It took a long time for the world to swim back into focus. At least, it felt like it did. It's hard to tell when you're unconscious.

It started with a quiet ringing in my ears, stirring me from the darkness and altering me to the presence of my own thoughts. Once I realized I was in the process of waking up—and the feeling in the pit of my stomach told me I was definitely supposed to be awake—then the real struggle began. I tried to find the motivation to move my fingers, to wiggle my toes, anything that might break my body out of its stunned state. I could feel the cool breeze on my face, the murmur and clamor of voices, feel someone's fingers brushing the back of my hand…

I groaned, my head lolling to the side on the paper-thin pillow under my head.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," a familiar voice whispered by my ear. "I got you, Bennet."

I relaxed as the smell of curly fries washed over me, but with that realization, the rest of reality came crashing back down. I sprang up and instantly regretted it, the world spinning around me.

"Stiles?! Where is it?! I—ow…"

"Whoa! Hey! What part of 'it's okay, I got you' did you not get, Sadie?!"

Stiles wrapped his arms around me as I clutched my head, lowering me back to the cot I'd woken up on. I blinked furiously in an effort to make sense of my surroundings, which soon stopped spinning and arranged themselves into that of an ambulance.

"What…?"

"You fainted," Stiles explained. He squeezed my hand a little too tight, giving me an intent, pointed look. "We walked back into the workshop, you saw the mechanic's body, and you fainted. You hit your head pretty hard on the floor, so it's okay if everything a little blurry."

I nodded feebly. Right. The mechanic. Just the thought of him made a whole new wave of nausea wash over me. Stiles had definitely said "body," not that the sickening crunch of bone had left much room for debate. He'd died unable to scream, killed by the same demon-lizard that had thrown me to the ground. And now it would go off to kill new victims, all in new, disgusting ways. All because I'd been too scared to shoot it.

That thought jogged another memory, and I almost sprang out of the cot again.

"Oh my God! My gu—"

"Your purse is right here," Stiles assured me, glaring as he shoved me back to the bed. He lifted the bag as evidence and shook his head. "Seriously, could you be any less subtle?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," I snapped. "The human-sized lizard must have knocked some of that out of me too."

"I didn't…okay, you're right. I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine, as soon as my head stops spinning."

"You hit your head pretty hard on the pavement. You've probably got a concussion."

Stiles laid his hand over mine. He opened his mouth to say something else, but cut himself off with a wince, his fingers spasming over the back of my hand. I squinted at him in concern.

"Forget me. Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine, as soon as my hand stops spazzing."

I gave him an unamused look, flipping my hand over on the blanket and lacing my fingers with his. It wasn't much, but it gave him something to anchor onto, and that was a start. He smiled tiredly, wiping his free hand down his face.

"Don't do that again," I ordered, and he snorted.

"Don't…? Sadie, I opened a door for you. You're the one who ran out and faced Babyzilla with a gun and a sledgehammer."

"Well, then I guess you better stop being so chivalrous," I grumbled, letting my eyes flutter shut.

"Nope!" Stiles yelped, patting my cheek. "Sadie, come on. Eyes open."

"Come on, Stiles. I have a headache, and the cruiser lights are annoying."

"That'd be my fault," a new voice said, straining slightly as he pulled himself into the back of the ambulance.

"Dad, please tell her that she has to keep her eyes open."

"Sheriff, please tell him that I do not need to be babied."

Sheriff Stilinski shook his head, helping me up into a sitting position and taking a seat next to his son. "Sorry, Sadie. Doctor's orders. Losing consciousness for as long as you did is a pretty sure sign of a concussion."

"But not totally sure?" I asked hopefully, and he sighed.

"I just asked your mom to keep an eye on you tonight. Wake you up a couple times. You should be fine, but if you still have any dizziness or unsteadiness tomorrow, you should check in with the hospital."

My heart sank. "You already called my mom?"

"You were out for a while," Stiles grimaced. "Sorry…"

I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut in frustration. This was crime scene…what? Three? Four? I was lucky Mom hadn't sent me to boarding school at this point.

"Is she here?" I asked hesitantly.

"No, no," the sheriff assured me. "I told her we'd get you home. She was…pretty panicked. Probably shouldn't be driving."

"God, I've gotta get home," I groaned in defeat. "She's probably freaking out."

"Yeah, about that," Stiles grumbled. "Scott's on his way. Apparently, the sheriff has to temporarily confiscate the Jeep for evidence."

He glared at his father for a moment, who just raised his hands in surrender. Clearly, this was a conversation they'd already had. But my stomach twisted and burrowed up into my chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Is there…evidence on the Jeep…?"

My voice broke on the word. I could still hear the crunch of bone and the squelch of flesh echoing in my head. It was making my headache worse.

"No, nothing on it," the sheriff assured me. "It's more of a formality than anything. We're just gonna check it over, but I doubt anything will pan out."

I nodded in relief, and banished the image of a gore-splattered Jeep from my mind. Of course, Sheriff Stilinski had years of working with shell-shocked witnesses. It was totally possible he was lying just to keep me calm. But I liked being calm, so I decided not to question it.

The sheriff patted my shoulder, a familiar, sympathetic expression crossing his face. I braced myself for the interrogation.

"Sadie, how much do you remember about what happened?"

"Honestly?" I let out a bitter wheeze of laughter. "I'm actually trying not to remember."

"I understand. Do you mind telling me anyway?"

I sighed, squeezing Stiles's hand in my own. He gave me another pointed look, just as pleading as it was reassuring.

"There's not much to say," I mumbled. "My mom dropped me off so I could wait with Stiles until the Jeep was fixed. We…hung around outside for a while, and when…when we walked in, we found his body on the floor. And I blacked out."

I smoothed out the blanket over my legs, picking at the little balls of lint that had rolled on the surface, and chewing my lower lip. The sheriff mistook my guilt for embarrassment.

"Hey, I don't blame you," he said kindly. "All the stress you kids have been under lately, walking into a situation like that? I probably would've fainted too."

"Right," I agreed with a wry smile. "I can totally picture the sheriff of Beacon Hills swooning over some blood."

"Eh, you'd be surprised. When Stiles was seven, he thought it'd be a good idea to try riding his bike around with his eyes closed, you know, instead of 'no hands'—"

"Dad, please stop talking."

"—and he biked straight into a mailbox. Blood pouring out of his mouth. I was a wreck."

I lifted a hand to my face, unsuccessfully smothering my snickers as Stiles glared murderously at his father. But Sheriff Stilinski threw me a wink, satisfied with my smile.

"Well, I didn't really have any reason to worry, but your stories match up. I doubt it'll be any more trouble, but at least I know where to find you two if I need you." He mussed up my hair a bit, and patted Stiles on the shoulder. "Scott should be here soon. I'll see you at home. Make sure she gets back safe."

"Yes, sir."

"Sadie, every—"

"Every couple hours. Got it. Thanks, Sheriff."

He smiled and clambered out of the ambulance. He'd just cleared the door when he ducked back, his face scrunched in mild confusion. "You kids mind if I ask what you were doing out here for so long?"

"W-what?" Stiles asked, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

"You both said you were hanging around outside, and that's why you didn't see or hear anything. What could possibly—"

"We were making out," I said shortly. Both Stilinski men turned to me, the resemblance striking as both their faces began to turn red. I tried to beat back a blush and shrugged. "Sorry. Mom's on this new honesty kick and, uh…yeah. Just making out."

"Uh…righ—okay…" The sheriff cleared his throat, inspecting the gravel under his feet before he squinted back at me. "Maybe we could use a little less honesty in that department on this end."

"Right. You got it, Sheriff."

Sheriff Stilinski nodded awkwardly before hurrying away, clearly decided that the only way to ensure his sanity would remain intact was to put as much distance between him and us as was physically possible.

"Smooth," Stiles snorted, squeezing my hand again.

I wanted to smile, but my stomach was still twisting and turning.

"You really think that's it?" I asked quietly. "A guy gets crushed by a car, wires and tubes cut everywhere, and they're just letting us go? I don't get it…"

"I doubt anyone's stupid enough to think it was an accident, but as far as they know, we just found the body. I mean, how would two kids like us pull off something like this? I think that's pretty convincing."

"Yeah, but if they guy was dead when we walked in, why would I go for the emergency stop? Why would the guy who killed him go for the emergency stop? I just—"

"Okay, Sadie, you've gotta breathe," Stiles said quickly, checking out the back of the ambulance to make sure we were alone. "It's gonna be okay, alright? I cleaned up a bit when I got you out. I promise, nothing's gonna happen."

"You—you cleaned up?!" I hissed, and Stiles shushed me.

"Sadie, my dad's the sheriff. I pretty much grew up at the station, okay? I know how it works. Trust me, everything's gonna be okay."

I forced myself to nod, but I knew it wasn't convincing. I could still hear the inner workings of the garage whirring in my head, the air hissing, the bones…it was making it very difficult to be optimistic about anything.

"Hey." Stiles took my hand in both of his, looking at me in earnest. "I'd…I'd never let anything happen to you. I…I promise."

I let my eyes drag along the fabric of his red sweatshirt up to his face. The cruiser lights were flashing over his pale skin—red, blue, red, blue—but he didn't even flinch in the light. His eyes were steady, albeit a little shy as he watched me. But it was enough. He was stable.

I allowed myself a small smile, tugging him forward. Stiles scooted obediently to the edge of the bench, letting me rest my head on his shoulder. We sat like that for a few minutes, the embrace calming my heartbeat back to a normal level, the contact making it easier to stay awake. Part of it was just the will to be awake, because as stupid as I knew it sounded, I didn't want to miss any time I spent with Stiles.

There was a buzzing sound and Stiles shifted under me to pull his phone out of his pocket.

"Scott's here," he said softly, easing me off his shoulder and back into an upright position. "You ready to get out of here?"

"Please," I sighed in relief.

Stiles picked up my purse, throwing it up onto his shoulder and grabbing my hand. He helped me down from the back of the ambulance, waved to his dad, then guided me toward the parking lot, where a familiar dark car was idling. He opened the back door for me, and I was immediately accosted by Scott.

"Are you okay?" he asked hurriedly, twisting in his seat with panicked eyes.

"Scott, I'm fine," I assured him. I leaned my head back against the seat with a tired smile. "I just passed out is all."

"Knocked out," he corrected quietly. "Stiles told me what happened."

I opened my mouth to speak, but then exactly what had happened began to flash in front of my eyes: Stiles paralyzed, the creature, the mechanic, the Jeep falling farther and farther…

I pursed my lips, turning to look out the window instead. I watched the small beads of water glide down the glass. It must have rained while I was unconscious. I hadn't even noticed.

"You okay?" Scott's voice asked, this time addressing Stiles as he climbed into the passenger seat.

There was a grumbled reply and a sigh before Stiles cleared his throat. "You were right. It's not like you. Its eyes were almost like, reptilian…there was something about him…"

"What do you mean?"

I felt them both glance back at me, and Stiles lowered his voice even further, barely audible.

"You know when you see, like a friend in a Halloween mask, but all you can actually see is their eyes? And you feel like you know them, but you just can't figure out who it is?"

"Are you saying you know who it is?" Scott asked urgently.

"No. But I think it knew us."

"Stiles, that thing killed a guy and then tried to attack you. What about that makes it sound like someone you know?"

"Okay, not—maybe not me, but…it knew Sadie. She ran over, she yelled at it, and…I don't know. It just sort of stopped and took off."

"Sadie?"

I looked over at them, shocked to find that they were blurry and out of focus. I lifted a hand to my face, hurriedly wiping away the tears I hadn't noticed forming. I let out a pathetic sniffle and pressed a hand to my head. I could feel the bruise forming, the abrasion where I'd hit the ground when I'd been thrown across the room.

I knew Stiles had a point. The creature hadn't attacked me at first. When I'd been trying to save the mechanic, it'd almost been warding me back, more worried about killing its target than me. It had stopped when I yelled—only I hadn't been yelling at the creature; I'd been yelling at Kate.

"Can you just take me home?"

Stiles nodded immediately, but Scott continued to watch me for a few seconds. His eyebrows tugged together, his eyes flicking back and forth over my face, searching for something.

"Scott," Stiles prompted, tapping his arm.

"Yeah, sorry," said Scott, turning back to the wheel. "Let's get you guys home."

The ride was pretty much completely silent, allowing each of us to sink into our thoughts. The problem was that I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts. My thoughts were full of breaking bones, hissing lizards, Kate's laughter. I knew I wouldn't be able to escape in sleep, either. I was definitely going to have nightmares, and even if I didn't, Mom would be waking me up every few hours to make sure I hadn't died. It was going to be a seriously long night; I almost missed being unconscious.

The car rolled to a stop and I automatically hooked my bag onto my arm, but when I looked out the window, I realized we were at the Stilinski house. Stiles seemed to notice at the same time, and he was not happy.

"Scott, what the hell are you doing? We have to take Sadie home."

"I know," he said calmly. "I have to take the car back to my mom. It's just faster if I drop you off first."

"Well that's too freaking bad. I'm not letting her out of my sight. Now drive."

"Stiles, I'm fine," I sighed from the backseat. "Honestly—"

"I don't care if you think you're fine! I promised I wasn't going to let anything happen to you, and letting you drive home alone when there's a literal Marvel comic book villain on the loose is definitely one way something could happen!"

"I'm not alone. I'm with Scott," I reminded him patiently, "and in case you forgot, he happens to have super strength, speed, senses, and claws. We'll be fine."

Stiles glared at Scott, offended by the idea that he might do a better job protecting me. I patted Stiles on the shoulder and climbed out of the car. It took a few seconds for him to follow my lead; his jaw was still clenched. I patted him on the chest, sliding my hands up and over his shoulders so I could pull him into a hug.

"It's really okay, Stiles. I'm okay."

He was silent for a moment, his hands tightening into fists on my back. "Text me when you get home. And when you wake up."

"Will do."

"And—and I don't just mean tomorrow morning," he clarified, pulling back to stare at me. "I want a text from you every time you wake up tonight. I mean it, Sadie. I need to know you're okay."

"Stiles, I already told you I'm fine," I insisted with a tired smile. "I am fine, I am going to be fine, and I will talk to you tomorrow. Now go."

I leaned up to kiss his cheek and shoved him toward the house. He batted me off, but complied, looking over his shoulder every couple seconds as if to make sure I hadn't already collapsed. When he finally made it inside, door shut, lights on, I climbed back into the front seat of Mrs. McCall's car.

"Dropping him off isn't faster," I observed, as Scott pulled back out onto the street.

"Yeah, I know."

"Then what are you up to, Scott?"

"I thought we should talk. About what really happened."

"Okay, that's a valid point. What happened to you?"

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Really?" I asked stiffly. "Because that's exactly what I mean. Stiles and I called and texted you a dozen times. What happened?"

Scott opened his mouth to argue, then faltered. He shook his head at the road, but finally sighed and gave in.

"I found Boyd at the ice rink, but he'd already gotten the bite. Derek showed up with Isaac and Erica, forced them to fight me. They'll be fine," he added quickly, sensing my anxiety before my body even had the chance to tense up. "I went easy on them. Wish I could say Derek did the same for me…"

"He hurt you?"

"Don't worry about it. I'll heal."

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked in alarm. "Did you just say 'I'll' as in 'I will heal' and not 'I already healed'?"

"Deaton says wound from an Alpha take longer to heal," Scott said sheepishly. "Like when Peter impaled Derek at the school? It'll take a while, but…I'll be okay."

I shook my head and turned to glare out the window. I wanted to believe that Derek knew what he was doing, that he had only the best intentions, but I didn't see how hurting Scott accomplished anything. He had to have known his wounds would have a lasting impact, he did it anyway. He had to know that hurting Scott McCall, of all people, wasn't going to change Scott's determination to stop him…but he did it anyway. Just like when he'd killed Peter, I had to wonder if Derek wasn't thinking about himself the whole time. Maybe it really was about power.

"So you spoke to Deaton?" I asked, pushing past the uncomfortable subject. "He helped patch you up?"

"Yeah," Scott sighed. "As much as he could, anyway. We didn't really have a lot of time to talk though, 'cause…well, the Argents showed up."

"Are you okay?!" I demanded, going straight from alarmed to panicked.

"I'm fine," he assured me. "I hid in the back with the cats. They didn't even know I was there."

"They went to see Deaton?" I sat back in my seat, more troubled than relaxed. "I guess they know about him, then."

"Yeah, they know. From the sounds of it, Gerard's known him for a long time."

"Are they friends?" I asked suspiciously, but Scott shook his head.

"Definitely not. They came for…I don't know, a consultation, I guess. But Deaton said pretty clearly that he wasn't on their side."

I nodded, frowning at the dashboard. It was comforting to hear that Deaton was on our side or—at least—not on the Argents'. It was also something of a comfort to hear that and know that he was still living. Whatever Deaton really was, he helped werewolves and the Argents knew it, but for some reason, they hadn't killed or punished him. Maybe there was hope for me yet.

"A hunter died," Scott continued gravely, "a couple days ago, I think. They brought the body to Deaton to find out what killed him."

"Let me guess," I bit, "a paralytic toxin and a really gruesome COD."

"Yeah. Which brings us back to tonight. What happened with you and Stiles?"

My jaw clenched, and I spent a few seconds grinding my teeth together. Even if Scott hadn't been a werewolf, there was no point in lying.

"Stiles told you. We walked in, Stiles and the mechanic both got paralyzed, I tried to save him, and I failed. Now he's dead and I have a concussion. End of discussion."

"Sadie," Scott sighed, shaking his head but keeping his eyes on the road, "it's not your fault."

"Scott, all it is is my fault," I snapped. "I was the only not-paralyzed person in that building, and I didn't do enough to save him. I wasn't strong enough, I wasn't fast enough—"

"And if you had been, that thing would've killed you. If you'd tried anything—"

"Yeah, but that's the thing, Scott! I didn't try anything! I didn't try! I had a gun, and I didn't fire it once. I just stood there staring at it like—like some damsel in distress, and then it threw me across the room. It was ready to attack Stiles and I—I just did nothing."

"Okay. Why?"

Scott's voice was so quiet and calm that it caught me off guard. I blinked and turned to him in surprise.

"What?"

"Why didn't you shoot it?" he asked softly.

I opened and closed my mouth a few times. Of course he would ask the one question I didn't want to answer. It was the only thing I didn't want to talk about, because the moment I said it out loud, it became real. If I said it out loud, I became crazy. And that was the last thing anyone needed on their plates.

"I don't know."

Scott shook his head at the windshield. "You know I can hear you lying, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then why are you bothering to try?"

"Maybe I'm just hoping you'll humor me."

Scott sighed, a sad smile on his face that just made me feel all the more worse.

"I just want you to be able to talk to me, Sadie. You've been…off. There's good days and bad days, but you haven't been you for a while. Not since the formal." He glanced over at me, but I didn't say anything. He tried again. "Is…is this about Kate?"

I stiffened, but he must've known it was coming. I had a feeling that Scott had known the answer before he'd asked, maybe even since the funeral. He was just waiting for me to confirm his suspicions. I wanted to be mad at him for bringing it up, but I couldn't manage it. He looked as scared to say it as I was. I didn't know if that was because he was afraid of the answer or afraid of my reaction, but did that matter? He was worried about me. Everyone was.

"Yeah," I said, so quietly that he probably needed his enhanced hearing to understand. "Yeah, it's about Kate."

Scott nodded out at the road.

"I figured. And I get it. You know, I don't think you killed her, but I know you feel that way, so…it makes sense that you're nervous about using a gun again. And—and you don't have to, if you don't want to. I mean, Stiles doesn't have one, and he's still alive."

I managed to snort with tears in my eyes. "Stiles with a gun. That would be disaster."

"Definitely," Scott chuckled. "But Allison doesn't use them either. If you wanted, maybe she could teach you some other stuff. At least until you feel more comfortable."

"No, I know," I said, nodding to myself. "I already asked her to. It's…it's not that. Well. It's not just that."

"Then…what is it?"

He let me sit in silence for a few minutes, battling the nausea in my stomach, the fogginess in my brain, trying to prepare myself for exactly what it was I had to say.

"I keep hearing her, Scott. Every time I even look at a gun, it's like…it's like she's in my head."

I could feel his hesitation in the way the car moved forward, reluctant to press the gas pedal, reluctant to press me for answers.

"And by 'her' you mean…"

"Kate," I confirmed. "I can hear Kate."

"Sadie—"

"I know she's dead. I know she's gone, and before you ask, no. I don't think it's something supernatural. It's just…it's just me. Hearing her. Everything she would say to me if she was still alive."

Scott's thumb tapped anxiously on the steering wheel, debating. Ultimately, he must've decided that the best thing to do was bleed the wound to get the poison out. So he kept me talking.

"What does she say to you?" he asked hesitantly.

"Uh, that I killed her," I said with a watery laugh. "That…if I killed her, it should be easy to kill everything else. That I could protect my friends better if I was less scared to do it. That…that it doesn't even matter what I do now because…because I'm already like her…"

"That's not true."

"Scott—"

"It's not," he said resolutely. "Sadie, whatever you think, whatever your brain is telling you that Kate would say—you are good. You're one of the most good people I know. Most…goodest? Good…whatever. The point is that—that you're not Kate. If you were, you wouldn't be so worried about it. And I'm not saying you're not allowed to be worried but…I wish you were having an easier time forgiving yourself. Because the rest of us have."

I nodded, full blown crying now. I'd been so wrapped up in my own head, I hadn't even realized that the car had stopped. We were sitting on the curb in front of the house, the lights on inside. Mom was probably waiting for me, ready to interrogate me even more than the sheriff had. It probably wouldn't help if I walked into the house in tears.

I tried to wipe my face, but Scott reached over to grab one of my hands.

"You're not her," he said again, "and I'm going to do literally everything I can to make sure it stays that way. Okay?"

I looked over at him, the earnestness in those brown, puppy-dog eyes. I knew he meant every word he said. And for the moment, it'd be enough to get me through.

"Yeah," I said weakly. "Okay."

"Good." Scott smiled and ran a thumb across the back of my hand. "You're Sadie Bennet. And that's not gonna change. You're awesome, and smart, and sweet, and—"

"—and totally aware that you're trying to use your werewolf powers on me right now." I pried my had loose from his, shaking my head as the black veins in his forearms subsided. "Honestly, Scott, humans heal from concussions just fine. So let me heal like a human."

"Just trying to help," he said with a small grin.

"I know, and…you do. Thank you."

I smiled at him, fighting to keep anymore tears from forming in my eyes. We stayed like that for a few minutes, me enjoying the last few minutes of darkness and quiet, Scott watching me with a steady eye.

"Are you gonna be okay?"

"We'll see," I sighed, running a hand over my head. "Just…just do me a favor and…don't tell Stiles, okay? He worries enough as it is and…I don't know. I'll tell him eventually, but…"

A flicker of doubt crossed Scott's face, but he nodded. "Okay. I won't. But if it gets worse—"

"I'll tell you. Both of you."

Scott didn't look comfortable with the arrangement, but it was better than the alternative of knowing nothing at all. That's all any of us ever seemed to be saying to each other: You can know about werewolves, but you can't tell anyone. You can know how I feel about my crush, but you can't say anything. You can know the demons I'm fighting, but don't worry anyone else. I wasn't sure if our group of friends had major communications issues, or if that was just life.

"You should get some sleep," Scott advised gently.

"Fat chance," I said with a laugh. "Now I have to go deal with my mom, who's probably going out of her mind because Stiles already called to tell her I was at another crime scene with another dead body and another concussion. It's the video store all over again."

"Well, this time you've got us."

Scott smiled and I rolled my eyes, even though it hurt a bit. How someone could be so consistently supportive and positive, I'd never be able to understand. But that was Scott McCall, and I wasn't going to question having such a good thing in my life.

"Go on," he ordered. "Get some rest. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Thanks, Scotty."

I leaned over the divide in the car, giving him an awkward hug before easing myself out into the driveway. I kept a tight grip on my purse, trying not to think about the heavy weight inside of it, but Scott called me back before I could make it up the driveway.

"Sadie? For what it's worth, I'm here if you need to talk. Our problems are a little…unconventional, but they're still…I don't know. Normal. Dealing with death, finding a body. It's okay for you to be freaked out. And it's okay if you need to talk about it."

I simply bobbed my head and waved him off down the street, but Scott's words stuck with me for the rest of the night. Even as my mom and Natalie both smothered me in questions and hugs, even as I called Allison to confirm that everything was alright. Well, as alright as it could be.

I tried to remind myself that, at their base, my problems were reasonable: the death of someone I was close to, being attacked on formal night, dealing with Lydia's disappearance, seeing my fifth or sixth dead body in a year. There was a reason no one around my was confused by my anxiety. Regardless of the real reasons, life had gotten ridiculously messy. And maybe I needed to start acting like my problems were normal to handle them.

A/N: Hey everyone! Just an update for those who may care: I've also begun posting on AO3. I'll still do updates here, but if you prefer the AO3 interface—as many seem to—you can find me over there under the same pen name, BrittWitt16.