Right Beside You (2022)

by BrittWitt16

Sadie feels like she's drowning—in guilt, in fear, in darkness. She doesn't know how to help Lydia after winter formal. She doesn't know how to protect her friends when there's an all-out war brewing between werewolves and hunters. But most of all, she doesn't know if she can trust herself to make the right choices. / REWRITE OF MY 2013 SERIES

21. Welcome to the Jungle

My mind was reeling. The fighting had recommenced downstairs, louder now as crashes and growls echoed up the stairs, and Jackson was the kanima. Allison came charging into Scott's room, calling out to me and Stiles to warn us "it's here," and Jackson was the kanima. Erica came bursting in next, and Lydia and I listened through the door as she taunted Allison about stealing Scott, and Jackson was the kanima.

I was confused, but more than anything, I was angry. I had never hated Jackson more. I'd always joked that he wasn't capable of being a real human being, but here was the proof. Derek had said that the shape you take reflects the person you are, and Jackson was such a twisted, self-serving asshole that he couldn't even turn into a werewolf properly. He was always causing more trouble than he was worth, lashing out and bringing everyone down with him.

At the same time, I knew that part of me was really mad at myself. I should have noticed the signs. If I hadn't been so focused on hating Jackson for the way he'd treated Lydia, maybe he would've told me he'd gotten the bite. If I hadn't isolated him, maybe he wouldn't have gone through this alone. Maybe we would have saved people sooner.

"Do you think they're gone?"

I glanced down at Lydia, blinking a few times before I turned to the door. The house had sunken into an eerie silence—no bangs, no crashes, no roars. I pressed my ear to the wall, but it didn't sound like anyone was in Scott's room anymore. Either Allison and Stiles had succeeded in chasing Derek's pack off, or they were both down for the count and Derek was about to charge in, ready to kill.

"That's it," Lydia snapped. "I want to know what's going on right now."

"Wait, Lydia—"

She threw the latch on the door and was marching out before I could stop her.

"Lydia!"

I dropped the guitar I'd been holding as a weapon so I could run after her. The bedroom was empty—no kanima ready to pounce and slice, no teenage werewolves ready to maul us—but that didn't mean we were safe. I chased her down the hall, down the stairs, stumbling to a halt as a horrible screech ripped through the air. A chill shot down my spine; Jackson might've crawled out the window, but he was still here, somewhere.

"Lydia!"

"Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?!"

I sprinted out the front door, nearly colliding with her when she stopped short on the porch. Everyone else was arranged on the front lawn. Scott, Allison and Stiles stood off to one side, while Derek and Boyd were hovering at the end of the path. At their feet, Isaac and Erica lay in a motionless pile. All of them were wearing the same kind of facial expression: horror, laced with shock as Lydia glowered down at them from the porch.

I glared at Derek's face in defiance. There was my proof. Lydia couldn't be in two places at once. Just like I'd said, she hadn't been the kanima.

"Seriously?!" Lydia stomped her foot in outrage. "You're all just gonna stand there?! Not one, single person can tell me what's going on?!"

I grabbed her arm, tugging her back a few steps. "Lydia, it's okay. Calm—"

"Do not tell me to calm down! Someone just tried to break in, Jackson is gone, and all of you are being insufferably weird again! I hate it! For once, I am begging you, tell me the truth!"

I shared a look with Scott, Stiles, and Allison. Lydia was begging me, and I was begging them. We couldn't keep pretending that nothing was going on. Lydia knew we were lying to her. Lydia was involved. We needed to tell her something.

Simultaneously, Scott, Derek, and Boyd all looked off into the distance, hearing something the rest of us couldn't.

"We need to go," Derek said firmly. He spared a look for his grounded betas, jaw clenching as he passed his car keys off to Boyd. "Get them out of here."

Boyd nodded silently. He scooped up Erica as gently as he could manage, settling her against his chest so her head could rest on his shoulder. Then, with much less grace, he dragged Isaac up from the ground like a sack of potatoes. It was a wonder he could carry them both at the same time, but a few seconds later, the three of them were already disappearing down the street.

Derek took a step forward, pursing his lips together as he looked to me and Lydia. He sucked in a deep breath, then sighed.

"I'm sorry."

Lydia actually scoffed, glaring at him and his nonsensical apology; I glared too. Derek didn't hand out apologies often, and I knew that he meant it, but with a sudden rush, I realized that I was just as angry with him as I was with Jackson. Derek had given him the bite and told no one. Derek had bit Jackson, then tried to blame Lydia for the attacks because he couldn't fess up to his own mistakes. He'd tried to kill my best friend because he didn't want to admit he'd made the wrong call with Jackson.

I clenched my jaw and pulled Lydia protectively to my side.

"Go."

Derek's eyes dropped to the grass in an instant. He nodded and stepped back in submission. He shared a look with Scott, gave him a curt nod, and took off down the street.

"What the hell was that about?" Lydia asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

But Scott was looking out at the night again. "We should go too."

"Excuse me?!"

No one paid any attention to Lydia's outburst. Stiles was already fumbling with his car keys and Scott was sharing low words with Allison. I planted myself on the porch, my face stone.

"You guys go ahead. I'm staying with Lydia."

At any other time, it would have been comical to watch all three of them screech to a halt.

"Uh, no you're not," Stiles argued. He was already half into the Jeep. "You're coming with us."

"Uh, no I'm not," I mocked.

"Now?" Allison asked incredulously. "Seriously?"

"Why not?"

"Sadie," Scott sighed, "you know why we need you."

"Actually, I don't. There is no way I can help you right now, so I'm gonna stay here and I'm gonna stay with Lydia."

"The cops are almost here and—"

"And we will give them a statement. Go."

Scott frowned and, at a loss, turned to Stiles. Stiles sighed and pursed his lips. I couldn't hear his groan of frustration, but I could see it when he scrunched up his nose. Then he fixed me with a hard look.

"Sadie, the cops are coming. You really want to file two police reports in a week? Because your mom's gonna freak."

I squeezed my eyes shut. I knew he was right, but it was a low fucking blow. They didn't want me to leave because of my mom. They wanted my help finding Jackson, even though I had no car, no weapons, no better idea where he was going than they did. Or worse, they wanted me to come just so I wouldn't be able to talk to Lydia. I didn't understand their resistance to telling her the truth. She deserved to know, just as much as any of us, but no one seemed to believe that she could handle it. I wanted to believe she could handle it.

"I'll make sure she gets home okay," said Allison, stepping forward as volunteer.

"Seriously?" I gaped at her. "No! Allison, if your dad finds—"

"Oh my God, just go, Sadie!"

I turned to Lydia in surprise. She wriggled out of my grasp and distanced herself on the stoop, her hands stuck like poised claws in front of her. My heart sank.

"Lydia, I don't want—"

"Just stop! Obviously, no one is prepared to be honest with me today, so if it's a choice between this and standing here listening to you all talk in code for another twenty minutes, I'll take whatever option gets me home fastest!"

"Lyd—"

"Leave, Sadie!"

It hit me like a slap in the face, but it was a slap I knew I deserved. I'd been worried about this moment for months. We'd finally fed Lydia one too many lies, given her one too many excuses for our strange behavior, instead of an explanation. We'd excluded her for so long the she wasn't prepared to stick around. It was all the anger and betrayal Allison had felt after formal without any of the clarity. She hated us and she didn't even know why.

Just like Derek, my eyes sank to the ground. I nodded, took a step back, and walked away. I ducked inside briefly to grab my purse, the now useless taser thrown haphazardly inside, and then trudged back to the Jeep. I ignored Allison's soft goodbye, Stiles's apologetic smile, Scott's hand on my back as he helped me into the Jeep. I couldn't even bring myself to look at Lydia out the window. Every step I took away from her felt like she was pushing me farther and farther away. I was losing my best friend, both literally and figuratively.

I settled myself in the backseat, dropping my purse on the floor and folding my arms over my chest. Stiles and Scott slid into the seats in front of me and shared a dark look.

"Sadie," Scott sighed after a moment.

"Don't. Do not talk to me."

"No, you don't understand. The kanima—"

"Is Jackson. Yeah, I got that."

"Then you know he—"

"Could kill someone. I know."

"Sadie," Stiles tried, and I snapped.

"Just drive, Stiles!"

He flinched, but I was too furious to care. Stiles huffed and, resigned, pulled the Jeep out onto the road and took off into the night.

It was just like the night Lydia had escaped from the hospital. Scott had his head out the window and Stiles was slamming on every lever, pedal, and wheel in the car to get us in the right direction. I stayed still and silent in the back, only moving when a sudden turn threatened to knock me from my seat.

We tailed Derek and the kanima all the way to the other end of town, through abandoned factories and quiet roads I hadn't known existed. We'd almost caught up when we reached an underpass. Just as Stiles stepped on the gas, a fence seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He slammed on the brakes and we all jerked forward in our seats. Jackson disappeared with a flick of his tail, and Stiles groaned.

"What do we do now?"

Scott was already out of the car, scaling the fence and vanishing into the shadows. Stiles and I were left alone in the Jeep. He frowned at the vacant passenger seat and, even though I was glaring forward, I saw him steal a few glances at me in the back seat. He cleared his throat.

"Do…do you want to move up to the front?"

I crossed my legs and pressed myself back in my seat.

"Okay," he sighed. "That works too."

The Jeep pulled back onto the road, this time at a slightly less dangerous speed. Stiles's head bobbed around in a circuit, glancing at me in the rearview mirror, checking his phone for any update from Scott, looking out all his windows for any sign of Jackson. He must've gotten some sort of lead eventually, because soon the car sped up, turning on specific roads instead of wandering. We pulled into a dark, crowded parking lot and drove around the perimeter a few times until we found a free spot.

Stiles hopped out of the car first and turned to help me out, but I was already clambering over the seat. I ignored the hand he offered to soften my landing. I didn't even bother to glare at him. I passively grabbed my purse and stalked toward the large building ahead of us. Stiles tried to hide the disappointed noise he made, but he didn't quite manage it. Even if he had, I would've heard the hurt in the way he closed the car door a bit too loudly.

Ahead of us, a dark figure was crouching at the corner, peeking around the building to get a better look out front. Stiles jogged past me and grabbed him by the shoulder, making Scott jump about a foot in the air.

"Holy cr—"

"Ah! Sorry! I'm sorry!" Stiles held up his hands in surrender. "Did you see where he went?"

Scott shook his head in dismay. "I lost him."

"What? You couldn't catch his scent?"

"I don't think he has one."

"Alright," Stiles said, frowning in confusion. "Any clue where he'd going?"

"To kill someone."

"Ah. That explains the claws and fangs and all that. Good. Makes perfect sense now." Scott gave him a pointed look and Stiles rolled his eyes. "What? Scott, come on. I'm a hundred and forty seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bone, okay? Sarcasm is my only defense!"

"Just help me find it," Scott said in annoyance.

"It's not an 'it,' Scott. It's Jackson."

He and Stiles both turned to me, surprised by the first time I'd spoken since we left the house. Scott hurriedly composed his face.

"You're right. I—I'm sorry. I know."

"Alright, but does he know that?" Stiles asked, glancing nervously up and down the street. "Did anyone else see him back at your house?"

"Better question is did anyone hear him," I said stiffly. "Isaac was listening in from the curb. If any of them heard Jackson in that house, they know."

"I don't think they do," Scott disagreed. "Besides, he already passed Derek's test anyway."

"How did he pass the test?" I asked him.

"I don't know!"

"Maybe it's like an either-or thing," Stiles suggested. "I mean, Derek said a snake can't be poisoned by its own venom, right? When is the kanima not the kanima?"

"When it's Jackson," Scott followed, nodding in understanding.

"That doesn't make any sense," I complained. "It's impossible—like on a biological level. How can Jackson's body produce a toxin that would paralyze him without paralyzing him, except it does paralyze him when ingests it? It'd be like changing your blood type. Every time he changed, he'd have to—ow! What are you—"

Stiles had grabbed my arm in a vice grip and was pulling me back toward the parking lot. He pushed me behind him, eyes fixed on the roof of the building.

"Um, guys? See that?"

I followed his gaze. It was a normal, brick façade, a few windows propped open here and there. Of course, leaving your windows open wasn't exactly a wise choice in Beacon Hills. Sometimes—like now—giant, venomous lizards would climb into your building looking for someone to kill.

"He's inside," said Scott, and Stiles nodded.

"What's he gonna do in there?!"

"Nothing good," I grumbled.

Stiles shot me a glare for the obvious answer, but before he could bite back, Scott interrupted him.

"I know who he's after."

"What, how?" Stiles blinked at him. "How? Did you smell something?"

"Armani."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean, Scott?"

"It's Danny's cologne. He just walked inside."

"What?" My jaw dropped, and in an instant, I realized just how long this day had become. The lacrosse field felt like a lifetime ago, Chemistry even further. I'd been sitting right next to Danny and— "Oh, no, no, no…"

I fished my phone out of my bag, hurriedly checking for new texts. And there it was, just like he'd promised.

"Hey, I got a late start but I'm still going out! Heading to Jungle if you're still up for it."

I checked the glowing sign on the side of the building, hoping fleetingly that we were wrong, but no. The neon lights were clear as day, the word Jungle spelled out in vivid green. It felt like my heart had tripped, smacking into my rib cage as it tried to regain its footing. Not Danny. Not the one, last, normal friend I had.

"Well, let's go!" I said in a panic. "We—we have to—"

I gave up on the sentence. Instead, I sprinted around the corner, headed for the door, but Scott caught me around the middle and tugged me back into the shadows.

"No, no, no! We can't! There's no way around that line, and we don't have that kind of time."

"Then what exactly do you want me to do, Scott?! Nothing?! I—I don't have a gun, or a knife, or a taser, I just—"

"There's gotta be a back door," Stiles said quickly. "Come on."

He dashed off around the building and, taking my hand, Scott pulled me along with him. We piled into the dark alleyway behind the club, scanning for a break in the filthy bricks. It took a few minutes without the streetlights, but finally, we found an equally dirty back door. Stiles yanked on the handle, jiggling it up and down and trying in vain to shove it open.

"Aw, come on!" He pulled harder, but the door didn't budge. "Alright, maybe there's like a, uh—a window we could climb through…"

He wandered further down the alley, looking for another open window. I rolled my eyes and pushed Scott toward the door.

"Break it."

He looked back at me in alarm. "What?"

"Break it," I repeated. "I've seen Derek do it. You can."

Scott didn't look quite ready to believe that, but he closed his eyes in concentration just the same. He grabbed the handle, twisted, and pulled the door open with a satisfying crunch. His eyes flew open in surprise, and he passed the broken handle back to me with a delighted grin.

"Cool!"

I grudgingly smiled and patted him on the back before he ran in ahead of me. I turned to find Stiles, who was still pacing up and down the alley, mumbling to himself about whatever heist he was planning to get inside. I pointedly placed the handle into his gesturing hand and waited.

"—if I pull the Jeep over, or we find some kind of…handle that…we could rip off with supernatural strength. How'd I not think of that one?"

I rolled my eyes, grabbed a fistful of his sweatshirt, and lugged him into the building behind me.

It was like walking into a brick wall of sound. I felt like I was pushing my way through the fake smoke and strobe lights, the vibrations of the bass trying to push me right back out the door. I stayed close on Scott's tail, letting him make the way for us as we forced our way deeper into the club. I released Stiles and grabbed my purse with both hands, scared to lose it in the mass of wandering strangers. For someplace off the beaten track, the club was crowded. There were men flocking to the bar, men hanging from the ceiling as they swung on ropes of silk, men packing themselves into the writhing mob on the dance floor.

I could only hope the flashing lights were getting to Scott's head, because it took him quite a few minutes to reach the obvious conclusion.

"Dude, everyone in here is a dude. I think we're in a gay club."

"Man, nothing gets past those keen werewolf senses, huh, Scott?"

I turned back onto to find that Stiles wasn't behind me anymore. He was standing a few feet away in the middle of a group of men dressed in drag. It appeared he was very popular with the crowd. A few of them were passing drinks around his head, and one of them was stroking his neck fondly, like a cat. Stiles was standing very still, looking panic-stricken.

"Ahem, everyone, this is Sadie. My girlfriend. Sadie, do you uh—wanna give me a hand here?"

I watched him for a moment, and this time, I allowed myself to smile.

"Nah, that's okay. I'm gonna go find Danny. Have fun, ladies!"

Stiles's jaw dropped, but the rest of his posse laughed. I got a few winks and air kisses, and one enthusiastic "We'll take good care of him, babe," before I wiggled my fingers in a wave and pushed into the crowd once more.

I weaved in and out of the mass of people, keeping my eyes peeled for my friend, but there were simply too many people. How was I supposed to find Danny in a crowd like this? Let alone find him before Jackson did?

I groaned as I bumped into my fourth Danny-doppelganger. There had to be a better way to do this. I thought back to my conversation with Danny that afternoon, practically a decade ago in chemistry. He wanted to loosen up, forget about his problems, forget about Bryan.

"Getting plastered is just a perk…well, for you. For me, it's kinda a given."

I made a beeline for the bar and, lo and behold, there was Danny. He was leaning sulkily on the counter, stirring whatever drink he had in his glass. Every few seconds, he glanced furtively over his shoulder. Down at the other end of the bar, I recognized his ex, Bryan, flirting with one of the dancers.

I wandered up behind Danny's back and leaned onto the counter next to him. "Can I buy you a drink, cutie?"

Danny spun around and his morose face broke into a huge smile.

"Oh my God, you actually came!" Before I could so much as laugh, he tugged me to his chest, squeezing the life out of me for joy. "I was about to give up. Figured you were too busy having jealousy sex with Stilinski to realize I texted you."

"Gross."

I wrinkled my nose as I pulled away, and Danny laughed. "Sadie, he's your boyfriend. I know I think he's weird, but aren't you supposed to be into that?"

"Not tonight," I said stoutly. "I am mad at him, and I am forgetting him, because I am here to protect you—I mean, support you. Whatever."

"Hey, now that's a philosophy I can get behind. And if we're forgetting, then we're gonna need some help from tequila."

"Oh no, Danny, I—"

"Excuse me!" He raised his hand, grabbing the bartender's attention with a grin. "Can my friend and I get uh…four shots of Jose Cuervo? When you get a chance."

"Danny, please—"

"You have ID?" the bartender asked.

I was ready to back down and tell him that I most certainly did not have ID, but Danny nudged me with his elbow, a smirk plastered over his face. I only endured the look for a few seconds before my resolve crumbled. I huffed, digging my wallet out of my purse and pulling out the fake ID that Danny had made for me at the end of the summer—his official 'Welcome to Beacon Hills' gift. I slid it toward the bartender, holding my breath, but he just looked at it and passed it back with a grin.

"Four shots coming right up, guys."

"Thank you." I smiled, and waited until his back was turned to shake my head. "I cannot believe you're making me do this."

"Someone's a little edgy tonight," Danny observed, and called after the bartender. "You better make that five, man."

The man waved to acknowledge that he'd heard him, and I fixed Danny with an unamused look.

"Don't look at me like that," he chuckled. "I know damn well that's the first time you've used that ID since you got it. I'm paying, so we're christening it."

"I don't know…" I sighed, still reluctant. Much as I liked to drink with Danny, I knew there was arguably no worse idea than doing tequila shots while there was a murderous lizard on premises. I was already unarmed; I shouldn't be unarmed and uncoordinated.

"Did you drive here?"

"What?" I looked up at him in surprise. "Oh, no. Stiles uh…dropped me off."

"Okay, good. So you're not driving and you're not paying. What do you have to lose?"

I snorted. We didn't have enough time to unpack that.

Before I could think of another excuse, the bartender returned with our platter of shots. He set everything out for us—glasses, limes, and salt—accepted the money from Danny, and winked before he walked off.

Danny kept an eye on him, waiting until he was out of sight before grabbing the salt and a slice of lime. He was a very efficient drinker. I'd hardly blinked before he was dropping the rind and glass back to the counter. He squeezed his eyes shut and grinned, drumming his hands on the bar as he turned back to me.

"Okay, Bennet. That's all you."

"…You're joking." I stared down at the four shots left on the table, my jaw hanging slack. "Danny, there is no way I am doing four shots."

"Uh, yes, you are. Look—one shot for everything I want you to forget, okay?" He tapped the rim of each glass as he continued. "This one is for school. This one is for Lydia. This one is for Stiles—respectfully. And this one is miscellaneous."

"Miscellaneous?" I echoed, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yeah. For all the weird shit that happens in this town that doesn't fall under the previous categories."

"Danny, that is…going to take a lot more than a shot to forget."

"Well then, I guess you better get started." He lifted the saltshaker, holding it toward me with a grin. "Hey, it's this, or you can walk home."

I stared at the salt like it was a pen he expected me to use to sign away my soul. This was a very bad idea. Even if we hadn't been in the middle of a life or death situation, it would have been a bad idea. But…I needed to keep an eye on Danny, right? So what if I needed to take a few shots to keep him happy? He'd be safer with me than without me, even if I was drunk. At least I'd be able to get him out when shit hit the fan.

Deeper down, I knew that was only half the reason. After the day I'd had—Harris threatening me with detention, Lydia reaching her breaking point, Stiles and Isaac gossiping about me all through chemistry—I wanted to forget, even if it was just for a few minutes.

I licked the back of my hand and grabbed the salt out of Danny's hand. I dumped it over my skin, licking it up before it even had time to stick. I tossed back the first shot, grabbed the lime out of Danny's waiting hand, and bit down with my eyes screwed shut. I did it again, and again, and again, until I was slamming the last glass down.

"Whooo!" Danny's cheers hurt my ears as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder. "That's my girl! See? That wasn't so bad!"

"Right." I coughed violently and thumped myself on the chest. "And what's next on your agenda for complete emotional cleansing?"

"You being my wingwoman on the dancefloor," he said with a wink.

He grabbed my hand and, ignoring my protests, dragged me into the throng.

I had to hand it to Danny. When it came to forgetting all the trouble in life, he knew what he was doing. It only took a few songs before the buzz of the alcohol slammed me. It started with a tingling in my fingertips, which shot up my arms and made my face heat up. The same sort of feeling crept up from my feet until my entire body felt like it was made of static electricity or something. I wasn't spending too much time trying to find the right comparison. In the moment, I only really cared about dancing with Danny—or, you know, singing to the music while Danny grinded his troubles away on a hot, shirtless dude. That was fun too.

The therapy was so successful that, for a while, I actually managed to forget why I was there. I knew I had to keep an eye on Danny, that much was clear to me, but the details had gotten a bit hazy. Or maybe that was just the details of the club. The fake smoke was billowing overhead again, catching the light and displaying the intricate weaving colors that they made in the air. It obscured the ceiling, just hiding the rafters, almost completely obscuring the tail that was swishing right over my head.

It was enough to catch my attention, even in my tipsy haze. The world spun as I stopped jumping, my head tilted back as I tried to keep the tail in my sights.

"Danny? Danny! We—we have to go!"

But Danny wasn't paying any attention to me. He was absorbed in his dance partner, rocking back and forth to music so loud, it was more a matter of feeling it than hearing it. I could barely hear anything—except my name. I was pretty sure someone was calling my name, just as urgently as I was calling Danny's.

"Sadie!"

"Danny! We need to go now!"

"Sadie, look out!"

"Danny, come on! Danny!"

Suddenly, Danny wasn't there anymore. I spun frantically on the spot. Danny didn't seem to be anywhere, but if he wasn't on the dance floor, then where—

The man next to me collapsed. I let out a squeal of surprise, tripping myself on his body as it fell limply to the floor. I thought for a moment he might get up, roll over laughing and apologize for his clumsiness. Instead, he lay still on the floor, completely immobile, perfectly…paralyzed…

"Jackson?!"

I heard the hiss the second I processed what was happening. I wheeled around on the spot, coming face to face with the giant lizard that was hiding someone who used to be my friend. His teeth were bared, yellow eyes almost luminescent among the neon strobe lights. He tilted his head, his tongue flicked out, and I knew that if I didn't do something soon, I was going to collapse too, because I'd either be paralyzed or dead.

Before Jackson or I could make a move, there was a roar from my left. The world moved into fast-forward, the shapes too hard to distinguish. I could hear the swish of Jackson's tail, just make out the flash of red that was Derek's eyes, and after a few seconds of thrashing, I smelled the distinctly iron scent of blood.

I stumbled back, trying to push my way through the bystanders as their dancing slowed to a halt. People were starting to notice that something was wrong, their friends littering the ground. A murmur swept through the club, which grew to a chatter, which grew to a cacophony of screams. Everyone ran in a different direction, slamming into each other in their haste to get to the nearest exit. I fought to keep my footing, but between the large men jostling me, the bodies on the floor, and my own tipsiness, it was a losing battle. The wave of noise crashed over my head, someone's arm caught on my purse and whipped me around, my ankles wobbled dangerously…

"Sadie! Hey, hey! Sadie, are you okay?!"

A pair of hands grabbed at my shoulders, holding me firm and upright as the tide of patrons raged around us.

"S-Stiles?"

"Look at me! Are you okay?!"

His hands brushed over my face, forcing my head up so I could look at him. His fingers were cold against my flushed skin. It was a weird sensation, grounding me in reality just as it made me feeble and lightheaded. I pressed my face into his hands, more to feel his skin than to nod, but he took it as an affirmative.

"Come on," he called over the panic. "Let's get out of here."

The cold skin dropped my face, and I shivered at the loss, but his hand quickly wrapped around my wrist. He held me close, half supporting me as he led the way toward the back of the blub. I staggered back and forth, my feet crossing oddly as I attempted to keep my balance amidst the crowd.

Finally, we broke through the fray. Stiles burst through the back door, pulling me with him even though I felt like my legs were about to collapse underneath me. My joints felt like Jell-O, folding at angles that didn't quite match up with the actions my brain was asking them to perform.

We stopped short in the parking lot, my momentum pushing me forward as I tripped over my feet. It was a good thing Stiles was already holding onto my wrist. He yanked me back before I could topple over, wrapping an arm around my waist. I didn't bother fighting the force of the pull. I swung around Stiles's other side and passed around his back until I came to a standstill. He grabbed me to stop me from moving again, watching me in confusion. I snorted, but it turned into a groan as I clutched my head. I really didn't like the way the world was spinning at the moment…

"What do we do with him now?"

My eyes fluttered open at Scott's voice, and the hand that was gripping my head quickly clasped over my mouth. Scott was kneeling between two cars in front of us, his face distorted by desperation. Lying beneath him was Jackson, spread-eagle over the pavement, his naked skin bright red with blood. He seemed to be unconscious for the moment, but it looked like he was still alive for now. It wouldn't stay that way long if Derek found us again.

"We have to move him," I said resolutely.

Stiles wrinkled up his nose. "Shotty not."

"It's okay, it's okay. I—I got it."

I tried to pull myself out of Stiles's grip, but the moment I leaned forward to reach Jackson, the world lurched under my feet. I would have tumbled down and face-planted on the pavement had Stiles not grabbed my hips just in time. He pulled me upright again and, this time, he kept his hands firmly on my shoulders.

"Sadie, are you…? Are you drunk?"

"No…why does the ground keep moving?"

"Oh my God, she's drunk!" Stiles looked down at Scott, caught between amusement and outrage. "She's seriously drunk! Why the hell are you drunk?"

"Because tequila shots are…bad…"

"You—you were doing tequila shots? You were doing tequila shots and I missed it?! Sadie!"

"Danny made me," I grumbled, grabbing his shirt as a makeshift anchor.

"Why didn't you tell me you had a fake ID?! That is—that would make life so much easier, I—why didn't you tell me that?!"

"Guys!" Scott glared at us and gestured down to Jackson. "Bigger problems?"

"Right, uh…" Stiles cleared his throat and wrapped an arm around my wait. "I'll put Little Miss Tequila in the Jeep and grab a blanket. Just, uh, stay here. Come on, Sadie."

He pulled one of my arms around his shoulders to act as leverage as he guided me down the lane of cars toward his own.

"I'm not Little Miss Tequila," I complained, making him laugh. "And I'll have you know that's the first time I've ever used the ID. Danny got it for me."

"I just can't believe I actually missed you doing shots. How many did you even take?"

"Three…no, uh…four…"

"Ow. No wonder you're plastered."

"I am not plastered," I argued, jabbing him in the chest as we finally reached the Jeep. "I'm like, way less drunk than you were that time you called me. I'm just…a little less coordinated…"

He gave me an indulgent smile as he helped me into the passenger seat. "Yeah, you're plastered, babe."

I pouted as he closed the door, not bothering to hide his chuckles as he walked around the Jeep. He hopped into the driver's seat and revved the engine, pulled out of the spot and sped back toward the spot we'd left Scott with Jackson. Stiles reached into the back and grabbed a blanket, passing it to Scott through the window.

"Why would you take four shots anyway?" Stiles asked me with a smirk. "I mean, are you that much of a party girl that you needed to drink mid-mission?"

"No. I just wanted to stop thinking so much about so much."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Danny doesn't know about werewolves but—but he knows I've been upset, so he told me to stop thinking about everything that was making me upset: school, Lydia, Beacon Hills, and you."

I ticked them off on my fingers, not looking at him, but I didn't have to. I could feel the smile falling from his face, like his regret was radiating onto my skin. He sighed, trying to find the right reply, but before he could, Scott cleared his throat through the window.

"Uh…a little help, guys?"

He was carrying Jackson bridal style, wrapped like a carpet in the blanket Stiles had provided. I slid out of the Jeep and let Scott take my place. I watched as he carefully lowered Jackson into the back, arranging him just so, making sure he wouldn't fall to the floor. It was one of the incredible things about Scott McCall. Even after everything Jackson had done, human or kanima, knowingly or not, Scott still wanted to take care of him. Scott still wanted to take care of everybody.

"Okay," he breathed, collapsing back into the passenger seat and holding a hand out to me. "Let's get you out of here."

"No."

"No?" Stiles echoed. "Sadie, you're smashed. We're taking you home."

"Not without Danny."

Scott tilted his head in ascent. "She's got a point."

"Listen, you two get Jackson out of here," I instructed. "I'm gonna go find Danny. I have to make sure he's okay."

I started to walk away, but the Jeep rolled right alongside me.

"Woah, wait!" Stiles called out the window. "Sadie! How are you getting home?"

"I don't know yet."

"What are you gonna tell your mom?"

"I don't know yet."

"When are you—"

"God, will you just drop it?!"

I rounded on the Jeep in a fury, and Stiles slammed on the brakes. Something inside of me had flipped, like there was just enough alcohol in my bloodstream to make me a different person—or maybe this was the tequila wearing off.

"I'm fine," I spat as the boys stared at me. "Jackson is bleeding out in your backseat, probably on the verge of turning into a giant fucking lizard again. He is not fine. You take care of him and I'll take care of Danny. A dozen people just got paralyzed in a club. The cops are probably on their way. Someone will drive me home."

I turned on my heel and marched toward the building, heading straight through the hoard of parked cars so that Stiles wouldn't be able to follow me. The anger gave me purpose and cleared my head, which made it a lot easier to walk in a straight line. I pushed past the few patrons who were still rushing out of the club and made my way back to the dance floor.

Everyone who'd been nicked with kanima venom was still lying on the ground, but the area around them had been cleared out. At least for now, they were safe from being trampled. Someone was on the phone with the police, and a few employees were hurrying around the perimeter, turning off the smoke and music and turning up the lights. The Jungle looked a lot less magical when all the rigging and floor stains were visible, that was for sure.

It was a lot easier to find Danny this time around. He was laying on the floor with his eyes closed, just around where we'd been dancing. For one, terrifying moment, I thought he might actually be dead, but he wiggled his nose as I walked over, trying to regain control of his muscles.

It took some time to get myself to the ground. My head was still swimming and threatened to send me careening over, but I managed to carefully lower myself down next to Danny. I sat down by his head, pulling my legs under me and peering down at him.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Sadie?" His eyes snapped open and he blinked me into focus. "God, you're okay! I was afraid you had it worse than me and that's why you weren't answering me."

"No, no, I—I got pushed out of the way and swept up in the crowd. I'm fine. How are you?"

"This floor is gross," he complained, scrunching up his face and making me laugh. "I'll pull through though. What are you still doing here?"

"Are you kidding me? I'm not leaving you. What kind of wingwoman would that make me?"

"Ha, you're clearly drunker than I thought you were…but thanks."

"Anytime."

I grinned down at him and wiped some of the sweat from his forehead.

"You were right, you know," he offered, after a few seconds of silence.

"About what?"

"It definitely takes more than a couple shots of tequila to forget about all the weird shit in this town."

"Yeah," I sighed, patting him on the chest. "Way more."

I sat with Danny until the ambulances and cruisers finally arrived. The medics had to pry me away from him, but even then, I didn't stray far. I knew, in theory, the kanima venom would wear off in time, that there would be no lasting damage. Still, I couldn't help but hover as the EMTs checked Danny for injuries. Anything that happened to him felt like it would be my fault—because I'd been drinking and dancing instead of watching him, because I'd frozen instead of trying to protect him, because I hadn't realized Jackson was the kanima in the first place.

When Danny had been cleared, they moved him out to the parking lot. I walked quietly alongside his cot, not speaking until the few unmonitored seconds when the medics were prepping the ambulance.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay?" I asked, lowering my voice. "Do you want me to come?"

"Nah, it's cool," Danny assured me. "They'd probably force a breathalyzer on you, and then we'd both be screwed. Thanks for staying, but I'll be fine."

I nodded, but lingered next to the bed. "…Are you being brave right now, or are you actually okay?"

"Was the whiny voice around my feet actually Bryan?"

I glanced around the area, scanning the other cots that were being carried into vans. Just across the parking lot, Bryan was indeed strapped down to a bed, stiff as a board as they rolled him away.

I nodded, and Danny used the few facial muscles he could to smirk. "Then I'm perfect."

Snorting, I pressed a kiss to his forehead and let the medics load him into the ambulance. I hated that Danny had gotten looped into the middle of the supernatural turmoil, but if nothing else, I could trust him to be a good sport about it. He would stay in the hospital, under supervision, until the doctors decided they couldn't diagnose what was wrong with him. We had Jackson under watch, and Derek was no longer trying to murder any of my friends. For the most part, it looked like we'd made it out okay.

I managed to delude myself for a minute or two, until I caught a glimpse of pale blue at the edge of the parking lot. Of course they hadn't left. Why would I have allowed myself to think that they had left? They'd just been sitting in the parking lot for half an hour, a volatile shifter laying naked in the backseat, because they didn't want me to be stranded. Part of me was touched at the thoughtfulness, but for the most part, I was just annoyed. I could take care of myself, tipsy or not.

And of course, because they'd been lingering at a crime scene in such a distinctive blue Jeep, it was only a matter of time before someone recognized them. The cruiser had already pulled up, a very angry Sheriff Stilinski standing in front of it. He had his arms folded over his chest—a sure sign of a father-son showdown—as Stiles fidgeted and twitched in front of him. Much as I wanted to condemn Stiles to that fate, I found my feet moving forward before I realized what I was doing.

"Not exactly your type of club," I head the sheriff say as I approached.

"Uh—well, Dad—there's a conversation that we—"

"You're not gay."

"Wha—I could be!" Stiles argued, sounding offended.

"Not the way you look at Sadie, who is your girlfriend, in case you've forgotten."

"Uh…I'm bi?"

"Well, glad I know that now," I said brightly, inviting myself into the conversation.

Stiles's shoulders sagged in relief, either because I was finally free of the medics or because I was stepping in to save his incompetent ass from lying to his father. The sheriff, however, looked far less happy to see me.

"And Sadie's here too," he huffed, the anger quickly seeping back into his face. "Of course, you're both here! This is the second crime scene that you two just happened to show up on, and at this point, I've been fed so many lies, I'm not sure I know the kids standing in front of me! Now, what the hell is going on?! The truth, Stiles!"

"It's not his fault," I said, quickly intervening. "Actually, um…Stiles is only here to pick me up."

"You?" Sheriff Stilinski raised his eyebrows, glancing back at the gay club behind him. "Uh huh…"

"I came out with my friend, Danny. He knows I've been…well, stressed is one word for it, I guess. Between school, and Lydia, and the crime scene, and…it's just been hard. Plus, Danny just broke up with his boyfriend for like the umpteenth time, so he wanted to go out and forget it all for a while. I…I called Stiles to come pick me up."

"Right," Stiles agreed, nodding firmly. "We don't know what happened in there, but—but Danny was one of the people who got hit, and he was gonna drive Sadie home, and now he can't drive Sadie home, so…we were just trying to help."

"Then why lie?" the sheriff asked grumpily.

"Well, uh…" I bit my lip, chagrinned. "I might've had just…the tiniest amount of tequila…"

Sheriff Stilinski frowned at me, and I quickly looked down to the pavement. It was a stupid thing to admit, but if it stopped him from asking anymore questions, then the punishment would be worth it. Thankfully, after a few seconds, I heard him sigh.

"Well, I can't say I entirely approve, but…that's really good of you guys. You're good friends."

Stiles smiled nervously and lightly punched his father on the shoulder. Sheriff Stilinski looked at him in disbelief, and his son cleared his throat and shuffled back. "Sorry, uh…"

"Now, I want you to get back into that Jeep and drive Scott and Sadie home. Immediately."

"Yes, sir. Absolutely. I'll—bye."

Stiles threw up a mock salute and fled for his car. I made to follow him, but the sheriff called me back before I could escape.

"Just a second, Sadie."

I grimaced, turning around and wringing my hands around my purse strap. "Sheriff, I'm really sorry. I know it was a stupid thing to do and—and with whatever was going on in there, I'm sure it looks even more stupid—and I promise I won't—"

"Hold on, hold on." He shook his head, and I was relieved to find him smiling ever so slightly. "This isn't about the drinking."

"It…it's not…?"

"No. I know I should probably be giving you a lecture about the dangers of underage drinking, but…I'm more worried about what brought you out here in the first place." He gave me a gentle, probing look. "Sadie, are you sure you're okay?"

I smiled sheepishly, trying not to look as miserable as I felt. "Yeah, I'm…I'm okay. Really."

"Alright," he said dubiously, "because after everything you've been through this year…you know, it's okay to not be okay. I mean, the crime scenes alone…if you ever need to talk to someone, I could find—"

"Lydia and I have actually been going to the school counselor," I informed him. "But…thanks, Sheriff."

He nodded and reached out to rub my shoulder. "I'm sorry for grilling you, it's just…I worry about you kids."

"I know," I said, trying to sound reassuring. "It's kinda your job. Sheriff, dad…"

"Right. Well, seeing as I am the sheriff, let's pretend I gave you that lecture about drinking, okay?" He smiled and patted me on the back. "Get some rest, Sadie."

I ducked my head and retreated to the Jeep, where Stiles and Scott were waiting for me with consoling smiles. Scott threw the passenger door open and was about to slip out when Stiles grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

"Woah, woah, woah! Where do you think you're going?!"

"Um…letting Sadie into the car," he answered as if asking a question.

"Uh, no. You're sitting in the back with Jackson."

"What? No! Come on, dude, I had to put him back there!"

"Sadie is not sitting with Jackson, in my Jeep, while he is naked!"

"Oh grow up, Stiles," I snorted.

I moved to climb over Scott, but Stiles grabbed my head and forced me back out of the car. He turned to Scott with a glare.

"Okay, how about this? Jackson turns into a poisonous reptile with claws and I don't want my girlfriend near them. You've got the healing powers; you get the back seat."

Scott let out a small, pleading whimper, but it was clear that Stiles wasn't budging on the subject. Reluctantly, Scott crawled into the back seat, taking care not to fall onto any of Jackson's more delicate parts.

The ride home was quiet for the most part. I was still annoyed, but the tension had ebbed since I'd last stormed off. It helped that every few minutes, Jackson would wake up and Scott had to punch him in the face to knock him out. I tried asking if I could have a turn, but Scott didn't want me to hurt myself, and Stiles didn't want me touching any part of Jackson while he wasn't wearing clothes.

When we finally pulled up at my house, Stiles jumped out and sprinted around the Jeep. He insisted on helping me down from the car, afraid the alcohol might flare up again and cause me to lose my footing. My head did still feel a little fuzzy, but half an hour sitting on the floor had done wonders to sober me up. My word didn't count for much, as I was still "under the influence," so Stiles linked his arm with mine and walked me up to the front porch.

"I'm sorry, you know," he said quietly, once we'd reached a standstill in front of the door. He didn't need to elaborate.

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Yeah, but I mean it. None of us live with Lydia. We don't have to see what she's going through all the time, and…I know how hard that's gotta be for you. I know it's driving you up the wall, and I know you're mad at us for interfering, but…I trust you. And I'm on your side. I mean, if you want to go in there right now and tell Lydia everything, I'll be right there with you. She deserves to know, she just…has really bad timing…"

"That's not her fault," I snapped. "There's always gonna be some reason we shouldn't tell her. There is no perfect time or whatever, but the longer we wait to tell her, the worse it will be when we do. If she knew, she could help us! She could protect herself! I mean, tonight it was Danny—what happens when Jackson goes for Lydia next?"

"Well…that's why she's got a badass warrior princess for a best friend."

Stiles smiled half-heartedly, tucking a strand of hair behind my cheek and letting his hand rest on my cheek. I glared at him for a few seconds, but relented, leaning into his touch.

"You're lucky I'm still kind of drunk. That was awful."

"Yeah, I know, but I tried." He chuckled and pulled me into a hug. "Scott and I are gonna figure out what to do with Jackson. I have an idea, but it's pretty stupid, so I might just skip tomorrow. I promise I'll text you tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Okay…"

He pulled back to press a kiss to my cheek, then opened the front door for me. "Get some rest, Bennet."

"Night, Stilinski."

I walked inside and waited in the dark until I heard the Jeep pull away from the curb. I'd intended to head up to my room to pass out, but instead I just stood in the front hall, too tired to move; maybe it was the silence. After such a long day running and fighting and lying and dancing, my body felt ready to sink into the silence and disappear forever. For a moment, I could actually believe that my body was just smoke, held together by the tension and stress that came from the mere exhaustion of living. One little push and I'd snap, just disperse into the air.

But it wasn't all-encompassing. There was a tension building in my stomach, creeping up my neck and making my hair stand on edge. That didn't feel like smoke; it felt like ice. An ice-cold dread that I didn't immediately understand.

I blinked. The light from the back door cast the kitchen flow with a dim, golden light. I nearly jumped out of my skin as a shadow ran past, but then my brain processed the jingle that came with it, and Prada trotted out of the darkness. I kneeled down, scratching him behind the ears.

"Hey, buddy. Are you okay?"

All I got in reply was a sharp bark, and he dashed upstairs on his own.

I narrowed my eyes and turned back to the kitchen. I edged forward, pulled forward by that icy feeling in my stomach. There was someone else downstairs, someone casting a long shadow from the back porch…

"Lydia," I sighed, clutching my chest in relief. "What are you doing out here?"

She was standing outside, leaning back against the trellis as she stared into space. One of her hands was held up in front of her, her fingers rolling together like she was playing with something invisible. Whatever she was thinking about, she didn't seemed to have heard me. Her eyes were glassy as they flicked over the air in front of her.

"Lydia?"

She jumped, her head snapping toward me. "What?"

"Um…I just wanted to know what you were doing out here…"

"Nothing!" She clamped her mouth shut the moment the word left it. She glanced around the yard and had a mask of calm in place by the time she looked back. "Nothing, I was just letting the dog out. Where were you?"

"Um…out," I answered, "with Scott and Stiles…we…"

The explanation sat on the edge of my tongue. I had practiced in my head on the way home, rehearsing what I wanted to say. I would start by saying that we were looking for Jackson, then explain that he had gotten himself into trouble, and we would take it from there. But something about the cagey look in Lydia's eye made me pause.

"What's that you have in your hand?"

Lydia froze and looked down at her fingers. She was still rolling them together, playing with an object that simply didn't seem to be there. Lydia closed her hand into a fist and held it behind her back.

"Nothing," she repeated. She smiled, then stretched her jaw out in one of the worst fake yawns I'd ever seen. "You know, it's been a long day. I think I'm just going to go to bed. Night!"

She flounced past me into the house, leaving me alone int the backyard in the flickering porch light.

I was certain that there was something wrong with my best friend. Not because she was skittish. Not because she was brushing past me and pretending she was fine. Not because she was spacing out or having nightmares or writing backwards on chalkboards or punching mirrors until her hands bled.

No, now I was certain that there was something wrong with my best friend, because Lydia Martin did not give up on a grudge. And she had just waltzed past me after I'd spent the entire day lying to her, and she hadn't given me so much as a second glance.

Something was wrong with Lydia Martin. I just needed to find out what.