#char: stiles stilinski | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bamboozledbird · 2 months ago

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IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 5 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, ofc, omc Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 10.2k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes), depictions of a panic attack, animal death Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter.

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Beacon Hills’ bloody underbelly is making it pretty damn hard for him to keep his promise.

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real, and old family secrets rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive?

Maybe, the real question is: How long will they want to?

Chapter Summary: You start to unravel some of the secrets hidden in Beacon Hill's other world, and Stiles manages to worm his way into discovering some of your own.

A/N: this took a minute, so i hope the length makes up for it! comments and reblogs are love, and i am tinkerbell. also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight) for the full lore version!

Tag list: @eaterof-concrete

Your anger fizzled with every mile you drove. By the time you finished your third loop around the Preserve, it was just a light simmer of irritation. The void was quickly filled with a different emotion: curiosity. There was a little dread in there too, perhaps also a touch of nausea, but the concoction was still potent enough to distract you from your...whatever that was with Lydia. Now that you were alone, trees blurring together in a ribbon of yellowing-green through your dash, all you could think about was the fire Derek’s family died in. Well, that, and another fire that was always lurking somewhere in your mind, hiding in the shadows, just waiting for the chance to jump out and strangle your heart.

Beacon Hills was a small town. A town where, until very recently, bad things hardly ever happened. What were the chances of two houses going up in flames four years apart? Of two houses burning down to the foundation in the blink of an eye? Of two homes becoming charred rubble and chilling memorials to the lives lost inside? As far as you knew, they were the only unnatural fires that’d occurred in Beacon Hills in the last century.

It could all be a coincidence, of course. Nothing. Just a delusional, grief-driven conspiracy. It would be best if you accepted that now before you fell too far down this rabbit hole. It’d taken you two years to finally realize that the police were never going to figure out what really happened to your mom, and those two years had been filled with a series of devastating misdirections, hundreds of dashed hopes and unanswered prayers to a god you no longer believed in. You knew better than this. You did. You knew better than to hope.

But…maybe. Maybe there was something there. If there was an elaborate plot afoot, you knew just the right conspiracy nut to turn to.

The last time you believed in magic, you were six. You had run the entire mile-and-a-half to Maggie’s dad’s store, hands bloody and cupped into a small nest. You’d almost choked on your quiet, congested whimpers, but after a few minutes of blubbering, you’d finally managed to spit out a few words, “You know how to fix him, right? You know everything.” There had to be a spell, you’d thought, with all the wisdom of a first-grade education. There had to be some magic flower or special potion that could make everything better.

You hadn’t noticed the look on Maggie’s face when you finally opened your fingers, but Maggie had to have been panicking once she saw exactly what needed to be fixed—cradled in your palms, was a tiny, twitching field mouse you’d found on your way home from school. His little chest had heaved so slowly as he laid limply in your hands, as if he’d already accepted his fate. You’d been so young then, too young to realize that Maggie was only nineteen and faked her confidence more often than she felt it. Nineteen had seemed so old at six, and now it was only three years away.

Maggie had known, of course, that the poor little guy probably wouldn’t live long enough to see nightfall, but she’d made the fatal mistake of looking into your big wet eyes: still so full of hope and belief in the impossible. Instead of telling you the truth, she’d just said, “I got this," and took the mouse to the backroom—where all the magic happened. You never ended up seeing the mouse again. You realized now that probably meant he died, but you appreciated Maggie letting you live in the land of make-believe for just a little while longer.

But that was ten years ago. Today, you knew that Mags was only mortal and Willowbark couldn’t actually heal fatal rodent wounds—but you were still hoping, against all hopes, that Maggie actually had the answers this time.

“Mags?” your brow crinkled as you searched for Maggie and her wild curls. Mags often got lost in the midst of all the chaos, just a small blip in a crowded collection of odd, Victorian-esque relics. You could usually spot at least a glimpse of whatever loud color Maggie was sporting that day. The yellows and pinks were always stark against the dingy backdrop, but today the only colors you could see from the front door were varying shades of sage, oxblood, and charcoal. “Maggie?”

A muffled cry sounded from the storeroom, “Back here.”

The door to the backroom was slightly ajar, and the purple lighting from the mini-greenhouse inside spilled through the crack. It cast a mesmerizing strip of dayglow lavender over the dangly earrings and mood rings for sale next to the register. “Bring me the shears, will you? The pink ones by Giz.”

You dropped your backpack behind the glass counter and drifted towards the sounds of Gizmo’s trumpeting snores. The stretch for the pruning scissors was a bit precarious; the little prince was batting his paws at something in the depths of dreamland and had no presence of mind for your fragile skin. You snagged the shears with minimal carnage and ran your finger along the cool edge, staring at the gleaming surface, “You’re into all local history, right? Not just the made-up stuff?”

Maggie took the shears from your lax hands and squatted next to the potted yew tree on the floor. It was just starting to blossom, red berries dotted sparsely around the spiky leaves—ripe for whatever ridiculous offering Maggie had planned. Maggie blew a ringlet out of her face and fixed you with a stern frown, “My ancestors were witches, and Dragons absolutely did exist. Just look at ‘dinosaur’ fossils from the—”

“Do you know anything about the fire the Hale family died in?” you looked down at your hands so that you didn’t have to see Maggie’s reaction.

You traced circles around a rosy stain on Maggie’s workbench, likely from ground flower petals or dripping pomegranate seeds, shoulders hunching towards your ears as you continued, “I mean, you’re around the same age as the older sister, right?” Laura. You couldn’t bring yourself to say her name, and the hypocrisy was stifling. You hated when people tiptoed around death, when they used pretty euphemisms like that could make what actually happened any less brutal. Less evil. Less unfair. But there was no softening grief. Death. Murder. There was no candy coat sweet enough to cloak the taste of rotting—and yet, you still couldn’t say her name.

Maggie went still briefly and then continued clipping branches, ignoring or not noticing the couple of leaves stuck to her fuzzy sweater. “Why?”

You gritted your teeth and stared a burl in the wood underneath your fingers, “Why do you think?”

Sighing, Maggie spread her clippings across the maple worktop and picked at a few yellowing leaves, “Where is this coming from, babe? I mean, that was a long time ago. I’m almost thirty, you know—ancient by most standards.”

You didn’t smile. Couldn’t. “Do you know anything or not?”

“No,” Maggie sounded genuine, but she kept her eyes on the red stains underneath her fingernails, “nothing more than what was on the news.”

The fact that Maggie didn’t make a quip or a stupid pun was even more telling than her refusal to look in your direction. You folded your arms over your chest and leaned your hip against the doorframe, “Sure.”

“Are you okay, babe?” Maggie wiped the berry residue off on her skirt, and the long hem swished around her ankles as she crept towards you. Her hand was cautious when she placed it on your rigid shoulder, “You aren’t skipping your meds again, are—”

Your eyes flashed as you shook off Maggie’s light touch with a jerk of your shoulder, “Is it possible for me to have a single feeling without everyone jumping down my throat about my meds.”

“I just worry,” Maggie said softly, and she reached for you again, waiting for you to pull away. She tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear when you didn’t. Your limbs were still stiff, and your face was still stony, but you let Maggie grab your hand. It was slightly sweaty, probably from all the indoor-gardening, but there was some comfort in the circles she smoothed over your knuckles. “You know I’m a worrier. Comes with the conspiracy theorist in me.”

You looked down at your feet and dug your toes into the concrete floor, “And my mom’s dying wish—I know.”

A bit of hurt quivered in the corners of Maggie’s reassuring smile, even though she tried her best to hide it, “That’s not the reason I do it.”

Your entire frame slumped with guilt, “I know.” And you did; you did know. You made Maggie drive you to the library every weekend before you got your license, and in return Maggie stole about a dozen of your sweaters once she realized you were finally the same size—Mags wasn’t just your mom’s weird friend from the neighborhood; she was family. She taught you how to make pie crust and scones, and she always read ‘happily ever after’ in the lines of your palms when you needed something to smile about. Maggie did a million little things for you without any appreciation, and you tried to remember every single one as you sat on the floor in front of the ‘Local Culture’ shelf.

Your nose scrunched as you looked over the titles on the spines, searching for anything that sounded even remotely real. Maggie knelt next to you, patch-work skirt billowing around her knees, and watched your fingers drum against the floor.

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?” Maggie bumped your shoulder with her own, and you grunted a little response.

“Nothing you can help me with.” Evidently, you thought with only a bit of bitterness.

Maggie didn’t say anything for a long time. You almost forgot she was there, and then her bracelets clacked together as she shifted. “Here,” Maggie pulled a thick journal out of the depths of her baggy cardigan and held it out with a complicated expression on her face—something halfway between a frown and a smile, “I think you’ll find this one particularly interesting.”

You looked down at the title and rubbed your thumb over the engraved font, “‘A History and Detailed Account of Beacon Hills Bloodlines’?”

Maggie nodded and shoved her hands into her skirt pockets, “Goes back all the way to the beginning—not literally, obviously. I don’t think they wanted to get into the whole ‘God vs. Big Bang’ debate, but it dates back to when the town was founded.”

“That’s…interesting, I guess,” you flipped through the pages and bit down on your tongue to squash the sneer curling across your lips. It was a nice gesture. You knew that—but what else were you supposed to do when the ‘History’ and ‘Detailed Account’ fell open to an artistic diagram of 'local werewolf packs’ genealogy lines. You were a little interested to see if the names were entirely fictional, or if the journal was an accurate record of Beacon Hill’s very own Werewolf Trials. Probably the first, you’d remember learning about extra hairy men and women being burned at the stake in social studies.

Maggie huffed out a little laugh and pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “I know you won’t believe everything in there, but who knows,” she shrugged and held out a hand for you to grab onto, “maybe you’ll finally be enlightened.”

You took her hand and hummed, “While you’re feeling so generous and bad for me ‘cause I’m functionally an orphan, could I get some more of that wolfsbane gunk?” You batted your lashes over the edge of the leather cover and grinned your most adorable smile—the one that dusted off a rare view of your dimples, “It can be my birthday present.”

It was an obvious ploy, but Maggie just laughed and poked one of your dimples, “Your birthday is months away.”

You picked up the speed of your blinking, approaching butterfly-wing territory, and rocked onto your tiptoes, “An early birthday present is still a birthday present.”

Mags watched you through narrowed eyes for a moment, “You don’t even believe in werewolves.”

You shrugged and smirked, “It works on humans too.”

“Please, please don’t make me an accessory to murder.” Maggie gripped your shoulders and shook you a little, fighting a smile, “I would not fare well in prison. They limit your internet privileges there—no Wi-Fi, babe. No Wi-Fi. I would be completely alone with my thoughts.”

“The horror,” your eyes glittered with your grin, and for a sweet moment you forgot about the journal in your hands and all the questions it wouldn’t answer. “It’s not for me,” you admitted, grimacing as Maggie’s lips puckered. The pursing of her lips, the hollowing of her cheeks—that always came before a very long and arduous inquisition. Maggie could be relentless when she wanted to be.

“And whom would you be giving such a precious gift to?” The thickness of her brows only magnified the suspicion in Maggie’s tapered expression, “A gift you called—what was it? ‘Useless’ and ‘stupid’ less than 24-hours ago?”

“Just because I think it’s stupid, doesn’t mean it’s a bad gift for someone else. I thought the Sonic Chia Pet I gave you was stupid, and you loved it.” You knew you won when Maggie started walking away from you towards the storeroom. You still had no idea how Curio Killed the Cat stayed in business when Maggie handed out inventory like candy, but presently its troubling business model was a blessing in disguise.

“Don’t disparage him,” Maggie crooned over her shoulder, “it’s bad luck.”

“If everything is sacred, nothing is,” you sniped, doing your best Vulcan impression.

Maggie smiled brightly as she hopped over the counter, sticking out her tongue, “I don’t think everything is sacred—just all the things I like.”

Speaking of things Maggie liked—you tucked your first gift under your armpit and held out your hands, palms cupped together. Your mouth curved into a cheesy grin as you said, “Trick-or-Treat.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, but her puckish spark dwindled when she looked at the vile of wolfsbane. It was balanced between her thumb and forefinger, glass reflecting the light, and you felt a bit like you were accepting the One Ring and a quest you weren't prepared for. “Be careful, okay?” Maggie hesitated before dropping the vile into your waiting hands, “I know you love Buffy, but resurrection isn’t so easy off-screen.”

You were a little startled by the concern wrinkling the corners of Maggie’s eyes. She looked almost more worried now than she did when you asked her about the Hale fire. “Like I said,” you carefully eased the wolfsbane into your corduroy skirt, “it’s not for me.”

Maggie's eyes combed over your face, searching for something, and then she sighed, “Just…don’t let anyone drag you into something stupid. I don’t care how cute he is; no boy is worth the risk of ruining your gorgeous face. It’s your money-maker, babe.”

There was a lot to unpack in those three sentences; you didn’t even know where to begin. There was, of course, the implication that you were going to join some kind of Scooby-Doo gang that dealt wolfsbane on the side. While the thought of going ghost hunting with a pair of boys who couldn’t make it to class without tripping over their feet was, in fact, asinine…that wasn’t the part twisting stubborn knots around your ear canal.

Your face was dragged down by a broody pout, “For your information, I’m not giving it to Stiles; it’s actually for a guy who isn’t the leading cause of pulmonary embolisms in Beacon County—and I don’t think either of them are cute.”

That wasn’t strictly true. You did think that Scott was cute, just like you thought Gizmo was cute when he pleaded for treats. You could see the appeal of Scott McCall, why Allison liked him, but you hadn’t thought someone was cute like that in a very long time. A person generally had to actually look at people to think they were cute, and you hadn’t looked beyond forcing one foot in front of the other and your nubby nails in years.

And as far as Stiles went…honestly, you hadn’t really considered the concept of Stiles as an actual person until Maggie had to go and imply it. You supposed, now that you were thinking about it, he had an objectively nice face: big eyes, button nose, nice jaw—but when you saw him in person, it was almost always covered with an infuriating smirk or making obnoxious sounds. You usually just wanted to shove it away from you. Sometimes, when Stiles was being particularly difficult, you even thought about flicking him right in his long-lashed, honeycomb eyes. You wondered if the Sheriff would arrest you if you—

That’s right, your eyes rounded with the thought, Stiles is the Sheriff's son.

The recollection rang through every single one of your thoughts and echoed along the caverns of your skull, sparing you from ruminating on something far, far scarier. You were much more comfortable with deduction.

Your brow furrowed as you pushed yourself over the counter to grab your backpack—sure that Maggie would misinterpret your impromptu exit, but too lost in through to really care—Stiles is the Sheriff's son. You forgot that sometimes. They were so different, after all, and you were certain that Stiles had broken the law at least a few times in his life, but he was. Stiles was the Sheriff's son, and he probably knew things that he shouldn’t. Things that were only kept in confidential files. Fortunately, you didn’t need to think that someone was cute to use them for information.

“Methinks the Lady doth protest too much,” Maggie chirped. She was fiddling with her branches in the back again, picking the berries and dropping them into a little stone bowl.

You scowled at the berries like it was their fault you were in this predicament, “Gertrude sucks.

“And yet she was correct,” Maggie tossed a berry at your forehead, and it landed dead-center on the tip of your nose, dripping a small trail of crimson juice onto your cupid’s bow. Maggie laughed until a burst of snorts consumed her giggles, and you scowled deeper as you wiped your nose clean with your sleeve.

“And yet, she’s the prime example of doing something stupid for a boy.” You made a point of flipping Maggie off before trudging towards the door.

You pushed the exit open with your shoulder—rushing to get home to your notebook and pens. Ideas had a way of slipping away from you; you liked to make them real. Tangible. Inked lines and loops that couldn’t be erased.

Maggie cupped your cheeks before you could slither away to your car, startling you out of your head. “Don’t be Gertrude. Don’t be stupid,” Maggie said, incredibly solemn, but the twinkle of mischief in her eye ruined the 'Yoda effect'.

You pursed your lips as your eyes flitted towards the side, “I’ll do my best to not marry my dead husband’s brother-killer.” The door swung shut behind you, cutting off the trill of Maggie’s laughter.

You spent the rest of the night on your bed, sitting cross-legged with your notebook spread open across your lap. You tapped your pen against your knee and watched the blades on your ceiling fan spin into a fuzzy Saturn ring until your eyes watered. You were trying, and failing, to think of a way to ask Stiles for help without him making a big deal about it—contemplating if it was truly worth all the aggravation.

Sighing, you sketched random swirling lines in purple ink. They interconnected in a pretty pattern that eventually took the shape of the maze on your pendant. There was no way out of the labyrinth without breaking down a wall; it was hopeless, a path that never ended. People who entered the maze would be doomed to walk in circles until they littered the ground with their decomposing skeletons—and oh how you envied them.

Stiles would never let it go; you were pretty damn sure of that. He would poke, and prod, and stick his upturned nose into your business until he'd thoroughly invaded your privacy and got all the answers to his meddlesome questions. He could never ju—

The sound of paper tearing dragged you out of your pitiful brooding, and you sighed. Your pen had ripped through the center of the maze. You held the page up to the light, and it shone through the hole, blinding you momentarily.

There was no escaping the labyrinth—there was only pushing straight though.

You spent a lot of your time observing people lately. It wasn’t as creepy as it sounded, at least you hoped it wasn’t as creepy as it sounded. It was just…ever since Stiles dragged you back into the present—kicking, screaming, and bitching the entire way—you had been…overwhelmed by how alive everything was. It felt like so much had happened in the last four years. Everyone had gone on living while you’d hidden away in your mind and rotted in your room.

You couldn’t put a name to the strange feeling twisting in your chest. You were angry, of course, so angry that people had the audacity to just… live, like there wasn’t a gigantic, bleeding void in the world that had yet to scar over—that might never truly close—but there was something else mixed in with the bitterness, something sweeter.

There was a certain kind of beauty, you mused, in the way they enjoyed such silly things. There was just something about the way they found joy in sparkly nail polish, and their favorite song, and a boy looking in their general direction that had you choking on a foreign warmth. Everyone had something, and it was beautiful to see people grow their worlds around the ugliness while you weren't so consumed with shrinking yours.

Leaning back against your locker, you watched two freshmen girls walk side-by-side until a flock of tropical-scented, lip-gloss-coated sophomore girls passed them. The taller of the two trailed after them, linking arms with a blonde in the back of the pack. The shorter one watched their hair swish over their shoulders until they walked around the corner, absently tugging at a beaded bracelet on her wrist the entire time.

In three weeks, she’d start eating lunch alone in the library, hiding in the dark book closet with outdated textbooks as her only companions. In five, they wouldn’t speak unless they had to. You gave the girl a weak smile when she accidentally made eye-contact. Sorry, babe, I read your future. You didn’t even need to see the girl’s palm.

You pushed yourself off of your locker and shook your head a little, regrouping your thoughts as you slid into your seat next to Stiles. He looked tired. He was slumped over his desk, chin propped on his folded arms, and his eyelids hung heavily over the exhaustion coating his directionless gaze. He barely acknowledged your presence, grunting a little and nudging your foot with his.

You hid your smile behind your English binder and turned in your seat to face him. “Hey,” you paused, bundling the meager bits and pieces of courage in your chest, and then said, “your perpetual nosiness—that extends to your dad too, right?”

Stiles’s head lulled to the side, cheek pressed against his folded arms, evidently too drained to sit-up. He trailed his squinted gaze over your face, eyes hooded and unblinking, “Why?”

“No reason.” You drummed your pencil against your desk and watched the long red arrow tick forward on the clock above the whiteboard. Stiles watched you fidget with a little sleepy smirk eased into the corners of his mouth, patient and still for the first time since you’d met. It was a shame you couldn’t revel in it.

You lost the stalemate after your desperation became too thick to swallow, “I need to see a case file. There’s like…nothing on the internet or in Maggie’s local history sagas.”

That got his attention. Stiles leaned forward, glimmering with intrigue and ill-intent, and said, “Which case?”

“None of your business,” you retorted reflexively. Stiles gave you an amused look and cupped his cheek in his palm, waiting for the inevitable apology. You withered against your chair and muttered, “Does it matter?”

He snorted and lifted a shoulder, “I have a right to know what I’m potentially putting my life on the line for; breaking and entering is a very serious crime, y’know.”

You huffed and glared a little at your clasped hands, “Somehow I know you’ve done worse.”

Stiles didn’t deny it. He just grinned proudly and scooted closer to you, “Seriously, what’s so important you’re willing to steal something from the police?”

“Not steal,” you corrected, a bit too petulantly for your liking, “just…borrow indefinitely.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles pursed his lips and almost went cross-eyed scrutinizing your face, “so what’s so important you’re willing to ‘borrow’ classified information from the police ‘indefinitely’?”

You paused, not entirely sure how to answer his question without spilling over the edges and ruining everything. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly, bowing your head a little. You picked at a hangnail until it was tender and inflamed, “Just a hunch, really. It’s probably nothing.”

Stiles tapped his fingers against his desk, fast and furious, and let out a dramatic puff of air, “I could help you if you’d, y’know, tell me literally one single thing about it.”

“I don’t need your help,” you scoffed, feet sliding out in front of you as you sunk into your chair.

He cocked his head and hummed, looking far too smug for 7:45 in the morning, “Besides the whole ‘stealing my dad’s keycard and making it actually possible for you to read it’ thing, right?”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you mumbled, stalling the inevitable. It felt a little too much like losing to admit that you needed him—even though…you definitely needed him. It was a rather unfortunate fact you were fruitlessly still trying to deny.

Stiles rolled his eyes, neck too, and grabbed his backpack from the floor, “Forgive me for having a hobby.”

He opened his backpack, and you imagined, just for a moment, the zipper latching onto his mouth like a singularly-tentacled alien. It would solve all your problems; you could zip and unzip him whenever you wanted. If only. Sighing, you dropped your head against your knuckles, “Which is…irritating me?”

“Putting the pieces together,” Stiles dropped his coffee-warped, dogeared copy of Metamorphosis onto his desk and flipped to the assigned chapter. His eyes flicked from right to left, pace ridiculously fast, as he scanned through the pages. If it were anyone else, you would’ve assumed it was all for show. “I was a jigsaw kid,” he murmured, nose still stuck in his book.

Your lip stung as you gnawed on the cracking center, “If I tell you what I’m looking for, you’ll help me?”

“That,” Stiles punctuated his statement with a dramatic page flip, “and I might need a tiny favor from you.” He held his pointer finger and thumb together, almost touching, and flashed a toothy smile over the bent cover of his book, “Just an itty-bitty, very small, totally not a big deal favor.”

Your face turned thoroughly sour, “Oh god.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, like he didn’t just intentionally plant the seeds of dead bodies and false alibis in your mind two seconds ago, and huffed, “I just want to check on Lydia, okay? I think I’ll have a better chance of getting in through the front door with you.”

Your smirk flattened, “Why?”

His mouth hung open for a second, and then he shook his head firmly, peering at you through pinched lids, “You first.”

You fixed your gaze on your shoes, shifting your foot from left to the right, watching the fluorescent lights bounce off of the burgundy leather. The extra shine only made the scuffs on the toes more pronounced. “I want to look into the Hale fire, okay?” Your voice got trapped in your throat, so your tone wasn’t as biting as you wanted it to be, “Happy?”

You would’ve been content to keep staring at your boots until class ended, but your attention snapped back to Stiles when he inhaled sharply. He looked baffled, and maybe even a little green in the face, and you were starting to feel a little queasy yourself—nerves tended to turn your stomach upside-down and inside-out all in the same excruciatingly slow flip. His mouth was already ajar, but it took him several red-hand ticks to finally speak, “Why?”

“Nuh uh,” you crossed your arms and sat upright, rolling your shoulders back, “you go now.”

Stiles was still looking at you with an odd expression on his face, a little too distracted to be difficult. He answered you without any inflection in his voice, “She didn’t show up for homeroom.”

Your intestines unspun with your faint inhale and then immediately dropped to the floor along with your heart as you let out a weak, trembling exhale, “...and?”

Stiles recovered from his momentary lapse in vexation and leaned onto his forearms, "And it’s your turn again.”

You wished you had a simple answer for him, and, even more so, you wished you were a better liar. “There’s kinda no way to answer that without trauma dumping all over you,” you mumbled, intensively examining the fine ridges in your nails.

“I can handle a little trauma.” Stiles rapped his knuckles against the top of his head and smiled a little, “I’ve got nothin’ but space up here.”

People always said that—that they’d be there for you no matter what, that they could handle anything—and then they got a real good look at the ugly of it all, at the dirty hair and rotting kitchen, at the prolonged silences and self-absorbed isolation. People usually took off running pretty quickly after that. At least, Lydia had.

“There haven’t been that many residential fire fatalities here. Just two cases, actually.” You chewed on your thumbnail and shrugged, “I know they said the Hale fire was an accident, but…maybe there’s a connection.” You swallowed, and your boot squeaked against the floor when you kicked at the ground, “Or maybe I’m just a dumbass with too much spare time.”

Stiles stared at you, and you could see the exact moment he connected the pieces. You were expecting the usual nauseating sympathy, the well-intentioned kindness that always flirted with the edge of pity, oftentimes landing smack-dab in the middle of it—but there wasn’t a drip of pity in his eyes. They were filled with grief; for you or for someone else, you didn’t know. Maybe it didn’t matter. More importantly, perhaps, his eyes were shining with…relief, pure and simple relief that nothing else needed to be said.

“I’ll get you into the file room,” Stiles said, low and soft in his throat, and he didn’t look away from you until Scott slid in-between your desks. They did a complicated series of high-fives and hand-shakes with a few ‘knucks’ thrown in here and there for good measure.

Before Scott sat down behind Stiles, he smiled in your direction. You looked past him, assuming Allison was behind you, and watched a red-breasted robin flit around a tree through the window. You saw Scott’s hand move in your peripheral vision, and when you tore your eyes away from the streak of scarlet feathers and blue sky, your lips tipped into a timid smile. Scott was waving at you; he was smiling at you. You didn’t know when your world went from no friends to two, but it felt oddly…normal. Smiling back at Scott, dodging Stiles’s kicks at your feet, trying not to laugh at their goofy faces. It felt like it was part of your routine, exactly the same as organizing your pens and pencils on top of your desk at the start of class, and just like that: normal twisted into terrifying.

You chewed on the end of your pen when you felt Stiles’s gaze on the side of your face, “So…why do you want to see Lydia—besides your typical stalker behavior, obviously.”

“You’re gonna feel like such an asshole,” Stiles grinned a little and nudged your toes, but there was something strange tucked in the corners of his mouth, something a bit grim, a bit afraid. Whatever it was, his cheeks didn’t dimple with his smile, and you gnawed on your lip once you realized that you not only noticed their absence but you missed them.

You peeked at him from under your lashes and frowned when you saw that the crinkles at the corners of his eyes were gone too. Stiles’s grin eroded away to little more than a flat line once he started speaking again, “Jackson was attacked by…something last night—they’re saying mountain lion, but you and I both know that’s bullshit—anyway, she was pretty freaked out when my dad got there.”

You stiffened, spinal column drawing into a taut line from the crown of your skull to your tailbone, and your blood went cold. You already knew Lydia hadn't shown up for school today. You always knew—you felt Lydia’s absence just as fiercely as her presence. The air was just different somehow. You didn’t even have to look for her anymore; an innate rabbit-sense always reared its head when Lydia was too far away…when she was too close. Your instincts couldn’t agree on anything. They couldn’t decide if Lydia was a rabbit or a fox, and it was exhausting—but at the moment all you wanted, all you needed, was to make sure that Lydia hadn’t been torn apart by a monster with sharp claws and serrated teeth.

“And she isn’t here,” you finally said, barely above a whisper.

“And she isn’t here,” Stiles echoed, just as quiet.

“Okay,” your head bobbed with a decisive nod, knees moving before your mind had the chance to scold them, “let’s go.”

Stiles’s jaw unhinged alarmingly fast and comically wide, “Wha—now?”

You pushed everything on your desk into your backpack with a broad sweep of your arm and jerked your head towards the door, “Come on, before class starts.”

Stiles blinked at you for a few moments and then floundered for his things when you started walking out of the room without him. He stumbled into a desk in his rapid, ever-so clumsy efforts to catch up with you and twisted around to salute Scott’s empty chair. Apparently, neither of you had noticed his exit. It seemed it was a perfect morning for ditching class, but you didn’t dwell on the consequences for long. Your focus was single-minded and unwavering, and Stiles had to jog to keep up with your stalwart stride.

“Since when are you so helpful,” he muttered, slightly out of breath.

“I told you,” you gave him a wry smile and shoved the exit door open with your back, holding it for Stiles until he was halfway through the frame—and then you promptly stepped out of the way and watched the door swing shut on his backpack. Your lips twitched with a grin, “I’m a nice girl.”

Stiles yelped a little and looked over his shoulder, ensuring all his limbs were intact before yanking on his straps. His backpack smacked into his shoulders, and the heavy textbooks inside slammed together with a satisfying thump. You snickered and dodged his attempts to kick the back of your knees.

Glowering, Stiles switched tactics and tried to step on your nimble feet. Tragically for him, all the fire in his indignation was lost to his plush pout, “Since when?”

You rolled your eyes and waited next to his jeep, anxiously tracing little swirls in the dirt caked onto the passenger door, “Since I met you.”

You missed the look on Stiles’s face, but that was for the best. His honeyed smile would’ve changed your mind, and you had an ex-best friend to attend to.

****************************

The jeep was quiet for the first few minutes of the drive—at least, it was as quiet as a decrepit clunker could be. There were various clangs and squeals in-between the engine’s low rumble, and a soft indie song filled the silences in-between, but the air felt still. Stiles was intently focused on the road ahead, thumbs drumming against the steering wheel to a beat of his own making, while you picked at your cuticles, cycling between anxiety and denial. It was a subliminal game of chicken that Stiles eventually lost.

After a few false starts, Stiles blurted out, “You ever gonna tell me what happened?”

You stared straight ahead, through the bug-splattered windshield and down the winding street, “Nope.”

“Fine. That’s fine.” Stiles flexed his fingers against the steering wheel, straightening them to their impressive full-length, and then wrapped them around the wheel again. His grip was as tight as the grit of his teeth, “I don’t even want to know anyway.” You lulled your head to the side to smirk at him, but you kept your mouth thoroughly closed. Stiles’s gaze flicked in your direction briefly, and then he directed his eye roll towards the road, “I don’t. Keep your boring secret.”

You settled further into the passenger seat and propped your feet on the dash, grin warm with satisfaction, “I will.”

The beat of Stiles’s thumbs sped up, thundering against ‘9’ and ‘3’ while you hummed along to the trickle of piano and acoustic guitar strumming through the cracked speakers. The time on the dash display flickered from 8:15 to 8:16, and Stiles let out a long, drawn-out groan, “Will you just tell me! It’s killing me. Seriously, I’m going to credit you in my epitaph. ‘Here lies Stiles Stilinski: Another Victim of Gaslighting, Gatekeeping, and Girlbossing.’”

“They say you always remember your first,” you sighed dreamily, battering your butterfly lashes. The mole on the hinge of his jaw jumped with a harsh swallow, and you grinned.

Stiles snorted and then immediately grimaced like he was irritated with his mouth for having the audacity to laugh in the midst of his despair. “Good to know I’m just part of a pattern.”

“I don’t know about that,” you hummed, resting your temple against the window. The morning sun warmed your skin and washed your face with a glimmer of gold that glittered with the devilry in your eyes. You smirked at Stiles and poked the mole just below his earlobe, “I have yet to meet anyone as homicidally inspiring as you.”

He pulled a face to hide his smile as the jeep puttered to a stop against the curb, and you looked over his shoulder, blinking slowly. You hadn’t realized you were so close to Lydia’s house until you were parked in front of it.

The colonial estate loomed largely through the window. The long white pillars stood oppressively alongside the double entrance, and the meticulously manicured lawn screamed ‘keep off’ louder than any sign or barbed-wire fence. Lydia’s house had always been more like a monument than a home: an art installation, an antique, something to be admired not loved.

Tilting your head, you squinted at the familiar windows and counted along the second floor until you found Lydia’s room. The heavy purple curtains were drawn closed, and you were a little surprised that Lydia hadn’t redecorated in the last couple years. It was probably different on the inside; sixteen was a little old for dollhouses and princess crowns.

Growing up, Lydia’s room was stocked with every Barbie accessory on the market, and yet you always played Barbies at your house. Every single time. When her dad was home, Lydia’s house had teetered between too quiet and too loud. A constant vague unease hung heavily in the air, even with the volume on her CD player turned all the way up. No boy band could drown out all the screaming and icy silences, but you'd tried. Oh how you'd tried. It happened so often, you’d eventually gotten used to the noise, but you could tell it’d bothered Lydia, no matter how unbothered she’d tried to seem.

In comparison, your house was the Dreamhouse. It was so warm before it became empty. Your mom always had something baking in the oven, and Lydia had never looked more at home than when she was tucked on your window seat, plate of brownies by her side, with your mom’s gentle hands braiding her hair out of her face. You hadn’t ever minded sharing; Lydia needed the attention more than you did. She was so much softer than people gave her credit for, far more fragile than they’d ever know.

In spite of her current taste in boys, Lydia used to be a steadfast romantic. She'd always wanted to reenact the romance novels stacked on her nightstand, a little heartbreak before the inevitable happily ever after. She used to read so voraciously there was a new plot to perform every day. You were also a bookworm, but your tastes had inspired morbid hits such as Black Widow Barbie and Dreamhouse Zombie Outbreak. You'd usually take turns, or Barbie ended up falling in love with zombie Ken until he chomped on her arm.

“Not her brains,” Lydia had always insisted, “Barbie is the brains of the relationship.”

Lydia, you'd argue, Lydia was the brain. The only one that mattered.

Warm skin on your knuckles gently drew you back into the present. Stiles’s brow was pinched with concern, and his hand lingered on yours until you brushed him off with a shake of your head—but, as you’d come to learn the last couple weeks, Stiles Stilinski was nothing if not relentless. He leaned into your side as you walked along the lengthy driveway, sending you stumbling a few paces to the right. You glared at him, but it was watered down with stubborn affection. His mouth curled into a lopsided grin, and you forgot about the nerves wriggling up your esophagus until Stiles rang the doorbell. They came back full force when you heard a pair of high heels clicking towards them.

Lydia’s mom peered out the door. She looked confused as she took in Stiles’s smile, stretched far too wide to look even remotely casual. Then, her gaze landed on you and her face broke out into a bright grin, “Y/N?”

You’d almost forgotten how beautiful she was; beauty ran just as deeply as old money in the Martin family. Lydia was born with her mom’s golden-red hair and hazel eyes, and they had the same dimpled smile. It was always difficult to see anything beyond the brilliance of their perfect teeth and incandescent skin.

“Come here,” Mrs. Martin pulled you into a tight hug and cupped the back of your head with a steady hand. Your arms remained stiff by your sides, voice sticky in your throat. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been hugged like this; the realization hurt more than you thought it would.

After a moment, your shoulders slumped, and you turned your face into Mrs. Martin’s shoulder. She still smelled the same, like patchouli and luxury, “Hi.”

She held you out at arm's-length, hands on your shoulders, and shook her head, “There’s no way that this beautiful young woman is the same little girl who tried to keep a frog colony in my guest bathroom. I can’t be that old.”

“You literally look exactly the same,” you smiled a little and rubbed your bicep.

“It has been far, far too long.” She smoothed out the wrinkles in your sleeves and then stepped back into the doorframe, “What can I do for you?”

“I…” your mouth went dry, and you looked everywhere except Mrs. Martin’s face. Your eyes flashed between the silver door knockers, the winding ivy, the sculpted shrubs. Everything was exactly the same. Nothing, not even the house, had noticed your absence.

“We came to check on Lydia,” Stiles nudged your shoulder, and you blinked a few times. Mrs. Martin was watching you with big emphatic eyes—and you hated it.

You swallowed and nodded, “Yeah…we brought her homework.”

“Come in.” She paused and pinched the bridge of her nose with freshly manicured nails, “She took a little something to relax herself, so please excuse…well, just be prepared.” Mrs. Martin sighed, and for the first time it looked like the last four years had actually aged her. She attempted a smile, but it was shriveled at the corners, “You remember the way, don’t you?”

A nod rolled up your neck to your head. You couldn’t find the words to tell Mrs. Martin that you weren’t the same girl anymore. You almost felt like her in this house: small, wild, still full of dreams. You crept up the curved staircase slowly, delaying the inevitable, and ran your fingers along the iron railing. You broke your arm falling off of it nine years ago. It was a nasty fracture that put you in a cast all summer, but it’d seemed worth it at the time. At least, you’d thought so. Your mom and Mrs. Martin hadn’t agreed with your assessment at the hospital.

You felt a twinging urge to run to the top of the stairs and slide down the railing until you became dizzy—and just like that, you were seven years old again, and you weren't scared of death or ending up alone.

“You coming?” Stiles called from the top of the stairs.

You nodded stiffly and pushed past him to the last door on the left. You held your hand on the doorknob and pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, scowling at the anxiety crawling under your skin. You were being ridiculous. It wasn’t like you were the one who ended up in an ambulance last night.

You rapped your knuckles against the door a few times, even though it was already cracked open wide enough to catch a glimpse of the raspberry walls and flower chandelier. “Lyds–ia. Lydia,” you cleared your throat and peeked into Lydia’s room, “it’s me. I mean, it’s Y/N.” Stiles nudged you in the ribs, and you sighed, “And Stiles.”

Lydia was face-down on her four-poster bed, slowly combing her fingers through her unbrushed hair. She smacked her lips together a few times, and then her head popped up from her mountain of throw pillows, “You still haven’t explained what the hell a Stiles is.”

You snorted and shot Stiles a pointed look. He pursed his lips and glanced around the room until he spotted a little bottle of pills on top of her vanity. He read the lengthy label and let out a low whistle, “Bet you can’t say, ‘I saw Sally sell seashells by the seashore.’”

Lydia swung her legs over the foot of her bed and leaned forward, eyes sparking with bullheaded determination. “I saw….I saw…” The light in her eyes faded as she drifted off to a place no one else could see.

You sat down next to her and grabbed her hand. You didn’t have to tell your body to move; it knew before you did. Finding Lydia when she was lost, it was like…swimming to the surface, shivering in a storm, bracing for a fall. It was an instinct so deeply rooted in your soul you couldn’t rip it out without rupturing an artery. You watched Lydia’s eyes focus on your face, felt her fingers lace with yours, and all you knew was the slow thump of Lydia’s pulse against your thumb.

Lydia squeezed your hand and swiveled to face you. Her eyes were still cloudy, but something warm dawned behind the fog. You felt the pit in your stomach roll. Lydia sighed happily, “There you are. I was looking for you.”

“Well,” you almost choked on the lump in your throat and struggled to support Lydia’s weight as she went boneless against your side, “here I am.” You searched for some assistance with Lydia’s rapidly sinking frame, but Stiles was busy poking around every nook and cranny in the room. “Stiles,” you snapped.

He wrenched his hand away from Lydia’s bottle of Dior perfume, purple just like the rest of the room, and clasped it behind his back. “What?”

You gestured violently towards Lydia's wilting spine and rolled your eyes when he tripped over a discarded boot in his, frankly pathetic, haste to get to Lydia’s other side. You gently maneuvered her until she was propped up against her pillows.

“Don’t go away again, okay?” Lydia licked her lips and looked like she was about to cry—so much like a scared little girl, your heart clenched. “I keep losing you.”

“I,” you stared at her with wide eyes, and the bottle of pills enveloped your peripheral vision, “I just wanted to see if you were alright…after last night.”

“Last night,” Lydia slurred, nuzzling back against her pillows.

“Yeah, last night,” Stiles folded his arms over his chest and arched his brow, “remember anything about it?”

“I remember…” Lydia looked like she was going to cry again, eyes glassy and round, but the chemical high quickly swept over the tide, “I remember a mountain lion.”

Stiles’s head tipped back between his shoulder blades, and his cheeks slowly puffed into pink little domes as he held his breath. Apparently, there was one thing more powerful than Stiles Stilinski’s obsession with Lydia Martin: his impatience. Stiles’s lips puckered as a loud sigh whooshed through his teeth. He crouched down to Lydia’s eye-level, “You remember seeing a mountain lion, or you remember them telling you it was a mountain lion?”

Lydia hummed and nodded until her hair fell in front of her face, “Mountain lion.”

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles reached for a stuffed giraffe next to her shoulder and shook it in her face, “what’s this?”

“Mountain lion,” Lydia’s head bobbed sharply.

You snatched the stuffed animal out of Stiles’s hand, scowling as you bludgeoned his arm with the giraffe’s head. “Leave her alone. She’s doped out of her mind.”

“Clearly,” Stiles snorted, watching Lydia curl a strand of her hair around her finger, completely entranced by the frizzy strands.

“What did you want her to say?” You smoothed a few stray hairs sticking up from the crown of Lydia’s head back into place and met Stiles’s gaze, face impassive, “Werewolf?”

He opened his mouth and gaped like a particularly brainless fish. Before he could come up with a coherent answer—or any kind of answer, actually—Lydia’s text-tone chimed. Stiles dove across the bed for her phone, but you smacked his hand with the giraffe before he could touch it. “You are so not reading her texts, lonely boy.”

“I was just trying to help.” Stiles flopped onto her vanity chair and crossed his arms, squirming sullenly, “She can barely string two words together, let alone an actual thought.”

“I’m sure whatever it is can wait until she’s good and hungover tomorrow.” You glanced down at Lydia’s phone and paused. It was a video file. From an unknown number.

“Hey,” Lydia poked her head up and pointed at Stiles until the weight of her arm became too much to bear. It fell on top of her stomach like a limp noodle, “You.”

“Me,” Stiles squeaked.

You muted the video and made sure Stiles was sufficiently distracted by the curl of Lydia’s finger before you pressed play. Nothing happened at first. The video was shot in a strange, almost voyeuristic style, and the lighting was terrible, so dim you could barely tell that the camera was facing a large window. You squinted and made out the video store’s sign flickering above the door. So, this was from last night. Weird—but at least it wasn’t revenge porn; that had been your first guess.

You’d almost given up on finishing the video, and then the camera angle moved. Two red eyes flashed in the darkness, a large…something smashed through the glass, and you bit down on your thumbnail so hard blood welled through the sidewalls.

It was a goof, obviously. Some kind of poorly edited creepypasta. A cruel prank someone sent Lydia after they heard what happened last night. Had to be. Your hands shook as you sent yourself the video, and then you deleted it from Lydia’s phone. Your number, you realized once you stopped seeing red, was still saved as ☀️✨Babe!!!!✨☀️ in Lydia’s contacts. It took you longer than it should have to delete the sent message.

“If you’re done fighting your erection, we should get going.” Your voice sounded remarkably even, considering how scattered your mind was. It was certainly more composed than the babble spewing from Stiles’s mouth.

“I do not have—it’s not like—I wasn’t—she thought I was someone else.”

“Ah,” your phone felt heavy in your pocket, “real boner killer.”

Stiles sighed through his nose, “New rule, you can't make fun of anything I do or say when Lydia's in my fuckin' lap. Starting now."

He must’ve known something was wrong when you didn’t argue. That, and the way you practically sprinted out of the house to avoid seeing anyone else. Your hands were still shaking when you crawled into the jeep, and Stiles shot about a dozen little furious, concerned glances in your direction, but you couldn’t seem to move your tongue.

Your bottom lip quivered. Your chest tightened until your ribs corseted your lungs. The screech of your ground teeth sent an unpleasant chill down your spine, but you’d rather choke on a chipped tooth than let the beast howling in your throat escape—the last thing you needed was to cry in the passenger seat next to Stiles Stilinski.

You were clearly losing your mind; everyone said it was only a matter of time—watching a loved one burn to death tended to have that effect on a person. Not that you remembered much, but you were clearly off your rocker if you were having vivid, day-time hallucinations of red-eyed monsters roaming the streets of Beacon Hills.

You wiped your sweat-damp palms on your dress and bounced your leg up and down, driving your heel into the floor over and over again—and then you felt a solid warmth over your knee. Your eyes were a little wild when you followed the trail of Stiles’s arm to his face, and the divot between his brows deepened when he met your gaze, “Hey, she’s going to be okay. You know that, right?”

Your head jerked with a quick nod, and you sucked in a few shallow breaths, “I know.” The air got stuck in your chest, and your heart flapped erratically as the back of your eyelids played reruns of a familiar film starring your narrowing trachea. You dug your toes into the dusty floor mat, scrambling for any kind of grasp on reality, and choked on your words, “Her mom always…had…the good shit.”

Stiles kept his hand on your knee and then shook his head, pulling over against the curb and putting the jeep in park. “You don’t have to talk, but you gotta breathe.”

It took you a moment to realize that he was squeezing your kneecap in even intervals. You inhaled and exhaled with the flex of his joints until the panic receded enough for embarrassment to heat your cheeks. You slammed your head back against the seat and stared at the steel roof. You hoped that if you ignored the tears bubbling along your lash line, they’d instantaneously evaporate before they could spill onto your cheeks, “Fuck. I’m sorry. I don’t usually…this hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Stiles chewed on his cheek and pulled his hand back into his lap. He drummed his fingers against his kneecap and then spoke softly, “I used to get ‘em too. Sucked.” Stiles stared out the dashboard, watching but not really seeing dead leaves swirl in little circles over the asphalt, “Happened a lot after my mom died.”

You froze for a moment, and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring. You realized, belatedly, that you hadn’t ever heard the Sheriff talk about his wife, not even once in the last four years, even though he wore a gold band on his left ring finger. It hadn’t even occurred to you to ask.

You never had the right words to explain it. For a long time, you spoke in ripples at therapy, incomprehensible circles that skirted the point in an endless loop—but you realized, as you got stuck on the honey in Stiles’s eyes, you didn’t need the right words here. With him. In fact, you didn’t really need any words at all. “Me too.”

Stiles watched your eyes steadily, and his fingers stilled against his legs, “Yeah?”

You nodded and swallowed a little, “Yeah.”

A smile tugged on his mouth, tangled with too many paradoxes to parse in the soft, short moment humming between you. You smiled back at him, far more timidly, but that wasn’t a surprise. He was brave, you decided, much braver than you. It was contagious.

Your tongue darted out, licking your chapped lips, and you clung to the fragile current of courage lapping against the back of your teeth. “We just stopped talking.”

Stiles glanced at you, clearly confused.

“Lydia and I.” You knotted your fingers in the hem of your dress and tugged on it every time you felt the stopper in your throat start to swell, “We just stopped being friends after my mom died. That’s why I didn’t…I mean, there’s not really a story to tell. We were close, and then I woke up one day, and we weren’t anymore.”

Stiles turned until he was facing you, leaning against the door and struggling to find a comfortable angle for his long legs. “Most people…they’re okay with the funeral part ‘cause it’s pretty simple—y’know: hold hands, bring food, pretend no one’s crying. And then after comes, and they can’t figure out what to do because it’s over, but it’s not.”

“Limbo,” you mirrored his position and pulled your knees to your chest. You rocked the soles of your boots from heel to toe, like small patent leather boats adrift on a sea of faded nylon, “It’s limbo, and everyone else is so incredibly, hideously alive.”

The relief was back in Stiles’s eyes, and you were swimming in it. He nodded and bent his knees, scooching his feet until the toes of his sneakers were pressed against yours. “Yeah," he exhaled, and the moment felt important, like something you were supposed to remember on your deathbed. You tried to memorize the look on Stiles's face, but you didn't know where to start. How could you etch infinity?

“It wasn’t just her,” you admitted out loud for the first time.

“Yeah,” Stiles shrugged a little and gave you a grin that brought the dimples back to his cheeks, and you couldn’t help but smile at their reappearance, “but we can pretend it was, just for today.”

You let out a breath that felt like a laugh and lifted your toes, dropping them on top of his and pressing down until they were pinned beneath the tread of your boots. Stiles narrowed his eyes and wriggled his feet free, fighting your scurrying ankles with his tongue trapped between his teeth. His triumphant cry when he finally caught the tip of your laces was just enthusiastic enough to coerce another laugh through your clamped lips.

The soft smile Stiles gave you while you laughed made his body go lax and the back of your neck warm. You quickly bent over to retie your laces, and he turned to restart the engine.

“I should probably get us back to school,” Stiles ran his hand over his head. “My dad'll kill me if I get marked truant again.”

“It’s parent teacher conferences tonight,” you recalled as the words left your mouth. You slunk down in your seat, chin catching on the seatbelt, “I’ve never skipped school before. I have no idea what my dad’s gonna say.”

Stiles’s attention shifted from the road to your profile, “Really?”

“What?” you crossed your arms over your chest and blew your hair out of your eyes.

“Nothing,” Stiles tried to hide his smirk, but it was too sharp to cover with a cough, “it’s just…hasn’t everyone skipped at least once?”

“What would I even do?” The corner of your mouth tugged into a dry smile, “Visit my catatonic ex-best friend?”

Stiles nodded agreeably, and then his head danced from side to side, rolling over other options, “Or bowling. Bowling is fun.”

You grumbled a little in your throat and sunk further into the cradle of your hips, “I hate bowling.”

Stiles grinned, “Yeah, me too.”

Pausing, your bottom lip wormed its way between your teeth, “I’d play D&D with you, though.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you watched the sun disappear behind the tree line over the hill and ignored the feeling of being examined like a bacterial petri dish.

“See, we are friends. The best of friends, actually. Two peas in the proverbial pod.”

And, well, you couldn’t really disagree.

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strugglingwriterwattpad · 2 years ago

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wolfsbane chapter one - wolf moon

Chapter One – Wolf Moon

Scott's life takes an unexpected turn when a mysterious creature attacks him while on a mission to find a missing body. Instead of succumbing to the bite, he discovers that he has acquired extraordinary abilities that set him apart from others. As if that wasn't enough, he also finds himself working alongside a peculiar new colleague who seems to have a strange connection to a resident who has recently returned to town. And to add to the whirlwind of events, Scott finds himself falling for someone new, only to discover that this person harbours a deep family secret that could change everything. Scott's world is now filled with intrigue, danger, and a web of interconnected mysteries that he must navigate to uncover the truth.

Word count – 16,609

Wednesday, September 6th, full moon

The police force was at a loss for how to respond to the unexpected call that had come in. The night air was cold and still, and it would have been a peaceful evening if not for the persistent sniffing and barking of the dogs. The officers stood there, uncertain of what awaited them, their minds racing with possibilities and their hearts pounding with anticipation. It was a moment of suspense, as they prepared themselves for whatever lay ahead, ready to face the unknown with courage and determination. It had been a while since anything like this had occurred in Beacon Hills, and the residents were understandably anxious. The local law enforcement officers were hoping that they were the only ones lurking in the dense undergrowth of the preserve, but it seemed that an unknown entity was observing them. Beneath the ethereal mist, his sapphire eyes gleamed with an otherworldly brilliance, captivating all who beheld them. His nose, ever so delicately poised, yearned for a mere whiff of the elusive scent they were relentlessly pursuing.

The enigmatic figure was enveloped in the overpowering aroma of sage. The pungent scent of charred sage filled the air, causing his nostrils to tingle with irritation. With each heavy step he took, the sound of crunching leaves echoed through the stillness of the surroundings. Yearning for a stroke of luck, he longed for a moment where everything would fall into place. However, his hopes were shattered when he stumbled upon his sister's lifeless form that fateful night. The haunting image of her pale, lifeless body etched itself into his memory, tormenting him with its crimson gaze. As if that wasn't enough, an agonizing pain gripped his body, as his bones twisted and contorted, while his once smooth hair transformed into a course, unruly mane.

Clad in nothing but a pair of gym shorts, Scott McCall busied himself with re-threading the laces on his lacrosse stick. The anticipation of the big day ahead had him feeling restless, and despite his best efforts, he couldn't seem to calm his nerves enough to get some shut-eye After deciding that the net on his stick was satisfactory, he carelessly threw it onto his unkempt bed. To distract himself, he began using his push-up bar, pushing himself to his limits until he was interrupted by a sudden noise. In a hurry, he quickly threw on a burgundy hoodie and dashed down the stairs, tightly gripping his untouched baseball bat. As he reached the front porch, the darkness enveloped him, making it nearly impossible to see anything beyond the door. The absence of light heightened his senses, adding an air of mystery and anticipation to his surroundings. As he heard a strange noise, Scott cautiously stepped out of the door frame to investigate. To his surprise, he saw a figure hanging from the roof. His heart racing, he let out a yelp of terror, almost hitting the person in the face. However, as he took a closer look, he realized that it was someone he knew. Stiles Stilinski, his dim-witted companion, let out a piercing yelp that echoed through the air. Stiles Stilinski, his dim-witted companion, let out a piercing yelp that echoed through the air.

“Stiles, what the hell are you doing?!” With a low growl, he rolled his chocolate-brown eyes in frustration before extending a hand to help his companion up from the ground. Stiles was known for having moles all over his face like stars in the sky, and his hair was usually shaved to his scalp or overgrown and messy there was never an in-between. His eyes were similar to his best friend’s, but the honey rings were a big difference. “You weren't answering your phone! ...Why do you have a bat?” Stiles seemed more hyperactive than usual, making Scott realise he would be in for it that night. “I thought you were a predator!” With a loud clank, he set the bat down and observed as Stiles brushed the leaves off his body. “Look, I know it's late, but you gotta hear this. I saw my dad leave twenty minutes ago. Dispatch called. they're bringing in every officer from the Beacon Department, and even state police.” A sly smirk spread across Stiles' face as his friend glanced up at him, clearly taken aback. “Two joggers found a body in the woods.” It was as if his eyes were defying the laws of physics, growing even larger than before. “What, a dead body?” His speech faltered, stumbling over words as he struggled to communicate. “No, a body of water. Yes, dumbass, a dead body!” With a burst of energy, Stiles hopped back and forth, unable to contain his excitement. “You mean, like, murdered?” the buzz-cut teen shook his head “Nobody knows yet. Just that it was a girl, probably in her twenties.”

“Hold on, if they found the body, then what are they looking for?” There was a brief pause in Stiles' actions.

“That's the best part. they only found half.” A mischievous grin spread across Stiles' face as he tightly grasped Scott's shoulders, letting out a hearty chuckle. “We're going.”

(Y/N) navigated the twisting roads that led her to the weathered sign, which greeted her arrival in Beacon Hills. As she drove, her car shook, and she cranked up the volume of her music to drown out the eerie silence of the surrounding woods. In the absence of silence, she was well aware that her mind would be tormented by the constant buzzing and jolts. The tranquillity of nature's silence was not a viable choice. As she extended her hand to soothe the creature, her black cat emitted a gentle meow. As they ventured further into the preserve, the terrain became increasingly rough. The once smooth roads transformed into a combination of mud and gravel, making the journey much more challenging. Just as she was about to make the turn, the young woman abruptly brought her vehicle to a halt. The blinding lights emanating from the police cars compelled her to stop in an instant. Taking a deep breath, she switched off the engine, instantly catching the attention of the officers. With a timid gesture, she raised her hand in a shy wave as a police officer approached her with cautious steps. “Sorry mam, the roads are closed for emergency purposes.” The sound of his worn-out voice filled the air as he illuminated the surroundings with his torch, hoping to get a closer look at the girl who had an unusually gothic appearance.

The mysterious woman would stand out from the crowd, exuding an air of uniqueness that set her apart from other girls her age. Judging by her appearance, it seemed she was in her early twenties. Clad entirely in black, she adorned herself with intriguing accessories crafted from bones and stones. he hoped they were fake. Dark shadows and thick eyeliner adorned her face, catching the attention of the officer. While he was accustomed to seeing teenagers with alternative styles like goth, grunge, and hippy, this grown woman was different to the grunge moody teens. “Sorry to disturb you, officer. I’m new in town and I think my new house is just down the road.” With a stutter, she gestured towards the opposite side of the obstructed zone. The officer's eyebrow raised in curiosity, and then he directed her attention to the trembling hands clutching the information booklet. (Y/N)'s gaze met the worn-out image of the cottage, a sight she knew all too well, while the officer observed her. With a fit and slender physique, the middle-aged man had short, light brown hair, a lightly tanned complexion, and captivating hazel eyes. (Y/N)'s attention was drawn to the slightly grimy sheriff badge, causing her to gulp nervously.

“Ah, the old cottage. Been a very popular hangout for the kids.” With a chuckle, he returned the pages to the girl, observing her anxious behaviour. He couldn't help but notice the state of her hands, which trembled with every gesture he made. Upon closer inspection, he saw that her nails and skin were gnawed to the point where blood had crusted around the wounds. “I’ll have to escort you down there miss. Unfortunately, there’s been a body found and we are doing searches in the woods surrounding your new home.” With a subtle nod, she expressed her gratitude to him before redirecting her attention towards her vehicle.

The traditional exterior of the cottage chosen by the elderly couple that previously owned it, it became evident as (Y/N) inspected the premises. As she did so, the sheriff followed closely behind, illuminating the surrounding field with his flashlight and circling the delightful structure. The meadow appeared undisturbed, as if time had forgotten it. The grass grew tall, yet it concealed the vibrant blossoms yearning to burst forth. Once the sun graced the sky, a kaleidoscope of colours would paint the landscape in breathtaking beauty. “I think the county had the place cleared out for you he was used as a drug den for a while so please be careful.” While he shared the information, she responded by nodding and carefully placing her suitcase on the porch, causing a slight creaking noise. “I had a company come in a put my stuff in the house for me. I just hope my bed is intact because I’m pooped.” With a playful remark, she managed to bring a smile to his face. “Here pass me your phone.” Fidgeting with her cardigan button, she handed him her unlocked device. As he glanced down, he realized it was an outdated flip phone with a keypad. The only other time he had encountered such a phone was when they were confiscated as evidence in burner phone cases. “If you need anything miss…?”

“(Y/N) Williams sir.” In a seamless motion, he typed his number on the device before promptly passing it back to her. “(Y/N) If you need anything or see anything please don’t hesitate to call. You’re a bit of a way out, don’t want you on your own out here.” She quickly thanked him, registering he had put his name in her phone Sheriff Noah Stilinski. “Thank you, Noah, I hope you have a good night.”

As the teal blue Jeep driven by the two teenagers entered the preserve, the sign warning against entering after dark was instantly illuminated by the powerful headlights of the vehicle. “We're seriously doing this?” With a torch gripped tightly in his hand, Stiles stepped out into the night. The sound of the dying leaves echoed beneath his shoes, creating a haunting melody. Scott trailed behind, struggling to keep pace with Stiles as they ventured deeper into the mysterious woods. In his hand, he clutched his trusty white inhaler, a symbol of his determination to face whatever awaited them. “You're the one always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town.” The teenagers pressed on, their curiosity leading them deeper into the woods, where the distant sounds of dogs added an element of suspense to their adventure. “I was trying to get a good night's sleep before practice tomorrow.” Stiles' mocking laughter echoed through the trees. “Right, 'cause sitting on the bench is such a gruelling effort.”

“No, because I'm playing this year. I'm making the first line.” With a chuckle, Stiles redirected his attention to his innocent companion. “Hey, that's the spirit! Everyone should have a dream, even a pathetically unrealistic one.” The boys strolled along, enveloped in silence, while the symphony of nature played in the background. The atmosphere grew denser, causing Scott to pause and rely on his inhaler for more breaths, slowing their pace. “Just out of curiosity, which half of the body are we looking for?” Breaking his gaze from the muddy ground, Stiles shrugged indifferently. “Huh! I didn't even think about that.”

“And, uh... what if whoever killed the body is still out here?” The duo paused once more in their journey. “Also, something I didn't think about.” The sound of Scott's exasperated sigh indicated his weariness with the common hurdle also known as Stiles. “It's comforting to know you've planned this out with your usual attention to detail.” Stiles turned with his signature mischievous smirk. “I know.” Scott propped himself against a tree, reaching for his inhaler from his pocket. Stiles urged him on, and Scott followed him up the steep incline. The ground beneath them grew muddier with each step, caking their once-pristine shoes. Taking cover behind a massive, decaying tree limb, the pair quickly grasped the dire situation they found themselves in - right in the path of the relentless search party. The sound of the baying hounds grew louder, urging them to swiftly devise their next course of action. With a shared understanding, they discreetly extinguished their torch, determined not to draw any unnecessary attention to their presence. “Wait!” Scott's voice barely escaped his lips as he whispered. Little did he know, Stiles' impatience would soon triumph. Succumbing to the urge, he whispered back to Stiles and leapt out towards the group. “Stiles! Wait up!”

The sudden sound of a dog's jaw snapping shut took Stiles by surprise, sending him tumbling to the ground. “Hold it right there!” The noise of the barking grew increasingly louder, causing Stiles to squint as the bright torchlight momentarily blinded him. Meanwhile, Scott quickly sought refuge behind a nearby tree, his breath creating a mist in the chilly air as he covered his mouth. “Hang on hang on!” As the angry voice of Stiles' father echoed in the background, Scott let out a deep breath into his inhaler. “This little delinquent belongs to me.” With a frustrated sigh, the officer pressed on, determined to scour every inch of the dense forest. “Dad. What are you doing?” With a sigh, Noah lifted his child from the grimy earth, his hoodie now adorned with a layer of filth, twigs, and foliage. “So, do you, uh, listen in to all of my phone calls?” The young boy couldn't help but laugh, his hand nervously finding its way to the back of his head, scratching away his unease. “No er… not the boring ones.”

“where’s your usual partner in crime?” Stiles attempted to appear as bewildered as he could, shrugging his shoulders once more. Nevertheless, his father remained unconvinced and refused to believe any of it. “Who, Scott? Scott's home. He said he wanted to get a good night's sleep for the first day back at school tomorrow. It's just me... In the woods... Alone...” Raising his torch, he cast its light across the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of Scott, who remained hidden behind the unchanging tree. “Scott, you out there? Scott?” After a brief moment, Scott remained completely still, not making a single movement. The exhausted sheriff hesitantly concluded that Scott was not accompanying Stiles. Letting out a sigh, he firmly grasped the back of Stiles' neck and guided him towards the entrance of the dense preserve. “Well, young man, I'm gonna walk you back to your car... And then you and I are gonna have a conversation about something called "invasion of privacy." He growled, Stiles sweating profusely.

Scott exhaled deeply; his lungs relieved after being held captive for so long. The barking of the dogs ceased and the light from the officers' torches faded into the mist. The young boy sprinted down the hill, feeling a strange vibration under his feet. The eerie silence of the forest overwhelmed him, sending shivers down his spine. The darkness was suffocating, and the thought of a potential killer lurking nearby made him uneasy. He reached for his inhaler, hoping it would calm his nerves, but before he could take a puff, a group of deer came charging towards him in a frenzy. With every step, the terrifying creatures trampled over him, forcing his body to the chaotic ground. The rustling of the dead leaves beneath him grew louder and more violent, causing his inhaler to be flung several meters away into the abyss of darkness.

After the deer had finally dispersed, Scott, still in a state of disbelief, managed to stand up. His immediate priority was to use the flashlight on his phone to search for his lost breath on the forest floor. Unfortunately, his efforts yielded no results. As Scott cautiously scanned the ground, he startled himself when he caught sight of the upper half of the body that Stiles had warned him about. The upper portion stood severed, a gruesome sight. Flies had already taken residence, hastening the decay of the lifeless form. Her once vibrant eyes, now dull and lifeless, mirrored the presence of death. The chilling sight of blood stained her motionless, unclothed figure.” AHHHHH!” The sight of a young woman, her face as white as a ghost and her hair tangled with mud, left him completely speechless. He hadn't anticipated the intensity of this situation, and it took him by surprise. In a daze, Scott stumbled backwards, falling further into the preserve, desperate to distance himself from the horrifying crime scene he had just witnessed.

Scott rose unsteadily, letting out a pained groan as he leveraged himself up with the aid of a fallen tree trunk. His skin was likely riddled with scratches from the surrounding twigs, and his clothes were undoubtedly ruined. A noxious blend of dirt, mud, and animal waste clung to him, creating a foul layer of stench. He hurried through the woods, desperate to escape the area as quickly as possible. The noise of something unfamiliar was not concealed by his trousers. Suddenly, a menacing growl echoed from behind, causing him to halt in terror. He gradually pivoted, only to be confronted by a monstrous creature. It was some sort of wild animal, but he didn't have the luxury of pondering its identity before sprinting away. With a sudden burst of energy, the monstrous creature pounced on him, causing him to stumble and fall to the ground once more. Despite his attempts to crawl away, the beast had different plans in mind. It seized his battered ankles and dragged him back like a lifeless puppet. The piercing red eyes bore into him before sinking its teeth into his side, causing the young man's screams to echo through the forest.

Frantically, Scott raced through the dense forest, stumbling and falling as he desperately attempted to escape from the unknown assailant. Eventually, he managed to reach the closest road, relieved to find that the creature had not pursued him any further. Just as he thought he was safe, a car came speeding towards him, honking loudly. Miraculously, the driver skilfully manoeuvred away from Scott, narrowly avoiding a collision. Scott breathed a sigh of relief as he found a safe spot to rest. He gingerly lifted the tattered fabric of his hoodie to inspect the deep bite wound on his hip. The rain was relentless, mixing with his blood and creating a gruesome scene. Just then, a haunting howl echoed through the woods, sending shivers down Scott's spine. It seemed like tonight was not going to be his night after all.

The eerie cry of the creature echoed through the forest and across the meadow, causing the new girl to pause her gentle strokes on her cat. With a sense of unease, she fixed her gaze upon the dense woods that enveloped her unfamiliar abode. With a quick stride, she approached the meadow, her ears perked up for any sign of a howl. Alas, there was none. She let out a sigh and made her way back to her abode, securing the door behind her. Retrieving her notepad, she jotted down a new seed to add to her collection for the upcoming meadow. (Y/N) took a moment to admire the vibrant purple flower, knowing it was an added layer of protection. She was willing to go the extra mile if it meant staying safe. As she stood in the kitchen, she cautiously opened the window, calling out to her beloved feline friend, hoping to avoid attracting the attention of the creature that had been howling nearby.

As the enigmatic man with piercing blue eyes made his way towards the well-known meadow, memories of his past flooded his mind. The grass, still covered in morning dew, had flourished over time, and the cottage remained steadfast in its place. However, an unexpected sight greeted him this time - the lights of the deserted house were mysteriously switched on. Curiosity piqued, he inhaled deeply, recognizing the familiar scent of sage in the air. Yet, there was an unfamiliar undertone, a new herb perhaps, that he couldn't quite place. Nevertheless, the essence of sage remained potent, drawing him closer to the enigma that awaited him. His attention was caught by a soft feminine voice, causing him to focus his gaze. He then proceeded to crouch down amidst the lush greenery, observing as the kitchen window slowly opened. “Bones! Here boy!” A shrill voice echoed through the air, catching his attention. Judging by its pitch, he guessed it could be a woman calling out to her pet. As he observed, a sleek black cat gracefully hopped onto the windowsill and disappeared inside the building. Despite his curiosity, the man decided it might be better not to pry too much into the new owner's identity.

Thursday, September 7th

As Scott pedalled his bike through the school car park, he couldn't help but notice the swarm of teenagers scattered across the paths and roads, clearly reluctant to enter the building. Skilfully, he dismounted just as he reached the bike rack, effortlessly sliding his front wheel into place and securing it. With a quick adjustment of his backpack, he hung his helmet on the handle and tightly fastened a lacrosse stick to the back, ready for the day ahead. As the silver Porsche glided into the parking spot beside him, Scott's detached expression quickly soured. Jackson, his captain, emerged from the car with a self-satisfied smirk, carelessly slamming the door into Scott's back and shooting him a venomous glare. “Dude! Watch the paint job.” A grumble escaped his lips as he made his way into the school, his frustration evident in his determined stride.

Jackson possessed undeniable good looks, characterized by his medium height, sharp-cut dark blond hair, and piercing blue eyes. His choice of attire always highlighted the finest money could buy, effortlessly conveying his arrogant and sarcastic nature without the need for words. Scott, feeling insulted, refrained from retaliating as he observed Jackson. Meanwhile, Scott spotted Stiles at the school steps and approached him eagerly, ready to share an intriguing tale. The boy with the buzz-cut hairstyle pulled his friend closer, pleading to see the alleged bite mark he had mentioned. “Okay, let's see this thing.” With a chuckle, he uttered, "Check this out!" Scott raised his shirt, revealing the bandaged bite wound to Stiles. The gauze and tape barely contained the seeping blood, most likely a result of his speedy bike ride. “Ooh!” Stiles' hands darted forward, eager to explore and prod, catching Scott off guard before he could even adjust his shirt. “It was too dark to see much, but I'm pretty sure it was a wolf,” Scott's words hung in the air as Stiles let out a dismissive snort. He swiftly retrieved his bag and made his way towards the exit, paying no mind to Scott's comment. “A wolf bit you? No, not a chance.” Scott rolled his brown eyes. “I heard a wolf howling.”

“No, you didn't.”

“What do you mean, "No, I didn't?" How do you know what I heard?”

“Because California doesn't have wolves, okay? Not in, like, sixty years.” Scott finally stopped arguing as Stiles made a valid point. But what did he see? “Really?” he mumbled. “Yes. There are no wolves in California.” As he scratched the back of his neck, he couldn't figure out what had bitten him. Could it have been a mountain lion? He pushed the thought aside, eager to share the more exciting parts of his story with his friend. “All right. Well, if you don't believe me about the wolf, then you're not gonna believe me when I tell you I found the body.”

Filled with exhilaration, Stiles leapt up as if his energy were fully charged, vigorously shaking Scott's shoulders. “You… are you kidding me?” With a hushed tone, he scanned the area to keep an eye on everyone nearby. “No, man, I wish. I'm gonna have nightmares for a month.”

“Oh, God, that is freaking awesome. I mean, this is seriously gonna be the best thing that's happened to this town since-” Before he could finish his sentence, something seemed to catch his eyes. “--Since the birth of Lydia Martin. Hey, Lydia! You look—” The girl persisted, step by step, as she made her way towards the school, “--Like you're gonna ignore me.” Stiles perceived Lydia as an incredibly attractive young woman with a petite figure, a fair complexion, enchanting green eyes, and beautiful strawberry-blonde hair. He greatly admired her flawless skin and vibrant hair, which reminded him of the sun. Additionally, she possessed a fashion sense akin to Jackson and embodied the essence of a popular and influential figure. “You're the cause of this, you know.” Confusion washed over Scott's face as he and Stiles joined the rest of the students, entering the school together. “Dragging' me down to your nerd depths. I'm a nerd by association. I've been Scarlet-nerded by you.”

With a deep exhale, (Y/N) jolted upright in bed. She wearily rubbed her eyes, attempting to dispel the foggy feeling in her head. It was yet another night of tossing and turning for the exhausted young woman. She had grown accustomed to it but knew that she couldn't keep going like this forever. merging from the chilly embrace of her bed, (Y/N) made her way downstairs, glancing at her watch to check the time. The arrival of the delivery van, carrying her new furniture, was imminent. However, the daunting task of purchasing all the essentials weighed heavily on her mind. She had grown accustomed to relying on her group for everything, from furniture to pencils. Now, she found herself navigating this unfamiliar territory alone.

As the sound of a horn echoed through the air, she stepped outside, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply, feeling a sense of relaxation wash over her. With a wave, she beckoned the workmen to approach, watching as they stepped out of the van. “Morning boys.” As they kicked off the project, a beam of delight adorned her face. “I would offer you some coffee, but I haven’t got anything, sorry.” A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she pondered why socializing seemed like such a daunting task. The men seemed to pay no attention to her remark, instead focusing on the task of moving her belongings into the house. She couldn't help but notice their lingering gazes, taking in her exposed legs and arms adorned with dark tattoos. The weight of their judgment was palpable, making her feel self-conscious in their presence.

“Jesus this chick must have issues.” As she listened, one of them muttered from within her house. (Y/N) observed him examining the pictures she had already hung on the wall. It didn't seem like a big deal to her - just some sketches of toxic plants and a few photos from her previous residence. However, considering her old home was situated in the heart of a graveyard, she began to reconsider. Perhaps it wasn't as ordinary as she initially believed. That's probably why, she speculated... “What the fuck are in these jars?” Moving onwards, the two men explored the area, their curiosity driving them to pick up and shake the jars of bones with a mixture of repulsion and fascination. “I hope they’re from chicken wings.” With a scornful look directed at her, he chuckled and exited her living room. “Freak.” Hopefully, they’d be gone soon.

Just as she was about to stumble through an explanation, her phone erupted into a lively ringtone. Swiftly flipping open the screen, a warm smile spread across her face as she recognized the name flashing before her. “Good morning, Dr Deaton.” She spoke with excitement. “Good morning (Y/N) I hope you’re settling okay.” Curiosity sparked within him as he inquired. Meanwhile, she found solace on the porch bench, gazing out towards the serene meadow, while the men continued their barrage of insults. Determined to distance herself from their negativity, she redirected her attention to the phone, channelling her energy elsewhere. “Besides the delivery guys, it’s been okay.”

“Well, that’s good. I’ve got a big list of patients to sort out today but if you want to come by after close, I’ll get you settled in and you can meet Scott. He’s the younger boy I was telling you about.

“That sounds perfect Deaton. I’ll see you after close.”

As Scott and Stiles walked into their first-period class, they settled into their seats. The teacher began the lesson immediately, causing the boys to feel restless and uninterested in no time. “As you all know, there indeed was a body found in the woods last night.” With a mischievous smile, Scott spun around to face Stiles and playfully winked at him. “And I am sure your eager little minds are coming up with various macabre scenarios as to what happened. But I am here to tell you that the police have a suspect in custody, which means you can give your undivided attention to the syllabus, which is on your desk outlining this semester.” As if practised the entire class groaned.

Scott and Stiles exchanged a bored glance once more when, out of nowhere, Scott's ears were assaulted by a shrill phone ring. Surprisingly, no one in the room seemed to react to the noise, leaving Scott perplexed and furrowing his brow. Eventually, his attention was drawn to a row of windows on his left by the sound of a woman's voice. Outside, on a public bench, a young girl sat engrossed in her phone conversation. Her voice was melodic, perfectly synchronized with her moving lips as she just picked up the call. “Mom, three calls on my first day is a little overdoing it.” She mumbled rummaging deep into her bag. “Everything except a pen. Oh, my God, I didn't forget a pen. Okay, okay. I gotta go. Love ya.” Scott’s eyes followed the girl as she walked with the vice principal into the school “Sorry to keep you waiting. So, you were saying San Francisco isn't where you grew up?” he said through the walls. Scott’s mind was muss with this discovery.” No, but we lived there for more than a year, which is unusual in my family.” The door to the classroom nudged. “Well, hopefully, Beacon Hills will be your last stop for a while.”

As the wooden door creaked open, Scott's heart skipped a beat. Standing before him were the principal and a young woman who appeared to be a phone call girl. The woman was tall and slender, with a complexion as smooth as porcelain and delicate freckles resembling snowflakes. Her curly dark hair resembled the colour of chocolate, and her eyes were a perfect match. “Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent. Please do your best to make her feel welcome.” As Allison entered the classroom, she noticed Scott sitting in front of her. She brushed a stray hair from her face and sat down behind him. Scott turned around and smiled at her, offering one of his pencils. Allison whispered a quick thank you, her mind racing with questions. How did he know she needed a pencil?

As the stranger made his way through the dense vegetation, his muddy trainers made a distinct crunching sound. He caught a whiff of a particular plant, but his usually sharp sense of smell was hindered by a familiar scent - burnt sage. The aroma grew stronger and stronger as he approached the overgrown meadow. Suddenly, he halted in his tracks, observing a dark cloud forming above the canopy, signalling the presence of a new owner for the abandoned cottage. It was the last thing he wanted. He dreaded the thought of another person invading his world. He silently prayed that his new neighbour wasn't the type to make small talk. The mere idea of someone knocking on his door made him shudder. He observed as the sheriff's car pulled up beside the peach-coloured vehicle that he assumed belonged to his neighbour. He quickly retreated into the woods, relieved that the unpleasant odour was fading away as he walked.

Noah gently tapped on the worn-out door of the cosy cottage. Inhaling deeply, he was greeted by an enchanting aroma that filled the air. As the door swung open, he was not only met by the familiar face of the girl he had encountered the previous night but also that captivating scent. “Something smells amazing.” The sight of his smile was so infectious that it brought a smile to her lips too. “Come on it sheriff. Just in time too.” Upon entering the cottage, Noah surveyed the newly furnished room, noticing a few boxes still left unpacked. His eyes were drawn to the various pictures of plants and animals adorning the walls, causing him to let out a sigh. “you’ve moved to the right place if you like nature.” Y/N was filled with panic as she watched him eye the mushroom and nightshade, just like the delivery men did. She breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't find the jars. “Oh yeah. I studied plants and animal care in school.” the comment seemed to satisfy Noah. “So, what brings you over?” As she opened the oven, she inquired about the muffins and pulled out the baking tray. Noah's eyes widened at the sight of the delicious treats, making his mouth water in anticipation. “Well other than those muffins…” With a gentle laugh, she carefully set them on the windowsill, allowing the cool breeze to refresh them. “I wanted to ask you a few questions about last night.” With a casual nod, she gestured for him to take a seat on the bar stool she had just acquired for her breakfast table. Positioned by the windowsill, the two chairs allowed Noah to enjoy his muffin as it cooled to perfection. “Raspberry and dark chocolate by the way.” She mentioned watching him burn the top of his mouth impatiently.

“Okay, so you said you had just got here last night. So, I’m guessing you don’t know any more from around here?” she nodded her head calmly. “a friend of mine is acquaintances with Dr Alan Deaton, the vet. He gave me a job there. But other than Alan I don’t know anyone else. I haven’t even had the chance to go into town yet.” As she spoke, she observed him jotting down every word she uttered in his tiny notebook. “Did you see or hear anything either on the ride here or when I dropped you off?” With a quick nod of her head, she diverted his attention away from the muffin and onto herself. “About an hour or two after you left, I was sitting on the porch, and I sounded like a howl came from the woods. it might have been one of your search dogs, but I don’t know if it sounded…bigger.” She was cautious not to reveal too much, fearing that her suspicions might be correct. Above all, she wanted to protect Noah from any potential trouble he could get into. “I know there are no wolves in the state but maybe a mountain lion?” With a nod, he closed his notepad and eagerly devoured the remaining crumbs of his muffin.

“Well, since you don’t know anyone yet, I know one of the boys that you’ll be working with at the vet. Scott?” he spoke with a mouth full of sweets. “Deaton mentioned him,” she confirmed. Noah swallowed his muffin writing down an array of numbers on the pad. “This is Scott’s mum’s number. Her name is Melissa, I'll drop her a text to call you. Shell be able to show you around and get to know some people instead of staying up here all day.” With a smile, (Y/N) expressed gratitude towards him for folding the paper into her pocket. She couldn't help but wish to know someone who wasn't a police officer, even just one person.

The lacrosse field, freshly painted, was buzzing with the team's energy as eager students practised, hoping for a spot on the starting lineup. Scott and Stiles wasted no time, sprinting towards the field with their equipment bouncing against their backs. “But if you play, I'll have no one to talk to on the bench. Are you gonna do that to your best friend?” Stiles playfully teased Scott, fully aware that he had not shot at making it onto the first line. “I can't sit out again. My whole life is sitting on the side-lines.” With a forceful thud, Scott hurled his bag onto the glass. “This season, I make the first line.” As he observed Alisson engaged in conversation with Lydia, he inhaled deeply and adjusted his stance. The captivating smile on Alisson's face had a captivating impact on him, but his train of thought was abruptly interrupted by the coach. “McCall! You're on goal.” The coach surprised him by thrusting unfamiliar equipment into his unprepared hands, leaving him bewildered. “I’ve never played...” he mumbled. “I know. Scoring some shots will give the boys a confidence boost. It's a first day-back thing. Get 'em energized! Fired up! It was very clear the coach had no belief in the teenager. “...What about me?” The coach gave a reassuring pat on his shoulder and urged him towards the goalpost, his shoulder pads providing extra protection. “Try not to take any in the face.” He joked.

“Let's go! Come on.” Lydia's attention was drawn to a new boy standing nearby, prompting Allison to inquire about his identity. “Who is that?” With a tilt of her head, her strawberry blonde locks fell in a cascade of confusion around her face. “Him? I'm not sure who he is. Why?” It's puzzling that she hasn't recognized him yet, considering they've been going to school together since the very beginning. “He's in my English class.” Scott's attention wavered, causing him to miss the whistle's blow and sending his focus into disarray. As a result, he stumbled and fell to the ground, leaving his teammates with an open opportunity to score effortlessly. Jackson seized the chance and struck Scott's helmet, intensifying the ringing in his ears. The field erupted with laughter, accompanied by a single "ouch" from Stiles. “Hey, way to catch with your face, McCall!” he smirked.

Filled with determination, Scott rose to his feet and loosened his shoulders, readying himself for the upcoming shot. As he exhaled, his breath transformed into misty puffs, resembling smoke in the cold air. The ball was thrown towards him by the next player, and with lightning-fast reflexes, Scott effortlessly caught it with his stick. The sight left everyone, including Scott himself, in awe. “Yeah!!!” The sound of Stiles' shout echoed through the air, drawing everyone's attention. As the second, third, and fourth balls effortlessly landed in Scott's net, Jackson's nonchalant demeanour quickly transformed. Coach Finstock stood there, mouth agape as if he couldn't fathom what he had just witnessed.” He seems like he's pretty good.” Allison said. “Yeah, very good,” Lydia glanced over at her boyfriend, her words barely audible as she spoke under her breath.

As Jackson stepped forward, Scott's body tightened with anticipation, bracing himself for the impending chaos that lay ahead. “Oh, God...” With lightning speed, Jackson sprinted towards the goal and launched the ball with all his might. However, to Scott's amazement, the ball appeared to be moving in slow motion, giving him ample time to catch it effortlessly. Stiles and Lydia jumped up in excitement, causing Jackson to grit his teeth in frustration. “THAT'S MY FRIEND!” Stiles cheered.

“I-I don't know what it was. It was like I had all the time in the world to catch the ball. And that's not the only weird thing. I-I can hear stuff I shouldn't be able to hear. Smell things.” In their quest to locate the body Scott had spotted the night before, Scott and Stiles leapt over the creek in the nature reserve. Both boys dreaded stumbling upon it, fearing it would further traumatize them. Scott's primary concern, however, was his misplaced inhaler, desperately hoping he wouldn't have to confess to his mom that he had lost it. “Smell things? Like what?” Stiles rolled his eyes, completely unconvinced by anything he had just heard. Scott exhaled deeply, turning to face Stiles with a mischievous grin on his face. “Like the mint mojito gum in your pocket.”

”I don't even have any mint mojito—" The boy with a buzz cut searched through his cluttered pocket, carefully avoiding pens that might leak and crumpled pieces of paper, in order to locate the piece of gum he was looking for.” I told you so." Stiles wolfed down the piece not caring about the age. “So, all this started with the bite?” Scott abruptly halted him, interrupting his movement. The meadow held a sense of familiarity for the boys, as they would often come across the entrance of the abandoned cottage during their pre-teen years. They felt a sense of rebellion as they ventured into the notorious drug den. The gravel driveway was obstructed by two vehicles - Stiles' father's police car and a vintage 1952 Chevrolet with peeling peach paint. In the distance, they spotted Stiles' dad, chuckling while holding a container of what appeared to be muffins, their curiosity piqued by the person who brought joy to the sheriff. The two boys were mesmerized by the arrival of the new girl in town. She was a captivating sight, with her unique tattoos, edgy black attire, and eccentric hairstyle that perfectly matched her dark makeup and voluminous lashes. Scott and Stiles couldn't help but stare as Noah bid farewell to the goth beauty and drove away in his car, leaving them in awe.

As Noah made his way down the lane, two teenagers emerged from the bushes and eagerly flagged down a passing girl with beaming grins on their faces. “Excuse me!” The woman and her cat were taken aback by the unexpected sound made by Stiles. “Can I help you?” She shouted taking a step back as the strangers got closer. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to scare you.” Scott panted. “I’m Stiles I’m the sheriff’s son.” With a sense of relief washing over her, the girl greeted the world with a friendly wave. “I’m (Y/N) if you’re looking for your dad, he just left sorry.” Stiles shook his head finally catching his breath before continuing. “We came to find something. We were in the woods last night and my friend here lost his inhaler.” Scott waved with a faint hello continuing Stiles’ sentence. “Is it okay if we search the meadow, we promise to not touch anything, but I can’t afford another inhaler.” With a pleading tone, he begged for her forgiveness. The girl, however, appeared annoyed as she gazed towards her field, shielding her eyes from the bright sun. To the boys watching, her eyes sparkled like two precious gems. “Yeah, go for it guys. Be careful though I’ve just planted some bushes along the perimeter so don’t stomp on them please.” Curiosity sparked in her eyes as she inquired. The two boys eagerly pledged to vigorously nod their heads. With a mischievous smile, she proudly presented a basket filled with what appeared to be delicious muffins to the boys, enticing their taste buds. “For your journey weary travellers.” With a playful smile, she observed as the boys playfully snatched a muffin each, expressing their gratitude before confidently striding into the tall grass.

“Dude! She’s hot.” With a mouthful of muffins, Stiles let out an exclamation as they made their way back into the woods. They effortlessly leapt over the recently planted half-grown bushes, immersing themselves in the wilderness once again. “Dude focus! What if it's like an infection? Like, my body's flooding with adrenaline before I go into shock or something?” Scott panted. “You know what? I think I've heard of this. it's a specific kind of infection.” Stiles forced himself not to laugh as his friend turned around with a worried look on his face. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it's called lycanthropy.”

“What's that? Is that bad?”

“Oh, yes, it's the worst. But only once a month.”

Scott’s eyebrows arched. “Once a month?”

“Mm-hmm. On the night of the full moon.” Stiles paused. “Aroooo!” With a dismissive gesture, Scott pushed his friend towards the leaf-covered ground, his eyes rolling in annoyance. “Hey, you're the one who heard a wolf howling!”

“Hey, there could be something seriously wrong with me!”

“I know! You're a Werewolf! Rawrrr!” With a mischievous grin, Stiles mimicked the movements of a wild animal, swiping his hands towards Scott's face like sharp claws. “Okay, obviously I'm kidding. But, if you see me in shop class trying to melt all the silver I can find, it's 'cause I’m preparing myself” Scott's finger froze mid-air, no longer indicating the same spot on the ground. The once-hidden mud now lay bare, with the leaves beneath it shattered and displaced. “No, I-I could have sworn this was it. I saw the body; the deer came running. I dropped my inhaler...” Stiles cast his gaze downwards, then scanned the surroundings with a perplexed expression. “Maybe the killer moved the body?” he mumbled. “If he did, I hope he left my inhaler. Those things are, like, eighty dollars.” Scott let out a deep sigh and kept his gaze fixed on the ground until Stiles gave him a sharp tap on the shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

His attention was captured by the unfamiliar voice. “Huh? This is private property.” Filled with rage, the stranger's brows furrowed, and his eyes gleamed like sharp blades as he approached the two teens who remained silent, ignoring his question. “Uh, sorry, man, we didn't know.” Stiles stuttered. “Yeah, we were just looking for something, but...” the mysterious man arched his brows impatiently. “...Uh, forget it.”

Out of nowhere, the man unexpectedly tossed Scott's inhaler, leaving both boys perplexed as to how he obtained it. Without uttering a word, he swiftly turned around and retraced his steps. Casting one final glance at Scott, he appeared to completely disregard Stiles. “Um... All right, come on, I gotta get to work.” Just as Scott was about to take another step, Stiles intervened by extending his hand, effectively putting a halt to his progress. “Dude, that was Derek Hale!” he whispered hoping to not gain Scott’s attention again. “You remember, right? He's only like a few years older than us. His family. They all burned to death in a fire, like, ten years ago.” Scott's eyes grew wide with surprise as he absorbed the shocking news. “I wonder what he's doing back...” Stiles shrugged his shoulders.

Derek released a sigh of frustration while attempting to restrain a loud snarl. The aroma of charred sage permeated his nostrils, prompting him to question the reason behind his strong aversion to it.

As the night grew darker, Derek flicked on his headlights, scanning through the pouring rain, praying for a storm-free night. The rain intensified, but his wipers were working tirelessly. Just as he was about to turn onto the lane, a peach-coloured car caught his eye, seemingly parked on the roadside. It was the vintage car of his new neighbour. The urge to stop suddenly overcame him, and he couldn't explain why. Nevertheless, he pulled over onto the raised section of the roadside and put on his jacket before stepping out of his car. As he did, the pungent scent of burning sage filled his nostrils. He heard someone cursing nearby and realized that the car parked next to him was a vintage 1952 Chevrolet Style line Deluxe. “Need some help?” With a rough shout, he noticed a figure dressed entirely in black holding a phone up to the sky. The figure eventually turned around, causing him to abruptly stop in his tracks.

Derek was completely captivated by this woman, seeing her as nothing short of a divine being. In comparison to him, she appeared petite, possibly in her early twenties. Her legs, which were on full display, were adorned with intricate tattoos and covered in spider web tights, giving her an edgy allure. Despite the rain, he could still make out her carefully styled hair, which was damp and clung to her neck, with a purple bandana serving as a makeshift headband. She wore a slim fur-trimmed jacket that enveloped her arms, concealing her voluptuous curves. A chunky dog collar choker adorned her neck, adding an unexpected twist. However, it was her captivating eyes that stole the show. Enhanced with dramatic purple eyeshadow and long, fluttering false lashes, her (E/C) eyes shimmered like hidden gems in a mysterious cavern.

As he gazed into her eyes, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, as if it was dancing in perfect rhythm with hers. The dryness in his throat was akin to the last drop of water in a vast desert. His once sharp and alert pupils were now dilated, resembling the euphoria of consuming the most potent drug imaginable. Despite having some prior knowledge about what was happening to him, he had only been given limited information about what to anticipate. Little did he know that someone could have such a profound impact on him, but it happened, nonetheless. And he couldn't resist falling head over heels for it.

As (Y/N) glanced at the driver beside her, she nearly lost her balance. He towered over her, his tight grey shirt revealing his muscular build. His jet-black hair was styled upwards, and his blue-green eyes sparkled with a hint of gold. He was undeniably handsome. His scruffy appearance was accentuated by his olive complexion and a messy mane of dark hair. He opted for a laid-back style, donning boot-cut jeans and a sleek black leather jacket. Although he gave off a rebellious vibe, she reminded herself not to pass judgment on him.

Suddenly, the duo shook themselves out of their daze and brushed their hair aside to get a clearer view of one another. “Hi yes my car broke down and I’m gonna be late for work.” With a huff, she glanced at her phone and immediately felt a surge of panic. However, her worries were quickly eased when she saw him smiling back at her. It had been ages since he had last smiled, but he knew that she needed to see that smile in that moment. “You mind if I take a look? I’m not a mechanic but I’m the best you’re gonna get around here.” Stepping back, he ensured that she felt secure in his presence before gesturing towards the car's bonnet. “You are a lifesaver thank you so much.” She smiled grabbing her torch from her boot. “I seem to have everything you would need except the knowledge of cars.” She joked. With caution, Derek took off his jacket and placed it in the back seat, hoping to avoid any potential stains that might be difficult to remove. Meanwhile, he examined the contents of the boot, specifically a large tool bag that he had no prior knowledge of. “My friend bought me it but forgot to tell me how to use any of it before I moved out.” A chuckle escaped her lips, a mix of amusement and lingering stress from the situation. Meanwhile, (Y/N) stood by, holding the flashlight, as he opened the car's bonnet and peered inside. “I’m (Y/N) by the way.” As the raindrops gathered on her plump cupid's bow, she softly murmured while delicately wiping her lips. In response, he flashed a charming smile and playfully winked at her. “Derek. Now I would usually charge for this kind of service. but for a beautiful damsel like you, I’m sure I can risk a free MOT.” When was he a flirter? What was going on with him? Within mere moments, this girl had the power to make him feel a whirlwind of emotions. “Good news is it’s not that bad. Your battery just needs a little boost. You got any jump cables?” she nodded happily before grabbing the tool bag and handing it over to him. “Seriously though, thank you so much for this. It’s nice to know this town isn’t just full of murderers and police.”

With precision, he connected the cables to her battery and cautiously manoeuvred the cable towards his vehicle, ensuring he didn't stumble along the way. “I’m, guessing you moved here when the body was found.” With a hint of concern in his emerald eyes, he glanced up at the woman and inquired, attempting to conceal his prior knowledge. “Yeah, I live down the meadow. First night here and the police had blocked the whole road off from my home. Got a private escort and everything.” With a flick of his wrist, Derek fastened the cables to his car, conjuring his special touch to revive the lifeless vehicle. “Well, I guess that makes us neighbours.” She grinned as she observed him lowering the hood and picking up the wires. While dragging them across the pavement, the cord came perilously close to her legs, posing a tripping hazard. In an instant, Derek dropped the cables and caught her, encircling her waist with his strong arm. The electric shock that surged up his arm was matched by the shudder that ran down her back as he drew her nearby. “You, okay?” he asked. Enchanted by his rugged voice, she found herself captivated. As she leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne filled her senses, causing her to let out a soft sigh. However, she quickly snapped out of her trance, abruptly distancing herself from him, and in an instant, the warmth they both shared dissipated. They couldn't help but yearn for it once more. “Yeah, I’m okay thanks.”

With utmost caution, he proceeded to neatly coil the cable, ensuring every twist was secure and her feet were kept firmly on the ground. “My old home is in the woods next to you. I don’t live there but I’m there pretty much all the time. Be careful in the woods there’s a lot of wildlife you don’t want to mess with.” Closing her bonnet, he leaned towards the girl, savouring every moment as he absorbed her entire being. “Do you mean about the wolves in the woods?” She joked. The smile dropped from his lips. “Wolf?” he asked. “didn’t you hear it last night? The howling. It was beautiful. You know wolves only howl when they’re alone and need to find their pack.” A sigh escaped her lips. Beautiful? The notion of calling monsters beautiful was completely foreign to him. “I am guessing you’re a lover of nature.” He asked making her nod. “Just a bit.” Using a pinching motion, she playfully squeezed her glossy, black nails, resulting in a low chuckle from him. “Well, Miss Nature, I would like to claim my prize for fixing your car.” With a perplexed expression, she tilted her head, puzzled by his actions, as he sneakily took her unlocked phone. To his surprise, it was an archaic device, possibly one of the earliest models of mobile phones ever created. “In case you go wandering too far in the woods. Here’s my number. And for my prize, I hope will be me taking you out to coffee sometime.” A playful smile danced on her lips as she coyly showcased her tongue piercing, leaving him both curious and enchanted by her teasing allure. “You can cash that in whenever you want…?” she looked down at her phone spotting the new contact in her phone. “Mr Hale.” She finished. He nodded his head with a low laugh. “Sounds perfect.”

Derek strolled back to his car, casting one last glance at the girl who would undoubtedly occupy his dreams tonight. Reluctantly, he started driving away, savouring every moment spent by her side. Meanwhile, (Y/N) let out a deep sigh as she settled into the driver's seat, feeling a sense of bewilderment. With a contented smile, she began to drive, relishing the reassuring hum of her engine. However, as she glanced over her shoulder to check her blind spots, she noticed Derek's leather jacket resting on the backseat.

Closing time at the animal clinic arrived, and Scott made his way to the front entrance. With a flick of his hand, he turned the red sign to indicate that they were closed for the night. It had been a quiet evening, just the way he preferred it. Heading towards the staff area, he placed a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a stack of bandages on the shelf, ready for the next day. As he lifted his shirt to replace the bandage, it appeared as though the agony he had suffered had disappeared. Uncertainty filled his mind - should he be concerned or relieved? Was the absence of pain a positive sign when it came to animal bites? Slowly, he removed the layers of tape and blood-soaked gauze, only to find flawless, unblemished skin. There was no trace of a mark anywhere.

Disregarding it as pure chance, he went back to his work, pulling along a hefty bag brimming with nourishment for felines. “Hey, kitties.” He grunted. Suddenly, the cats got extremely stirred up and started growling. The room erupted into various levels of whines, screams and hisses. Scott looked up at the cages watching them all try and claw their way out on the metal bars. He pushed himself back up locking the door behind him just in case.

As the evening settled in, the vet clinic grew quiet, bringing a sense of contentment to (Y/N) as she lugged boxes filled with her work tools. Deaton swiftly swung open the door, granting her entry with a welcoming gesture. “Not the best of nights is it, Alan.” She joked making him smile at her positive attitude. “Would be better if it was a thunderstorm at least we get a show.” As (Y/N) entered the main treatment area, she couldn't help but notice the familiar sight of the examination tables. After placing her boxes down, her hands instinctively went to her loose skin, focusing on the remaining flesh that hung on. Just then, Deaton joined her and directed her attention to a door in the far corner of the room. “This will be your office it will be locked at all times, and you will have the only key.” She thanked him lightly trying her best to ignore the zaps playing with her brain. “Well speak more in my office.” He noticed her nervous actions; her eyes never left the examination tables. “If it helps, we have table covers you can use. Just so you can’t touch the metal.” She nodded her head following him inside his office.

The two adults sat beside his desk the soft light from the lamp illuminating their faces. Deaton was a tall, lean man with dark skin and eyes his head was recently shaved head with a slight stumble framing his mouth as he smiled towards the young woman. “Miss High-Loch pretty much explained everything I needed to know about your situation.” A heavy sigh escaped him as he attempted to erase from his mind the countless struggles this young woman had endured in her mere two decades of existence. “I don’t expect protection I’m sure my people have explained this. All I want is a place to live. If my parents or anyone comes looking for me all I expect is a message or call and will be out of your hair” The vet's heart was warmed by her anxious rambling, but he was filled with immense anger at the thought of a parent treating their child in such a way. “I can offer you a place to work here. If you ever need help, call me. I am retired but for certain people, I will gladly help. Especially when they are innocent.” With a gentle swipe, she brushed away a lone tear that lingered on the edge of her eye, expressing her gratitude to him. As they both stood up, they gracefully walked towards the clinic's main entrance, opening the door together. “Before you go I'll introduce you to my other colleague.” She nodded with a small smile.

“Hey, I'd be freaked out too. I'd probably cry. And not like a man, either. Like the biggest girly girl ever. It'd be pathetic.” (Y/N) recognized the voice but couldn't quite place it. Walking alongside Deaton, they rounded the corner to find two children standing near a table, where a medium-sized dog lay across, whimpering. “Sorry didn’t realise you had a late-night patient.” With a playful tone, Deaton cracked a joke, causing the two teenagers to whirl around, their faces adorned with gentle smiles. “Sorry I know you’re closed, but I didn’t know where to go-” Deaton raised his hand in a stop motion smiling lightly. “You did the right thing. Scott looks like you did an excellent job.”

(Y/N) shifted her focus to the young boy, and it suddenly dawned on her who he was. “Nice to see you again inhaler boy.” She joked making his tan skin flush with red. “oh yeah. Thank you again. I found it.” He stuttered. “I love your tattoos.” With a smile, Allison gestured towards (Y/N), drawing attention to their newly revealed arms.

Scott carefully examined the fresh ink, which displayed a fascinating array of creatures ranging from mighty dinosaurs to tiny insects. “Oh, thanks I have a thing for cryptids.” She smiled. “Cryptids?” Scott asked. “The supernatural. You know bigfoot, the Loch Ness monster, and werewolves. I’m a bit too into it all.” she joked, each time pointing to one of her pieces of art. “I’m guessing you’ve both met before,” Deaton asked the two nodding. “ (Y/N) will be working with me during the day you might see each other when you come for your evening shift.” With a mutual understanding, the pair exchanged nods and bid farewell, making their way towards the exit. However, just as she was about to leave, Deaton reached out and gently grasped her arm, compelling the girl to face him once again. “Drive safe (Y/N) I don’t know what’s going on out there with the girl, but I can assure you nothing about it is normal. Keep yourself protected.” Deaton released (Y/N) arms as she agreed to wave goodbye to the vet and walk back to her car.

At the far end of the parking lot, Scott accompanied Allison to her car, shielding themselves from the pouring rain. Scott appeared anxious while Allison opened the car door and casually placed her drenched shirt on the passenger seat. He stuttered, struggling to gather the courage to express himself. “So, um... I was wondering... I mean... Is it a family night on Friday, or do you think maybe you'd like to go to that party with me?” With a mumble, he uttered the final words, causing a radiant smile to spread across the girl's face. “Family night was a total lie.” She giggled. “So, is that a, yes? You'll go?” Allison looked down shuffling her feet as he begged. “Definitely yes.”

Friday, September 8th

The following day, Scott got ready for the last day of try-outs by putting on his lacrosse gear. He let out a frustrated sigh as he placed his backpack in his locker. Something didn't feel right. His chest felt constricted, his breath was hot, and his skin burned. It seemed like his body was twisting and turning, with his bones cracking and muscles throbbing. Out of nowhere, Jackson startled him by slamming his gloved hand on Scott's locker. “All right, little man. How 'bout you tell me where you're getting your juice.” His blue eyes twitched with anger. “What?” Jackson taunted Scott by deliberately speaking slowly and mockingly, making sure to emphasize each syllable, as if he believed Scott to be the most unintelligent person on the planet. “Were. Are. You. Getting. Your. Juice?” Scott blinked registering the question in his brain. “My mom does all the grocery shopping.” He muttered. “Now, listen, McCall, you're gonna tell me exactly what it is and whom you're buying it from, because there's no way in hell, you're out there kicking ass on the field like that without some sort of chemical boost.”

“Oh, you mean steroids! … Are you on steroids?”

Scott's jersey collar shot up as Jackson forcefully collided with the lockers, potentially leaving a dent in them. “What the hell is going on with you, McCall???”

“What's going on with me? You really wanna know? Well, so would I! Because I can see, hear, and smell things that I shouldn't be able to see, hear, and smell. I do things that should be impossible, I'm sleepwalking three miles into the middle of the woods, and I'm pretty much convinced that I'm totally out of my freaking mind.” Jackson stood frozen; his mind clouded with confusion. This time, he found himself speechless, unable to produce a clever response. He took a moment to process the passionate outburst, trying to make sense of it all. “You think you're funny, don't you, McCall? I know you're hiding something. I'm gonna find out what it is. I don't care how long it takes.” With a surge of anger, Jackson forcefully slammed his fist against the locker, mere inches away from Scott's ear. He then delivered a powerful smack on Scott's shoulder before striding away, leaving Scott feeling utterly overwhelmed in his wake.

“Scott! Scott, wait up.” With the school day behind them, the lacrosse team eagerly readied themselves for an evening of hard work and challenges. “Stiles, I'm playing the first elimination, man. Can it wait?” Frustration consumed Scott as he let out a deep groan. Despite his attempt to distance himself, Stiles firmly held onto his shoulders, locking eyes with him, revealing bloodshot eyes that mirrored his anger. ”Just hold on, okay? I overheard my dad on the phone. The fibre analysis came back from the lab in L.A. They found animal hairs on the body from the woods!” Scott let out a frustrated sigh and turned his back on his enthusiastic companion. “Stiles, I gotta go.” Filled with anticipation for his chance to score, Scott grabbed his lacrosse stick and helmet, ready to take on the field with a determined jog. “Wait, no! Scott! You're not gonna believe what the animal was!” Stiles came to a halt, his gaze fixed on Scott who seemed completely absorbed in his thoughts. He spoke softly, his voice barely audible, as he concluded his train of thought. “...It was a wolf.”

Coach Finstock positioned himself at the heart of the field, summoning the players to gather around him in a tight-knit circle, their shoulders touching. “Let's go! Gather round! Bring it in, come on! Come on!” Positioned on the sidelines, Allison prepared to take her seat on the bleachers, eager to observe the practice for the second consecutive day. Catching sight of Scott, she greeted him with a friendly wave, to which he responded with a beaming smile. “ Okay. You know how this goes. If you don't cut, you're most likely sitting on the bench for the rest of the season. Do you make the cut? You play. Your parents are proud. Your girlfriend loves ya! Huh? Everything else is, uh... cream cheese.” Laughter filled the air as the group playfully bumped elbows, sharing a moment of joy and camaraderie. “Now, get out there and show me whatcha got! Come on!” he ordered.

“Let's go! Let's go!” The session kicked off with the players engaging in a drill, exchanging passes with one another while Scott maintained a lively bounce on his toes. Surprisingly, he effortlessly caught the ball with minimal exertion when it came his way once more. As he dashed across the field, he swiftly pivoted to dodge a player attempting to snatch the ball from him. Suddenly, Jackson materialized out of nowhere and forcefully tackled him to the ground. Jackson triumphantly removed his helmet and flashed a smug smirk at Scott, before casually jogging away.

Scott and Jackson faced off against each other at the start, locking eyes for a brief moment until Coach Finstock blew the whistle. To Jackson's disappointment, Scott effortlessly snatched the ball before he could react, leaving him to chase after Scott as fast as he could. Just like in yesterday's practice, time seemed to slow down for Scott, allowing him to evade the other players' attempts to tackle him, gracefully leap over a player's ankle when they tried to trip him, and ultimately perform a hands-free round-off flip over three players who tried to bring him down. Finally, Scott scored a goal by skilfully manoeuvring the ball between the goalie's legs.

Scott's jaw dropped, struggling to comprehend the unbelievable turn of events, while Jackson's face contorted with a mix of anger and curiosity, desperate to uncover Scott's hidden secret. In the blink of an eye, this geek had transformed from a clumsy player to a lacrosse sensation overnight. It was clear that something was amiss. As Scott triumphantly raised his fists in the air, his teammates rushed towards him, playfully patting him on the back, while Allison rose from her seat in the stands, applauding and cheering for his remarkable achievement. “McCall! Get over here!” With a thunderous roar, the coach's voice echoed across the field, causing the mass of players to scatter and create a path for his entrance. “What in God's name was that? This is a lacrosse field. What, are you trying out for the gymnastics team?”

“No, Coach.” He stuttered. “What the hell was that?”

“I don't know. I-I was just trying to make the shot.”

“Yeah, well, you made the shot. And guess what?” the coach slapped his padded arm. “You're startin', buddy. You made the first line. Come on!” Stiles, sitting on the bench, was the only player who didn't share in the excitement, sighing heavily as he racked his brain to understand what was troubling his closest friend.

As soon as (Y/N) completed her initial shift at the clinic, she ventured into the enchanting woods that encircled her meadow. Along her journey, she collected an assortment of mushrooms and leaves, relishing in the beauty of nature. With each step, the crisp sound of leaves under her feet echoed, while she gracefully bent around rocks and puddles. As the birds chirped, their soothing melodies provided her with a sense of tranquillity, gradually drowning out the cacophony that had taken hold of her thoughts. Surrounded by the serenity of the woods, she found solace in the embrace of nature, even though the haunting echoes of her past experiences lingered in her mind. The persistent buzzing sounds continued to torment her, a constant reminder that true safety remained elusive.

Little did she know, Derek was stealthily tailing her every move. His emerald eyes were locked onto the well-worn leather jacket draped over her shoulders. The fragrance of his presence mingled with the lingering aroma of sage, which had been relentlessly pursuing him for the past forty-eight hours.

As her foot made contact with the decaying wood, she hesitated for a moment. The wood, now a dark shade of black, disintegrated beneath her weight. With her captivating (E/C) eyes, she gazed up at the remnants of what used to be a house. As (Y/N) cautiously entered the ruins, she carefully watched her every step to avoid any potential falls. The remnants of the once cherished abode were now filled with water, remnants of the previous night's rainfall, forming small puddles that dripped down. Uncertain about what to do, he hesitated in deciding whether to approach the girl who appeared concerned for her safety amidst the ruins. The eerie atmosphere of his old home, now in ruins, had momentarily diverted his attention from rescuing her, fearing she might be snooping around. Suddenly, her basket dropped to the ground with a loud thud, jolting her back to reality. Her eyes welled up with tears as she lifted the basket, her trembling hands betraying her fear of the house. Removing her shoulder covering, she unveiled a plethora of tattoos beneath a brown tank top. But it was the werewolf tattoo, with its piercing red eyes, that left him utterly astounded. At that moment, he realized she must have possessed knowledge about the supernatural realm; otherwise, it would have been an extraordinary coincidence.

Once again, he trailed behind her as they ventured deeper into the woods, eventually coming to a halt just outside her house. A sudden pause made Derek wonder if she had caught sight of him, but she merely turned around while he swiftly concealed himself behind a nearby tree. (Y/N) knelt down, retrieving a carefully crafted stick from the ground. But upon closer inspection, it was not just any stick—it was an arrow. She carefully examined the intricate details before delicately placing it in her basket. Left behind by the full moon, a sweet scent of sage filled his nostrils as she leapt into the bushes near her house. The familiar aroma overwhelmed Derek, forcing him to kneel in agency. It was Wolfsbane, a vibrant purple flower that had mysteriously bloomed overnight. His eyes widened in disbelief. How could this be?

With a click, (Y/N) secured her front door and carefully set the basket of precious items on the kitchen table. Resting beside it, a sleek black jacket lay neatly folded, catching her attention. A moment of hesitation passed before she reached out to pick it up, all the while feeling the scrutinizing gaze of her feline companion. “What?” she asked as the feline tilted his head. “Stop judging me Bones.” Before slipping on the jacket, she muttered under her breath, "It's not my fault he forgot it." Curiously, she discreetly took a quick sniff of the collar, detecting a blend of pine and dog. Wet dog? Probably a dog lover. With a contented sigh, she eagerly looked forward to Monday night.

After a long day of practice, Stiles made a beeline for his bedroom. As he entered, the room was engulfed in darkness, with only the glow of his computer illuminating the space. Eager to delve into the world of Werewolves, he began his online exploration by delving into articles about Lycaon, the legendary first Werewolf. Intrigued, Stiles then turned his attention to an ancient, worn-out book titled The History of Lycanthropy. However, his thirst for knowledge was not quenched, and he returned to his computer to scour the internet for more articles. Growing increasingly concerned by what he had discovered, Stiles decided to print out an old sketch depicting a Hunter aiming at a transformed Werewolf with a crossbow. By the time he finished his research, his room was transformed into a chaotic mess, with piles upon piles of paper scattered everywhere.

Out of nowhere, a loud knock-on Stiles' door jolted him from his seat. Stiles pondered his next move, but eventually shut his MacBook and made his way to the bedroom door. With a sigh, he opened it to find Scott waiting with a grin on his face. “Get in.” Scott's eyes swept across the room, taking in the multitude of printout pages and books that filled the space. It was a stark contrast to the usual appearance of Stiles' room. “You gotta see this thing. I've been up all-night reading-- websites, books, all this information.” With concern etched in his brown eyes, Scott gently placed his backpack on the floor beside Stiles' bed, never once taking his gaze off his friend. “How much Adderall have you had today?” Stiles paused at the question before mumbling “A lot.” Stiles shook his head before changing the subject. “Doesn't matter, okay? Just listen.” Scott settled onto the dishevelled bed while Stiles dragged his desk chair nearer. “Oh, is this about the body? Did they find out who did it?” Scott inquired, but Stiles simply shook his head in response. “No, they're still questioning people. Even Derek Hale.” Scott raised an eyebrow in surprise as he looked at the newly introduced man. “Oh, the guy in the woods that we saw the other day?”

“Yes. But that's not it, okay? Remember the joke from the other day? Not a joke anymore. The wolf, the bite in the woods... I started doing all this reading. Do you even know why a wolf howls?”

“Should I?”

“It's a signal, okay? When a wolf's alone, it howls to signal its location to the rest of the pack. So, if you heard a wolf howling, that means others could have been nearby. Maybe even a whole pack of 'em.”

“Whole pack of wolves?”

“No-- Werewolves.”

Frustration began to bubble up inside Scott as he rose to his feet, convinced that Stiles was playing an elaborate prank on him. “Are you seriously wasting my time with this? You know I'm picking up Allison in an hour.” Scott hastily slung his backpack over his shoulder, preparing to depart. However, just as he was about to make his exit, Stiles swiftly seized his arm and firmly placed his other hand on Scott's chest. “I saw you on the field today, Scott, okay? What you did wasn't just amazing, all right? It was impossible.” Ignoring Stiles' accusation, Scott attempted to brush it off and made another attempt to depart from the situation. “Yeah, so I made a good shot.” With a swift motion, Stiles snatched Scott's backpack and flung it onto his bed, eager to rummage through its contents in search of something specific.

“No, you made an incredible shot! I mean, the way you moved, your speed, your reflexes. Y'know, people can't just suddenly do that overnight. And there's the vision and the senses, and don't even think I don't notice that you don't need your inhaler anymore.” With a swift motion, Stiles grabbed Scott's phone and effortlessly slid it open, unveiling the vibrant glow of the screen. “Okay! Dude, I can't think about this now. We'll talk tomorrow. “The moment those words reached Stiles' ears; a wave of panic washed over him. Concern for Scott's safety and the people around him consumed his thoughts, leaving him feeling overwhelmed. “Tomorrow?! What? No! it says it takes 48 hours for the curse to infect the body. Your 48 hours end tonight. Don't you get it?”

Scott's frustration reached such a peak that his words stumbled and faltered, his speech becoming riddled with stutters, while he engaged in a heated argument with Stiles. “What are you trying to do? I-I just made the first line. I-I got a date with a girl whom I can't believe wants to go out with me, and everything in my life is somehow perfect. Why are you trying to ruin it?”

“I'm trying to help!”

“You're cursed, Scott. You know, and it's not just the moon that will cause you to physically change. It also just so happens to be when your bloodlust will be at its peak.”

“Bloodlust?”

“Yeah, your urge to kill.”

A low rumble escaped from Scott's throat, catching Stiles' attention. “I'm already starting to feel the urge to kill, Stiles.” In a desperate frenzy, Stiles snatched The History of Lycanthropy book from his cluttered desk and began reciting its contents aloud, hoping to persuade Scott with every word he uttered. “You gotta hear this. The change can be caused by anger or anything that raises your pulse. All right? I haven't seen anyone raise their pulse as Allison does. You gotta cancel this date I'm gonna call her right now.” Stiles opened the phone again scrolling through Scott’s few contacts. “What are you doing?” Scott growled louder.” I’m cancelling the date.”

“No, give it to me!”

In a sudden burst of anger, Scott forcefully grabbed the phone from Stiles' grasp, carelessly letting it fall to the ground. He then forcefully pushed Stiles against the wall, his fist poised to strike. However, after a moment of reflection, Scott released his grip on Stiles and redirected his frustration by hurling his desk chair across the room. Stiles' face filled with terror as Scott's actions sank in, and Scott's remorse washed over him almost instantly. With a heavy heart, he glanced down at the floor, his face etched with shame, and quietly muttered an apology to Stiles. “I'm sorry. I-I gotta go get ready for that party.”

With a rapid motion, Scott grabbed his phone and slung his backpack over his shoulder, making his way towards the exit. He cast a final apologetic glance at Stiles before departing. “I'm sorry.” As soon as Stiles' friend disappeared from his view, he couldn't help but release a sigh of relief. However, his distress was still evident as he forcefully grabbed his desk chair and placed it back down. Suddenly, his heart skipped a beat when he noticed four deep gashes resembling claw marks on the leather cover of the chair. It was clear that tonight was not going to unfold smoothly for him.

Derek traced the path of the wolfbane bushes across her property until he reached the end of her driveway. It seemed impossible that the wolfsbane had suddenly appeared after being hidden underground for just two days. Suspicion grew within him, suspecting that she had a hand in this peculiar occurrence. He desperately hoped that her interest in the plant was purely aesthetic, and not indicative of something more sinister, like being a hunter. As he pondered, the sound of jingling keys echoed through the air, signifying (Y/N) leaving the house. Wrapped in her beloved leather jacket, she exuded a captivating aura that weakened his knees. The jacket suited her perfectly, and as she sniffed its collar, a surge of excitement coursed through her body. Overwhelmed by pleasure, the man couldn't help but groan as he watched her relish in his scent, their connection palpable. Derek discreetly positioned himself behind a tree, observing as her car disappeared down the road, leaving him longing for her presence.

The anticipation of their scents intertwining made his pulse quicken, causing a stir in his black jeans. Thoughts of claiming her as his own flooded his mind, contemplating ways to leave his mark through clothing, marks, scents, and the chemistry of their bodies. Struggling to maintain control, his fangs clenched together, reminding him of the last time he felt this powerless, back when he was a teenager navigating the complexities of his changing physique. Hoping for a different outcome this time, he silently pleaded for this woman to be unlike the others. However, the mere thought of her ignited a fiery anger within him, fuelling a desire to tear her apart if they were to cross paths again. The fear of heartbreak loomed, but he was determined to win her over, despite the haunting tattoo on her back that served as a reminder of his past. Hopefully, she wouldn't possess the same murderous tendencies as his ex.

Just before losing control, he instinctively seized a piece of the purple plant, tightly holding onto it with a gloved hand, before disappearing into the enigmatic woods once again.

Scott and Allison made their grand entrance to the party just in time. The crowd was already in high spirits, paying no attention to the unfamiliar face leading the event, and the music was blasting, creating the perfect atmosphere for them to dance the night away. As they made their way through the house, they discovered a lively scene on the back patio, with partygoers enjoying themselves by the pool. Amidst the excitement, Scott noticed a mysterious figure casting a dark shadow near the fire pit by the yard's entrance. Derek Hale and Scott locked eyes, their tension palpable. However, their intense moment was interrupted by the neighbour’s dog, which began barking at Derek. Instantly, Derek shifted his focus to the rottweiler, commanding it to silence. Once the dog quieted down, Derek turned back to face Scott, who had taken Allison further onto the dance floor. “You, okay?” Allison interrupted Scott's intense gaze at the enigmatic man, demanding his attention. But when Scott turned his head back, Derek had mysteriously disappeared. “What? Yeah, I'm fine.”

Scott and Allison moved in rhythm to the music beside the pool. As the beat intensified, Allison gently wrapped her arm around Scott's neck, drawing them closer together. With a playful smile, she lovingly ran her fingers through the back of his hair before nuzzling her face against his neck. Scott's eyes wandered until they landed on Lydia and Jackson, locked in a passionate embrace against one of the pillars in front of the house. As Jackson began to kiss and nibble on Lydia's neck, she suddenly glanced up, breaking free from the intense moment. Scott couldn't help but stare at her, noticing a peculiar look in her eyes, as if she were envisioning him instead of her athletic boyfriend.

Allison and Scott stood face-to-face, their noses almost touching, ready to conclude the night with a passionate kiss. As the moon began to cast its enchanting spell on him, Scott's fingers instinctively gripped the back of Allison's jacket. However, a sudden and excruciating headache overwhelmed him, causing his vision to blur, and forcing him to reluctantly break away from his beloved dream girl. “Are you okay?” As she observed, he stumbled his way into the house, she inquired about his condition. “I'll be right back.”

Scott stumbled his way into the house, abandoning Allison in the backyard. As he made his way through the dining room, his eyesight began to tremble. He brushed past Stiles, his balance wavering. “Yo, Scott, you good?” Stiles' voice trembled and cracked as he spoke, leaving Scott feeling unsettled. The weight of the moment was too much for Scott to handle, causing him to ignore Stiles' question and hastily navigate his way through the house and out into the garden. Without hesitation, he sprang into his mother's car and sped away, leaving a bewildered Allison standing alone on the porch, trying to make sense of it all. “Allison.” the brunette spun her head round, her gaze fixated on a man wearing a jacket. His piercing green eyes held her captive, casting a spell on her akin to a mesmerizing cobra. “I'm a friend of Scott's.” he finished “My name's Derek.”

Scott sprinted up the stairs, his heart pounding in his chest. He swiftly locked the bedroom door and slumped down against it, feeling a mix of anxiety and adrenaline coursing through his veins. The intense heat of his sweat made his skin tingle, and his hands throbbed with an inexplicable force. Letting out a pained groan, he stumbled into the ensuite, hastily removing his jacket and t-shirt. Seeking solace, he sought refuge in the bathtub, turning on the shower to wash away the overwhelming emotions. As the water washed away his sweat, he felt a brief sense of relief. However, his relief quickly turned to agony as he clenched his teeth in pain and anxiously ran his right hand across his face. When he glanced down at his water-soaked palms, he was filled with horror to discover his fingernails transforming into long, razor-sharp claws. These dark-coloured talons were now his new reality.

In a state of panic, he rushed out of the shower. Scott's heart raced as he glanced at his reflection in the mirror above the medicine cabinet. The sight of his canines transforming into fangs and his irises shimmering like molten gold left him utterly bewildered. Suddenly, a forceful knock echoed through his bedroom door, intensifying his already heightened anxiety. “Go away.” A low, menacing growl escaped his lips as he anticipated his mother's arrival, but the persistent knocking persisted, unfazed by his reaction. “Scott, it's me.” The sound of Stiles' voice echoed faintly from behind the wooden door. Recognizing his best friend, Scott reluctantly unlocked the door but only allowed it to open a crack. Leaning his forehead against the door, Scott fought to steady his breathing, trying to regain control. “Let me in, Scott. I can help.” Panic sets in as the realization dawns on him that Stiles is drawing nearer, regretting not heeding his friend's advice from the start. It's uncanny how his friend always seems to be spot-on about the most peculiar matters. “No! Listen, you gotta find Allison.” With his fresh set of full gums, he stumbled over his words as he tried to adapt to the unfamiliar sensation. “She's fine, all right? I saw her get a ride from the party. She's-she's fine, all right?”

“No, I think I know who it is—"

“Dude, just let me in! We can try—”

“It's Derek. Derek Hale is the Werewolf! He's the one that bit me. He's the one that killed the girl in the woods.” Stiles took a moment to absorb the latest information Scott had shared with him, carefully considering his response before delivering the news that Scott was dreading to hear. “Scott... Derek's the one who drove Allison from the party...” he stuttered.

With a forceful bang, Scott forcefully shut the door once more, only to swiftly escape through the window as if it were a trivial task. Unaware of his friend's departure, Stiles frantically pounded on the door, desperately calling out Scott's name. Meanwhile, Scott's physical appearance underwent a complete transformation as he sprinted through the dense forest. His eyebrows became furrowed, his ears pointed, mutton chops adorned his face, and his eyes emitted a mesmerizing golden glow. Claws and fangs completed his newfound features. His elongated canine teeth glistened with saliva as he unleashed a fierce roar. Scott's first stop was Derek's car, conveniently parked near the entrance sign of the reserve. A quick glance inside confirmed that neither Allison nor Derek were present, prompting him to venture back into the dense forest.

Scott's mind was consumed by rage towards Derek as he relentlessly pursued the sweet scent of Allison. He couldn't help but wonder what game Derek was playing by involving Allison in the first place. However, as Scott noticed Allison's jacket hanging on a broken branch, he realized that it was her scent he had been following all along, not his date's. “Where is she?” With a low, menacing growl, he anxiously scanned the surroundings, desperately hoping that Derek was nearby. “She's safe... from you.” In the silence, a haunting echo reverberated through the air. Scott's eyes darted across the expanse of grass, searching for any sign of another presence. Suddenly, the world seemed to tilt as the ground rushed towards him. Derek's powerful grip held him firmly, forcing his face into the earth. With a swift motion, the older man hoisted him up, only to forcefully press him against a sturdy tree, the impact resonating with a resounding slam.

“What did you do with her?” Scott mumbled under his breath, straining to catch a glimpse of Derek's wolf form before he transformed back. All he managed to see were the glinting fangs, which only served to confirm his suspicions. “Shh, quiet. Too late. They're already here. Run.” Derek yanked Scott up from the ground and guided him further into the dense forest. Abruptly, a dazzling beam of light halted their progress, causing an object to forcefully pierce Scott's arms, pinning him against yet another tree. A low growl escaped his lips. Out of nowhere, three men emerged from the shadows, led by a figure who had a crossbow pointed directly at Scott. Derek observed the scene from afar, maintaining his distance. “Take him.”

Without wasting a moment, Derek swiftly incapacitated the two men standing closest to him, leaving their leader at a disadvantage. Seizing the opportunity, Derek swiftly removed the arrow lodged in Scott's arm, causing him to let out a pained roar. Sensing the chaos, the two assailants hastily retreated, leaving their leader to tend to his fallen comrades. However, when he turned his attention back to the tree, he discovered that Scott had mysteriously disappeared. Determined to catch up with the fleeing wolves, Derek pressed on, only to abruptly halt as he stumbled upon a trail of wolfsbane. “Stop turning that way.” With a commanding tone, he directed Scott towards the bustling streets, urging him to steer clear of the poisonous flower.

After catching sight of the road, Derek and Scott decided to take a break and let the younger one catch his breath. Scott, who had returned to his human form, collapsed to his knees as he recuperated from the intense ordeal of transforming into a Werewolf, fearing for Allison's safety, and being targeted by Hunters. Although it wasn't the smoothest transformation night Derek had witnessed, given the difficult circumstances, the young boy handled it admirably. As he glanced at Derek, his face displayed a mix of frustration and resentment. “Who were they?” A low, menacing growl escaped his lips as he sensed his sharp teeth gradually shrinking. “Hunters. The kind that has been hunting us for centuries.”

“Us? You mean you! You did this to me!” Derek couldn't help but roll his eyes in exasperation. ” Is it so bad, Scott? That you can see better? Hear more clearly? Move faster than any human could ever hope? You've been given something that most people would kill for. The Bite is a gift.” Scott let out an exasperated sigh, clearly unimpressed with his remark. A gift? “I don't want it.” Scott didn't see this as a gift at all. “You will. And you're gonna need me if you want to learn how to control it.” As Derek's hand gently rested on Scott's shoulder, his emerald eyes magically transformed into a mesmerizing shade of ocean blue in an attempt to frighten the poor new blood. “So, you and me, Scott? We're brothers now.”

Monday, September 11th

Stiles and Scott returned to school, their weekend spent relaxing and reflecting on all that had transpired. They also crafted a convincing tale for Allison, ensuring that their adventures remained a secret. “You know what worries me the most?” Scott inquired, and Stiles steered the vehicle into the school's parking lot. “If you say "Allison," I'm gonna punch you in the head.”

“She probably hates me now.”

“I doubt that. But you might want to come up with a pretty amazing apology. Or, you know, you could just tell her the truth and revel in the awesomeness of the fact that you're a frickin' Werewolf.” With a forceful push, Scott forcefully shut the sturdy metal door of the jeep. “Okay, bad idea. Hey, we'll get through this. Come on, if I have to, I'll chain you up myself on full moon nights and feed you live mice. I had a boa once. I could do it.”

As the sun streamed through her sheer curtains, (Y/N) leisurely tidied up her bed. Bones, her black furball of a pet, playfully rolled around on her pillow, leaving a trace of his presence. Annoyed, she glanced at the mess he created, but before she could fix it, her phone suddenly rang, startling her. With a quick glance at the caller ID, she eagerly answered the call, a wide smile spreading across her face. “Well good morning, Mr mechanic.” With a playful grin, she playfully gathered the bones and playfully set them down on the floor.

“How about that coffee date?” With a smile on his face, he closed the door of the sturdy house and proceeded to unlock his car door. “I’ll be ready in five minutes do you want me to meet you in town?” Seating himself in the driver's seat, he expertly guided the car out of the remaining portion of the driveway. “Not a chance I'll come pick you up. Don’t even think about bringing your purse with you I’m paying.”

In a hurry, (Y/N) raced down the stairs and quickly settled on the bench outside. With determination, she tried to tie her shoes using only one hand. “I can’t do that you helped me with my car and let me pay.”

“No can do. My mother raised me better than that.”

“Well, we will see about that Derek. I’ll race you to the card reader.”

“May the best person win.”

As the boys stepped outside the doors, they realized how swiftly the school day had passed. “So, what happened? You left me stranded at the party.“ As Scott glanced back, he caught sight of Allison's gaze fixed upon him, filled with an unmistakable sense of betrayal. “Yeah, I-I know, I know. I'm sorry, I am. But you're gonna have to trust that I had a really good reason.” Stiles made his way towards his trusty jeep, ensuring the two teens got some privacy. “Did you get sick?” Scott lets out a deep breath, his thoughts replaying the events of Friday night in his mind. “...I had an attack of something,” he mumbled. “Am I gonna get an explanation?” Scott hesitated briefly, carefully constructing his sentence. “Can you just find it in your heart to trust me on this one?” Allison let out a deep sigh, creating a gentle ticking sound with her lips. “Am I gonna regret this?” Scott shrugged sheepishly smiling lightly. “Probably. So, is that a "yes" on a second chance?” With a slow nod of her head, Allison brought a surge of joy to the werewolf's heart. Their smiles exchanged in a fleeting moment, only to be abruptly interrupted by the blaring of a car horn nearby. As Allison's gaze lifted to locate the origin of the noise, she caught sight of a familiar burgundy SUV, signalling her departure from the date. “That's my dad. I better go.”

Scott was just about to head back to the school for his lacrosse practice when a familiar scent hit his nose, causing him to abruptly change direction. It was the unmistakable combination of gunpowder and pine, the same scent from the previous night. As he glanced towards the SUV, he noticed her father stepping out of the car - the very same man who led the group of Hunters that had shot him a few nights ago. Mr Argent's eyes locked onto them, causing Scott to be momentarily speechless. With a hint of awkwardness, he waved at them using his gloved hand, unsure of how to react.

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