#// i'm going to explode this laptop with my mind i had to rewrite this three times

[hopefromadoomedtimeline]

Heyo! first, happy holidays! I wanted to know what headcanons you have about the differences between Future Trunks and Present Trunks? i just love the way you write and detail everything, especially in the roleplay, really!

(sorryfortheHORRIBLEenglish i haven't been in this place for a long time...)

Hello hello! Happy holidays!

First off, I wanna say your English is GREAT, don't let anyone tell you otherwise! Secondly, thank you very much for the kind words! I'm always glad to meet the expectations of others.

To answer your question, I used to have a whole big list on what I believed the differences between the two are, with that list containing headcanon and canon bits of info on the matter, but also how they are similar.

To keep things short and sweet, I'll just give you some simple stuff that I find different between them.

Favored parent: Both of them take more from the parent they like more. It should be no surprise that Future Trunks has a stronger attachment to Bulma than Vegeta, she's done much for him, and he considers her the strongest person knows, and wishes that she could have a happy, healthy life like he feels she deserves. He cares about and respects Vegeta, and considers him a father with flaws, but he also understands they have very different values While he does want Vegeta to live a good life, he knows his and Vegeta's idea of good is quite different. Present Trunks, perhaps unsurprisingly, favors his dad more. While Vegeta is not an affectionate or emotionally supportive parent, Trunks sees him as the "cool, aloof, badass that can kick anyone's ass". He doesn't even register that Vegeta's neglecting to give him any kind of physical support because that's how he was raised in a sense, "Dads don't do that" he'd think to himself. When he's hugged by Vegeta for the first time, it's not a big deal to him because, well, he doesn't believe it should be. He doesn't even care Vegeta doesn't hug him after that. Bulma on the other hand, is a bit too present in his life. She spoils him, dotes on him, tries to make sure he focuses on doing what he has to do before he can do what he wants to do. Basically the unfun parent. He loves her, but Vegeta is the fun dad to him.

Goals: Future Trunks: Put quite simply, he wants a peaceful world. It's a goal that may not be possible, but he'll strive for it as much as he can. He wants a world where people aren't scared for their lives every day, or are senselessly kiled for one reason or the other. He wants a world where people can live their lives without conflict, for Trunks was born into a world knowing nothing but death and despair, and he doesn't find any joy in having to kill people to ensure innocent people continue to live, but he views it as nothing less than a necessity. Present Trunks: To put it bluntly, he wants to just live his life without any constraints around it. He doesn't really want to inherit his mother's position as CEO of Capsule Corp, and he doesn't really enjoy living in a peaceful world, though he doesn't want a world surrounded by death either. He basically just wants to go on adventures. Exploring, seeing new things, kicking the ass of anything that causes trouble, those are things that appeal to him. He doesn't really have a view of the world at large, he just wants to enjoy himself and have fun and be challenged.

3. Work ethic: A strange one for me to choose but stick with me here. Future Trunks: He's just as stubbornly determined as his parents. It doesn't matter what's put in front of him, if he sets out to accomplish something, he'll do his damnest to get it done. It doesn't matter if the reward is little, or it takes anywhere from weeks to months to years, he's willing to put in the time and effort to get it done and get it done well. It may come at the cost of his health should he not take proper time to rest or take breaks, but he'll still keep at something to the best of his ability.

Present Trunks: He's a spoiled kid. There's no way around it, he hates hard work. He likes to fight and be strong, but hates the repetition of training. He's smart enough to ace his tests, but loathes the idea of studying the material. If something is just gonna take too long, it loses his interest/his patience pretty quickly and he'll just want it to be over as quick as possible. He'll be more willing to deal with menial stuff if it's about something he enjoys, but that's about it. He's not hesitant to flat-out admit he won't do something because he's bored, and he'd rather have a robot or a maid or butler do it for him.

[princesskittycatofmeowland]

TEEN WOLF REWRITE

CHAPTER THREE: PACK MENTALITY(Part 2)

Stiles Stilinski x Reader Liz Bloom (eventually)

Word Count: 5532

Warnings: Swearing, minor character death, violence.

Posted on: 12/23/21

"You're a terrible bowler!" Stiles yelled to Scott as we walked down the hall to the parking lot, our classes over for the day.

"I know! I'm such an idiot." Scott said, berating himself.

"God, it was like watching a car wreck. I mean, first, it turned into the whole group-date thing, and the out of nowhere comes that phrase—" I blew a raspberry at that last past as I tried stifling my laugh, remembering what he was referring to all too well.

"Hang out." I said, listening to the words as I said it. Scott rolled his eyes and threw his head back in exasperation.

"You don't "hang out" with hot girls, okay? It's like death. Once it's "hanging out," you might as well be her gay best friend. You and Danny can start hanging out." Stiles said and I smirked at him before saying,

"We hang out together all the time? What, you don't think I'm hot?" I asked, biting my lip to keep myself from laughing out loud as his expression reminded me of a mouse trapped in a maze with no place else to go.

"Wha- I mean, no— I mean yes, but that's —THAT'S BESIDES THE POINT!" Stiles yelled, getting everyone's attention as his brain finally exploded from the pressure I put it on. He laid his head on his hands as I laughed fully now, holding the sides of my stomach and barely breathing. Stiles didn't find it all that funny funny as he glared at me, his entire face flushed bright red he looked like a tomato—and I laughed even more, leaning on him for support as we walked.

"How is this happening? I either killed a guy, or I didn't." Scott said and my laughter died down completely as we went back to that topic again. Stiles was lost in his own thoughts now as well, and the three of us, heading to our own separate ways, got lost in our own individual minds—instead of all just sharing one.

"I don't think Danny likes me very much..." Stiles said and I ignored him and started thinking about myself, and only myself, for the first time since all of this happened. The weird ability I had of emphathizing with people's emotions; the thing that happened between me and the referee during the game last Saturday—whatever the hell was happening between me and Stiles and the weird thoughts and feelings I had for him running though my mind and filling my heart that it was just about ready to burst.

"I ask Allison on a date, and now we're "hanging out..."

"Am I not attractive to gay guys?"

"I make first line, and the team captain wants to destroy me, and now..."

"Now I'm gonna be late for work." Scott said before rushing out of the doors to hopefully get to work in time. I went my separate way as well to Lydia's car as the both of us agreed to study after school. I was having a few problems with understanding a few chapters with my subjects and Lydia and I had a silent agreement of her helping me so long as I don't tell people she's smart—or that she's freaking genius. She took her time with patiently explaining everything to me in a way I would understand as she seemed to drop her act when we were alone, letting me see parts of her she hid from everyone—even Jackson and Allison. Parts of her she'd rather keep secret that I made sure protect at all costs.

"Wait, Guys you didn't—am I attractive to gay guys?" I heard Stiles yell behind me and I rolled my eyes before turning fully, walking backwards.

"Some. Not all. Not Danny. " I yelled to him before turning around walking forward again.

"Thank you!" I heard him yell just as I turned the corner, seeing Lydia leaning against her locker, on her phone. She clicked it off when she saw me and looped our arms together before walking us to her car.

Stiles picked me up from Lydia's house just as he promised he would after Lydia and I were done studying and just binge-watching 80's and 90's cult horror movie classics on her laptop. She talked in between them, spewing facts and correcting their inaccuracies while munching on her popcorn, spewing popcorn bits everywhere as she talked.

Stiles texted me when he was right outside Lydia's house and Lydia closed her laptop, our study sesh/movie night coming to a close. I slung my backpack on my shoulder as we walked towards her kitchen, me placing our now empty bowl of popcorn on her dishwasher as she talked of our plans to meet Allison at her house tomorrow. She walked me to her door and hugged me goodbye and didn't get back inside just yet, waiting for me to enter Stiles jeep before she did so.

I jogged to Stiles' jeep, getting ready to go home. I gave her one last wave before entering Stiles jeep and closing the door. Only then did she go back inside, shutting and locking the door behind her. Scott was there as well, seated on the backseat. He gave me a smile and I gave one back before facing forward and hugging my backpack to my chest.

"We're not going to my house, are we?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Nope." Stiles said before starting the engine to his car and driving off. They explained everything to me on the way there.

Scott told me everything Derek told him but I barely listened, my mind elsewhere as I wished I was back in Lydia's house again, on her bed just watching horror movies with her.

Or any movie, even though she interrupts the scenes, effectively ruining the feel of it. Or even when she spoils the movie by somehow figuring out what's gonna happen next. Wishing I was a normal teenager—something I was starting to suspect I'm never going to be again, or someone I never was.

—————

We arrived at the back of the school near the bus bay 20 minutes later. Scott went to Derek—much to Stiles' dismay—and Derek told him that in order to remember, he needed to go back to the bus where it happened. He needed to let his other senses remember for him in order for him to remember. Could it get any more cryptic than that?

I had to get out of the car so Scott could get out and Stiles got out as well to follow him. And I followed Stiles just for Scott to tell him to stay.

"Hey, no-- just me. Someone needs to keep watch." Scott told Stiles.

"Liz can keep watch!" Stiles argued and I rolled my eyes before answering.

"And who's gonna keep watch of you?" I said and Stiles looked offended so I clarified. "If Scott loses control by letting his Werewolf senses take the wheel, you'll be stuck in a bus with him where he may or may not have tried to murder his childhood school bus driver." I told Stiles and in turn, Scott looked offended. Stiles, less offended by that, turned his attention back to Scott and resumed his annoyed expression.

"Okay, why's it starting to feel like you're Batman and I'm Robin? I don't want to be Robin all the time!" Stiles whined and I rolled my eyes when a thought occured to me.

"Nobody's Batman and Robin any of the time!" Scott yelled, tired of this conversation. I wasn't any helpful as I thought aloud,

"If you guys are Batman and Robin, does that make me Batgirl? Because most of the time I feel like I'm Alfred."

"Wha- No one's Batman or Robin or Batgirl or Alfred any of the time. Ever." Scott finished and Stiles looked both offended and saddened by his statement.

"Not even some of the time?" Stiles asked quietly, feeling disappointed. I chuckled at his ridiculousness while Scott rolled his eyes.

"Just. stay. here." Scott ordered, his voice final leaving no room for arguments—or talks of fictional superheroes and butlers. Stiles groaned in annoyance before repenting.

"Oh, my God! Fine." Stiles yelled and I pulled at his hand to drag him back to his jeep to keep him safe like Scott would have wanted. He, himself, climbed the chain-link fence before jumping over it and walked towards one of the buses in hopes to reclaim his forgotten memory—and into possible danger. I sighed as the realization hit me.

"Yup. I'm definetly Alfred." I said aloud and looked to my right to where Stiles was just barely keeping in his laugh. I bumped his shoulder hard and the dam broke inside him as he let out a laugh and I let go of his hand to walk on the other side of his jeep before getting in.

Stiles' laugh turned into a chuckle before eventually settling down into comfortable silence. It was like that for about a minute but it of course had to be broken by Stiles because... he was Stiles. And like always, he had a question—or two— in his mind.

"Are you okay?" To simply say I didn't expect him to ask that was an understatement. I looked at him, shocked, and more than a little confused as he only stared back at me, expecting me to answer his question that was not at all vague and out of the blue.

"Umm... Care to elaborate?" I asked Stiles with a chuckle but he didn't give back even a pity laugh, staring forward as he thought of how to re-word his question.

"I mean... Not to say that you've been acting weird these past couple of days. It's not weird. It's just... new. And unusual. You're sudden change of taste, your choices of... friends. The way you act around people—it's like you're more quiet but at the same time you speak up more. It's like you've changed but at the same time you're still exactly you."

"What?" I asked Stiles, genuinely confused as my mind hurt trying to understand what the heck he was saying. If this is what it's like in his mind all the time...

He sighed, getting frustrated, before turning his body in his seat to fully face me. "You used to say what's on your mind with little to no thought as to how the other would react. You were callous and blunt. Now you either choose to stay quiet or pick your words carefully.

But at the same time you do still speak what's on your mind. You give out compliments left and right like they don't reflect on you. You move as though you're the most confident woman in the world and don't seem to second guess yourself like you used to.

You see through everyone's bullshit like it's glass; you know exactly what the other is going through like you've gone through it yourself. Like your freaking Yoda. You give off this aura—this light— that everyone is naturally drawn to like they're fucking moths, so I'll ask again—Are you alright?" I listened to Stiles' rant, watched his arms and hands dance as he gesticulated while he talked. He was staring at me so intently after he was done, trapping me in his gaze with nowhere else to go. He breathed heavily as his rant drained him of his energy and we stared at each other as time stretched from seconds to minutes until I couldn't take his stare and silence, anymore. I answered him honestly, knowing he could tell when I was lying; staring at him still, as his eyes didn't seem to give me much of a choice otherwise.

"No. I'm not." I answered and his eyes softened—his expression melting from his father's stern glare to that of concern that was just purely Stiles. His hand reached out and carresed my cheek and I leaned my head against his hand like it was the most natural thing for us to do.

"Tell me." Was all he said and I spilled everything to him like a confession, and he was to be my savior—every feeling I felt, every weirdness I experienced, every event, every moment I feel worth mentioning—all in clear and perfect detail, just the way he wanted to me to say it. And he listened to every word.

His hand that was on my cheek was now in between my two hands as I cradled it in mine, letting him quietly absorbed all the information I gave. Finally, he sighed as he turned to look at me again.

"Why didn't say anything." He asked and I only shrugged back as I thought back to everything that's happening, and everything that's still happening now.

"Scott's thing was much weirder than my sudden self-discovery of empathy that was inside me all along," I mocked and Stiles chuckled, "or of the big mystery surrounding you, and Danny not liking you or finding you attractive. I mean, Scott's out there right now—in a crime scene—to remember if he fucking murdered a guy, just as his only guardian and teacher for this whole werewolf thing, instructed him to do. And he's a murderer himself, so—" I said, cutting myself off as I raised my hands in front of me before dropping them on my lap, facing forward and away from Stiles. A second later I sighed before explaining,

"I guess with everything that's happening... my problems—that's miniscule in comparison—just got pushed back is all..." I told him.

"And forgotten." Stiles finished, but I didn't say anything else nor did look at him again. He sighed and copied my movements, staring straight ahead to where the buses were, his hands resting on the wheel.

"You're right." Stiles said and I glanced at him for a second before looking straight back. "Our problems are... pathetic when we pair it side by side Scott's. Maybe not as pathetic as mine—" I cut him off, resting my hand on his leg. His leg jumped in surprise but he didn't make any movement to remove it.

"It's not. Trust me." It was a little ridiculous, yes. But if he actually did consider it a problem, who am I to call it pathetic.

"Neither is yours. I mean, especially not yours. You got into a mind, a body, of another fucking human being. You, like, possessed him or something. Yours is far from pathetic. " Stiles said and that's when a light bulb flashed in my mind.

"How about we make a deal, then." I said, turning to face him again and leaned forwards over his police console. He copied movements as well and leaned down a little so he was eye-level to me.

"We obviously can't bother Scott with our "problems" as he's got bigger things to worry about, so I say we make a deal to keep the things we don't want him or others to worry about to ourselves. Whether it be from shame or embarrassment; our problems ranging from big or small; even if the other's going through something big—bigger than Scott's—we make a deal to always be each other's confessors. Not problem solvers, necessarily. Just us listening to each other bitch, or moan, or whine about the littlest of things. I say we make a deal—we make a promise—to always listen to each other no matter what. How does that sound?" I asked after I finished and Stiles rubbed his chin, squinting his eyes as he "thought", but I knew what his thinking face looked like. He looked at me and smiled as he held out his pinky for me to promise. I looped my finger in his as he said officially,

"It's a deal."

"We'll Reeses to it tomorrow." I finalized, before I added, "Danny gonna have to wait though." He chuckled, his eyes dancing with mirth as we fell back to just staring at each other's eyes. Just then our eyes caught a flashlight gleaming by the bus bay. Security.

Stiles honked his Jeep to get Scott's attention and I climbed to the back of the car to my usual spot. Stiles and I both watched as Scott ran, jumping on a red SUV and somersaulting over the chain-link fence before landing safely onto the ground.

"Stiles, start the car." I ordered him when he was just drumming his fingers on the steering wheel anxiously and muttering "come on, come on" on loop as though it would make Scott run faster. He did as I said just as Scott opened the passenger door, entering before shutting it close.

"Go! Go! Go! Go!" Scott told Stiles, with the same level of anxious energy as Stiles'. Scott was right. Neither of them were Batman and Robin. Unfortunately though, I was still their Alfred as I was the only one that remained calm, considering between the three of us, someone has to. Stiles hit the pedal and the car flew backwards before before stomping on the break a few seconds later to do a donut between the two—thankfully empty—roads.

As the car was speeding down the road, farther and farther away from the school, I took that as the moment to ask Scott,

"Did it work? Did you remember?" Stiles glanced at Scott for a second, also silently inquiring to know. Scott looked back through the rear windshield as though checking to see if anyone was following us before answering.

"Yeah, I was there last night. And the blood? A lot of it was mine."

"So, you did attack him?" Stiles asked, his voice normal but his eyes blown wide with panic.

"No. I-I-I saw glowing eyes in the bus, but they weren't mine—" Scott frowned as he thought—piecing the pieces of his memory together.

"It was Derek." Scott said finally.

"Okay. Well, what about the driver?" I asked, leaning forward between the two and using their chairs for support.

"I think I was actually trying to protect him." Scott told me and I sighed with relief before hugging him on his side, and his chair for support.

"Wait—why would Derek help you remember that he attacked the driver?" Stiles asked and I resumed my position in between them as I thought of it myself.

"That's what I don't get." Scott admitted and an idea popped into my head.

"Maybe it's a pack thing..." I wondered, and voiced aloud, and Scott stared at me in confusion.

"What do you mean?" Scott asked me and Stiles answered for me.

"Like an initiation. You do the kill together." Stiles explained and it was Scott's turn now to be the sarcastic one.

"Because ripping someone's throat out is a real bonding experience?" Scott said but Stiles didn't take offense to that, the sarcastic boy himself seemingly immune to other people's sarcasm.

"An initiation is not supposed to be a bonding experience. It's supposed to be something that proves your worth to a group or a pack. Like how college surrorities make you do these crazy, stupid things before they let you in. Maybe Derek wanted you to kill to prove your worth to him." I explained to Scott and Stiles picked up on our conversation.

"Yeah, but you didn't do it! Which means you're not a killer!" Stiles said aloud, happy and reassured. I, myself, wasn't, as I voiced my concern.

"Okay. So what happens now. If it was an initiation and you didn't kill that guy, that means you failed. I mean, is he just gonna withdraw your Werewolf powers? Does he have an option where you're still alive in the end when he takes your powers back. I mean, I highly doubt he'll just leave you alone after this. What if he just keeps doing that—making you kill people—until you finally do and—"

"Okay. All very good possibilities. Thank you for that, Liz. You've been an amazing help." Stiles said sarcastically and I glared at his back before he continued.

"The point is that you didn't do it, Scott. You didn't try to kill him. And it also means that—" Stiles was saying before Scott cut him off.

"It means I can go out with Allison tomorrow!" Scott cheered, and I pursed my lips as Stiles and I stared at each other before Stiles said,

"I was gonna say it means you won't kill us. Liz and I."

Scott looked at the both of sheepishly as he said, "Oh, yeah. That, too." I rolled my eyes at him as Stiles drove us all back to our places, ready to leave this whole supernatural thing behind us for the day.

The next day came and the supernatural weirdness resumed its business for us as usual. Or in this case—for me. It was night time, and despite the fact that there was an active curfew for people my age, there I was at the gas station, alone, as I perused the snack station after having payed for my gas. Only a few hours ago I was in Allison house, Lydia and I helping her pick out what to wear for their double date at the bowling alley. Double date and bowling alley—does it get any better than that.

After picking out a Reese's and a tub of cookies 'n cream and butterscotch ice cream—because guess who's on her period—I payed for that as well before walking out of the convenience store and back to my car. There were some people there now as well to fill up their tanks but I didn't pay them any mind as I walked to where I parked my car on the side. It was not until I heard a window shatter that I looked up to see a guy break someone's passenger window.

"Looks pretty good to me." The guy said, and thinking some poor chap was in trouble of maybe getting robbed of their car, I yelled at them, walking towards them a little but not enough that I couldn't run away if I have to.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?!" I demanded, and the guy that broke the window looked up in surprise as everyone's attention was on me now as well. The guy that broke the window looked to someone on his right and I had to do a double-take as my eyes landed on Mr. Argent, whom was looking back at me with an equally surprised look.

"Mr. Argent?" I asked, not believing what I was seeing as I walked closer to them, feeling a sense of security—maybe false, but security nonetheless—with the knowledge that Mr. Argent was a good person who wasn't going to hurt me. I mean, I was just in his house, at her daughter's room, helping her pick out her clothes for a date for crying out loud. That is, of course, until my eyes landed on Derek whom the car belonged to—the one who's window they smashed. Mr. Argent was a hunter that shot an arrow into Scott's shoulder. How in God's name could I forget something like that. I silently berated myself as all of them simply stared me, and at each other before Mr. Argent spoke, finally.

"What are you doing here, Elizabeth? Surely you're aware of the curfew. You should go home." Mr. Argent said in a calm voice, but also telling me off as though I'm the one who'd done something wrong. I wasn't having any of it, though.

"What were you doing with Derek's car?" I demanded, to which he and his buddies seemed surprised by.

"You two know each other?" A guy from Mr. Argent's group asked, pointing to the both of us with an accusing finger and a suspicious glare. Before I could say anything, Derek answered for the both of us.

"No. Not really. Her dad's just one of my Uncle's doctors. You know the one, right? The one you trapped in my house to burn to death. The only one that survived." Derek said to Mr. Argent, his body sending out waves of sadness, anger, and grief that hit me like a truck, forcing me to physically take a step back. Mr. Argent was quick to reply,

"We already told you once and I'll say it again. We had nothing to do with that." Mr. Argent said, his voice firm and I could tell he was telling the truth. Or that he was telling what he believes to be the truth. He looked towards me again as I remained silent, speechless by what I'd just heard.

"Go home, Elizabeth." He told me, his voice firm and no longer calm. He looked to Derek before he said to him, "Drive safely." A sentiment he obviously didn't mean. His group all got into their respective SUVs before driving off, leaving me alone at the gas station with Derek Hale. I swallowed as I looked towards him, fear creeping up my throat as I silently wished for Mr. Argent to go back. How could he leave me with a bloodthirsty, Werewolf murderer whom I can't outrun. Especially in heels!

I expected the worst; to see him fully transformed into his Werewolf form, his mouth dripping with drool ready to eat me or rip me in half, or whatever. But he only stared back at me with sadness and grief. One I didn't understand as I felt it was a feeling directly for me. He felt that—for me.

"Are yo—are you okay?" I asked him, hating myself for stuttering.

"Yeah. I'm fine." He answered and I realized that was first we've ever spoken to each other. Only it didn't feel like it. For whatever reason, I felt this wasn't the first time he's ever talked to me—and I've ever talked to him. In fact, talking to him feels... familiar.

"Are you?" He asked me when neither of us spoke, and I answered him immediately.

"Yeah. I'm fine." We both fell silent yet again with nothing much else to say. It wasn't awkward, though, which was surprising to me. I was about to ask him something about his car, and what that whole thing was about with Argent, when he spoke up before me.

"Argent's right. There's a curfew. You need to get home." He said, his voice firm before he chuckled, his eyes landing on the Reeses and ice cream tubs I was holding, one he could see through the clear plastic. I hid it behind me, feeling suddenly bashful when he laughed.

He sighed, feeling much better now—I could tell—before silently walking to the driver seat of his car while I watched. Just before he got in, he seemed to be thinking of something, tapping his fingers on the hood of his car before turning to face me.

"Pro tip: crushed Chewy Dipps Peanut Butter granola bars—the chocolate covered ones—works perfectly with butterscotch ice cream." He said to me so seriously as though reciting a fact that I scoffed a laugh, not believing what I was hearing. Derek Hale, giving me snack hacks. He smiled, and chuckled a little as well.

"That's my favorite kind." I told him honestly, feeling a lot less nervous around him now, before I remembered he's the guy that likes cutting people in half. Cutting girls in half. Is this how he does it? Charming them first and making them feel comfortable and safe before killing them like the psychopaths you see on TV.

"I know." He said to my comment before getting into his car and slamming his door shut. Just before he drove off, he said something that I wouldn't be able to hear otherwise if his car window hadn't been smashed in.

"Good night, Lizzy." I heard him say before driving off, leaving me absolutely dumbfounded. Only my closest friends and family called me Lizzy. I knew that whole interaction, with my name at the end being the cherry on top, should've just reinforced my theory about him being a psychopath—but it just didn't feel right. I drove myself back home as per Derek and Argent's instructions—too busy being confused of the whole thing than to be anxious of my driving—and was now just lying on my living room couch watching Carrie; the 1976 version directed by legendary director, Brian de Palma. I was eating my butterscotch ice cream with the crushed chocolate covered peanut butter granola bars Derek suggested, while watching the movie when Stiles called, telling me the bad news that made my heart sink to my feet.

"I'll be right there." I told Stiles and drove to Scott's house as per his instruction, using the shortcut in the woods no matter how bumpy, or dark, or scary it was with no concrete road and the only lights there, coming from my headlights. I found Stiles' Jeep by Scott's driveway already there, so I walked into the house, opening the door using the key Stiles copied from Scott's that I still had, from when he left it in the keyhole of the door that one time.

I was already walking up the stairs when I heard Stiles and Melissa scream. I sighed as I jogged the rest of the way there, already knowing what had happened.

They were still screaming their heads of when I got to the doorway, which only increased when Melissa heard me run up from behind her, raising her bat at me, ready to swing.

"Woah, woah, woah..." I repeated, holding my hands in front of me to let her know I mean no trouble and to also silently ask her to put the bat down.

"Stiles, Liz, what the hell are you two doing?" Melissa asked slightly yelling, her voice exasperated and breathless from the fear and the screaming.

"What are we doing?" Stiles asked back rhetorically as he lied on Scott's bed after going in through his window, before asking again, "God! Do either of you even play baseball?"

Melissa, not understanding what Stiles was getting at—and neither did I—asked in her still breathless and exasperated voice, "What?"

Just then, Scott flicked on his bedroom light, having gotten home from his date. I wanted to ask him all about it but now was unfortunately not the time. I was going to get the actual details—and not the summarized version—from Allison anyways.

"Can you please tell your friend to use the front door?" Melissa asked him angrily and Scott answered,

"But we lock the front door. He wouldn't be able to get in." He said, oblivious to the fact that that was the point.

"Yeah, exactly." Melissa said before she realized something, turning to me before she asked, "how did you get in?" I raised my key up to her in response before saying,

"Stiles has a copy."

She seemed to be even more confused by that before she realized something else and this time, asking all of us,

"Do any of you guys even care that there's a police-enforced curfew?"

"No." Scott, Stiles, and I answered in sync and Melissa rolled her eyes to the ceiling before nodding to herself, muttering "no" as though thinking to herself, 'of course not. Why would they?' Finally, she sighed and threw her hands up in the air, completely done with our antics for the day.

"All right, then. Well, you know what? That's about enough parenting for me for one night, so...", she threw the bat on Scott's bed next to Stiles before walking out the door, holding up double peace signs for us, and saying her tired and final "Goodnight" for the day.

Scott, still floating inside the happy bubble from his date, turned to look at the both of us, effectively popping his bubble as our negative mood didn't vibe with his.

"What?" He asked us, sitting down on his desk chair in front of Stiles, and Stiles hesitated for a second before I urged him on with a look, standing behind Scott.

"My dad left for the hospital fifteen minutes ago... It's the bus driver." Stiles said and seeing Scott look at him expectantly, he continued. "They said he succumbed to his wounds."

"Succumbed?" Scott asked and I rolled my eyes, not feeling in the mood to be patient or kind.

"He's dead, Scott." I told him bluntly and saw his eyes widen before his mouth dropped in shock as he gasped. And I suddenly wished I'd have relayed that information to him more delicately, even if I wasn't in the mood.

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