room for it. "I guess so," she gave a decent fake smile.

"I don't think so," her Mother cut in. Victoria entered the room. All eyes went to her, she wore a light spring coat and a purse hung over her shoulder and her hand reached out for the car keys expectantly. She looked like she hadn't slept either but awake and bristled from annoyance at everyone's bickering.

"I think its Father's duty time, Chris," she demanded. He reluctantly dropped it into her palm and made a noise that sounded like a scoff. Victoria added, "if Allison can get some studying in on a Saturday morning, I think you can sit with your sister for a few and listen to each other."

"Not exactly the same," he gave her an exasperated look.

"Mother, can we go now," Allison said low from the hallway. She moved along before they changed their minds and dragged her back into their drama. She slipped into a khaki security jacket and shrugged her bag onto her shoulder. She wanted to get to the school and cultivate Monster theories she'd formed while combining Lydia's new concerns. She couldn't do that sitting in a Hunter's huddle up in the Meeting room for God knows how many hours.

"You'll figure it out," Victoria assured Chris. She looked at him insistently, her eyes hard and her hand caught his before he pulled away. She held on in soft assurance until with a small smile, he nodded. Kate said nothing but watched, as if she had to keep along with it all.

.

In the car it felt stuffier than Allison had expected. She still couldn't understand why everyone insisted on driving her, so she asked.

"Does everyone think I'm going to cut school?"

"No... Some concerns have come up and we wanted to make sure you knew before you got to school and we weren't sure how to tell you," Victoria frowned.

It was a 6-minute drive to the school without traffic and Allison didn't think she would make it with her sanity if her Mother kept up with the aloof act.

"Did Livy bring back some new information from the hospital?" she asked, throwing out a wild guess. Her Mother had plucked up maps of ley lines the night before to probably check on the electric currents, but the electricity had started to return to the city. Which left only one mystery Allison could guess: Jackson.

"Well, yes but this isn't exactly about that," Victoria smiled a little and shook her head, when she spoke again her voice turned even and small. "It's about what you've been avoiding this whole time."

The car slowed at a yield sign, in fact it came to a full stop and her Mother looked at her expectantly.

Allison felt sweat dampen her collar and she raked her mind for any explanation she owed her parents over the last 24-hours. There were only 2 events that came to mind, the burglary, and the sleepover; she prayed the earlier hadn't come to light, so she gambled on the later. "Thank you for letting my friends stay. It was really generous of you," she said weakly.

"Stop- I think we've had excessive thanks this morning." She smiled tightly through the rearview mirror and Allison laughed awkwardly in reply. The car started again with a jolt cutting off any rebuttal. They said nothing until the car darted into the space in front of the school. "It was more than being generous Allison. It was a problem, and you know it," it was plain stated and not severe, but Allison felt the brunt of it. Victoria wasn't wrong.

Still Allison opened the door slightly, her sneaker touched the curb, tread ready to make a break for it but the glare from her Mother kept her paralyzed.

"Allison, I understand last night was extenuating circumstances, but I think we should discuss what you've been dodging."

Allison bit her lip and wondered "which is?"

"I know you must feel we expect a lot for you-" her hands tightened on the steering wheel.

"Mother, I do not." Allison defended. A desperate eagerness kept her from listening. "I love working alongside the family and I haven't slipped up with school." She found herself repeating the same arguments, but it felt frantic and empty.

For a moment Victoria hesitated and then reminded, "you found a dead body with your friends and hid it from your family."

Victoria stared at Allison, the same cold unwavering stare that warned Chris he stood on thin ice. The words hit her like knives in her heart, an accusation she should have expected eventually; her Mother accused her of choosing friends over family. But Allison steeled herself against it and edged further toward the door, her sweaty palm pulling her along.

"But Kate knew," Allison said quietly.

Her Mother breathed out through her nose, her lips pressed into a line, her disappointment read loud and clear. She nodded, taking the answer at face value. Victoria wouldn't get any more answers from Allison than she would out of Kate, and she now knew that.

"What if something like this happens again?" she asked.

Allison opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She'd been resisting the urge to talk about her friends with her family for so long that after last night she'd crossed a line and there was no going back.

"It's happened before when Hunter children entered conventional society," Victoria let go of the steering wheel and inhaled sharply. "There is pressure to get too involved. In one or the other but you don't have to choose Allison."

She let go of the door handle.

"Your Father and I see how well you're doing at school," she tilted her head and sized Allison up. She smiled. "You don't have to go looking for dead bodies. I saw you signed up for the Swim Team."

"Oh. Yeah," that poked a hole in Allison's dread and her face lit up.

"The Swim Coach said you expressed interest in also signing up for the Gymnastics Team," Victoria's tone began to take that combination of hard and sincere as she hit the point.

"Yes, again," Allison considered aloud, pleased, and steadier than she felt. She wavered at the sight of the trio further off: Scott, Stiles, and Isaac.

"You are taking on a lot of extracurricular activities," she carried on. Her finger went back to drumming along the steering wheel.

Allison slowly nodded and smiled a tight grin. She didn't know why the trio loitered curbside, but she prayed they would move on. And move on quickly. She kept her eyes trained on her Mother though.

"Well, I do hope you manage your time conscientiously," she prodded "and not look for trouble. And don't linger on harmful distractions." She made certain to cast a quick glance at her friends further along the curb.

"I wouldn't. I won't." Allison blinked. She reached for the handle once more and pushed it wide open.

"You can never be unguarded." Victoria warned.

"Of course, Mother," she hopped out of the car but stood at the door, ready to swing it closed.

"Even around your Werewolf friend," Victoria called out after her, measuring the spite in comment.

"Which one?" Allison misspoke then slammed the door shut.

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Track 10 - Top Ranking by Blonde Redhead

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{Morning – BHHS, Student Parking}

Danny Māhealani had a few many things in common with Lydia Martin; their class rankings were in constant rival for top student, they were both known for throwing the best parties in all of Beacon Hills, and they both suffered the affections of Jackson Whittemore.

Because of that when Lydia caught up with Danny as she cut through student parking, she recognized the expression of jaw clenching anguish that meant Jackson had just blown through.

"Hey, Danny," she started, but when she tapped him on his shoulder, he took a few seconds to respond. "How are you holding up?"

After a pause he smiled and tried to play it off with his practiced nonchalance and dark-eyed charm, "getting verbally abused by your best-friend is just how I start lacrosse practice these days."

Lydia cocked an eyebrow in uncertainty; she lingered beside him and considered an arrangement that might help them both.

"Do you really want to head in right now? Or how do you feel about rescuing a damsel in distress?"

Danny's uncertainty rose to match hers and was right to do so. She wanted to escape the school grounds, if only for a little while. She asked for a lift to her car which was inconveniently left by the side of the road Thursday night when she drove Scott and Stiles to the Preserve.

With sigh of relief, he agreed. They doubled back and Lydia's quick steps placed her in front of driver's side door of his gray Toyota Yaris. "Key!" she held up her hand resolutely.

"I thought you wanted me to drive?" Danny asked, he curled his lip at her further.

"I said I needed a ride," Lydia shrugged, "I never said I needed you to drive me. You should get in and get comfortable." She was out of practice with a manual drive, and it showed, not enough for a cause of concern but enough to be noted. He didn't complain, when she drove, he put the window down and ignored the texts he got from team members about his absence. Danny offered to help program the GPS, but when she didn't respond, he managed the radio instead. When they reached the site of her VW Beetle she hesitated to get out and they sat in silence, listening to Calvin Harris classics.

"He's just such an asshole," she finally admitted and didn't have to clarify who.

"At least you don't have to put up with his bullshit anymore," Danny reminded, his impish smile working wonders on her nerves. "You did break up with him."

"Please," she looked him over and pursed her lips. It was as though their familiar suffering knew no end. "When was the last time you broke up with him? At the end of the last game? The last practice? The last time he returned your lacrosse equipment damaged?"

Danny gave her a strange look, part-pity and part-grudging respect. "But he gets a pass every time, because- I don't know why." He shook his head and shifted in his seat uncomfortably, he looked around the scenic and prohibited view. Nothing symbolic there. "He needs us. He needs to remember he isn't the front he puts up to deal with his parents and school."

Lydia was quiet for a few seconds and when she spoke again her voice was tentative. She was smiling just a little, "because Jackson's the sort of guy who shows up after you bungled the Championship game with brand new top of the line Maverik goalie's gloves to break your bad luck streak, a bunch of lacrosse videos to watch and a bottle of tequila."

"Right, that guy. The same one who bought out every booth in a high-end salon to keep it private and pamper you while your bad perm got fixed." Danny said, trying to sound wry but sounded uncertain instead.

"I heard he was in the hospital," Danny continued in a lower his voice.

"I know. I visited him," she said and looked at him sidelong as she ran the forefinger of her right hand tentatively back and forth along the wheel.

"I just wanted to know how he was," he forced a smile, but he looked troubled throughout. "You should have seen who drove him to school today."

"Well, at least he's here. That's what matters doesn't it?" she adjusted her seat to face him further. She couldn't imagine how Jackson must have looked waltzing in when he'd been barely breathing hours ago. Barely breathing yes, but she'd sensed him underneath a film of static.

If Jackson turned up in school already, as much as she wanted to interrogate Danny, but it made more sense to confront Jackson directly for answers. After an evening of too many confrontations, Jackson seemed like a great way to get torn apart and she wasn't rested enough for that.

"You know, I only came to the school today for 2 reasons," she got out of the car. "Boys are definitely not one of them."

"Alert the press," Danny hopped out behind her then he followed to the driver's side and lounged beside the open door. "You know he told me my new boyfriend 'stinks', as in literally stinks without ever having met him."

Lydia swiveled around, her bag smacked against her side, and she clutched it severely. She could probably care more- she could probably fight for the acknowledgment of Jackson's mutation or the changes. But everyone wanted to pretend things were normal, and it was too much weight to feel responsible for alone.

"What did you do?" she asked, she couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice. "Tell me you didn't stop seeing your boyfriend just because of it?"

"An Adonis with light brown hair, dark brown eyes and perfect thin bitable lips?" Danny explained and he leaned back a little against his car, as if he envisioned the boyfriend. "You kidding? I told my man to turn up as often as he likes."

"You're just trying to make me jealous now," smiling she turned went to her Beetle. Danny laughed while she checked to see that the damn thing even turned on. The relief in her face that it did, she could dump her things in the passenger seat and curled herself into a driver's seat that was hers and didn't need adjusting made him smirk.

"Are you going to be, okay?" he ran his thumb over his lips and pretended he didn't feel too invasive.

"I just need a break from bullshit," she sighed and put a hand to her head.

"We should throw a party," Danny knowingly goading her.

She rolled her eyes but grinned up at him nonetheless, "we should throw a party, something to ease the after-midterm blues."

"Weather is warming up, a Memorial Day pool party?" he picked at the edge of her car window and gazed at her playfully from under long lashes.

She shook her head and conceded, "I bring the pool you bring the party?"

Danny grinned and stood upright, he added cockily, "I can bring you more than the party."

"Thanks," she scoffed sensing his suggestion, "but I'm done with teenage boys."

"I'm not talking teenage boys," he said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped back so she could close the door.

She gave it a loud slam but lowered the window. She poked her head out and gave a fake smile, "there is no flaw in focusing on myself for a little while."

"And there are no flaws in having someone to focus on you," Danny smirked. He cocked his head to the side as he shifted on his back foot and spun around to walk back to his Yaris.

"And you have a someone in mind?" Lydia called out and found it almost inviting to considered what it would be like to spend time with someone who wasn't trying to make her lie or steal with them.

"I know a University RA; 5'10", dark brown eyes, light brown hair and carved out of marble," Danny coaxed striding backward, smugly.

"And you can vouch for this stud?"

"Personally," Danny called over his shoulder and over the noise of Lydia starting her car. "He's my boyfriend's twin brother."

She considered it. And she considered the fact that of all the things she and Danny shared their friendly rivalry for all things, grades, Jackson, and party was always agreeable. If the world was going to hell in a hand basket, she could rely on Danny at least to keep some priorities reliable, entertaining, unchanging and in-check. Everyone liked Danny but she doubted anyone more than she.

"Sounds promising," she called out through her driver's side window as she pulled up alongside his car. "We could use some distraction. Bring him to the party."

.

Track 11 - Howling At The Moon - Phantogram

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{Meanwhile – BHHS, Boy's Locker Room Showers}

"How could she be mad at us for standing on a curb?" Isaac moaned.

"I think there is obviously more to it than that," Scott insisted while he pulled his t-shirt over his head. He wanted to head toward the gym showers. No. He needed to head toward the showers. He'd tried to relax at the Argents' but there was no way he was going to let his guard that far down and use the showers there.

"I don't think it's strange to want to know why at least," Isaac accompanied him showers with a towel wrapped around his waist. He felt more casual way about it since he'd been using the locker room showers as his second home for the past few weeks.

"With the way her Mother was glaring I don't know if it was that easy. Anyway, we'll find out why when Coach makes us all go 'volunteer' at the library later," Scott then paused, he locked his jaw and stood as tall as he could to look for the danger he sensed nearby. "That's not the only thing we need to find out about."

"What the fuck?" Isaac leaned over the tiled half-wall that separated the shower area from the locker room floor. "When did Jackson get out of the hospital?" he said low, low enough enhanced hearing wouldn't catch it.

Scott only shrugged. He was relieved Jackson was well but alarmed with how quickly; if Isaac carried himself leisurely, then Jackson walked around like he owned the place.

.

Track 12 - 2THINGZ by Basecamp

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{Minutes Later – BHHS, 2nd Floor, Mr. Yukimura's Classroom}

The thin line between excited and terrified was a fence that Kira jumped skittishly and constantly. Cartwheels turned in her chest as watching lacrosse drills through the classroom windows, it drew her closer, despite every synapse in her brain warning her off.

Number 37, Co-Captain Whittemore managed passing drills. She couldn't believe her eyes. Because of that, she wanted closer, in-person proof. Even when fear caused the hairs on the backs of her arms to rise, her hands still pressed against the glass trying to lean out for a better view.

"I wouldn't take offense if you wanted to join in with the natives," her Dad said over the rim of the papers he graded. "You should do something aside from sitting indoors and rotting with your old man."

"It's not that bad spending time with me, is it?" she insisted even though her voice shook a little. "Plus, you'd miss me if I left."

He gave a snort and went back to his papers. "Kira, my beautiful daughter, how would you know that if you never leave?"

After another minute of him aiming a good glare, he then encouraged her, "there are other things, other programs you can use to distract yourself that isn't checking out the lacrosse team?"

"I'm not!" she blushed when she contested but had nothing to follow up with. She stepped back from the windows to try and show she spoke the truth, but the past five minutes argued against her. "What should I do instead?"

"Go, go," he waved her away with the test papers in hand. "Volunteer at the library. Join a study group. Do something. Anything."

She could hear the annoyance in his voice. It changed from 'Teacher-Bothered' to 'Dad-Mad'. She conceded, but she refused to concede that some part of her needed to get some rest, not when the rest of her felt rampant with curiosity.

Determined she would avoid the lacrosse field, instead she went to the locker room convinced it would split the difference. Curiosity brought her down to the Coaches' shared offices. If she avoided Coach Finstock's door, then she wasn't stalking the lacrosse team. Outside Coach Helisek's door, the bulletin board was littered with listings for the Swim, Gymnastics, Track, and the Basketball Team. They overlapped each other along with schedules and notices, she could barely make heads or tails of it. While she wondered at what she could choose to distract her, the lacrosse team rushed in from the field.

Kira considered she could stride around the corner, head for the stairwell, possibly catch a peek inside while pretending she didn't know it was the boy's side of the locker room. Instead, she chose to stick by the bulletin board and pretend to be so engrossed that she didn't overhear the boys shouting complaints to have the Coach sic volunteering at the library onto them. She recognized the faces and voices of some classmates; Scott McCall from World History, Isaac Lahey from Living Environment and Algebra 1, Danny Māhealani from music, and finally, Jackson Whittemore from World History, Environmental, Ecology and (of course) nearly burning him alive on the Industry Bridge.

Even facing away from her, if felt like Jackson occupied the air around her, as he walked past and around the corner into the locker rooms. Even after the doors blocked him from sight, she remained fixed, and couldn't move toward the only stairs that led back up to the classrooms. She closed her eyes, and wished she were a shadow.

1. She totally verified it was him, no joking. 2. She wished to God, he didn't notice her. 3. As much as she tried, she couldn't think of what to say if he did.

While standing at the bulletin board she listened hard, and she tried to find his familiar voice among the team. It felt weird considering before the incident on the bridge Jackson felt like a concept to her; number 37, Co-Captain and best player on the Lacrosse Team, Captain of the boy's Swim Team, expensive Porsche, perfect hair, perfect clothes, he just seemed unreal.

That concept was replaced with the sense of a cryptic voice that was barely human and a severe grip on her wrist. His palm felt coarse and dry from brute athletic use and his fingers were like stony vices. When he had sucker-punched her in the gut, it knocked the wind out with horrifying strength and each time he yanked her along the act had the precision to intimidate her. When she replayed it in her head, which was often, she envied it. Jackson Whittemore had a lot going for him, but none of that tantalized her like the idea that he had answers.

How had long fingered claws materialized where his hands had been? How had his eyes gone empty and still looked pleading? Where was he taking her so urgently? Why didn't he ask? Why did he seem so menacing, then suddenly so pathetic? Why did he terrify her until she felt air rip apart and lightning run through her and into him, electrifying him to his core? Why did he make her do it?

Alright, maybe he couldn't answer all of that but at least he could answer how he was possibly walking when she just left him nearly dead just hours ago (not that she wasn't relieved). It helped that he left the locker room alone and unhurried. Casual as anything, in red sweatpants and a fitted black t-shirt, shape of which left space at the collar for her to see tiny crease lines reminiscent of burns. Last night they were deep, marring carvings but now they looked like childhood scars, disappearing along his jawline. Fascination emboldened her and she listened to the voice in her head, which sounded disturbingly like her Dad and said "Go, go!"

Kira turned the corner, strutted toward him, kept her chin high, called out for him, made eye contact, and then promptly tripped onto the floor. He came to stand over her but didn't move to help.

"What are you doing here?" he said faintly.

She flipped her hair out of her eyes and tried to keep her cool, "I wanted to see you, of course."

His expression twitched in disbelief, his light eyes intently concentrating. "You don't want to do that."

"W-why not?" her voice wavered in confidence but noticed the tension in his stance, it seemed he felt something similar. When he didn't move away, she put up a hand imploring him to pull her up. He didn't exactly do that, he just let her grab hold of his hand and use him to pull herself to stand. There wasn't a shock running between them like there had been in the car but there was still something that made him hurry away from her touch.

"You shouldn't want to be near me," he said sterner. "Trust me on that."

"Shouldn't that be the other way around?" Her large dark brown eyes searched his face for more than pretense. The sudden sound of more team members working their way off the field with Coach Flinstock distracted them. He looked fiercely annoyed. Exasperated he grabbed tight hold of her arm, just above the elbow and dragged her back around the corner. Kira stumbled to keep up but paid no mind, instead she looked down at where they connected. She noted his grip, while firm felt nothing as strong as the other day.

"What do you want from me?" His voice felt desperate and intimate in the way it had on the bridge and Kira felt hypnotized by it. "What are you even doing here?"

"That's kinda what I wanted to know," she shrugged. He looked her over making sure she was okay and then dropped his hold. His expression went back to intent and uncomfortable, not exactly normal for Mr. Popular. She felt shy under his attention but persevered, "What are you doing here? Are you okay?"

"Would I be here if I wasn't?" he grunted.

"I guess not," she blinked. She looked around and despite the hall being empty she lowered her voice. "Why are either of us okay?"

"Why would I know that?" he sighed, aggravated, and disappointed. "Is that why you came here, to question me?

"Kinda yeah," she bit her lip and shrugged. Maybe she wasn't asking the questions right.

"Why the hell would I know anything?" his expression became tired, he rubbed at his neck and when he did it stretched the line of his fading burns. They looked even lighter than before and she tried not to stare, in fact she struggled to keep her eyes intently on his face.

"Because I don't know... because yesterday you came to get me not the other way around," her voice went quiet with each straggling word.

"Then doesn't it make sense that you'd stay away," he took a step back a strategic preparation to back away.

"This stuff, it's crazy," she insisted. "Is something like this going to happen again? Can it happen again?" she followed him forward that retreating step.

"I don't know," he hesitated at the corner of the hall. He leaned on the wall with all his weight and sighed the sort of sigh that seemed like he needed to refuel, it seemed like this honesty made him exhausted. "Probably," he muttered and started to leave.

"That's scary," Kira stated. She stood in the center of the hall as he left her behind. She wished he'd hit her instead, so she felt none of this slow ached that radiated one nerve at a time.

"What's your name?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Kira."

"Right, whatever. It probably doesn't matter," he half-turned. "You should figure things out for yourself from now on."

"Can't we help each other?" she hurried to his side.

"You're kidding, right?" He didn't sound nasty, just annoyed.

"No," she felt surprised at his dismissal. Her lower lip trembled while she worked up the courage. "You asked me-you'd asked me to help you. What if I could do that again?"

"You think that was help?" when he scoffed his mouth was a grimace. A cruelty came with the mocking, but she was too hypnotized by in the faint lines along the side of his face. Nothing he said felt as severe as the sight of that.

"It wasn't?" she pushed past the guilt when she thought about his touch in the rain, when she thought about how his desperation came across like waves and then lightning came before the thunder that nearly shattered her ear drums. But it was his desperation that scarred her memory.

"Don't worry about it," he could barely keep eye contact.

Who was he kidding, it was all she worried about, and she had a sneaking suspicion when he looked at her, he felt the same.

"I really thought I'd have killed you," she reached out for his arm and pulled him back to face her fully. He trembled under fingertip and flinched from her but only after he let her guide him toward her. She reassured him with a shy smile, "but Lydia thinks you might have looked for me specifically to help you."

"Lydia Martin?" his tone and posture changed. Disgruntled was easy nature for an athlete but at the mention of her name Jackson seemed outright agitated.

"You know her, right?" Kira withdrew at her misstep. "I just met her last night when she was visiting you at the hospital."

"What else did she say?" Jackson followed forward her retreating step.

"She said I should keep my distance," Kira's voice lowered with each faltering step backward until her back came up against a wall, "from this whole place." She gestured around her with an awkward small flail, inferring that Lydia hadn't meant any one person. Kira gulped, "she said I should just run away."

With a tilt of his head Jackson considered her words mindfully. When he finally turned to look toward the locker rooms Kira knew he really looked off into some memory he shared of Lydia instead.

"Well, she is pretty smart," he conceded and stepped away. He looked back and gave her a severe glare, but there was no heat behind it. "You should definitely keep your distance from me, Kira. Maybe you should be running."

It wasn't a threat, but his abrupt departure left her feeling intensely violated. It made no sense. With her back pressed to the wall, Kira dug her fingers into the edging and braced her footing to keep from sliding to the ground. She felt intimidated again that's for sure, but she wasn't certain if that would be a lasting impression. She replayed the conversation and read between the lines until she came away from it with a different message than what Jackson meant, and it fascinated her. Tears welled up in her eyes when she realized he cared so little about her, on the bridge and in the car. His brutal honesty came across because she mattered so little. He told her to keep her distance not out of concern but because otherwise she would be a nuisance. It still got her answers, and she could work with that, if she didn't stay on the sidelines.

"Have you decided?" Coach Helisek asked.

"Wha?" Kira jumped.

"You've been staring at the bulletin board for almost the whole period. I figured you were on the wall about joining one of the teams," he shrugged and tapped his watch in emphasis. "I've got to get to the gymnasium for-"

"Yeah," she interrupted. She stared at the piece of clip art mocked her with its trailing speed lines dictating her destiny. "I don't want to just be a stand-in anymore. I want to join the Track Team, full time. I'd like to run."

.

Track 13 - Human by Ellie Goulding

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{Back at Argent's House, 2nd Floor, Meeting/War Room}

"The fact is, sleeplessness doesn't abide laziness," Livy leaned forward, stretched her arm across the Multi-touch table and flicked her cigarette ash into a shot glass. "I understand that it's been a trying number of days we've had but we should be producing better results with the amount of work we're putting in."

"Too many cooks in the kitchen?" Leveque suggested.

"No one is cooking here!" Ulrich rubbed at his eyes then looked around, relief at the concept reminded him. "Where's Rumy?"

"In the bedroom," a freshly showered Bennet gestured towards the room next door while he munched on a stick of honey bacon, "returning his precious items to their rightful places."

"Don'tcha think Victoria would want you to smoke outside?" Axel asked Livy, in a particularly condescending tone.

"And affect her gardens? I sincerely doubt that," she chose to rise above his tone as she waited after a long inhale and scoffed with an outbreath. "Gentlemen, and I use the word liberally, are we gathering here to have a good old-fashioned chinwag or was there a reason for this confinement? Please?" she added the latter with an imploring look to Chris Argent, their de facto leader.

"We just wanted a debriefing of what happened at the hospital from you, Ulrich and Leveque and to catch you up on what happened last night," Chris said dispassionately. He looked just as bothered to be there as the rest.

Leveque passed a hand over his face and dropped onto a bench beside Ulrich.

"What's there to say on our part, we got the Yukimuras out because we were told to and we made sure no suspicious data stayed on the records at the hospital," Leveque answered tersely. His tiredness made his tone grumpier and oldmanier than usual. "16-hours and the only abnormality we can report is Whittemore getting up and strutting out of the hospital after the Kitsune girl hit his insides like an E-bomb."

"That I can account for," Kate said dismissively. She continued her pacing, with arms crossed, moving back and forth behind her brother while he spoke to the group. If she intended to support and not distract, she was doing a bad job of it.

"Well," Axel cleared his throat, "our Victoria could account for the something to do with the Yukimura girl." He produced a display map on the tabletop that was a duplicate of the maps Victoria had brought down to the Lodge the night before. "Those are telluric currents. They're confirmed to be carrying low level electromagnetic currents suspected to affect lunar phases, the sort of thing that borders on 'pseudoscience'," he scoffed, his bushy 70's mustache waggled along with his style of disgust. Axel had gotten bit by so-called pseudoscience before and it left scars along his side and dead nerves in his right arm- his good shooting arm. With careful quick fingers of his left hand, the learned dominant hand, he brought up a second map to overlap. Orange lines, thicker than the blue river-like lines streamed along, fewer in number and crossed the telluric currents sparsely. "These are ley lines. Power can be drawn from these pathways and I ain't talkin' diesel gas."

The Meeting Room door opened and Rumy shuffled through, looking bright-eyed and sodden from a fresh shower. He scanned the room as all expressions turned toward them. He smiled brightly, and gave a crooked smile, "ah, I've made it in time for the recap then."

Chris continued while Rumy sealed up the room, "when the blackout moved through the town, it didn't pass through the power grids. It moved along the ley lines. Logic dictates that power should have been restored along the same path, but it didn't."

"From what Victoria's reported, the bridge isn't of significant standing in Beacon Hills," Fry spoke up in a wheezy rarely used voice. "The storm starting at the bridge is evident of the Kitsune."

"Kira," inserted Ulrich, his mouth barely moved when he spoke, but his eyes were tense with irritation.

"Right. Kira," Fry amended apologetically and cleared his throat. "The storm started with Kira just like the storm terminating at the hospital isn't a coincidence."

"But the way the storm pattern moved," Norm spoke impatiently over to impatiently over them, "that pattern moved along the ley lines. Smooth as anything. Beginning and end though, it followed our girl."

"From the impression I got off Ken at the bridge, this was the first time their daughter manifested any Kitsune attributes," Rumy came to stand near the head of the table, he put a foot on the bench between Chris and Livy, everyone shifted around to make space. "It's pretty impressive," he set down his cell phone onto the tabletop, connected it to a port that directly interfaced with the tabletop. Images he took from the bridge, the car crash and storm came into view and aligned themselves in a line. "Bennet, could you do the thing?"

Bennet shoved the last of his snack into his cheek, licked his fingers clean of the bacon grease as best he could before wiping them on the back of his jeans. He looked sheepishly around the table before he came around alongside Roman and started to work on changing the image surfaces to show the temporal effects of the storm.

"That is a beauty," Kate gave a cat call as the end effect while she peered over Chris' right shoulder while they all stared down at the manipulated imaging effects. "The residual trails in the sky match the ley lines exactly."

"This is about an hour after the first strike and the power hasn't faded remotely," Norm pushed his glasses down a bit to admire it fully, his voice came across nearly wistful. "There hasn't been a documented case of a fledgling Kitsune this powerful, to carry a thunderstorm in her back pocket on a whim. Not in a hundred thousand years."

"Well, it wasn't on a whim," Kate explained. She slid the photos along and brought up others taken from accident earlier on, when first responders arrived. "The other kid on the bridge, Jackson Whittemore, his assault stimulated it. And from what Kira told her parents and what I've suspected for a while now, he's a Kanima."

"Figure that has got to do with Tyhurst's open report on the school library," Axel looked to Chris who gave him a curt nod.

"He should have died," Roman mumbled looking down over the photos. He marveled at them, a boy nearly his own age, nearly his own height, his complexion, his build and burnt alive on the road 15 miles on the wrong side of the highway from where he had worked the night before. How different might he have felt about the whole investigation if he'd been one of the first on the scene? Or possibly not different, since the boy was nothing at all like him but some sort of supernatural hybrid-monster.

"Correction, he could have died," Norm said mildly as if sensing Roman's unease. "But he didn't in fact die. He was in stasis until he walked out of the hospital fully healed a few hours ago. Whoever is at the helm, whoever it was who controlled him enough to put him on the bridge in the first place-" his voice caught heat, his hand hit the table with emphasis as he closed out images of a corpselike Jackson, who reminded him too much that Hunters like his family weren't immune to bites or elementals "-whoever is controlling this kid must have a lot of power to just walk in and heal him. We have got to go over all the surveillance footage to check everyone who visited, examined him, who even walked by his room and could have had close enough access to manipulate his healing processes."

"No can do," Leveque dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Once the Kitsune power kicked into full and upright position the surge sent out a pulse that fried quite a lot of circuitry. That includes all the hospital's surveillance footage going back 2 days. Cameras are still down and they're in the process of buying new equipment actually."

"So, what makes a Kanima get up and heal?" Kate closed out the windows of photographs before her much slower while theorizing.

"And a Kitsune relights the town at exactly the same time in the same place?" Chris finished her thought process from beside her.

"Y'all are kidding yourselves if you think that's a coincidence," Rumy derided, not quite under his breath. He squared his shoulders and looked around the room, "where's Victoria? She would have words about something like this."

"She's dropping Allison off at school," Bennet reminded. "Although I'm sure Allison would have an opinion about this too," he added with a little bitterness toward missing his partner. He never liked Allison's absences, but he respected it. Her choice to get invested in the townies and would always have been considered it an asset, especially in debriefings, but it was a casual oversight, typical.

"The more important thing," Axel grumbled, with a pointed look and brought them back on topic, "why were they on the Industry Bridge in the first place? Without a doubt the Kanima scared the Kitsune into fight-or-flight mode. But the Kanima's Master is responsible for kidnapping Kira, placing both in the crashed car and injured on that bridge?"

"I dunno," Rumy dropped his leg, rubbed at the back of his neck and talked low nearly to Chris alone, lost in contemplative thought, "the Kanima's Master maybe woulda wanted to get the Whittemore boy all healed up, but it wouldn't have wanted to get Kira on the up and up. Someone else was in the hospital protecting them, someone pretty damn strong."

After a moment, Livy took a drag, "were we to watch them both thoroughly," then carefully blew her smoke away, "without relying on cameras, we could possibly catch whoever is watching them."

The room went quiet.

"Are you suggesting we put a mole in the school?" Rumy snapped. Thoughts of 24-hour surveillance trailing his god-daughter disgusted him. At what point had she earned such distrust? He glared openly at Livy but when he quickly looked around the table, he only saw Bennet and Roman (the only teens at the table) with downcast eyes, and the rest were Hunters looking willing. He didn't dare turn around to look at Chris. Instead, he glared back at Livy and wished her head would explode.

"Someone needed to bloody well say it," Livy leaned back and leveled him with an even gaze. She flicked her cigarette towards the shot glass and got her ashes in without looking. Perfect aim. "As Hunter, sitting about imagining things will sort themselves out isn't what we're meant to be doing. We're meant to be assessing, explore and diffuse any hazardous situation. Now, is it?"

Rumy shrugged but said nothing. The room let a low murmur around and some shuffle of feet. Kate imposed herself nearby, as if she meant to get in between and stop a brawl.

"I believe in sitting off and waxing lyrical whilst the town is thrown into the dark ages is not on the to-do list, gypo." Livy's mouth stretched into a smile, her lips turned up at the ends and Rumy's glare softened while he considered rising to her taunt.

"And yet the only one here making with the pretty speeches is the actress," he said calmly, shaking his hair out of his eyes, spraying droplets of shower water down onto her. Livy squeezed her eyes closed and gave a shudder but did nothing else. "You can't just spy on kids because you're bored, Livy."

"You've all got orders to follow," Chris interrupted, his voice commanding. "You managed the hospital intake well, Livy. Your Intel is great, and you locked down any hazardous leaks that could have compromised those kids or any of us. Thank you for that."

"As you say, I had an order, I followed." She tossed her ruined cigarette into the shot glass and sat back with arms crossed and a scowl across her perfect features. "What next, high and mighty Leader?"

At that the door gave off the sound of dispersing air as Victoria Argent entered the room. The door bleeped into life and while it couldn't move at any faster speed than programmed it gave off an impression of expediency.

Her fair skin looked flushed which made her pale eyes look laser by comparison, so when they shot around the room everyone was left ill at ease. She shrugged off her coat, tossed it onto the hook latch attached amenities, crossed the room in 3 strides and punched in the command key to shut down the table before she caught her first breath.

"Everyone out," she said after a deep intake. "Not you," she glared at her husband Chris "and not you," she pointed at her sister-in-law Kate.

"Ah," Roman shuffled by, keeping his voice low but not low enough that his bitterness wasn't noted. "And so, ends another effective council." Axel grunted at him and shoved him aside so he could move by. Norm rolled his eyes as a wordless reminder that there was a time and a place and within earshot of the Argents right, even a distant cousin was probably a crap idea. Bennet tsked, looking pleased with himself for not being the one in trouble with the senior Hunters.

"Anyone want to have a friendly target competition outback?" Bennet offered, happy to have his coveted weaponry back and eager to stay out of the house.

"Yes," Leveque said gruffly.

"God yes," Ulrich followed.

"Just nowhere near that Lodge," Norm had no intention of roaming from one uncomfortable situation into another. A few murmurs of consensus as he sealed the door behind them.

"Well, it's a bit stuffy in here," although he hung back, Rumy spoke up. Despite his ranking as Hunter, as Chris' best-friend, a title he had grown to loathe, Rumy would wait for Chris to give him that little 'wink' of assurance that fiery Vickie Argent wasn't going to commit patricide. Only then he would run, not walk to the nearest exit. "Anyone want to step out for a smoke?" Rummy suggested the way out.

"Lord love you, Rumy yes," Livy loomed unmoving by the server booth. She wore an etched expression of boredom, while underneath was tension and resolve. She owed Kate's a debt and wouldn't leave her leader's side without a direct command from her. Although by rank, Norm should have stayed, but Livy would have torn his heart out if he attempted to supersede her.

When Kate granted her leave with a raise of her brow, she felt such a relief she took the little man up on his invitation, she regretted it the moment she pulled the silver cigarette case, and he nicked a cigarette once she opened it.

"Gonna move it or what, cousin?" he called back spryly as he put distance between them.

Livy took out another cigarette. Before locking the door, she paused and replied, "much as it pains me to acknowledge this, it's been impressed upon me of late that murder is frowned upon on the premises. This seemed an opportune time to reiterate." And she lit her cigarette, looked around at the Argents and added just before she locked the door "and it stands to reason it's a bitch to get the smell of decay out a room with such strict ventilation. Darlings, best not make airing out this room any more difficult than it already is."

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Track 14 - Sweater Weather (The Neighborhood Cover) by Kina Grannis

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{Mid-Morning - BHHS, Library to Natatorium}

Allison walked the halls. She hugged her arms around her, and her footfall made no sound while she aimed herself toward the library. Sure, she said she was mad, but it was almost practice, getting upset when afraid for her friends. Watching her supernatural friends under the methodical gaze of her Mother in Hunter mode was a thing of nightmares. She shoved at them to move along, hard enough to send Scott falling into Stiles and Stiles falling onto a bench. It didn't matter unless they just moved along.

It reminded of the last time she put her body in the way of Isaac and her Aunt Kate, when she surprised them at the Hale Estate, but this was different. This was her fault, and this was going to have a lasting, unpredictable affect. Outside, after they finally got the hint and rushed off to the safety of the lacrosse field and Coach Flinstock's yelling, when she looked back, her Mother had already driven away but it hadn't made her feel better.

When she reached the library entrance for study group then realized that was not the place for quietude. Superficial repairs were nearly completed, what was left was organizing books, dozens of displaced or damaged books. She had no focus for that. She stopped at the door and leaned her weight against the wall. Lydia was right, her Mother found her out for hiding Werewolves, for not only keeping their identities a secret but for having them right under her family's roof. The whole time all she concerned herself with her friend's welfare, and she hadn't stopped to think about what her family would do to her until now.

Allison realized they could send her away. She had compromised their Teams' investigation. She would be no good to the Hunters if she wasn't trustworthy, keeping her around would be a liability. They might push her onto Kate's Team when Kate leaves. They might send her off to her Grandfather; she hadn't even seen him in years, even so she hadn't heard good things. Worse yet, she might never even see her friends again and only hear vague reports of what became of them (God forbid, cold robotic reports written by Tyhurst). Yeah, she was upset with them for standing outside of the school curbside, but she wasn't mad at them at all. She was furious at herself and frightened. Terribly frightened at what would become of her and she needed her best-friend to talk to. But when she peeked into the library, Lydia, the 'smartest at BHHS' wasn't in her throne room.

These thoughts plagued her for a long time, in a frozen time that was probably just 30mins. So, she hugged her khaki jacket closed to her for safety, a shell to protect her from the whirring of new people joining the volunteers, while each imagining became worse and more detailed. While distracted she'd missed the buzzing of her cell phone in one of the many jacket pockets. And the buzzing of the text after that and the text after that and the next. Finally, when the phone rang aloud for a while and nearly went into voicemail did, she come up from her fog.

"Unbelievable," Lydia sounded irritable. After how they had left things, it sounded like the drive had given her weighing thoughts some air. Well, for some of them it seemed as she added "either something's killed you or I've got dibs to."

"I'm sorry," Allison meant she didn't understand but Lydia took it to mean she apologized.

"Alright, fine, but you better move it because I'm not doing this without you," she sighed.

"Doing what?" Echoing sounds in the background left Allison confused and displaced. Lydia sounded in the last place she would have expected her.

"What?" her voice rose in disbelief. "Swim Team! You pestered me into this, Allison. I've been waiting for you."

The appeal of girl time blocked out the fog of worrying and Allison stood upright, "I'm on my way," she said as if she were accepting some mission assignment and she hurried along.

In the girls' locker room Lydia wore her hair braided messily over a shoulder, an official BHHS swimsuit with a towel wrapped around her waist and an expression of worry.

"Swim Team. Just us. I totally remembered," Allison said while dumping her bag and stripping her jacket off.

"Allison, stop," Lydia stood beside her suddenly, placing a hand on her arm. The room was peppered with people moving back and forth along their way and Lydia gave them the evil eye. "Put your stuff in my locker," she cocked her head toward an open locker nearby with a familiar designer satchel slouched over with loose notes, last night's spare clothes, and what seemed to be yesterday's worries, "meet me at the bleachers side of the pool for some peace and quiet and tell me what's really going on."

"Uhm," Allison articulated expertly through her fried brain, exhausted from acute stress.

"Get a move on. Allison, I promise you, I will leave you to drown," Lydia scolded in jest, smacked her arm lightly, and it made Allison smile.

Near the bleachers, Allison floated at the end of the pool, leaning with her arms crossed on the edge. Her soaked hair leaked chlorine water into her eyes and over her shoulders, but the coolness eased her nerves. Lydia sat beside her and dipped only her legs in while she listened intently as Allison unburdened all her fears.

"I'm sure saying 'I told you so' at this point would just be unnecessary, so I'll just say, next time listen to me because I'm always right," Lydia smirked playfully. Her shoulders rose elegantly in a gesture of haughtiness.

"So, do you have any 'always right' advice for me?" Allison rested her head on her folded arms and grinned up at her.

Lydia bit her lower lip and gave it brief thought; she looked around the gym and regarded the rest of the girls practicing their butterfly stroke.

"Get ahead of this before it gets worse," she said sympathetically, Allison made a tiny grunt as if she didn't understand. Lydia knew Allison didn't want to understand. She eased forward and lowered herself into the pool beside her best-friend. Allison moved to face her and with the advantage of water (and not solid floor placed beneath) Lydia could stare at her at eye level. "You need to tell our friends. Take responsibility for this slip up, then we'll deal with what happens next."

"They're going to be disappointed in me. Scott is going to be disappointed in me," Allison's emotions crawled up into her throat and made her voice small.

Lydia looked displeased; she leaned further toward Allison and gripped her shoulder hard. She looked as though she were about to lecture her, instead she shoved her head underwater. Allison came up spurting and coughing and stunned.

"You'll be lucky if that's the worst that happens, Allison. Plus, it isn't just about them," Lydia insisted, her stern voice left no room for argument. "They're going to be okay because we're going figure a way through this together," but as her words slowed for emphasis, she raised her chin defiantly and added fiercely. "And so, what if your parents send you away. You know there's such a thing as social media. I'm not giving up my best-friend. I'm not giving up on you, so stop giving up on yourself."

"All right," said Allison as she rubbed clear her eyes. She accepted that Lydia did seem to be right most of the time and what she said made sense. They had to start working like a team sometime and if this were a galvanizing moment at least it wasn't because of a violent act, at least it could be because they wanted to stand up for each other.

Coach Helisek blew his whistle insisting that everyone get involved. Lydia looked back to where the girls took lines, when she turned back to Allison she got splashed in the face.

"We should catch up with the Team," she laughed and swam off before Lydia could splash her back.

Only Lydia knew Allison didn't just mean the Swim Team. After they made the third go around for practice drills Allison disappeared from the Gym and Lydia was left alone as she suspected this would turn out.

Trudging through the forest for archery practice was strike one, strike 2 was wasting good boozy cherry vanilla floats for girl's night on scheming boys and a burglary. Which lead presently to strike 3. There wasn't enough Haagen-Dazs in the world to make up for leaving her alone to join the Swim Team.

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Track 15 - Youth by MGMT

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{Again, in Argent's House, 2nd Floor Meeting/War Room}

"We had all the municipal services covered," Victoria laced her fingers and propped her chin on top her hands. "Why didn't we think to place someone at the school, too?"

"Probably because the first high-school student attacked last night," Kate offered.

Chris shook his head, "these were miscalculations. Bad choices. We spent time here in our teens. We should have suspected as much."

"I mean, a Kanima did just wreck the school library. That's not even bringing up the whole Northbridge incident," Kate's gaze rested on her brother. His anger was bottled up far better than his wife's.

Victoria stared down at the expanse of desk. She couldn't bring herself to look at either Chris or Kate in case she might dissolve into shouting.

Victoria nodded, "I think Chris's right."

"Chris always thinks he's right, Victoria." Kate said after a moment of extended silence. "Don't feed his ego. You've got to be more specific than that."

Victoria's gaze snapped to meet Kate's, "I think we should follow my husband's initiative. We should have placed someone in the High School earlier. I think I should go in as a teacher- Allison has made questionable contacts at the school."

"Oh? Spying on the girl?" Kate kept her voice airy, but her eyes darted back and forth between the 2. "Aren't we above that? Come on, we have more relevant things to surveil."

Chris' interest couldn't be diverted from the concerns of his daughter, especially after having just been robbed of his Father-Daughter time. He wanted to know about her questionable contacts. "Of the supernatural variety?"

"Werewolves," Victoria stood up, her hands gripped the edge of the table. "More than one."

"Come on, you're envisioning Werewolf instead of teen wolf. You've got to lighten up," Kate said. She leaned back in her seat, her expression stillness and her mouth upturned at the ends, but she read of a little nervousness.

"We shouldn't even have let her go there. We could have home-schooled," Victoria's voice was louder but not angry. Anger had drained away and left her only with worry.

Chris put a hand over hers and locked eyes with her, his tone was steady and demanding, "do you think she knows who?"

"She knows."

"Of course," he pulled away and pressed his palms against his eyes, as if to rub away his upset. "She's too good not to pick up clues. Why wouldn't she report back to us?" he asked and looked between the 2 of them as if they could know the mind of his teenage daughter.

Victoria sat back down at the table, her mouth pressed into a severe line as she plotted the next steps. "I can make some calls. Kate, you can get Fry to create a staff opening at Beacon Hill High. I'll make my services available before the end of the week."

Kate watched the fidgety nature of both parents, she tilted her head back and exhaled loudly. "Aw, come on. You guys are overreacting." They stared blankly. "Why don't you guys practice a little trust?" They continued to stare. "Trust her."

"She didn't report back?" Chris finally said after he cleared his throat.

"Maybe she didn't feel the need," Kate shrugged. She kept her voice lifted and dismissive. "Maybe there isn't a need. Maybe she will report back if and when there is a need."

Chris considered it. He could clearly envision Allison, her heart-shaped face framed with dark hair, with fierce dark eyes and flushed with anger that looked bright pink against her pale skin. Kate stated her argument, she wasn't screwing up in field work, in schoolwork or at home; why shouldn't he give Allison the benefit of the doubt? And he considered, too, how well he listened when his Father tried to control his participation with the kids at Beacon Hills High.

"Victoria," he said after a long silence. "Are you certain this is the best course of action? There's such a thing as stringing the line too tautly, it will only make it snap."

"That doesn't matter now!" she hissed losing her temper.

"Doesn't it?" Kate's voice was low and careful, her smirk was telling.

"You knew." Chris leaned forward. Since Allison was young, she and Kate had always kept a little playful alliance between the 2; it started with presents of weapons that he didn't consider exactly appropriate for kids, it graduated to private holidays away at exotic training camps. It was perfectly natural, but that didn't mean he ever had to like it.

"Yep," she smiled.

"You didn't think to tell me?" he gritted his teeth in frustration.

"I didn't think I had to," her eyes had gone large and thoughtful.

"We're her parents," Victoria frowned, her voice kept a flat tone.

"And if I wanted to take her across state lines or to get a tattoo I would," Kate replied reasonably but Victoria's face began to take on a reddish color.

"Kate." Chris warned.

"Chris," Kate mimicked his tone exactly. After a moment she pushed on, "Am I still the leader of a team? Then we're good." She pretended to ask only to point out the fact her brother loved to forget; technically they stood on equal footing. It was one of the 2 reasons why she was on the inside of the Meeting Room's door. The other being that she was family. "Allison confides in me. As long as it's reported to a team leader, then that's how it should be."

"Just not my team?" Victoria took a moment to process then asked, "so she confided in you? About all of them?"

"About all of those Werewolf friends of hers that stayed under our roof last night, yes." She waved a hand with flippancy.

"Jesus Christ, Kate!" Chris looked at her with hard and curious eyes. "The Sheriff's son, wasn't it? I knew it-" he continued to mutter to himself.

"Unbelievable," Victoria groaned.

"Believe it," Kate leaned forward onto her elbows. "I'm good at my job, Chris. You know the 'collecting intelligence' part. Now, do the 2 of you want to catch up or are you going to need a minute of Mommy/Daddy time?" she gestured between the 2 of them, motioning at the manner with which they were lost to their grumblings. "I can step out for a run if you like? Pop some off at the shooting range?" she popped finger-guns off at them, when they glared in her direction, she knew she's made her point. "No? So, back to business?"

"Business. Fine." Victoria shifted her weight and stilled her expression. "I'd still like to option down the line for a Hunter to be placed at the High School for intelligence gathering."

He watched his wife's face curiously, "that's why I agreed to let Allison go to begin with." Victoria looked defeated. Her passion to protect her daughter left her overreaching, she felt that. From the looks of the Argent siblings, she was overruled. Allison would remain their informant.

"Never underestimate the tenacity of a green operative eager to prove herself," Kate repeated from heart. Her smile didn't exactly reach her eyes.

"Gerard did," Chris explained. He nodded with a little more confidence. "The Argent Family hasn't been the same since."

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Track 16 - New Skin by Torres

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{Back at BHHS, GF, Main Office}

On the landing between the first and second floor Allison caught sight of a familiar gait hurrying along, draped with a red hoodie. He wasn't cloistered with his usual entourage. Bolstered with an intense want to deal with things head-on, she approached him, also because she was certain he knew where the rest of his friends were.

When she called Stiles' name, he swiveled around with enough velocity that should have toppled him.

"Oh. Hey." He tried for a smooth voice afterward but nearly missed the wall when he tried to lean on it. He explained that his Dad just came back to the school and they were hanging around the office to get the enrollment information. In her chest she felt lightness, she felt genuinely pleased until she remembered why she stopped him to begin with.

"Just come right out and say it," Stiles insisted. "You've got a whole-" he waved a hand around her face "-vibe thing. It's freaking me out."

"Freaking you out how?" Allison worried. She'd spent months deceiving Scott and barely skirted his radar. Whatever it was that Stiles picked up on her now she feared must seem toxic by comparison? What did betrayal sense of?

"Like a lollipop rolled in cat litter."

Allison stepped back stunned. "Really?"

"Nope," Stiles grinned. He punched her lightly in the shoulder, relieved to have made her smile. "But it is weird that you seem more nervous now than committing larceny."

She gripped the strap of her bag tighter but let out a breath in relief. "Outside the school, I had a moment with my Mother. It wasn't great."

"How bad could not great be?" Stiles looked her up and down and chewed his lower lip. "Did she find out we broke into the room? Did she find out we took info from your family?"

Her voice left her, so she shook her head. He squeezed her shoulder and let out a sigh in relief.

"Great, then! We're golden." He insisted, "anything else we'll just put our heads together and-"

"I outted you."

He quieted, which in itself was a phenomenon. He kept his hand on her shoulder and studied her face with pursed lips.

"Not you exactly," she braved on although her voice cracked a little. "All of you. By accident."

He nodded.

"I am really, really sorry..." she couldn't continue. Not just because her lower lip had begun to tremble terribly but because she could think of nothing else to say.

"Ok. Ok." Stiles said finally and rubbed her shoulder encouragingly hard enough he shook her straight down to her feet. He held up a finger and asked her "no names?"

"No, I didn't say any names. I just slipped about Werewolves in the school-"

"Of course!" Stiles rolled his eyes dramatically and threw his hands up in the air. "Obviously they're going to think it's us!" He rubbed his hand over his face and looked around the hallway, then back to Allison. "Makes sense. Did you tell the others?"

She shook her head, "I was just about to."

Stiles blinked at her, "why'd you tell me first?"

Allison shifted her feet and paused for thought, "I saw you first. I wanted to be honest and say it to your face."

"But you could have just told Scott and asked Scott to tell me," Stiles wondered, a sly grin grew with each word.

"It didn't seem right," she smiled back. "I don't seem like a 'lollipop in cat litter' anymore?" she waved a hand by her face.

"Nope. Too good for that," he shook his head and considered something. "I could always tell Scott and Isaac for you. We'll be fine."

"No. I need to do it," her smile dropped a little, but it remained.

He watched her face curiously. "Are you going to be fine? I mean with your family and everything?" when he posed the question her stance stiffened, and she stepped back.

"We'll see," she licked her lips and said the words experimentally. "I hope so. Why are you trying to be easy on me?"

"Because I'm sorry I was hard on you before," Stiles leaned on the wall beside Allison. He kind of liked the idea his nearness rattled her.

"No, you're not," she scrunched her face up in disbelief.

"No, I'm not," he bumped shoulders with her. "I've been trying to figure you out. But I think I have a better idea after last night."

"Yeah?" she looked up at him, batting her eyelashes in a ploy of innocence, "is this your way of saying thanks?"

"No," he smirked but then clumsily ducked behind her to keep from his father's sights. The Sheriff walked by the Main Office door, not intending to look for his son just yet and continued to talk to the weekend staff who were less capable at helping. Stiles peeked back over her shoulder, he cringed in awkward apology, and she glowered up at him. He patted her shoulders and continued, "I'll figure out a good way to say thanks later, you'll see."

"Oh, okay," and then she rolled her eyes, "I'm looking forward to it."

"It's just gotta be real good," he said near to her ear. "I mean you kept Lydia off your family's investigation."

"Pfft, of course," Allison stepped away and readjusted her jacket collar from where he'd yanked it nearly off her shoulder.

"And I guess you never actually reported Scott," Stiles stepped around to stand beside her again, shoved his hands deep into his hoodie pockets to cause a slouch effect to his shoulders, inferring innocence.

"No, I'd never." It was her turn to spin toward him. Her look was hard and full of judgment.

"You weren't planning to report me and Isaac?" he rolled on his heels and a smirk crept creepily across his face.

"Do you have to ask?" she grunted and stepped into sphere, which made them seem more secretive.

"Yeah?" his smiled dropped, worry creased his brow.

"No, Stiles," she insisted and stood taller, "I never wanted to turn your names in to my family." When his eyes searched her face for signs of lying and found none, she gave him a nod. She wasn't insulted, in fact she felt she had jumped a hurdle.

"You really are a job to figure out," he smirked down. "'cause you say this now and you still run a straight line with your family." Their eyes trailed together toward his Father puttering around the Main Office. "I could learn a thing or 2 from you."

"Well, I could say the same," Allison wondered, "I mean you're kind of a puzzle."

"I'm as open and honest as a person can be," he sounded offended.

"Really," she took in a deep breath and held it before she blew it out with a sigh. After readjusting her shoulders, she presented herself as the investigator once more. "You've spent the whole night taking intense notes pretending there wasn't another X on your map."

"Right."

"The same X that was on your Dad's map in his kitchen. A map I have a picture of in my phone that connects the attacks now to yours 6 years ago."

"How did you get those pictures?" Stiles' displeasure was trumped by his intrigue.

"The day Lydia brought us over to investigate your possible reappearance. I also saw your Dad's notes, not in chicken scratch but in hi-res," she teased. She hoped it was nearly as aggravating as his enticing her with his notebook in the kitchen the night before.

"You've had that? This whole time?" he watched her with a tilt to his head, analyzing her intent. "You didn't say anything?"

"No," Allison answered, a sly grin growing. "Your Dad had a lot to say, I thought maybe you might like to see it first before sharing it with the group." She remembered the Sheriff's handwriting beside photos of young Lydia and young Scott reading "Juvenile. Unreliable Witnesses. Post-Traumatic."

Stiles leaned back, his mouth made an 'Ah!' in silent acknowledgment, a solid up-jab on her part and her dark brows made a sinister display of cocky delivery.

She came forward for a second blow, "I think I'd get a much better idea of you if you answered one question."

"Shoot."

Her eyes kept their glint of humor, but her smile fell away, and her presence became intense. "These answers I'm helping you find, are you doing it for justice or for revenge?"

"That's a good goddamn question," Stiles sucked in a breath. She put a hand on his arm, a steadying grace. She pulled him from the brink before she explained.

"I look at you and I remember what this conflict feels like." Allison rolled up onto her toes, her eyes intent and daring as they bore into Stiles' eyes, "because there is this rite of passage among Argent factures when we're made to choose; do we just hunt, or do we kill?"

"Ha," Stiles scoffed. He had to wipe at the egg on his face because at that moment, a Hunter and her goddamn coming-of-age ceremony was the thing he related to most in the world. "And then what?" his brow rose.

She shrugged and smiled softly, "and then I'll have figured you out a little better, Stiles."

Stiles opened his mouth to say something else but got cut off by his Dad calling him away to the Main Office. When he turned back to Allison, she had already made it halfway to the stairwell and cast a wave over her shoulder.

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Track 17 - Change by BANKS

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{BHHS, Natatorium, Swimming Pool}

Within minutes of goading Allison, Lydia's unpleasant consequences came to her in the embodiment of Jackson standing at the gymnasium door.

Around the same time Lacrosse practice finished and the Swim Team members staggered by the entrances. Lydia collected her things not too long after Allison had gone, forgetting this detail. Regretting forgetting this detail. Sure, she could use the credit for any college application, but she definitely didn't need it. She definitely didn't need the course since she'd been swimming since the age of 4. Since, she'd been obsessed with 'The Little Mermaid,' her Grandmother would take her boating and swimming endlessly at her Lake House. Or since she'd won several badges in Brownie Scouts for swimming and diving. While she liked swimming very much the only reason, she had for coming to Swim Team left when Allison had. If she had known she'd have to cross paths with Jackson at the locker room, she would have stayed underwater in the pool.

Lydia inhaled deeply and stood up straight although she felt exposed. Not because of the swimsuit she wore but because of how well Jackson knew her. They'd been intimate before and more than just seeing each other naked. They'd shared each other's lives in and out of school, with gestures and looks that spoke volumes, they told each other secrets for months. As he turned the corner and charged toward her down the hall, she sensed his accusation and knew she didn't have an explanation, only speculations.

"What the hell did you do?" Jackson's eyes narrowed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," as he neared her, she backed up against Natatorium doorframe.

After Jackson closed his eyes briefly, they looked fiercer when he looked down at her. But then he sighed and said something that wasn't actually a question, "you came to visit me at the hospital?"

"You came to visit me when I was in the hospital at Fairvale," she countered, lifting her chin obstinately.

"You weren't supposed to know," he eased back, momentarily startled.

"What difference does it make now?" Lydia shook her head.

"It makes a big difference," he paused. He clenched his fist until they shook, "you shouldn't have come. You did something."

Again, not a question.

Lydia gulped, looked him over for a sign of softness but saw none. She bit her lip, "I just wanted to see you. They said you should have died." She meant that he 'could' have.

"Yeah, I should have." His jaw tensed. He meant that he 'wanted' to. Some sort of battle seemed to be raging inside of him.

Falling into step practiced steps, their usual arguing habits, Lydia's eyes flared, and her voice rose. "Are you out of your mind? You lived because you're supposed to-"

"No. Something is happening," his expression clouded over, and he shoved her away from him. "I tried to stop it. You shouldn't have gotten involved!"

Lydia put up a hand for him to stop, "I don't have a clue what you're talking about." She half-lied. She reached to touch him, she reached to cross gap growing between them. "Whatever it is that's happening, we can figure it out together."

"You're lying," he noted the way her heart rate increased. "You ruined it! You ruined everything!"

Lydia jumped back from his sudden and burning fury. Jackson gestured toward her menacingly at first, but it lost heat as he rose his arm and shook off the impulse. Instead, he stormed off aimlessly and Lydia stared paralyzed down the hall after him. Once he was out of sight, she let out shuddering breath, replaying the conversation over in her head until the sound of someone splashing off of the high-dive pulled her out of her trance.

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Track 18 - Ghosts and Creatures by Telekinesis

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{BHHS, Gymnasium, Weightroom}

Earlier, when they were on the field it was impossible to get Jackson's attention because he was so focused on running drills. Scott and Isaac thought they could catch up with him in the locker room but by that point he was off chatting up a girl in the hallway. From intense Jackson was on his conversation, they could sense it was important. In fact, it was the most control they had sensed Jackson the whole time they had ever known him. Which only added to their curiosity.

Coach Flinstock hadn't taken well to Scott and Isaac's peeping at classmates. He assigned them extra weight training while everyone else went to 'Volunteer at the Library'. Jackson never turned up for library volunteering and of course Flinstock hadn't complained about that. Nope, not at all.

Allison texted throughout and Scott had to admit he wished he felt worse about blowing her off.

"What do you think it's about?" Isaac asked in a whisper as Scott added more weights to the Machine Shoulder Press.

"I don't know," he shook his head, "but I can meet up with her after practice. Then I'll tell her about Jackson." He hefted the bench press, annoyance speeding him along, "maybe then I'll have something to actually tell her. And I won't jeopardize her safety to find things out. And I won't have to awkwardly apologize again or get her in trouble with her parents."

"Scott," Isaac slowly released his weight and leaned forward, his tone was soothing as he tried to calm his friend. "Maybe you should-"

"I'm not imagining things. You saw how pissed she was this morning," Scott groaned and took his grievance out with his exercise routine.

"Scott, I meant maybe you should take a minute," with an eyebrow raised comically high, Isaac pointed toward the weights placed at a world record breaking high that Scott lifted with a Werewolf's ease. "And reevaluate how pissed you are."

"Shit," Scott dropped the weights before anyone noticed. He shot to sit up and knocked his head on the bar. He rubbed his head and swore under his breath for a minute more. "I'm not pissed," he grumbled, "I'm worried. What if we're asking too much of each other?"

"What do you mean?" Isaac inched forward.

An expression flickered across Scott's features that Isaac recognized, something he had seen aimed at Stiles but not toward him, but he hid it behind a smile. "I just mean these things we're going to go up against, you know not all of them are going to be Monsters. Could you still—well, you know?"

Isaac blinked and sighed deeply, he hadn't put a lot of thought into that. He thought of things in terms of 'I want to help person A' and 'I don't trust person B' but he hadn't thought of 'could I hurt person C' as if 'person C' wasn't some sort of EVIL creature in his mind's eye.

The period bell rang, and Isaac bypassed the question, he clapped a hand on Scott's shoulder and insisted they hurry and find Jackson.

"Don't worry about that now," Isaac assured as they hurriedly dressed in the locker room. "Unless there's an emergency, I'm going to help you figure this out."

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Track 19 - Taxi Cab by Vampire Weekend

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{BHHS, Courtyard}

"There is one thing I'm going to need from you, kid." Sheriff Stilinski rubbed at his nose with the edge of the bunch of documents out of nerves, not from an itch.

"Anything," Stiles grinned. He tried to hide his eagerness, but he circled his Dad like a shark circled prey. They stood in the school's courtyard and discussed his entrance into BHHS, his very livelihood as casually as the weather.

His Dad smirked and put a hand on his shoulder to still him, "I need your school transcript."

"Oh," Stiles had put some forethought into this but with the week's activities he hadn't had a chance to put his plot into action.

"A 6-year absence isn't something the school can blur over."

"I thought you had pull," Stiles chuckled unconvincingly, to which his Dad gave a nervous laugh. "Isaac could probably help with that. I can't remember all the school contact info but he's done it before. We went to all the same ones sooo…"

The Sheriff's bullshit detector came alive. "We should contact your foster parents," he meant. How had they managed to skirt the subject for this long.

Stiles refused to look up from his phone and make eye contact. He texted SOS message to Isaac and tried to think of a way to avoid talking about the 'other' parents. He hated feeling like he'd cheated on his Dad with the Hales but that was what it came down to.

"They're kinda out of the way," Stiles cleared his throat. He hadn't realized he'd shrugged out of his Dad's hold until he noticed he was already a step further away. "They live on reservation land up in this mountain. Reception is shit. Plus, we did home-schooling." He noticed his pronouns switch from 'they' to 'we' as he went along but he couldn't stop it.

"I could go out with you to get them," his Dad offered self-consciously. "I'd like to meet the family who took my kid in and kept him safe."

Stiles knew some part of his Dad wanted that out of earnestness another out of suspicion that they were some sort of cult that kidnapped kids. Stiles scoffed lightly, "I'd like that but-" A sick part of him would like that, he couldn't help but imagine the warped scenario where his Dad would hike up with him and meet what ravaged numbers were left of the Hales in the mountains. But that wasn't his home anymore. Plus, sticking around Beacon Hills was important, "-you can't take time off from work."

"Hey guys!" Isaac panted as he came bursting through the school doors into the courtyard. "What's going on? How're t-things goings Stiles? Stiles' Dad?"

"Isaac," the Sheriff acknowledged with a nod.

"Hey what a coincidence," Stiles failed at a bluff. "You show up here- after I texted."

"What's going on, son?"

"I just figured we should ask someone who," he pointed to the panting mess beside him, "someone who's gone through the red tape before."

The Sheriff looked between the 2 boys and took in their nervous glances. He measured their uneasy smiles and the way they sealed up tight when he asked about their foster family.

"Can I ask you both a question?" they nodded, Isaac first and Stiles slowly, almost unwillingly. "Did you guys run away from your foster family?"

They answered quickly 'no' but their emotions behind it were both unhappy and bitter. He gauged something behind there was bad and worth investigating but Stiles was right, he didn't have the time to take off work and investigate. Not to mention it was out of his jurisdiction. But he considered, whether maybe it was worth adding to the board in the future.

"Son," he said to Isaac, out affection not out of relation "who have you been staying with?"

Isaac snorted lightly, masking his discomfort.

"He's fine," Stiles answered quickly.

"I've been fine," Isaac replied in quick succession.

Sheriff Stilinski shook his head. He had so many more questions.

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Track 20 - If You Were There, Beware by The Arctic Monkeys

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Isaac wondered how long 'lunch with the folks' ideally lasted. 'Dinner with the folks' seemed to be an all-night affair from what he noticed with the Argents, and he really didn't have time for that.

"I actually have practice, Sheriff." Isaac let slip eventually.

"That's great," he replied, he meant it encouragingly and not at all sarcastically. But the Sheriff still didn't give Isaac leave to go, instead he continued to prod as to why was lacrosse an interest? Did it start when he arrived at Beacon Hills? Or were he and Stiles athletically inclined before they got to town?

Unfortunately, Isaac and Stiles' answered disagreeing on everything.

"See," Stiles insisted, aggravation coloring his tone. "Just like real brothers."

"Actually, more like 2 guys who lived under the same roof and have pretty much nothing in common except our foster family, a couple of bands, some TV shows and the same types of girls," Isaac added flippantly, he leaned onto the table with both elbows due to a lack of a doorframe to place his nervous self.

"Again," Stiles rolled his eyes. He had to restrain himself from smacking Isaac from across the table. "Is that being helpful?"

Isaac shrugged. "I thought were supposed to be really getting to know each other," he gestured to Stiles' Dad.

"Fair enough," Sheriff Stilinski cleared his throat and tried to hide a grin. "That sounds pretty brotherly to me."

Stiles relaxed at the sound of his Dad's ease but his glare toward Isaac filled with the promise of punishment.

For a moment it felt familial. That was, until a shift ran through the air and Isaac's expression changed as they locked eyes. They sensed an intruder. They sensed an impression that hummed on a low frequency moments before a sudden spiked with a force that threatened violence.

"I've got to go," Isaac jumped to his feet. He hardly excused himself as he raced to the nearest exit. Stiles grabbed hold of his arm and yanked him back.

"You can't go alone," Stiles insisted, imperceptibly. He looked down and noticed his claws had embedded themselves into Isaac's arm without meaning to. Stiles reminded with a hard warning look, "what if we're just being baited?"

In response Isaac's anger changed the color of his eyes.

"Maybe, but someone's got to make sure another kid doesn't get hurt," he whispered, and he started to see a little of Scott's point-of-view, he didn't want to risk Stiles' family happiness on a hunch, but he couldn't be content with waiting anyway. Maybe this could even bring him that much closer to a Monster that had captured the last remaining member of his pack, the thought made him growl low with bitterness, "but you can sit here and perfect the art of doing nothing."

At that Isaac shook off Stiles' hold, he spun around, stormed off through the school's double doors and ran like hell toward danger.

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Track 21 - My Moon, My Man by Feist

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{BHHS, Lacrosse Field, Stadium Seats}

At the bleachers closest to the goal end of the field where the lacrosse team practiced, Allison found herself in the company of Melissa McCall. It was no use pretending they hadn't seen one another as they were the only ones in attendance in the middle of the seats.

"They're looking good this season," Allison observed uneasily.

"Well-rested," Melissa reminded bluntly that her son hadn't been home the night before.

"Ah, right." Allison she shuffled in her seat. "I can sit somewhere else."

"Don't be silly." Melissa looked over at the girl finally. She smiled genuinely, "you're not the one I get to ground."

"You don't blame me?" Allison gnawed at her thumb nervously and dropped her hand into her lap when she noticed the nervous habit. She hoped Lydia would hurry over after Swim Team. It wasn't a spoken agreement, but she felt pretty strongly or maybe desperately in assuming as much. She also wondered if Stiles would turn up at some point to cheer their favorite Co-Captain on, and you know to play co-punching bag/buffer with her in the bleacher seats. Or had his sixth sense warned him off?

Melissa shook her head and her clever brown eyes gleaned with a scheme. "It's okay. The way I look at it, Scott is his own man. And he deserves every consequence from his actions. Would you like to know how?"

When Allison leaned forward with interest, Melissa scooted a little nearer, "l would like to know, yes."

"Like watching his girlfriend and Mother get along and talk about him throughout his entire practice," she grinned devilishly and looked toward the field. "Hi Sweetie! Looking Good!" she turned toward Allison, "isn't he looking good, Allison?"

She couldn't help but get caught up, "uhm, yeah."

"You should tell him then."

"You're Looking Good, Scott!" Allison cheered cupping her hands around her mouth for effect. She had to admit it; there was a sick joy to the act. She settled back in her seat and looked to Melissa.

"So," Melissa started in asking in a voice that sounded girlish, ironic but genuine at the same time. "How romantic was it to have him turn up last night?"

Allison knew with Scott's Werewolf hearing he could no doubt hear her, and this wasn't just suggested torture, this was actual punishment. She tried to be as merciful as possible, "he didn't come over to be romantic."

Melissa narrowed her eyes and glared through Allison's skull as if to burn out the truth.

"It wasn't just romantic," Allison amended. "He came to say he was sorry because he was a jerk to me. And that he loved me, and he told me he wouldn't see me for a while because he was grounded. He really did mean to stick by the grounding Mrs. McCall."

A smirk insisted Allison not to divert the subject and a hand slithered into hers to pull her away from back-pedaling.

"Scott is really a good guy. He didn't just check in with me, he checked in with my Aunt, and our friends before he was heading home. That's when the Sheriff told him to stay put. He always tries to do something good, and it bites him on the- it just always gets him into a mess," Allison words slowly died on her lips.

Melissa turned back to the field, they watched as Scott got knocked over, evidently not for the first-time during practice. Allison pitied him not having at least one friend on the field to cover him, with a good chunk of his teammates missing. Even Melissa flinched in sympathy and squeezed Allison's hand.

"I know," Melissa conceded. "He's going to get himself killed," she said as a euphemism and Allison nodded slowly, afraid that Scott's Mom might be too right.

"Once when he was 12, I grounded him, for no good reason, just to take his bicycle away because I knew a storm front was headed our way," she laughed lightly than sat forward, releasing Allison's hands she clapped obnoxiously loud and cheered Scott on. Allison followed in suit. After a minute or 2 and without goading Mrs. McCall finished her recollection. "It wasn't just about keeping him out of the weather. It was about keeping him from trying to bring me food during a double-shift. He kept calling 911 until he got the Sheriff on the line personally; he told them it was an emergency to make sure his Mom got fed, because she taught him that breakfast was the most important meal of the day."

Allison's eyes were wide with amusement. Then she turned toward the field, stood, and cheered louder than she felt her lungs could manage. She didn't care that it got Scott trampled. He would heal. Melissa clapped along but then pulled Allison to sit back beside her.

"Don't encourage him too much," Melissa said with a little laugh and sighed exhaustedly. "That sort of chivalry comes at a cost."

"It's probably going to be his bike again," Allison said with a smirk after she gave it some thought.

"Probably," Melissa shrugged. "There's only so much you can let him get away with no matter how well intentioned." With that she sat upright, an expression of confusion washed over her face, she glanced around. She frowned slightly out of worry, "where did he go?"

Allison knew. She looked down at her Android phone, pretended she received a text but really used her camera to zoom in across the field. She had gotten carried away and nearly missed it; Scott stood at the edge of the field opposite where the track team practiced. His helmet was off, his expression was steady and unnerving, and his eyes gave off an iridescent golden-yellow light. She stood slowly and excused herself.

"I don't know," she lied smoothly, "but this is an ideal time to use the bathroom. I'll try to get back before he gets back." Then she returned the phone into the depths of the many pockets of her Khaki jacket, and she clutched ring daggers from one of the others. Allison waited till she got beneath the overcast of the bleachers then ran off undetected.

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Track 22 - Coward by Hayden Calnin

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{Crossroads}

After Lydia broke through the water's surface her hearing felt echoey and thick, it felt impaired. The swimming pool area had mostly cleared out, but the vacancy wasn't what affected her senses. She was afraid to admit it, but the Banshee's sensitivity was becoming as dangerous as it had become familiar.

Although she knew the feeling of deregulation go away on its own there was no telling when, but as time stretched on it overwhelmed her when the sound of pounding feet trampling on a crumbling path. She blinked away the water from her eyes but couldn't clear up her vision; the shapes that flew toward her were distorted shadows fencing her in. She bit her lip to keep from panicking and reached back to grab a safe hold, for something to help balance out but felt only liquid giving way under her touch.

Clenching her eyes shut she focused on calming her mind but only heard the cracking of tree bark and taunting growls. A force pressed in on her chest, but his ferocity sent him charging through the foliage toward danger. She gasped to recognize Isaac's harsh breaths and understood his pain as if it were hers. But she felt incapable to save him from himself when he narrowed in on the villains in the woods that goaded and lured him further away until finally Isaac fell into the terrifying dark. As Lydia fell with him as they both fell alone. She couldn't reach up, she felt her limbs go limp, tangled and weighed down. In the empty room she dropped unnoticed to the swimming pool bottom, and she screamed unheard into the water. She screamed until there was nothing inside of her and no space left to take anything in.

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Track 23 - Hurricane and Butterflies by Muse

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{BHHS, the Tree Line behind the Lacrosse Field}

Isaac moved through the school like he felt fury blind him. He knew some doors were meant to be locked, but when his hand went to their handles, they gave way easily. He launched around the edge of student parking and the students practicing on the field lines designated for the track, the team scattered while he tore through it.

Soon, trees surrounded him, and thickening patches of green and brown bushes reached up to meet his footfall. He launched over rocks and clawed onto branches to fling himself farther, but the target evaded him. Every time he thought he neared it, he sensed a mockery from the presence and suddenly he felt miles apart or like it was behind him. It riled him up and made his control fragmented. Stiles was right, he'd been baited. By the time he realized he was surrounded and trapped; he was too lost to run for help.

"Come on!" he growled. "Let's do this!" he took a stand, low and readied himself for a brawl. His claws were nicked from the chase, his fangs were extended, and eyes were focused to the pin points, but he wasn't ready for the sight that came toward him.

Twice the size of any Werewolf he had ever seen or read about, not to mention twice the power of any Alpha he had ever known. His hesitation cost him ground and whoever they were back-handed him hard enough to send him flying sideways into a tree trunk. The hit stunned him, and even as he came to stand it left him feeling rattled. Isaac staggered and ran forward, determined not to stay down. The growl the scar-faced Werewolf let out shook Isaac's bones, but he didn't let it unnerve him. He laid a blow on its face just before an uppercut left him seeing stars. The amused snarling expression across its scarred face as it pulled out a tree from the roots, readied to strike and stood looming over Isaac, it would haunt him.

"Stay. Down," it growled in a guttural vibrato. That sent Isaac into a mindless rage twisting out from beneath the aim of it and clawing at the Werewolf's throat. He used the leverage of his weight to throw it off several feet, but it wasn't enough to have a lasting effect.

Isaac could sense his friends nearing somewhere in the woods and it made him hesitate. He felt both afraid for them and like he didn't want them to cut in on his action. But that moment of hesitation cost him an arm's length of fighting ground. A massive hand grabbed him at the wrist, sank claws into his forearm and twisted back hard enough to simultaneously snap his elbow and shoulder out of place. While howling in pain, Isaac didn't hesitate to pivot and swing around to kick it in the face. He used the counterweight to jump, and after locking his left hand around where their wrists still held, he wrapped both legs around the extended arm length and dragged the figure down with him. Once on the ground he kicked at its head and when the scarred face was exposed, he clawed at it with his good hand. The other Werewolf rolled out of Isaac's pin and spat blood. Isaac laughed at the other Werewolf's pain, he laughed through his own agony and hoped their noise was enough to bring help sooner because he wasn't sure how much more he could hold out.

But as his opponent hopped up to his feet. That was when Isaac realized his greater mistake, he'd lost the higher ground and fallen into the ditch created when the tree had been uprooted. Isaac panicked to think about being crushed into such a small space, to realize he'd have trouble climbing out of so narrow a hole with the crumbling soil even if he'd had 2 good arms. He felt as though a coffin were being sealed up around him. His fear of enclosed spaces crippled him to stillness and made his throat turn to a wheezy mess of tubing. His strength drained from him with his small breath of "please."

"Stay. Down," the scarred colossus growled at him with penetrating Alpha-Red eyes just before slamming the tree back into its pit.

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Track 24 - Bullet Train (feat. Joni Fatora) by Stephen Swartz

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{BHHS, amidst the Tree Line}

Trudging through the brambles of what the county arguably called highway landscaping but should just have been an extension to the woods, Allison caught her breath between bursts of sprints.

She searched for signs of movement but only saw signs of wreckage. A mess of tracks showed a chase gone awry, there had been enough twists and turns in a short interval it might as well have been a merry-go-round. Despite that, there was no discernible direction with which to follow.

"Allison," she heard Scott whisper her name before she saw him.

The dagger clutched in hand, she aimed toward her feet as she ducked low and leaned her weight against a tree and barely breathed his name. Within seconds he raced to her side.

"What are you doing here?" he searched her up and down for signs of harm but only saw signs of preparedness.

"I followed you," she spoke softly and put a hand up against her brow to block the sun from view. She could see his shins and forearms were scraped up from tumbling through bushes, but they looked to be healing up quickly.

Scott put a hand up to touch her face, to make sure she was real and safe and within reach. A quizzical expression clouded his face and he asked, "then how did you get in front of me?"

She gave a sly smile, readjusted the bag strap on her shoulder "because I'm a better tracker than you." Her expression turned straight faced afterward, "what are we chasing, Scott?"

"I don't know. But you shouldn't be here," his attempt at chivalry was undercut by the severity of her glare.

"I shouldn't be here? Aren't you in the middle of lacrosse practice?" she looked him over and a smile, spread over her face. He returned a similar crooked grin, they much preferred to be in this together. "You could have called me if there was trouble, I would have come."

"I know," he reluctantly replied. She looked skeptical, they were meant to be partners in all-things, especially when trouble arose.

"Scott, do you?" when she asked, he nodded, and she wished she could pursue the conversation. She couldn't sense whether he lied or told the truth, whether he felt angry or worried she followed him. Too many things were going unsaid lately and the best she could come up with was to assure Scott this was good enough for now. "Okay."

Scott inclined his head to listen for signs of violence. "I sensed something at the end of the field. At the last game I sensed it too- but then at the last game I sensed a lot of things."

Allison spoke in a whisper, "I remember, you seem to sense too much. And you collapsed." Her eyes skirted the landscape and glanced back to Scott's face. "You need to focus, Scott," she slipped her free hand into his and pressed their palms flat together.

Scott gave her searching look before he closed his eyes, leaned forward, and pressed their foreheads together. The smell of dirt from the pitch mixed with Scott's sweat and Allison remembered him crumbling to the ground days before. She clutched his hand tighter, letting go wasn't an option. Kneeling for a moment, they waited for their hearts to slow down until Scott eased back, his eyes fluttered open the color of bright gold.

"Isaac," he spoke softly as he pulled away.

"Isaac?" Allison realized she brought up her weapons in duplicate, a dagger for each hand spun out in readiness. "Is he okay?"

"No... He's over there. He's dying." Scott rose quickly, Allison stood up beside him. Her mouth went dry, but her mind became clear.

"There are so many different footprints. It looks like there might have been a small army," she said low. While Scott sensed out the way with sure steps and Allison pointed out track signs of blood and evidence of fight.

"It doesn't feel like that," Scott moved around debris of a fallen tree. "I only sense one person now."

At the sight of the fallen tree Scott's stiff hesitation reminded Allison of that expression 'walking over your own grave' and she sensed she should take the lead.

She hauled herself over the collapsed tree trunk and pivoted to land on the lip of the open pit. Her weapons fell to the ground, and she covered her mouth with her hands at the sight of Isaac crushed into the earth and buried half-alive. After the briefest hesitation she skidded down into the hole alongside him and wedged herself as close as she could without adding to the crushing weight.

"Is he-?" Scott asked after he raced around the blunt end of the tree. He stared over Allison's shoulders, not able to follow into the small spaces she could manage.

"I can't feel his heartbeat," she groaned in frustration and looked up at Scott. Dirt already streaked her cheek and showed signs of tears she struggled not to shed. "I'm not getting anything. We have to get him out of here." She let out a sharp breath as the loose earth caused her to slide further under the tree. Scott called to her, but she dismissed his extended hand.

"Scott, we need to move the tree," she instructed, he looked confused and worried. "Look at these marks," she lifted Isaac's left arm while running the fingers of her right hand along the elongated tear marks on the tree trunk. "He tried shoving off the tree. It almost worked but this prevented him."

A tension fell between them as Scott gauged the scene and tried to follow her assessment.

"He didn't start to heal?" Scott finally followed.

"He is, just too slow," Allison leaned back cautiously to give Scott a better outlook. Allison went onto explain. "These cuts weren't lethal but they're too precise and deep. There is too much contamination for me to be sure but if I had to guess, these are Alpha's claw marks. They take longer to heal- they need special attention."

"Allison, this is killing him," Scott's eyes were no longer gold colored but they were impassioned as he pleaded. He held out a hand again this time she took it and climbed out.

"Tell me what to do. We need to do it quickly." When Scott wiped her hair clear from her face, the dirt left streaks on her cheek as he pushed back her babbling panic.

"It's the ground- No, th-the tree," she turned away from the tree and kept her attention on Scott. "The soil is loose. We can't side it back, but we can shift it off of him, we just need leverage."

"Okay," he smiled and looked back to the scene, then to her. "Leverage, cool. What does that mean?"

She shook her head and dropped to the ground where she left her weapons and dropped her bag, from within she pulled out her compound bow.

"'dis isss not- much," she muttered through clenched teeth as she gambled and bit a knot to cinch a cord onto the right arrow with the wrong sized arrowhead. "I need you on that side," she gestured over toward the blind side of the tree trunk, "and this will help guide you." She stood tall and shot an arrow with a cord attached high up into a tree 30ft away.

"How?" Scott didn't argue as he moved around to where she pointed.

Allison gestured toward the cord. She instructed him to string it through a crack in the tree trunk the fight provided. Between them they tied it taunt and created a rough pulley system with the arrow on one end and Allison's tight grip on the other.

"So, what do we do now?" Scott asked.

"You pull. I push," she tried to smile, encouragingly. Before he could question her, she dropped her weight into a skid and let herself fall into the hole beside Isaac.

The dirt suffocated her more the second time around. She remembered to wrap the cord around her wrist, a familiar pained sensation of torque and weightiness. When Scott called her name again, she shouted out to him. "Now, Go!"

For a moment he couldn't move despite her urging. Scott looked around the wooded area, the disaster of a battlefield, his eyes large and confused. Then all at once he felt determined. He moved slowly from his position at tendrils roots of the tree dangled, ominously and he moved to align himself with Allison. Locking his cleats into the ground, Scott reached up into the bark, with an iridescent flash to his eyes in fierce determination he sank his claws deep into the layers of tree trunk so that cracks could be heard echoing.

The roar that followed wasn't like any growl Allison heard from Scott before, it caused her heart to jump. The rush made her hands steady, and it felt easier to brace her legs as she took position much like a beetle on its back, ready to kick upward the small space and leave a gap just under her for Isaac. She shoved upward with her legs while lacing the cord around both arms and clenched in her fist she pulled with all her weight. Underneath their efforts Isaac let go of the last groaning breath of life his lungs had held onto this whole time, his eyes fluttering open to watch the silhouettes of his friends fighting for his life.

At the very first heave the tree slipped away, not far but extremely fast and it startled Allison nearly to lose her footing. But Scott held fast and kept a steady pull on the large tree and with the second heave they were able to make enough progress that Allison could make out the outline of Isaac's entire body, and unfortunately all the crushing damage done to it. After a 3rd and 4th heave they were certain it was enough space to halt their efforts, between Allison's sore wrists and Scott's instability at control they didn't wish to tempt fate and have the tree fall back.

After letting go Allison flipped onto all fours, careful not to crush Isaac with her weight. She covered his body with hers in case the tree might roll back. If adrenaline weren't influencing her thoughts, she might have thought clearly that her non-Werewolf body was unlikely to survive the impact, but she knew for certain Isaac wouldn't.

Quick to retrieve the ring daggers, she used them as spades and dug at the earth around Isaac creating slack. Scott climbed part of the way down to rest beside the right of Isaac's head. He let out a whistling breath of shock, the sight was worse than he'd imagined but otherwise kept his dismay quiet. Scott took hold of Isaac's shoulders and waited for Allison's go-ahead before the 2 of them dragged Isaac safely out of the wreck.

"He has to be okay. I thought I sensed something," Scott whispered beside her. He looked feral with the calm of a sage.

She didn't want to give him false hopes but knowing that when people opened their eyes, spasms after death were natural, she couldn't help but hope.

"We had a plan," Scott insisted. He looked to her blinking tears away, "but we had a plan." He shifted to kneel nearly in Isaac's face, his voice rose to nearly a yell, "you can't give up! You came too far! We had a plan!"

"Scott," she called to him. She reached to touch his shoulder but brought her hand back at the familiar reverberation she felt climbing up her spine. There was a real threat he might lose control. Scott's raw emotions hadn't come so close to the surface since the early days of his full moon shifting. But something different was occurring, Allison could feel it, Scott caused the shift in power not earth shattering but something that made the air around them feel vibrant.

"Isaac!" Scott roared as he held his face in both of his hands, held delicately in clawed hands "you're stronger than this! Wake up!"

With that Isaac's life came back into his eyes, the color of yellow fueled them, and a rattling breath of life turned into a howl before he collapsed to the ground.

.

Staring in shock, Scott looked to Allison, but she moved quickly and searched Isaac's face for signs of clarity. Scott looked to his hands in curiosity, they were still cake with blood and dirt and he felt more than a little terrified that he had done something, something powerful that should not have been his to do. That quite possibly might have been influence by his estranged Alpha. That was a concern, wasn't it? Someone had brought that up, Lydia maybe. But Allison seemed to think better of it.

"His breath is shallow," she said raising her head up from his chest, she slowly smiled "but he's breathing."

Scott gazed at Allison in wonder and when their eyes meet there was disconnect; her Hunter-self left her hard-hearted, all business, while Scott never felt so open-hearted, just a teen. Right?

"You've got to go," she instructed. Allison looked to be calculating everything, especially the risks.

"You're right," then Scott's eyes darted through the trees. He remembered their world outside of their secret society of drama and violence. Lacrosse practice was waiting 5 minutes away.

"I've got this," if she felt unsure, she didn't show it, she knew better than to doubt her skills.

Scott stood and stared down incredulously at them, sat on the ground, Isaac half-dead and Allison covered in his blood and dirt, her weapons strewn every which way.

"Scott, go!" she shouted.

"I should help," Scott said biting down on his lip.

She shook her head, "how? You can't just call an ambulance and explain these injuries away. And you can't just walk him into the school and explain how we knew how to find him?" her words grew insistent, but she knew the winning tactic. "Your Mom is there, waiting."

Scott stepped backward, looking as though he'd gotten slapped. Then after a pause took another step "this doesn't feel right."

"It's okay," she forced calm.

"No, it's not," he kept his eyes on her as he slowly turned away. He felt like they should have discussed this longer, like they didn't have enough time to talk. "No, it's not right."

"It's fine. This doesn't- it doesn't mean anything," she pressed her lips together and smiled slightly, conveying confidence.

"But it feels like it does." He said and when she couldn't reply he looked away then started to walk, then picked up his pace and then started to run back to the field.

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Track 25 - End Credits by EDEN

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{BHHS, nearing the Lacrosse Field}

As distance grew while Scott ran through the trees, he felt gratitude that Allison hadn't come along. Not that he didn't always want her beside him in some part of his heart, but he sensed her hot temper earlier and wasn't sure how she would take it if he told her he sensed someone running toward them.

It might not have mattered if he told her it didn't feel like a threat because whoever it was, they were running straight at them. In fact, he was quite sure it was someone trying to play with them and as ill-fitting as it seemed there was something sparking in his soul that wanted to play back. He would have tried to ignore it if he didn't want Allison and Isaac to be discovered in a vulnerable state. Scott ran toward it and raced with it. Eventually he outran it and tackled it on a hilly slope, practically catching his classmate mid-air and tumbling to the ground with her in his arms.

She was familiar, a beautiful Asian classmate he had seen in peripheries wearing the BHHS track suit. More than that he sensed something about her, something unique and strong, stranger than anything he had sensed before but not in the manner of strength he'd sensed before. Like warmth and static wrapped up in an echo.

"You're in my History class," he said awkwardly with her lying flat on top of him.

"I was running!" she gapped in wide-eyed surprise. "Did you see how fast I was going?"

"I could feel it." The realization clicked into place and Scott gripped her waist, then corrected the intimacy of it and grabbed her shoulder. "You were running really, really fast."

She grinned happily, "you were running really fast. Why were you running anyway?"

Scott shook his head and rolled her off of him, he didn't sense any threat off of her, but he was certain, if necessary, he could outrun her again, "Kira, right?"

She nodded emphatically and tightened her ponytail. Her voice started to reek of worry. "I didn't know I could run that fast, but I didn't know anyone could run that fast. How did you- why did you-"

"My friend," he kept it vague, he ran his hands through his hair leaving it standing at odd angles and caked with dirt. At least he looked earnest. "He was in trouble."

"Is he okay?" she glanced over Scott's shoulder in the direction of the others until he stepped in the way.

"He will be," he considered Allison and Isaac for a moment and struggled to put them out of mind. He had to have faith they could care for each other, instead he asked, "why are you running around out here? How come you can run like that?" He honestly worried for her rather than of her. She stumbled into something far more dangerous than she was prepared to handle, and definitely more private than his friends were ready to share.

"You looked- I saw you look really upset and run away. I was worried," she smiled nervously, and Scott couldn't feel any lie off of her. What he could sense of her confusion, and it overwhelmed him, but he didn't have time to process. "And I've always liked running but I've never run that fast before."

Scott looked her over, "are you okay?"

"I think so," she seemed to absorb all this new information. "Please, don't tell anyone?"

"I was just about to say the same thing," he grinned. Without communicating it aloud they'd started back toward the school. "I'd like to talk to you about this again though?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Kira tried to keep her voice controlled but she sensed of relief and delight. Her steps were light as if she felt a little freer. Whereas Scott felt burdened with yet another secret.

{BHHS, between Running Track and The Tree Line}

In the silence left behind Allison felt robbed of the magnified sureness she felt when Scott was beside her because he was her rock, her anchor, but even though she had the knowledge of the tools to use, she didn't know what to do next. Isaac's wounded arm bled openly across her lap, she pressed her hand to his forehead and could feel a fever had begun to spread. She moved closer and slid legs underneath him because lifting his weight was out of her physical abilities. She examined the collisions to the right side of his body, his head, his shoulder, and spread of his ribs. It seemed the soil compacted a lot of the impact from the blow leaving mostly heavy bruising, maybe some internal damage as well but nothing she could examine from the angle she sat at.

Passing a hand over her face, she worried that with his enhanced healing capability slowed to a crawl he might still die again in her arms. Evidently, she wasn't the only one.

"Allison," Isaac said in a small weary voice.

"Yes?" she had to lean low over his head to hear him.

"Don't disappear on me," he pleaded, his blooded hand trembling as he tried to reach for hers.

"No, of course not," she scoffed a little too cockily as she squeezed his hand tightly. She was uncertain whether he smiled or winced up at her. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

He lost consciousness immediately afterward, an easy sleep and Allison gave off a dry sob. She would not succumb to crying. But she had resolved to how she would save him and with her free hand she dug her cellphone out of jacket pocket.

"Mother," she kept her tone clipped and commanding, determined to keep the warring emotions from her voice. "I need your help."

---

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