were (you) Chapter 20: sleeping, a teen wolf fanfic

Track 01 - Pray by Kodaline

{Saturday: Afternoon - BHHS, in the trees behind Lacrosse Field, towards the parking lot.}

"Why wouldn't you just let me cut the rest of it while we were on site?" Lydia asked as she rushed to the right-side rear door to unlock it for Stiles.

Once they had reached her Beetle, it was as though Stiles abandoned all attempt at strength.

"Because it was a Hunter's trap," he grunted rolling over to rest, stretching his neck as he did so. "Which meant it mostly likely sent a signal for Argents to come and get a predator returning to the scene of the crime."

"So, why didn't you just call Allison to come to begin with?" Lydia paused before putting her key in the lock and stared at Stiles' profile, waiting for a reply.

He only shook his head.

Lydia stepped back and glared at him. "Stiles, how many people did you call before me?"

He strained to stand further upright. "Injured guy here," Stiles made a wide passing gesture up and down his person.

"How many, Stiles?"

"No one," he grimaced.

"You didn't call Scott? Your best-friend with super strength," an expression of hurt blossomed across her face.

He shook his head again.

"And didn't call Allison because she would have told Scott, but you called me because you assumed I'm not going to tell anyone you were out here investigating on your own. Again!" She stepped forward, her garden shears brandished toward his face. There was no real anger, just a warning gesture but her frustration behind it was real enough.

"Lydia, come on," Stiles whined. He put up his hands in surrender when she neared him.

She ignored his gesture and unlocked the car door, too furious to make eye contact.

"Sit," she snapped at him.

Awkwardly and speedily, like a crab trying to flip over, Stiles pulled himself backward in the rear seats of her car. She climbed in afterward and squeezed in to lock the door. It had reached the point where bending and stretching his right leg had become ragingly painful and Lydia insisted he try to keep it as straight as possible.

"I got this," Stiles insisted but at the sight of his leg when Lydia peeled back the fabric of his jeans, he went lightheaded. "I don't got this."

"Just let me look at it for a minute," she shoved him back into the seats. After finally getting a good look at the details and between his symptoms and the material presented, and after ignoring his noises of complaint she could finally make an educated guess. "The cord has serrated silver edges laced with a Wolfsbane called Carmichael's Monkshood."

"That is great! That's just great, I'm dying! They've poisoned me!" Stiles reacted by moaning into his hands as he covered his face.

"It's not poisoned, it just seems infected, but we shouldn't rip it out of you because it can make things worse," she said with a careful sigh.

After hearing the words 'not poison' Stiles ignored her warning. When he tried to yank them loose, he hissed because they burned worse, tightened, and dug deeper into his ankle.

"Stiles!" Lydia shrieked at the sight of the tripwire executing its intended trapping design. The sight of serrated epidermis opening up along his ankle and calf as black blood flowed easily grossing Stiles out. Suddenly, he became horribly dizzy and with a small whimper of 'oh god' he toppled headfirst onto Lydia's lap, so abruptly she panicked.

Lydia tried to slap him awake and when that failed, she shoved forward the passenger seat and squirmed out from beneath him. Even in the fetal position, he practically took up all the space in the back seat of her VW Beetle. She considered driving him to Allison's to ask for help but thought of how adamant he was not to get discovered investigating the attack site - It infuriated her that Stiles was right to assume she would keep him secreted away.

Instead, Lydia slipped into the driver's seat and drove with stilted caution to the only place she felt assured she would go undisturbed so late in the day and on the weekend, the Beacon Hills Elementary School. After an illegal turn from the woods onto the highway they blended into traffic and avoid main roads. Highway construction was in full swing, and their 5-minute drive turned into 14-minutes. Slow driving that would normally annoy her this time gave her the opportunity to move forward while checking on her backseat passenger without risk of rear ending anyone.

The strange nostalgia of Elementary School created a safe zone parked in the rear parking lot. Their old school had extraordinarily little, weekend activities and the playgrounds kept them hidden from the view of often used streets. Once sufficiently convinced she'd hidden them away, Lydia killed the engine, sighed and headed to the back. After she climbed over Stiles' legs, she pulled them both onto her lap. She couldn't flip him over to make it more convenient, but she could manage working squeezed between the front seats and leaning her weight onto her bad arm.

As Lydia methodically snipped each part of the tripwire with her shears and plucked out what lingering pieces of silver remained with surgical precision, she let her mind wander. Stiles had run off to the woods to search out evidence of who hurt Isaac because he felt guilty being with his Dad and not standing beside him. Noble or foolish, that didn't really matter considering the outcome wouldn't have changed. It only would have added another body to her vision. But it did answer one of her questions; It seemed like Stiles had been with his Dad when she had her vision. It knocked him out. Not to mention his worried response to her injury confirmed that hypothesis. Stiles couldn't have saved her from drowning.

"Oh god. Is that it? Is it done?" Stiles awoke and at once threw an arm over his eyes. "Am I going to live?"

"Hand over the flannel," she put her hand out insistently.

"What? No," he clasped his hands to his chest, gripping them tight into the fabric of his shirt.

"Stiles, listen to me," Lydia bent toward him over his long legs and grabbed the collar of his hoodie. She peeled it back from his shoulder one over the other despite his squirming while she explained. "Carmichael's Monkshood prevented your Werewolf healing. And now that I took the serrated cord out of your leg it's going to keep bleeding. We need to keep the area clean and apply pressure. Since they've already been compromised your pants should go-"

"This is really not how I imagined this going down," Stiles' eyebrows shot up. He shoved himself to scoot backward, with no luck in the small confines.

"Either you give me the button-up or I'm going to have to use the hoodie," Lydia's face took on an expression of morbid amusement even as her voice turned hard and no-nonsense.

Stiles looked mortified at the prospect and stayed utterly still.

"I don't want to have to use the hoodie either, so why don't you hand over that tacky plaid shirt, save the friendship," her brow went up as a grin spread prettily across her face.

Stiles gaped then flapped around, shifting out of his hoodie first then the flannel leaving him trembling in his feverish sweat and a faded Ramones T-shirt.

"You're the devil," he muttered through clenched teeth as he watched her tear his shirt into strips.

"On my good days," she glanced up and grinned before tearing up another strip off intentionally loud. But when she returned to focusing on his wounds her concentration was steady, while she thought of options to speed up his healing.

The bestiary said that "Pain Helps", but guys always suggested that 'Pain Helps' which was stupid because Stiles was in enough pain. Each time she placed her hand on his bare ankle his pain increased a little and he swooned. She grumbled that she didn't have enough of the bestiary memorized to know which herbs counteracted which Wolfsbanes but suggested that if they 'bloodlet' it might remove some of the toxic attributes Carmichael's held, by proxy it would remove elements of silver, and speed up his healing. At that suggestion, Stiles whined, tugged on his hoodie, made for the door, and suggested she let him walk it off.

"Well, too late," she winced, "I already did it."

"Did what?" Stiles looked at her skeptically.

"While I was tearing up your shirt," Lydia held up the garden shears tentatively. "I placed a few intersecting cuts against the wounded area. I guess you didn't feel it because the area had gone numb, but it looks better now. The swelling has gone down, and the stream has gone from black to red."

"The 'what' now?" although his breath came easier, he still felt skittish, expecting the next awful thing.

"I mean your blood is running clear," she added mildly expecting his uneasiness. He looked a little nauseous at her description but tried to steady himself.

"But it's okay now?" Stiles asked.

"Okay is relative. The Wolfsbane has done significant damage. And you're wriggling around while you were suspended only helped circulate it." She delicately lifted his legs off of her lap and placed them onto the car floor so that they sat beside one another. "Be patient. It's going to take a while for your metabolism to work through this."

It was only when his face turned a little green with nausea at noticing the blood stains across her lap that she noticed them too. With a groan she shrugged off her cardigan and tied it around her waist, flattening it over the stains.

"Better?"

He nodded emphatically. Another item of her wardrobe ruined for the sake of friendship, but she didn't bother pointing that out during his moment of suffering. The crisp night air sobered her, adrenaline came down on her and she was oblivious to the full effect of the freshly exposed injury to her clavicle and instead busied her hands cleaning gore and debris from her utterly unhygienic garden shears.

"What were you thinking?" Lydia frowned and wiped obsessively at the edges of the blade until there were no stains remaining.

"I thought I could find something, you know, Werewolf senses," Stiles tapped the side of his nose to emphasis the point.

She snorted in derision, "definitely found something."

"Isaac wouldn't have been out there alone if I hadn't stayed with my Dad and hesitated to follow. I just wanted to learn something- I just wanted to figure out how I could have prevented losing someone else." For a moment he couldn't trust himself to speak, after clearing his throat exaggeratedly he continued. "What's wrong in wanting to find out if I could have done something better?"

"Why can't you learn, we all want the same things? We want you safe!" Lydia's head snapped up, but she stayed facing forward. Stiles remained in startled silence until she dropped the shears to the ground, she groaned in disappointment. "We would have helped you. Any of-All of us."

"You don't know that," Stiles' eyes narrowed.

Lydia turned to stare at him in disbelief. "And that's worth putting yourself in harm's way?"

"I don't care, if it can help a member of my pack," Stiles said, in a repeated attempt to excuse away accountability.

"That is the prob-I need air from this bullshit!" she took that as license to throw open the car door and stomp toward the playground.

"Lydia! Lydia, wait!" Stiles called out. After fumbling yanking on his hoodie, he shoved open the door and finally pulled himself up by the window frame. "Come on, I can't chase after you like this!" he pleaded, his voice half playful, half urgent.

When Lydia spun around her face was flushed with the effort to keep her emotions in check. She measured her steps back to the car and Stiles eased up, afraid despite the fact that her car door stood between them.

"Get back in," she instructed inarguably.

Stiles struggled to move around to the passenger seat, clinging along the roof of the car. Stiles barely yanked the seat into its upright position a second before Lydia started the car with a jolt.

After they settled in for a quiet awkward moment, without eye contact, they drove onto the main road and Lydia turned South, the direction opposite from both of their homes.

A fact he was cautious to point out.

"That's because I'm taking you to the hospital," she answered in a strained voice.

He felt that was entirely uncalled for, a fact he was not cautious to point out, at high volume.

"It isn't your place to involve the authorities!"

"You are not an authority on when it is or isn't a good idea to involve the authorities, Stiles!"

"What can they do to help in this situation?" he made a flourishing gesture toward his leg.

Lydia's temper got the best of her finally and she pulled over onto the side of the road, halfway into someone's driveway, halfway still on the street. She shut the car off with the flick of her wrist and stayed frozen in her seat for a breath. She stared at him across the divide, her mind a whir, all of her thoughts a jumble of angry spikes.

"Look at you! Do you think that this helped?"

"I'm healing!"

"Barely!" Lydia leaned across the small space, her intense stare destabilizing Stiles' ready smirk. "See, that's the problem with you. You don't care about getting hurt. But you know how I feel? I'd be devastated. And if you die-"

"Come on Lydia, I didn't... I didn't even die the first time."

"Correction; you didn't just die the first time," she brought a hand close to touch his face, near enough to cause him to flinch. She stopped, took a deep breath and regained her composure and continued with conviction. "You died and came back! Dying didn't just happen to you, it happened to everyone around you. The people left behind standing at your grave-"

"Lydia. Come on," Stiles touched her arm to soothe her but it only made Lydia flinch away. He continued in his usual joking manner. "I was only a little dead."

"Don't," she warned in a sullen mumble. Lydia rubbed her arm where he touched her, her wounded arm, a pain that reminded her of exactly how fragile they were despite how extraordinary. How differently he would be acting if their places had been reversed. So, she pleaded instead, "don't blow this off with a joke. Think about what it'd do to your Dad. What it'd do to each of us?"

"That's not fair," he pressed his lips together, and looked away. He wished he could blame his rapid heartbeat on the poison or a fever but knew better. This was truly tearing him apart.

"You're right. Life's not fair." Lydia leaned further into his view, ducking low to prevent Stiles from looking away. When his eyes met hers, her eyes were a crystal clear openness like the endless sky, his were storming with emotion, and he bit his lower lip to keep it at bay.

"I'm sorry." With a winded breath he leaned back in the seat, a hand covered his mouth like he needed to hold back emotions like the waters of a dam.

After a beat, as Lydia searched his face, and mouth fell open in dismay. "What is it you're trying to make yourself sorry for?"

"No, that's not-this was-this was a mistake," Stiles looked both gutted and unsure, two expressions Lydia was unfamiliar to see on her friend's face. "I'm sorry," he hurriedly muttered in repeat as he rushed and stumbled out of the car, slamming the door closed behind him.

Last time, in the 'Meeting/War Room' under the table she covered him. Maybe it had been too much to expect her to cover for him again, but Lydia was an interrogatory sort of person. In fact, her questions tore through his soul and left him feeling more wounded than the Wolfsbane that ran through his veins.

"Wait-No, Stiles wait." Lydia moved to get out of the car and follow but realized her car would definitely get towed. She had just gotten it back. She looked back up to see Stiles had managed to make it as far as the end of the block when she called out to him again.

"It's okay!" he waved back and gave her a big smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine. I'll just walk it off!" He hunkered his shoulders down, shoved his hands down into his jean pockets and hurriedly limped along.

"Shit," she muttered into her hands once she got back in and locked the car. She grossly misjudged her self-control, considering how royally fucked her day had been. Between sensing one friend nearly die, nearly dying herself, then to find a close friend poisoned, bleeding out, and strung up a tree in the span of one afternoon, she had good reason to feel unsettled but no reason to be brutal however good she was at decompartmentalizing.

It suddenly made sense that he'd reached out to her first; both Scott and Lydia would go blindly into the woods after him but while one brought claws the other brought shears. Maybe Stiles still found them inseparable in his mind's eye that didn't make them interchangeable she intended to make him see, she, unlike Scott, would not internalize, she demanded for him to say the words 'I give a crap' and 'thank you' out loud.

Or text them.

She yanked her bag from the backseat, carefully fished around in it and pulled out her phone, ignoring the neighbor's glare from inside the house.

· alright I'm sorry too.

Which she meant sincerely because her emotions had gotten the better of her, not because she was wrong. She sighed, threw the phone into the seat opposite and glared at it that she didn't get an immediate response. Then grabbed it up again.

· don't ignore me. this is not over. you don't get the last word by walking away.

Lydia started the car, intending to pull up next to him and insist on getting him home. Then she realized, before she even left the driveway that he had vanished from her rearview. Trying to process things reasonably before giving way to panic, Lydia snagged onto one chilling detail too late. With that much poison in his system, Stiles physically shouldn't have even been able to walk.

Track 02 - You Do It Well by Saint Motel

{Meanwhile – Argent's House, 2nd Floor, Meeting/War Room, 5th Ring of Hell}

When she entered the Meeting Room Allison found it wasn't just her Mother and Father as she had hoped. The Sergeants and First Lieutenants were in attendance. It felt like a tribunal, which should have unnerved her, but this was starting to become commonplace. She needed to steel herself in anticipation of the day when she would fill her Mother's seat.

Rumy and Axel sat on the side with her Father. Norm and Livy were seated on the side with Kate. Allison strode right up and stood beside her Mother.

Surprisingly, she got accolades for tracking Werewolves in the school. Her Father didn't seem cool with it, but Norm and Axel did, the Sergeants did which was a big deal and made her feel at ease until she remembered Kate's story in the Diner. It made her a little queasy to get praise for something she hadn't exactly done, just like Kate had been 'hero-worshipped' for burning the Hale House.

When she looked, Kate smiled encouragingly, and Allison decided to speak up. She took control of the narrative. Sure, she suspected Isaac she had to admit that much because Bennet had and because right now, he was convalescing in her bed. But she didn't see him as a threat and she mostly watched him to find his Alpha, which he didn't have.

"Until he admitted it was Derek Hale," Allison sighed, tiredness crept up at the confession. She remembered the way Isaac sold out his pack members at the Diner. And how disgusted Lydia was. She felt filthy for what she was doing but she knew Isaac would understand because right now she wasn't telling them anything Kate wouldn't reveal in the next 24-hours anyway. "The day of the fire. He went there looking for clues to find Derek and instead set off a booby trap that nearly killed him."

Chris looked skeptical, but he spoke knowingly, "he went alone? He didn't go with the Sheriff's son?"

There was no helping it. The story was already writing itself, she just had to make it through with their spin. Her Father wasn't subtle about suspecting something of Stiles' too convenient reappearance in Beacon Hills.

"Stiles? He was already there. He's smart. He's just smarter and likes to take the lead," Allison admitted and smiled when she said so.

"You sound like you admire him." Rumy chuckled as he leaned forward onto a lifted palm. He was utterly engaged.

"I do."

"Do you trust him?" Rumy asked a little quieter for concern.

"I do," she said steadily. She blinked back the shock of his cross-examination. "His motive was like the rest. He has pack members that were murdered, and he came back to Beacon Hills for answers." It was a stretch of the truth and she felt confident to stick to it, but she had to look away. Allison could tell herself it wasn't a lie as long as she wasn't looking in those grey eyes.

"Does he trust you?" Livy asked with her tone steady and cool as though she were asking something as simple as if Allison liked the décor.

"Yes." Because that was not a lie, it was easy to stare down those dark and penetrating eyes.

"Do they both trust you?" Livy continued, her voice grew pleased at the prospect.

"They did come to me for help," Allison retorted, irritability growing from the back of her spine.

"My dear," the edges of Livy's lips curled as she said dear to make the word sound crude, "that is not an answer."

"They both trust me with everything. Their secrets. Their lives. Their pack's lives. Everything," Allison placed her hands along the table, palms hard on the edge in a gesture that conveyed control and left little room for argument. What she didn't say was that they trusted her because she would rather die than betray their trust again. But what mattered was posturing in this room; that was something she learned early on. Leave no room for questioning and it won't turn into an inquisition.

"But if their Alpha's dead, then they're just Omegas," Norm looked to Kate, his leader, rather than Allison. "They're unconventional bait for the Monster. Why would it attack them to draw out bigger prey if there isn't bigger prey to draw out?"

"Maybe it doesn't know that?" Allison decided to take part in the conversation, to become part of the investigation in a way that didn't make her the focus.

"There is no way for it not to know," Axel groaned, "that shit was a holy mess. Not only did it shut down the park for days, but it was all over the news."

Victoria put a hand on her daughter's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Allison looked up to her Mother, surprised at the gesture not only for its kindness but how public it was. Her bright eyes locked on her daughter's brown ones. They were steady but hard, her expression was nothing like the severe one she remembered from that morning, but it conveyed just as much seriousness.

"Those boys in your school, they might not follow the ideal victimology, but they are vulnerable," she said. "We need to keep a close eye on them. Can you do that for me?"

Allison nodded, she knew this crossed another line, yet it was better she reported back to her family than someone else. "Yes, I can do that for you."

"Good," Victoria's expression lost all softness as it went back to business. She turned to the table, her hands clasped in front of her tightly and her pose straight as a rod. "We have to consider just because this kid Isaac got attacked by an Alpha doesn't mean he won't get attacked again. It just means this threat of war is excelling, the Alphas are lashing out."

"Tyhurst said the Alphas had grown volatile," Kate shrugged her disappointment. "The bigger problem is which one is it?" she looked to Allison and slowly the rest of the table did as well; from the sharp wary educated Norm to the determined rueful Rumy.

"I'll go question Isaac and see what I can find out," Allison accepted the mantle. She moved stiffly toward the door as the conversation continued without her. She wished she had the presence of mind to eavesdrop while walking away but all she could hear was wind between her ears while thinking of what to say to him.

As the door closed behind her Allison sagged against it and knew two things for certain. Sticking as close to the truth as sanely possible would be the only way to survive without fail. The other thing, they never mentioned Scott or Lydia.

Track 03 - Wolf and I by Oh Land

{Late-Afternoon – McCall's House, Lakewood Neighborhood}

Scott raced up his front steps and his grin of eagerness quickly turned to one of distress at the sight of Stiles on the front porch cut up and covered in blood.

"Can I pass off something like this as a lacrosse injury?" Stiles asked while Scott cleared the way for him to hobble along dramatically.

"Not really, no." Relieved at his friend's good humor Scott propped Stiles against the kitchen counter and willed the stains to lift from the tiled floor later with a little soap and elbow grease.

"Damn. Because I totally would have joined the lacrosse team if I could use it as an excuse," Stiles whined. "I totally sense dumb injuries like this in my future that will need a lot of explaining... Dude, do you have something I can change into? I mean I'm not even bleeding anymore."

"Yeah, sure." Scott tossed him stuff overhead he yanked out of the dirty laundry and Stiles hobbled to the bathroom to change. "There's a story behind this?"

"An epic tale. Spoiler Alert: I do not come off looking like the hero," Stiles said through the bathroom door, his voice occasionally smothered by fabric. He came out still limping, less impeded than before despite the mildly dingy Heathered Sweater, ill-fitting denim jeans and his customary borrowed red hoodie.

"You're going to have to burn those," Scott joked pointing to the clothes Stiles held clumped up in his fist.

"I've heard that somewhere before," Stiles rolled his eyes and shoved them into a garbage bag and tied it off. He spun back around and gestured, pointing obstinately at Scott with a singular finger. "Now I should preface this by asking while your Mom is out, can I stay here? I don't want my Dad to see me like this."

Leaning over the kitchen counter, shaking his head in amusement Scott looked up at him. "I already texted her while you were in the bathroom. She's just glad we're not diving off into the Mad River again. She said you should call your Dad and stay for dinner."

"Awesome!" then Stiles' expression flipped from elation to concern, "I'm not used to asking for permission. What do I say?"

"I already texted your Dad and asked if you could hang out and stay for dinner," Scott turned, grabbed two cans of soda from the refrigerator and led the wat to the living room sofa. "He's just happy we're not racing bikes off the highway's construction ramps."

Stiles gasped, he had a hand to his chest in exaggerated offense, "we're going to have a talk with those two about the low expectations they have of us."

"First, why don't you get off your bum leg and tell me why aren't you healing?"

"I'm healing. I'm healing," he grumbled bitterly, snatching up the can of coke dropping to sit beside Scott. "Nothing really happened, nothing really good anyway but it gave me an idea for a great plan." He took a long slurping sip while keeping an eye on Scott, a daring glare to keep his interest engaged.

Scott laughed lightly he would not beg for Stiles' great plan, not that he didn't have his own subject in mind but at this rate they had all night. It seemed of worthwhile to find out what messed up thing caused his Werewolf best-friend not to heal. That was nearly as important as covering what it was to bring Isaac back from the dead-

"Sorry, it's going to have to wait." Scott looked away, pulling his Blackberry out of pocket. "Allison says I need to check up on Isaac. ASAP."

Stiles was on his feet, (downing nearly all of his Coke) before Scott finished reading the text aloud. "Well," he slammed the can down onto the end table, "what are we waiting for?" as he limped a few feet he noticed Scott hadn't moved to follow. When he turned and looked to Scott, he found him texting still.

"I'm texting my Mom," he looked up sheepishly and reminded. "I need permission to borrow the car."

Track 04 - Eruption by Tobacco

{Back at the Argent's House, 2nd Floor, Allison's Bedroom}

When Allison returned to her bedroom, her grin was a tick too tight, and her eyes were pinched slightly, an expression she wore often when she and Bennet were first assigned as partners. She wore it when she struggled to save face. Bennet recognized the expression and gave her a wink while he casually tossed Reese's pieces into his mouth.

"We're playing 'I Never'" Bennet explained with a grin, "because he's never played 'I Never' with a Hunter before. How could you deprive the boy?"

"But you've played 'I Never' with a Werewolf before?" she asked plopping down on the foot of the bed.

"In Pasadena," he answered with a grin, "because, you know, I'm good at my job. And you?"

"Once, in Beacon Hills," she said after a thoughtful pause, she didn't want to lie to Bennet although she seemed hesitant to tell the whole truth to him either. Yet, reminiscing on times spent nestled in Scott's bedroom throwing parties for 2 while avoiding Lydia's bombastic post-game parties but talking about those times felt like revealing too much too quickly.

"You guys must play 'I Never' all the time," Isaac suggested, to which got him the immediate chorus of 'nooo.'

Allison laughed, relief wracked through her, and she watched the two sitting across from each other, Bennet on the windowsill and Isaac against the headboard, while a spread of Reese's pieces lay on the bedside table between them. "I've grown up with this guy. All I've ever done-"

"-we've ever done together. Except 'I Never' befriended a Werewolf," Bennet popped a Reese's into his mouth. After that, he took a handful of Reese's and then considered that as a sign to leave the room. "Careful," he whispered in passing while he patted her shoulder on his way out the door, which he left open.

"He kept stealing pieces," Isaac grumbled. "I don't think he even knows how to play the game."

Allison smirked and moved to take Bennet's place at the windowsill. From that short distance away, she could keep an eye on Isaac, the front door and the house's perimeter through the window, all points of entry. "Believe me Bennet knows how to play the game," she said with a weak smile. "How're you feeling now?"

"Like I need to make a break for it," Isaac sulked. He didn't look as comforted by her presence as she had hoped. "Am I being held captive?"

She shook her head and watched the way Tyhurst walked the grounds between the house and the Lodge. "No. I think I am though," she recovered from her anxious statement with a quick smile, "if you feel like you can go and you want to-"

"No, I'll stay," he looked apologetic. "What did they say to you to freak you out?"

"I can tell you, but I'm afraid it'll freak you out."

"Oh, I get it." Isaac stretched his arm out and picked up a few pieces of chocolate and brought it up to his mouth with only a little strain, his arm almost entirely internally healed. "They said it wasn't the Monster?"

"Yeah, they confirmed it wasn't the Monster." Allison stood nearer as if she made a play at going for the candy but only meant to observe his healing. Her eyes traced the length of his bandaged arm and took a long time before they came back up to hold his gaze. "If you knew it was just an Alpha, why did you keep chasing after it?"

"I thought maybe," he exhaled sharply through his nose, an expression of frustration. "Just maybe it was someone who I came across on the road to Beacon Hills, someone who helped tear up my pack and I wanted to make them pay. I have Cora in the back of my mind now." With his right hand still in a splint he made a circular gesture toward his head, it looked less like he meant a thought and more like he meant to swat at a bug. "I've got all these people in my life now and it pisses me off that they could just destroy it. And for what? A fucking misunderstanding?"

"Well, was it?" she cocked her head to the side with her interest piqued.

"Was what what?" Isaac startled at her cutting in on his train of thought.

"Was it one of the Werewolves who broke up your pack on the road into Beacon Hills?" Allison considered.

"Are you seriously interrogating me for your family, right now?" his voice rose, while his hurt played across his face more deeply than the gashes on his arm.

Allison knelt beside the bed and propped up her chin on her folded arms at the edge. She looked up at him with delicate interest, between his injuries and his wounded outlook she felt humbled by his words. "Isaac, you said before it hurt too much to belong anywhere. But now, look at you- you're doing it anyway and also I feel the same."

"I remember you were like this," his eyes softened, and he looked from her face to where their arms nearly touched. "When I came back to life, you were right there next to me."

"Yes, I was," her dimples showed when she smiled more naturally this time. "I want to find who did this to you. Help me do that."

"Allison, I don't know who this person is. They were twice as big and twice as strong as anything I felt before, but they weren't the Monster or one of the Werewolves on the road."

"We know they were authoritative, right? If we can know any Alphas on the road that day," she shook her head, after biting her lip intensely for a few seconds she explained. "If I knew which Alpha it was, I could get to them. I could have found a way to make them pay." With that Allison was on her feet, arms crossed over her chest and pacing in frustration, "with someone new, someone different, how do we find them if we're starting from scratch?"

"Allison!" Isaac called out to her in a low voice and caught the fabric of her shirt as she made another go around. "We'll figure it out. Plus, we're not going on 'nothing'. I've got his scent."

She sighed heavily, that obviously wasn't enough, but she stayed herself from pacing.

Isaac looked quizzical then easing back into the bed he grinned. "That is not the only familiar scent I caught."

"You're looking very nice, Lydia," Bennet said by way of 'hello', his charm working to the 10th degree.

Lydia preened, tilting herself toward him at a shifting angle to give a partial turn to swish the new (non-bloody) dress, tilted her chin toward him and flashed her flirtiest smile. She slipped through the crack in the door, crossed the threshold before he had a chance to argue and presented him with the purple foxglove as a gift for the household.

"This is for Mrs. Argent," she said sweetly, "is she here?" she gambled.

Bennet shook his head and struggled to set the plant down on the hall table. They admired the arrangement together while Lydia explained they were a rare variation of Mrs. Argent's favorite flower and the best surprise/thank you/sorry present therefore she wanted to stick around to give it in person.

"I had to go through three different florists to find it," Lydia over emphasized. Bennet nodded, numbly caught up in her preamble. "I just had to be careful, you know, because I didn't want to get her a plant that contrasts with the collection of Monkshood she has growing in her gardens."

"You're right," he confirmed for her. Bennet stepped closer, a defensive tension grew in him. "It definitely would have conflicted."

"Not just aesthetically either," Lydia steadied her voice, pulling her hair back as she inclined her head toward him as her questioning came to a point. "Their properties conflict completely. Foxglove and Monkshood, they cancel each other out."

"I wouldn't know," his brows knit in concentration, devouring the clever sight of her; small, fragile, and intimidating as all hell. Bennet tried to deflect, "I'm not the gardener of the house."

"No, but Mrs. Argent sure does have a lot of Foxglove. I just didn't want to mess up her quantities-"

"Why are you really here, Lydia?"

"Lydia?" Allison stood on the landing above, her hands on the banister as she loomed like a judgmental deity. "Isaac's upstairs," she all but ordered.

"You're here to visit Isaac," Bennet said, his brow went up and she kept his gaze with a glare for a moment. When she finally looked away it was to look at the beautiful flower as if it held an answer. He looked at it as well and finding none he flicked a petal.

"My boyfriend," Lydia reminded while smirking at Bennet. With a dismissive toss of her hair, she spun around and climbed the stairs quickly to disappear into Allison's bedroom. Bennet followed slowly and met Allison on the landing.

"Right, she's dating Isaac," he gave Allison a nod. He remembered, but suspicion tasted raw on his tongue. Feeling a little sympathetic, Allison bit her lips nervously and nodded back at him. "Should I be worried?" he asked.

Allison stifled a scoff and turned around to lean on the banister with her elbows. She remained with him and played with honesty. They both looked towards the room but wouldn't disturb the 'Lovebirds'. Before they could go any further Tyhurst came through the front door in a rush, seeing the two of them hovering on the steps he demanding they make themselves of use.

"Get everyone you can find to the Meeting Room, for a 'Family' meeting." He kept his hand on the doorknob as he prepared to head out to the Lodge.

"My 'Family' is already there," Allison raced halfway down the steps and called out after him before he could take off. "Tell me, what's happened?" she insisted in her commanding voice.

"In the woods by the school," Tyhurst snapped, stepping backwards as he spoke. "A trap's been set off. We need to send a Hunting party before whatever it is gets away."

With that Tyhurst was gone. Allison spun around to look to Bennet. His faced twinned hers, colored with the anger to hurt the person who hurt her friend and in conflict to want to stay beside him while he healed.

"GO!" Bennet grabbed at her and shoved her upstairs. "Go to your friends, I'll get Rumy! We'll figure it out! I promise."

As Allison rushed by. She closed and locked her bedroom door, so when Hunters passed by, they could not look in and she trusted without having to ask, Bennet would have her back.

Track 05 - Watch Over Me by Teen Daze

"How did you figure out where to find me?" Isaac looked at her, a little unnerved.

"I didn't. Not exactly. I came to see Mrs. Argent and talk to Allison. I almost forgot you were here," Lydia answered nonchalantly as if her ambivalence weren't unnerving. Her movements around the room were easy, reminding him Allison's turf may as well have been hers despite being a Hunter's home. Maybe it was because she wasn't raised to fear Hunters like he was or maybe it was because she trusted unwaveringly in Allison. Either way she found it easy walk around the bed, drag the desk chair with her and drop her bag on the bed stand before leaning toward him, propping her chin up on her hand.

"Stiles called," she confided secretively. Lydia's eyes danced around his face waiting for a reaction. "He asked me to meet him where you were attacked. I was relieved when he said you weren't dead. I mean that you didn't stay dead," her breath hurried a little as the feeling in her rose that this confession would bring them closer. It would touch on the threshold of death they shared, and no one could know.

"But how did you know?" Isaac whispered and edged toward Lydia. The act of dying; a memory he'd bottled-up, found its way surface with painful clarity only to be reflected in her clear and haunted eyes. "Of course, you knew," Isaac sighed and rubbed his temple, bewildered over how they'd gotten to a stage where he had the ability to talk to Lydia about, just, everything.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell anyone," closing her eyes Lydia shook her head, her hair fell forward as if to veil her shame. "It just came over me so quickly. I felt overwhelmed- but not nearly as overwhelmed as I felt to know you were getting better. How did you survive?" as her words sped up and her interest was piqued, she sat forward again, her hands demanding and animated.

"You're upset I survived?" he gaped and then scoffed at how easy it was to bicker with her.

"No," Lydia flinched then reconsidered, adding mindfully, "but also yes, I just can't wrap my head around it."

"Lydia, you're a Banshee." Isaac said calmly, reminding himself that as smart as Lydia was, she was coming in late in the supernatural game. "You're not the evening news. The things you see, and feel don't always happen."

She looked doubtful at first. When he offered his hand, she looked a little offended but took it anyway. After taking his hand in both of hers, Lydia pushed the bandage back and ran her fingers from Isaac's palm up along his forearm. She wasn't harsh or forceful, but it wasn't tender either, it was analytical as she assessed the damage. Lydia made mental notes of the gouge wounds, the slow healing puckered brown and purple gashes stripping the length of Isaac's left arm. But she didn't seem put off by them the way Allison had been, instead Lydia looked resigned to work with it.

Finally, she sighed softly, "okay." Lydia kept hold of his hand. Well, placed one hand on his forearm the other clasped his hand as if she were part of what kept him together.

"Guess you have to accept my apology now," Isaac scoffed lightly, just to make her roll her eyes, just to make the air a little lighter between them. "But I'm still not sure how I came back from the dead," he dropped back to lean against the headboard. His face was as neutral as he could keep it. Remembering still unnerved him, even with her to ground him. Isaac tried to focus on something that made him feel better, something that made him want to stick around. "But I know Scott and Allison did it. A Werewolf and a Hunter, you wouldn't think they would make a good combination, nobody ever thought that could ever work together-"

"No, I get it. They're pretty great together. Kind of gives me hope this might all work out." Lydia chuckled softly and looked more light-hearted than he could remember seeing her in, well, ever.

Which ended at the sound of Allison's bedroom door slamming shut and locking closed.

"What's happening?" Isaac tried to sit upright but Lydia pressed him back into the bed.

"Don't worry. It doesn't matter, it's just Allison," she insisted although she took to her feet anyway. "She knows I have the keys to the door. She must be trying to keep someone from coming in." They stayed quiet and moments later the foot fall of several people came racing through the hall toward the 'Meeting Room.'

"Well. Crap." Isaac exhaled loudly, "what could have suddenly happened to make a house full of Hunters scramble around?"

Almost at once, Lydia threw her head back to make room for a massive sigh in relief and the chuckling that followed.

Track 06 - Wait For Me by Moby

"Do you think this a mistake?" Allison finished her text with one hand and with the other gnawed her fingernails down to the nail beds.

"Well, I think this is a mistake," Isaac spoke up from the bed on the other side of the room.

"No one asked you," Lydia snapped at him from the entrance hall. She pulled Allison further away from his prying (Werewolf, going to hear anyway) ears and tried to soothe her best-friend's anxiety away.

"So, you don't think this is a mistake," she tried to twist confirmation out of Lydia's kind gestures.

Lydia closed her eyes and hugged her friend close willing her strength to pass along from one to the other. "Oh, I absolutely -" she paused as she pulled away, she saw the fear in Allison's eyes, and she gave it some thought. "-support whatever you decide," she tried to smile as she took the coward's way out.

After Allison rushed into the room because of the latest family drama but Lydia connected the dots and informed them that the alarm that went off by the school was a false alarm. False-ish. Nothing to worry about. But it made Allison's anxiety sky-rocket, a fact Isaac pointed out.

That was when Allison revealed her brilliant/tragic plan. She would have to break up with Scott. Not pretend break up either. Lydia gave Isaac a sharp squeeze on his wounds to keep quiet before he demanded an explanation but instead let Allison monologue.

Which Allison did explain; Isaac being interrogated in his recovery bed, Stiles getting injured/captured and Lydia getting interrogated at her front door solidified her choice. Her family was going to keep a strangle hold on her from here on out. She could try to keep helping her friends at a distance, but the role of girlfriend blurred her priorities. Right now, Scott was their safest friend and asset, but he only stayed that way if he were to stay far, far away from her.

There was logic to it, yes. And there were flaws. Kate already knew, as Isaac pointed out. But Kate valued her secrets, Lydia pointed out, and right now she wanted to hold it over Allison's head. Then, of course, there was selling the breakup to Scott.

Both girls stood side by side, leaning their backs against the wall clutching each other's hand waiting an eternity for Scott to arrive. When he texted, he was downstairs, Allison read it and she jolted upright as though she had been stabbed through the chest. Lydia took shorter breaths as if she were the one more terrified and Allison looked the calmer, tightening back her hair and straightening up her hoodie. Lydia wiped at Allison's cheeks, pushing away invisible smudges before she gave her a confident supportive grin.

Once the bedroom door closed between them, Lydia's face fell and she looked at the blank space where her friends stood and wondered why bad things never happened to the truly bad-bad-bad people because she had a few skull crushing blood boiling ideas rolling through her mind that she wanted to do to all the Alphas and Monsters out there, and it meant liberating her friends from this senseless hurt.

"You think this is a mistake," Isaac questioned her quietly, sensing her greater inner, practically outer thoughts as she dropped into a seat.

"Breaking up with Scott? I Absolutely think this is a mistake," Lydia rolled her eyes at him and glared at the bedspread instead of keeping his gaze. Lydia found it hard to defend this stance because when she broke up with Jackson, she remembered her justification outstripped her hurt but not by much. Allison's reasoning may have been sound, but her decision didn't feel justified, and she unlike Lydia was still very much in love. "But it's her mistake to make and my job to pick up the pieces."

"But?" Isaac asked in earnest, sensed the lingering worry that wasn't on the surface.

"But Scott." Lydia looked pained. While standing in the little entryway she felt beside Allison, but once the door separated them, she felt again connected to part of Scott's story. It felt like a she was a part of Scott's heart, and it was about to be broken. Lydia imagined the ignored, throbbing bruise along her chest was symbolic of that. "I never in a million years thought I would say this, and I'll turn your Werewolf ass into a fur coat if you tell a soul, but he's too good for this."

Track 07 - Silhouette by Of Monsters and Men

{Evening - Argent's House, 1st Floor, Back Garden entrance}

The kitchen door was dim and lightless, only the garden lights were kept on keeping shadows thick and easy to slip through. Stiles stayed resting in the car, since Allison told Scott 'this will take a sec'. When the door opened, she poked her head out to secure his presence before she stepped on the stoop.

When he chirped 'hello', she only nodded.

"We have a little bit of time," Allison said softly, as if they could be overheard. "Everyone is out searching the woods for something that isn't there."

Scott looked to Stiles snoozing in the car, "I think I know something about that." When she didn't step aside to let him in, he stared around the property, anxious someone would pop-up over a hedge despite her assurances otherwise. Her twitchy gaze did nothing for his confidence. Finally, when she didn't start the conversation, he groaned, "I can't believe you brought Isaac to your home, there is nowhere in the world he hates more than this place."

"I know," Allison said, her face looked mildly irritated, and mildly unhappy at the prospect. "I had to."

"Wasn't there anything else-?" Scott said nearing while raising his whisper in insistence. Their flow shifted in the fearsome size 24 hours couldn't account for. He tried to think of what he could have done wrong, what could have changed between them- but things kept changing in such quick succession it was hard to keep track.

"No, Scott." She snapped tiredly, shaking her head. She put her hand to her temple as though a headache had come on. When Allison looked at Scott again, he couldn't tell from her expression if she were furious or hopeless. The tremor in her voice reminded of the other day, after his arrest, when his Mom was in the hospital and her heart was about to break. The way her voice rose with each word that passed her lips. "We're just a bunch of teenagers, we can't handle this! Don't you get that? It doesn't matter, I already told my family about the Werewolves in the school."

The blow back forced him down the kitchen step. He stared wide-eyed, "You did what? Why would you do that?"

"But I didn't tell them about you," her lips trembled, Allison looked like she wanted to reach to touch him, instead she shoved her hands into her hoodie's pockets.

"That makes it better-" Scott felt like she was intentionally trying to drive him away.

"Stiles and Isaac already know," she cut in mildly. Allison looked up briefly and blinked back tears before taking another breath and explaining. "It wasn't on purpose. I tried telling you earlier and I just wanted to tell you to your face."

"Oh, okay," his kept his voice as neutral as he could manage.

"I know you needed to talk after everything with Isaac, but I can't, and I'm sorry."

"You don't have to say you're sorry," he muttered low. Scott couldn't imagine a life where they wouldn't know to find each other's hand in the shadows, it would be impossible if Allison weren't beside him in the dark. "We can talk about it another time. We can figure things out."

Allison just shook her head. "I'm sure Stiles and Isaac can figure it out with you. I'm sorry. For everything and for what I have to do right now," her hands clenched and unclenched in her pockets.

"It's okay," Scott came back up the step and leaned into the little light Allison's kitchen door afforded them. His smile made her sigh and shake her head even more.

"No, it's not." She insisted, tears she fought finally spilled over and ran down her cheeks. She struggled to keep her lips from trembling as she said "Scott, I'm trying to break up with you."

"I know," Scott said, his eyes tracing her face while he ran a finger along her cheek wiping away her tears. "And it's okay."

Allison brows rose and she gave a delicate scoff. She stared at him, not for the first time and hopefully not for the last, in complete and utter wonder. "How is that okay?"

"Because I can wait."

"I can't-" her throat closed up on the words, but she persevered "-make you wait for me." He always managed to say the things she wanted to hear but right now it wasn't what she needed to hear. She needed to hear he'd be happy, he'd move on, he'd stay safe. "I'm not going to do that."

"You don't have to," he tried to smile but it was in his eyes and not his face. His fingers ran along her jaw, and she wasn't even sure he thought about doing it, it was just the way his body moved to meet hers. He believed these words, body, and soul. "Because I know we're gonna be together."

Scott's eyes darkened watching Allison, just as captivating as the first time they set eyes on each other. He pressed his lips into a smile, just like the first time by the lockers between classes and she leaned into him for a tender kiss. Except this one meant goodbye.

"We should go," Isaac gave her the scapegoat she needed as he snuck up behind her. He gently pushed by and pulled Scott along with him, dragging them both away into the shadows toward the car that held a sleeping Stiles. Over his shoulder, he gave Allison an encouraging half-smile and something similar to a wave but not quite.

Allison stepped back into the house and nearly lost the will to stand, she couldn't remember what to say and caught herself up into Lydia's ready hold.

"Come on," Lydia instructed in a smooth and steady voice. "There are people coming up the driveway. Let's get back upstairs." Which they did, swiftly.

Once under the covers, without changing clothes, Allison rested her head against Lydia's good shoulder, in the crook of her neck. They laced fingers between them, and their legs curled outward at different angles. They pretended Allison wasn't silently crying and talked about tomorrow's plans, Lydia's boy troubles, possible party plans for after the mid-terms, what to wear what not-to wear, oh god damn those midterms, how Lydia was totally dropping Swim Team.

"Can I sleep over at your house?" Allison asked suddenly.

Although Lydia stared wide-eyed, it wasn't in surprise, it was at the volume. She just grinned up at the best-friend kneeling excitedly over her, bouncing at the prospect before she even nodded her head in agreement. Ah, the 'Denial' stage had begun.

Track 08 - Hard Time by Seinabo Sey

{Later – McCall's House, Kitchen}

"I went from having 0 places to stay to having 3 different homes in the span of a day," Isaac snickered. "To think, all I had to do was die."

Scott sighed and tapped his fingers on the edge of his notebook making sure to lean over most of the notes themselves.

"I asked my Mom before I knew Allison was going to take you to her house," he explained. Not that he felt sorry, he would have taken on the task a million times. Lifting Isaac's lifeless body from a hole in the ground gave Scott great perspective and he wanted better footing among his friends, he wanted it unmistakably. "You don't have to stay here but you can, you should. We share in chores, and there's a lot of them but there's room for you."

Isaac scratched at his jaw line while thoughts rolling around the prospects in his head. "You know Stiles is just waiting for his Dad outside to distract your Mom." They looked to the window, through to the partly obscured view of Stiles sitting aside with Mrs. McCall; it was the touching picture of maternal care.

"I figured," Scott nodded.

"Plus, it makes sense to stay with a nurse," Isaac dropped his slow healing arm with a thud onto the countertop.

"Is that all?" Scott smirked.

Of late Isaac had grown suspicious of notebooks. Although there was an array of schoolwork and a neat display of textbooks before them, he suspected Scott had more on his mind than midterms.

Plus, "I'd rather stay here anyway," he admitted with a shrug. "Allison might have the experience and Stiles might have the right intentions but it just doesn't have the right fit right now while he's settling back in with his Dad. I've spent weeks figuring out how to fit in, what my strengths and weaknesses are with you."

Isaac dragged his eyes slowly over from Stiles with a little bit of somberness as if a sense of betrayal came with it. Except he wanted to respect there was that Stilinski borderline of family to keep clear in mind, even if Stiles still had trouble acknowledging it. With these new thoughts uncovered a need he didn't know lay just under the surface.

"And I nearly died, Scott. I think I can only figure out how I survived with you."

"I want to figure that out too." Scott suspected that was a drawing fascination and he smiled, turning his notebook face up toward Isaac.

Every time they ran together during lacrosse games, ever since he met Scott on his first day of school, ever since he spotted him goofing around with Allison in the arcade at the mall- it drew Isaac in that a Beta could function so well without an Alpha. He wanted an explanation how. Then it sorta scared him. Then it sorta amazed him. Now, Isaac sorta wanted in and Scott almost twisted his arm to come into the fold, metaphorically of course because his real one was still pretty sore, and he really wouldn't mind if Mrs. McCall took a look at it.

Track 09 - Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons

{Meanwhile – McCall's House, Front Porch}

Despite the fact that his leg had fully healed, Stiles still struggled with a fever from the poison. Had he listened to Lydia and rested fully he probably would feel closer to 100% better by now. But realistically he figured there were more variables as to why he felt 'less than' at this point and if he could milk it, why not?

Inside, Scott and Isaac worked head-to-head at some scheming thing. Sure, he could no doubt help, but it felt right to step back and distract their parents. Scott and Allison had managed to rescue Isaac from certain death, he was sure they had a lot to iron out, but Stiles honestly just wanted to sulk a bit.

It wasn't long before Melissa noticed Stiles, silent as the dead waiting on the front stoop for his Dad to pick him up.

"The nearly dead," he corrected with a groan. Despite Melissa's offering for him to stay over Stiles was determined to spend the night in his own bed, "it just matters a lot."

When he repeated himself 3rd time, she felt compelled to ask, "it matters to who?"

Looking unnerved Stiles subverted the issue, "to whom."

Melissa pursed her lips as she unamused reached across and patted his hand.

The bench beneath Stiles felt too hard and small for him and he couldn't keep still. After vanishing a minute to return with meds, Melissa stayed beside him unmoving as he rocked himself into an inconsistent state of dozing.

Melissa talked at him but after a few seconds of polite bedside manner she assured him, "let me tell you something, you don't have to prove anything to those people."

"Wha-Who?"

"Stop trying so damn hard to prove how badly you want to stay with them. Those people are crazy about you. Your Dad. Scott, Lydia and definitely Isaac. And you better believe I am, so stop killing yourself to show us you're alive." She held her hand steadily on his shoulder.

Stiles felt a desire bubble up in him. Yes, feverish need to explain himself that almost pushed him to sit upright, but she pushed him to lean back.

"I have to-" Stiles started to say but felt he couldn't finish the thought.

"Shh. Sit, Stiles. I'm sure you can handle the big bad wolf tomorrow. Right now, take it easy." Her worry made her smiles of assurance lose a little shine. But the weighing weariness caught onto Stiles and dragged him down.

"Thanks," he mumbled. Stiles missed the sort of comfort that came with bedside assistance. The Hales gave him a lot of assistance and instruction, even affection, but they were never as soft as this. Between the wisps of the Hunter's rare Wolfsbane poison and Lydia's Banshee call, Melissa's bone-seeping warmth was exactly the healing touch he needed. "Thanks, Mom," he whispered as he drifted off to sleep.

Melissa sighed and watched him intently. She knew his Stiles' Mom would have loved the irony. Years ago, there were also times when she sat at the bedside of Claudia Stilinski's, where she would end an evening holding her best-friend's hand through a warring migraine after she drove herself to feverish collapse from caring after her family and friends too much. Melissa wondered if Claudia would consider Stiles inherited resolve as a good thing or a bad one.

When the Sheriff showed up minutes later, he had a misty and nostalgic look in his eye. The familiarity wasn't lost on him either. Stiles woke just enough to find his feet, but they each took a side when he made his way to the passenger seat.

"We've got to except that some things are just out of our control," she said.

Sheriff chuckled sticking his head out through the driver's side window. "Can I just say that's not exactly the motivating speech I was expecting from you."

"How 'bout this one," she grinned, leaning against the car at an angle to look at them both. "You should be proud. Even without your guiding influence he's just as stubborn as you."

"Slightly better," he let out a relieved laugh. If Melissa could see both him and Claudia equally in Stiles, even in the most frustrating way, that was a comfort.

Track 10 - Windshield Smasher by Black Moth Super Rainbow

{Five Days Earlier: Evening, The Styx, BH. CA}

The bathroom of the 24-hour Diner named Tony's on the edge of two towns was accustomed to all sorts of strange things. Despite clear instructions otherwise, people used it for reasons other than intended, such as bathing, screwing, cleaning their clothes and the occasional medical procedures. Like when the youngest Werewolf of Ennis' pack, Quint, committed little surgeries to the seeping wound in his side.

At a difficult angle. Quint hoped he'd aimed his claws with needle precision under the skin to reset the placements of bones and muscle. He patched his clothes like bandages over it. It wasn't hard. With the significant chemical burns, he just had to take the rotting flesh out to slow the spreading. But there was no sign of help in the confines of Beacon Hills. No person he could contact, especially not his Father.

At that moment all Quint really wanted was to get free... coffee. Not re-fills. Free Coffee. Someone had to have pity on him, he'd just been walking down the highway in the middle of the night with a widening wound on his ribcage and a hankering for 'Benny's Best Beans in Beacon'. Quint sat at the counter and promised the waitress he was still 'just looking' at the menu while he eyed three things; 1) who to hit on for a free meal 2) who to lift a wallet off or 3) who to hitch from.

It felt impossible to flirt when every breath didn't feel like it would be his last.

It felt impossible to get cash or pack back at the Motel, not that live-in warzone.

Weeks had gone by watching powerful Alphas bang their heads together, trying to get answers from everyone and everything along the California coastline, including torturing a random Werewolf they'd picked up off the highway. Some last son of a bygone pack he'd never heard of, strapped to a subterranean wall to torture him 24/7. Quint's Father was an experienced torturer and could attest to the fact that everyone got strange and communicative the more you torture, which was great if you liked torture. But after Derek Hale's bizarre jailbreak, and the upset it caused there was no way he was going back to those Alphas for answers. Not while they let their people die poisoned, mauled or crushed underfoot because they decided to get strange, too.

Quint waved the waitress over and ordered, deciding if his last act on earth would be a dine-and-ditch on 'Benny's Best' that would be a fine accomplishment. He would prefer that to being remembered as Kali's human shield.

A long time ago Herveaux warned about their annihilated pack, they said their Alpha referred to Betas as 'Pawns' before cutting them down one by one to feed off of their strength. But Herveaux outlived their pack because they somehow changed, evolved, and Ennis respected them for it. But after hearing about it Quint was always a little afraid Ennis might one day 'sacrificing his pawns,' for power even though his Father promised it would never get that far. But then Ennis started calling his Betas 'foot soldiers' and his Father stopped promising. That just made Quint try twice as hard to be useful, but that night it put him right in the front line, and he felt just like a pawn.

Abandoned at the entrance by The Ponds, the Packs kept their greatest secret, Quint stood guard. Well, they thought it was secret. Although Quint often felt bored keeping guard, but he was dutiful until two jabs hit to the neck, then he went numb and dropped paralyzed to the ground. Brown murky water slipped down his throat for many minutes before Quint felt his Father drag him out of it and into the service station. Into the mayhem of a contained war zone, where two terrible enemies tore through their packs like piñatas. A humanoid lizard crippled and tossed aside friend after friend. He saw Ennis grab up Derek, a powerful Alpha who stood up to torture for days and then use him like a rechargeable battery. Ennis stabbed his claws deep into Derek's spine and syphoned strength from him as if he were leaching marrow from the bone. Quint wasn't afraid to die, but he was afraid to go down crippled without a fight and watching that made him feel sick. That and the swamp water. Then there was Kali, strong in her actions as well as her conviction. Fending off the other shadowed figure like a ninja, moving like a master, and then using Quint like a shield.

In the aftermath, poisoned by whatever he'd been stabbed with by the second shadow, he would undoubtedly succumb to its toxins. Unless Quint found someone who knew the right combination Southern Blue Monkshood and toxic material that were fired into him, then it wouldn't matter how much of it he dug out of his side. A long time ago, his Father mentioned a Veterinarian as a resource, but that didn't sound like a chemical warfare expert. Plus, Google maps said there were 3 vets in the area, and it didn't feel like he had a lot of time to search each individually.

With each time he cleaned the wounds, he regretted not begging his Father to come with him. Quint could use a Doctor. Plus, he missed his Father's voice. And he really wished their last conversation hadn't been arguing over Ennis' choosing to make a martyr of Quint rather than cure him. It was humiliating, and Dr. Kane just allowed it to happen. The prized torturer stood beside the Alpha, Ennis when in that moment he should have just been a concerned Father instead - onto greatness Quint could only guessed.

"You alright kid?"

"Hanging in there," Quint side-eyed the lady. She seemed an unlikely candidate leaving her bespeckled partner at their booth to pick up the check.

"Do you smell something weird?" she sniffed, pulled back her wavy light brown hair and made a strained face as she came to the counter.

"Just swamp water," Quint explained, pressing his hand against his side, digging right into the sore as if he could smother out the smell of rot. "Just came up from The Ponds."

"There's nothing much down there," the woman waved the waitress over. The older man at the door with the thick rimmed glasses and the annoyed glower pushed out of the Diner with a huff.

"It looks like your date's leaving," Quint pointed out, trying to keep the hope from his voice. If she picked the man up at the Diner, then she wasn't attached. And if she wasn't attached then she might not be opposed to picking up a wayward lad heading out of town.

"He's just a friend," she shrugged. When her coffee came, she rotated the cup in her hand like she handled a sacred item and Quint wondered if she was leaving soon because he wanted to get out of town, and he would do whatever he had to do to motivate her to do the same. "There are a few of us leaving the Motel around the bend. My friend wants me to go and pack up, but I've got a roommate and she can cover me."

"Oh, yeah?" Quint knew the Motel too well. His pack was hiding there, and he too didn't want to head back either. Maybe they could connect over that. Maybe that was a stretch.

"Yeah. We were just gonna pass through town, but you know Beacon Hills has got a lot of interesting things going on. Maybe we'll stick around," she sipped her coffee and watched him with pointed interest, her eyes lips were somehow turned up even on the lip of the cup.

"This town has got too much going on," Quint groaned, mostly in pain rather than disgust and sipped his coffee in commiseration and that's when he caught sight of the gun holsters under her dark blue Moto jacket.

Quint had come across Hunters before and the experience had been less than pleasant, but he had never confronted one alone. His fight or flight instinct had been triggered and so he flung the pot of coffee at her face. Then he wished he hadn't, he wished he had just walked out casually but he wasn't sure how far he would have gotten without paying his check. So, Quint panicked. It wasn't long before she had his arm, his bad arm, and had him pinned to the filthy, tiled ground.

The Hunter came right out with it and asked him who was he and why he was in town. Although Quint didn't have a reason to hide it, he admitted to nothing, but insisted, "who the fuck're you?"

She admitted she was an 'Argent' but when the waitress said she would call the Sheriff's department the Hunter hesitated. Quint used all his focus to grow claws and growl, to collect enough strength to throw her off. And he was out the door.

He had the feverish idea if he could use the last of his strength for anything he could use it to keep the secrets of his pack as he went down.

The sound of her ATV roaring to life uncovered he'd stolen her bikes' key when she grappled him to the floor. She followed her training and shot off a few warning rounds because she couldn't catch up.

Kate's spray pattern was accurate, and the bullets would have hit home had the kid not flinched. Flinched? More like folded over in agony. She couldn't calculate for the way Quint buckled over in pain, so her first bullet clipped him in the throat, the second hit its mark in his shoulder but the third hit the gas tank. He swerved the bike into that bullet.

When the bike burst into flames, Kate took a quick second to convince herself his death was justified. It wasn't the first time in her life she'd had to convince herself that a situational death was justifiable. After all, the Werewolf expressed no pack alliance, the teen boy seemed feral and in the end he attacked first. It was her duty to protect the patrons, neutralize and detain him. Yes, definitely by their rules she was within her rights.

The bullet she shot was only meant to stun him, to hit him in the leg not to hit the gas tank. Then again, the kid was in enough pain it was probably a mercy. Hell, if he had stuck around long enough for her to explain how dire his circumstances, he might have thanked her for how painless she made his death, after all the kill shot was immediate. She even sacrificed her bike for it.

In truth, if he didn't find a cure in the next 12 hours he would have melted inside out. There were 2 people on the West Coast who knew how to deal with it; the druid that poisoned him and the 3rd Veterinarian on the list, located in a small town to the South. Truly, his quick death was a mercy.

But power doesn't always come with the story but with the telling.

Days later, Kate made sure to tell the good Dr. Kane that she burned his teenage son, Quint up slowly and on purpose. After half a day of torturing Dr. Kane by slowly pumping Carmichael's Monkshood into his veins only to heal him up with Digitalis, again and again just to get no answers- after all that she half-lied and told him they burned his son alive just to get a rise out of him. then she admitted that she crushed Quint's face to an unrecognizable pulp and dumped his burnt corpse into a shallow grave for other Werewolves to eventually find and fight over. After all that, then answers came pouring out of him. Not that Kate stopped inflicting torturous pain. Not that it stopped Hunters from asking the same questions over and over. Not that the torture stopped when Dr. Kane had no more answers, and Lydia could only begin to get the sense of, something worse was headed their way, so far even Kate's poisonous torture couldn't reveal. And it was terrifying.

Track 11 - One More Day by Lydia

{Middle of the Night – Martin's House, Aires East}

When the screaming nightmares started Allison practiced what to do when people had seizures. Before her nightmares, Lydia's muscles grew tense, like a coil ramping up for the oncoming fit. Within 2 minutes there would be shaking and screaming, so Allison she went through protocol in her mind; keep Lydia from falling- keep anything from falling on her- keep her from getting caught up and tangled in anything - and for the love of God, keep her safe. Aftercare meant sometimes they would hold onto each other, or sometimes when touch was too much, they lay near each other with Lydia's little dog in-between them.

They had a plan.

Except this time, Lydia kicked out and walked away. She went to let in Prada who whined at the bedroom door. In an unsteady silence, she chose to sit by the window and hug the puppy up to her chest instead of their normal routine.

"What's going on?" Allison came to kneel on the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes too quickly replacing it with concern. "How bad could it have been?"

"It was pretty bad," Lydia bit her lip, tucked her chin in. After a long pause she answered. "I keep thinking about Stiles." Lydia hugged her puppy closer, and Prada licked at the sweat on her collar.

"Did he do something?" Allison understood the two childhood friends were close, that their closeness gave him special access, but she still didn't know the guy well. She knew when they managed to escape the 'Meeting Room' the other night she never got the full story. Now, she wondered if she should have pushed. She'd never seen anyone push Lydia's the way that oddball did. At least not let live with their dignity intact afterward.

"He was looking into what happened to Isaac-" a topic Lydia had been reluctant to bring up.

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Allison sensed he had an interrogatory mind and could be an asset.

"He set off your family's trap by the school," Lydia's face turned sour with worry, Allison's face went bright with fear. "I got him out of it, of course! I'm always getting him out of trouble."

"You don't just walk off Carmichael poisoning," Allison believed that if there was someone in the world, she believed stubborn enough to try, it was Stiles. "Although he seems the type," she tried for levity but worry tensed her body all over. She came to the very edge of the bed and peered over Prada's head to try and catch Lydia's face full on, to try to read ahead of the story.

"Well, he wanted to," Lydia looked up with a little smile of relief. "Of course, I took care of it though. The shears I used to cut him free, they had foxglove on them. It sterilized the wound."

"That's really lucky," Allison was relieved to realize she really was relieved. Stiles might be clever at times but if Lydia hadn't been there to save his ass, he seemed the dumb sort to think rubbing more Wolfsbane to neutralize it. Those two worked well together.

"That isn't luck," Lydia shook her head, her tone went tense, and Prada jumped down. "It was because of your Mother's flowers. Your Mother is growing a lot of foxglove lately, Allison. Have you noticed?"

"Oh!" she replied, in realization. It wasn't the first time Allison had to analyze her family's intentions, but it would be the first time she had a genius best-friend riding shotgun.

"Allison, can I ask you a couple of things. About your family?"

"Okay."

"During the sleepover, when your Mother texted you through the night to come to the Lodge, why didn't they just meet in the 'Meeting Room'?" Lydia's eyes held the sharpness and focus. The little dog stood on its hind legs at the edge of the bed and licked at Allison's fingers.

"What?" she came back with nothing clever.

"Why wouldn't they just meet in the 'Meeting Room'? They had no idea what we were up to, they had no reason to think we would disturb them, so why stay out there unless they were hiding something in the Lodge, don't you think?"

Fear set in and air left Allison's lungs like it had been ripped out by the fistful. She looked toward the dog for the answer and found baleful eyes of compassion insisting on being petted. So, she did.

"They never explained why they wanted me there specifically," Allison answered quietly without looking up. "I don't know what happens in the Lodge. They don't let me in there anymore."

"Allison?" Lydia asked softly then again like a steady demand, a thread pulled them firmly back together. "Allison, can you think of a good reason why your family is making extra poisons and cures, and hiding things out in the Lodge-"

"Aside from holding a Werewolf detained in the Lodge?" Allison breathed out in a soft groan. "That makes sense though. But that doesn't break any of our laws to bring someone in just for questioning."

"But torturing them?" Lydia debated aloud. She felt an urge to take a stance even when she knew this wasn't an act of heroism. "Why would they do this?"

"Because torture isn't killing?" it triggered Allison. She painted a picture of a system that worked in checks and balances and answered to no higher order. Even if she didn't put 100% faith in Hunter tradition, she grew up following it. "We protect those who cannot protect themselves, by any means necessary. And we don't kill if we don't have to. Torture isn't killing so they haven't broken any of our rules."

"The 'Man' in question," Lydia articulated, 'Man' reminding exactly that the prefix 'Were' translated exactly 'Man', not just some dumb animal. "His name is Kane. He isn't a good man, but Kate is going to cross that line. Whether she means to or not, she is going to kill him."

Lydia paused to let the fact sink in.

"This was your dream," Allison sobered. It never felt fair that Lydia carried the burden of these visions, not to mention the decisions on how to act next. "If we got into the Lodge and got by all those Hunters, we could save him? If he's even alive?" Allison's hands stilled on her bare thighs, tugging at the edge her favorite boxer shorts. They were blue and white checkered boxer-shorts, intimate breadcrumbs of Scott throughout her life, that grounded her. "Do you think we can save him?"

As Isaac's insights about Banshee's filled thoughts, she pushed them aside for the sake of Allison's good conscience. Although her eyes were still haunted from her nightmare, her voice steadied. Lydia scooched to the edge of the chair, hands on her knees, with her back straight and chin held a little high.

"Even if you tried to run to his rescue Allison, it won't work," Lydia lied, she knew if they made a rescue attempt, they could maybe find the guy. Maybe he died already, maybe he would die tomorrow. Lydia hadn't sensed his death like she felt the others'. She only saw it, like a fly on the wall, but she understood what it would cost for Allison to betray her family at such a precarious time. And Lydia understood that Kane was a bad man. If Isaac was right and then her vision wasn't fact, it was a possibility. Just one of many options, so she made the hard call on behalf of Allison because Lydia wasn't the hero, she was the best-friend of a hero and she needed to look out for her and protect her, especially from herself. And her fucked up family.

"There's no point in rescue. Banshee's dream of death, not of people just getting beaten up." It was vague enough; it was thoroughly dishonest, but it could be argued in court. After a careful pause, Lydia added cynically, "and you would think after the Senate Intelligence Committee Report on Torture you guys would have figured out torture doesn't get you anywhere."

"You can't know this for sure?" Allison looked defeated. She stopped petting Prada and stepped off the bed. She paced a few steps then turned to face Lydia.

Her eyes went sharp suddenly, her jaw went tight, she chewed on a thought before taking a breath. She didn't want to believe Lydia but she would.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think the reason the other night your Aunt Kate was so insistent to get your Father down to the Lodge was to tell him about this. The same way your Mother wanted to tell you."

Allison scoffed lightly, "and how's that supposed to make me feel better how?"

"Because I don't think your whole Team was in on it."

"You're right," Allison nodded. "My Father would never have agreed to torture. And there is no way in hell my Godfather would be on board. But Kate- this seems like the sort of thing my Aunt is capable of." At that, she sniffed loudly, and Prada disagreed with the aggressive change in demeanor, hopped up and raced to the end of the bed before turning in circles and finding a comfortable way to sleep.

"So," Lydia stood so that they might decide on this next task eye-to-eye, "do we tell the guys?" she anticipated a drawn-out argument, about transparency or of working together but something clouded over Allison's eyes. Lately Lydia and Allison had been choosing duty over romanticism.

"Later," Allison reached across and squeezed Lydia's shoulder, as if she were the one needing coercion. "Right now, they have enough on their plate."

Track 12 - Between the Bars by Elliott Smith

{0.4 Miles away - McCall's House, Lakewood Neighborhood}

"She's getting powerful," Isaac complained, sitting bolt upright a moment after Scott.

After studying late, they had just managed to get into bed when Lydia's scream knocked them right out of their sleep.

Scott stared at his phone, willing it to ring. To his surprise, when it did it was Stiles that called. After assuring Stiles that this was perfectly normal, they hung up and he continued to wait for Lydia to call. After ten minutes, Isaac offered to reach out to Allison because he knew it was what Scott really wanted to do. So, he texted Allison while Scott texted Lydia.

"'Everything's fine'," Isaac read out her reply as he tossed his phone to the side in frustration.

Lydia in turn never replied.

"If we're not talking to each other how're we supposed to be helping one another?" Isaac asked, his impatience replaced the sleep on his face.

"Maybe it's better this way," Scott shook his head, chewing his lower lip. "Maybe if we were 100% honest 100% of the time, we would just scare each other away."

After a beat Isaac laughed. "You don't believe that. But thanks for trying to make me feel better."

"Maybe I'm just trying to make myself feel better," with a sigh, Scott dropped back onto the bed. He looked sidelong to where Isaac camped on the ground. "Everything has been looking pretty dire lately-"

"I'm okay now," Isaac smirked over at Scott with a glance. "If you think a little thing like dying is going to keep me down, remember I walked into town along with a kid who died 6 years ago, as part of a pack that was burned to the ground, what 15-20 years ago? Apparently, that's just what we do."

"That doesn't make it easier to understand any of this," Scott shook his head and looked away grinning, restlessly crossed and uncrossed his legs at the ankles. "Maybe if we did talk to Lydia?"

"She might be able to put everything together," Isaac shrugged, "but after the whole dying thing she's pretty shaken up."

"Okay, if we're going to play with the idea that our strength as a pack made you strong enough to come back from death- while my Alpha who still messes with my head is the psychopathic Monster- which is happening in the middle of huge Werewolf war, which Hunters just got involved in because we revealed ourselves- then we have to accept this is just how it's going to be every day, which I guess makes sense." Scott straightened up, leaning up onto his elbows, "but what doesn't make sense is why didn't I hear Lydia scream when you died?"

"Oh," Isaac had struggled to see what puzzled Scott until it came to the missing piece, where Lydia's placed in events. "Uh, well she was there... and she did," Isaac stared blankly, while remembering her expression of the panic and guilt when she first set eyes on him at the Argents'. The weirdness of getting crushed to death and waking up beside his friends wasn't too destabilizing because, after all he did wake up beside his friends. Knowing that he shared the experience of death with Lydia, but that she went through it alone, that was unnerving. "I don't know Scott. You'll really have to talk to Lydia."

After a great sigh, Scott dropped back onto the bed and covered his face with his hands. "She does make a good study partner," he admitted but Lydia made a better friend. He had no doubt she sat alongside Allison at that moment, he would have to wait for the morning at the very least and pray she'd signed up for Sunday cram-sessions.

Track 13 - Mad Sounds by Arctic Monkeys

{2.9 miles away - Stilinski's House, Beacon Garden Community}

Once again, Stiles hands clapped to the sides of his head in an attempt to keep the world steady. This time he didn't have the luxury of losing consciousness because the Banshee's scream jolted him awake. It wasn't like a quake from afar, it was a force through his being. The realization that Lydia's screams could be deafening from across town terrified him.

After falling from his bed with enough velocity to dislocate his shoulder, it became easier to imagine something so impossible. It wasn't that big a deal, the shoulder thing. It was an easy thing to reset before his Dad came bursting through the door. Stiles laughed off his fall and said maybe he was just getting used to the bed. His Dad darted out of the room with a solution in mind and Stiles didn't move to stop him, he had other worries to address.

Forgetting to grab with his good arm first, Stiles fumbled for the phone. The flinching response of his messed-up shoulder reminded him of something, into worried him about Lydia's earlier posturing and the confusion made his finger hover over her name until he thought to call Scott for clarity instead.

"Do you think Lydia is okay?"

"Oh," Scott chuckled but sounded uncomfortable. "You heard her too?"

Two thoughts occurred to him at once.

'Well, that's not going to kill me eventually' was Stiles' first cynical thought, followed closely by a genuinely concerned, 'Christ, if this is how bad a Banshee scream is just to hear- how much worse has it gotta be on the receiving end?'

After a sound came across the hall to him, "my Dad's coming, Scott. Can you-"

"She's okay."

"How do you know?"

"We'd know," Scott insisted, sounding surer with every second. "She'd let us know if there was something really wrong."

"Of course, she would," Stiles nodded along as he gulped the words, trying to convince himself but the soreness of his shoulder gave him reasons to doubt it. As his Dad crept into the room Stiles insisted, "Scott I gotta go."

"Ta-Da," his Dad presented him with a pillow. Stiles cocked an eyebrow, not sure at the correlation but not ready to despair. "It's your Mom's. You used to-"

"I used to steal it," Stiles drew in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. "I used to say I couldn't sleep without it."

The room went still.

"If it's too much-" his Dad eased back out through the door.

"No!" Stiles jumped to his feet and snatched the pillow, hugging it to his chest he glowered comically at his Dad. "Just give a guy some warning if you're going to emotionally whammy him like that."

"Yeah, well, I hadn't thought about how you would take it. I'm not exactly awake and-" he rubbed at his neck, looking sheepishly and Stiles closed the extra foot's distance between them and hugged his Dad.

"I'm taking it. Gesture and everything," he mumbled burying his face in his Dad's neck, for the night his worries forgotten.

Track 14 - Before I Ever Met You by BANKS

{1.5 Miles away - Whittemore's House, Spaulding District, Aires West}

Unused to eating alone at lunch, Jackson struggled to find the right stance. When he did, he played it dark and brooding but made it look good. But more and more, as things slipped out of control, Jackson put a safe distance between himself and his friends, between himself, Lydia, and Danny except somewhere he tipped the scales into being a complete loner.

As he sat alone the brooding vibe turned into sulking. When people kept their distance, it wasn't because of awe; it was because of fear.

"Here," Kira said. "Take a bite of this apple." Jackson caught it as it sailed through the air with careless ease.

"Cool," with a bright smile Kira openly admired him. Sitting across from him, she looked confident and pretty with her dark hair, with a deep part on the side flowing over one shoulder in waves, her lips red and made shinier with her bright sweet smile.

Drinking in the sight of her, Jackson sat back. He wasn't going to let a second go to waste.

"What are you doing here?" He asked and took a loud bite from the Granny Smith green apple. "You shouldn't be here," Jackson said in a tone he hoped conveyed his seriousness. He'd hoped to put distance between them, too.

"You shouldn't be alone," she reached across the table and took hold of his free hand. When their hands touched, it felt like his skin caught fire. As Kira traced her fingertips along Jackson's knuckles, she left tiny fissures in her wake. It frightened him to like it. The edges of her mouth turned up slightly and he thought about biting, about venom and the way she paralyzed him without doing much.

When Jackson looked to where their arms met, his hands were scaled, and fingers were gnarled claws.

When he opened his mouth to say words of explanation or apology or warning, he felt as though a monster would crawl out. Instead, he flinched away in shock, swallowed down the vomitus violence bubbling underneath and he looked to her in unconcealed shame.

Suddenly, the cafeteria became empty just as Kira came toward him. She towered over him, standing on the tabletop. Her silhouette cut the universe. She ran her hand down midnight fabric of her clothes, slowly tracing a line from her throat to and across her slim waist. While Kira kept her eyes locked on his, she stepped closer, a firm touch whipped her hand outward, tearing away a strip of inky black fabric from her mid-drift to reveal subtle muscles over low-slung pants. She'd whipped a sword into being from the material around her waist.

The solid metal katana traced down Jackson's collar and slid through his chest without resistance. Kira's smile never wavered, and he sighed with relief at the sight.

"That's better," he didn't even choke. Kira's brow rose delicately with interest, fascinated by the clarity of his speech, as the fangs of his teeth and venom of his forked tongue retracted.

"To be broken?" with a swift motion she withdrew the sword, a stream of blood followed in suit. They stared into each other's eyes, her fathomless dark and his unblinking serpentine yellow into bright blue as Jackson fell forward and Kira knelt to catch him.

"But I hope to be better because of it," he uttered slowly. The Lizard Kanima slowly turned into a chiseled man and where they touched either felt slick with blood or scorched from Kitsune as they pulled each other upright.

Track 15 - Bound by Indiana

The night air managed to keep most of its warmth from the day. It only started to let go at around 7pm, and by let go it flung warmth out of the window by 10-15°F. It wasn't spectacularly uncommon for winter to not make up its mind or move on, but it made nights where the moon hid behind the clouds feel bitter, but the night felt like it could walk on peacefully forever.

Unless, of course, peace wasn't the intent at all.

In the Spaulding District, such a small exclusive place in Beacon Hills Aires West, a noise ordinance made it complicated to make noise complaints. If an alarm went off, the authorities were alerted as though a four-alarm fire had just gone off. But when the neighbor's dogs barked in a chorus along tight winding lanes and cul-de-sacs, no one called the cops. Instead, they contacted the neighborhood watch the following Sunday and gossiped over white wine. As one street stirred and the last quieted in quick succession, sleepless neighbors couldn't pinpoint the source of the upset. So, they ignored it.

Highway construction left Spaulding effectively landlocked, but closer examination would reveal a few vulnerable spots due to the expansion. One of these places was a re-repaired clipped wired fence, or the dip under made by partying students. Another, less obvious shadowed entry point, led to a closed off under path that disappeared into innumerable tunnels, that inevitably cut into the woodland green. The city ordinance didn't have a fence high enough to secure their safety from the wildness that hunted while they tried to sleep. It was made worse with the warning barks, the yowling cats, clacking and hissing birds, and the mixed noise of agitated house pets.

Its course went fast at first, casting unseen shadows in the moonless night. Power attracts power and brought the Monster slowly towards the Whittemore home. Their home stood subtle in its showiness, a mastery of modern build unlike the growing prefabs in the blocks adjacent. Floor to ceiling stainless steel doors and windows lined the outskirts protecting the residents from harm. Yet, despite the military tested safety protocols, Jackson's nearness strengthened the Monster's resolve.

The subconscious fear of a predator brought the night to its quietest decibels. Some people checked their phones for missed calls. Others twisted in their sheets from worries of the day brought to the surface. While others turned in their chair to see if someone was in the room with them. No place was as vulnerable as the newly sold home across from the Whittemores', the residence of Jennifer Blake.

From the upstairs room she picked to be her bedroom, there was no comfort in the room that was mostly bare except for a bed, a dresser and half a bookshelf. Even without window shades installed she couldn't get a clear view of the street. Without having had a chance to install a security system, she grabbed a curtain pole as a weapon. Putting one foot in front of the other she made the slow decline to the first floor. By the time she touched her toes to the ground her front door splintered into pieces.

Even through Jackson's nightmares and smothered by a beefy, fur-swathed fist, larger than the size of her face, he could hear Ms. Blake's scream. In just boxers he was out of his bed, through his bedroom window, over a hedge and across the lawn thanks to his lacrosse Co-Captain agility. Adrenaline got him through what was left of her door but the sight of the Monster tearing through his history teacher's den left him frozen. But only for a second. Then he drew strength from their nearness, and Jackson's blue eyes changed serpent shaped and color. His fingers turned to claws, scale-like slates advanced along the line of his spine, spreading the expanse of his neck and his chest. As the Monster started to taunt with a terrible roar, instead a madness riled up inside Jackson. Mindlessness coursed through him and caused him to attack. The thought never crossed his mind he had no hope of winning, or that the idea of what grew before him was the stuff of nightmares. Instead, he wanted to play.

Ms. Blake lay prone and unconscious, her head bleeding from a small gash above the temple. But after a few seconds she woke again to see her hardwood floor being torn up by the silhouettes of creatures that looked like they should have been on a medieval shield. She dragged herself to sit upright despite her dizziness leaning heavily on the stair banister. When she formed coherent thoughts, she gave up on making images of shadows. Instead, her eyes travelled from her busted front door, across the lawn towards where the Whittemores' garbage cans were once again knocked down.

The recesses of her mind also told her, "I really should have installed that security door sooner. After all, the mechanism was right beside the doorway." Her clearing mind she also noticed the neighborhood animals started up again and it was going to take some doing to get them to shut up.

When a shape that could be mistaken for Jackson at a squint came skidding toward her at high-speed her mind cleared up enough to catch up with her instincts. She threw out her hands, bent at the knees slightly and readied to spin out. They fell in a resounding heap at the bottom step, she lay underneath him. Although her head still spun, she felt her mind become clearer, her limbs felt solid while she pushed out from under him with all of her strength.

It took longer for the Kanima venom to have an effect on It, even as it did the Monster seemed more like an angry drunk than an animal about to be knocked out. In the lightless house, Jackson, more animal-shaped than man-shaped, as a Kanima, let out a rasping hiss of a noise. He got onto his hands and knees, and swaying he readied himself to leap into an attack.

"No! No!" With each word of practice Jennifer's voice rose in steadiness and volume. "Let It alone!" she exclaimed. She threw herself forward and tried to grab hold of him. She sort of did, she threw her arms around his neck and hauled him back with all her weight but more because she stumbled than because she wrestled him down.

They dropped into a heap of limbs and watched the Monster stumbling angrily, drunkenly toward and through the front door, then along the street howling in distress. While doubtful It would make it all the way back wherever It came from there were still plenty of places for It to hide in the dark. More relevantly, Jackson and Jennifer had a chance to catch their breath and rationalize events.

Quick to his feet, Jackson tried to save face and rushed to the door to see that the streets were safe. The sound of animals traced the path back clueing him in, but he wanted inarguable evidence the Monster was gone so he could go home. Jennifer finally managed to sit up without aid, but a touch traced the tender side of her head came away bloodied.

Out of formality more than concern Jackson returned to ask if she was okay, she answered by holding up her bloody fingertips. Groaning with annoyance, he stepped up to the obligatory task of care. With little resistance, he placed the security door where the door should have been. Jennifer stood and stumbled down the one step into the sunken living room. She mumbled about the deposit on her home, she even joked about possible complaints of the neighbors. Jackson muttered he would complain if she didn't take 'this' already as he handed her paper towels wrapped around ice for the side of her head.

When Jennifer asked if he was okay, he grunted in reply. "This place is a mess," Jackson looked around. His eyes drifted out through the bay windows, his home seemed further away even now.

"You're telling me. Hazard insurance is not going to cover this," she said quietly and then she added uncertainly, "thank you."

Jackson's eyes shot over to her and wavered. Jennifer's weakness made him uncomfortable. He could see her bloodied and injured but apologetic and it made him feel genuinely queasy.

"Why did that thing come after you?" He crossed his arms over his bare chest and tried to glare, it only made him look more unnerved. "It should have ripped us to pieces- you know you shouldn't stay here."

After taking the ice from the side of her head she licked her lips consideringly, and she dropped to sit on the single step. Her dark hair matted to the side of her head and made her look younger in her unkempt state, made worse with the way she wiped excess mess from the back of her hand onto her pajama pant leg. Jennifer unraveled the paper towel and rotated the ice cubes in her other hand, she hmmed a little in thought before answering.

"Are you saying we should run away together?"

Jackson shook his head and narrowed his eyes, but he dropped his arms, padded over with bare feet, ignoring the injuries the splintered floor gave him. "Come on," he pushed her, his expression a rare display of open earnestness.

"Get a girl a drink first," she pointed toward the cupboard over the fireplace. Jackson did as instructed without question. When Jennifer interjected "No! The good stuff," he got the aged flask she pointed towards.

By the time he returned with a glass for her to put the ice cubes to use she had already taken a long swig. She handed it to him, but he didn't drink, just poured its contents into her a cup.

"The bastard won't come back," she nodded thoughtfully and said with bitterness but tiredness, too. "It could have killed me with one hit, but It wanted to intimidate me. This was a warning."

"What sort of warning?" he sniffed in disbelief.

"We're expected to come away with clean hands," Jennifer looked back and forth between both hands, one still a colored with blood the other holding her cup looking through the light. She frowned and held them up for him to look at, "but more choices. This is ridiculous!"

"You've had too many knocks to the head," he shook his head and started to stand.

"You know exactly what I mean," she said forcefully. "We have to help each other. We have to watch each other- just to protect them. And it's not like we're out of prospects, even if you let the last pick go."

Jackson dropped back onto the step and glared her way. He wasn't mad, he felt ashamed and from the look in her eyes he could tell she felt something of the same color, but it was shielded behind determination. Jennifer had spent a longer time working on this plan than he had, and she had so much more at stake.

"Good," she blinked a number of times as her cunning came across as sweetness. She nodded and crushed the bloodied napkin into mulch in her hand, the room around them looked like a warzone but her conviction felt unwavering. "We're going to get through this. I promise."

"How many more of my friends are going to have to die?" Jackson gripped the vintage flask in his hands, even his powerful strength was not enough to put a dent in the heirloom.

"Who are you kidding, Jackson? You don't have any friends," her tone seemed soft, but her words were harsh, the practiced directions of his Master. She looked from his eyes down to her glass for a moment before downing it, the burn that seeped through her throat made her voice raspy and her heart calmer but did nothing to cleanse her conscience. "Besides, last time it was my friend who had to die."

"Right, right." he nodded, running his fingers along the pattern on the heirloom flask with triple circles coming together in a knot. The Triskele emblem once used to focus the troubled mind and he used it to focus his towards the long game.

Playlist Available: 8tracksDOTcom / bhanesidhe / 20-were-you-sleeping

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