Stiles paces across his room, buzzing with irritation. "So you're saying this fairy posed as my mom so it could trap me in a dream where she never died?"

"Deaton said some fairies grant wishes." Scott's still sitting on the floor next to the door, watching him with an expression far too close to pity. It reminds Stiles of why he's been avoiding him the last few weeks. Because he's sick of that. Of everyone feeling sorry for him. Of them not knowing what to say to him. He's sick of that soft, calm voice they've all been using with him—like he's fragile or something.

It's the same stupid voice he's heard his dad use with traumatized victims countless times.

But maybe that's all he is now—just a victim of another supernatural creature using the worst moment of his life to emotionally manipulate him so it could trap him in his own mind.

And weak, defenseless, useless Stiles, falling for it all over again.

He bites his tongue, refusing to spiral down that tunnel right now. Focus on fixing the problem at hand. "And did Deaton happen to say how to stop a wish fairy?" he asks, deciding to also skip over how awkward it is that Scott is literally seeing his deepest desires playing out right now.

God, he's pathetic.

Scott's wince is all the answer he needs. "Not exactly."

Yeah, that tracks. Stiles closes his eyes against the thumping pain behind his eyes, pressing the heel of his hand to the middle of his forehead in an attempt to relieve it. Seems his concussion didn't get the memo that none of this is real. Cool.

"Stiles?"

He looks over at Scott, who still has that little worried wrinkle in the middle of his forehead. "You okay?"

"I mean, no, not really," Stiles says, flailing his hand dramatically. "Apparently a vampire fairy tried to eat me, trapped me in this freaky alternate version of my life, and if I don't get out, I'll be pushing up daisies. So, you know, not my best day ever."

Scott gives him a tight smile that looks more like a grimace. "No, not so much. But I meant, you feeling okay?"

"It's nothing," Stiles grumbles, flopping on the bed with a sigh. He doesn't really want to go into all the details of how, even in dreamland, he can't keep himself out of trouble. About how he's already managed to need rescuing twice here because he's just as irresponsible and impulsive as he's always been. Although… Now that he thinks about it…

He sits up straighter. "The basement."

Scott's forehead crinkles. "Huh?"

Stiles stands up again, snapping his fingers as he puts it together. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, it makes sense now. At the clinic and the party. The bodies, the creature thing. I must've… Just for a few seconds…"

"Stiles?"

"But why there?" Stiles mutters to himself, resuming his pacing. He scrubs a hand through his hair. "What was so special about those spots? Unless it wasn't where I was… Maybe it was something else… The time? No, that doesn't add up… It would make more sense—"

"Stiles!"

Scott is suddenly standing right in front of him. "Care to share what you're mumbling about?"

"Oh, uh," Stiles stutters, remembering Scott is here to help now, so he should probably explain what he's rambling about. "I'm not sure how exactly, but there were a couple times I think I might've kinda, like, woken up a little bit. Like, it got really cold and there was this creepy—creature thing. I thought… I don't know what it was, but… Did the fairy have purple eyes?"

"Yes!" Scott says, excitement flashing across his face. "That was her! When did you see her?"

"Um, when I was snooping around places I wasn't supposed to be?"

Scott smirks, shaking his head. "Of course. But where exactly? What were you doing? Maybe if we can figure that out, we can figure out how to get you out of here."

"Well," Stiles says, pinching the bridge of his nose again. Seriously, this headache will not let up. "The first time it happened was at Deaton's clinic. Now a yoga studio. That was the first day, and I'd been driving around all day trying to figure out what was going on when I saw something weird in the window, like a ghost or something. So I went in to try and get a better look at it, and I swear the whole place changed for a second. But that's when the lady pepper sprayed me, so I never saw what it was."

"Okay, and there was another time?"

Stiles ducks his head, suddenly feeling nervous. He hasn't told Scott about Allison yet. "Yeah. Uh, there was a party… At the Argents' house." He peeks up at Scott, waiting for his reaction.

Scott's eyes go wide. "Allison?" he whispers.

Stiles nods, his throat sticking together and making his voice crack when he talks again. "You and I aren't friends here, which means I never dragged you out in the woods that night. So you never got bit, which means we never got caught up in all the stuff that led to the Nemeton. Never did the sacrifices, so we didn't release the…" He can't even say it. "So… We were never there that night. At Oak Creek."

An array of emotions cross Scott's face as he processes this. "Stiles—" he starts.

But Stiles doesn't let him finish whatever he was going to say. "I know, I know. It's just a dream," he says quickly.

Scott closes his mouth.

Stiles can't handle the pain he sees swirling in his friend's dark eyes, so he turns away to pace some more. "Anyway, I was looking for stuff that might help me figure out what was going on," he says, clearing his throat. "Evidence of anything supernatural, you know? Figured if anyone would know anything, it would be Argent, but he's out of town, so I had to poke around his house. And when I went to the basement…" He shivers, like he's back there now. "I saw bodies hanging there, and then this thing, which had to be the fairy, I guess, came out of nowhere and knocked me over, and…"

"And?" Scott prompts.

Stiles stops in his tracks, shrugging. "That was it."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Scott frowns thoughtfully. "Okay, so what did those two places have in common?"

Stiles drops down next to him with a bounce. "That's what I was trying to figure out. I mean, I was serious when I said I wasn't supposed to be there. The yoga studio was closed, and the basement was off limits." He bites his lip, tilting his head as he gets an idea. "But…"

"Dude, you really gotta start finishing sentences," Scott says.

Stiles glances at him, flashing him a sheepish smirk. "Sorry, I was just thinking. Both of those times I'd been running all over the place looking for clues, and I was getting pretty desperate. Like, all I wanted was to find something so I could figure out what the hell was going on and get back to my normal life."

It takes Scott a second, but he puts it together. "Like you were wishing to go home."

Stiles raises his eyebrows. "You're the one who said it was a wish fairy."

"I read a little bit about fairies that grant wishes in one of Deaton's books," Scott says, a glimmer of hope lighting in his eyes. "It said some of them will ask what you want, but most already know your deepest desires and base your wish on that. What if all you have to do to wake up is change your deepest desire to be going home?"

Sure, Scott. Easy.

"Yeah, except I have no idea how to do that," Stiles says, pulling a face. "Fresh out of ruby slippers, if you hadn't noticed."

Damn it all to hell, Scott gives him that patented puppy-dog face that he pulls out whenever he really wants something. The one that makes him look so innocent, even though Stiles knows for a fact he's used it to get himself out of detentions both of them earned on more than one occasion and has never once felt bad about leaving Stiles to serve the punishment alone. "Try?"

Stiles huffs, a little offended that Scott thinks those wiles will work on him. Except the problem is, they do. Every single time.

"Fine," he growls, closing his eyes.

He seriously has no clue what he's doing, but he tries to get himself in the same frame of mind he had at the studio and the basement, tries to channel that frustration and longing to figure out a way home. The problem is, he's not feeling all that desperate right now. He's mostly just feeling tired. And headachey.

Like what he could really use is a nice nap.

He never used to be able to nap, has always felt they're a massive waste of time. In fact, his dad always tells him (in that kind of exasperated way parents do) that he started boycotting naps at the age of two and has never looked back. But since the nogitsune, since the Nemeton, really, he's found that he sleeps better (better being a relative term) during daylight hours. Slash, he doesn't really sleep much at night anymore. So if he gets any sleep, it's when he crashes for a couple hours after school.

If his naps just so happen to coincide with that time between school and bedtime when he doesn't want to deal with his dad's worried hovering, so be it.

Daydreaming about taking a nap isn't what he's supposed to be doing right now, though. He's supposed to be wishing to wake up. However that works. He doesn't seem to be doing anything except getting distracted.

"There's no place like home," he mumbles, because he can't help himself.

A smack across his chest has him cowering away and holding up his hands defensively. "Hey!"

"You're not taking this seriously, Stiles!" Scott accuses, glaring at him as if that will magically help. As if he can convey the stakes of this more clearly if he turns his eyes into lasers.

Stiles gets it—the stakes are high.

"I am taking it seriously," he argues, actually pretty offended that Scott seems to think he's not. Because not only is his life on the line here, but he's pretty sure Scott mucking about in his mind probably isn't safe for him either. He seems to remember something about that from the last time. So really, it's Stiles who should be pissed that Scott even came in here without a freaking plan. Because, he swears, if one more person dies because of him…

His frustration leaves in a puff of air as he drops his hands back to his lap, shoulders slumping. "Trust me, Scott, I'm the one who's been stuck in here for, like, three days now. I want to get out. But…" He picks at his nails, avoiding Scott's eyes. "I mean, yeah, I wish my mom was still alive. Of course I do. I don't know how to not want that."

Scott's face softens. "I know. I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," Stiles interrupts. He doesn't need apologies right now, and he certainly doesn't need Scott feeling guilty for things that aren't his fault. The guy does plenty of that already. "I just… I need something else, like before at the clinic and the Argent's house, to make me want it, you know? Sitting around here trying to think my way out isn't going to work."

Scott nods. "Okay. So what will work?"

Stiles gesticulates cluelessly.

They sit in silence for a moment before both of them sigh and collapse back onto the bed. Back to square one, then. But at least this time Stiles isn't alone.


"You're not actually part of Scott's pack, are you?"

Malia ducks under a thorny branch, following Derek up the side of the ravine as they make their way back to the sewage tunnel. Not that she thinks they'll find anything, but they'd run out of there pretty quick the last time. And now they actually have some idea of what they're looking for. So maybe.

Derek is a few yards ahead of her. He hadn't wanted to bring her, but Lydia hadn't wanted Malia to stay with her either, and somehow the redhead had won the argument. So here she is, following around a begrudging werewolf who'd only agreed to let her tag along if they keep the talking to pertinent information only.

This is pertinent. Probably.

She may have to look up the definition of pertinent later.

It must be, because Derek answers her. "Not really."

"So, why are you doing this then?" she asks. "Helping them?"

He glances back at her, shrugging. "Why are you?"

That's easy. "Because Stiles saved me, back at Eichen House. Oliver was going to kill me. I owe him."

Derek looks at her again, raising an eyebrow. "That's the only reason?"

She frowns, thinking about it. "No, I guess not," she realizes. "I guess I also kind of want to be part of Scott's pack."

He nods, skirting a boulder. "He has a way of making you want that."

Malia likes Derek. He doesn't use a lot of words, but says what he means without worrying about hurting anyone's feelings. That's something most people don't do, she's learning—they like to dance around what they actually want to say, afraid they might offend someone. She finds it confusing and frustrating, not being able to figure out what people want.

But Derek, he doesn't hide his motivations. He's straightforward. Obviously he cares about Scott and his pack, about Stiles, or he wouldn't be out here trying to find a way to save him.

They continue climbing the hill in silence for a few minutes. They're nearly back to the place where they first started seeing the flowers last time.

"Why aren't you? In his pack, I mean?"

She sees him make a face out of the corner of her eye, but she's not sure how to interpret it. She's still not very good at human expressions.

"It's complicated," he tells her, and she thinks she catches just the faintest whiff of regret.

Okay, maybe he isn't always completely straightforward. "Scott doesn't like you?" she guesses.

"Scott likes everyone," he snorts, hopping down off a ledge and pausing to wait for her to catch up. His blue eyes search the treeline restlessly. "It's not that. It's more… We have a history."

The tangy scent of irritation is hard to miss. He obviously doesn't want to talk about it, and Malia knows better than to push.

"Scott doesn't like me," she says as they continue onward. Part of her is curious about Derek and Scott's past, the same way she would be curious about an unfamiliar scent out in the woods, but the larger part of her knows digging into it won't get her any closer to being part of Scott's pack. Because while she's been doing better lately, she still feels completely exposed and vulnerable as a human, especially without the ability to shift. If she can get into Scott's pack, she thinks she might be able to survive. The problem is, so far, he doesn't seem to want her.

"Lydia doesn't like me either," she adds, thinking about the other members of the pack. She tilts her head, creasing her brow. "I'm not sure about Kira. I've never really talked to her. But she seems pretty loyal to Scott, so she would probably just thinks whatever he does."

Derek sighs. "It's not that they don't like you, it's just… Not a great time for them right now."

"Because of Allison dying?" She'd heard bits and pieces of what had happened last month after Stiles disappeared from Eichen House. About how a girl from school had died in a mugging, and later how the sheriff's station and hospital were attacked.

Derek stuffs his hands in his pockets and nods.

They walk a little farther, splashing along the edge of the creek.

"Stiles likes me," she points out, a smile creeping onto her face.

If Derek has an opinion on this, she can't tell what it is.

"He sits with me at lunch sometimes," she says, as if she needs evidence for how she came to this conclusion. That's something they always make her do in school. Explain how she got her answers. "He doesn't like going to the cafeteria anymore. People talk about him a lot."

This time she definitely sees the muscles in Derek's jaw twitch.

"They talk about me, too," she continues, not really sure why she's telling Derek any of this to begin with. Maybe because she knows she's missing things, things that are probably obvious to everyone else, and she's hoping he'll help. He's the most like her of any of them, the closest to knowing what it's like living as more of an animal than a human. He grew up as a werewolf, his whole family were werewolves. They must have struggled to understand human behavior sometimes, too.

"I don't really care. I know they're being mean, but I don't understand half of what they say anyway, and if I go outside to eat my lunch, I don't hear them. Stiles says he doesn't care either, but… I think he's lying."

"Kids are stupid," Derek growls.

Malia bites her lip. "He doesn't want to sit with Scott and Lydia either. I think… I think he feels bad about what happened, but I don't know why. It wasn't his fault."

"Humans are complicated sometimes," Derek says quietly.

"Yeah, I'm learning that." Stiles is very complicated, always has a cloud of anxiety and stress and sadness hanging around him. And it's weird, because she can tell he misses his friends, but he hides from them when they look for him. It doesn't make much sense to her.

Still, sitting with him is nice. He doesn't usually talk much, but that's okay. He helps her with her homework, and listens when she tells him about how things are going with her dad, and patiently answers her questions about pretty much everything, because she has so many questions. She thought that after Eichen House he wouldn't care about her anymore, but he'd surprised her and kept his promise to help her.

Derek hesitates as they approach the area they first started seeing the flowers, turning to face her. "Malia, look, you want some advice?" She nods. "If you're good with Stiles, you're good with Scott. I wouldn't worry too much about getting into his pack."

Looking down, she wrings her hands nervously. "Yeah, but what if Stiles dies?"

Derek doesn't answer her.

The path of flowers finally comes into view, but Malia can immediately tell something's different this time. The little white flowers have turned more gray, the edges of the petals curling like they're dying. And the smell is different.

It gets worse the further they go. All the colorful blooms from before are fading, shriveling up, stems wilting. Yesterday, they'd looked as if they had just opened up, but today, they're half dead, slowly rotting back into the soil.

By the time they reach the tunnel entrance, the flowers are nothing but stinking piles of decomposing plants. When she steps up and looks closely, Malia sees bugs in them, too.

"What do you think it means?" she asks, making a face at the creeping insects moving through the brown remains of stems and leaves.

Derek shakes his head. "I don't know." He frowns and looks around, like he's searching for something. "I haven't heard anything either. Maybe the fairy's dead."

She wonders who he's listening for, who the fairy impersonated for him. Maybe someone from his family. She'd sworn for a moment in the tunnels before that she'd seen her little sister, heard her laugh. But she doesn't really want to talk about it. She doubts he would either.

"So what does that mean for Stiles?"

His eyes scan the plants a little longer, and then he nods toward the tunnel entrance. "Let's see if she left anything in there, yeah?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, ducking into the tunnel without looking back. Malia glances at the dead foliage one more time before sighing and following.

She really hopes the plants aren't a sign of what's going to happen to Stiles. After all, he might be the only friend she has.


Remember that one time I said Malia wasn't even going to be in this story? Well, surprise! Now she has her own section. Consider this my attempt to fix some of my issues with the way they introduced her to the pack (because I have issues, friends).

Also, I totally thought this story would be 15 chapters, but now it's looking more like 16 or 17... Sorry not sorry.