were (you)

by bhanesidhe

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

22. planning

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Track 01 - Frightened by Easter Island

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{Monday: Dawn — Stilinski's House, Beacon Garden Community}

Outside of his Dad's bedroom, Stiles' eyes traced the notches on the doorframe where he remembered sticking his heels in for climbing. He used to need leverage while playing hide and seek to climb up onto the tops of bookcases. These days he could look easily along the top shelves without knocking down even one photo, but the notches stayed scuffed in the doorframe and he didn't remember when he'd forgotten any of it.

"You alright, son?" his Dad's voice slowly edged in.

"Sure. Sure, sure." Stiles jumped and looked up abruptly, his smile grew in confidence as his Dad came into focus.

"Was there something I could help you with?" he asked, trying to bury any sarcasm in his voice.

"I've got something to tell you, Dad." Stiles ran his hand over his mouth, forcing back his bubbling anxiety before braving on. "I've made breakfast."

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Stiles preached that breakfast 'is' the most important meal of the day, while his Dad preferred a sausage, egg and cheese on an 'Everything' bagel. Downstairs, the Sheriff found himself in a kitchen that was clean, with brewed coffee and toasted flatbread with egg-whites.

"Well, my delicious, amazing breakfast is healthier, instead of excessive take out," Stiles justified his presentation. "Here! For you and your especially for a busy day!" A muttering rant continued over wanting to keep his Dad around as long as humanly possible, especially he's only just gotten him back, and he's seen the depths of his Old Man's freezer and there was no accounting for taste and definitely not considering his cholesterol level-the Sheriff didn't bother arguing. He accepted the coffee eagerly, bathed the food with condiments and quietly watched Stiles fidgeting in his seat.

"Alright, already. Come out with it, Stiles…" As his sentence lost steam when he eyed Stiles' duffel bag.

"First, hear me out-" Stiles rushed forward with the worrisome and explained he wanted to head out to Red River to collect some things he had in storage, not because he was doing a runner but because he did want to settle in. "I think I should go back to my foster family, for a bit. And I would really like your blessing."

Looking stone-faced, his Dad took a sip of his coffee and contemplated. That isn't to say that he didn't seem hurt but, he was making a mental note of his son's face, the way distress drained Stiles of color and made his eyes twitch.

"If you've got to do this, I could go with you," he said between sips.

Once Stiles settled in his seat and started to pick at his food, the Sheriff's appetite came back to him.

"Dad," Stiles sighed gratefully, "you can't take the time off of work."

"Agreed," Dad took a mindful bite. "But that doesn't mean I can't still take care of you."

"Why aren't you mad?" Stiles looked mildly scandalized.

"'Why?'" he repeated, he wiped at his lips a smirk appeared afterward. "Is this trip going to give you peace of mind?" Stiles nodded. "Then that will give me some peace of mind. Plus, I'm not going to beg you. You're pretty impervious to my influence."

"Oh, yeah?" a similar smirk worked into his tone. This felt like praise from his Dad with a side-slice of judgment but he kind of liked it. "You didn't even think to bribe me? Extortion? Nothing?"

His Dad considered each option, while munching along thoughtfully. He had left his breakfast half-eaten and opted to drinking his breakfast, black coffee after black coffee after black coffee.

"If there is anything I've learned from the last few nights, is if you want to find a way to sneak out, you'll manage." He leveled Stiles with a gaze so authoritarian it made Stiles choke.

"What?" he strangled out, "What is it? Is there something on my face? Can you read my mind? If you can read my mind you have to tell me? I'm pretty sure it's the law."

"You can go with my blessing," at his Dad's admission Stiles sagged with relief only to leave him vulnerable for the suckerpunch, "and with my stipulations."

"Sti-Stipulations? What does that mean?"

"Stipulations means specific conditions you've gotta meet before we come to an agreement," he added cockily and started in on his sandwich, his appetite renewed.

Stiles sputtered, annoyed but unable to snap at his Dad. Was this what it felt like when others talk with him? Was this why everyone met him with rolled eyes and groaned through 50% of his conversations?

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"That's not a stipulation. That's like a whole human being," Stiles slouched further into his seat.

His Dad washed the dishes, occasionally grinning over his shoulder.

"It isn't like a whole human being. It is a whole human being," he shut off the water and came to sit at the table after dragging a seat closer to his son. "Think of it as a free ride to Red River and back."

Despite his internal suffering, Stiles couldn't help but grin to observe his Dad's amused expression. In the last 48-hours a lot had flooded through him to bring this idea on but nothing more than talking things out with his Dad. He had a strange mental image of his Dad and the Hales, maybe somehow getting along. It wouldn't happen in a million years, and he wasn't aiming for that. He'd head back in blind hopes of reaching the Hales or closing that chapter once and for all. Either option would make it easy to make permanent roots in Beacon Hills. His Dad understood that without explanation and sending along a Deputy escort was just his way of being there without being there. The only problem with that meant Stiles would have a Deputy around, you know, escorting him.

"Fine," Stiles conceded with a smile, then teased, "but he's got to pay for meals. And I'm not talking fast food at the gas-n-go, I want Posole and Sopapillas at Mom & Pop restaurants. And I demand to see the Billy the Kid Museum on the way there."

"Whatever you want," he leaned over and squeezing tight Stiles' shoulders, nearly knocking him down off the chair when he kissed him on the top of his head. "Only the best for my son."

"So, when will this Parrish guy get here?" Stiles groaned. He started to eye his duffel bag like it was a thing that betrayed him.

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They waited on the front porch steps for an hour and a half as the morning sky grew from tawny to gold. Whenever his Dad asked about his home life, Stiles kept his Homestead stories vague but happy. But mostly he switched the topic back to observations about the Stilinski home, how his Dad let the lawn overgrow or the weak lower step and the doorbell that didn't work, especially how he intended to fix it all when he got back.

Stiles didn't complain about the upstairs bedroom, but his Dad knew what to poke at. Things were great about the room, but his nightmares weren't just from his fevered infection or Banshee screams. His Dad asked if the pillow even worked to help him get to sleep.

"Hell yeah, of course!" Stiles knew getting to sleep wasn't the problem. Staying asleep, however- "I get these dreams where I hearing footsteps echoing through the house," he admitted, "I kept hearing you guys looking for me, but I think I'm stuck inside the walls. No one heard me. I couldn't reach you and you guys were terrified. I don't think it takes a genius to tell me I've gotta settle down. So, I think I should get my stuff and unpack. It'd help if everyone could actually see my stuff around, don'tcha think."

"I think for a smart kid, you should leave the dream psychology to the professionals and not to the travel agents," his Dad answered after a long thoughtful pause. Stiles leaned back against the pillar, stared off and gave a peaceful nod. "But if you feel like you've got to do this, you've got to do it safely. No more being dragged home unconscious or in cuffs unless it's by my call."

Stiles laughed at that, but the laugh was cut short when he glanced at his Dad's tight expression.

"I'm pretty sure if I ask you what else you're up to you're going to lie," he asked anyway, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "But I'm getting better at getting a read on you and I've been wanting to ask you about the night of the storm, were you and your friends even being safe on the road?"

"Suuure," Stiles answered but sounded uncertain.

"Did you see anything?" his voice went firmer, a more careful tone overall. "Anything out of the ordinary? Anything dangerous?"

It had been a mistake to get too comfortable with his Dad so when their neighbor, Mrs. Catrina called over with a wave as she walked her dog, Stiles recomposed himself. He read his Dad like he read the features the house, aged as the sun turned lines harsher and what he first thought were laugh lines were pinched with stress and burden. When Stiles tried to sense out, he felt the same frazzled emotions when his Dad scrutinizing the board in the garage. That furrowed brow meant serious business and it meant Stiles was something more than just a footnote in the investigation.

"Like what?" In his mind he zoomed in on features of the photo on his phone and gave a silent thanks to Allison them.

"Like an animal? Or something?" his Dad played at nonchalance, he stood smoothly and kept his back to Stiles while he began to pace.

"Like with the accident that killed Mom?" it wasn't too far from a leap to make but it was hard to get the words through his teeth. Stiles considered it as part of his investigation but saying it out loud broke all sorts of illusions that he could keep his Dad at a safe distance any longer. It was clearly the wrong answer to give because it gave his Dad quite the morsel to chew.

Although the Sheriff, he was a Dad first, he stopped in his tracks and faced his son. An expression of grief flashed across his face before he sealed it away and asked, "What do you remember about the accident?

If his Dad could call him out on making that comment, Stiles wasn't about to let that connection go unpoked. Had Allison's photos been more recent, and the sightings listed on the board been up to date, then they might have led to the location of the Monster. Stiles needed to hear his Dad mention specifics, "What do you remember about the accident?"

"What?" the Sheriff withdrew further, he felt comically thrown by his son's utterly inquisitory nature.

"What?" Stiles repeated, taking to his feet but he paused just shy of approaching.

"Stiles?" confused, he came beside Stiles against the column. After a moment of stillness, they waved at Mr. Abrams one house over who lingered too long while picking up his paper just to stare at them as if he were watching some reality TV show. With the forest fires, power outages and freak storms, it's the neighborly spying that really kept the town abuzz.

When Mr. Abrams had gotten his full and edged back behind his door, closing it without a word or a wave, Stiles flipped off the neighbor and sighed at the effort these phony smiles were taking out of him. Then he flashed a meek one toward his Dad. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry." his Dad butted their shoulders together. If there was any energy for questioning, it had all been spent. "This is probably upsetting you."

"No, no Dad." Stiles shook his head slowly, "It totally isn't. It isn't, I just didn't know you were still ...upsetted?" He lied a little, which was okay because his Dad expected him to evade anyway and because he wanted his lie to be true. He didn't want his Dad to be upset about the accident anymore now that he was home.

"Of course." He spoke in a low, calming voice. "Of course, you idiot." They were interrupted by a pick-up truck pulling up. They both forgot why they were on the front porch to begin with. The Deputy stepped out but didn't turn the motor off, and he looked ready for the long haul in civi clothes, t-shirt and jeans with the aviator sunglasses that screamed he was a cop ready for fun. His Dad put up a hand for Parrish to hang back for a moment.

"Go with Parrish, he's upsett-," he amended Stiles' phrase despite his son's grin, and he emphasized what piqued both of their interest. "He's also unsettled by these animal attacks. We're keeping track of them, so we'll be keeping closer track of you."

"Great," Stiles pressed his lips together in the closest he could muster into a smile, which was fortunately smothered out by his Dad's bone-crushing hug.

It had been too obvious both from his return and from his amateurish reaction to the questions that Stiles could not play off his connection to the Monster. Between his Dad and the Deputy, as much as he wanted to hate the idea, which he totally did, he could see an asset in this.

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Track 02 - Basically, I by Robert DeLong

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{Early-Morning – BHHS, Top Floor, Library}

After a weekend of drama and midterms stress, Allison decided to confront her feelings in the most mature way she could think of. She avoided them. She chauffeured Lydia's car to the school early enough to avoid interactions with her family. When she arrived, the overcast kept the navy color from the night longer than she thought reasonable. Prizing the shield of her mohair coat, she tugged it tight against the enduring chill while waiting for school maintenance to arrive and unlock the doors.

For contradictory reasons, Lydia had her Mom drop her off early so that she could throw herself into midterms. She wanted normalcy, she wanted good grades, and she wanted positive feedback from someone who wasn't looking to get something out of it (ideally, academic staff).

Finding Allison hunkered down in their preferred seating in the library balcony seating, during zero period (the last-minute refuge for test-takers everywhere) wasn't surprising. In fact, Lydia predicted it enough to bring Allison along a morning coffee. A decent one from one of the gourmet cafés in town, not that double-roasted nonsense they overcharged at Starbucks.

Next to Allison rested a pile of Lydia's 'Sciences and Anatomy' notes waiting neatly untouched while instead she absorbed herself in works entitled 'Biochemistry and Molecular Biology of Plant - 2nd Edition', 'Botany: An Introduction to Plant Biology' and 'Botany-Lab Manual'. Lydia made certain not to comment on Allison's floral fixation but took it as a cue she could explore her own interest.

So, while Allison researched her Mother's gardens for effects and counter-effects, Lydia cross-referenced between her written notes and iPhone tried to uncover common base components (if any) of the bi-pedal transformative supernatural (comparing the 'natural born' to the 'turned or bitten').

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At first Scott thought her act of obliviousness was intentional, that Allison was actively ignoring him because she wasn't the sort of person to be caught unawares. But as time passed, he realized she was so involved in review she really hadn't noticed his entrance, or him taking the seat at the table behind her. In the earlier days she could sense his distress from across a lacrosse field, but it seemed impossible she couldn't feel him take a seat even when their backs aligned. He considered maybe they were being watched, like Stiles suggested, then contact might have to be subtler. But if she wasn't noticing him over the subject of botany then what was the point? He'd memorized her class schedule and botany definitely wasn't on it. He didn't want to admit to sulking, but it hardly seemed fair that review stole everyone's attention, even Lydia seemed just as absorbed in her subject.

Unapologetically, Isaac dropped his books onto the table in front of Scott. Lydia briefly glanced at them, Allison sat up straight but refused to turn around as Isaac continued direct his words at Scott but spoke to all of them, "speaking of awkward social meet ups, did Danny tell you he invited the whole Lacrosse team to his blowout this weekend? You'd never guess where."

A wave of agitation rushed toward him, Isaac took it as a hint to sidestep. Startling Scott, he dropped heavily to sit across from him and ducked low to avoid Lydia's glare.

"Alright fine," he lowered his voice, "let's talk about something else. Have you talked to Stiles this morning?"

Confused, Scott shook his head. Glancing over his shoulder, Isaac tried to catch Lydia's eye again, her twitch of annoyance was enough to convey 'of course not!'

"You guys should know-"

"Isaac, not now." Scott cut him off, his voice tight, his grip on his textbook tighter. While he ducked low pretending to read, his postured strangely, unconsciously, copied Allison's body-language in the depiction of students so-innocently studying. It made Isaac realize this was how they were trying to communicate, quiet and mimed, not broadcasting.

Quick to his feet, Isaac grabbed his things and went to the girl's table, saying to Lydia, "come on, I need to see you for a minute."

Lydia, however, was not ready to move. "No. I was here first." But when she looked over to Allison and saw the way she gnawed at her fingernails she took it as a sign. "Fine. But if you start bickering like an old married couple over how you two are 'just friends', I'm going to be forced to find a new best-friend and a new favorite library table."

After grabbing her belongings, Isaac marched Lydia along the aisle, she shrugged off his grasp forcefully and gave him a warning look. With graceless gesturing he insisted she follow him into the stack so that he could use his hyper-sensitive hearing to listen to the conversation.

"Why did we have to get up so that we could listen in? I could have listened fine from right there."

"Because if Allison's family is always watching and they will put her under the microscope, if she wants to talk to Scott, she has to make it look like she's not talking to Scott," he mumbled tilting his head toward their table.

"What makes you think she wants to talk to him anyway?" Lydia huffed, she looked from the clock toward her hastily packed bag.

Isaac replied with shushing.

"If he had something to say, why didn't just leave a note in her locker like a normal little stalker," she grumbled but took a huddled position beside him. After some mild to severe gnawing on her lip she asked, "Well, what are they saying anyway?"

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"I know how this looks," Allison whispered low. Low enough that normal people could not pick up, but Scott could hear clear as if she whispered it against his ears. "I'm stressing out or being emotional. I'm not. As long-"

"No, I get it." Scott said. He noticed a glance their classmate Tracy gave him while she went by and picked up his phone instead, pretended to talk into it. "It would be easier if I were normal."

"I don't want you to be normal Scott, I want you to be safe. With a new pack intruding, now my family is investigating Werewolves overrunning the school. There's going to be crossfire." Allison was careful to tick off the worries that didn't directly include the wolfsbane listed in textbooks laying in front of her on the table.

"We're stronger in numbers," Scott countered. He respected her decision to stay away but he would always need her. At least as an ally. "Think of how we helped Isaac. I'm getting better at shifting without having to be angry."

She rubbed her brow to press down stress and told him the other thing that had begun to really worry her. "If I were talking to you right now, I would warn you that if you keep forcing your change it'll eventually break your Alpha's bond. But your Alpha will sense it, It will try and bring you back by calling you out against your will."

Forgetting any pretense, it was now or never, Scott grumbled into his dormant phone, "Allison, we know the identity kinda. My Alpha is the Monster."

She figured that already, but still her heart rose into her throat and kept her silent. She couldn't imagine reporting something like that to her parents or even sharing it with Bennet. How much more vulnerable could Scott become? Letting out a slow breath, she remembered Scott beside her on the ground lifting Isaac to safety. Their determination had been so focused, her blind ambition and devotion married to Scott's heart and mind had been powerful enough to drag their friend back from the brink of death. How could she make her family see Scott came from the lineage of evil but that didn't make him a murderer? Her family might be torturing Werewolves for answers, but with a Monster-Alpha at the reins of her boyfriend's dreams she couldn't imagine a worse fate. Correction, Ex-boyfriend.

"I need to disconnect from It," his voice unsteady, again into his phone. Obscured behind her botany textbook, she just shook her head, not in denial but in dismay. "The next time It calls me out I get that It might kill me or have me kill someone else. If I want to do shift safely, I'm going to need your help-"

"But you're connection is unique," she interrupted. "A strong link that you can't understand, you're unlikely to snap completely. The more you've learned to control your abilities, you've been able to sense It more. Teaching someone who is bitten takes time more time than someone born to shapeshift. But then so was Stiles and Isaac, so they can help you." And then after a moment Allison considered what it was, she'd said without thinking. She meant to advise Scott on how to avoid the Monster but instead she had given him direction right to the murderous beast. Lydia would kill her if she knew.

"You make it sound so easy," Scott's mumbling grew pitiable. He wanted her to want to work with him.

"None of this is easy," Allison replied shoving her books harshly into her bag. "I promise. It will get easier."

"Which? Disconnecting from my Alpha or doing this without you?"

"Both," she started to stand but hesitated. "I'll always believe in you, I just can't be with you right now. Please don't try and make me feel worse about breaking up with you."

"I'm not trying to hurt you. I thought you could-" he paused. Scott realized part of him did want to argue and win Allison back but mostly he didn't know what it meant to move forward without her. He doubted he ever would.

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"Hold on, are you seriously telling me I'm the last to know that Scott's Alpha is the Monster murdering people?" Lydia snapped toward the side of Isaac's face (as they continued to kneel and peep around the corner of a bookcase).

"Well, if you ever picked up your phone- now would you just, shhh," Isaac grumbled toward her.

Lydia chewed on the thought for a moment, hugging her purse to her side before she acknowledged, "Although if you think about it, by my calculations I was actually the first to know. I did warn everyone that this Monster had a stronger effect on unaligned than the moon, especially on Scott. Considering none of the other Alphas turned up in Beacon Hills until after the murders, who else could have turned him. Or could have bit-" Lydia's thought caught fiercely onto a hypothesis. She didn't have the privacy or the time to chase the thought, so she followed what was second best, research.

"What else are they saying?" she insisted, leaning in against his arm.

"Something about staying connected to each other- and disconnecting-" Isaac made a disgruntled noise. "I don't understand exactly."

"Why am I even asking you?" she complained. "You can tell just by observing body-language that they're dealing with the issue of being sickeningly in love with each other and need more distance than a desk between them to stay broken up. Allison is going to tell me everything they say anyway."

Isaac sighed and finally whipped around to face her. "You know I would have a better chance of using my enhanced hearing if I could actually hear something other than you."

Although she pursed her lips in silence Lydia's glare said plenty. She didn't have to wait long to have to have the last word when a moment later, Isaac nearly dropped to his knees in agony as the school bell announced the change of periods, assaulting his enhanced hearing. Lydia stepped pointedly around him, smugly offering, "I'll let you know what I find out from Allison. Well, that is, if I remember to pick up the phone."

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Track 03 - Pieces by Andrew Belle

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{Morning – BHHS, Library to 1st Period}

Trying to make a quick escape, Allison stormed out, cut across the crowded courtyard, marching a busy shortcut to student parking, hoping to find Lydia at the VW Bug for an escape. Lydia wasn't about to abandoned her friend to breakup-despair and tried to follow her, but lost sight of her in the mass of students rushing out through the double-doors.

Instead, she headed down the hallway throughway, when in the window she saw her friend. She tried to wave to get her attention, she even tried to call out to her but when that failed, she sped up towards the west stairwell that let out near the gym and closest to student parking. Reaching the bottom step, she caught sight of Jackson and spun back around to avoid that collision.

In turn, Allison couldn't keep still, not finding Lydia by her car she paced around the campus and found herself returning wandering by the outdoor benches near the cafeteria, nearly crossing paths with Scott. Her failed attempt sent her skidding back through the courtyard and towards the main building, rushing up the front steps. Slamming right into Lydia.

After a brief exclamation of "oh, thank god!/finally!" they clung to one another, then continued arm-in-arm to their lockers before heading to their classrooms for their first tests.

Scott tried to avoid the others by leaving through the libraries fire exit and return to the campus through the cafeteria entrance, but even as passed through he felt Allison everywhere, or he could have imagined it. But just to be sure he turned back and ran directly into Kira instead.

"Hi. Would you- like company?" she asked in a way that made him feel like suddenly he did. Shrugging his backpack further up onto his shoulder, Scott nodded for her to come along. They walked in companionable silence along the 2nd floor halls when they ran into Isaac (who was actively avoiding Lydia). Isaac babbled an explanation while they got to class at which point Kira excused herself, nearly stepping on Jackson's feet, and rushed ahead into her seat.

Danny stepped around the growing angsty crowd blocking the aisle as he aimed for his seat. When he finally dropped into his seat beside the window, he analyzed the scene and admired it for its ridiculousness. "Hey guys, where is your resident smartass? Isn't it his job to break the tension?"

With that, Scott sat instantly upright and addressed Stiles' absence. He turned to Isaac, who answered with a hapless shrug as if to say, 'I tried to tell you.' After all, he did try to bring up Stiles earlier in the library and had been abruptly blown off.

"Mr. McCall," Mr. Harris broke into their pantomimed discussion. "Would you like me to repeat it? Or are you happy to take the failing grade before starting the test?"

"No. No sir," Scott answered dutifully. He suspected an impending danger to his cellphone when Mr. Harris neared with an empty container.

"If you have any cellphone or electronic devices, you may want to turn them in. Anyone caught with an electronic device will have their test invalidated. You have 90 minutes to complete this test, beginning now." He loomed over Scott's desk, blocking eye contact between him and Isaac while he punctuated each word, "and anyone caught communicating in any sort of way will have their test invalidated."

"Got it!" Scott replied finally (long after dropping his phone in), when he realized Mr. Harris wouldn't move until he complied. He worried, if only Stiles could keep out of trouble for the next 2 periods, he could focus on his test but after spending nearly a minute forgetting to write his name on the sheet of paper he knew that was very unlikely.

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Track 04 - Celebrating Nothing by Phantogram

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{Afterschool – BHHS, 1st Floor Hallway}

After Natural Science (and managing to get his phone back from Mr. Harris) Scott bolted from class to find his friends. Running first into Isaac, he was informed Lydia and Allison were spied speeding off to student parking, escaping into a VW Bug that zipped off school grounds. "Probably just blowing off some steam," he explained guiltily, "she seemed a bit pissed after I told her the thing about your Alpha."

"You mean you revealed that you heard me telling Allison the truth," Scott groaned, knocking his phone lightly against the side of his head in aggravation. As Isaac apologized Scott started to walk away, waving off the need. Scott should have been the one to tell Lydia first, but he let other things get in the way.

Sure, telling Allison was vital but blurting it out unplanned was possibly not the right time. It wasn't like she offered much help or comfort even. Instead, she itemized it and directed him to look others for what NOT to do. But Lydia's more analytic nature meant she probably had a 10-page hypothesis with 2 pages of footnotes already. Plus, Scott wanted to be the one to assure Lydia those wild theories of hers weren't crazy.

"I can fix this," Scott insisted, "I can fix this," he repeated trying to will it into reality.

Stiles chuckled for a long while, over long-distance before he added mirthlessly, "yeah good luck with that."

"If you were here you could help with that," Scott sighed, and sank further against the doorframe. "You could, you know break the tension."

"And explain how you were too busy with your secret Hunter girlfriend to walk over the 2 seconds and whine about your tragic past- I don't think so dude," from Stiles' stilted amusement and vagueness it seemed like he didn't want to be overheard. "If there is one thing I know for certain, Lydia doesn't take well to being ignored. Hell, you'll probably have an easier time winning her over if I'm not around."

Watching the exit, keeping in view the entourage of classmates circulating, Scott keenly felt the lack of his friends.

"Stiles, where are you anyway?"

"Road trip," he answered quickly. He'd been waiting for that question from the moment Scott's name popped up on his caller ID. "I tried to tell you about this idea yesterday but- don't worry. I'll be back before you notice."

"Trust me, I notice." Scott answered just as quickly. The sound of wind whooshing through a car window on Stiles' end was the only response for a few long seconds.

"My Dad got me a chaperone with a badge and everything," Stiles seemed less amused about that than he tried to let on, which only made Scott grin wider. They were cut off by the sound of a school bell ringing. "Talk soon, Scott." Stiles assured before he cut off the line.

{Afterschool – Martins' House, Aires East}

Set on fixing this lapse in judgment, Scott headed straight to Lydia's house afterschool. Taking 2 buses across town instead of his bike took longer than anticipated. Watching the view change at a slower pace made Scott remember how much he used to look forward to childhood playdates at her house. Not because her neighborhood was luxurious, because honestly all that luxury seamed cold and intimidating, but (to Scott at least, it felt like) Lydia's place always had its doors thrown open. Like there was always a party, not all posh parties either. The ones he remembered best were pizza parties by the pool with dress up themes like dinosaur wars (Jurassic versus Cretaceous Era).

That nostalgic sense of excitement didn't come from luxury or money. It came from that feeling of welcoming and inclusion the Martins' radiated. Lydia still had her post-game parties, and from the looks of it her Mom still kept up the tradition.

When Scott arrived, Mrs. Martin didn't look surprised to see him although she looked delighted and welcoming. "If you're coming to ask about the hors d'oeuvres, don't worry. We remembered all of your favorites," she said while tapping away on her iPhone, pacing a path toward the kitchen.

After carefully closing the door behind him, Scott followed quickly. He felt both flattered and completely confused.

"I- wait, what?" he couldn't figure out how to get from her conversation back to his question. But Scott sensed she was keeping herself happy with busy work in the same way she had weeks earlier.

"You didn't come to say you're not coming this weekend, did you?" Mrs. Martin looked up at him over the kitchen counter, her eyes bright and focused, her strewn paperwork a mixture of estate listings and party planner bids.

"Of course not," Scott assured her, too intimidated to answer otherwise. "I just wanted to tell Lydia some stuff about a project we've been working on. I was wondering if she was here."

"You could have called, Scott." She looked like she didn't believe his explanation. "She isn't here. Right now, she's off studying with Allison."

"Oh," in nervousness Scott shifted the backpack strap on his shoulder. Her Mom-senses must have been tingling, although he wasn't lying, because technically researching the Monster was a project he and Lydia were working on- "well, Allison and I aren't exactly talking right now."

"Ahh," she gave a knowing sigh. At that Mrs. Martin returned to some former version of herself, gesturing for him to grab himself a snack or juice or anything he wanted from the fridge.

"Really, no, Mrs. Martin," Scott replied but after she kept looking at him sad-eyed, he grabbed a chocolate-chip cookie from the jar on the counter between them.

When she thanked him for being there at dinner at the Argents'. Scott replied with an awkward nod. He hadn't finished chewing that particular bite of cookie to argue, so she tacked on that it was above and beyond his promise to keep looking out for Lydia.

"We've been looking out for each other," Scott replied quietly. While the answer was true, he wished it were truer. He wished they were getting better at it looking out for each other.

"That's the best we can hope for." Her 'Mom-Senses' must have picked up something in his tone, which brought up another concern. "She still has trouble sleeping. There is nothing either of us can do for that, now is there?"

Swallowing thickly, Scott shrugged, disliking that he had to admit it. It wasn't like he didn't know Lydia sometimes screamed at night, and it wasn't like he hadn't shared a nightmare with her. These were facts he was aware of, but it was only the few he knew of, while her Mother shared a roof with her.

"She says she sleeps better at Allison's." Mrs. Martin pick out two more cookies, insisting that Scott take one while she started to nibble at the other. "I want to believe her, but I think she sleeps there so she doesn't worry me. I found her once, her knuckles bloody, her lamp knocked over, and a mirror shattered in her sleep. Now, when she sleeps at home, she locks her door from the inside. She says it's because she's afraid she might sleepwalk. I think she's afraid if she does sleepwalk, she might hurt more than herself. Do you want another one?"

Scott shook his head grimly. He felt guilty for learning all of this and like he definitely did not deserve a cookie.

"Well," Mrs. Martin came to stand and wiped the counter down with a paper towel. She looked and sounded a little relieved to get that off of her chest. "She says she doesn't remember the nightmares. I can only hope that's true." Even in the face of these dark themes Mrs. Martin clutched to her optimism, "I feel like this party is a step in the right direction. It's the first signs of life she's shown in weeks. I can see her spirits rise every time I mention planning it."

"I'll definitely be there this weekend," he promised. She looked up at him with sincere gratitude.

"I won't be," she said, frankly. "The best gift I can give her is space. I'm out of town anyway, so you'll keep an eye out."

"Always." Scott didn't mind the obligation this time because it didn't feel like one.

She patted his hand, then gestured for him to head toward the door.

"I'll let her know you came by," she said with a wave. "And remind her to call you about your project, but a little space might be a more considerate right now than hovering Scott."

He wasn't too sure about that. The information Scott wanted to talk about felt vital but stalking Lydia's didn't seem helpful either. He'd make himself available though, if not at school than at the party. It seemed like a hollow a gesture to throw a party to claim back your normality. Yet somehow, watching Mrs. Martin hang fairy lights in the backyard, flecks against the dusk sky mirroring in the turquoise pool and the mysticalness of it made him feel a lot better.

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Track 05 - The Struggle by Grizlock

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{Morning/Afternoon – BHHS, 1st Period Chemistry: Mr. Harris. to McCall's House}

While camouflaged in Beacon Hills, Isaac learned he did not have a talent for influencing people. But, during Chem Exam, when he managed to get assigned to the same station as Lydia, he thought he would at least get one question in. It didn't seem that invasive to ask why Danny was planning a party at Lydia's house. She responded by lighting the Bunsen burner at full flame and very near to his face. He had never been more aware of or grateful for the ability to grow hair back quickly.

"You do know they take points off if you don't even wear your protective eye goggles," Lydia snapped and as Isaac felt around for his pair while she mostly ignored him in favor of the exam. When she wanted to come at him, she found it very easy to multitask, and continue the exam while demanding to know, "what are you guys doing about the Monster-Alpha?"

"Nothing." Isaac bit out defensively, sulking that he was being blamed for his friend Scott's deflection. Lydia rolled her eyes because she obviously didn't believe him.

After that, she completely shut him out each time he brought up a subject aside from Chemistry, however innocuous, which didn't seem very fair. If he mentioned Stiles, she lightly grunted. If he asked how Allison was, she just put out a hand demanding the next item on the ingredient list. If he asked how she was doing, she sucked her teeth and shook her head like she physically shook off the words.

"Fine, just because you aren't talking to me doesn't mean I'm not going to be at your house this weekend. Danny is the one who invited us. I was just asking because I didn't want to intrude but if you're going to sulk-"

"I do not sulk," Lydia said crisply. She lowered the flame, she looked at him and annoyance coloring her features, "and of course I expected you there this weekend." Isaac couldn't tell from her matter-o-fac tone if she was displeased by it or welcomed to it. "Everyone will be there!"

"If you don't want to have me there-"

"Why wouldn't I want you there?" She said flatly.

"The whole pretend boyfriend thing," he whispered closer to her.

Lydia pursed her lips, her eyes softened a little and she turned back to their project, "remove it."

"What?"

"Take the tongs and remove the beaker. If he doesn't see you do any of the work, then we both fail."

While Lydia completely switched off the flame, Isaac hurried to the task and smiled nervously under the glare of their teacher.

"It's not like it's a family party. My Mom won't be there so you won't have to pretend anything," while she took off her goggles and placed it near to him so that she could talk without being overheard. Without having the world know their personal business. "If you could just be normal with me for once, no more drama, no more surprises, then I'd be happy to have you there."

Isaac followed her set up and poured the content of the beaker along the stirring rod, through a funnel and into a narrow glass vial container to cool.

When the instructor called "Time!" Lydia's smirk turned from Isaac to the front of the room as if expecting some sort of accolade outright, but the teacher expected more of them than that.

"If you've catalyzed the reaction correctly, you should now be looking at a crystal. Now for the part of that last experiment I'm sure you'll all enjoy - You can eat it."

Around the room there were some less than satisfactory results of discolored clumps, smelly pumps and still-liquid pools at the bottom of their beakers. It was due to her that the experiment worked, she proudly took the crystal between her fingertips and bit off the end with a snap. Lydia smugly swallowed down their successfully completed midterm assignment.

"You know, if you're actually asking me out, I'm going to have to say 'no'," he gave a nervous laugh. "You're not exactly my type, I'm into blonde girls. A lot more levelheaded than you, definitely a lot leggier too." With that she rolled her eyes then turned away and went to clearing their workspace, giving him room to think of a real reply.

Isaac hadn't considered what it was like to be normal for a long while. Lately every conversation circled around Monsters and Hunters, or it circled around death and violence. That stuff would always be there. And since they weren't going to make progress stressing in the middle of their Chemistry midterms, in her way Lydia was asking him, no, giving him permission to put that aside and attend a normal high school party.

"Okay, I'll be there. No drama, I promise," he smiled in relief, and she smiled back in gratitude. Isaac felt significantly less grateful when handed their experimental crystal, expecting him conclude their exam by eating it.

It turned out, trying to keep what he wanted to himself wasn't something Isaac was good at either. Later, the moment Melissa entered the McCall home she read him like an open book.

"Let me guess, Scott's not here because he's still supposedly on his way home on the bus," she said, sounding half amused, half exasperated while dropping her bag onto the kitchen counter. "Meanwhile he was supposed to head straight home to handle dinner all this week."

There was as much likelihood that Scott was at Lydia's trying to pick up Physics notes as trade facts on the Monster-Alpha. Without confirmation, Isaac could only pretend not to assume that.

"Well as long as you're here then you can handle dinner," Melissa hadn't asked outright but he crumbled under her maternal gaze.

"Sure. How does General Tso chicken sound?" he asked reaching for the takeout menu.

Scott still hadn't turned up by the time their takeout Chinese arrived.

"Well, Scott will just have to have to be content with our leftovers," she said smugly, wiping her mouth clean from grease with a napkin.

From how restlessly Isaac moved the food around the table, there was no chance there would be any leftovers. As if to acknowledge she pushed over the rest of her servings without being asked.

"You're welcome to them," she smiled, looked pleased with herself. "You know what, aside from trying to break down my house before sunrise, it's been nice having you here."

After a brief 'thanks' not knowing what else to say Isaac shoved around what little was left of his shrimp lo mein and slurped on them.

"Scott's been talking about you for a while and to think you're also Stiles' foster brother, which is one heck of a coincidence," she reflected on the past few months between the two boys. "It's almost like you're meant to be part of the family, which should come with a warning. There is no end of drama here."

"I'm used to that," he admitted, with a smirk. It wasn't just through Stiles drama came into his life, it was chasing after Scott that brought him back to life.

"Have you thought about the rest of your foster family?"

"The truth is," he jabbed at it his food with a thoughtful purse of his lips, "this is where I belong now." As far as he believed there was no going back. It wasn't until Stiles road trip to Red River, a road trip he wasn't along on, that the option came to mind. "Since I got here things have gone differently than I've expected, I'm a bit bummed that my siblings aren't all here but other than that I'm great."

Melissa locked eyes with him for a moment, measured his words than smiled kindly before she started to clean away the empty cartons. Isaac followed to the kitchen and brought along a debris of used chopsticks, plastic utensils and cartons. He offered to take out the garbage to which she responded that he was very kind, but it was something Scott would definitely have to do when he got home.

"You're always going to be welcome here Isaac, especially if you stop getting into fistfights with my son," she said pointedly. Considering Scott's rather small pool of friends it wasn't too hard for Melissa to draw the conclusions. Suddenly, Isaac remembered being less scared to be caught in a Hunters' spring trap in the woods. "But the Sheriff and I were talking, and we thought you might be more comfortable staying over in Stiles' room while he's travelling, until we've finished setting up a bedspace here."

"Is it alright with you if I stay at the Sheriff's longer than that?" he felt sheepish. Isaac thought he knew the answer already, his friends had already made room for him but asking the grownups was testing new waters.

"We'll always have room for you," her lips spread further, a smile most kind. Isaac didn't stick around long after that, not that he rushed either. Just packed the few things he brought, some clothes, his school things and some extra snacks she prepared while waiting for him to come back downstairs. She assured him it wasn't that big a deal, the snacks would go bad in the next day or so he 'had better take them!' He couldn't sense a lie; her heartrate fluttered all over the place with matronly concern. But if he had to guess... he didn't want to guess. When she offered to drive Isaac insisted on walking, despite the 3-mile difference because he had a couple of things to think through in the breezy evening.

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Track 06 - Please Don't Go by Barcelona

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{Evening – Yukimura's House, The Hills}

Thinking it would help calm her nerves, Kira skipped dinner. But each time her nightmares worsened, she squeezed her eyes shut and she figured her grumbling stomach was the cause. She couldn't bear the idea spending time with her parents, it felt unsettling. She wasn't sure the sanctity of her bedroom would hold up. Especially not if sleep refused to help her escape. In that case the only reasonable choice was to run away from home.

After slipping into her favorite floral combat boots, she layered probably too many sweaters on under her hoodie, then wrapped her favorite funky tights and quirky t-shirts in bundle firm enough to safely place a framed photo of Grandma Yuki in the center of it. She decided against sneaking out through the backyard. Not because Kira was afraid of breaking the contents of her backpack, she'd packed well enough for that. But because the memory of Lydia Martin looking like a phantom in the shadows of her the bushes remained too vivid.

It was easy to slip by her parents' bedroom, from their brittle voices meant they were arguing again. It was so unlike the light-hearted way they usually got along. Although things had changed since coming home from the hospital, Kira was not going to take responsibility for that. Although she did pray to her ancestors at the mantle downstairs, by the front door. There they burned incense beneath a mounted broken Katana that was claimed to have been connected to their family for over 900 years. She mostly prayed for them to bless her so she wouldn't get caught.

Outside, the stillness of the chilly night further unnerved her but there was something Kira could do about that; she could run. Improving on her technique, Kira started to run at an athlete's pace instead of the manic flailing of girls in a scary movies. Before he disembarked from the local bus, she sensed him, she sensed Scott. Something like an ember flickering at the corner of her mind, so she switched her direction and jogged towards it, surprised to discover it wasn't her imagination. She stayed near the traffic light, trying not look like a stalker but then Scott hopped off the bus grinning, and waved for her to cross over and meet him despite the red light.

"I was just heading home, and I thought I saw you," Scott said knowing full well there was no way he could have seen her over the hillside, from the direction the bus drove by.

Kira couldn't answer. Despite her incredible stamina, she forgot to leave time for stuff like muscles cramping and breathing. She stayed doubled over for a moment before she came back up gasping and grinning, "...hi."

"You were out for a run," he guessed when Kira didn't respond.

"Well, actually I was running away," she pushed some hair back from cheek but when she leaned away from his gaze her hair fell into her face once more. "I couldn't stay home, I feel like I don't have anywhere I really belong."

Scott nodded mindfully, he was surrounded with people that knew his secrets and he still struggled to feel a sense of security. There was no advice he could think to offer but without feeling like a fraud.

"I'm happy I ran into you. Otherwise, I might have just kept going straight up onto the highway-"

"Where were you headed?"

"I don't know," Kira pulled both straps of her backpack high onto her shoulders, "I didn't really get that far. The best advice I have ever gotten was to leave."

"Who said that?"

She considered herself many things, a geek, new girl, shy girl, but mostly she was not a gossip, plus she was still scared of ghostly Lydia. "Doesn't matter."

"If it doesn't matter, then it might not be the best advice," he answered, his lips very slowly stretched into a mischievous smirk. Kira's death grip on the straps of her backpack eased off a little as she looked back to him and started to finally smile.

"The second-best advice I've ever gotten was 'to trust someone'," she held her breath and nodded toward him, indicating she had chosen him, "so maybe I was just running to meet up with you."

Moved by her statement Scott stared mouth gapped.

"If that's okay?" Kira asked when the silence became awkward.

"That's definitely okay," with a full blown grin, Scott leaned his head for her to walk alongside him.

They wandered with no real direction, while the night went on and the air became even cooler. When Scott shuddered at a draft Kira offered him one of probably many flannels she had tucked away. Laughing he waved it off in thanks, but it brought to mind again the question of what it was she was going to do with herself.

"Home feels like the worst place for me but it's not like I have a lot of other options," she shrugged, "I could camp out in the Preserve."

"That is not a good idea." Scott winced at the prospect. When she looked to him for an explanation, images of burnt bodies and Monsters came to his mind. "There are wild animals out there. Plus, the Sheriff's department is still inspecting a fire I think."

Disappointment read clear as Kira nodded to his explanation.

"Kira, how about I walk you home," when Scott offered, she looked briefly disturbed, but then a shy hopefulness bloomed behind her dark eyes. "We don't have to keep talking about your parents. I can tell you about mine. Or I can tell you about how last year I got bitten by a wolf in Preserve and then woke up with superpowers."

"Okay?" She laughed in stunned relief, "but then can we take the long way back to The Hills and avoid the Preserve entirely. Just to be safe."

"Just to be safe," he nodded in agreement. When Scott smiled over at her, he sensed knots untangle throughout her anxiety. The more they spoke the easier it felt, to have someone 'NEW' like him to confide in. "I guess, after all the murders they've been reporting in Beacon Hills and all the Werewolves turning up here, I can't see why you wouldn't have a problem accepting all this."

Again, Scott was cautious to leave out stories of Monster and Hunters. It still felt too early on in the friendship to scar her, but he impressed upon her the supernatural occurrence were something she should look out for. Kira seemed unphased, almost like she anticipated it, maybe even accepted worse. They had been walking for nearly an hour, from the more suburban bits through town and to the rural far out bits before Scott thought to ask exactly how far away Kira lived.

She winced when answering, "Bayside Road."

"That's 4.5 miles! You ran 4 and a half miles to my neighborhood, on a whim? I don't even like my neighborhood that much and I'm on the Team!" Scott covered his mouth in surprise, mostly in upset of how much more grounded he would be by the time he got home. After another moment he started to grin, "if you didn't run into me, you probably would have kept running straight through to the next town."

"I don't know what's getting into me all the time," Kira groaned lightly in embarrassment. "I think I might be paranoid. I feel like I can hear everything, everywhere. And I have so much more energy than I can ever burn."

"That's normal," he knew from experience the shell shock that came after his change, but he was grasping for the right words, only all the wrong ones kept spewing out of his face. Normal? Really?!

"How can that be normal," her voice dropped incrementally. "You saw those pictures. I look like a demon from hell."

"I saw something different," he lowered his voice to match hers, "kind of like an armor. It kinda looked like it was some sort of lifeforce, like it was protecting you."

Kira wanted to ask more questions because on their walk Scott had given her more answers than Jackson and Lydia combined. But she overwhelmed and so just bobbed her head instead.

They walked on in silence for another few minutes before the main roads slowly turned onto Bayside and Echo, where the roads turned dirt and things started to look rough.

"Well, this looks nice," Scott gulped.

"You don't have to walk the rest of the way," Kira waved him off, "it's only another 5 more minutes." Immediately Kira wished she hadn't said it. She didn't want him to leave. When Scott insisted on seeing her the rest of the way her grin could have lit up the sky. She took a deep breath and continued to lead. What was too much to reveal while first getting to know each other?

Then along the damaged road an opportunity presented itself.

"Come on," Kira insisted, grabbing hold of Scott's hand. She placed him directly on the meridian and put her hands up, fingers making a careful box view to align her eyeline and assure his safety.

"Is this good?" Scott gave a nervous laugh trying to keep exactly in place.

"Yes, you're perfect." After saying so she hurriedly turned away, hurrying away from her embarrassingly transparent phrasing, but she wasn't about to take them back. It was fine, he was perfect.

Along the narrow road was a broken streetlamp, knocked sideways by the Deputy's car crash from the night before. The service turned it off until a repair crew out here in the woodland properties, which they were never in a rush to do. This was a golden opportunity to practice for strength. Surely it wouldn't be as strenuous as lighting up a city and she was clearly capable of that. Desk lamps counted as practice, right?

Kira pictured Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital from the night of the storm, how the weather's chilly stillness was similar to the roadside slope. The first time with Jackson on the bridge, the power that ran through her seemed uncontrollable, like it could burn the world. Then when Lydia held her hand it grounded her, and she grabbed hold of the power as it ran through her, she never wanted to release it. Fighting the urge to light up the whole town again, instead Kira focused on a pinpoint in the center of her hand, pressed warm and faint like a ghost. Like on the bridged, a familiar pressure coursed through her but this time she controlled it, held it tighter and tighter in the palm of her hand, focused on letting it run through her and seep out through her fingertips.

At the sound of fizzling, she opened her eyes to see the streetlamp lit and frayed wires at the very top buzz and spark to life. The lamppost lit brighter than expected, Scott had to step back, and his arm thrown over his eyes to shade from the surprise. He'd always been delighted by fireworks, which Kira sensed and let off more sparks in her excitement. Jackson and Lydia might have helped her find her path, but she was the one who ran the length of it.

"Brav-O!" a slow clapping response came from further down the lane. Now exposed by the light, at the bend of the road stood a young blonde woman with coal-lined eyes and fanged grin. She walked toward them, spiked boots clacking with purpose along the meridian and her intent rising for attack. "You know I really thought she might hurt herself for you. Do you want to see if I would?"

Despite the distance, the speed with her run caught good height in her attack. Scott jumped between her and Kira. When he lifted both hands to throw her off, she wrapped her legs around his waist and pivoted around to his back, latching her arms around his throat and started to choke him. Her cackle thundered through the still air and drowned out the sound of Scott's gagging. He jerked forward, flipping her and threw her to the ground.

Once on his hands and knees, Scott punched the ground, distending his claws and let out a roar in aggravation. He felt a great responsibility for Kira's vulnerability and inexperience in this scene. He should have given her a clue about the Werewolf packs warring through Beacon Hills and that she might get targeted, but Kira was so close to home, to her safe place and that felt so unfair.

The Shewolf roared at him in kind and came running at him, her speed continued to intimidate him. Scott didn't have her experience in hand-to-hand and when she swiped at his face like a switch-hitter it was all he could do to keep dodging. Every foot she gained blowing him backward only served to anger him further and when he did finally get a hit in, she doubled over. Protecting Kira, Scott kept trying to throw her back or kick her further away. He wasn't sure what was the goal. To get them enough distance to run away? To drive her back into the woods she came from? To let her smack him around until he tired her into submission?

Then a creak gave way to sparks and both their bodies hit the floor. It wasn't Kira's intention to blow up the lamp but the sight of Scott getting choked frightened her. When the raw wires hit the ground, the electricity ran through the pavement setting both Werewolves altered state back to zero. Reading from both shocked expressions, it was something that hadn't happened to either Werewolf before. Once again everything was pitch into the darkness of night.

Kira raced to Scott's side afterward, vividly recalling Jackson's prone body on the bridge the night of the storm.

"I'm okay," Scott assured her multiple times, although he smelled a little burnt. She helped him to his feet. Before he finished standing, Scott insisted they look to the other girls well-being.

Almost entirely shrouded in shadow, but much further down the road came the guttural sounds of a Harley Davidson starting. Just over the beam of headlights they could make out a halo of messy blonde curls, her pale face with angled cheekbone faintly burnt, and that ruby-lipped smirked. She peeled away into the greenery and disappeared from sight long leaving the two alone to walk Kira back home in the troubled night.

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Track 07 - Shewolf by Shakira

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{Tuesday: Sunrise – Argent's House, Westwood Neighborhood}

The sounds of marching woke Allison earlier than her radio-alarm. So, when it finally went off and played the local pop-rock station, she ignored it and listened to the DJ's hoping it would drown out the sound of Hunter's trudging in and out of the Meeting Room.

"Allison!" her Dad called from downstairs, he did not sound pleased at all, "you've got a visitor!" That was curious. Hunters from Victoria's Team had access to the Main house and the grounds. Kate's Team had limited access, just entry to the Meeting Room and the Lodge. Considering the pervasive rush throughout the property, if anyone wanted to get ahold of her, they all knew where to find her. Although, no one cared to, they were all preoccupied with 'Meetings'. But then who…?

Then Allison realized too late there was only one person who would demand access this early without question.

Without hesitation, Lydia moved through the open crack under Chris' arm, and made for the main stairs. She grinningly speeded by with a "Hello Mr. Argent" and gave a partial-wave, while Macy's shopping dangled off her arms.

Allison barely had her feet on the floor before her bedroom door swung inward.

"Out of bed sleepyhead," Lydia sang. "You couldn't carve time out of your busy schedule, so I carved out some time in mine before school, and you had better appreciate this."

Sleep deprived, Allison felt like Lydia appearing in her bedroom doorway was imagined which considering her downer mood, she very much appreciated.

"How many outfits do you plan on wearing to this party?" Allison helped unpack shopping bags along the foot of her bed.

"These aren't all just for me silly," Lydia explained as she gave a critical eye to two garments, she held on to either side of Allison, one fluttery angelic and white, the other a floral romper. "You are not allowed to stay home and mope this weekend. You are coming to this party if I have to drag you there myself, but!" she punctuated severely while shoving Allison toward the bathroom with the floral piece, "not wearing any of the awful clothes you own."

"You don't think maybe it's not the best time for a party," Allison stepped back, she wanted to play along but worries weighed her down.

"Why not? Midterms will be over by then. I'm between boyfriends and you're single. It's perfect," Lydia had her back towards Allison, continuing to dig through dresses.

"Lydia, this is Scott you're talking about. You get that he wasn't just a boyfriend," Allison came up beside Lydia, to put the dress back down onto the pile.

"Yeah sure," Lydia snapped in that same controlled voice but stopped fiddling with a plum Body Con dress. There was an intensity in her tone that showed Allison wasn't the only one struggling to stay happy too, and she felt sorry for pointing out the flaws in Lydia's plan.

"Thanks for being here for me. And not leaving me alone, I know you know what this feels like," Allison took her hand, lightly squeezing to get through the pretense Lydia put on for her.

"Of course, I watched the two of you for months, pining away through each period because you couldn't wait to find each other in the halls between classes. Or when you would disappear with him for days in your own little secret world." Lydia sighed in acceptance, the new information of Werewolves and Hunters brought their relationship into a different light. "It really was just your own little world, wasn't it?"

"See, you know what it's like." Allison let out a deep sigh in relief. To which Lydia shook her head in disagreement.

"No," she smiled sadly, "I've had boyfriends before but none like that." She wanted to add that she hadn't been so lucky but from the view of Allison's tireless unease and sound of Scott's aimless desperation, she couldn't think of that love being lucky. After everything with Jackson, it still upset her to know he suffered but in a distant way that didn't pull her strings the same way it did between her broken-hearted friends.

"What do you mean?" Allison pressed further and held slightly tighter, "what about Jackson?"

"Let me go," Lydia said low without meaning any harshness. She only didn't want her wounds picked at. "You were hurting me," Lydia lied a little, and rubbed her hand absentmindedly. "Just, come to the party with me," she sort of asked and smiled a little tightly.

"Fine, I'll go with you to the party," Allison conceded wringing her hands. "But I'm not there to find a date. I'm not ready for anything like that."

Lydia's lips spread into a wide genuine grin, she turned swiftly back to her arsenal of dresses.

"Of course not, it's a group thing. Everyone's coming, so you had better be there. For me."

And just like that everything aligned to feel like being normal teenage girls once more. Until there came a knock on the door and Allison's Mother called her away.

{Argent's House, 2nd Floor Hallway}

When Allison argued that the act was really rude, Lydia assured the both of them she could easily entertain herself and went along handling trinkets and accessories on the bedside table.

"Are you making plans to head out with her?" once the bedroom door securely closed, Victoria started in on a deliberately debriefing manner.

"Not now," Allison tone was incredulous, pointing out the hour of the day, "this for the weekend. Just a party, Mother."

Victoria considered for a moment, staring down the hallway, back towards the Meeting Room then to her daughter who stood, cross armed like a centurion in front of her bedroom door.

"I get it." She put a hand on her Allison's shoulder and tried to convey with a stare how serious this whole spying business really was, "but we need you to remember what is happening here."

"She isn't a Werewolf," Allison said outright, "are you saying you want me to stop being friends with her?"

"Actually, we want the opposite." Victoria's face became very serious, "we think she's something. Around the time the Jane Doe with the animal scratched turned up in Fairvale, Natalie Martin reported her missing. If she was attacked, she's showing no signs of Lycanthropy. There is proof of other things aside from Werewolves running around town, like the Kanima you've been trying to track. I know this might sound vague, but we need you to keep an eye on her."

When she let go of Allison's shoulder it didn't feel like a comfort or some great task. It felt like being released into the stratosphere with very little air. Allison couldn't imagine defying her Mother, but she didn't want to spy on Lydia. She had wanted desperately to keep Lydia and Scott from her family's targeted view, not only were they too dear but if she were honest, they were too valuable to her own investigation.

"You want me to spy on her specifically?" without showing signs of knowing these facts, Allison's voice stayed low and expertly flat, "I do have other responsibilities-"

"We want you," Victoria commanded distinctly, "to look out for your friend to make sure everything's okay with her."

Suddenly, through the bedroom door came the claiming force of the radio-alarm, with dance music chosen as backdrop for Lydia's dressing montage. Shakira's dance song, 'Shewolf' went reverberating through the door, carried along with Lydia's loudest and proudest singing voice and Allison burst at the seams with laughter.

"Seems okay to me," when she finally caught her breath, Allison responded to Victoria's stony expression. Happily, she put the door between the others and went off to join the chorus of ill-suited perfect soundtrack to a Hunter looking down the barrel of a long difficult, fruitful teenage relationship.

When she returned and Lydia asked what was wrong, Allison answered "a lot."

Among the outfits and loud songs, Allison told Lydia about her nightmares, because if there was one person in the world who knew something about nightmares- Lydia Martin was the right girl to find the right song for dancing away stress. Every time Allison wavered about the party because of more realistic concerns, Lydia reminded, "this is a VERY good idea!" throwing another outfit for her to try on instead.

"Why aren't we talking about the other things?" Allison asked, stripping off the last party dress and pulling on a sweater to wear for school instead.

"Because there will always be other things," Lydia heft her purse over a shoulder. "Because your parents can snatch you off to secret rooms and demands things, and you secretly text Isaac or meet Stiles at the library and bicker endlessly over Werewolf/Hunter pol-sci until your brain rots, and you even make time to torture yourself making mooneyes at Scott, re-breaking your heart while trying to fight his battles for him – buuut since, I'm not involved in the frontline and just have to wait for the recaps, I get the privilege of asking something different from my time with you. I want more than just the supernatural. I want more from life than to be a Banshee, sometimes I want things to just be you and me."

"Yeah, you're right," with a shy smile, Allison agreed and followed Lydia's lead to school. Sure, there were more than a few times during their relationship she had to remind Scott to balance what it meant to be a teen and a wolf. That he didn't have to choose between the one and the other. Leave it to brainiac Lydia to home in on Allison's imbalance, to remind her to refocus, to help her breathe, make her dance a little, before they had to face every Werewolf at school and then take on Physics-Algebra I.

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Track 08 - Life in The Vivid Dream by Grimes

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{Crossroads}

Underfoot the ground moved away from him, as though he were passing through a stream and his feet barely felt a hint of stones and grass. As he was called back to land, everything brushed his skin with a vague familiarity. His innate sense of smell and narrowed vision recognized everything as inviting, when he couldn't even make out the details.

It was home. It felt like home when the door fell open with the ease of a thousand, thousand times swinging it wide. He knew a Mother's smile even when he pulled her face wide apart and destroyed her jaw separating it from her skull. Screams weren't exactly unwelcoming to his lupine ears because they reminded him of the whines of a pack and blood was thicker than water and they should forgive for anything. Even homicide. Not that 'homicide' was a word wolves understood.

Heavy boots clambered up squeaky wooden porch steps, armed men with rough and tumble threats served as fodder to his claws on. Singular awareness came with one man, the triumph of pulling apart the most commanding figure with his bare hands was followed with a stab of guilt to see the Sheriff fall.

By his claws and he hated that he liked it.

In an attempt to hide, because the still human guilt crawled up his raw and howling throat, Scott aimed for his bedroom as quick as his four clumsy limbs could carry him. Slamming full force into the doorway, came the unexpected but strangely welcome presence of a being he'd been wrapped up in before. Briefly it's like seeing double, a guardian or a barrier, either way the 6'2, fluffy-haired, weakling of a Beta was going down. After trying to play more than the pieces of his part, Scott tore through the weakling like melted butter, cut through kind hesitations and noble intentions and broke limbs tossing his corpse into the corner.

Pushing into his sanctum he found there stood a pretty sight. A girl with soft waves of red hair like stratus clouds when the sun seeped through at first light, her eyes were so big with surprise they could have carried the world. In this dream, this time, she didn't run. Instead, there was a calculated look, brief flickers of emotions, not frightened but hurt, not sad but angry. When she moved towards him her powerful littleness reduced his flood sensation down to a bubble. Their bubble.

They knew each other and including others would endanger others. That's what her cleverness surmised and while it comforted the man it pissed off the wolf. And their spirited argument began. When It tried to escape, she screamed at him, and the sounds was paralyzing. Her sounds are too savage and sudden to be ignored, and her familiar fragrance, a poignant sense of her filled his nostrils enough to choke his brain. At times it's difficult to know who she's addressing, when she firmly reminds 'were you going up now, after so many years?' to the less kind shouts, deriding childish insults to rise Scott from underneath a toxic cloud, abandoned to harsher screams of death that force It back until he has to launch forward and slash at the bitch's throat leaving her clutching at her neck, collapsed and hemorrhaging to the ground.

When the full world comes back into view, someone's been sleeping in his bed. A red hooded figure at the foot of his bed, blinks up briefly then down to the dying girl. Lightly, they touch hands as she quietly dies staring up into red riding hood's bright gold eyes. In the blink of an eye, a red blur leapt at him over her body, a growling beast of a teen, but he doesn't try to harm. He too tries to reason. Also, fearless but damaged. Less mournful than furious. Yells and cries against fangs and growls. Sibling-shaped and reticent. Maybe the boy always wanted to die. In the end, it didn't matter what the cleverer weaker-self had to say, pinned to the floor with a slash to the jugular and spine, blood spilling out like red wine on a pearlescent carpet.

It was intoxicating, hypnotizing. Like the voices of the dead reached to him from beyond the veil. Not him. But Scott.

It was distracting. When death arrived, she climbed soundlessly through the window, wreathed in weapons and steel, both poisonous and pretentious. Striking from behind, the impact knocked him around and her expression change minutely as his shadow loomed over her, until a nightmare claw bore down on her shredding her lightly freckled skin into pieces like shimmering tinsel. While his claws fisted upward into her ribcage, he felt the silver knife slide under his jaw and into his palate. With a brutal twist to her wrist, she locked closed his maw, leaving blood to flow like a stream, always like a stream, without having spoken a word.

When she yanked his head back, gripping him tight-fisted by his matted hair, she stared into his eyes but died with no recognition. Strength seeped from him as he watched the last of his pack to die, then a thought floated through his head, "death is intimate, always familiar and always the same".

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Track 09 - My Body Is A Cage by Peter Gabriel

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{Tuesday: Sunrise – from McCall's House to Stilinskis' House}

Upon waking, Scott felt like screaming but a brief sense of sleep paralysis extended his moment of panic and prevented the act. Even after he regained control of his limbs he stayed still. He didn't want to sit up in his bed to find the corpses of his friends all over his floor. Eventually, his alarm went off, he took it as a sign the world had moved on and so should he. Even when Scott didn't see the corpses of a crushed Isaac, a cut down Lydia, torn-up Stiles or a stabbed Allison, he didn't feel entirely better.

The brisk January air was tantalizingly fresh, and though the sun cast brightly in the sky it wasn't so bright as to obscure the cusping half-moon. This complicated things. This must have been what Allison warned about when she said the Monster-Alpha wouldn't take kindly to him trying to break their bond. It was trying to exert control, It was threatening Scott's loved ones if he kept pursuing his course of action. Or maybe It was just trying to convince him how good it would be to kill, and that It could force Scott to do it. At the very least the Monster-Alpha had the decency to let Scott wake up in his own bed dressed, this time.

Even so, Scott leapt straight through his bedroom window, raced around the Lakewood Neighborhood, avoided the roads and slipped into the Beacon Garden Community on bare feet. After 5 minutes and almost 3 miles later, he slammed straight into Isaac before getting a chance to step foot onto the Stilinski's porch.

Although pleased to see that Isaac was, you know, not dead, Scott was too out of breath to say much more than that. Isaac didn't like that greeting at all. He'd rushed out to the edge of the property, when he'd sensed Scott's frenzied force barreling towards the house.

"Scott, you know he's not here," Isaac reminded, holding him steadfast by the shoulders. "He's on a road trip. The only ones in the house are me and the Sheriff. And we're fine but I don't think the Sheriff will be fine if he gets a look of you like this." The reality check both surprised and comforted him. He wouldn't mollify Scott by saying, 'it's just a dream,' because he knew how haunting dreams with dead friends could be.

"Yeah, well I've been dreaming of dying," Isaac spoke plainly, to which Scott just blinked. His pupils widened mildly, his lips sealed in intent interest, much calmer in absolute contrast to his frazzled state of undress. "Allison says Lydia's been having night terrors every night. So, maybe there's just something in the air, or maybe the moon, or maybe it's just midterm stress. But you should definitely come and put on some shoes. We can talk about it things, or you know never talk about it, that's up to you but you should definitely get ready for school."

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Track 10 - Ash Tree Lane by MS MR

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{Morning – BHHS, Boy's Locker Room}

It would have been too obvious grab more than a few of Stiles' things, like steal back his favorite hoodie, grab a clean pair of jeans and some Nikes. Isaac assured Scott if they left early enough, he could catch a shower and breakfast at the school. Still, they chose to take the scenic routes and avoid Main Street on their way.

As they went along Scott admitted to Isaac he didn't dream of textbook things, about being naked in the middle of class or of flying or teeth falling out. Although because of these weird dreams he had woken up naked in the middle of the Preserve and ended up being late to school. He clarified that his nightmares were visions of murders the Monster-Alpha committed. Under their bonding influence, he dreamt the murders were deliciously enjoyable. But until that night Scott never recognized the anonymous victims, not until they turn up in the news.

"So, during last night's dream, It didn't actually recognize your family, or your friends. Like the Monster didn't know 'us' personally," Isaac theorized looking ahead to the crooked street. Then he shrugged easily, "I guess all I have to do is not come running to your rescue if I hear a fight break out in your room and I'll be fine."

"Thanks," Scott grinned and rolled his eyes, "that'll solve it. Just tell everyone if they hear a commotion my front porch just head to your nearest exit."

"Exactly."

"Great plan."

"Lydia's dreams aren't exactly premonitions either? Don't they have dozens of secret meanings?" Isaac said airily as though his suggestion wasn't weighing on Scott's mind. "I bet she could probably solve this mystery in an instant. But I don't know about stopping them if she can't even stop hers."

"Maybe we can help each other," Scott answered somberly.

After glancing back at his friend's sour expression Isaac gave a nod and shut up for the rest of the walk.

By the time they reached BHHS Scott split off from Isaac and made a last-ditch effort for the locker room showers. In the end it felt like there wasn't enough water to clean away the sense of blood and gore from his claws. No, fingernails.

Trading a cafeteria breakfast for a longer shower, Scott still managed to run behind schedule. He raced top speed towards Mr. Atwood's math class, barely pieced together in a gym shirt moist at the collar from a fresh shower and wearing jeans a little too tight. From down the hall Lydia's voice carried to his flawless hearing, as she laughingly reminisced about the last party when Greenberg got drunk on 'Last Call Punch' and ended up sleeping in the neighbor's parked boat, wearing the mascot's costume (a massive Cardinal). Relieved to hear her sounding alive and cheerful, Scott smiled. It had been a while, so he kept a modest distance to not disturb anything and waited until she hung up her call and people scrambled to take their seats.

Dropping across the aisle from Lydia, Scott didn't exactly hover. But he peered a little too long through the strands of her long hair, over the swooping collar of her dress. She had to stomp hard to get his attention and glare a warning for him to knock it off. After it was clear her un-slashed throat was firmly set between her head and shoulders, Scott sat back into his seat.

Much more than any showers, these assurances washed over him and settled his nerves; Stiles driving closer to closure, Isaac part of the Stilinski home and Lydia the laughing 'Queen Bee'. It gave Scott peace of mind, body and soul.

A light 'a-hem' from Lydia called Scott's attention to the fact that he hadn't begun the Algebra midterm after minutes had gone by. Swearing under his breath he rushed to catch up and Danny snickered at the interaction from a row behind them. It seemed almost like she had supernatural senses, predicting Scott had not studied. With the subtlest clearing of her throat, she indicated when Scott's answers were way off or almost there, so it wasn't exactly cheating, because she didn't give him the answers... except it was totally cheating and Scott knew because of Lydia he would be able to at least pull a B.

Afterward, Scott staggered his classroom exit to come up next to her and said hello in a tone he realized sounded desperate.

"Sure," Lydia responded and kept on. "Hello to you, too. What's going on with you? You're looking a little homeless there Scott."

"So," Suddenly he felt clueless about where to begin, embarrassed at the idea of crushing her good mood, "how've you been?"

"Scott," her impatience began to outstrip her curiosity, "get on with it."

"I just thought there's been a lot going on," it wasn't easy being in Lydia's eye-sights, so he faced away and led them towards her. Eyeing him warily, she followed. "I wanted to see how you are doing."

"Yeah, I'm fine Scott." She shrugged, hugging her purse tighter to her side. "I'm always fine. What about you?"

"I'm okay," he smiled briefly, hearing her white-lie was a bittersweet comfort.

Lydia squinted at him and after a pause shook her head in disappointment. She felt a combination of upset and tired with his deflection. But she hid her expression by opening a locker door between them.

"How could you be okay, Scott? This thing with the Monster being your Alpha, it's got to be getting to your head," after retrieving a certain notepad, she slammed the door shut. It didn't startle him as much as being unable to read her expression for compassion until after she looked away. Then she grabbed his hand and pulled him along the hall. "Well, It's been in my head for a while, too. And I think it's about time we talk."

"You want to have lunch together?" to his shock Lydia had dragged him outside to the cool kid's table.

"Yep, now!" She yanked him to sit beside her before he collected anymore stares. After snapping at an underclassman to grab them lunch trays, she placed her notepad between them. "You've got lots to study up on. I'm not promising enlightenment, but at the very least a crib sheet in Werewolf 101."

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Track 11 - Reunite by Isbells

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{Midday – BHHS, Courtyard, Lunch Period}

They were easy to spot but hard to overhear, at the foremost table in the cafeteria but it meant passersbys couldn't linger. It afforded both an aura of privacy and the luxury of spectacle. A domain Lydia ruled quite well, no one would think of intrude. Throughout summarizing her hypothesize, Lydia finished both of their apple juice packs to soothe her parched throat. When Scott opened up about his dream Lydia listened patiently, more so than he expected, that gave him the safe space to try and remember more details than he'd dared to try. None of which gave her revulsion. The sense of relief, and having skipped breakfast, brought back an energy and appetite and he finished both their tacos between them. She wasn't a fan of school tacos anyhow, plus it gave her more time to hypothesize again.

"I know about plenty about nightmares and this thing, It's just trying to play on your fears," she said finally. She seemed incredibly certain.

He munched slowly, he didn't feel as certain, he felt like he'd had an arm broken to be re-set. "Every time I've had a dream like this, it's happened, Lydia. There's got to be something I can do to preve-"

"Not this time," she aimed a damning look to where his hand it tapped an anxious tempo on the table between them. Lydia's brows knit in concentration when she said, "whenever we shared dreams, they weren't premonitions. They were just projections. They were murders in middle of being committed, so then dead bodies turned up within minutes. But it's the next morning and we're not dead. The victims that psycho Monster made you see, you know, they felt personal. They felt intimate. There was a lot of anger and hate. This isn't the same."

But the voice in his mind had threatened death was intimate… they were the same. He trusted Lydia more than a phantom threat.

"You sound convinced," he finally felt relieved. Scott regretted not coming to Lydia first with this, knowledge was one of the few things she shared without an inch of superiority or irony. And everyone knew she had the best notes.

"I am," she insisted, then a sip at her straw gave an ugly sharp sound. With a bothered sigh, she went on sagely, "I happen to have become a bit of an expert when it comes to reading into bogus dreams."

"How can I be sure this isn't a threat?" his voice lowered. His looked around for a threat or just paranoid about the casualties he couldn't save. "Just because the people who matter to me most didn't turn up dead already- how can I be so sure they won't be tomorrow?"

"Last night, in your dream you said you didn't recognize anyone," Lydia crumpled the juice box in its screeching empty offence. More because she wanted to crush the head of this Monster for hurting someone else who didn't deserve it. "If your Alpha was at the pilot seat of your sleep that means It doesn't recognize your loved ones. It was tried to on some superficial level, but it was only reading reflections on the surface, but that's enough to unnerve you."

"But It definitely recognized you," he added mildly, staring gravely at her.

"Well, it is me. Everyone knows me," she said unconvincingly, but she pushed her theory further. "The point It's trying to prove is that your friends are your weakness, but It isn't strong enough to kill us or It already would have. It's too weak to make a move. It's just trying to intimidate you."

"How do you figure?" he scoffed lightly.

"No offense, but why else would It want you so desperately?" she sounded mildly amused. "You're an uneducated Beta It wants to collect like a game piece. And if It already had a genuine pack, they wouldn't tolerate a defective Monster like It for an Alpha. Without being able to rely on a pack for protection, It will get destroyed by other Packs around here. Think about it, is an Alpha even an Alpha without a pack?"

"But without a Pack isn't a Beta just a lone wolf? An Omega, the weakest form-?" Scott said consciously avoiding the word Werewolf. "I think that's the point all along. If I don't have anyone else, then I have no choice but to rely on my Alpha?"

"You're not alone, Scott," Lydia promised. "And if you're looking for a solution for now, I have got one for you. You should increase your efforts to trigger your change. Exert control and get ahead of Its phantom threats."

"To what-?" Surprised, Scott's brows went up comically to hear her suggest such a thing and she stifled a giggle to watch him process the thought. "You think I should but - after Allison said?"

"It's because of what she said. She's worrying too much for you when she should trust more," Lydia insisted, she ignored any gossipy on-lookers, she reached over and un-knotted his white-knuckled grip. Since hiding at the Argents' and secretly listening to Allison break his heart, a profound sense of remorse stuck with Lydia for the inability to warn Scott and comfort him.

"What you're doing is working. But it just not working enough. I'm also trying to work on something better but for now, if nothing is done to weaken that Monster's bond with you- that Alpha can manage to sink its claws deeper in."

"And then what?" he needed to hear it aloud, maybe it would push past any fear.

"Then It won't have to grow strong enough to hurt the people you love," s slip of sadness made Lydia waver, "Just strong enough to make you want do it."

He nodded, he expected that. "I guess these dreams will be a regular thing from now on. Until I break the link?"

"Probably. Or they might get worse," she exhaled slowly. "But remember they're just threats, not premonitions. From what I've learned, once you realize you're dreaming, subconsciously you'll soak up everything. It doesn't know us well enough, so It'll make a mistake and might reveal something you can use against It."

"I could feel It making me like killing," he admitted. Scott nodded, pulling apart to place a hand on the shoulder, a stabilizing touch because for the first time during their lunch period Lydia looked shaken.

"I know." Kind of, sort of. She had been researching that, but she'd shelved that objective (around the time a House fell on her) because a different angle offered promise. While in the Meeting Room, they discussed sharing dreams and Scott assumed they shared the exact same perspective. But without a scrap of evidence to suggest as much, Lydia rejected it, and started notation clean page.

If Stiles were to deal with this Monstrous nightmare threat, he'd get furious, wisecrack and lose a fight before setting foot on the field. But merciful Scott, Scott's empathy made him feel wounded before lashing out, and would draw a battle out. One wouldn't have the will power to stop the carnage, the other wouldn't have the conviction to begin. Just the 2 were ruined parallels. There needed to be a middle ground.

"What's that?"

"Euclidean parallel postulate." Lydia looked down, puzzled at the equation she'd unconsciously written in the margin of her notepad. She had started to draw 2 lines that began as parallels, then a vertical line that cut through. Around and along, there were several small notations she made all interior angles, noting equations with the wrong letters.

"Is that going to help?" Scott stared down thoughtfully at the unremarkable markings.

"Yes. Yes, it is," she agreed, skimmed to her early notes on Virology. With the new drafts, it felt suddenly relevant. "We can't afford to think about this as a singular platform problem anymore. It's best to hypothesize this mania influence. Trying thinking of It like a virus-"

"But before you told me this wasn't a virus," Scott interrupted tentatively.

"Like I said THINK of It like a virus," she continued undeterred. "Viruses by themselves are not alive. They can't grow on their own, they need to enter a human or animal cell and take it over to help them multiply. They need a hospitable environment."

"So, I just need to be inhospitable," Scott specified. The bell rang announcing they should move on even though he wanted to stay long and poke her brain.

"I think that's something you can handle," she smirked, teasing Scott despite his kindness at carrying her purse so she grabbed up her tablet and notebook as she came to stand. "And if you need tips, why don't you get some from Stiles."

"He's dealing with his family thing plus my cellphone broke last night but once he gets back, I'm sure he's going to love helping," he chuckled and stopped short when she froze mid-step in front of him. "His road trip back home? -I mean his other home- you did know about the road trip?"

"He left? Yeah, I knew about that," she snatched her bag from his hand and headed for English.

"Okay, good," from the moment Scott agreed, he didn't believe her and made to follow. "But Stiles and Isaac did agree to help with training me to keep control, since Allison isn't really around-"

"Yeah, okay. Sounds good," she called back over her shoulder, with detached interest.

He fell back into the crowd as she marched on, rather than pursue her. Even over the space of the hallway he could sense hostility, he'd pushed a button.

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Track 12 - War In Heaven by The Raveonettes

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{Afternoon – BHHS to Argent's House}

During 'Comprehensive Reading' midterm, Scott tried to be supportive and sit nearby, but she didn't notice.

For the first time since the beginning of exam week, Lydia was unsure of her grade. She disassociated, the passages slipped from her mind. She couldn't figure out what topic was at hand, the mathematic hypothesize in her notepad, the deconstruction on Shapeshifters transcendent physiology on her iPhone, reviews on Parasitology in her notes, the pseudoscientific info in her Evernotes on tablet or adaptive perspective in classic literature in her composition notebooks. Her gaze slid around from one object to the next, trying to remember where she was meant to be, what was the priority and then the exam was over. When the bell rang and she collected her things, her hand shook clutching her phone tight and she clearly remembered the texts that stopped coming Sunday night.

After class, when Danny spoke to her, possibly about the party, she nodded along but made no eye contact. She could see Scott over Danny's shoulder, waiting to say something surely but she waved him off, as if she would talk later. It didn't matter, but she couldn't remember what did.

People's voices felt distant and as autopilot started to feel difficult, she didn't have time to miss them. Something like fury tightened her ribs and made her skin feel warm all over, Lydia only realized her hands shook when she tried to grab the steering wheel. When she tried to focus, Lydia felt humiliated for not contacting to either of them earlier; Scott and Stiles were her improbable parallels.

About 10 minutes later, depending completely on GPS, at her destination she had to concentrate just to climb out of the car. "Hey Mr. Argent." With a hand on her hip, Lydia flashed Allison's Dad a saucy little smirk. "Looking really good. That shirt color really makes your eyes pop," she said on autopilot. At his wavering greeting, she sped upstairs with practiced propulsion, but had to clutch the railing to keep steady.

Even though she messaged Lydia to come over, Allison looked stunned to see Lydia hurry into the bedroom because of her baffling disposition. Lydia's face and neck held terrible flush, her eyes darted around restlessly, and hands trembled while locking the door. Had Allison been around 6 years ago she would have recognized Lydia's behavior it straight away. Instead, she assumed the worst and rushed to her feet.

"What's going on?" she threw aside her schoolwork and gently guided Lydia further into the room. But Lydia shook her head violently. Her hair made it impossible for Allison to read her expression.

After dropping with a graceless thud onto the bed, Lydia clumsily tugged at her peacoat, it suffocated her. Grateful for something to do, Allison unbuckled the interlocking belt snug around Lydia's waist, and grabbed at the sleeves. With wheezier breaths Lydia leaned forward, relieved but still looking pained. She grabbed tight onto Allison's wrist, demanding she not leave her side.

Between wheezes Lydia explained, "I cc-an't bree-athe. I can't think - I feel, I feel like - like I'm dying-"

"Lydia, it sounds like an anxiety attack," Allison suggested reasonably. Lydia scoffed in disbelief and shook her head vehemently. She didn't get anxiety. "Or Maybe it's an allergic reaction to something? Norm's our medic, he's just in the Lodge-"

Lydia's grip tightened brutally enough to make Allison yelp. She shook her head again, slower than before. The effort seemed to both exhaust and dizzy her. Her shakes worsen momentarily, the world slips in and out of focus and if she were more connected to her body, she might have felt nauseous.

"You're okay, Lydia. You're not dying, this psychological," never seeing Lydia in such a panicked state she assumed there had to be a reason.

"It's- not psychosomatic. I feel- I feel," with one hand she clutched her chest, and curled further inward, but Allison could see no physical damage.

"But did anything happen to you?" when Allison asked, Lydia took a long time before shaking her head. "I know it feels a physical illness but it's from a psychogenic cause. Think, Lydia, it's all in your head."

"Can't be- can't be a ppanic-panic attack. I -have havn'et - had it - since the car accident-," Lydia screwed her eyes shut. She rubbed at her face with her left hand as her wheezing breaths turned into slow huffs.

"It's just that If you've had anxiety attacks when you were a kid, then you can get through this," Allison assured her. Never having had any experience with nervous breakdowns, Allison was at a loss. Hunters weren't of that disposition. Those who had nerves rarely lived long enough to complain, or had their symptoms medicated away.

"I mean, you're going to be okay." Allison soothed, "just try and calm down."

Annoyed at receiving such sagely and utterly useless advice, Lydia rolled her eyes, or tried to, but just squeezed them shut and violently shifted away.

"Okay, just," Allison wrung her hands, and tried to come nearer. "Think of something happy, calming thoughts. Think of your family. Think of your friends."

At that Lydia let out a shuddering groan before she slipped from the bed onto the floor. Following to land beside her, Allison waited silently. After long remembered breathing techniques over the span of 15 minutes, Lydia calmed down to a quiet sniffing, then refused to lift her head from behind the cocoon of her hands and knees. Allison waited, without touching or talking.

With a great big sniff, Lydia dropped her head back against the bed and faced Allison, she smiled softly with worry.

"He's gone, Allison. He just left me again," Lydia's lips twisted into a pout, her voice raw.

Allison opened up her arms to hold her friend and they sat in a loose embrace, even after her arms went numb. Right, of course. 'He'. The only rational correlation to Lydia's post-traumatic attacks after the car accident. 'He', the only thing affected Lydia so much with doing so little.

After enough of a pause, Allison sincerely assured her, "he'll be back." She didn't need Stiles to confirm it.

After spending the day with him, listening to the way he'd ground his teeth regretting Scott's developing without him or Lydia not responding to his texts, there was no doubt in her mind. Stiles couldn't bear to be without them for long either. She figured this dramatic escapee response was processing certain realizations, why else would he leave without telling anyone? Because mentioning it would cause chaos and he probably assumed he'd be back swiftly. Of course, if Allison misjudged him then she'd be forced to track him down - and she wouldn't be subtle with her retaliation if someone hurt her friends. "I promise, Stiles will be back soon-"

The sound of his name triggered a fire in Lydia's spine, and she launched up from the floor, with a wobble to her legs. She wiped at her cheeks and combed her hair back behind her ears, "whatever." She said the word like a challenge, daring Allison to say otherwise. "I'm going to get cleaned up, then we should study."

While in the bathroom Lydia's cellphone gave off a chime from the foot of the bed, in the pocket of her discarded peacoat.

"Would you check that for me!" Lydia gave permission with false cheer through the bathroom door, and Allison jumped to get it. Hoping it had come from Stiles renewed this sort of explanation, but it came from Scott. It was the latest in the series of curious unanswered texts:

· ayt? i think know why the recognition. Not IT but I find u familiar in dreams.

· thats a BIG right? i'm right, aren't I?

· thx for letting me hang at the big kids table. lmk if i'm right.

Allison read them again and wondered if there was some childhood riddle going on between them. But just seeing his name gave her a sense of relief. Twice as much to see the two of them were really connecting.

"It's not important," Allison replied as she placed Lydia's iPhone by the bedside to charge. "Let's take our books, head to the kitchen, grab some Häagen-Dazs and get into the riveting world of Global History and Government."

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Track 13 - White Lies by Son Lux

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{Evening – Argents House, 1st Floor, Chris' Study}

The seldom used study in the Main house, just underneath the staircase, was reserved for Chris Argent. And Allison felt territorial even if she (or Scott or Lydia) were sneaking in there. Even if Livy probably had permission to be there, she felt a territorial need to peek in.

On one of the dark leather seats facing the fireplace, reclined Livy looking flawless in a satin white pant suit, her heeled feet tucked beneath her and settled on the end table beside her was a tumbler of Chris's best whiskey. The vague wraithlike shape of Fry moved with her. Tattered looking, he drifted throughout the room. Allison didn't think it was possible he could manage, but somehow had gotten more rumpled then when she had seen him last. He mumbled while wandering the room, his fingers tracing the length of her Father's bookcases with feverish need. And Livy responded with a rare patience Allison didn't recognize on her chiseled face. Their conversation seemed so casual, almost intimate and Allison felt like the invader.

After catching Allison spying on them, Livy gestured with a flick of the wrist for her to join them.

"What is he- is he looking for something specific?" Allison had to ask because of the inexplicable way Fry kept connecting subject matters with last digits of the ISBN number, to use that to direct him to the next shelf upward and then to follow the few books across, and so on.

"I don't believe he is," Livy sipped leisurely from the glass, unfazed by harsh taste. "I believe he's entertaining the idea he may well have been a code cracker in a past life. Although there's no better mind to schematize the traps of overwrought Motels mid-night. Mind you it took him till mid-morning."

"Oh," Allison didn't get it. She gave it a couple of seconds before she considered the list of Fry's multitudes of talents. In his years of field experience, creating diagnostics, retrofitting systems, reworking maps and making traps all fell under his umbrella of talents. It seemed strange that Fry didn't know code-cracking. Everyone accredited him so much cleverness, she took for granted there were things he couldn't do. But testing his talents in her Father's study? Allison watched him look for patterns but said nothing, and her sense of territorialism hadn't decreased.

Having Livy around the Main house when it wasn't a crisis didn't help settle Allison's edginess. From the look of it, Livy wasn't overjoyed at being summoned by Kate to babysit Fry, but she wasn't surprised by it either. It all must come with her Lieutenant duties. Fry was a uniquely valued asset, precious cargo and a virtual 'Punxsutawney Phil' of tacticians. And it was reasonable that he had a babysitter, even if it felt unreasonable for it to be in her Father's study, or for the sitter to be Livy, but that was the reality of the situation.

"The man has a knack for a great many things, but promptness isn't one of them," Livy looked thoughtful, one might dare say at ease. From the lower level of whiskey in the decanter it was fair to assume Livy might be a bit drunk.

Just as Allison went to excuse herself for a Fry caught her with a question; "are you having trouble sleeping, too?"

After a pause, she nodded. Allison considered going into details, but they didn't need the details of her restless night at the expense of Lydia's exhausted one. Her bed upstairs was overrun with textbooks and her best-friend was exhausted past the point of nightmares. It left her with a restless mind.

"War is a time of unrest." Fry stopped his exploring to turn and face her. Although he wore dress shirt and slacks, they were unmade, as though he had lived in them for weeks. His suspenders dangled like extra limbs, trailing with every motion. He was the sort of guy who, when obsessed with an assignment barely remembered to speed nap, ate via smoothies and after showering dove right back into yesterday's clothes. From the look of him, she had to wonder did his new obsession have anything to do with Kate's project in the Lodge?

"I understand. Why sit around when you can poke through the contemplative works of warrior's past. This is the kind of craft of restraint and control in dialogue you don't get sitting in a think tank." Fry droned on as if talking to her were coaching himself.

"Yes, well. If literary pornography keeps you contained and useful," Livy lifted her glass in salute.

"Is that enough alcohol till you pass out?" He snapped around, his expression was irritable as he held a crisp red and gold hard covered book tight in his grip.

"Time will only tell, dear. Time will only tell," Livy played coy. As Fry shambled toward them, Livy sat forward and handed him a cocktail glass of whiskey.

There was a hesitation before Fry drank it in one go while Livy continued to sip. It was like they pitied being Kate's castoffs. Then Fry gave Livy an eye roll deadpanned enough to rival one of Lydia's, and then grabbed Allison by both shoulders to face him. When Fry stood in front of Allison, brow sweaty, breath hot and potent, she realized he must have been drinking with Livy for a while.

Insistently, he placed the book into her hands, "Sun Tzu. You should read this, Allison. You should read it as often as you can. It's very good casual reading."

"Got it." Allison turned it over in her hands and nodded to appease him. She was more than familiar with the book. She'd already read it, several times over. It was a gift from her Grandfather when she'd turned 7, and by the end of that first month, it read like poetry. "You think the 'Art of War' is causal reading?"

"Darling, I hardly think he knows his name at the moment," Livy sniped.

"I can see it in your face, you've read it before," he looked a little disappointed, but not discouraged. "I don't know if you can understand, since war is being declared everywhere, but for me it's a struggle sometimes not to find art in it."

"I get it," Allison tried to put herself in his shoes. There were moments like in the Meeting Room. When clues came together, and she got a rush out of it like when she was beside her friends, and they were able to make out evidence resolving Derek's death and Cora's disappearance. But then there were moments like exposing Lydia's attack that didn't feel satisfying. Maybe because of Fry's position, because of his intellect he was able to be detached and take more from their line of work than she ever could.

Rubbing at his unshaven jaw, Fry started again at a mutter. "To do this job, to do it well, you've got to open yourself up to a bunch of insane feelings or experiences and make sense of them and logically think them. Which is impossible. And the job of good chronicling to me is to take an experience and expand it or explode it, so it no longer feels like an impossible thing."

Fry paused for emphasis, and when he looked from Allison to Livy and back again, she seemed intent to listen.

"Sun Tzu says, 'the supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting,'" Fry quoted. From the way his dark eyes she knew he wanted to get something across more than just a sappy sentiment. "You know what else he said, 'keep your friends close, and your enemies closer'?"

As much as groups of Hunters coveted Fry's work, they feared him whenever he got feverish, which is why people like Livy were sent to baby-sit him. As his breath grew hot, so did his passion, and Allison's spine straightened on instinct, preparing for a strike.

The conflicting messages baffled Allison and made her spurt out in a giggle, "that's not Sun Tzu . That's from The Godfather II."

"Oh, right." Pleased with himself, he released her and shambled back to the decanter for another glass of whiskey. Looking back, with narrowed eyes he studied her face and wanting to figure her out as much as she was curious about him.

Livy's rarely heard raspy laughter shot through the room like a boomerang till smothered away with her glass of whiskey.

"Honestly, Fry, have you ever given advice so enigmatic even you don't know what you're talking about?" Livy stood in one smooth motion while Fry looked bumbling beside her.

"Oh, shut it," Fry mildly snarled. "They can't all be gems. Why are you trying to make me look stupid?"

"Riveting as this discourse is," Livy grabbed her clutch purse from the end table and pulled her antique cigarette case from within. She had a slim cigarette lit between her lips before Allison opened her mouth to protest, she was choking on the trails of nicotine. "Our original intent was to get some air, much as it pains me to deprive Madame of our company, we should leave her to remunerations while we take a turn in the gardens."

Fry fidgeted as Livy straightened the lines of his shirt, tugged up his suspenders and pushed back his hair sufficiently until she felt he was worthy to stand beside her- then Livy relayed her own obscure message.

"Well, unacknowledged, and in the confines of the gardens of Versailles, a veteran soldier once advised Louis XIV, 'the king that brings soldiers to face down soldiers rarely stays king for long.'?"

"What's your cryptic warning there then?" Fry countered as he took Livy's cigarette and freely smoked, as she continued to fuss over him. He smoked deeply and listened intently, devising her warning meaning. It seemed obvious their break from Kate's was nearing its end. If they were going to make the most of it, they should move on before Livy would be forced to escort him back.

"We don't often get assignments as cheery as sitting off, spying on an old chum and having fine whiskey by the fire. I only make the point that misaimed advice after midnight to our half-asleep host is only poetry wasted on shrubbery," and for once, Livy's bluntness, (albeit misdirected) felt worthwhile. Allison considered how coolly Livy managed the task of spying on her friend and in turn how briskly Fry dealt with being spied on. And they still worked for the same team.

But then Livy was right, it was too late at night to take this with any legitimacy.

With a wide grin, Fry blew smoke out through both nostrils in a huffing display of annoyance, Livy swiped her long dark hair over one shoulder in a gesture of dismissal. As Livy turned away to light her second cigarette Allison figured she may as well go for gold. She wanted to know more about what Kate was up to and Livy was the closest she would get to the source. If she couldn't ask Livy what was happening in the Lodge, she could try to understand why Kate wanted Fry forcibly escorted away from it.

"Livy, why would Kate have you spy on Fry?"

Livy considered this question for an unreasonably long-time which Allison knew right away was deliberately intended to torment her.

"Are you still spying on your friends, Allison?" she asked candidly, with a coy voice and dark studying eyes.

This time Fry laughed a drunken guffaw from across the end table where he drank another glass of her Father's expensive whiskey, slower this time. The break in tension helped Allison calm her breath and distracted from the heat that rose in her cheeks.

"Your parents anticipate you taking up after them one day. What a prospect you will be?" she sounded disingenuous, but Livy's voice rarely corresponded with her expression, making her virtually unreadable. She had a stillness as she looked down on Allison, a cool consideration with which she searched Allison's face before a sly smile read lecherous.

After a mindful nod, Fry reminded Allison to leave herself 'open to insanity' and with a hand on Livy's arm he urged her toward the door. In turn Livy casually took Fry's glass and finished it before she slipped out after him. The pervasive smell of whiskey and cigarettes left behind made Allison feel more restless. She dropped to the couch recently vacated by Livy, as if she were reclaiming it, and she dropped the book onto the end table.

Whenever more Hunters were around there was an ever-present threat that 'one day this will all be yours', as if there were these high and unrealistic expectations of her. But it wasn't unrealistic, it was impending, and it was intensifying. Her eyes danced around the room unsteadily, then locked on the clock on the wall. She got to her feet, might as well look around again, try to make some sense out of nonsense.

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Track 14 - Everlasting Arms by Vampire Weekend

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{Wednesday: Morning – Stilinskis' House, Beacon Garden Community}

Isaac knew dying in his nightmare was nothing like actually dying. For 1) it was way worse. 2) it had way more people involved. 3) it strangely happened in a lot of different locations.

In the middle of the night and after each nightmare, he felt guiltless to text Stiles until he called back for a couple of reasons. 1) Stiles wasn't going to get over his guilt of Isaac's death experience. This gave him an opportunity to make up for not being there. 2) Also, since Stiles took off to Red River without so much as a heads up, this was a friendly reminder that he wasn't going to be so guilt free about that either. 3) it was a foster-brotherly thing, since of these locations flashing through his brain only Stiles would remember.

"Did I wake you?"

"No prob," Stiles answered groggily, sounding very much like it was a problem. "Thre's time diffrnce."

"Only like an hour," Isaac chuckled and came to sit up, he read the face of his phone. "Which makes it 5:30 there and 4:30 here."

"Exactly," Stiles sounded arguably more awake by every garbled syllable. "Just means I'm closer to awake than you. Wassup?"

"Can't sleep."

"Sounds contagious. What? Didja want a story?" Stiles waited for a reply but could only assume Isaac shook his head. "Did you wanna talk to me about something?"

"Some things," Isaac wiped at his face. He was surprised to find that his hand came away sweaty. Ignoring that his eyes traced the line from his palm down his for arm where an invisible white coil of hard skin remained, the lump of a scar evidence from his attack made him feel cold all over. He wasn't used to the idea of scarring. That happened to other people, not to him. The sound of Stiles stifling a yawn from other end of the line brought him to the present.

"Any time. I've got all the patience. Just pfft like I own it, I own patience! Patience is my-"

"Are you close to the Homestead yet?"

"Depends on your definition of close."

"Never mind." Isaac chuckled, feeling a little lighter at heart already, albeit annoyed. "Do you remember when we would go for run at Graveyard Canyon? Those long flats of brown with shrubs of evergreen stabbing the sky-"

"Sure, loads of times. Cora would cheat and try to pick a fight, Boyd would have to separate her and Erica to keep them from-"

"Do you remember when it rained freezing heavy rain and I fell off into a divot?"

"..."

"Listen, you've gotta remember. We were overrun by fireflies. I got scraped up by rocks. We had chased each other or not. Everything started echoing and we got lost in the dark-"

"Isaac, we've never gotten lost in the canyons."

He let out a breath and sagged back onto the pillows of the bed. "I didn't think so. And the divot?"

"Don't remember any divots or a freezing rainy night? Not in the canyons anyway."

Isaac closed his eyes and waited for the punch line, "where do you remember it, Stiles?"

From Stiles' side of the line came some rhythmic tapping, as though he struggled to hammer down the right way to say those wrong words. "It sounds a lot like our pleasant little massacre in the mountains, en route to Beacon Hills."

"So, that was real?"

"You tell me," Stiles sounded very awake suddenly, "tell me about the rest of your dream."

Isaac explained about his scar, how he felt it there even if no one else did, and it fed into a paranoid feeling that he might have come back rip open and maybe he came back as human and not Werewolf at all.

"Doesn't sound like you want that?" Stiles said casually.

"Would you?" Isaac snapped, and Stiles didn't answer. "It's not that. In the dream I felt like coming back as human meant I couldn't help anyone, I couldn't protect any of you guys."

"You don't protect any of us now," Stiles continued in the same nonchalant vain, "you went running aimlessly after faceless enemies. And got dead."

"Fine," Isaac sulked, taking a moment and a desperate attempt to try not to laugh. "Do you want to hear the rest?"

"The way you say the word 'want', it's like I have a choice," he could make out Stiles' smirk through the phone, "but if it makes you feel better, 'please. go on. I insist.'"

"There's a bunch of echoing in a dark empty space or somehow underwater." As Isaac described it, he could feel his chest tighten in panic but had to continue. "And I woke up barely able to breathe."

"Phew, sounds like it sucks," Stiles sympathized. "But it's getting better. At least now you can remember more of it. Instead of waking up wetting the sheets."

"I've never wet the sheets, asshole. Jeez, why do I ever call you for anything?"

"Cool, I just wanted to check up on my sheets," Stiles sighed exaggeratedly. "People who normally dream of drowning wake up in a puddle of their own piddle."

"Pretty sure the drowning part is connected to Lydia. Pretty sure, something must have happened to her before she came to meet me at the Argents' this weekend," Isaac yawned, sleep was gnawing under the surface and Stiles' steady voice helped calm him even through agitation. "She smelled of death and chlorine when she turned up."

"I'm sure she had a pretty relevant excuse," Stiles mumbled sulkily. Isaac made no move let Stiles know they already had a detailed recap over at Allison's house, on how Lydia found him strung up a tree at the attack site. After Stiles enjoyed calling Isaac out on being the careless one, it seemed fit to let him stew in his own juices.

"Well, I hope it excused away the bluish lips and huge bruise she had near her chest." Isaac walked over to the bedroom door suddenly to listen and hear if the Sheriff had woken up. When there was nothing going on in the house other than a timed coffee maker and the troubled snores of an overworked and underpaid civil-servant, Isaac locked the door between them. "Unless she's taken up being a teamster, there's something there. That's not the point anyway."

"What is the point?" Stiles snapped.

"Check in with me," Isaac instructed. He took a seat at the windowsill and measured the sliver of half-moon through the humid night. "I died. Erica and Boyd were killed by the side of the road. The people who did that kidnapped Derek, didn't kill him, but he is dead. Cora's kidnapped but not dead. You're in Red River. Scott is our Werewolf friend, which isn't an Omega, but he doesn't keep an Alpha. He's in love with Allison, and she's a Hunter. But she is a good person. And Scott's Alpha was- is- a psychopathic Monster. Lydia is a Banshee, and her ex is a lizard. And now I'm alive."

"You're right on all those things bro," Stiles sounded off, yup-ing along as Isaac spoke. "But you forgot 2 things."

"What's that?"

"We're still a pack. And I am coming back," Stiles said with a rare kindness in his voice.

Isaac laughed outright to hear it for its foreignness despite however genuine, "you ass. What are you even doing out there?"

{Wednesday: Sunrise – Terrace Towers Lodge, Red River. NM}

Stiles almost dropped his cellphone to the floor for all his foot tapping. He sat with his back to the wall, with his legs drawn up with his phone propped on his knees and it was on speaker while he had his face buried in his hands.

The room he and Parrish shared didn't afford them privacy, but the mountainside town went tumbleweed dead come 10pm. Stiles had no concerns from being overheard once he stepped outside of the Motel room. Only out in the barren, barely-above-freezing air he didn't mind it very much, it reminded him to stay awake and that he wasn't dreaming. He was home, sort of -and Isaac was in Beacon Hills at his Dad's house which was a little bit of a nightmare.

"I'm just wrapping things up," Stiles insisted.

"What does that even mean?"

"It means there's things they need to know here that can't be sent over text-"

"They can't receive texts at the Homestead."

"Yes, I'm aware of that. Idiot," Stiles snorted. Grinning he leaned his head back against the staccato wall, "I just mean there's things they're not going to know unless we tell them face-to-face."

"Like what? If the Hales have got their 8-ball science working, they've probably known Cora has been alive all this time."

Stiles fumed at the idea that if the Homestead had known, and they had done nothing to help. Or maybe they did send a rescue team for her, but they didn't think telling the pack's bitten Werewolves a word about it. But more than that Stiles needed to come home and say 'goodbye' to this place instead of having another childhood home abruptly ripped away. Last time he didn't, it haunted every relationship and spoiled every moment he shared with his family.

"If I've got a chance to see even one of them face-to-face one last time, I've got to take it. My Dad needs that closure. So, do I," Stiles tried to reach through to Isaac, "you'd do the same if you were me."

"You didn't give me the chance," Isaac rebutted.

Stiles cursed himself inwardly. That one hurt.

"But hey, I'm sure you've got that covered with some wittier repartee than I could come up with-"

"Isaac, it was last minute- plus, it would have been too obvious if the both of us took off suddenly," Stiles struggled to stay afloat. "And I'm doing this for you, too."

"That's bullshit," Isaac laughed and let it go. He wasn't bitter, not really. They understood if both of them went it would have been too hard to return to Beacon Hills. He wasn't lying when he said Isaac was still his pack, which is why having Isaac with his Dad help out. It was why he called Melissa and suggested as much. The more he felt like something anchored him in Beacon Hills, something more than anger and revenge, the easier it would be to let Red River go.

"I am, though." Stiles stuck to his guns, "I'm gonna pick up our school grades, our real grades. Maybe some decent clothes. No more living out of duffel bags for you, my friend."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself," Isaac scoffed, "just get back here before your Dad realizes I have no idea how to cook."

"The takeout menus are on top of the fridge," Stiles grinned, "plus, he likes ordering in. Just makes sure he eats healthy."

"What will you do if you see Rosa, Stiles?"

"Bah," Stiles scoffed loudly, grabbing up the cell and taking it off of speaker. He needed to stretch his legs. In the distance, the shape of the hilly range he had run up and down countless times felt locked off by an invisible barrier. The Hale Homestead stood on reservation land, locked off from outsiders. In the morning, contact would be attempted, and word would come down from on high. Despite his innate cynicism, he hoped to hear from her. "I won't."

"Probably not," Isaac sighed, sounding defeated, "imagine that, though. One of the almighty coming down off the mountaintop."

"Pfft," Stiles tried not to, he didn't want to break his own heart. "As if. Look, you're gonna be okay. Call me if you need anything." He hung up directly, without waiting for a reply. Isaac would get a hold of him easily if he had a problem with it. He stayed staring at the mountain range until the sun came up and tugged at the shrubbery, changing it from thorn black to evergreen.

Hours later, when Parrish discovered him sitting on the wooden banister the Motel Lodge favorably referred to as a porch, Stiles mock threw his hands up in the air "don't shoot there, officer. I just went out for a smoke."

Parrish just rolled his eyes and didn't bother to question beyond the sarcasm, why he sat out there or for how long. Instead, the officer in question offered breakfast, "Then we'll just find a comfortable place to wait to hear where and when your foster family will contact us."

"Goody," Stiles deadpanned and slowly made to follow.

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Track 15 - All The I Need by Blind Melon

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{Morning – Main Street, Red River}

Their way into town was the long way around chosen to parallel how his pack had entered Beacon Hills. It traced ley lines he'd been taught would keep him safe on the way to the Hale Homestead. It wasn't something he could explain to Parrish or his Dad, so being an obnoxious tourist was an easy act to pull off. If Stiles messed up staying along their path, then it didn't matter how many messengers were sent up to the rez' not one representative of the pack would meet them.

"I can see why you have a thing about mountains," Parrish observed. The night before they entered the town through an obscure path with low visibility. If it wasn't for Stiles' keen eyesight guiding them, they may not have gotten in safely.

"Well, you wanted to inspect the wildlife. There's nothing wilder than a midnight race around Hopewell Lake," Stiles smirked, laying in on Parrish's fascination to recapture the sights of a phantom Coyote. Sure, it sounded interesting, but Stiles enjoyed manipulating the situation.

"Almost INTO Hopewell Lake," Parrish recalled distinctly. Stiles 'ahh-ed' and nodded along, munching through breakfast.

As promised, Parrish escorted Stiles from the Lodge, right by stylish chain restaurants to a hole-in-the-wall with a cartoon farmer overhead, that had a hamburger in one hand and a shotgun in the other. They took their meal outside, seated on wood benches facing the mountains West to watch the sun's rays continue tracing paths onto the wires of ski lifts.

Coming back from Beacon Hills to Red River they stayed on the Northern route browbeaten into Stiles, across mountain tops into National Forest after National Forest until they ended up gliding into Main Street half past midnight.

No one knows which olden Hale coined the obscure sayings, 'Follow the path but stay always still'. 'Don't trust a fox because they'll fool everyone'. 'Trust your instinct but watch your pack'. And other odd phrases included into everyday conversations so often it was hard to put credibility behind it. But on the way to Beacon Hills, they were safe from psycho Monsters and murderers straight up until Cora went off course, one step off the ley lines and then villains came out of the woodwork and life went to shit.

Once they arrived safely, Stiles' breaths loosened from his chest, and he was on his game again. It was mid-Ski season, and the town was a strip of stores, lodges and restaurants. Because they'd spent their formative years in the Homestead more than town, the kids of Hale pack found Main Street to be an escape. There were still a few local treasures; an arcades, diners and a single theater that Stiles made sure to mention. He shared a couple of vague nice memories of overrunning certain preferred establishments with his siblings, "we're a force to be reckoned with! Well, we were."

After a sober moment of reflection through nostalgia goggles, he was happy to move on. Distracting himself with BH Sheriff's Dept. footing the bill, he bought 3 new plaid flannels (in varied colors, one with a lining, another with a hood and his favorite by far which was reversible) and already he had his eyes on more (at a sale of 2 for 1, how could he not). Eventually, sensing something off, Parrish curtailed his hyperactive behavior and wrangled them to a breakfast place off the Main Street, with a sign of a cartoon farmer overhead. He had a shotgun in one hand and hamburger in the other, they served very good breakfast burritos. It seemed like exactly the sort of off-the-beaten-path-eatery Stiles made a prerequisite of this trip, they even picked outdoor seating so he could keep an eye on the mountains, and it did bring a smile to his face. Stiles was beginning to see the asset his Dad saw in the Deputy.

They devoured breakfast burritos and watched locals turning up their sunny-snowy noses at snow bunnies and hot cocoa junkies. Tourist season was in full swing, which kept the locals pushing their luxury packages for the lifts or the guided hikes to where there lay fresh powder. Stiles wondered if someone at the Homestead was even up this early, not everyone was built like Rosa. He could remember more than once Cora breaking furniture trying to shut off the alarm clock and missing. Or Isaac trying to get out of bed, then dozily falling back asleep under it. Or Erica pretending to go out early to do morning chores, like help Derek with the vehicles in the garage just so she could take naps in the back seats of cars. Boyd was shameless, he was an actual go-getter. He'd be up early, help make breakfast for everyone, then go out looking for fresh powder.

Partway up the tallest mountain, the Homestead lay tucked at a low altitude and got the unique privilege of getting snow on warm-sunny days, some modified version of all-four seasons. Surely someone was awake already, surely someone knew he was back. Not that he minded being a tourist in his hometown, but it felt too weird to have it looming overhead and feel separate. This might have been a mistake, but he was determined. He also never had the privilege of the Beacon Hills Sheriff's department agreeing to foot the bill.

With the ease of the surroundings him, it was easy for Stiles to let his guard down, but Parrish, as an officer of the law wasn't as easily fooled. A moment later, with a bite still rolling around in his mouth the hairs on the back of Stiles' neck rose.

"Miss, I hope you have a license for carrying a weapon of that caliber?" Parrish came slowly to stand while removing his Glock from his ankle holster.

"Stiles?" her honeyed voiced called over from the patio entrance, where she had been assessing the scene and aiming her Sig Sauer P2269mm at them, "what is going on? Are you okay?"

The bizarreness of worlds colliding took a long moment to hit Stiles and he waited to finish swallowing the last of his breakfast before clambering to his feet.

"Hey, hey, guys hello! Okay, nice work doing your jobs protecting and serving! Really beautiful. Now how about we put down the service weapons and consider the bystanders-," Stiles stepped forward and waved a hand between their stalemate in an attempt to obscure the restaurant's store front window. "Braeden, this is Parrish, he's a Deputy. Parrish, this is Braeden. And a friend of the family." After they hesitantly lowered their weapon Stiles looked closer Braeden, eyes her with a baffled expression. "Who also happens to be a U.S. Marshal … and is working in conjunction with B.I.A. still?"

"We might want to take this conversation on the road," Braeden suggested, while holstering her gun. "I hate to admit it, but Stiles is right."

Thankfully, the only people who noticed their earlier morning duel were 3 wide-eyed and wondering children, sitting in a patio booth waiting for their parents to return from the counter with their breakfast. How likely was it that anyone would believe their story anyway?

Because it would have been pretty conspicuous walking down Main Street with Glock in hand, Parrish was forced to holster it at his ankle. After a hop to catch up, Parrish marched alongside Braeden's easy strides.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he recited out of habit and a dutiful smile, "but I thought I would be meeting with someone from Stiles' foster family."

"Well, I thought I was here to meet Stiles alone," her dark eyes and darker tone meant she only half-minded the challenge.

"Well, it is a free world where we're all allowed to think loads of things," Stiles babbled and gestured around, trying to fill up the awkwardness which had destroyed his morning breakfast. "You lots of people freely think lacrosse is pretty much field hockey, which I understand, and I mean as long as there is violence on the field, I'm pretty okay with it- except they're nothing alike because lacrosse is on grass. Uh, of course, so is field hockey, except the sticks have nets. And can you slap check like in hockey! Um. But it's only the, uh, the gloves and the sticks."

"Let me guess Stiles, you're taking up lacrosse?" Braeden interrupted finally, to which (gasping to catch his breath) Stiles nodded. "That's great, sounds violent. I like it."

Around the street corner and a little further down, they stopped beside her parked Harley Davidson. Parrish waited for someone to explain what the next move was, Braeden seemed at ease with their discomfort and Stiles just looked confused.

"This is highly irregular," Parrish side-eyed Braeden. "The Sheriff did say to expect someone from Stiles' foster family."

"The Sheriff?" Braeden crossed her arms and looked to Stiles for an explanation.

"Heh, yeah my Dad's the Sheriff of Beacon Hills," he rubbed at the back of his neck in nervousness.

"You are just full of surprises," she lightly scoffed.

"That's me, surprises and sarcasm in a nutshell," Stiles grinned, looking between the two.

On only 2 cups of coffee, Parrish figured he'd need more caffeine to figure out what was really going on. Stiles was more than happy take off to the nearest café and get more. They dismissed the suggestion entirely.

"I'm sorry, I was expecting someone named Ruby," Parrish double-checked the message on his phone. Stiles popped up beside him, trying to peer over Parrish's shoulder to see the message, but got blocked at each attempt. When Parrish didn't get a response he added, "Ruby Humbert?"

Braeden's glance towards Stiles' demanded he clear up a few things but he didn't have answers. Just an educated guess. It was common for Hale's to change names when they moved onto the Homestead, to start new. Now, he'd heard rumors of a family troublemaker named 'Ruby' tossed around the Homestead for years and never made a connection, and after Talia's death Rosa took on all her sister's responsibilities on the rez. If 'Ruby' was Rosa's moniker, it would be ideal for her to bring it out of retirement to work from the shadows. If he had to that's what he would guess, but not in Deputy Parrish's presence.

'Does he mean Rosa?' Braeden mouthed the words toward Stiles, he responded by clearing his throat curtly but actually nodding. Quickly she turned back to Parrish and confirmed, "Yeah, Ruby isn't going to be able to make it, so she sent this."

Braeden pulled a dossier from the saddle bag on her bike. Quick with curiosity, Parrish grabbed it and while he briefly leafed through it, from over his shoulder Stiles could see all the perfectly falsified documents. Adoption papers, medical records, school records both for Isaac and himself. He uneasy to think history with Hales could be summed up in envelopes of fake papers and some doctored pictures. To think yesterday, Stiles felt queasy over the idea he might get anything from the Hales, now he felt cheated that he would never get back anything real.

"You don't mind if I head back to call in with the Sheriff and check in with this?" Parrish asked out of formality but already started dialing.

"Hey, it's what you're here for," Braeden shrugged. As Parrish stepped away, she turned her attention around to sit on her bike and face Stiles.

"So, she chose you to be her ambassador?" Stiles voice was as neutral as he could keep it, he stuffed his hands into his jeans to hide his clenched fists.

The cool aloofness that Braeden exuded split in half, when she sighed her hair fell into her face and the sun made her dark complexion look divided between gold and bronze, like there were winning and losing factures she felt in the words she said next. "It's not like she doesn't want to be-"

"You're just paid to say that shit," Stiles snapped.

"Sure," she smirked and grabbed him hard by the shoulder, shaking him to stand at attention, "just like I'm paid to tell you that just because you can't see her doesn't mean you can't see him." With that she grinned, pulled out his right hand, pried it open and placed a set of keys in it.

Stiles' eyes went wide, and a grin split across his face. He hopped in place as if the energy he felt could burst him apart, then bolted with so much force he tripped. Although Parrish called out for him to wait up, Stiles couldn't hear him, he couldn't even acknowledge the oncoming car swerving around him.

"I'm not supposed to let him out of my sight," Parrish gave a longsuffering sigh, holding the folder under his left arm while he came alongside Braeden.

Crossing her arms, she laughed and when she did it revealed the shaped of more weapons holstered at her hips. When she noticed his stare, they shared a challenging smile before she offered to walk him to where Stiles went.

"It's a bit suspicious that his guardian won't come down to meet us."

She shrugged and handed him a helmet, "she can't leave the rez. The seasons just changed over, she's setting up the school, organizing the new repairs, helping set up tourist interactions. They can't spare her."

"Sounds important. Why can't we go up and see her?" Parrish kept his tone mild-mannered in hopes his youthful countenance afforded him some leeway. From the arch in her brow and the rev of her bike, he could tell it didn't. They rode West onto Main Street against the buzz of town traffic.

"It's reservation land. Outside law enforcement really isn't welcome. In fact," she called back over her shoulder with the authority that left no room for argument, "the Bureau of Indian Affairs forbids it. It would cause more than a little political upheaval." With that she turned down an alley, drove over debris and grabbed the metal doors of a garage with a greyed out sign. The place looked in deep contrast to the shininess of the Main Street, hidden away at the very base of the Mountain. This was a downtrodden place that the townies could be familiar with.

"You've obviously been up there," Parrish pointed out the flaw in her reasoning, "and you're a Federal Agent."

"Not anymore," she grinned and yanked open a rusted-up aluminum door to the sounds of sparks and drills. "I'm a more of a freelancer."

"Like the private sector?" Parrish figured he might as well fish for it, he'd been running into a lot of rent-a-soldiers lately.

"I think 'mercenary' might be a better title," she said with a smirk and moved back to make room for Parrish to walk by. "But for now, his family hired me to be their mercenary."

Parrish opened his mouth to ask but, after clocking exactly how much of her seemed to either be hiding weapons or highly attuned to a method of provocation, it seemed safest to move along.

"My Jeep," Stiles whispered in awe.

"That's what the lady said."

"My Jeep," he looked back toward the mechanic in heightened disbelief.

"That's what it looks like to me," the man laughed uncomfortably.

"But he's mine, like my actual Jeep I'm looking at," Stiles placed a hand on his chest, fingers splayed over his heart. The other hand made a floundering gesture toward the classic 1976 Jeep CJ5, (with its hood all spiffied up without any evidence of being crashed by Erica's artistic driving).

"If 'he's' not, he's been doing a damn good impersonation," the mechanic shook his head in good humor and walked off. "I could always tow him back up the mountain to the Mrs. and see if she's got another one hanging around. I mean with the price she was willing to pay to keep-"

Stiles raced around the Jeep and caught the man's arm, but after realizing the aggressiveness of the gesture he apologized excessively and whipped his hand off on the man's arm. "You held onto the Jeep for me?"

"Yeah, of course. And we don't do long-term parking here, kid," the guy stared at him confusedly. "After we fixed him up, when we threatened to sell it unless you paid for the repairs and picked it up, your Mom paid triple-"

"She's not my Mom," Stiles interrupted abruptly.

"Sorry. The pretty lady, with the long dark hair and really red lips-"

"Yes, I get it. My aunt, whatever, my Rosa's hot," Stiles rolled his eyes hard enough his whole head rotated, he'd been hearing that for years. Didn't help then, wasn't helping now. Well, maybe a little since it did get extraordinary favors done sometimes. Like extended parking, anticipating his surprising but inevitable return. "What did she say?"

"She didn't say much, just paid triple to have us to keep it here. Now, if you want us to try and contact her for yo-"

"Nah," Stiles breathed out a grin, he clapped a hand on the guys' shoulder forgetting his earlier discomfort and wiped his hand once more on the man's sleeve. He muttered an apology and stepped away and bounced toward the Jeep, his Jeep. "I'll just take this handsome devil off your hands."

Well, to be honest, it was Rosa's Jeep, but before that it was Talia's. Who knows if it was someone else before that? Each of them had been taught to drive in this Jeep, Derek included, but Stiles was promised to inherit it. Everyone called it Stiles' but that was never official, he never received the title or anything like that. No one loved it like he did.

"You, okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"It's just you've been sitting there frozen for 5 minutes-"

"Ah," that seemed like a reasonable reason for any rational person to feel concerned. "I'm great," Stiles replied with his pitch a bit too high. So, he waved the mechanic off and turned on the Jeep, drove out of the garage onto the street, flipped on the radio for some noise and stayed very still in the driver seat. After sifting through the glovebox, he found documents, the title and registration, everything he'd need to transfer the Jeep over to him when he moved to Beacon Hills. He felt irrationally happy because even though the papers were fake, the gesture was real. To Stiles it also felt like the Hales' had also passed along something genuine, like carrying a token of their favor with him.

"Goddamn Coldplay! You ruin everything!" he jabbed the buttons on his radio for playing music far too emotional for his mood. After a nerve racking laughing fit Stiles hadn't realized Braeden and Parrish arrived until a knock came at the window. He yelped loudly, smacking his head into the roof, then opened the window to grin at them in an overly happy greeting.

"Are you okay?" Braeden asked, looking equally uneasy and curious.

"Yeah, I'm not crying, just smacked my head real hard. What's up?" Stiles answered while sniffling and wiping at his face.

"You sure, your face is pretty red?" Parrish added, stepping up to stand beside Braeden.

Stiles looked between them both, eyes narrowed in an expression of betrayal, "you two are getting along better. Well, that's just great. You guys want to meet up back at the Motel Lodge to pack up and head out. Great. Later," Stiles had the Jeep in motion before his sentence finished.

Parrish had to jump back to keep from getting clipped by the sideview mirror.

"I'm going to be chasing him down the whole way back, aren't I?" Parrish looked at her with a dismayed expression. Braeden said nothing, only grinned and handed him a motorcycle helmet before heading back toward her bike.

In the excitement of the moment Stiles didn't consider whether or not he wanted to leave Braeden alone with Parrish to visit municipal buildings on his behalf. He wanted to stretch his 'driving legs'. He wanted to get back to Beacon Hills, which felt more like home than holing up in a Motel Lodge. Whatever he thought 'a drive to clear his mind would be' Stiles hadn't considered it would only give him perspective on how large a mountain range Red River had. And question why he had never noticed it before.

Several hours and a half-tank of gas later, Stiles parked in the space designated under their Motel room. With music blasting and engine revving, he fiercely rocked out playing drums on the dashboard with his eyes closed as if there were no one else in the world. The vibrations rocked the driver side and knocked free a note that had been placed in the visor overhead. He stilled at the feeling of it impacting on his lap and he looked at it questioningly, it's script was familiar and heavy-handed. Rosa' handwriting was recognizable, with a straightforward sentiment as strong as a hug. It was easy to imagine her last-minute caution, climbing into this driver's seat while placing the fake paperwork into the glovebox. Her hazel eyes tracing the lines of the Jeep saying goodbye to their shared history, her ruby smile and dark arched brow in recollection. She tore off a piece of the fake papers to let him know she cared in her own way, in her scrawled words read "Be Gentle", and he lifted it to eye level and smiled slowly in reply. He flipped it over half-hoping she secretly revealed something more. But Rosa was open with her love and careful with her secrets, this was a secret special letting go. And like a shot, he was finished, out of the Jeep headed past them and into the Motel Room to pack his things with hardly any eye contact.

"We should give the kid another minute," when Braeden spoke her voice was gentler, and pulled Parrish out of the way. "From what Ruby told me, when he left here last time, he didn't seriously consider he'd permanently want to stay in Beacon Hills."

"And do you think he seriously coming back here?" Parrish said in a hushed voice, while he walked sidelong down the steps as she pushed him forward.

"Nah, I still don't think he knows what he's moving now," and when she spoke again, her voice was gentler. "I think'll hurts for him to realize his foster family thought of it first."

"So, you think he feels feeling rejected?" Parrish added, his voice low as if afraid to hurt someone's feelings. They stayed outside, a few steps above the bottom and leaned on the banister to look over at the lined parking slots up between rooms.

With a sigh Braeden shrugged. "You tell me. Weren't you a teenager about 5 minutes ago? Aren't they always feeling rejected somehow?"

After a second Parrish laughed lightly, "I had a feeling you were going to say I looked too young. I'm actually 24."

"I'm actually not carding you," she smirked. "I'm just trying to look out for the kid. We've grown fond of that smart-ass, and this isn't going to be an easy transition."

"I'll look out for him. I will," Parrish assured her when she rose a brow in disbelief. "Sheriff Stilinski and I have worked together for some time, we've gotten pretty close ever since I arrived in Beacon Hills. I couldn't say why I ended up there but since I have, I can guarantee you, I don't have any plans to leave them."

Braeden gave him the once over, not just because she wanted to measure his words but because Parrish seemed surprised by his sincerity.

"Sure," she said, turning her attention back to the room. Stiles silhouette appeared sporadically against the window shades. "I know he'll be fine. From what I hear from Ruby, he's got plenty of people looking out for him over there, but that doesn't mean everything is going to be fine."

{Later that Morning – Terrace Towers Lodge, Red River. NM}

Everything in Red River he brought were either still in shopping bags, or he'd never unpacked but with his supervisors being way too chummy outside he didn't want to confront leaving just yet. He smelled their chemosignals over the distance and it smelled conspiratorial. For them it was easy to, just hand over a few documents and business in Red River was over, then his life as a Hale was at its conclusion. How could documents be monumental or nothing at all?

Although the Jeep's title and registration in the glove compartment emotionally wrecked him, the dossier for him seemed laughable. As he paced Stiles tried to figure thing out; there was a BH-Stiles and there was a Hale-Stiles - he didn't know which version of him would be the one leaving that barren Motel room.

While he rubbed his hands together trying to pull apart the riddle his phone buzzed to life in his pocket. It startled when the distinct name 'The Lydia' appeared on the screen. That illuminated screen anchored him to the present, while the background mountainous expanse from Motel window exposed his past. His mind felt clearer after that.

"Guys! Look, do you see?" he called out from the porch, showing Braeden and Parrish his revelation from above. They nodded, puzzled but not getting it, as the phone stopped ringing. Too moved by his enlightenment, he forgot shaking a phone doesn't get it to ring again. In Stiles disappointment he didn't have time to realize Lydia hadn't left a passive-aggressive message or an angry text. Instead, he kept riding the wave of his sleep-deprived, emotionally driven, nostalgic motivated excitement. "I'll be right out, I've got to make a call!"

While the other line rang, Stiles waited impatiently muttering and grabbing the Motel Lodge's super comfortable robe, shoving it into his shopping bags along with the towels and bottle of shampoos.

"Hey," he grunted. The door slammed closed behind him as he shuffled along the path toward the parking lot, "I'm headed home." The grin he wore could be heard beaming through his voice, "yeah, that's right you heard me, I'm going to head back really soon and when I get back, we're gonna do it up right. And why aren't you picking up your damn phone, Scott. What are you even up to?"

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Track 16 - Something Else by Monomyth

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{Earlier that Morning – Stilinski House, Beacon Garden Community}

Passing by the Sheriff's cruiser and hopping up the Stilinskis' porch felt weird, since he wasn't going to meet Stiles. Not yet. When Scott reached the front door and it swung open before he knocked, that felt a bit more familiar. Isaac's light eyes and crooked smile met him with relief on his face.

"Hey, Scott came to join us for breakfast again!" Isaac yanked him into the house. The kitchen felt familiar but altered as well; where the investigation board once stood, lacrosse gear leaned up against the kitchen counter. Breakfast laid out at the ready, along with the fresh coffee he smelled, mildly-burnt scrambled eggs on a platter between them on the table with no end of toast.

"Thanks, I was starved," he scarfed down his second breakfast that morning. "My mom asked me to check up on the bachelor pad, make sure you hadn't burned the house down." It looked like his Mom wasn't too far off the mark.

"If you're worried about Stiles, Scott," the Sheriff smiled, getting up to walk his empty plate to the sink, "they got there sometime late last night. They should head back Friday at the latest, so don't worrying too much."

Isaac glanced over at Scott knowingly, and then swished the food on his plate without direction, suspicious for a guy with an endless appetite. It seemed he spoke to Stiles more recently than his Dad and he felt guilty about it. But not guilty enough to admit it aloud.

"Cool, thanks. I was worried," Scott grinned and finished his eggs. Immediately after, he dragged Isaac off to an 'early practice' which Coach Finstock wouldn't dare conduct on a test-day, but the Sheriff wouldn't know that, would he?

"What's going on with Stiles?" the fake grin was still wired tight on Scott's face despite being more than listening distance away from the Stilinski's house.

While walking, Isaac knocked around the lacrosse ball with precision, catching and throwing it into the net of his stick. "Nothing. What's got you running off to Stiles' first thing in the morning this time?"

"I wasn't trying to talk to Stiles, I wanted to talk to you," Scott insisted but Isaac didn't believe him for a second. He gave a good side-glower delivered with a smirk. "Alright, I was trying to talk convince you to talk to Stiles for me."

"Of course," Isaac laughed. After throwing the ball high into the air he caught it in his hand without looking. "You want to know if he made it to New Mexico alright, yeah he did. He took forever because he's Stiles, who knows what goes on in his head. He knew the scenic route would be safer I guess."

"You definitely talked to him then?" Scott stressed over every exactly worded bit of information Isaac tossed at him.

"Yeah, sometime just before the sun came up," he shrugged.

"And after?"

"No."

"If you could let him know I needed to ask him some questions-" Scott started but stopped short.

"Is it something I can help with?" Isaac offered, genuinely concerned, but it was hard to get through his sluggish morning after another nightmarish night.

"No. No, no, no." Scott jumped to attention, "there are some pictures I texted him Sunday. I guess I wanted to see- I wanted to know what he thought about it, but my phone broke the other night when this- thing happened at the side of the road."

"Are you okay Scott?" Isaac put a hand to Scott's chest and kept them at a standstill.

"Yeah, of course," the tense expression on Scott's face said something else. He thought on whether he could trust Isaac with the events of the night before. The last thing he wanted to do was expose anyone to something more dangerous. "I'm cool, I've got to go check on something before school. But if you hear from him-"

"Sorry, Scott. There's no way, not right now. But maybe we can reach him afterschool," Isaac interrupted. "If they made it to the Homestead, there's no cell reception."

"Why?"

"For their protection."

"For whose protection?" Scott asked, Isaacs' words increasingly difficult to understand.

"For them, all of them." Isaac turned and walked on ahead. At a standstill Scott let the words sink in. Isaac called back, trying again. "The Hales. Stiles included."

"So, it's like a dead zone?" Scott asked when caught up at the bus stop. "Like in the Meeting Room?"

"Kind of. More like a well-designated black hole," Isaac sounded proud but uncomfortable simultaneously. "I don't know how she made it happen, but some things work inside, and some things work outside of it, but things just don't always work well going across it. She calls it her 'faraday upstage'."

"Who called it that?"

Isaac paused, he licked his lips and slowly reconsidered what to say, "no one, don't worry about it. That's not what's important. Stiles is exactly where that prick decided to be, while Mr. Westover is going to run the rest of us over hot coals in Global. So, can we just get to school already? Or was there something you really needed to ask? Anything I can help with?"

When he turned back, he found an empty space where Scott once stood.

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Track 17 - Start Again by Gabrielle Aplin

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{Noon – Terrace Towers Lodge, Red River. NM}

Almost as if to test Stiles resolve, Parrish asked, "You know if the mountain won't come to Mohammad- I don't mind waiting around town if you wanted to go up to visit for a bit."

"Nah," he easily sidestepped.

"Don't you want to head up there?"

"Not really," Stiles shrugged, and answered truthfully, "if I went up there, it would be too hard to come back down, you know." He hoped Parrish would that that at face value, which he seemed to and since after a pause he moved onto the next probing subject.

"If you don't have enough room for everything in your Jeep," Parrish offered, "you can always stash something in the pick-up."

"Look," Stiles sassed back, "I may've picked up more than your average amount of flannel shirts, but the day my Jeep can't hold them is the day I'll finally figure out how to take down the top."

"I just meant," Parrish shook his head with a laugh, "your back seat is pretty full. If you need the space, you can use my truck."

"It looks like 'Ruby' packed some surprises for you," Braeden chuckled low so that only Stiles could hear her from the other side of the hood.

Stiles half laughed and lied feebly to Parrish "I forgot. I asked them to pack up my stuff for me."

"Your foster family?" Parrish came nearer to him. Stiles nodded. "I thought you hadn't really been in contact with them."

"Really is a really relative word," Stiles face turned up in thought.

"You don't want to look through the luggage?"

"Nope," Stiles yanked the driver's side door open, aimlessly flung his shopping bags onto the heap in his back seat and slammed the door closed. "I'm sure they got it all."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. What about you?" Stiles looked at him inquiringly. Parrish hesitated. "Did you get everything? Did you sign us out? You had a lot of coffee instead of breakfast. I mean a lot, and it's pretty far until the next bathroom. You sure you don't need to go?" Smirking, Stiles crossed his arms and leaned back against his Jeep, "if you don't go now, young man, I'm not pulling this Jeep over."

Looking mildly amused and influenced by suggestion Parrish left toward the Main Office, giving Braeden and Stiles a chance to finally talk alone. They waved at Parrish in unison from the view of the Main Office windows. The moment Parrish disappeared, they looked to each other with less than pleased expressions.

"Well, kid we've got a lot to cover, and I say about 2 minutes to manage," she walked around the hood of his Jeep, her all-business manner warned him not to forget what the risk of being overheard meant.

If Parrish made a connection between his foster-family, the Humberts, and the Hales, it'd start a new level of investigation into Stiles' missing years they couldn't afford. It was exposure for him, Isaac, Derek, Cora, Ruby. Damn, even his Moms. The weight of it made him sigh, running his hands through his hair. "Well, to be fair, he's had a lot of coffee. I'd give us at least 5."

When she slid beside him, Stiles stood up and settled on the right of her, his expression held an awkward pass between pleasant and holding in gas.

"What's up, Stiles?" she said low, restraining a laugh.

"Just wanted to ask before I left 'cause I didn't want you not to know, not that I wanted to be the one to tell you or anything, but it's not exactly polite conversation either-"

"Stiles," she warned through a tight smile, "get to the point."

"Do you know about Derek?" his strained expression dropped, entirely blank-faced, his mouth slightly parted with an unspoken apology.

Braeden looked to the floor, her lips pressed together while countless emotions flickered across her face, and she said nothing. Yeah, she knew. Her lover was dead.

"I didn't- there's no way- I just-it was like this-" he blubbered in a quick low succession of explaining nothing.

"Stiles," she smiled, putting a hand on his arm. "From the reports I've heard, there was nothing anyone could have done. You're lucky to be alive, but you are alive. That's how Derek would have wanted it."

"But if you had gone with him instead of just some kids-" Since she showed up Stiles assumed that's what Braeden must have been thinking. What he assumed she'd been waiting to tell him privately the whole time.

"Listen to me, that trip was a pack thing, I wouldn't have been able to stop you if I wanted to. From what I heard, I wouldn't have done a better job." She waited a moment, her eyes searching his to make certain he accepted the truth. "Seems like you've got some hell of a support system out there. Forging a whole new pack."

"Not a new pack," Stiles shook his head, expression resolute and added. "More like an extension."

"Exactly," Braeden grinned, her face eased a little.

The fact that Braeden wanted to stick around after delivering her message enough to check on his was nice, but Stiles had enough of vagueness. He climbed into his Jeep to physically distance himself from the awkwardness, pulled forward the seat and started to shift the luggage that Ruby had been nice stuff into his back seat.

"How the hell do you hear about all this stuff?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Because Rosa knows all this, of course." Braeden's grin lengthened and reached forward to help catch a duffle bag that threatened to fall to the ground. "You know the way back, or do I need to-"

"Jeez, yeah I know the path back," Stiles glared at her. After giving the last bag a crushing shove into place he hopped back down. "What are you going to ask next. 'If I'm eating three square meals? Getting enough sleep?'"

"No."

"Good, 'cause I'm fine. Aside from the jumpiness and the crushing fear that something's about to happen." He frowned, she looked sympathetic but said nothing, offered no fake words of comfort and gave him room to continue. "I am fine, I'm staying on route, but it's been hard, a wobbly because of the half-moon and Deputy Boy-Scout at the wheel."

"I bet," Braeden's tone became teasingly bossy. "It's not going to get any easier headed back. If you came through the North route you've got to take the South-

"I know, I know! You're sounding as bad as her now!" not that he minded, not that he'd admit it.

"Well, I should," she smirked. "Rosa ordered me to tell you exactly. If I don't, she'll know, remember." Braeden always knew how to manipulate the whole 'I'm in on the underworld of secrets' thing to her advantage. She managed to do it equally for guilt as well as financial gain. She tugged the hood of his puffer jacket up over his ears. "Stay on the path, red riding hood. I hear wolves come in many forms."

"Oh, ha-ha," he batted away her hands, and straightened the lines of his jacket excessively. "Come on, this is brand new. Besides, you're not telling me anything I don't know." He paused thoughtfully then smirked, "she probably gives you all the other secret pathways to drive sometimes, too."

"Sometimes," Braeden cocked a brow, her tone displayed her evident mistrust in Stiles shift in commentary.

"Only sometimes. But not all the time, those other times you just rough it."

"I'm a tough lady, Stiles."

"Wouldn't it be easier if 'Ruby' could just, I don't know," he gestured with a flick of his wrist a circular motion as if to encompass the world, "reveal all the safe runs all the time."

Braeden didn't say anything. She just watched Stiles and waited.

"That is if she could, couldn't she? Come on Braeden, you can explain what the Hales are up to. It's not like I'm going to tell them you told me. It's not like I'd even be able to."

"It must really do your head in not to have all the answers," when she responded Stiles nodded violently. After a moment Braeden let out a soft sharp laugh. "Fine, I'll tell you something, but you have to understand these are just the facts, but it might not be what you want to hear. And just because I've uncovered some details, doesn't mean I understand how things work."

"That doesn't bother you?" Stiles gnawed his lip.

"I stopped questioning what makes the paranormal work a long time ago," she waved for him to come closer, her voice went lower. "I just appreciate it when I can, now come here you ungrateful punk."

What Braeden explained was definitely not what he expected...

While growing up the phrase "Nemeton" had been thrown around by many others, but it was so infrequently Stiles thought it might have been someone's name. Turned out it was a tree. A very big, important fucking tree. Its branches were massive enough, the canopy seemed like a crown over a forest. Its root ran deep into the earth, it spoke keenly into the woods, reached immeasurably further, like a millions of spider webs from one point. In fact, the 'Nemetons' were a network of Mother Trees that likely covered the face of Earth.

The magic thing about this big goddamn tree was that it happened to grow on ley lines, that undergrowth connected all the other Mother Trees. Before Talia died, her life's work had been to connect underground bio pathways to sense out at least three others across the states. She had grown too sick and weak to reach a fourth but she suspected others were reaching back towards her. But on the very rare places where two or more ley lines crossed, then guess what? BOOM! A 'Nemeton' appeared. But a 'Nemeton' itself showed itself to only a special few to stay safe, because they were powerful, and magic was very malleable. Their Homestead remained protected on the ley lines because of how the fertile ground of that weird ass tree.

One 'Nemeton' was located in Beacon Hills, but it no longer stood (although there was still power there, only barely viable). Even injured or dying 'Nemetons' sent out signals, messages of wisdom and defense signals along ley lines. That was the best explanation Braeden could offer. Meanwhile-

If the stars aligned and a gifted person, or special person strongly linked to nature, like, say a Werewolf were called to it, or taught to speak to it, then it was possible that person could reach connect to supernatural highway and sense all 'Nemetons'.

One might even postulate, if a particularly strong Alpha Werewolf in desperate need might have had her cries heard by the 'Nemeton' and if she travelled along the paths of the ley lines, marking her packs territory, she might have created a closed-circuit. She unconsciously mirrored how the Mother Trees preferred their roots to be protected and strangled out invaders.

The Alpha Werewolf's used her heightened ability of sensory recall, along with the 'Nemeton' to impress created a personal message of memory recall, the worse the experience the stronger it created territorial repellent. Something as awful as carrying the burnt and barely alive bodies of children from the incinerated ancestral home in Beacon Hills to a Holt in Red River. At least Talia's kids survived but healing them cost her Alphahood. Rosa's son wasn't as lucky.

"After the fire Rosa walked the North path through the mountains. Talia walked a parallel path South through the valleys as this other 'Nemeton' called them to this place," Braeden drew a line in the air between her and Stiles.

"Jesus, that's some insane 'Trail of Tears' bullshit," Stiles grumbled under his breath in disbelief. There had been melancholy cast around him growing up, that Stiles always thought was something he projected. Now, he realized it was something that protected him.

Braeden continued to explain the memory messages were projected at frequencies to recognize their Hales pack-kin but to deter strangers, without having to baring fangs or claws. But keeping up the closed-circuit to protect their territory meant a Werewolf of incredible strength had to physically sustain the 'Nemeton' at all times. It meant that person could never leave the Homestead. First it was Talia, now it was Rosa.

It made sense why born Hales would head out to find other missing members of their family, because it wasn't like bitten members of the pack would light up the circuit. But from the way Braeden explained it, as long as Stiles didn't wander from the specified ley lines that aligned their territorial-borders, Rosa could sense him. As long as he stayed on 'The Safe Path', she could keep projecting signals to prevent most supernatural threats. He assumed once Cora left the path and went right into danger, Rosa must have sensed that.

"She says she can look out and detract Monsters, but you're on your own when it comes to Hunters or hitchhikers with hooks for hands," Braeden jested, "but hey, I hear you have a security team for that."

To which Stiles simply glared, then glanced over to the Main Office and caught sight of Parrish next in line to return the room key. "Is there any other life redefining spiel you wanna lay on me? Because we've got a boat load of no time."

"You get that she would have come down to see you off-that it killed her to stay put when everything went off the rails at Beacon Hills. She would've gone to you guys if it didn't mean dropping the defense it took a lot of pain to build." Her voice went a little hoarse, so she paused to recompose, to become a little firmer before reminding, "They've learned it's only worth a gamble to cross over the borders to reclaim the living, not the dead. So, right now you gotta go back Beacon Hills and make it worthwhile. You guys gotta take care of each other, okay?"

Inhaling deeply, Stiles closed his eyes and dropped his head back against his Jeep. He wished Braeden had brought a map. Or something spread out like his Father's murder board to draw out the explanation she gave him. He wanted to memorize where all the ley lines were, but kind of figured there was something impossible in that ambition.

A realization struck him, growing up whenever anyone left the property for a joyride, they got saddled with a Hale kid. Guess it was Talia's way of always keeping tabs on her pack, even the bitten-Werewolves she couldn't sense through her closed circuit. Something about the technique, seemed similar to the night Lydia uncovered the Hale House property. To the experience of Stiles and Scott standing inches away from Lydia, from where they could both see her but vaguely sense her and definitely could not bring their hands up reach for her.

The Nemeton's closed-circuit created along the ley line was Talia's version but instead of developed Mountain Ash was to use pheromones to keep strangers stumbling around the woods forever, or to guide her family home safely. Growing up they were constantly reminded come back all together or none at all. Figured it wasn't just a rigid rule, it was a warning.

A bittersweet comfort Stiles to the know that safe paths travelled from one home to the other, was carved by Talia herself.

God, he missed Talia. Stiles missed her being the one to help him figure out stuff. Not that he often got up the balls to ask. A stray bitter thought crossed his mind- Stiles figured Talia would have stayed healthier, longer if it hadn't been for everything, she gave up for them. But that was Talia, she gave up anything for the people she loved, and she would not accept his bitterness and moping.

The world seemed suddenly small. Stiles remembered his growing up feeling unburdened, despite all their secrets. He never felt like they were danger, not even whenever Derek abruptly packed up and disappeared for days. It was more than clear they ran a 'Hale Witness Protection Program' whenever another unappreciative jackass cousin turned up and snubbed the bitten-turned Werewolves. Those transient ingrates never did enjoy the great views, 'festive activities' and epic chili eating competition the way bitten-turned Betas did. It never occurred to him the cost it took to live in their snow globe paradise.

"Alright, alright, alright," Stiles rubbed at his face, his voice sounded weak in his ears. "I've got it. I need to read up on my pseudoscience. You're right, this stuff doesn't make sense."

"This stuff makes sense," Braeden closed her eyes and sighed, "and it doesn't. I told you this is just what I've gathered and probably all I'll get since I'm not investigating you guys anymore."

"Anymore?!" Stiles head snapped up at that.

Braeden gave him a sly little smile, "Derek never did tell you how we met, did he? That's a story for another day."

"I wanted to ask you- I mean I wanted to know-"

"Stiles, you should ask yourself first, is this something you really want to know?"

"How much do you think 'Ruby' knew about what was going to happen in Beacon Hills?" he sounded bitter despite wanting to keep a hold of his cool.

"I wouldn't say that Stiles," Braeden shook her head, while she spoke on behalf of their absent friend with sincerity seeping throughout. "You know for all the insight Rosa can drum up, it's not like she's psychic."

"She's something," he said with a nod. "Does she know Cora's alive?"

"Whoa!" she exhaled sharply. "Now I haven't heard anything about that. When I get back from the East Coast, I'll have to let her know."

He did a double-take, his disappointment was obvious while he stabbed a finger toward the Mountain top in demand, "where are you going that's so important that you can't just go up there?"

"Hey now," she took a step back, put off from his assertion. "You know it's not that easy to just head up there. Besides, yeah what I've got to do in New York is that important."

Stiles knew she wasn't a liar. Cagey with the truth for sure, but an outright liar, no. Stiles rubbed his forehead to stave off his stress headache. Despite feeling useless he muttered, "is it really important enou-"

"Yeah, that important." Braeden's voice hardened. He looked up to see her expression smiling but all business in the way that put him off. "I've gotta head out, Stiles. The sooner the better." It came out less like an apology but more like a brush off. She moved towards her bike, swung a leg over it, kicked out the kickstand in one smooth motion and dismissed him as readily as shoving him away would have. But he didn't need to be reminded that Braeden was a force of nature, a tornado touching down where she pleased and ready to take off just the same. Because Derek loved her, the Hales trusted her with their secrets, and Stiles could never consider her pack but by extension he still considered her family.

When Braeden's bike came to life it rattled through him, destabilizing him, sealing this goodbye but Stiles still wasn't prepared for it.

"I wish you the best and if you ever need me, you know how to get ahold of me," she shouted from beneath her helmet and above the noise.

"Wait!" Stiles shouted as loud as his voice could carry. "I've got no idea how to get ahold of you!"

With that she kicked up dirt and grew quickly smaller along the main street into the diminishing horizon.

By the time Parrish joined him Stiles had made himself comfortable in the driver's seat of his Jeep. He bounced around, testing the suspension of it like a child jumping on a new mattress.

"Eager to go?" he grinned over at him, getting ready to climb into the pick-up beside the Jeep.

"Hey, Parrish?" Stiles settled suddenly, "how did my Dad sound?" Deputy Boy-Scout was pretty easy to predict.

Parrish froze, startled and took a moment to recalibrate. "He's-he seemed relieved. You should call him."

In reply Stiles bobbed his head along with his music and rolled up his window. He wanted to wait until they were well on their way before talking to his Dad. He wanted to confidently reassure his Dad Red River was behind him. And to be honest, he just wanted to drive.

Originally, Stiles tagged along to Beacon Hills in a veiled attempt to spy on his family while rescuing a member of his pack. If he was honest with himself, despite the dangers he felt indifferent leaving the Homestead with his pack members. Unthinkingly, he had gambled so much away, and he still had no idea if he had regrets about leaving.

When he left the Red River a second time, alone but with the singular conviction of saving his family - it might not feel normal, but it felt very right. Certainly, no regrets. Stiles had no doubt his Mom would be proud. Both of them.

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Track 18 - Portions for Foxes by Rilo Kiley

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{Early that Morning – Yukimura's House, The Hills}

As a formality, all teachers came in extra early on exam days. Including Mr. Yukimura, which left Kira taking the bus to school. Just the idea of asking her Mom for a lift had Kira grabbing her backpack and racing out the front door before her Mom could get out of bed.

When the early bus never came, and then neither did the express bus, Kira decided to walk into town. It would be easier to get one of the local busses on Main Street or, if there was a problem with all of the buses, she could just call a cab. Either way, her feet were itching to put distance between her and her home.

As Kira wandered down Echo Lane and she realized the damage done to the streetlamp from the other night prevented anything as wide as a bus from getting by. Further along the lane it grew to become a proper street, then the main road. With it her anxiety grew around like the yellow tape the authorities used to cord off the attack site. Aside from a broken streetlamp and a fried conduit, there seemed to be no evidence of the fight.

Then the sound of a motorcycle came like thunder cutting through the sound barrier and it sped right at her. Her hairs stood on end, but she felt unafraid. A lime green Kawasaki stopped short in front of her, it knocked the breath out of her to see Scott pull his helmet off.

"Hi, I was just driving over to-" he gave an apprehensive smile, "do you need a ride?"

"Oh, yeah," Kira looked up and down the paved road and then her grin grew. She hopped over beside him, her hands clasped tight in excitement. "But I thought you told me your Mom took your bike away for the week."

"It's a really short week this week," he lied weakly, and she laughed at his lame excuse. "So, you want me to drive you to school?"

"No."

"You want me to drive you back up to your house?" he hesitated.

"No way." As she circled the front of his bike her eyes got bigger in nervous insistence, "Can't we just get out of here?"

"Skip class." Scott grinned, easy to persuade. "Sure, but isn't your Dad a teacher? Won't he notice if we try to sneak in late?"

"Then we're going to have to be gone the whole day," then raced around to climb on the bike behind him.

"Sure, where do you want to go?" while grinning, he handed her his helmet.

Thinking through the details she rotated the helmet in her hands and picked at edges with her thumbnail. "I have one idea, but I'm a little bit scared."

"I've got you-" Scott placed a reassuring hand over hers on the helmet's surface, "whatever it is. Try not to worry about it."

They drove up toward the town's Northbridge overpass, up to and along the dividing rail where a walkway peeled away creating a line of stones toward the riverbed and there Scott pulled over to park his bike. In the bright light of day, these handful of days later, the bridge looked like something from a different lifetime. Since the storm dragged debris up from the river and scattered it everywhere, it meant the repairs weren't that many, just messy.

"You're still not okay with this, are you?" Scott checked in with Kira while she tip-toed along the edge. She glanced up at him and nodded.

"I'm good," she said and the wind mostly stole her words.

"Well, if we get caught," Scott assured her as he stepped away from his bike and started to follow, "I'll just say it was my fault."

"You don't need to take the blame," Kira insisted, "I wanted to come here. I wanted to show this to you."

{Midday – at The Industry 'Crash Site' Bridge – Beacon Hills. CA}

The way Kira told Scott her story about the experiences from the night of the storm came together like a stained-glass window; her memories were colorful glimpse of here and there from the library to the bridge to river to the hospital to the bridge until it made a bright clear picture. When Kira explained details of the strange feelings when the Porsche's dashboard seemed to always slide under her hands, as if static electricity kept her from holding onto anything. It made her remember Jackson's hold on her wrist pulling her from the library away from falling bookcases. All her descriptions were pretty vivid, although when she mentioned Jackson had a 'different' quality about him she didn't describe anything reptilian, but she was sure to mention he was more frightened of her than the opposite.

"And he should have been," while Kira spoke her mouth coiled, like she could hide from her words. "I did horrible things."

At first Kira thought the storm might have given her magical powers. While she waited with Jackson on the bridge for help to arrive, she wondered what would have happened if Jackson grabbed a different student. She was supposed to meet Allison Argent to study, what if the storm made Allison change instead? She thought that way right up until her parents arrived and didn't act surprised at all, they acted like they already knew what was up. They whispered secretly to strangers at the scene of the 'accident.' They spoke with even more strangers at the hospital who helped smuggle her out. At which point, Kira realized her parents had always known something was wrong with her but hid it and that broke her heart.

"What if they felt keeping it secret protected you-" Scott stopped. Kira's eyes flicked up at him, a little hurt behind her eyes and Scott was quick to follow up with his reasoning. Secrets had been thrown around a lot recently, but he also understood the reason for their creations, and sometimes how they evolved all on their own. "If I walked into school the day after I got bit, if I told Coach the real reason why I suddenly made first line this year, it probably would have gotten me locked up Eichen House instead of letting me stay with my Mom, finish high school with my friends, and meeting you. I didn't mean to start it as a secret or sharing it with you. It's our secret now, right? And I am trusting you to keep it."

Kira sighed in disappointment, "I guess." She shot upright and came forward insistently, "I mean, of course! I'd never tell anyone. Just like I won't tell them about Jackson either. He deserves to be safe and protected from monsters like me."

"You are not a Monster," Scott wanted to explain he knew a lot about Monsters and Kira definitely didn't rank. He didn't mean to laugh at her, it came out before he could stop. "I just mean, Monsters do monstrous things, and you didn't want to do anything but help the guy who kidnapped you. That's incredibly heroic in my book."

She stared at him for an awkwardly long time, then suddenly looked away and started giggling. "Yeah, okay thanks."

After another few seconds she stepped to the edge and let the river lap at her High-Tops. She tucked her arms in and crouched down low and asked him to come closer. Kira went on to explain the strangest exchanged with her kidnapper had to be the quickness with which Jackson yanked her from the car before the explosion. Then she pointed out the burn marks that remained against the shale should have washed it away. A sharp outline of Jackson's Porsche looked like the outline of a dead body at a murder scene, a deep contrast to the real-world features of earthiness around it.

The detailed x-ray description of Jackson's face lit up her hands, the sounds he made barely heard in the thunder, while collapsing in her arms would stick with Scott as permanently as it was embedded in her mind's eye. Whenever Kira thought about it since, she reminded herself Jackson asked for it, he pleaded with her, but she also remembered while she was in shock on the bridge kneeling beside Jackson's dying body, her only rational thought was "I just met the most popular guy in school."

"You were in shock."

"I know that," she said flatly. "It's still a pretty crappy thought."

"He's fine now." Scott didn't like letting her stew in guilt either.

"I know that, too" Kira looked to him with a slight grin, but her voice sounded very tired. "But it doesn't make me less scared that I could do it again. What if a deer in the road spooks me? Or a lacrosse player charging at me catches me off guard?"

"You handled that girl on the road last night pretty well?" Scott reminded. "You saved my ass."

While tucking a loose strand from her braid back behind her ear she thought hard about it, "but I hurt you, too."

"Yeah, for like 5 seconds." He felt confident enough to drop down beside her. "And you didn't knock out electricity in the town. So, that's progress."

"Thanks," she sighed, careful optimism breathed through her. "Lydia was right about trusting you."

Scott nearly rolled back onto his ass, and he had to put back both hands to keep from falling which left him looking a little bit like a coffee table before he could clamber back up. Kira laughed and helped pull him forward by the shoulder.

They came to stand and while they walked the length of the river, back to the bridge, Kira told him about Lydia showing up at the Hospital. And Scott remembered it, Lydia's angry words as she quit the Diner on the night of the storm.

After calling them 'monsters' and 'animals' for selling pack members out to Kate, Lydia stormed out of the Diner to care for Jackson instead. Ever since he'd been identified as the Kanima, hell, ever since the library incident, they'd only seen Jackson as a threat not someone worth saving. Scott didn't share with her their confrontation with Lydia that night at the Diner. Just like Kira didn't mentioned Lydia haunting her home during winter break. That felt like a different level of secret. Third-party secrets didn't seem fair.

"She didn't tell me to come to you, exactly. She told me find someone 'who will believe your truth'..." Kira stopped mid-step, remembering the rest of Lydia's words. 'and don't leave their side.' It felt way too personal and way too soon to convey that even if she felt it straight down to her wet socks.

"I feel a but," Scott pressed, then he flustered and rolled his eyes at his own foul-up. "I mean like you want to say the words 'but'. Like you need to find someone to trust 'but he's got to be failing 2 classes, a little socially awkward, and if you look closely his jaw line is a little uneven.'"

Both hands had to cover Kira's mouth as she laughed. Finally, when she could catch her breath, she answered. "No, there's no 'but'. I'm just really glad we ran into each other Scott." Another secret.

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Track 19 - I Can't Find You by SolarSolar

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{Wednesday: School Day at BHHS – Beacon Hills, CA}

On the drive into school Lydia forgave quietness due to sleeplessness but the excuse was thin, and she begrudgingly let Allison know as much. With her fingers nervously playing with her lower lip, was Allison's clear response. Hard feelings felt like a good reason to shirk responsibilities, but when she sobered stress felt doubled. How does one articulate that?

The halls were grumpily crowded because the weather was disagreeably chilly, people clustered and lingered. Scott was there during first period, he ignored her. That was obvious. Math was devoid of Stiles, his name was called in attendance, that was obvious. Scott was in homeroom, talking to Morell. She noticed that, maybe some counselling, she didn't like that. Then there was Chemistry. Out of habit, her eyes went toward Scott's seat before all others. But in the row behind his empty seat, she met Isaac's worried gaze. He replied with a hapless shrug. She was gifted as stressing on behalf of everyone else.

"I thought he'd show up late, but he missed Econ. That's Coach's class," Isaac said, he looked more pitying than more frightened which felt like a cold comfort. "He'll crucify him for sure," he must have read her pessimism and let up, "or he's probably just trying to send smoke signals to Stiles for all we know. It's fine Allison, he's Scott." She nodded noncommittally and finally let Isaac leave the classroom.

An added worry, 'what would her parents think?' to 'what makes the Monster'- correction, 'Scott's murderous Monster-Alpha's tick?' When she told Scott to go to Stiles for questions to do with his Alpha, she hadn't known Stiles had left town. If Scott had taken the departure half as bad as Lydia had, then he was in a vulnerable state.

After their last shared period, Allison hovered after the bell giving Scott one last chance, waiting for his outline to appear. Waiting for the outline to race in from the cold, worried about midterms, (complaining about bringing up his grades, fretting about making time for the team). When that didn't happen and Mr. Westover shouted at her to take her seat before he locked her out, she mumbled a reply and kept her eyes downcast as she staggered to her seat.

Afterschool, she tugged even harder on her lower lip while waiting for her phone to power back on so that she could call, repeatedly, for him not to pick up. Global History facts plagued frontal lobe while a ticker tape parade shaped messages to Scott, regretting she never put a tracker in his phone when they were dating.

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Track 20 - Let It Out by Heather Sommer

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{Wednesday: Afternoon – driving along Santa Fe National Forest, NM}

"Hey Scott," Stiles answered uncomfortably. While driving, he managed to wedge the talk button with butt of his palm.

"Hey, I'm sor- How did you know it was me?" Scott stammered. "This isn't even my phone."

"I figured you'd be the only idiot I know trying to reach me midday instead of taking a test," Stiles assumed logically. "It was either a telemarketer or you. Whose phone is this anyway? And why aren't you taking your midterms, young man?"

"There was a girl on a motorcycle, there was a rough scrap, she kinda cost me my phone which I'll get in to later but aside from that I really needed to get ahold of you," he explained in a low tone.

"You have reached me. Congratulations, I am reachable," Stiles assured Scott, while changing lanes he placed one hand over the other smoothly, with his cellphone on speakerphone placed precariously on his lap.

"Why do you sound like you're in a wind tunnel?" asked Scott.

"Don't judge," Stiles criticized Scott's criticism. "You don't know where I've been."

"Have you been in a wind tunnel?" Scott sounded both worried and eager.

After a moment Stiles added in a disappointing tone, "Well, no. But I've got my own wheels! We don't have to worry about talking with an audience anymore."

"How did you manage that?"

"That is a much longer story, now how 'bout you stop avoiding why you've been trying to get me on the phone all day?"

"Right, that."

"Right, 'that'." Stiles honked instantly at a driver who had the nerve to be coasting far too near to his precious Jeep.

"It's about the photos I texted you," Scott sounded worried.

"What- Ohh," Stiles slowed the Jeep. He wanted to take a minute to reconsider some things. He didn't have a lot of resources anymore when it came to asking the big questions about the people with signs of a supernatural nature. Plus, he didn't have access to the Argents' bestiary like he spied Lydia had. Which meant he had to think back long and hard to half-ignored lessons Hales taught to him years ago.

When he shifted down gears, he grabbed his phone and tossed it up onto the dashboard. He cut off Scott when he started to ask what that noise was and what happened, he countered with demanding Scott to tell him what the hell happened.

"Start from the beginning; How'd she become a shapeshifter? We don't know if she's anything like us bro. We need to know what her origin story is."

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{Wednesday: Noon – along The Industry 'Crash Site' Bridge – Beacon Hills. CA}

.

"That's it. That's all there is," Scott sighed, while he sat on a slate of stone and getting further and further entrenched into his retelling.

"So, you thought to then call me secretly? From her phone? So, that she would then have my number?"

"Yes?" Scott started meekly then reconsidered, "I mean, yes. I already asked and if it'd help, she doesn't mind that you know everything."

"You mean, all that she says there is," Stiles was quick to remind.

Scott felt injured by Stiles' fresh cynicism, despite needing to be grounded by it.

"Why would she hide something from me?"

"I don't know. Maybe she doesn't know she's hiding something from you. Maybe she's really a sociopath out to trick us all with her foxy-ways," even in his lightheartedness there was a little ridicule.

"She's not a sociopath, Stiles," Scott laughed. "S-she's nice."

"Uh-huh." Stiles made the non-committal expression sound like a pretty committal statement. "When's the last time you talked to Allison, Scott?"

"What?" Scott balked, he held out the phone to stare at it in shock then held it back at his ear again, "What? This has got nothing to do with that."

"Actually, yeah it does. You shouldn't be meeting with this girl alone. You should talk to a Hunter about this," Stiles sounded less teasing and regrettably level-headed. "Your Kira friend wasn't bitten. Something flipped her metamorphosis switch into the 'ON' position and it's progressing pret-ty quickly."

"So, you do know about it," Scott strove for hope.

"Not really," Stiles dashed it away. "It sounds hereditary; at a guess I'd say fox-spirit, but I wasn't taught the Asian descendants."

"But why not?" Scott complained, just short of whining. "You knew about Banshees."

"Yeah," Stiles laughed outright, "because it was obvious, she could sense death, dumbass. And we all connected those dots."

"Not me."

"Let's not bring that up," Stiles made a grunting sound, agitated by something to do with driving. Then it was obvious from the quieting on his side of the phone he had pulled over. "Actually, let's. Dude, when we were kids, we played that 'Fable II' until we had blisters on our blisters. What the hell did you think the Banshees were out to do, sing us to sleep?"

"I don't think that's an accurate depiction of what Lydia does," Scott corrected mildly.

Stiles paused, "touché. Anyway, Allison did most of the legwork getting Lydia the information on identifying as a Banshee." He paused and sighed lengthily feeling Scott's reluctance.

"My phone is broken you know," Scott reached for an excuse to keep his word and keep Allison (a human) out of Kira's private life. At least that's what he told himself.

"That's a weak one," Stiles retaliated, "You know, I'm right about this."

"You're definitely sure we can't connect the dots together," Scott pleaded low while Kira came into view, waving from along the river bend.

"Sorry Scotty, if the spark that lit Kira's fire had anything to do with her hereditary background then nothing I learned will help. I wasn't taught anything about Japanese culture - and if it had anything to do with the storm, it is elemental, it could be unstable. Go to Allison," Stiles apologized sounding sincere for once. In the same vein of something urging him along, Scott could hear a car honking as well as muffled conversation Stiles had with another driver.

"Looks like I gotta go, but keep me in the loop," his voice sounded hurried and whizzing sound of rushed driving filled the background. "Promise me you'll get your big-boy pants and talk to her. To be honest, she's going to have to put on her big-boy pants and meet you halfway."

"Yeah okay," Scott said with a nod smiling awkwardly to Kira as she neared, looking apologetically at him for returning before his call was done. "I promise," he added dismissively while trying to both stand up and wave Kira over all without dropping the phone.

"Excellent, you've got 24 hours to do it," Stiles' tone was just as dismissive as how he cut off the call, leaving Scott no room to argue, but just enough room to squirm. "Or I will."

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Track 21 - Monster Lead Me Home by Sara Hartman

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{Afternoon – alongside the Mad River, Beacon Hills. CA}

After returning her phone, Scott let himself be led further inland, over shale and shallow water, to where the creeks combined and earned its name "Mad River". Along the way, Scott let babblingly between them fill up the space, stories of growing up in Beacon Hills and sneaking off into these woods, all the imagined adventures him and his best-friends would have.

"You, and your friend Stiles?"

"Right, and Lydia."

"Our Lydia?"

Scott could sense her disbelief, it was chilling and a little harsh, but he understood it. "She used to be kind of obsessed with the outdoors, swimming, camping, hiking. I guess all the Martins were, they'd take us on camping trips through Fairvale, to Union Town to the Lake House and back."

"It must have been nice growing up like that. You must have gotten pretty good at it?"

"Me? No. Those two? Yeah, they were pretty competitive, like scary competitive but not all bad."

"You guys seem so different from your stories. Why'd you stop coming out here?"

"Stiles suddenly moved away," the dullness in his pause voice made it obvious he was unsure what he should reveal. The recently recovered son of the Sheriff wasn't exactly a town secret, or even Stiles' secret but bringing it up felt like opening a can of worms.

Kira's eyes went wide, and her face crumpled with a groan. "I'm such an idiot. Your friend- he's that Stiles!"

"He's that 'Stiles'," Scott nodded and averted his eyes while she tried to pull herself together. Except she didn't try to pull herself together. She went on a rampaging, mumbling tirade of every news article, school gossip, post she vaguely come across on-line (she emphasized it was in passing, she swore she didn't linger, which is why she hadn't recognized face compared to the first-grade photo the local news circulated or connected the name because that sort of nonsense just doesn't interest her, not that Stiles was junk).

"It's totally fine, Kira. It's just a thing that happened and we're getting through it."

They turned to wander down the river again, the sound discouraged Kira from trying again, but eventually tight lipped and fist clenched, she just had to know, "was that him on the phone? - I'm not asking because of those wild theories about him being raised by gypsies or like, druids took him to faery land. I was just wondering, since you did call him, were you asking him about me?"

Scott stopped short again and Kira froze. This time she could sense she had struck a nerve. Scott let out a deep breath and with his eyes closed gave a nod.

Grinning with relief from ear-to-ear she asked, "and did he have an answer?"

Scott shook his head, "he listened, and he remembered some stuff. He thinks this is hereditary. Maybe elemental."

"I sense a 'but' coming," she slowly smirked. Despite her disappointment, she really wanted Scott, right now her closest friend, to ease up a little. He returned the grin.

"But he suggested that I maybe-" her eager expression didn't stop him reflecting on his breakup. Not for feeling like a jilted ex, Scott could be immature but never shallow. In Kira he saw someone in need, someone that couldn't protect themselves from themselves. The Hunter's vow that was strong enough to keep him and Allison's apart, was also important enough to bring Kira and Allison together. He just had to be humane enough to remove himself from the equation. "—well, that we should talk to this other friend, a much more qualified friend who could probably help you. But she's not who you're expecting."

"If you trust her," Kira agreed, "then I do, too."

"Thanks. But you should meet her first," he blinked several times struggling for the best words to use to explain it. Straight forward worked best, "she's an expert because she's trained as a Hunter. Like the Hunters I told you about the other night. The ones who have been hunting our kind for centuries, not that she has. I'm mean she's not even out of High School."

"Okay, Scott. OK," she put a hand on his shoulder so that he would slow down. "I got it. Can I think about it?"

"Sure."

"Do you think she might know why that girl was stalking me the other night?"

"That, I can definitely ask!" it seemed a sure bet to assume Allison would know more about. But it made more sense to confide everything in Allison, he couldn't relay half-truth and results. "Her family is pretty good at investigating. They were probably with your parents on the bridge that night, showing up and cleaning crime scenes is a specialty of theirs. He's going to hate missing that I said this, but Stiles is right. My friend is your best chance to learn about what's going on unless you're willing go to your parents. I can ask- can I just ask her about these incidents? Can I ask just if she's interested in talking?"

Closing her eyes, Kira shook her head, "just let me think for a second. Oh!" after another step forward she pointed across from them. "We're here. This is where Jackson lost control of the car and it skidded into water."

Their eyes followed the length of broken brush, in through the water until it met their trail to the Industrial Bridge, now Crash Site.

"Where the hell were you going, Jackson?" Scott muttered under his breath.

Around the time of the accident construction on the highway had ceased for the day, leaving traffic unobstructed. The lanes of the bridge should have been wide open, but Jackson drove through a rarely used service road. With that in mind it wasn't surprising the car toppled, there wasn't a shoulder to brace it from the Mad River. Common sense would have made any driver slow down, but Jackson kept up his high-speed to the point the car jackknifed nearly drowning both passengers.

"That's if he wanted to take you out of town," he hooked his thumbs into the pocket jeans, his fingers itching to do more than speculate.

"It didn't seem like he wanted to ransom me for money or anything," as she went along Kira kicked a stone lightly, her thoughts unsettled. "My Dad left a much more lucrative job at NYU to teach kids at a High School in Northern California. We're not exactly trading up, no offense."

"None taken. Wow, New York. It's like everyone is coming here for a freak show," Scott laughed lightly, "no offense."

With her arms crossed she smiled with no mirth, as she envisioned the car smashing and skidding along the rock face. In as long as he'd known her Scott had never seen her so solemn.

"He never tried to save himself," she said softly, her eyes trained along the pathway. "He never hit the brakes, I crashed us. He had no idea what he was doing. After he freed my hands, he helped me climb out. And he didn't pull away when I melted back his skin."

"We're going to figure this out-" Scott moved to place a comforting hand on her shoulder but her shift in stance, the upturn of her chin said not to.

"Your friend, do you think she'd ever want to try to figure him out?" she worried. The concern for her victim and captor was warring and he could sense the fight in her and saw her eyes begin to glow a little.

"She did actually," Scott said with a bit of pride.

Kira let out breath in relief, "good. Will she help him, too?"

"She will. She wants to help everyone," he said. Respecting Allison's dedication as Hunter was one thing, but fully understanding it was something new all the time.

"Just like you. You always want to help everyone," Kira cleared her throat.

"We should head back," his smile softened his eyes. He wasn't sure about that, but he wished it was true, he wanted it to be true. There was a light he sensed burning growing from her, it was a sort of welcoming warmth in this cold world, and he wanted to help that grow.

"I'm going to try to talk to my Dad. But you can try to talk to your friend, too. I think I'd like that."

"Cool," Scott hopped to follow behind her as she led along their path back to the bridge.

"We gotta hurry though. I'll lose my nerve if my Mom's around, so I've got to get to him before he leaves the school."

As he ambled back up the path to the bridge, he convinced himself this was progress. Getting Stiles to work with him, Kira to open up, preparing to confront Allison and feeling open-minded about Jackson. But there was still a red flashing light that reminded he "Failed" at something; he was unsure what until breezing by a 'Warning - School Zone' sign. He'd missed a day's worth of school and every test that it included.

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Track 22 - Weak Knees by Alex Napping

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{Late-Afternoon – BHHS, Lacrosse Field}

When Scott pulled up in front of the school, the lacrosse team were taking to the field, and Kira decided to head straight to her Dad. If she couldn't work herself up to a confrontation, she could still spend time with him riding home together after trying to convince him she'd been in class all day.

"With the way he's been avoiding me lately, I'm pretty sure he's going to be happy we're in the same room and talking." At the thought, she lightly rolled her eyes as she handed back the bike helmet. "But if you're still going to make practice, is it okay if I um...?"

From his grin, she knew not to finish the question. It was a silly question to begin with, of course she could come watch. Practice was an open space, and Coach liked to see if the team could work with distractions. Plus, thanks to Lydia's organization with pep-squad, the Cyclones had a cheering section even during practice, and Scott liked to see a familiar face.

"Totally. You totally have my permission," Scott grinned. "If you need a break from your Dad, come watch practice. I can always drive you home after."

Between them hung a pleasant unease as they went toward their manifest destiny; Kira to her Dad and Scott toward Coach Finstock.

Scott rushed around to student parking and after a speedy change in the locker rooms, went to the field to try and blend in with his teammates unnoticed. After a little ducking behind some seats, he managed it. But as he walked past Isaac, his friend's eyes were staring down at his shoes as though they were the most fascinating thing in the universe. So fascinating, Isaac lost the ability to hear his name called, or feel his arm getting tapped by a lacrosse stick.

"If I knew we were going to see you here, McCall, I would have had your Econ test carved into the bench," Coach started at a neutral tone but continued until it hammered into Scott's head.

"T-that was today?" Scott wanted to think of an excuse but could only feel a chill down his spine. Isaac continued to ignore Scott's existence.

"Seriously, Scott." Lowering his voice, Coach redirected him to the side-line. "I'd sooner cut off my remaining testicle than cut you from the team, don't make it come down to that. Now, go wait in my office, and we'll talk about when to schedule a make-up exam before you end up on academic probation."

.

"Took you long enough to get back," grumbled Isaac got up from the bench and kept Scott company on his walk of shame back to the locker rooms. "Where did you disappear to all day?"

"I-you really want to know? See, there was this-" then Scott preoccupied himself by unstrapping his arm guards, "wait, can I use your cellphone?"

"What?"

Alongside each other their voices took whispering tones so they wouldn't be overheard. "It's important. There was something I needed to see out alone."

"Needed to or wanted to?"

Chewing his lower lip, Scott considered Isaac's question and pulled his helmet off. "I didn't think about it," he admitted.

"You know, it's a choice." Isaac's eyes narrowed, then he opened his locker to grab his phone from his backpack, amused by the way Scott squirmed under his gaze. "You can keep running, stumbling because you've got your dick tucked between your legs, or you can actually count on me for help."

When he shoved the cellphone hard against Scott's chest, he fumbled to grab it only because he'd been called out. Isaac had been helping him out for weeks, and Scott should have assumed Isaac would notice his standoffishness. Leaning on a nearby locker, almost looming with a little grin, Isaac waited for Scott to get his act together. He trusted Scott to have a very good explanation for the disappearing act, hopefully it didn't involve a Monster-Alpha, but who knew these days.

"Can I please just make this phone call to Stiles first?" Scott continued in a low, humiliated voice while clutching the cell with both hands. Isaac struggled not to laugh at his disheveled friend. "I swear, then I'll figure it out."

After another second of comically dubious glaring Isaac moved off the lockers and strolled toward the double doors.

"Fine. Scott, but I'll be waiting in the sidelines. Like usual," and he let doors swing shut hard behind him.

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Track 23 - We All Know The Rest by Varick

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

"Dad, what's the likelihood that someone could, like, wander into our backyard?" Kira asked this without looking up. Her Father stopped sipping from the small cup that came with his bento box momentarily pretending she hadn't rattled him.

"Not possible," he said with a convincing grin. "Why? Do you think you saw someone?"

Kira played with her phone and took her time to reply. She promised herself she wouldn't Google the details of her transformation anymore. Not only did they not turn up anything other than anime, but it was as neurotic as searching symptoms on WebMD. That only unnerved her but playing somehow playing with the weather app calmed her. It reassured her that today's weather outside matched expectations, she had no influence over it and that made her feel better, so she refreshed it every few seconds.

The silence continued for a long while before her Dad called her name for the second time in a no-nonsense tone and Kira realized she must have hit a nerve. "Of course not," she smiled a little and glanced back at her phone. Today's temperature reads 47°F. "That would be impossible."

"But you would tell me if you saw something." He sort of asked.

Today's Max Temperature 51°F. "I guess, I saw it in a nightmare, but it was a while ago." She glanced up and shrugged.

He watched her messing with her phone intently. "That was just a nightmare," he assured her, and she nodded. "But you know if anything like, anything that seems impossible happens around the house, around anywhere, you can tell us."

"Yeah Dad," with a glance up, her smile brightened mildly, "you should be careful driving up to The Hills. They said there might be unexpected showers."

Confused, he smiled back as she returned to her phone, fingers gliding across the screen. Mr. Yukimura, Ken tried to get back into his bento box when she broke in with more leading questions and no eye-contact, so he closed the container on the desk between them.

"I'm wondering why you bought the house in The Hills. Was it because you didn't want to run into neighbors, or did you think the weather would be better different up at a higher sea level?"

"Kira? Is there something bothering you?"

"Because if you were, that didn't work out. You know now they're doing work down the road from us on Echo Lane," she wondered aloud, "maybe the neighbors caused damage to a streetlamp, or it could have been struck by lightning." The last thing her weather app read 'Wind Speed was 7 mph (NNE)', she was pretty confident she could run faster than that. Putting the phone to sleep, Kira placed it on the tabletop and looked her Father in the eyes. "I was just wondering why you bought a house far away from where you work in the middle of town. Was it to avoid potentially violent neighbors or weird weather conditions?"

After a moment Ken closed his eyes, he seemed somewhere between cool and solemn when he finally said her name she speedily interrupted with an apology.

"I know, you're busy. I'm sorry I'm always interrupting. I'll go watch team practice until you're ready to go home," she slung her backpack over her shoulder, shoved her phone into her back pocket and clipped the corner of his desk on the way to the door.

"You're never-" he eased back. He gripped her arm without even noticing getting out of his seat. After shaking his head and soothing her arm where he just touched and continued, "-never interrupting. It's just if I don't know what you're asking, how can I know what to answer, Kira?"

She nodded. That made sense. But she wasn't sure how to ask if he knew if there were Werewolves living in one of the houses down the road or Banshees in the backyard. Or how was it exactly that she could make electricity just crackle through the air at will. That definitely sounded like something out of an anime, and she didn't want to seem foolish to her Dad. On the other hand, she could sense he was definitely hiding something. Deception had a particularly acrid smell, something she'd never noticed before, but started to pick up on it nearly everywhere.

"I guess I don't know what I'm asking either," she admitted. "But when I figure it out, can I come back to you? And can you promise to answer honestly?"

Authoritatively he held a finger up at her until he poked her nose, "You got it."

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Track 24 - Outside by Calvin Harris

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{Afternoon/Early-Evening – BHHS, in the Stadium Seats by the Lacrosse Field}

Of the many times her heart skipped to see Scott walk into view, Allison couldn't recall such a measure of joy. It was like the world turned from dim grey to Technicolor when he snuck onto the lacrosse field with his awkward smile, while struggling with his helmet.

Even though the team hadn't made a play yet, Allison cheered him on and was surprised to find she wasn't the only one. A late comer took up arms, with embarrassing fervor. Embarrassing for Scott that is.

After the original rush died down, Kira climbed up to take the seat beside Allison on the empty-ish row of benches.

"You're here."

The statement sounded of surprise, so Allison gave the answer that fit the scene. "Sure, I'm here with pep-squad," she gestured further along the row from large and rowdy Danielle, along with shy Bridget to scrawny hyper little Mason.

"Oh, cool. I'm sorry about our study date," Kira started in.

It took a moment for Allison to remember the girl and their average H.S. study date blown apart by a collapsed library, an electrical storm that took out the city and a burned down an ancestral home. Right, that.

"That's okay," Allison smiled kindly, her laugh after expressed the preposterous of the whole scenario. "I get it. That was a crazy night."

Kira eased a little, but not entirely. She appreciated the forgiveness, but a part of her wanted to be held accountable, "It's been a crazy couple of days. But I've been trying to-" Kira looked over into the field and breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm just trying to find a way to fit in with it."

Allison couldn't stop uncomfortably flattening the fabric of her sweater against the layers of her dress as she replayed the afternoon and tried to imagine what it must have been like from an outsider's perspective. She had never wondered if Kira had gotten out of the library safely. To think, Kira would never have been in the library at all if she hadn't agreed to study with Allison, if they hadn't bonded over their sense of isolation. Even under her jacket, the nestling of her sweater couldn't comfort her enough.

"You're pretty cool. I think you'll find your place easily," Allison cleared her throat.

"Well, if someone like you says so," with a tilt of her head, Kira grinned.

A scene on the field caught their interest as Coach's voice rose with Scott's name on his lips.

"What's going on with him?" Kira worried.

"Him? I'm not sure. Why?" Allison got to her feet, unsure of the scene playing out around her, so, she played it coy.

Kira's ears strained to make out the words Coach said over the distance as he led Scott from the field, and her intense expression concerned Allison.

"We have history together," Kira said evasively, while standing up beside her. "I thought he was a pretty good player."

"He's very good. He's the Co-Captain," her shoulders went stiff as she turned back to the field. "Then why are they taking him off the field?" It wasn't the only question that came to mind when Coach Flinstock shoved Scott toward the locker room at the same moment she caught sight of Bennet pulling into Student Parking.

"D'you always watch them practice?" he leaned over the banister once Allison reached him. She stopped beside him on the lowest step of the Stadium Seats so that they were at eye level, squinting against the horizon. The duty to 'Protect Those Who Cannot Protect Themselves' had a broad and weighty definition.

"That's me. Always watching," she joked, while she analyzed the area. Kira sat cheering ten feet away and not under a bookcase in a collapsed library. Jackson seemed to be keeping control running alongside his teammates and didn't look like a homicidal lizardman. Isaac was running back onto the field from the locker room, and he wasn't crushed under a tree in the woods. Scott was (unfortunately for him, sent to the Coach's office) not within sight and not under a house on fire. Lydia was more than likely obsessively studying her genetics side-project and not mindlessly wandering. That she knew of. As for Stiles, she really needed to check in on him.

"Well, it's time to clock out," Bennet whispered kindly, snapping her back from her worries. "What else are you going to learn by staring at these kids today?"

Allison side-eyed him critically, "are you tapping out for me?"

He mimicked her expression, "are you saying there is something else here to see?" Then he added a little smirk, "or are you just scoping out the pretty boy talent?"

She didn't want to lose face but had to reconsidered situation, looked to the field and back again. She added convincingly, "what if the Monster is an Alpha? What if that is why there have been a rising incident with teens but only murders of adult Werewolves?"

"It only has prospects in youths' malleability. Interesting theory," lifting away from the banister, Bennett breathed out with a whistled and looked at her wide-eyed. "Is it a working theory or do you have proof?"

Allison didn't want to lie to Bennet. Instead, she stood and hopped down with a hard stomp. By the time he came around the railing to meet her a smile was in place that meant she wasn't going to talk about it.

"Alright, alright," he raised his hands in surrender, car keys dangling off the fingers of his left hand. A reminder they should be on their way. "Tell me what you want when you're ready, but I just mean if you're thinking of using the Werewolves here as bait- you should also consider the fact that if that white dude over there, the one you confirmed, is the Kanima then chances are he was bitten by the same Monster."

Allison froze, wrath ripped through her when she considered not just the likelihood of this but the unfairness that the same Monstrous murderer stole another teenager's life on a whim because she missed the obviousness of it.

"Hey, hey, hey," Bennet tugged her aside and rubbed her arm in comfort, "or I could be wrong. It could be any one of the other Alphas in town that turned him by accident-"

"No." She shook her head, eyes down cast and calculating. "Any of the Big 3 in town would have their emissary capture and contain him."

"The Big 3 already have trouble keeping track of their own, seems like Ennis lost a confirmed two in the last few days," he grumbled, annoyed by more political than tactical problems.

"I'm talking protocol, not mysteries. Packs would rather kill a Kanima to save face than have something they consider corrupted hanging around. This couldn't even have been made by this new 4th Alpha hanging around the school. The timeline doesn't match. This Monster-" her eyes snapped up, her stare penetrated, and he felt the need to step back. But Bennet knew that stare and it excited him, he smiled as she said, "-it has to be put down. We have to get rid of it before it destroys everything good in this town."

Rotating the keys in the air, like a flag of salute, Bennet led the way to their chariot. "Well then, Boss. Tell me where to start."

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Track 25 - What Are You Afraid Of by West Indian Girl

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{Wednesday: during the Early-Bird Specials – at Frank & Lupe's El Sombrero, Socorro. NM}

"Well, it's been a hot minute," Stiles said through chewing his Mini-Chimichanga. "And I know you're brave, but I somehow doubt you're brave enough to talk to Allison yet."

"You sound way too chill for someone rushing home." Scott sounded very unchill.

"Just havin' lunch with the law."

"Do I need to worry about you two? Has the Deputy changed your mind?" although it started as a joke there was a sincere insecurity rolling around in his statement. Scott would have felt a lot better having these conversations face-to-face. Or just having Stiles within the same state.

"Aww, you're jealous?" Stiles tried to hurriedly swallow and clear his throat which caused him to choke. Parrish handed him a cup, but the hot coffee only seared his throat. Stiles waved off help and took his coughing fit for a walk from the table.

"Sorry, man," Scott pleaded through the phone. "I didn't mean to make you-"

Stiles chuckled lightly and kept walking from the open deck, through the restaurant to the front door, he winked at the hostess while he took a seat by the benches looking out to the road. "It's fine. The food was so great it was coming back for a second taste."

"That's gross," Scott snorted. At least he sounded a little more lighthearted but not by much.

"What the hell is going on, man? Why're you interrupting my perfect authentic Mexican meal?"

"I wanted to ask you something about my, you know, change," he hedged.

Stiles looked around, the hostess had disappeared to care for another, and Stiles couldn't help but wonder how long it would take for the Deputy to start looking for him.

"Scott," he aimed his voice for kind, but it came across a little critical, "if you could skip ahead to the point, and not sound like a Puberty PSA, that'd be cool."

"I just mean, I was thinking, after taking Kira to the bridge where the storm started..." Scott continued to draw slow lines.

"Where she caused a power outage throughout Beacon Hills and nearly killed Jackson, sure. That." Stiles surmised, "What about it?"

"You suggested investigating her 'origin story', and we did, but we just got more and -"

"-it just made things feel more. That's how an investigation usually goes," Stiles shook his head. He closed his eyes and envisioned sitting slouched beside Scott on the locker room bench, heads weighed deep in thought. Scott's maybe a little heavier for the difficulty of it.

"I want to go back to my origin." Scott said suddenly, and in a sharpish voice. "I think I want to go back to the jogging path where I was attacked."

Stiles rolled his eyes straight up to the heavens and dropped his head back, letting his head lean against the windowsill behind the bench. The vibrations from the Mexican music strumming through the bar inside buzzed through his head and drummed out Scott's words a little but didn't make them any less real.

"Are you there? Are you with me?"

"Yeah," Stiles wiped at his face and sat up, "I'm with you. I'm with you. I just- have you even been there since you were attacked?"

"Well, no."

"What do you even think you're going to find? Something even the Argents haven't found combing the woods? You know, we're not like her? That girl conducted 1.21 gigawatts of electricity easily, knocked out all the power in the town and walked away scot-free. She's not like you. A shadowy Monster didn't jump out at her from the dark, tear her a new one and leave her scarred and alone to figure things out. She didn't exactly draw the short straw-"

"Stiles! I get that," Scott cut through, he felt unsettled just remembering the place. "But we've figured out a lot about Kira just by retracing her steps."

Stiles sighed, "Why does everything have to be so goddamn mysterious in Beacon Hills? Can't someone just phone-in the monster of the week?"

"I used to jog that path every day," Scott's tone was decided and no nonsense, he sounded like he had a plan. "People from the team still do while I take the long way home because I'm scared of something I don't really remember. If there's something there, I want to find it, even if it's just new questions."

Stiles nodded. He didn't exactly agree but he conceded. Scott sounded determined and developed the timbre in his voice that dissolved Stiles' stubbornness. And anyway, he didn't want Scott running off into an adventure in the woods without him.

"Haven't you ever wanted to go back to where it happened?" Scott asked, innocently enough.

Stiles eyes snapped open. "What?"

"You know, to where you were turned-"

"No. Never," Stiles quickly got to his feet and paced in tight circles.

The hostess came out of the restaurant again. Her dark eyes shone brightly, and her smile lit up at the sight of him. She opened her mouth to ask if he wanted anything, and Stiles wanted a lot of things, but like with Scott, a lot of them were unanswerable. He strained to smile, waving off the hostess. From the slighted expression on her face, Stiles hadn't done a good job at looking casual.

"Scott, maybe you need a refresher course," Stiles practically hissed into the mouthpiece, "but when Derek changed me, it happened pretty much at the car wreck that killed my Mom."

The terrible uneasiness that followed made Scott really nauseous and grateful he missed lunch. "Yeah. I know. But maybe if you went there, you'd find something out you didn't know before."

"Like what?" he snapped angrily.

"I don't know. Something." Scott continued.

The place haunted him, maybe not every day, but he struggled with it and Stiles had photographic evidence on his phone, official reports of exactly how affected they had been.

"I've even tried going back there."

"What are you talking about, Scott?" Stiles rubbed at his neck, trying to rein in his temper to better listen. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"Maybe nothing, but I notice it gets weird whenever we talk about Lydia's attack..." Scott sounded mindful.

"That's just because we don't know anything about it!" Stiles snapped again, "How are we supposed to help her if she won't talk, and we have no idea what's going on with- oh."

"Exactly," Scott sighed. "You were right, we need to investigate 'origin stories', starting with ours."

"Fine, you win this round," Stiles looked around. The hostess wouldn't make eye contact, so he hopped over to her stand and silently plead for her attention. After mime-asking for a pencil and paper, he left a note telling Parrish he went to gas up the Jeep. Along the way, he kept talking. "So now that you've decided to start poking around in the dark, where're we headed first?"

.

"How about when I got bitten?" Scott continued.

"Well," Stiles caught a frog in his throat, "what do you remember of that night in the Preserve?"

"It wasn't even night. I was jogging the path right after practice. It wasn't even scary at first and then animals scattered around like crazy."

"Like they do from an apex predator."

"Who's telling this story?" Scott reminded. Half-way between the gas station and the restaurant, Stiles pulled into the shoulder of the road.

"It's your story," he inhaled deeply, turned the Jeep off and strapped in for a doozy. "Go for it."

And Scott did. In as much detail as his shock-rattled, weedly, overwhelmed and overworked sophomoric self could remember things.

On that day, Scott went with teammates on a run, but his asthma left him trailing. A brightness in the haze disoriented him, from when the Wolf took chase along the ledge until he was left bleeding over the side of it. He felt feverish afterward, out of it but not so injured he couldn't try to walk home. When he climbed over what he thought was the same ledge, he ended up crossing a bridge where Allison discovered him.

"When you say she 'got you home safely'-?" Stiles asked, finally interrupting after the story Scott had to tell.

"I mean she snuck by my Mom and took me too my bedroom." Scott chuckled, both at the memory and at Stiles' suggestive implications. Sometimes coming in after curfew is the scariest threat. "Even though it could have gotten her in hot water with her parents. Thinking about it now, like a LOT of hot water with her parents."

"What? Harboring and nurturing a Werewolf boyfriend in secret from her Hunter family for months is, like, a remarkable thing? I hear about it so often these days, I didn't realize."

"I just mean, now I keep thinking about how things were-" Scott stopped mid-sentence. He stared down at the tiled floor between his feet. He could clearly recall the innumerable times Allison sped back to the locker rooms after a game to congratulate him, to kiss him and to hold him, but especially to help calm him. It had been easy to see her in the stands earlier that afternoon, but he didn't feel the need to go to her.

"Isn't that why we're taking this walk down memory lane?" Stiles brought him back from 1,400 miles away.

"Right," Scott paused, he looked to the ceiling. "Where was I? Right, then there was Lydia."

During that first feverish night after being bitten, certain details didn't make sense until month later, like Lydia's constant presence. It was still early days for Allison in town, she knew very few people and had one best-friend. How was she supposed to know their history or that they couldn't stand each other. When Allison had to go home and answer to family obligations, she had to make sure he was provided for in her absence, Lydia was the only person she thought to depend on.

The familiar long shadow Lydia cast at the foot of his bed was comforting presence, just as her familiar state of aggravated resentment was enough to urge him to stay unconscious. Lydia didn't seem happy to replace Allison, but she did not seem mad either, just unusually anxious or Scott felt too dazed to question it. Maybe it was the life-altering toxins pumping through his veins or possibly it was her history of top marks in first aid with the Beacon Hills Brigade, but it never bothered him when Lydia's face interchanged with Allison's beside him cleaning his wound or checking his heartrate and temperature. The next school day, when they crossed each other's paths along the halls, they returned to being strangers.

When he learned of her attack, memories lined up and he felt foolish for not remembering earlier.

"So, Allison called you right after Lydia had been attacked?" Stiles asked.

The line went cold until then Scott answered dully, "no. She told me a couple of days later. By then, she thought we hated each other. We did at the time."

"Did you?"

"What?" Scott had wondered that a lot, but hearing Stiles ask felt like freefalling with an anchor wrapped around his ankle. "No." And easy as that drop was, he finally had his answer, "I never hated her. I hated our circumstances. I hated not knowing how to fix us."

"I hate that, too." Stiles admitted after freefalling a little too.

"The moment she said Lydia's name, I swear I was on my bike headed toward her house," Scott testified as Stiles chuckled.

"I believe you. I can see you, zipping like a speed racer to the scene."

"She was fine," Scott shook his head in remembered agitation.

"Was she?"

"No. She was healing. She had these scratches. She was doped up and feeling effects of the moon," said Scott, trying his best to remember the uncomfortable details but aside from her impression of anger and taking her pain, nothing came to mind. "For me I got a couple of sick days from school, a fever, two caring nurses and a Wolf's bite on my stomach that magically healed. But she looked really different. She had this terrible look in her eye, the look certain patients get at the ER, victims of major crimes. I- I found out about the 'reported missing' part days later."

From what Scott's noticed over the years, Lydia has very mysterious eyes; they were large, not green entirely, but kind of hazel. At times they seemed dark, especially when she was mad and were bright when she seemed happy, which he noticed more lately. But that day in her kitchen, they had a grey haze come into them. It seemed like something reached in and took away the ability for light to reflect. It made him sick. Since then, he's wanted to talk to her, listen to her, stay with her, just generally work with her as much as possible to keep that greyness away.

Scott standing with Lydia; like that time staring into bright eyes in the McCalls' shadowy backyard or when staring into her light eyes in the center of Stiles' dark bedroom could have been alternative universes, but all roads led back to Stiles. It was worth the confusion.

"Do you think she's going to be okay?" Dangling along the line, Stiles sounded unsure.

"She has us," Scott answered confidently, "of course she is." A sigh, like a little burst of static breathed through the phone line. Stiles' genuine sighs were few, far between and relatively quiet.

"I've got a date to get back to and he has a gun," Stiles insisted, his tone a mask of flippancy while he turned his Jeep on. "We should discuss this more when the both of us talk to Lydia. And Scott?"

"Uh, yeah?" he had half hung up when Stiles' voice called him back.

"Don't go to that place without me."

"Oh. No, of course not."

"And if you're going to ignore me, then just don't go alone-"

Scott laughed, "I said I'm not going without you."

"I'm just saying." Stiles sounded unconvinced. "Allison would be your best bet. She'll be a good second set of eyes since she was there that night. Plus, you need to talk to her."

Half-groaning, half-chuckling Scott insisted, "I said I won't go there without you."

"Right, I know. I heard you, but if you don't go with Allison, maybe talk to Isaac and see if he'll have your back-"

"Jeez, Stiles! You're my best-friend, but I'm one second away from hitchhiking out there just to strangle you! Would you just listen," Scott's voice rose, then remembering his surroundings, he moved a locker row further away door. "I. Will. Not. Explore. The. Jogging. Path. Without. You. I promise, okay?"

"mmmokay," Stiles took time before he accepted it. "Fine. But you're making a lot of promises today. Are you sure you can own up to them all?"

"That's funny," Scott grinned. "I only remember promising the one thing."

"Dude," Stiles said in the most severe and warning tone he could muster from such a nonthreatening noun, "you've got some obligations."

"Like what? I'm not sure what you're talking about? The line has gone all fuzzy and this isn't even my phone-"

"Dumbass," Stiles let out a groan. They waited, each for the other to say something witty and baiting but nothing came. Finally, Stiles followed up with the only winning thing he knew would stay them both. "You're going to be okay, Scott."

.

Track 26 - Heart Beat by The New Electric Sound

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{After Practice – BHHS, outside the Locker Rooms}

"What's going on with you?" Isaac asked outright. When the gapped mouthed wide-eyed expression Kira gave was the exact opposite of the desired effect, he gave it a second go. "I mean are you okay?"

"What, me? Sure," she smiled steadily. "I told my Dad I had to see the uhm Coach. How are you doing?"

Isaac furrowed his brows and considered the variables with which to answer that question. He knew the sassier 'better now that you're here' response would probably frighten her. The mean and more literal 'since I'm not scared of my shadow, I'm doing better than you' would probably not get him any of the answers he wanted. So, maybe abandoning his first instincts would better suit the scenario.

"I'm curious is all," crossing his arms over his chest he thought over and over 'be none threatening. Be none threatening.' "The Coach has been mentioning maybe putting a girl on the team. Are you the girl?"

After a pause she nodded, "I haven't completely decided yet."

"But I keep seeing you hanging around the locker rooms. And you've started to show up at practice a lot. Seems to me like you want to join the team?"

Kira stared instead of answering, then chose to nod. After some thought, when Isaac could no longer physically hold his curiosity, he launched himself from one side of the hallway to lean on the wall beside her.

"Unless there's another reason you're creeping around." He cocked his head and grinned. "Come on Kira. Join the team."

"W-what do you mean?" she blinked up at him owlishly.

"Do you ever sense something you maybe shouldn't?" he lowered his voice.

Pursing her lips, she shrugged.

With a brief nod, he took that as permission and scooted closer, certain there was something specific he recognized about her.

"You were running in the woods behind the school that day," while he said it, he could see she understood.

"You were the friend Scott was helping," she said simply, he nodded.

"You know, today Scott is losing it keeping a secret from his friends, but here you are again," he shook his head softly chuckling. "I see you tip-toeing around, Kira. If you're trying to trick him-"

"I'm not! I'm not, I swear I'm not." Her hands anxiously flew back and forth as if she were trying to bat flies away.

"Maybe not. Maybe you don't know it," he eased back. "But the fox could be tricking you, too."

Like an animal terrified to be caught under a predator's gaze, Kira stayed very still while Isaac leaned tall against the wall next to her.

"I'm not threatening you. Just warning you it's not just fables and stories. Wolves and foxes tend not to get along," Isaac stepped back further, his lanky limbs somehow seemed ready to spring, "but I'm up for a challenge. Plus, I think you should join the game."

"Oh." She hesitated, confused and then broke into a grin. "Thanks."

After a pause Isaac added, "By 'Game', you do get I also mean the bunch of us that are 'supernatural." He made air-quotes at that.

More at ease, she laughed a little lighter. Her not-so-secret secret had been aired, and she felt better for it, even if it hadn't been ideally with who or how she would have wanted it. Being a 'Team' player felt nice.

"Yeah, I got that," she took easier breaths.

"Because I've been told before I'm not great at subtlety..." eyes narrowed, he made a gesture through the air to measure his ability for where he was on the line of subtle-yes and subtle-no.

"Yeah, you're not doing that great anymore," she reached across, playfully punched his arm to get him to stop.

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Track 27 - Beautiful Crime by Tamer

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{Late Afternoon – BHHS, via the Girl's Locker Room and to the Library}

After his lengthy phone call, Scott had finally checked into the Office for whatever punishment this was meant to be. Coach Helisek offered whole-grain chips he'd rescued from the machine down the hall while they waited, but they mostly ignored each other for the rest of practice. Despite how long he managed to organize his Econ notes, his thoughts were constantly rearranging. The struggle of "Scott McCall: a better student, a better son, a better friend, a better everything," came apart in his fingertips the harder he tried to grab hold.

An hour later, Flinstock turned up in an irritable haze of forgetfulness and shouted at Scott in surprise for taking up space in his 'Private Place!' and then demanded he disappear. Then, in a bumbling rush to leave, Scott grabbed his things and exited the wrong door from the office into the Girl's locker room.

After opening his mouth to tell someone in the empty echoic room, Scott turned to retreat and faced the Coaches closed windowed door with its little vertical shades latch lock. After consideration, he hesitated to knock. He'd had a lot of big thoughts lately, but not a lot of room to deal with them. The Girl's locker room seemed as good a place as any, so he pulled out Isaac's cell phone and dialed.

"Scott?"

"H-how did you know it was me?" he felt utterly bewildered both of his best-friends recognized him from random phone numbers and before he even said a word and so Scott forgot how to say 'hello'.

"Isaac knows to only texts. I figured you finally called me," Lydia sounded equally relieved and frustrated, stopping partway up the stairwell of the school library.

"Sorry," Scott's voice wavered a little. Aside from evidently not calling earlier he wasn't sure what he was sorry for. It seemed she sensed that, so she waited for him to continue. "I got attacked on the side of the road-"

"Are you alright?" Lydia's tone changed to mildly frustrated, tinged with concern.

"Yeah, I heal quickly but my phone doesn't exactly."

After a sharp breath came a light groan, and Scott could clearly envision that way Lydia squinted her eyes shut and shook her head like the next headache she had would be named after him.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm always okay," she lied.

"I know you're lying," he said smugly.

"Oh, how do you know that?" she sounded keenly disbelieving.

"I can hear your heartbeat through the phone," he lied.

"You're lying," she smirked.

"How do you know?" he gapped.

"You have a tell," she laughed, easing finally. "Your voice gets higher. Are you really, okay? You missed exams. Now, you say you were attacked."

"I did? No, I'm fine," he nodded, hanging his head lower and sat stooped onto a bench. From her silence that followed it was obvious she didn't believe him.

"Is HE alright?" she snapped, sounding more like she wanted someone to 'not be' alright than to 'be' alright.

"What, who? Oh, you mean Stiles." Scott chuckled, "He's fine. He's on his way-"

"I don't care. So, then why did actually call, Scott?"

"I don't know," he said low, waiting for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. Scott thought having the conversation over the phone would be easier than in person. He was wrong; it was a twisted sort of horrible. There was no way to bring up Lydia's attack without coming across as a pariah. And what excuse would he have other than personal gain? Did he want to know what else bound their origins for his own sake? For Kira's? For Stiles'?

Lydia huffed lightly, "Scott, where is your head? Do you even remember the last text you left me?"

Scott struggled to remember but nothing came to mind, it seemed a million years ago.

"You texted about your nightmare," Lydia dropped to sit on a step, her purse pressed between her feet. The library was a quiet place, but it didn't feel silent enough, somehow not intimate enough for her words anymore. "You thought the Monster-Alpha identified me through you because somehow It knows me personally."

The Girls' locker room mirrored the Boys', but he wanted it to be foreign and some place where it seemed fair for her to blame him for talking about the subject, he promised Stiles he'd hold off on. He wanted Lydia to be able to yell at him for bringing it up just in case her feelings got hurt, but instead he was the one who felt disturbed by all of this. She was the one in charge.

"Are you still there?"

He nodded. Somehow, she got that and continued.

"When Allison originally told you, I'd been attacked you asked me where it happened. You asked because you knew it happened at the same location you were hurt," she sighed deeply, letting him breathe in her story and connect. "It only makes sense that It knows us both. It changed us both, It hurt us both the same way."

"Lydia," he said very quietly. It seemed tragically simple and straightforward. This is not what he wanted to bond them. He felt guilty and grateful for it, not uncommon feelings about Lydia. "This was just a nightmare. I will never let It hurt you again. I'd rather die before letting that happen."

"I know that" she chuckled lightly, "and you know, I feel the same."

Stretching out his neck, Scott looked around almost like he expected to see her appear. Then he started to worry again. "Lydia, I recognized you right away, but It seemed really surprised by you. You're the only one who made It hesitate."

Lydia followed his train of thought, "why would It recognize me but be surprised by me if It's aware of me enough to give us the same dreams?"

"What if It's not? What if It's too weak to bother both of us? It's not even strong enough with Its own hands to finish the murders, right? They're all killed off with a foreign object or a weapon of convenience. So, what if Its weakness is why It gave up on us after that bite? It did just leave me in the woods. What if It thought you never survived?" Scott threw out suggestions so quickly Lydia hardly had time to process. "Most of your dreams have always been really different from mine because they've been Banshee dreams-"

"Scott, Scott, Scott-" how to explain, each of his hypotheses genuinely redefined her existence? If only Scott could hear her heartbeat through the phone. "Slow down, can we talk more later? I can't have this conversation over the phone, I have to head home," Lydia jumped to her feet, grabbed her belongings and headed out through the double doors toward student parking. After a bit of bumbling, he agreed. It felt like her cage came up again, but the locker room wouldn't be empty for long, he realized, and he found himself in the same predicament.

"I'm going to get a new phone soon," he promised. While she came back with 'uh-huh', it definitely felt cold, and he sensed she might just send him to voicemail.

"Scott, you had better. I don't like this."

He paused before ending the call, "don't like what?"

Reluctantly, she admitted, "I don't like feeling like I'm totally disconnected from you."

After a beat, relief flooded through Scott, and he laughed. Before Lydia could snap at him to shut up or he could reply she hung up.

Which hardly mattered because he still knew where she lived. Plus, Mrs. Martin loooved him. Lydia wouldn't be allowed to hide in apathy anymore, for both of their sakes. Well, for all of their sakes. This would be easier if he and Allison were on better terms. Man, this would be so much easier if Stiles were just back already.

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Track 28 - Smokestacks by LAYLA

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{Evening – Martin's House, Aires East}

Throughout the evening chill a whistling came on the wind that kept Lydia company and she intended to savor her night home alone. Her Mom was stuck out in a late meeting with a client, visiting listings in The Hills. It gave Lydia free reign over the living room to spread out and get work done. She brought the coffeepot out onto the coffee table, (which made its namesake worthwhile ), brought her charger near the couch so her iTunes wouldn't run out of juice and fanned her notes in an exacting display. There were splayed partitions between schoolwork and extracurricular research. With her hair pulled back into an 'All-Business' ponytail, her oversized coffee cup and Prada beside her, she was at the ready.

1. Kanima: Murderous impulse – Jackson's predicament with his increased evolutionary state came after the exposure to mutation (due to scratch from an Alpha Werewolf.) Afterward, he would suffer massive gaps in memory when his Master stole physical time by commanding his actions. Whereas when Lydia had been attacked (in this case, 3 faded gashes on the left side of her hip, presumably by the Monster-Alpha), she didn't have an evolutionary state, but she'd been left with a massive gaps of time unaccounted for.

Hypothetical claims couldn't be made with such small sample sets. But that didn't prevent the growing pit in her stomach she wondered what she could have been up to during her fugue state. There was no documented evidence a Banshee was controlled by a Master, but it was a cold comfort. She didn't want to be happy she was without that threat while a Master still lorded over Jackson. There had originally been a gladness in knowing, by being bitten they shared an experience, but that was followed up by a sense of abandonment in leaving Jackson to a stranger pulling his strings.

Sure, the missing days over the winter break made her sick to think about. But since the timeline of victims didn't coincide with winter break, she at least couldn't be held accountable for any of those well-documented murderous throughout Beacon Hills stretching into the Fall. But if the Kanima were accountable for those? It distressed her beyond belief, mounting probability of it and Jackson wouldn't remember any of it.

2. Genetic Mutation – Controlling genetic mutation responses to find an ideal way to make a shapeshifter control their evolution response sequence without external provocation. No more Master's influence. The key word being 'ideal' because medicines wouldn't do a thing psychologically to help Jackson deal with the responsibility of being the Kanima. Since a Kanima reflected an inner conflict, how could he deal with his issue? If he could ever confront his conflict, why would he need a Master to take control? What disturbed Jackson 'Perfect' Whittemore enough to keep him from evolving into the powerful being he was genetically entitled to be? Nope. Her hypothesis had run off course. There was no immediate solution, so that tangent went on the shelf.

Coffee refill, Prada cuddle and a little World Geography.

3. Scott's phone call – She couldn't bring herself to get back to him. It needed to be an inperson conversation. It was incredibly insightful for Scott to conclude that they shared an 'origin' source. It did easily clear up why in the nightmare, the Wolfwere (the lesser used technical term for some trapped as more wolf than man) version of Scott knew Lydia, but not the Monster-Alpha. Why her Banshee dreams differed. It didn't know her, not the way It knew a Beta like Scott. She didn't belong to It. And because Lydia worked hard to put distance between them, the fact of their shared 'origin' had never explored. Despite how obvious it seemed.

If the Monster-Alpha didn't know she survived, (and now It did,) then Lydia just lost an advantage. That sucked, but not by much because It had been left unsettled by the realization. Like most people did, It underestimated Lydia and just assumed she would have been a weak needy Beta or dead. The compiled list of victims killed and attacked documented adult Werewolves solely, with the except for 4 people. Lydia pulled up that list on her phone and wrote down on a piece of paper the ones that stood out.

Three teens. These names were important. They were anomalies. But why?

1st. Derek (Alpha) – death by penetrating thoracic injury, post-mortem hemicorporectomy. Discovered in the cloaked by wolfbane in Preserve. (presumedly Kanima/Kanima-Master)

2nd. Quint (Omega) – immolation. Then hidden within the exploding Hale house. (presumedly Kate, not Monster-Alpha)

3rd. Kira (Unknown) - kidnapped/center of an electrical storm (?). Was attacked by the Kanima and the Kanima Master (Identity?) for reason unknown, purpose unknown? (presumedly Monster-Alpha?)

4th. Ginger (Beta or Omega) – Crushed and Exsanguination, Unclaimed body. (?) (maybe Monster-Alpha?)

Lydia frowned at her list. These questionable attacks, outliers, all of them possibly messages. Made intentionally violent or gruesome, but it gave a new direction. If she shared it with the group right away, she was scared of what they'd do. Because she understood the boys' impulse to take research on alone and spare others.

Stop.

Lydia took a breath and rewarded her progress with a bit of "Global History and Government" for a mental break.

A sudden passion overcame her to study up on neurosciences and electrotherapy, but it definitely felt like a distraction and anyway, everything felt 'sudden' or 'important' these days and so Lydia put it on a shelf for now.

4. Kira – There was no ignoring the unnatural storm from the other night, although everyone seemed to be doing their best effort to. From their brief but informative conversation at Beacon Hills Memorial, Lydia gathered that the electrical currents made direct effects on Jackson's transformation.

The more complicated questions were a) did Jackson mean to cure himself b) kill himself c) save Kira from his Master's intentions d) all of the above.

As evident from the Lichtenberg marks found slowly healing on Jackson's body, the storm wasn't normal or accidental. As evident from the shocking moment in the hallway when Kira touched her hand and the world turned back on, that girl was at the center of a lot of power. Maybe it was time to take that mystery down from the shelf.

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Track 29 - Ghouls by We Are Scientists

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{Crossroads}

"Great," Jackson grumbled, padding along on bare feet. "This is just lame. If you think I'm even a little bit stressed, or I've got a problem with a naked dream, then you haven't taken a look at this." He held his head high and strut through the halls of Beacon Hills High School. There was no doubt 'All Eyes' were on him and there were titters from some, cat calls from others and as he went along. But the further he went, the longer the hall extended.

It didn't take long for Jackson's temper to get the better of him. He wasn't going to break into a run like a weakling, but he had no problem yelling at everybody else. Sure, enough they jumped, stopped laughing and inevitably cowered from him, clinging to their lockers. As if that weren't enough, when frustration drove him to yell, they tried for doorknobs, but no doors opened. They seemed to be just as trapped. Well, screw them, they had clothes.

Jackson moved faster, turned corners, went down flights of stairs, up flights of stairs, toward the locker rooms but with every attempt, it turned into more hallway and went on and on.

Inevitably, swearing and stumbling, he tripped, cracked his head on the floor and came away with a bloody brow. After a moment of awkward pause, there were a few chuckles, and it sent him over the edge. As he rose, he struck the floor with all his might and fury. He hit it again and again and again, and the tiles broke apart underneath.

Like the swirl circling a drain, the people nearest were being drawn toward the vacuum he created in the ground, the tunnel his clawed hands hollowed out. Some people cried, some bargained, some begged for their lives, but one girl calmly asked, "is it better now?"

He stopped with his arms bloodied up and elbow deep in debris. All over he could feel the air on his exposed suddenly scaly skin, the sensitivity was cutting, and his muscles coiled tight. If his body were asked the question, the answer would be yesyesyes, then she would have been on her knees and ready to bleed for him. But she didn't ask his body, she asked his soul and stood with feet spread at shoulder's width, hands at rest at her side with palms out in submission.

Jackson looked her up and down with his reptilian eyes that could see a fiery shine of red and gold surrounding her even in the dark, but he wanted to meet dark watching eyes. A kind mouth tweaked into one of her shy smiles. He wanted to face Kira properly and answer her question, he wanted to make a clever quote about chaos, about destruction and creation. He wanted to know all these things so he could explain why but he never had the chance. Because the body of a Kanima didn't move like the body of a man and its fights weren't his, and the tail dragged a thick jagged gash across her throat before he could answer "not yet."

Kira collapsed in a boneless heap, a paralyzed doll into the grave he dug. The shock of it left the Kanima at the reins, Jackson couldn't hold it back. He stayed a captive audience to the carnivorous actions of the Kanima as it took its time, tore her apart and devoured her.

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Track 30 - The Monster by Atella

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{Thursday: Morning – from the Spaulding District to BHHS, Beacon Hills. CA}

In the same general instinct, to get out of there and get on with it, Jackson slammed directly into the driver's side door of a familiar little red Hyundai. He would have yelled furiously if he hadn't dropped to the floor, light-headed and breathless.

Ms. Blake kneeled beside him, having hopped out of the car, looking startled and just as breathless. She helped him to his feet and into the passenger side. He didn't believe it was an accident, despite how many times she reminded that she was parked at the time.

"I'm disappointed," she tapped the ring finger of her right hand nervously against the steering wheel while they waited at a red light. "This bond is only going to get stronger, but your focus is drifting. You walked into my car for god's sake!"

"Then tell me what the hell you need from me now," Jackson rubbed his bruised ego while rubbing his aching ribs. "So, I can get back to a normal life."

She tilted her face to look toward him, her dark hair fell into her eyes making the intent gaze she aimed at him a little less intense. "How 'bout you tell me what you want Jackson? This works two ways, and you know I can't do this without you."

"I don't want anything," Jackson deadpanned, and turned his head he aimed a fierce blue-eyed glare at her. "Hitting me with a car to get my attention is not exactly showing leadership skills."

Before he could say anything else a honk came from behind to inform them to move and for a moment she didn't. She held his glare but didn't return it. Her worry overpassed his resentment. The rest of the way from the Spaulding District to BHHS, inside of the car stayed quiet except for the tapping of her finger on the steering wheel. The moment she pulled up to the curb by the school, Jackson's grabbed at the door's latch but found it locked. Swearing, he kicked at the car floor a number of times before he swung around to face her.

"What?!"

"Listen to me. You have been so good up to now, getting rid of everyone and everything that's distracted you," Ms. Blake reached over and calmly held his face in her hands. Nearly instantly, he started to slow his breathing. "Once you get back on board, we'll get through this better, faster and safer. You believe me, don't you?"

"Of course, I do!" He lowered his aggression, slowly but surely. "I'm gonna figure this out. I'll fix it."

The anger within still riled, but her knowing smile tempered it as she combed his hair back and set him right in his seat.

"I know you will." She nodded, then pressed the button to unlock the doors. And with that, it was a smooth transition to move from one cage into another.

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Track 31 - Ready for You by Years and Years

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{Midday – BHHS, 5th Period English Lit: Ms. Blake}

"To keep you honest, I'll be assigning your seats today. I'm going to call your names alphabetically, and then you should pair up nicely," Ms. Blake said kindly over the nerves of prickly teens. She gestured fluidly with each announcement. "Argent and Daehler."

Allison looked over the heads of classmates, from Lydia over to Scott apologetically. If her Mom hadn't been hung up in the Lodge yet again, she wouldn't have been dropped off at school with barely enough time to make it to ELA. Haplessly, she shuffled across the room behind Matt and took the seat nearest the window. Propping her chin up on her hand, she watched like a hawk for the soonest opportunity to get to Scott.

"Lahey and Māhealani."

No luck at proximity to Isaac. He sat with Danny in her row too far diagonally, at the desk closest to the door.

"Martin and McCall."

Allison curled her fingers over her lip to hide the grin when Lydia and Scott filed into the desk behind her. While Ms. Blake was distractedly continued down the list of students, Allison tore off a tiny note. Beneath the desk, Allison passed it backhanded it to Lydia who, without looking knew to nudge it annoyingly against Scott's thigh. He read it at once, then reread it when he remembered to hide it from view.

"Can we talk?"

A mixture of confusion and relief crossed his face. Scott gave a nod and quickly tucked the piece of paper into his jeans. Relieved, Allison faced forward. (Un)amused, Lydia rolled her eyes and turned to look through the window.

"Aand, Whittemore with Yukimura. That's it, now we can get started. Hope you've all got your #2 pencils sharp and ready and you're nice and comfortable because you're all going to stay right where you are for the next hour and a half."

.

"Miss! Can I use the bathroom?" Kira's hand nearly smacked Jackson in the face when she rose it.

Ms. Blake had hardly closed the door to the classroom before Kira's hand shot into the air. Her English teacher seemed to consider it while walking along the aisle toward her but there was some sort of comedy in her step.

"Certainly," she placed a hand on Kira's shoulder softly, "if you want to take an F."

A moment of hope deflated into sinking humiliation with the tittering of nearby classmates and Kira felt like her back had frozen up having Jackson sitting beside her.

"This is for your own good. After your disappearing act yesterday, I thought you'd be smarter than to even ask." Ms. Blake patted her shoulder lightly before walking off.

Kira faced forward, she kept her eyes down, worked hunched over her papers, and wish she'd worn her hair down to hide behind.

"Coach says you're joining the team."

After expecting his voice all period long, it felt like a relief to hear it, all the muscles in her shoulders finally let their tension go. She stopped writing, which hardly mattered since she she'd hardly been paying attention for the last few minutes.

"Thinking about it actually, I'm pretty sure I want to," she chewed on her lip when she spoke. Talking back also felt like a relief. She'd forgotten what that felt like, to talk to someone who knew her whole truth, even the ugly parts.

After a thoughtful pause, Jackson finally asked by writing on the edge of his paper 'why?'

"Track team doesn't feel like enough running."

When he was certain Ms. Blake had her focus on someone else, he edged nearer.

"You'll get hurt." He side-eyed her, his discerning blue eyes held soft soulful brown ones. Sweat accumulated at his heavy-brow line and he failed at masking his concern.

Kira searched his face, she tried to remember there wasn't much a difference between fear and excitement. It's the same adrenaline that made for a good sportsman. And here they were, shoulder-to-shoulder, people who hurt and helped one another as easily as holding hands.

"We'll be fine," she said, wrung her hands on her lap beneath the desk. Not that he missed the nervous act. "Haven't you ever learned there's no 'I' in 'team'?"

"Yeah, but there is a 'me.'" he said, trying for haughtiness. But after a moment of pretense, he unclenched his jaw and backed off. Stiffly, he added, "that was a joke. Jeez. You must really, really hate me."

"Oh my god, no. Not at all," Kira hurriedly lowered her voice when Ms. Blake started to move their way again. And as she went by, Ms. Blake waited there longer than at any other table. Before she moved on, she gave them a nod and smile of encouragement, before reminding the class they had another 30 minutes.

For a while afterward, the two continued in silence. Once again, when Jackson spoke it took her by surprise. And once again, it was more relieving than startling.

"Youshouldjoin."

Kira sat upright and glanced around, even though she knew where the voice came from, but her delight had her spiraling. Then, hurriedly, she dove to her work.

'(•‿•)'

She drew into the margin of her test paper so that he could read it, careful not to right 'thanks' or 'Ok' because she didn't need his permission or approval, but it was nice to know he would be on board. Nice to know he agreed to, being Co-Captain her after all. It was as close as she would get to forgiveness from him, the teamwork thing would to be a whole different bag of tricks.

Now, just as she truly decided to join the lacrosse team, came a whole different level of stress. There would have to have a conversation with her Dad, in addition to the fact that she had no idea what they were up to in the English test.

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Track 32 - You Are a Runner, and I Am My Father's Son by Wolf Parade

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{Noon – BHHS, Government/Human Geography: Mr. Yukimura}

The warming up of the weather had people racing through the hall faster, everyone in a rush to get through the day so they could get out of school quicker. The extended lunch period turned the school into Bedlam.

After their English Exam, from the way Kira rushed over and practically pounced onto Scott's desk, it seemed like a life-or-death situation. Her grip on Scott's wrist shepherded him from Ms. Blake's English class upstairs to Mr. Yukimura's History classroom.

"It has to be now?" although mostly worried, Scott still complained.

"I need to do this. And I need you there." Although she was pretty determined, Kira still wavered.

When they stopped outside of the open classroom door, she froze and cast her eyes to the floor. She took deep, measured breaths to prepare for a confrontation. Still shaky, she looked pleadingly to Scott to do something to motivate her, she whispered "Well?"

Glancing around for a solution, he did the only motivating thing he knew would work. After knocking very loudly on the classroom door, he jumped away and hid from view.

"Kira?" Mr. Yukimura immediately came to his feet. "This is a surprise. Are you feeling alright?" The closer he got, the clearer he saw the distress on his daughter's face.

It took great willpower for her to step forward. The argument on her lips became mixed with respect and illogical panic. She felt emboldened by the sense of Scott's presence behind her, a strong magical ally. In front of her she was confronted by the mastermind who kept magical secrets from her.

"Dad. I-You and Mom have been acting weird since the blackout- And I know you've been worried about me, so- I'm joining the lacrosse team and- I just feel like I'm ready for a change like this. I can't hang around watching the two of you get ready for- I don't know, a divorce or something-" her tone sounded authoritative and straightforward, but the direction turned unexpectedly muddled.

"Whoa-Whoa-Whoa," her Dad reached forward and pulled her into a crushing hug. But once he dragged her forward, he noticed the bobbing head of a teenage boy hovering behind her. "And I'm sure you're here for a valid reason?"

"Moral support," Scott and Kira answered in unison, although Kira's words were pressed into the fabric of her Dad's shirt. With a deep sigh and a philosophical expression of practiced patience, Mr. Yukimura urged them both into the classroom.

"No one is getting divorced, Kira." Mr. Yukimura said this with firm resolve. He didn't even pull punches just because Scott was there. "I'm sorry. I know things are tense. I'll try to talk to your Mom about it, but you have to give her a chance, too."

"Okay." She reluctantly agreed and walked herself over to lean against the edge of the teacher's desk. Mr. Yukimura nailed Scott with an authoritative gaze that reminded Scott that he stood in a realm outside of control and locked the door.

"I'm not sure why you want to join the lacrosse team," but he watched Scott as he spoke to Kira. "I guess it can't hurt having a boy like this encouraging you."

"Wha-me?" Scott straightened up as his wince came off as smiling.

"Now, Scott I'm not sure why you're persuading my daughter-"

"He didn't persuade me-" Kira argued.

"I didn't have to. Kira is really awesome-" Scott backed up.

"You don't have to tell me how awesome my daughter is-" Mr. Yukimura acknowledged.

"You think I'm awesome?" Her soft-spoken voice cut through their rising bickering.

They froze, both guys looked to each other and then back toward her, unsure to which person she directed the question.

"Mr. Yukimura," Scott tried to get passed the awkwardness, "she's earned her place on our team, if she wants it."

"I'm sure you're trying to be diverse and inclusive, but Kira," her Dad bruised her feelings without meaning to. He stared warily at Scott while he spoke and inclined his head toward Kira. "You've tried things like this before. You've never been very outgoing."

"But I've never tried pursue something here." She said, her voice forced a calm. Her thoughts ran along the crowded halls. The whole time she'd been at BHHS, she hadn't connected with anyone. The images she kept in mind were of the lacrosse field, punching Isaac in the arm. Touching Jackson's hand outside the Coaches' office. Sitting and cheering by Lydia in the stands. Hanging out with Scott in the shed behind the Stadium Seats. Just sitting in the seats with pep-squad, watching a team of kids she felt she could really belong to. And running around the track. "In Beacon Hills, it's different. I feel different here."

"What about the Track Team?" Her Dad cautiously pointed out. Partly he wanted to argue it was the first time he'd seen her motivated for something since the blackout, was when she joined the team – definitely the first time she'd been passionate since they'd moved to Beacon Hills. "You said you loved running."

"I can do both! I love running, I just want this, too. I feel like I belong, Dad," Kira griped. She got his concern, his empathy and reached for his hand. She couldn't think of a way to communicate how the Team made up for the secrets her parents kept from her.

"Your Mom is going to love this." He sighed, in acceptance. Kira's face lit up, he smiled back, kissed her forehead, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"But what about you?" she wanted verbal confirmation.

"I love it!" He gestured outward with a flourish of his free hand, as if he could foresee the future. "I'm going to be at all your games."

"Well, you don't have to do that," she laughed uncomfortably.

It was a double-edged sword, Scott felt both relief and embarrassment on her behalf. Partial closure but also avoiding asking her Dad about the source of her power. Since it wasn't Scott's place, he couldn't figure out how to weasel in the subject, but Mr. Yukimura must have picked up his tension and seemed happy to poke fun at it. Really happy to poke fun at Scott's discomfort, actually.

Her Dad insisted Scott stay back and help him set up the seats, when she ran out to bring back lunch for them.

"Don't you think she'll be great?" Mr. Yukimura switched opinions, suddenly singing Kira's praises for being on the team.

"I think Kira's going to be great. Especially if she could focus 100%. Like, not stress about extra stuff..." it was a clumsy move, Scott wished he had been cleverer. Stiles would have been. Stiles' natural-born charisma would have smoothed over all this awkwardness or very much not and he just would have cared less. But Mr. Yukimura took note of Scott's protectiveness and stepped toward that pitfall.

"I'm sure she'll be mindful enough to optimize her physical and mental well-being," he explained, and pointed for Scott to move a desk over one way and back again.

"Of course, Mr. Yukimura." Scott stopped straightening the desks and turned toward his History teacher. "Kira's asked me to come with her because she's been nervous about this, 'cause she didn't think you'd talk to her truthfully. Well, I'm used to doing this same stuff for my best-friend, 'cause his Dad's just like you. He's the Sheriff, he's this important respected guy. The thing they've got in common is their Dads. They love a lot and are freaked out they'll lose them 'cause of these serious secrets."

It felt like stepping over the line, surprising himself, and Scott expected Mr. Yukimura to lash out at him. But the words were honest and came from someplace else other than the present. Scott had been thinking of his Mom. Thinking about what she'll say when she found out about how he'd messed up midterms, how he'd snuck out with his bike and how he'd cut school. The millions of unusable excuses for why he broke his cellphone weren't as convincing as "because I'd been fighting off Werewolves and got fried by a super powered streetlamp, because I can't seem to stop myself from trying to fix everything messed up in this messed up town!"

"When we moved back here, we were hoping for a better life for her," Mr. Yukimura smiled slightly and explained, "If you care about her, I'd be grateful if you could reflect on what serious secrets means and maybe how you can help maintain that."

Okay. 1) Scott definitely needed to ask Allison to look into this. 2) The Yukimuras had lived in Beacon Hills before.

"Are you asking me to stay away from Kira?"

"No." He didn't look up while aligning test packets on his desk, "Only, she's happy right now. But she lost interest in Track. She might lose interest in this."

"I hope not."

"Not accounting sports injuries," Mr. Yukimura slowly shook his head, "this situation wasn't exactly the plan. But I must admit, it is not surprising. I think you know what I mean, Scott."

Scott took his seat and took a long moment to process this. It made sense that if the Yukimuras lived here before, while on the bridge and at the hospital mysterious people, likely Hunters shuffled them out on the night of the blackout storm. Obviously, Mr. Yukimura understood what was going on at the school.

Mr. Yukimura gave a sly smile, walked over to the chalkboard and wrote under the title: 20th Century American History. '-sometimes history repeats itself.' He underlined the theme. "We have been studying this all semester."

Scott sat in the center of the room, looking unassuming with carelessly combed back hair, a worn denim jacket and combat boots and with hands folded before him, he displayed the depiction of normalcy. But his enthusiasm was virtually intimidating, he emanated profound power. For a lingering moment his eyes lit up, and it while it could have been a trick of the light, Ken Yukimura obviously knew better.

"Yeah, but only if we don't learn," Scott argued. "There are kids here willing to learn."

"It's going to be difficult," Mr. Yukimura smirked. Not knowing Scott's supernatural class type should have put him on his guard but knowing his character for over half a year, and all his dopey antics. Supernatural or not, he knew Scott to be a good kid. It made him pity the path these kids choose to walk. "You'll have to try again, fail again. Fail better."

.

Track 33 - Drive by Halsey

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{Afternoon – BHHS, Bottom Floor, Library, Also Joshua Tree}

More than half of the extended period had flown by, and Allison still scrolled through her contact list. In one hand the S's mocked her while the other hand went to her anxious lips. It seemed like all she felt was worried recently, and it wasn't how a Hunter's mind was trained. Hunters were meant to process things clearly, clinically and unemotionally. To do that Allison needed all the facts, which brought her back to the S's. Ignoring the suspicion that the Argents wiretapped her cellphone she scrolled through the contacts list and dialed.

"Hey. Hi, Allison."

At the sound of his voice, she realized how much she missed him, even the animated way he said her name. "Hey, Stiles. What've you been up to?"

"Nothing much. I just woke up. I've been studying hard. You know, 'been prepping for those placement exams. Catching up on curriculums-"

"Knock it off. I know you skipped town. Lydia told me." She snorted mildly because she especially missed his talent at being lighthearted while discomforted. A skillset she envied.

"Uhm, yeah, sure. How'd Lydia find out?" Even over the distance and ricocheting fiber-optics, she noted a distinct uneasiness in his voice.

"Oh. Lydia said Scott said Isaac told him," Allison explained, cautious not to get in trouble by recounting to many more details. "Stop trying to distract me. I wanted to ask you a question."

"Hold up," the line went distant as Stiles could be heard laughing, chatting, and then excused himself from a third party. "So, what? What's happened? Who's dead?"

"No one's dead," she rolled her eyes and hoped he sensed that through the phone, "yet. I was just wondering where you disappeared to."

"Family business," he hummed along, then grunted with some hefting steps and sighed with ease. "Now let me ask you a question; be honest, did you miss me?"

She bit her lip to keep from outright laughing, "yes, actually." She waited, but he had no witty comeback for that, "I could use someone to confide in right now. But not exactly over the phone."

"Did you think of maybe going to Scott?" he approached part delicately, part teasing.

"Did you think of maybe waiting 60 seconds before suggesting that?" she groaned. "It isn't just the breakup. I don't think he would get this. Isaac seems to think Scott's halfway to grabbing his passport, tracking you down and dragging you back-"

"Does he realize New Mexico isn't actually in Mexico?" Stiles broke out laughing.

"Do you realize you're talking about Scott here? He'd find a way," she bowed her head toward her shoulder, trying to keep Stiles' guffaws from being overheard. Still, eyes turned her way. "He's all heart. I need a little less of that right now."

Laughing turned to choking which descended into wheezing and back into Stiles' disembodied voice.

"So, you called the most heartless person you know?" Stiles' voice came through raw.

Allison glanced heavenward as she shook her head. This could go back and forth for hours and even an extended lunch period would only go on so long, and despite all the melodrama she had wanted to squeeze in some studying. Midterms covered weightily over everything. Maybe this was a mistake.

"Alright, lay it on me. I'm feeling open-minded and enlightened." Stiles sounded engrossed, puzzled and exhausted all at once.

"Are you on something?" she headed toward the nearest cleared out classroom to escape the noise.

"Actually yes. I'm at Joshua Tree."

After being jostled around with the rest of the crowd due to a lover's quarrel further down the hall, Allison stopped short, mind-boggled by the image of Stiles at a monastic desert-like National Forrest surrounded by stoic shrubbery in the process of becoming Zen.

"Hello? Are you there?"

"I-I'm not sure, I think I might be high." Allison got knocked back into motion by a passerby and brought to life. As she cut through foot traffic her mind slowly caught up to the rest of her. "Hey, you're almost home!"

"Almost," he sounded pleased with himself. "You had something to unburden yourself over?"

"Okay first, don't judge me."

"I don't judge. Except that Jackson prick, this isn't about Jackson, is it? Allison, you're not saying anything. Why aren't you saying anything? ...Shit."

It wasn't as cut-n-dry as Allison envisioned because as much as Stiles kept promising not to interrupt, he kept interrupting to ask about particular events and then interrupt his interruptions to get more interesting details, then occasionally interrupted that with apologies for his interruptions.

Instead, Allison aimed for the most informal and abbreviated debriefing imaginable that would work for someone as detached from the subject as she felt; the recap of her earlier career at BHHS and where Jackson fit in to it.

Firstly: as an avid fan of the Cyclones (for good girlfriend points), Jackson's only noticeable behavior on the field had been to be an elite player. In fact, the only suspicious thing on the field was Scott's sudden prowess and Jackson hadn't taken that well. Sharing his Captain status and the popularity made him withdrawn, icy and aloof with only occasional outbursts. Even that had been kept to the field. As far as Jackson's relationship with Lydia, Allison's intel was obscured by Lydia's cold-shoulder. They had a bitter breakup once school began but she only learned about that recently, which in retrospect shown detachment on the part of someone previously outgoing, popular, and personable. At the time Jackson's coldness added toward his popularity, much to Lydia's irritation. Allison sidestepped Lydia's cold-shoulder because she'd witnessed her do the same to Scott with little provocation, and anyway Lydia never actually hated anyone except her Dad, so it hardly set off any red flags. Plus, when Lydia turned up in Fairvale General Hospital, Jackson was the first in line to help. Maybe she should have questioned his means and motives at the time, but Lydia's safety was #1.

Secondarily: there had been probable cause for looking into Jackson. She jumped forward to the dossier; when Argents suspected of unaffiliated Werewolves around town- partly because she didn't want eyes to turn toward Scott's direction, but mostly because of Jackson's increasing remote and vanishing behavior. Allison only suspected him of being another rogue Beta, so she set up surveillance outside of his home. While surveilling, she collected suspicious secretion in claw marks on the trash cans and chose the outpost too dangerous to investigate alone. But made super-powered paralytic darts out of his venom, "-which you totally used on Isaac. Ugh, god. You pierced him with Jackson goo! Can I be the one to tell Isaac? Please god, Allison, I am your BFF4EVER. You gotta give me this!"

"Stiles, fine. But you've got to let me finish this-" after confirming Jackson as a Kanima, the investigation focus stopped being 'what is he up to?' and became 'why did this happen?' and 'who is the Master?' because without self-control there was no point in confronting him. That would just result in injuring everyone, like what happened at the library. "Thanks for setting him off, Stiles!"

"How was I supposed to know the guy would go Godzilla on us-?"

After the blackout at the hospital, Jackson had been reported near to death one minute only to recuperate almost instantaneously the next. Despite being in a building full of Hunters and modern technical surveillance, the mayhem shorted everything out and they had no way of getting an exact record of everyone there that night.

"If someone came to hurt him or heal him, I'll never know. Basically, it seemed like a waste of the only time we could have used him as leverage-"

"'Thanks, Stiles!'" Stiles quoted smugly.

"-except I forgot one thing," her smugness undercut his. "I never went back to his house to take down my surveillance equipment."

.

When Stiles' jaw gaped in shock, French fries spewed from it. The bright glaring sun made his eyes water and forced him to blink, reanimating his face. He rushed to his feet, wiping the ruined fries, his box of fries and his other box of curly fries to the ground. Infuriated, he gnashed his teeth to watch his litter flutter across the brown-grey flats when he realized he hadn't brought a plastic bag. The park would definitely fine for littering.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah!" he croaked, scrambling around trying to catch all the debris. The valley floor of dust and prickly, spiny plants kept him from falling over.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yes! I mean, yes." He calmed after the triumph of collecting the last of his mess to his chest. He squeezed closed his eyes and replayed the last of her story in his mind, "Wait, so you're telling me you have incriminating images of Jackson? Or the Kanima?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of Jackson, sort of Kanima."

"Yes." Allison voice kept getting wispier, while cupping the phone.

"What are you going to do with it?" Stiles glanced around, he looked to see if he were overheard. They'd camped down to eat a good jog away and there was no way for the good Deputy to overhear. The nearest thing were awkwardly shaped trees to see their shady conversation.

"What do I do?"

Stiles' gob opened wide, mouthing swear words into the air in soundless screams. After he cleared his throat, "I can't tell you what do."

"You are dying to tell me what to do," her laugh sounded light as bells, and he rolled his eyes annoyed that it pleased him to know she was okay with it.

"Alright, sure. What do you want me to say, never show your family? Because that's what this Hunter hating Werewolf is supposed to say?" Overhead plumes of white cloud, staining pale blue peppered the sky and broke through the stream of sun. It gave him a break from the glare and a second to think. "He's killing people, Allison. To death. You can't just sit on this."

Confusion was clear in the timbre of her voice. "He's violent in the footage," her loyalties crisscrossed again and again. "They could kill him."

"And he could kill you," after a beat he had to say it, he needed the point to hit home. "That would kill me. And then I'd have to kill him. That's a lot of killing. Do you really want all that blood on your hands?"

"No. I mean," then she reconsidered, "No. He won't kill me. Not if his Master doesn't tell him to. I just have to make sure his Master doesn't tell him to. Listen, I was distracted before because I felt like my friends and family were pulling at me, then I missed this piece of evidence. I only got to transfer the files to my tablet last night. I let it sit there for days. Stiles, you can see it clearly in the footage... He was trying to save someone. He may not always be in control, but he's not always out of control either."

"Allison," he felt unsure about telling her what not to, at least not without all the intel. "Do you even know what you're doing?"

"Yeah, we're trained for this. Sort of."

"Sort of? Trained? What, did they teach a seminar in martyrdom? What if you're wrong?"

"I don't care. I can help him."

"Oh, no, you don't get to say that-" The tapping of his foot picked up speed with his rushing thoughts. He wondered if that blanket-blind heroism virus ran rampant in Beacon Hills. "Look when I ran into the woods after Isaac's attack, Lydia read me the riot act and whatever- of course she was right. Especially about 'not calling for backup'-"

"You are my backup," her voice came across steady and light. When he didn't answer right away her voice got a little less steady. "Stiles, be on my side about this. No one else will."

"Fine, fine. Fine." He let out a long sigh and after shoving all of his junk under one arm he trudged his way speedily back toward his Jeep. "I got your back. Tonight, expect a call to check-in."

"Not if I don't call you first."

.

Track 34 - Cold Sweat by Band of Skulls

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{Afternoon – BHHS, 1st Floor Hallways}

High School drama between Jackson and Lydia taking up the halls, was something of a tradition despite being retired as the most popular couple in school.

Lately, Jackson loudly blamed her for their lockers being too close. Whenever she neared, which was too often for his liking, he could sense her inching in like a fog. No, vaguer, like the memories of her Coco Chanel at Homecoming, the one he complained would cling to his Hugo Boss jacket, but he never did get dry cleaned afterward. Images of Homecoming resurfaced, mingled in with distorted images of her staring from his dream, when she stared at him bright-eyed, with perfectly tinted lips pressed into a worried line watching as blood rolled down his chin and while his claws were elbow deep inside the remains of Kira dying. Jackson didn't recall Lydia haunting his sleep until he saw her in the light of day.

Since the beginning of the year, she'd appeared in his subconscious as a judging presence, hovering a step behind. Much like when they were dating, she was impossible to ignore.

Once Lydia strutted towards her locker, a replica of how she moved through his mind, then Jackson remembered how she permeated - which immediately fascinated, infuriated, and made him afraid for her. Before he realized it his feet had followed her path.

"I need to know something," he said just as she swung around to face him. She seemed composed and unbothered to see him. Good.

Beside her, their classmates Bridget and Sydney squeaked in surprise, Jackson hadn't registered either brunette. Bridget practically vanished from space. Sydney was made of bolder stuff. Lydia placed a steady hand on the girl's arm and silenced her with a side glance.

"Sure," her voice said steadily as though they were alone.

"I want to know that you're being safe."

"That is totally inappropriate!" Sydney scoffed, wide-eyed and practically laughing.

Lydia didn't see humor in his demand, instead she looked offended by the hypocrisy of it. Her hard, appraising gaze raked over his wounded look and twitchy glances. It seemed obvious to both of them, the only time they contacted were around life and death situations, which didn't make for easygoing banter.

"I am. Are you?" she snapped.

"Jeeez-us," Sydney groaned. She flinched out of Lydia's grip and inched away from their conversation. He tsked rather than answered. Then gave Sydney a glare that should have sent her rushing off, but Lydia insisted she stay.

"You stay, he's going."

"I know what you've been up to," Jackson started again, under his breath which earned him a trademarked Martin glare. Although insistent, he manage to come off as concerned rather than menacing. "You'd better be keeping safe."

"I know what you've been up to," from the hitch in Lydia's breath Jackson knew she told the truth. "And you're lying to yourself if you think what you're doing is safe. You'll get hurt, you'll hurt others and you'll end up unhappy."

"You don't know anything," he leaned forward to hiss into her ear, wishing she weren't right.

"I do, I do," she leaned back to stare directly at him. Face to face, her bright eyes, her perfectly tinted lips pressed together into that unforgettably determined line.

Then Jackson realized any chance he had of winning the conversation, of gaining control on the situation went away the moment he stepped crossed the hall. He searched Lydia's face and saw earnestness he wanted to believe. Maybe Lydia now knew the high stakes, the players but she didn't have the strength he'd obtained. Which made him want to save her. That was the sort of thing his Master warned him of. It unhinged the creature, wracked his insides because it didn't like feeling divided. That internal conflict made him afraid for her to begin with, it broke his focus apart and made him want to hate her. The thing and him worked better when Jackson functioned as a vacant, thoughtless vessel but she made him feel full. And that felt dangerous.

"No," something that wasn't Jackson said with his lips.

Lydia gulped in recognition and folded her arms defensively.

"You don't know anything," Jackson insisted. He took a large step back. And then another. "Goddammit Lydia, would you just listen for once-"

"No," Lydia shook her head, stubbornness spurned her on. Sydney cheered her on from behind getting none of the context but helping, nonetheless. "You're the one who broke up with me via text." She moved forward, closing the distance. "You're the one who bailed on me after New Year's, pretty much abandoning me twice." She neatly side-stepped recapping her attack. "You're the one who called me out of my Dad's on Christmas Eve and had me come to meet you the woods. Now, you want to lecture me about being safe?"

A Bell sounded off harshly above. Suddenly, she ran out of steam and looking around Lydia felt lost in the herd. Classmates' eyes looked on large in awe. Jackson reached out and unwrapped the nail-biting grip on her biceps. He gently straightened her arm, he tried to rub life back into her stiff limbs but kept himself from holding her hand because that felt like too much.

"Did you lure me out?" she asked. Her eyes widened and locked him as steadily as her voice nailed him with a blow. She grabbed his arm before he could pull away, her fingers clasped onto his fingertips. When he pulled away, she held tighter, dragging him into her fog.

Jackson thought for a long moment. "I don't remember," he worried his lip and meet her gaze. She waited for him to try harder. He gulped and delved into his memories further than he'd braved before. But Jennifer kept careful about which important matters she let him know. Shaken, he couldn't answer for certain. "I wish I could, Lydia. I wish I could give you what you need to hear."

"I know," she said, her grip eased. She tried a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I shouldn't have asked. I already know, you'd never hurt me." Despite the kind sentiment, he felt offended to hear it and she somewhat liked that reaction.

"Lydia, don't fall for that bullshit! Don't take that lying cheater back!" Sydney shouted through the crowd, knocking them back into the present.

Their hands pulled apart abruptly, hers went to wipe at her face and his went to his neck as he sharply looked away.

"Sydney, your desperation is showing," snapped Lydia over her shoulder. "Now would you take Bridget, get the Trig notes already and move along, before your GPA drops even more." Her classmate gave a weak glare, but snatched through Lydia's open locker, looking desperately for the notebook.

Once Lydia swung around to confront Jackson about what happened by the poolside or speculations of their shared origins, she was met with merciless jostling students. She groaned in disappointment, then stood still to catch a breath and think on the fleeting memory of their pressed fingertips were replaced by the trembling, clenched grip of frustration. But before she could turn her back on him entirely and return to her locker, she walked over to where he'd left his open and locked it shut.

Further down the hall, Jackson watched through the crack of a door of a nearly empty classroom. He worried that he might never do enough to put her off. He worried there would come a time, she should run from him but instead she would stop to stare instead. He wondered if it was because of Lydia's scent that he could begin to remember nightmares clearer, to think clearer in general, but it wasn't like him to live in blind faith or whatever. Besides, he could wonder about it later when his insides were calmer, since it wasn't like her scent washed away any easier these days.

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Track 35 - Beggin' for Thread by Banks

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{Afternoon – BHHS, onto the Courtyard}

"Hey," Allison tapped his shoulder.

Jackson clenched his jaw to keep from gasping before he turned to face her. All he wanted was to have a private, thoughtful moment in a classroom. What were the chances of ducking into a classroom where she was?

Escaping Lydia was difficult enough but running into her protective and inquisitive best-friend was careless and troubling. He turned and faced her. That smug expression was plastered on her heart-shaped face.

"You look a little sick," she said kindly. He harrumphed instead of using words. "What are you doing right now?"

Despite the standoffish aura Jackson projected, Allison insistently dragged him down to the crowded cafeteria. Disarmed by the array of people, his racing thoughts were smothered, and the smell of food reminded him that eating could be a very good thing at sometimes. When was the last time he'd had a meal?

Allison kept a lively grin as she haphazardly piled on a number of small dishes and dashed into the first open space she spotted. After placing an appetizing tray of fragrant whatsits under his nose wasn't enough to keep Jackson's eyes from anxiously wandering the room, she reached up and cupped his face. Jackson startled out of his haze, then stilled while she ran her thumb along sharp line of his cheek. He stared at her hand when she pulled it away and then shoved the food tray against his ribcage.

"Better," she gave a quick nod. "Now we can start."

"Allison, what are you even doing?" Jackson's eyes narrowed.

"Well, we are in the lunchroom," Allison gestured around, she insisted on his eating meanwhile she only drank from a water bottle and fiddled with the label.

When he realized she wouldn't continue until he took a bite of something, Jackson bit into an apple and chewed slowly.

"I figured you wanted something," he smirked easily between bites. Jackson had been much hungrier than he'd realized, and the food disappeared quicker than expected.

"Actually, um, yeah." She raised an eyebrow but didn't crack a smile. "I wanted to talk. I realize that I've been neglecting you. We haven't really talked since you left the hospital and I'm sorry, seriously."

Jackson leaned forward, frowning. He couldn't figure out if she were lying or not, he wasn't as in tune with her nature. "Maybe you're serious, but I'm not so sure you're being sincere."

"You've been the Captain of the Swim Team, the Lacrosse Team and the Homecoming King for how long, now?" she asked. Allison set aside the bottle and leaned onto her elbows closing gap between them. "You've got a lot of pressure to keep up your image, I get that. So, it's got to really piss you off when that perception starts to slip."

"I guess."

"You're starting to slip," Allison slid the notebook between them, hidden from onlookers by the food tray.

From the last page of the notebook, she pulled out surveillance photos of his street at night, specifically on the night the Monster attacked. The hidden cameras Allison placed around the Whittemores' weeks ago, when she first discovered Kanima claw marks, and she'd placed them on streetlamps to activate when on specific frequencies and to detected motion at unnatural speeds. Both had occurred on the same night, and might as well have set off warning flares. The surveillance RAW files footage automatically saved to Allison's personal backup cloud before presented to her family. Except she discovered it late in the game. And showed it to Jackson instead.

The first pictured showed It, The Monster as a lumbering blur breaking apart Ms. Blake's front door. The second was the clearer image Jackson's of a running form, part reptile and part man. The markings were like shadowy, scaled body painted his fingers were claws, his eyes glowed luminescent under the camera's lenses and there could be no explaining away the tail.

"So, what," Jackson seemed less bristly, more tired. "You're not running and screaming? Are you going to blackmail me? How much is it? Cash? Drugs?"

"Of course not," Hunters developed jadedness due to violence on a nearly daily basis, and yet Allison marveled at his bleakness. "I brought this to you first. Someone else is going to see this, Jackson. Someone who is going to want to hurt you." Without telling him about her family she could warn him and her gift at half-truths meant she didn't have to finish the sentence.

"Damn. The first time I'm in the driver's seat, and I'm caught on film." Jackson grabbed the photos and crumbling them up. It was the sort of thing to change someone's world view to see themselves strange and transformed- but only resilience to stay in his mind. "I'm not a bad guy. I mean, yeah, I've made stupid mistakes. A lot, but- I'm not bad." He looked sort of relieved, his brows rose, and eyes shone when he dragged them back to look to hers. An expression of care behind her eyes brightened them up and that determined grin she still eagerly aimed at him.

It seemed to him that she got some personal gain from getting involved and that could work to his benefit, too. After all, as much as he liked Allison, he didn't feel conflicted about protecting her the way he did Lydia. "I just know whatever's happening has to get worse."

"For you?"

"For all of us," Jackson handed her back the balled-up photos with a grimace. "For me."

Allison took it with a grain of salt, put the notebook and the bundled bits back into her bag before she responded. After she watched his face closely when he looked at the photos, she noticed how curious he was and disappointed. But never mad. She could work with that.

"I know you know I can help. I can find things out. And I can teach you things, like control. I'm not trying to force you, just help you. In exchange... I just want to get to know you."

.

Track 36 - Howling by Nathan Ball

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{Afternoon – BHHS, Top Floor, Library}

Everyone seemed to have an agenda during the extended period, only Isaac looked for a port in the storm. In the library, he took a seat across from Lydia's designated chair in the balcony table. At his interruption, she pursed her lips but ignored him. When he offered her a cup of tea, she swapped it out for his cup of coffee.

They sat in silence, him looking at the dead weight of his phone and her looking down the barrel of her emptying cup. Together they worried.

"Do you ever worry that they're hiding something from us?" he asked finally, without looking up.

Thoughtfully, she lifted her head and her hair fell away from her face, "I just assume everyone is. It's the best way to keep ahead."

Smirking, he added, "Are you assuming I'm hiding secrets." She nodded, her fingers executively tapping along the paper cup. "You think you know what they are up to?"

"Don't think, I know." She took a small sip, gazing at him over the lip of the coffee cup. "You might not know it yet, but you're scheming a rescue."

"How do you figure?"

"You just got information a pack member of yours is alive. Right after Stiles, your only other pack member snuck off. Possibly to get information from the Hales on how to track another Hale, right. And that's not the sort of thing you would share with the group, is it."

"That's seems possible, it also seems like a lot more work than I'd commit to," a crease etched in his brows as he wondered where her fathomless depth of hypothesis came from. "But I guess if you're the one with the visions, it isn't impossible."

"For you to pretend I'm crazy and you have no idea what I'm talking about?" she rolled her eyes, "seems a bit much."

"You're half right, you probably got Stiles figured out better than he does," Isaac said with a crooked smile. He considered the little explanation Stiles gave on his way out of town. His foster brother thought a million miles a minute but rarely thought things through. "But I'm not actually making any rescue plans for any pack member I don't have proof is alive. I'm learning unless I see a dead body, or I see a Banshee that's seen a dead body, I'm not going to believe they're dead."

"Would you then give up or then you'd try to hasty rescue?"

"Do I look like the hasty rescue type? Does Stiles?"

Lydia's face screwed up in distaste and she pushed away 'good will gesture' coffee. "Don't even bring up that idiot." Isaac started to point out she was the one who started it, but she cut him off. "How about you tell me why you always think this is up to you guys to solve on your own?"

Grabbing the cup of coffee, Isaac slurped up the rest of it while he gave things some thought. She expertly rolled her eyes once more. It wasn't even to her liking anyway and it had been made too sweet with way too much milk.

"I'm not like you, Lydia. I don't think I can solve everything," Isaac said cockily, to which she dropped her pencil and slapped her notebook closed. "I can't help but be drawn to dangerous situations, whether it's getting ambushed by Werewolves off road, or snapped at by cute but narcissistic girls."

Smugly, Isaac grabbed up her pencil while she sat frozen, gap mouthed with a silent glare that told him he won this round. He chewed on the end of the pencil while he eyed the books she laid out and wondered at the eclectic selection. Stiles probably would have figured out what Lydia was really up to at first glance, but this mountain of work was a mystery to him.

"It's not that everything has a solution Isaac," with a light groan she snatched back the pencil. "It's just- everything can become a problem if you're not careful. And you are not careful, Isaac."

"Neither are you, strutting around with covered bruises and scraped up arms." He added flippantly then wish he didn't. Her glare turned from playful to severe in the blink of an eye. "I was just thinking, you could be more careful 'cause you have all of us, you-know-whats... around you." He shrunk back when he saw her flinch at his reaching cyclical gesture, with splayed long fingers, which came across as dominating instead of inclusive.

"I'm strong enough on my own."

"Sure, I know that" he backpedaled. "I just mean we could be taking care of each other."

As if hearing something far away, Lydia cocked her head toward the doorway. The stillness of the library implied nothing changed but her awareness tapped into something more substantial. Concerned, he twisted in his seat to follow where she looked but he saw nothing. When Isaac called Lydia's name, she heard him in the distance while it sounded like, closer by, someone kept howling out in pain.

"Did you hear that?" her voice trembled just a little when she asked.

"Hear what?" he worried. Isaac strained with all of his might and only picked up her speeding heart and the tedious chatter of students.

"It's like someone is-You didn't hear that?" she disconnected further, turning around to find the source.

"Lydia, I don't think anyone hears what you hear," Isaac admitted. Looking around the room

Lydia noticed how unaffected everyone was, and disappointment filled her up. When she tried to shrug it off and pack up books Isaac stopped her.

"Please," he brought her back down to earth with a timid voice, "don't go running off alone again."

"No, of course not." She nodded. They both felt a little lost and disoriented in a room too big and too full of strangers while they were too exposed. How were they meant to check in on each other when their experience was so solitary? "I've got to get out of here. Isaac, could you check up on Scott for me..."

"Yeah, sure." Isaac stood, he reached to escort her. He couldn't settle on whether to accompany her or head off. Eventually his hands found their way into his sweater pockets. "I'll check in with Scott and Stiles. Can you check in with someone for me?"

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Track 37 - I Can Talk by Two Door Cinema Club

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{Afternoon/Early-Evening – BHHS to Argent's House}

During the whole drive Lydia was contemplatively silent until Alison's bedroom door closed behind her. Although he was the least likely to give advice, Isaac's words resonated along with disembodied outcries in the library through dark waves. The time had come to reveal some more of her story for everyone's sake.

With most of the Argent's near the Lodge, it was easy to speak privately, along with Bennet. As Allison's partner, he was not only happy to join in, but had a lot of input. Bennet sat upright at the foot of the bed, Allison cross legged in the center and Lydia by the desk with her feet propped up by the head of the bed using the computer chair as if it were her throne.

There was a relief to admit the title of 'Banshee' without a long-drawn-out explanation of what one was. Bennet found Lydia more attractive for it, which Allison only found more uncomfortable and hit Bennet with Mr. Bear to punctuate the point. Things lost its humor when Lydia admitted the voices, she heard were becoming focused and strong enough they weren't just in dreams.

"I don't know how this is supposed to go," Lydia recounted, "but I'd prefer nightmares stick to nocturnal hours and not when I'm in the middle of the school library."

"You didn't, like, freak out. That's pretty bad ass," Bennet admired with a cocky half-smile.

"I don't 'freak out'," Lydia snapped, then tried at something near the truth. "Anyway, Isaac was there. He suggested I see you."

From Allison's expression, it was clear she found that amusing, but pushed past that onto the important bits. "Lydia, what did you hear?"

"Voices. There were women and a man, I couldn't make them out. He was just screaming."

"Did they sound familiar? Was there anything else? Any background noise that you could make out?" Bennet said like a chorus.

"Bennet, she's not under interrogation." Allison said low and sharpish. Lydia scoffed at her best-friend's instinctive defense. "It's not like she was there physically, give her a minute to figure out what she can remember."

"Oh, I can remember one for sure." Lydia looked between the two and paused for emphasis, so her words would hit home. "Your Aunt, Kate."

"Okay, slow down." Bennet's hands rose, like the words needed deflecting. "That's not just an accusation you can throw around. Don't get me wrong, I'm not Kate Argent's number one fan, but the daydreams of an exam stressed teen aren't going to hold a lot of weight as evidence."

Allison grabbed his waving hands, pulled them down and held them tight. Her eyes were a warning and her tight smile pulled him along, instructing him "Let's just hear her out first."

Shutting his dark eyes, Bennet gave a nod and Lydia took that as a clue to continue.

"The last nightmare seemed like this- Kate torturing a man in an underground place. It was the same man from before, and Kate seemed to enjoy it just like before. He had something to say this time. She kept asking about the Monster-Alpha. She thinks he knows something- not just him, all Werewolves. Like a conspiracy? He kept choking, gagging on his words-"

"How does someone talk and choke at the same time?" Bennet whispered to Allison with a quick look. She shrugged and frowned in thought. Lydia had no input to the question, but definitely an interest then dropped her feet from the bed and pulled the chair closer. Lowering her voice, she concentrated on the words.

"He said to her 'in the end there will be blood, there will be fire, the buried are the lucky ones and there's nothing you can do to save your loved ones.'"

"That sounds really promising." After a moment, Bennet rubbed his jaw, intrigue fueling him.

"He said that to Kate?" Allison scooted to the edge of the bed and Lydia met her.

"No," Lydia looked apologetic, she frowned before answering like she could soften the words. "He was warning your Mom."

Then Bennet laughed. He covered his mouth and apologized profusely. "Nerves. I'm just tense. And this is just... it's just perfect." With that he went on to explain exactly why he wasn't Kate's number one fan.

Without hesitation, he threw Rumy under the bus and shared Rumy's suspicion of Kate's team. Since the other night when Rumy & Bennet gave up their room for Lydia's Mom, Rumy had been suspicious about something secret in the Lodge. Although not on board at first, Bennet changed his mind when Chris and Victoria started disappearing into the Lodge in shifts. But they kept Allison in the dark.

"Chris isn't the sort of person to keep secrets from his team. Definitely, not from Rumy," Bennet shrugged, digging through the dresser drawers designated for Kate. "But now Chris only makes time for us when it's official business. Rumy thinks that's some sort of breadcrumbs. I just think that's all sorts of messed up."

Since Kate turned up for her 'short stay' as a specialist in Beacon Hills, she and Allison were meant to be sharing a bedroom. With her recently, practically living at the Lodge, they weren't concerned about Aunt Kate barging in. She made exaggerated excuses for Allison's friends to stay over, probably just to blackmail or spy on, but either way Bennet could take advantage of the access and investigate good ol' Aunt Kate. Mostly they found weapons and clothes, some unique but nothing stood out. Allison fussed with her cellphone and took photos to catalogue, for all the good that would do.

In the interim, Lydia ordered sushi to show gratitude for all their fine work. Mostly to reward herself for getting things off her chest. Of course, she added Allison's favorite Rainbow Roll with a side of Salmon Sashimi since after all, Lydia had said this was a study session, she deserved brain food.

After some exploring, Allison glanced between her friends and tapped her chopsticks on the edge of her dish furiously. Food for thought brought her forward to finally share the video of Kanima-Jackson on her tablet. While the others ate in thoughtful silence Allison explained the circumstances that brought her to own such a clip. While Lydia watched the clips in slow motion, Bennet listened in slow motion to Allison's excuses for investigating without backup until he lightly hit her in the head with a pillow.

"So, what's the plan? Got any clues about the Kanima's Master yet?" he waved the topic back toward where they'd left off by the Stadium Seats a day earlier.

"I haven't figured that out yet," with that Allison grabbed the tablet back from Lydia and propped it between them on the bed, they watched the short videos together. Without the few 10 & 15 second hi-res clips in the misty dark to engross her, Lydia crossed her arms and leaned far back into the chair, her eyes tracing the ceiling, deep in calculations.

"When are you going to tell the folks?" Bennet stopped eating. He blocked Allison's hand from pressing play again. "You're going to tell the folks. That's a special guest appearance from the murderous Monster there."

"That's a shadow in the mist."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but shadows aren't exactly known for being noisy. And that shadow," dryly Lydia contradicted her, while aiming a finger at the captured of the misshapen x2-Gorilla mass staggering out of the neighbor's front door. "That's the noise that set off your surveillance in the first place."

"I don't know. I'll tell them," she popped an entire Salmon Sashimi into her mouth, to keep busy while processing the thought. "Plus, when do you even think they'll come up from the Lodge? Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'll tell Rumy first."

"Why?" Bennet started to eat again, his brow arched with intrigue.

Allison closed the distance, face scrunched up with scrutiny he matched hers with mockery and pushed back the tablet. Not a day had gone by she didn't feel lucky for his loyalty, despite when he tried to get her to talk by tugging at her hair.

"Listen to me," her eyes darting warily between the two, she explained Rumy kept her secrets so far. He could be trusted to keep more, if it protected people he loved, and no one came to harm. As she expected, certain details greatly amused Bennet and tickled Lydia's vanity. Especially the fact that she'd conveniently run into Rumy with a Deputy Parrish.

"Since the night I ran into him in the Deputy's car, I set up surveillance at Jackson's"

"With your car?"

"Yes, I ran into him. Not literally." She rolled her eyes and flicked wasabi paste at his brick-colored T-Shirt. When he wiped at, it left a greasy maroon streak, and she continued her story with a smirk. "It was the night he made first contact with Deucalion's pack. That's also the first time Lydia passed out on me, and I promised to keep an eye on her, too. I think since then he's been keeping an eye on me keeping an eye on them, so this won't be too far of a leap for him."

"What side do you think he'll be on?" Bennet asked, he pushed around through the takeout bag for a napkin. He froze when she didn't reply and slowly turned to face her.

Allison swished sushi in sauce until it became soaked. It broke apart uneatable, but she kept on poking at it. "What do you mean?" she mumbled.

Lydia looked to Bennet worriedly, then called to Allison. When she didn't respond to Lydia calling out her name, he tried again.

"I mean," he said it like a warning and took the chopsticks from her hand. She blinked in surprise while he cleared the leftovers and passed them to Lydia, who plopped them onto the dresser table. Mealtime over, time for the nitty-gritty. "It's obvious you want to investigate more on your own before handing it to any Hunter higher-ups. Thankfully they're distracted at the Lodge, otherwise this Jackson kid might just end up there because they'd assume torturing him might bring his Master out."

Allison rocked back and crossed her arms, "or try to use him to bait the Monster out?" All paths led to the Lodge these days.

Lydia sucked in a breath, regretting her opportunity to ask him about when he'd been bitten and if they'd shared an 'origin'. Something she also wanted to pick Allison's brain about, not to mention the video clips- they were pretty damning, although not proof of his personal connection to the Monster-Alpha. She started to reach for her purse to produce some of her findings when everything changed.

Bennet put two fingers, straight into the air as a sign to 'hold'. They stilled, eyes skirting the surfaces of the room, window and door while listening in the stillness for signs of intrusion.

"Kids, these days, and the hijinks they get up to," Rumy mused, creeping noiselessly in through entry. Allison breathed in with a light squeak while Bennet, dropped his hand and groaned.

Their obvious disappointment wore plainly that Rumy moved beyond the bedroom door before either sensed him. Smirking, their Sergeant tip-toed comically over to the leftover sushi and lounged against the bedside table. After popping a spicy tuna roll, swiped in wasabi, into his mouth, Rumy mumbled through a mouthful, "so what are we up to tonight, kids?"

They glanced toward each other. Assuming Rumy played dumb, they had to determine between how much he had overheard and how much they wanted to tell him. Allison looked from her tablet to Bennet from under her long lashes with a questioning. With a shrug she said, 'why not?' and Bennet grinned a toothy wide grin, eager to go all-in.

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Track 38 - Heart Shaped Box (Nirvana Cover) by Lana Del Rey

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{Dusk – Argent's House, Driveway}

They stopped at the driver's side door of her VW Beetle and Lydia fiddled with her keys in the lock, her restless hands were nothing compared to her restless mind. Rumy rubbed at his unshaven jawline, the chafing sound mingled with his wistful humming and made it seem like his thoughtfulness mattered significantly. Almost more than every observation they'd covered over the long evening and out of everyone there, he was very reluctant to let her go.

"So, Banshee," Rumy processed while trying to sound casual.

"So, Hunter," Lydia reflected his manner.

"You can try to contain your excitement," Rumy acknowledged her cheek with a wink before scanning around the empty driveway. She wasn't a shy person but after having so much exposed in one sitting Lydia insisted on going home, even though Bennet and Rumy constantly encouraged her to stay over. Hunter attention felt like too much attention considering how much knew information she had to calculate. She'd rather go home, to be in her bed, alone, but with her dog.

"Well, isn't that just a different spoke in the color wheel," he dragged his eyes back from the skyline, and tugged a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. With just his lips, he tugged one out then tilted the pack to offer her. Lydia gave a start and a grunt in offense. "If you change your mind, let me know. I mean about staying over." Like a gentleman he held the car door open for her and waited until she took her seat before dreaming of lighting up. "Promise me if you need anything. Day or night, you'll call."

"Thanks," she sounded anything but thankful. "You're one of them." With a glance of her steely green eyes, she emphasized toward the back of the property, somewhere unseen over the gardens. Somewhere in the shadow of her nightmares where people were poisoned and probably dead or dying.

"That's just hurtful," Rumy sneered slightly and jerked away dramatically. His unkempt hair fell in his eyes and made it look like she'd physically struck him, and Lydia failed to keep a straight face. He smiled when she giggled. Despite not having extensive knowledge on how father figures worked, she was pretty sure Allison's Godfather, Rumy, didn't fit the mold. "But if something strange ever comes up- if you need backup and can't get a hold of Allison, we can help. It's the only reason I'm here."

"To be the hero?"

"No, to be of help. I learned early on, I've got pretty much no purpose otherwise," he gave a toothy but cheerless grin and pushed closed the door for her. He lit his cigarette, and when he did, his hands hid his expression as he stepped away. "Go in good health, young lady. Make sure to text Allison when you get home, she worries."

Lydia couldn't tell how serious he was, but she felt his sincerity. Through her rear windshield, he stood in the driveway despite the night's chill, waving as he smoked in the dark just to see her car off. Thankfully, figuring him out wasn't on her to-do list for the night. The more she embodied being a Banshee, came more baggage than visions of death. Werewolves, Monsters, Kanimas and Hunters- she had a growing concern over developing paranoia in addition to schizophrenia. Couldn't she just be a Banshee and go to Prom?

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Track 39 - Disarm You (feat. Ilsey) by Kaskade

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{Nighttime – Argent's House, The Lodge}

There was no such thing as 'well enough' in Allison and Bennet book, which made their partnership work. From the moment Rumy offered to walk Lydia to her car, without hesitation they bolted for the exit through the kitchen door.

After Lydia retold her nightmare, Allison noticed a few inconstancies. Just as Bennet picked up on a few blips of concern which he translated to Allison with the cock of a brow.

"She's hiding something," he said while they strode across the backyard in gallops.

"I can tell. But not about the nightmare. You weren't there. The details were too exact," Allison spoke in pants and got quieter as they came up to the side of the Lodge. They dropped to a crouch and tucked in anything that could get caught on an edge, button up any loose-fitting clothes, Allison tied up her hair, Bennet tied his boots over pant cuffs and they both turned their cellphones to silent.

"I don't think she's lying about that. I think she's trying to keep you safe, like you've been lying to her for months to keep her safe." He snorted with amusement when her eyes narrowed with dark scrutiny. "And I think if you're thinking what I'm thinking, this Kane guy might still be alive down there. Or he could be dead. Or we could find out for sure if Kate is Doc Frankenstein or not. Either way-"

"One of us can climb through the sliding window by the exhaust vent," she gestured flippantly toward the far left, to a small painted over window obscured by some bushes, the details remembered mostly as she described them. "And the other one plays nice and distracts whoever is in the sitting room. We just have to decide which ones which. Do you have a quarter?" They looked displeased about the need for a nonbiased deciding measure. But by the time Bennet finished finding a coin in one of the many pockets in his cargo skinny jeans, Allison had already squeezed her waist over the windowsill.

With a wincing grin, he knocked loudly on the Lodge door and greeted Chris breezily while in the back of his mind cursed out Allison. He made the excuse that he felt bored and wanted to hang out, since Rumy was distracted with Godfatherly duties seeing over Allison and Lydia. Boring teenager girl stuff, bleh.

That seemed to win over a room of manly men playing poker over Reese's pieces. Victoria wasn't among them, but Axel and Fry were present, JR and Tyhurst were absent likely on patrol, Roman snored on a couch toward the back having just finished a long shift of patrol. Roman lay uncomfortably close to where Allison would have to crawl in through, but if the roaring and complaining men didn't rile him awake, Allison's cat burglar crawling behind the furniture down the hallway wasn't going to change a thing.

While Kate and Victoria seemed to be having a tête-à-tête downstairs as expected, the more notably missing head was Norm, Kate's medic expert and torturer. It didn't feel like his missing presence was a coincidence even if Lydia didn't specify hearing or seeing him.

"Goddamnit," Bennet dropped onto the armchair nearest the front door, which gave him an open view from the back hall to the entrance, keeping everyone in his eye line. "I've got a competitive sweet tooth tonight, boys. Deal me in!"

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Track 40 - Target Practice by Young Unknowns

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{Nighttime – Argent's House, The Lodge, Subterranean tunnels}

Unused to creeping around without weapons, Allison couldn't think of what to do with her hands. She kept her back firmly to the wall, placed one hand in front of her another behind, and hurried as best she could down the length of the passageway. The slope of the hall was deceptively gradual. Considering how well she knew the grounds, it she felt like she travelled the length of her backyard to the Main house. By her guesstimation, another panic room had been built beneath her Mother's gardens. After all, where else could they keep screaming Werewolves from being heard?

Allison recognized the shape of Axel's work, it was similar to the design of their Meeting Room in the Main house. Axel liked to make things look as casual as possible, so she dropped to the ground when she recognized a view hole of the secret door. Blowing stray hairs out of her eyes, she straightened her back against the wall, drew up her knees, and curled into the smallest space possible. While the hall was dark, if someone looked out, they view would cast overhead and take her for a shadow but if someone opened the door, there was a chance they might trip over her.

Never underestimate the hubris of a Hunter among his own trappings. Before she called it quits and labeled this effort just a research mission, the door swung open, and Norm came speeding out. The man had an urgent waddle to him, and he sped along down the hall, right by her and left the chamber door ajar.

After sending off a quick text to Bennet asking him to keep an eye out for Norm's return, he replied quickly:

· He's hitting the head.

· I'll give you a heads up when he's headed out

· but you better get your head in the game already

· before he heads you off.

Clutching her phone to her chest, Allison rolled her eyes as she mentally blessed him and cursed him. At least Bennet made her smile, which brought her anxiety back down to an even 4 so she could get her 'head in the game' so to speak. She scooted closer to the ajar door, past her comfort zone and past the fear of what she expected to hear and gave it a good inspection.

The quality of sound coming from inside the room had a clearer and steadier note than she would have thought. She expected subterranean echoes; instead, she got Hi-Fi definition which meant Axel set it up with thick reinforced walls made with Kevlar fiber paneling, designed for blast proof, bullet proof extended stay. Allison grew up admiring his work ethic but now she wished she could think of a better weakness to his system than Norm's weak bladder.

Dropping to a crouch, she aligned her phone against the skirting board, through a crack in the door. Sliding it forward, she hoped her camera would see clearly around the corner, and any eyes looking toward the door wouldn't be able to tell her phone's casing from the shadow of the door's frame.

After a quick burst of photos taken, she pulled the phone back and the images showed something she hadn't considered from an empty weapons slot when they ransacked Kate's luggage. There was a large, spiked punishment collar; the sort that once attached to a chain and would be used to restrain very large animals. But Hunters converted theirs to have the inlayed spikes tipped with silver. Since Lydia's nightmare, they'd stepped up their torture techniques, Wolfsbane alone would have easily prevented transformative reactions. These techniques with chains gave Werewolves a false sense of strength and control, it let them change a bit before it painfully snuffed out their hope. It broke their mind as well as their body. From the look of the stained clothes, the pooling blood beneath where the man hung suspended on a rack, cinched up with more chains -it looked like he made much more than a one attempt to get out of captivity.

The wall behind him was splattered with gore, while the rest of the room looked pale and sparse in design. The trap-harness with metal frame hung over a squared-out drain, that said this place was designed specifically for capture and torture in mind.

Just like Lydia described, there two women's voices that could be made one from inside, the first clearly being Kate's.

"Why don't we help each other out? Come on," she said in an almost laughing tone, "You tell us why they're really here and we'll fix the problem. Permanently. No one has come back in 15 years. Beacon Hills stays Werewolf free, it can stay Monster free, and we don't ever have to see each other again. We all live happily ever after."

If the room weren't so bare Allison wouldn't have been able to pick up his guttural mutters, this tortured man, this 'Kane' whom Lydia screamed for.

"I'm already dead. you're next."

"Is that a threat?"

The severity of the next voice would etch in her mind, both because it reminded Allison to always keep her eyes trained on the target but to get out and back to bed on time. Her Mother talked down to the dying man as if he would jump off the wall at any moment and take down her entire Team, while at the same time he could barely breathe in.

"s'fact. you're murdering us... leavin a trail up the coastline... and covered up my kids murdr..."

A significant pause hung in the air. Unseen shuffling of steps as Victoria turned toward Kate, her expression stiff but demanding as Allison strained to listen. Her nerves grew tighter and instinctively her free hand clenched into a fist, eager for them to get on with it.

On another level, Kate pursed her lips, her chin high and arms crossed she started to pace. Already, off all the deaths, Quint's was only thing that weighed on her, but not enough that she wasn't willing to use it for psychological damage. Whatever they could use to add pressure to their questioning. If more deaths turned up in town, she wasn't willing to carry the weight of those deaths because one monster wouldn't give her answers. And if other murders along the coast managed to slip under Hunters' radar, they needed to widen their playing board immediately. The Werewolves couldn't be a step ahead of them.

"Kane, you've got a little too much imagination." Kate stomped toward him suddenly and pulled at one of the chains, yanking him upright. He swiveled erratically until it the equipment came to a groaning standstill, and he snarled the whole time.

With a burst of indignation, Kane thrust himself forward to sway from Kate toward Victoria. Where the collar pierced his skin, it sizzled and left no room for blood to pour out.

"I see clear. I never sleep but I dream... pain shows me how this is going to end."

"Oh," Victoria's sharp eyes narrowed as she steeled herself for malice, "how're you going to end it, then?"

A shrillness came into his voice, a hysterical strength that the peak. "In the end there will be blood, there will be fire, the buried are lucky ones and there's nothing you can do to save your loved ones." His twisted face looked unrecognizable from the Werewolf days before, not just due to the gaunt and ashen features or the blood caked matted hair against his face and neck. But because of the coward and faithless man he became in the end.

There was a time Kane knew his Alpha, Ennis would sense his loyal Betas out, no matter how low the Hunters dragged him. But tonight, his endurance wasn't devoted. Kane became a coward twice over when he abandoned his poisoned son Quint for Ennis. Then abandoned his power-hungry Alpha for the ghost of his son. He continued to fail and in his dark dying moments Kane couldn't even be brave. He could only be mad. He should have had the right words to say, but even in the end it felt like gibberish and bloody waste came pouring out. A once tall man stood with arms tangled, a hunched and battered down man, his vibrant blue eyes bright with revelations that urged him forward and into oblivion.

"Kate, Kate!" Victoria's voice rose with urgency, her heels clacked hard against the tiled surface in a reserved hurry. "You're killing him. He's seizing. If he gets cervical damage in that thing, he won't heal fast enough-"

"Vickie," grunting, Kate responded to Victoria's snappish demand. Thrusting her hands forward through the framework, entangled in the blood slicked chains, she couldn't get a grip. Throwing a glance over her shoulder she demanded, "I can't get him out of it. He weighs too much. Victoria, help me. Victoria."

"fuck. Fuck," Victoria's feet slipped, her fingers pinched, and she couldn't get a grip.

Kate took a heavy step backward, her stomp sounding heavy but damp. Then heavier and faster, as she rushed forward and caught fast the chain. With a yank and the clatter of chains, there came an unearthly gargling sound, followed by a wet thud and the rhythmic jingling as the rest of the cord followed to the ground. The chain made weird, disjointed sounds while hitting the wood/metal frame, the tiled floor, the paneled drain and Kane's dead body.

With hands to the side of her head and her eyes clenched shut, Allison tried to prevent how terrified she felt. But her imagination made the image much worse, made distinctly vivid by Lydia's voice mirroring Kane's when he said his desperate last words. She nearly mistook her phone's vibration mode, pressed up against the side of her face, for a shudder of nerves.

· Move It.

Bennet warned. Allison couldn't have been happier to oblige. On instinct, she remembered the direction of rights and lefts to get back to the surface. But the further she got from the torture room, the clearer her mind became.

Once she slid through the tunnel doorway, she kept blocked from sight behind the couch. Thank god for her small size and the blind spot that kept her path to the window concealed. But even if stayed out of sight she could still be overheard, and so she kept as still as humanly possible and waited for her opportunity. She heard Bennet trying to coerce Norm to stay upstairs to deal their next round of cards. Their bickering finally woke Roman from the couch she hid behind. Thankfully, Norm nagged Roman to come over to their side of the room and deal. Finally, Allison made a break for it.

But she hadn't calculated the significant difference between scaling in through a windowsill at a run and going out through a windowsill from a standstill. Getting up to the painted-over sliding windowsill from a standstill without a stepping stool was impossible. There she stood with Norm nearing her line of sight and if she ran at it, it would be a noisy climb through a squeaky vent not intended to carry her weight. The grimmer 'slow and steady' option got her vote, so Allison clutched edge of the sill and slowly dragged her weight up, into the outside world. Struggling with the narrow opening, she held her breath when her head and shoulders barely made it through.

Suddenly two hands firmly grabbed by the wrists and warned her to 'go limp' and yanked her through with a brutal speed.

While inside of the Lodge just as Norm rounded the bend, outside Rumy delicately placed the sliding window shut with one hand, and he swung his goddaughter over his shoulder with the other. Allison clung to his back the way she had a million times when she was a little kid. She missed the heartfelt comfort of it. He roughly dropped her onto the stone bench outside of the Lodge. Rumy her hair down of its tie, dusted stray paint chips from the end of her hair and from where her jeans scraped on the windowsill. He kneeled in front of her, his expression unreadable as he held a hand up in front of her face.

"How many fingers do you see?"

At first, he held 2 but when she opened her mouth to answer, he switched to 4, then 3, then 2 again to 5. When she stopped holding her breath and wheezed an annoyed laugh, Rumy sighed in relief and sat on the bench beside her. Immediately a cigarette sprang into his lips and when he cupped his hands to light it, the angle of light underlit his seriousness.

Suddenly the door opened, Chris stepped out agitated and on high alert. After surveying the lawn his eyes came down to settle on them. Rumy gave his usual cheery, 'Yo' and Allison sat on the other side of him with a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the bench. She couldn't help but wonder if she hadn't had her Godfather to bail her out would she have even made it half-way across the lawn unobserved? Would she have even made it out of the Lodge?

"Just getting some air, Chris," Rumy explained. After a brief smile, he slowly closed the door, giving them a playfully to keep it down but leaving them to some privacy.

Rumy quickly dropped the façade and looked tired, he looked bothered, and unexpectedly older. When he blew smoke out of the side of his mouth and away from her, his hair fluttered a little. It showed his grey eyes, and they seemed dark with disappointment and his laugh lines were deep with worry.

Allison's mind was a blank. She wanted to worry more about the dead man downstairs. She wanted to worry more about the lethal women downstairs. But that seemed secondary. In the inconstant weather maybe, she was still a little numb, but she wanted to know if the man next to her was angry. She'd expected a lot of him through the night, she'd info-dumped on him, maybe spying on her people was more than he could take and that's why he felt like there was nothing left to say between them. Maybe he intended to interrogate her. It ached her chest to think about. It felt better to go numb and think of nothing at all and ignore the buzzing she felt. This time she hoped it was nerves and not a phone going off in her pocket that would probably just make for more trouble.

After a thoughtful pause her Godfather flicked ashes into Vickie's perennials. "Tell me what the fuck're you up to Aly?" he said sadly, "tell me why I'm lying to my best-friend for my best girl? Just so you can get yourself caught by a room full of Hunters? Talk to me."

Rumy still sounded like her Godfather. He belonged with her, but he belonged to them. If she gambled, she would still gamble on his loyalty. A part of her would always feel twisted up but not as much as keep more secrets.

Facing him fully, Allison had the truth on her tongue, but her lower lip began to tremble, made worse by her hitching breath. He turned into a blur, his profile dissolved on the end of her teary lashes. He didn't pull her into a hug, and she didn't reach for him, instead he waited for her to find herself and come back to him. Because he kept his jaw clenched severely, Rumy's cigarette burned down to a nub between his fingers while she took the time, she needed to abolish her tears murmuring insistently, "this isn't me. This isn't me. This isn't me."

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Track 41 - Take My Place by Lily Allen

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{Friday: Dawn – Look-Out Point, above the Mad River}

"There's a connection between Alphas that convened here 15 years ago and what's attracting the Alphas and Monster here now-" he surmised.

"-but for some reason we're not focusing on that." Allison reminded.

"There is a trail line of murders down the coastline the packs know of-" Rumy squinted in consideration.

"-and we're clueless about," she sighed, intertwined her fingers, and stretched her hands out in front of her to uncoil all the tension.

"You know, if we're supposed to be 'protecting those who cannot protect themselves'-" he added, furrowing his brow, looking rebellious with a cause.

"-whose protecting them from us?" she answered.

They'd driven Look Out point overhanging the city, far away the Argent property to keep from being overheard. By the time sunrise seeped into the skyline, beneath them the waking homes that looked like chandeliers swinging under the water. With fondness Allison mentioned this was a 'date night' location when she gotten to the part of her story where she revealed she had a Werewolf boyfriend.

With her back straight, arms stiffly folded across her chest and legs slung off the back of his KingQuad ATV, she kept still despite the breeze. The only evidence that marked the night chill was the lift and flow of her dark hair. Despite the posturing, a chill set-in bone deep and she felt sick for it. After decidedly missing school, Allison ignored all the calls and text on her phone. That felt like too much clutter. As she told her story vivid images invaded her, every fear and anxiety came back to her as waking nightmares, and she didn't feel like sleeping anytime soon.

She told him more than she told Bennet. She didn't beg him not to tell her Father. He didn't laugh at her as often as she thought he would. He did swear quite a bit when he ran low on cigarettes. He felt that was incredibly uncivilized on his part. He let her go on a lot long than she thought he would, but he smiled toothlessly in response and replied kindly, "they say children tell you what they do, adults what they think and older people what they have seen and heard. You my precious goddaughter, right now you are blessed and cursed to be both child and adult. Of fucking course you've got more going on than most."

"Is that another saying from your travels?" she smiled, warmly to hear one of his Godfatherly sayings. He shrugged haplessly and made a smirk, before frowning again at his nearly empty pack of cigarettes.

When she ran out of words, he hopped up beside her. Silently, they looked sidelong, both pushing back their hair from the stringy mess the wind made of it and smiled at each other slowly.

"Does that about recap it, Boss?" Rumy slung an arm over Allison's slight shoulders, tugging her body to relax against his.

Allison let out an exhausted huff, part-sigh and part-laugh as she curled her fingers into his jacket as if clinging on once more for dear life. "Careful, Uncle Rumy. I might get used to you calling me Boss."

"Oh. yeah?" he said with a little amusement to his voice, dismissing her protest. Rumy didn't look down as with one hand he tugged out his last cigarette. He didn't light it. He stretched out his neck and looked up at the sky, where pale plumes streaked against the marigold. "Be patient. It seems like the weather's been getting bad. Give it a little bit of time-"

Leaning up, she looked back and forth from the sky to his lazy pose, mysteriously his last cigarette was lit and his facial expression light and easy. Maybe Allison learned her easy smiles from Rumy's wily ways, because after having just unburdened herself of some of her worst fears she felt easily armored to scheme about loyalties and burning betrayals.

What next, tickling matches?

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Track 42 - Feel Real by Deptford Goth

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{Early-Morning – Martin's House, Aires East}

Morning slipped into the township sneakily fast and exams anxiety eked in along with it. But not for Lydia Martin. For the first time in her entire high school career, she slept in.

With a cup of coffee cooling in her hands, her Mom sat at the foot of her bed to witness the spectacle. When finally, (and groggily) Lydia woke up, she didn't whine or groan about the time. Blinkingly, she stretched in the flowing sunlight, and gestured for her Mom to hand over whatever was left in the cup.

"You could have woken me up?" she answered in a voice husky with sleep and circulating caffeine.

"And deal with the fallout?" her Mom patted down the bedhead that haloed her Lydia's face. "No thank you. I assumed you turned off your alarm for a reason. Maybe you're finally admitting you should take it a little easier."

At that Lydia's eyes darted around, trying to find wherever that troublesome cellphone disappeared too this time. She found it smothered under a pillow. In her sleep she must have buried it rather than respond to its chimes.

"Isn't there another exam today?" her Mom noticed the clothes Lydia laid out on the armchair by the window. On exam days Lydia displayed a bit more preparedness. Clothes would be laid out and displayed in good lighting, all of the day's meals were pre-ordered and most importantly before going out on a walk, all of Prada's designer collars were set to match the leads.

"Yeah..." Lydia stayed under her covers a little longer, distractedly going through missed texts with one hand while she sipped her coffee with the other. "Final day. Then it's the weekend, and it's Danny's blow out party." There were loads of notifications from people RSVP-ing and forgetting to go through Danny, not her. Then among them she unearthed a text from Allison-

"It's your party, too," Natalie insisted, bringing over Lydia's clothes. Then she reclaimed the coffee, she replaced it with the dress Lydia preordained for the day. "It's okay to be excited about it. Maybe get involved a little."

Abruptly Lydia tossed her phone onto the bed. "No. No more getting involved." The text from Allison had sealed it. She scooted off the bed, grabbed her clothes and headed straight for a shower, happy to wash away anything left of dreams.

"Let me drive you to school."

Heard clearly through the door, she made out her Mom's wish to spend as much of the morning together as possible. She stared into the mirror, composed herself and picked the nicest voice possible.

"Aw, thanks Mom but I promised to drive Allison to school," she lied.

Throughout the night Allison ignored Lydia's many texts. Only to reply so at night it was technically, the next morning, only to blow her off. Just to say she wanted to be alone.

Less than twelve hours ago, Lydia walked into a Hunter's lair, exposed herself as a Banshee to be openly analyzed because she trusted her best-friend to have her back. Usually, even if Allison's parents were up her ass she'd reply with a promise of "let's talk later" or "it'll be okay".

As if she could sense things were off, her Mom apologized for holding her up and excused herself. Lydia told herself she'd feel bad later; for now, a very hot shower would fix everything.

After last nights confessional, Lydia had hoped she'd feel different, unburdened. Instead, she felt embittered because everything felt the same. She was still left with a need to 'solve' every problem and oversleeping to avoid that pressure didn't help. She was still left with the overwhelming headache of having every contact with friend at school turn into another life-or-death nightmare. And she still felt angry that each new revelations taught her more about a magical world, she'd deserved to feel like a bigger part of, but her ignorance gave her more of that bitter taste from feeling left behind, again.

After the shower, she zipped into a spaghetti strapped dress that clasped at the cleavage, dropped around her knees. She examined herself critically and wondered if a faster healing came with Banshee immunity. The woods once scratches, they were pale lines and shadows, as the bruise on her clavicle had nearly become a memory. In the mirror stood a teenage girl who was very good at surviving, whether it was inclement weather, Monsters in the woods, difficult friends, or the last day of midterms. Life felt better when life's hardest decision was whether or not to match the gray knit front tie cardigan with her ensemble.

Leaving to (not) pick up Allison for school, Lydia drove the long way around town to have breakfast at her fav gourmet café with her phone on silent. There her answers were an oatmeal brown sugar scone and hazelnut cappuccino. Facing the day, whenever she stressed on anything more than Geometry, she brought it back to the party on Saturday and everything she excelled at it so when she pushed through the school's double doors her strut wouldn't waver.

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Track 43 - From Rest by Cold Weather Company

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{Afternoon – BHHS, Coaches Office}

To keep his team's minds sharp after a week of testing, Coach arranged a scrimmage Friday afterschool. Finstock said it was to get the kids' morale up and get their mind's focused to where it really ought to be, prioritizing the Championship.

Unlike an all-out lacrosse game, a scrimmage pitted them against local schools for practice to keep their competitive edge, and without a record of consequence it often got messy. For the Beacon Hills Cyclones it was much messier with a late joining player who hadn't learned the plays. Although Kira was keen to try her best.

It seemed like overnight Coach Helisek yanked his prize Track star over to the Lacrosse team. But he had contended for Yukimura heavy-handedly, he even paid out of pocket for her uniform before she agreed to join the team. No one could argue her running skills were unquestioning, but her knowledge of field plays was zero and she was clumsy as hell.

There wasn't time for either Coach to give her special attention. Besides, the job of taking disadvantaged teammates underwing usually fell to Co-Captain McCall. With his good-naturedness he was better suited to it, except that this time, for whatever freakish reason it was Co-Captain Whittemore who stepped in for the save.

The team had grown tired of hearing Yukimura's "oh. Sorry!" routine come out in sing-song, and even Liam (the former weakest link) found it hard to sympathize.

In his usual 'high' spirit Murphy tried to take out his post-exam aggression on the present weakest link, a position Kira now occupied. Meanwhile, Liam's eagerness to please bubbled up to the surface and tripped him up enough to trip up Jared repeatedly. Ramirez' dislike of the entire set up and his general 'I don't want to be here' attitude showed in his lag. Isaac seemed eager to exact each play to the point that he played every position on his own.

And Co-Captain McCall? Despite Scott's gestures of friendship and their growing inseparability, Kira was shocked when he didn't turn up. Hell, Mr. Yukimura expected Scott to stand beside her the moment she hit the field, but he never exited the boy's locker room.

Before he had a chance to leave, like a nightmare, Mr. Westover appeared from the shadow proclaimed a decision. "I've discussed it with Coach and your Mom. You've got a choice; you step one foot on that field, you fail Global and Econ. Or you don't move your ass until you figure out how to pass."

A stuttering sound bubbled out of Scott's mouth and Coach Finstock's companion voice cut off his perfectly logical reasoning.

"McCall, these midterms are profoundly difficult I'm not even sure I could pass," with his hands firmly placed on Scott's shoulders, Coach Finstock guided him to a small, uncomfortable seat on the outer side of the teacher's desk. "Buddy, after a quick phone call, even your Mom is on board with you living here until you've magicked how to pass, since you figured out how to magically disappear on Wednesday."

"Absolutely, sir. Sirs." He amended when he caught sight of Mr. Westover's death glare over from over Coach's head. Two things had a bit of leeway in the school: money and athletics. Scott had seen staff fall over themselves to make sure people with money, like Jackson, had half-days, best meals, and the best grades. In the second category were athletes, like Scott, who got the rare second chance at missed midterms they didn't get kicked off the team, which was only the technical definition of 'special treatment'.

There was tension through his shoulders and that slithered down his spine, after the first time he broke a pencil. He quickly realized there was no getting through this with his nerves intact. Somewhere nearby he could sense that his friends were pummeling one another- while in the Coach's office, Finstock leafed through paperwork and Scott drew crud Geometric shapes within margins, he never felt so defeated.

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Track 44 - These Paths by Yeah Yeah Yeahs

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{Afternoon – BHHS, Boy's Locker Rooms}

"The only reason you feel like a loser is because we forgot who our opponent is."

Danny's loud even-toned chastisement resounded through the locker room. It cut through their nonsense and excuses. He wasn't mad, just disappointed. He abandoned the uniform for street clothes and left without further comment, leaving teammates to think about their behavior.

Just after the team filed in from the field, Scott staggered out of the office. He looked to his friends for answers but found tired eyes and shamed faces. Quick as he could dart through the field of limbs, Scott made it to Isaac's side to hear his version of events.

"Things just got out of hand. You gotta understand, half my childhood the most hostile thing I had to confront was Stiles' quips. Playing nice with the natives is kind of a new thing for me," Isaac shook his head and shoved his gear into his locker with enough force to leave the whole row rattling. After the stares dissipated, he turned back to Scott and summarized; during the scrimmage, every time Isaac caught sight of Jackson, it kept clicking in the back of his mind the instinct 'Opponent'. Not just as a sports reference, but in something primal. Time after time, another disastrous situation rose up.

As he stood beside Isaac, Scott bristled with each word while they stared over at Jackson... Jackson who stood loftily beside Kira. From Scott's view point the translation of Isaac's words started to change and Jackson wasn't harmless, but he wasn't a threat either, his Master was.

As Kira ducked through the Coaches Office, to take the shortcut into the Girl's locker room, she glanced over and noticed them. When she smiled Scott hesitated to return it when he saw the scrapes along her jawline, scrapes that didn't heal as fast as his did. After she looked away self-consciously Scott understood his discomfort came from knowing if he didn't disconnect from this Monster-Alpha soon, he wouldn't have much control than Jackson did.

"The same could be said for me," when Scott whispered low, Isaac peered at him in disbelief. Wisely, Isaac shifted where he leaned to block the line of sight from others and faced Scott straight on.

"You're nothing like him," Isaac insisted, which only upset Scott further.

"For now," Scott closed his eyes and shook his head. Everything in him felt closed off. Over the distance and beyond a row of lockers Jackson stood still, half-dressed and feeling just as raw. They sensed each other out and knew it was going to get worse before getting any better. But Jackson, unlike Scott, knew how to lock the world out and not let things get to him.

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Track 45 - Whirlwind of Rubbish by Toydrum

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{Night – Sheriff's Station, Bull Pen}

Lounging on a sturdy wood workbench, looking partly asleep but mostly bored, Rumy studied the station while he waited for the Sheriff to turn up. Over the frame of his filtered shades, he ran through the name of Deputies and did a comparison analysis of what changed since their ride-alongs. What he noticed most was a spike in their anxieties.

The general buzz around the office dwindled to a trickle since the Werewolf packs kept their activity themselves. But that didn't mean clues around the town weren't suggesting deviations from the norm. A quiet feeling that something not good was going on just out of sight or just down the road, which every civil servant found uneasy. Rumy could see it in everyone; from the way Deputy Clarke denied calls from her sister Hayden, and when she finally did take the call, she snapped for no reason. Also obvious was the way Deputy Graeme's half-eaten meals piled up on her desk, rather than meet her boyfriend at the hospital during breaks- instead, she spent that time transcribing endless complaints into the system. Deputy Haigh dutifully maintained the Weapons Cage, keeping everything functional and presentable, repeatedly. While covering for the Sheriff, Deputy Cordova ricocheted between workstations, happy to remind everyone no one would be paid for overtime, while piling on more busy work.

It would have been more entertaining if Rumy liked each of them less. Or if he less about what really caused the cities unrest.

When the night shift started and the Sheriff finally showed, despite the officers vying for his attention, Stilinski started out off with a reassuring reminder of "you guys can't live here." Without looking he grabbed the first pile of papers handed to him, continued through the Bull Pen to his office.

"Clarke, go home before I fire you. Graeme go eat something, Haigh get out of there and take over for Graeme. Cordova see to our guest grab a cup of coffee and read these." After a chorus of 'yes, Chief' everyone jumped to their assignment without argument.

Even though Deputy Cordova kept polite business because it was part of the job, that wasn't what Rumy needed. Even though he didn't cross the barrier Rumy got onto his feet and leaned over it throwing Cordova a forlorn expression until the man cracked.

"Says he needs you, boss," Cordova said to the Chief with a knock and apologetic shrug.

Even though he'd been the one to request the meeting, Rumy felt like he had been called to the principal's office, as he entered the office and tried not to slam the door behind him.

"Take a seat," and when he looked up, he asked, "the sunglass?"

"I wear them at night … so I can see the light that's right before my eyes?" Rumy sassed, wriggled his brows high above their frames and slouched back, arms crossed. Stilinski's brow rose, he wasn't unaccustomed to sarcasm, but this was a smokescreen. Then with the flash of a cheeky grin, he pushed the glasses high onto his head, pushing his hair back and asked, "so, it seems tight around the office. How's that been, aside from you and Deputy Parrish?"

The Sheriff dropped his papers and taking a singular interest he leaned back in his seat, too. "That's for interdepartmental eyes only. Why the interest?"

"I just find the interest interesting."

It had been a while since Rumy'd worn the glasses, but the Sheriff's department wasn't the only one who's paranoid.

The office wasn't very large for a Sheriff, and it felt even smaller for all the clutter. Corkboards covered half the walls with clippings of everything from missing persons to reports of animal activities. A few forensic books on the shelves looked intensely well-loved and the cabinets that lined the rest of the walls seemed near too full of caseloads. Rumy imagined this is what the Multi-Touch table might look like if everything were printed out and spread around.

"You can't smoke here."

Sighing, Rumy took the unlit cigarette from his lips, twiddled it in the fingers of his right hand and tucked it behind an ear. Cigarettes always seemed to appear almost magically in his hand, to focus his breathing, to center his busy mind whenever he got busy because a case started overflow. On his feet again Rumy's eyes darted around the room, pausing on the board above the Sheriff's desk before coming down to nail him with steady grey eyes.

"I get that," he said reasonably "I get you, but you see I can't smoke outside because there are all these signs around that say I'll be fined if I do- there are no signs about fines in here."

"You're one of Argent's men," the Sheriff stood, mostly to block his view of the board but also to face him eye-to-eye.

"I'd like to think I'm one of my own men," With both hands on the desk, he leaned forward, and he took a deep breath, "but yeah, Argent Arms payrolls me. 's why I'm here on assignment. Kinda."

"You're kinda payrolled by Argent Arms? Or you're kinda here?"

"Kinda. Sheriff, you got anything stronger than coffee in this place?"

Stilinski cocked his brow, leaned against his desk, brought out a bottle Jim Bean and a couple of shot glasses from his desk drawer. The Sheriff let the other man drink while he listened. He listened to him talk about some paranoid supposition, about the unsubstantiated claims of deaths, innumerable deaths that the Department might not know of because they were looking in the wrong direction. Rumy explained hypothetical relevance; things to do with deaths along the coast that might have nothings to do with Beacon Hills aside from superficial correlation, strange markings, alignments from dates to locations. Aside from Rumy's say-so there didn't seem to be any connection to Stilinski's investigation. Well, Rumy's say-so and Stilinski's gut.

Oh, and despite Tyhurst, the Argents' C.I.A. contact, being the lead contact person, he wasn't exactly worthy of 'interdepartmental eyes only'. After all, if they hadn't heard of these deaths yet, there had to be a reason why.

"I'm not in charge of the state," Stilinski took a shot to settle his nerves after hearing the mad man's ramblings.

"Just the town," said Rumy, "but I got a reliable source saying these unreported deaths are happening."

"And this source is reliable?"

"They'd put their life on the line to get this info," Rumy didn't add on that Kane was killed by Kate to get this info.

"They didn't say anything specific? Anything about strange animals? Really big animals?" Stilinski figured risk it since this improbable piece of info deserved a response just as unlikely.

"An animal like what? Like a Wolf? A Monster? Lizard?" Rumy responded, his cigarette artfully dangling off of his lips then remembered to remove it again.

"I- I don't know anything about Lizards," Sheriff poured another shot "but Wolf maybe. Maybe a Coyote."

"Well, shit, that sure is interesting, Sheriff."

"It's more than interesting. And it might even have something to do with these accounts, these deaths," his lips spread, and teeth shown but it wasn't anything like a smile. It looked pained.

"How 'bout I keep an eye out for your Coyote and you look into my murders on the coast."

The Sheriff lifted his glass for salutation, as a sign of respect and agreement, Rumy tapped his unlit cigarette against it in the same regard.

"Now, if it's so important, why don't you show me where you saw this Coyote," Rumy popped it into his lips and lit it, smirking in relief.

"Fine, but we're not taking the Sheriff's cruiser. Too conspicuous. Bring your car around to the handicap spot. If anyone gives you a problem, tell them I said I'll meet you there in a minute once I close out with Cordova," when the Sheriff stood the room wavered a little, but the warmth he felt was relief at having useful ally finally and was ready to hit the road.

"Can't." He shook his head, in mournful exaggeration when Sheriff Stilinski's eyes narrowed in a disgruntled glare. "Someone's in that spot."

They marched across the Bull Pen together and toward the front ignoring the Deputies awkward looks and wry efforts for their attention.

"What the hell?" Sheriff tsked there would be someone who thought themselves that entitled to just idle the handicap spot. "What's this prick doing? And in front of the station?" He kept on and his voice kept rising "Why hasn't anyone dragged his ass into lockup? Get the vehicle impounded?"

"Dude, have a heart. It's just a bummy old blue Jeep," Rumy contended, "I doubt the owner could afford to get it out of hock."

"I think you're going to want to talk the owner yourself." Uncomfortably Deputy Clarke added, she found it hard to keep her face straight. "We tried reaching you before, but you never picked up, we weren't sure where you were. Anyway, he was pretty out of it now, but we made sure to feed him first. Parrish said you'd prefer him escorted straight to bed. But your son's in cell one in case you want to question him."

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