"Shoes off," Angie orders, toeing off her own shoes and kicking them aside as she enters her apartment, leaving the door open for me. I hesitate for just a moment before walking in after her, nearly stumbling in my haste to get in. "And lock the door behind you."

I close the door behind me, and as I turn to do as she asks, I'm struck still at the faint markings etched in her door frame. Unable to stop my curiosity, I reach up, running my fingers over one of the markings.

"Leave those be and come in, girlie," Angie calls, and I jerk my hand away at being caught. I throw deadbolt into place, turn the lock on the door knob, and for good measure, attach the chain. I turn, taking in her living area as she disappears up a spiral staircase near the entrance. "Don't touch anything," she calls down. "I'll be right back."

I nod, despite knowing she can't tell, and step away from the door.

The living room has a single black couch, as well as a grey, well worn, overstuffed chair. They are situated around a glass coffee table with a black frame. Her TV is a good size, and an HDMI cord hangs from the side, attached to a closed laptop sitting on an ottoman parked in front of the system. Next to the TV on each side are two large bookcases that reach the ceiling, and both are full of books.

The living area blends into a dining area, separated from the kitchen by an island that doubled as a bar.

Angie reappears, coming down the stairs with a bundle in her hands. "I'm taller than you by a bit," she starts, and I frown at her need to point that out. "But these should fit you well enough." She steps off the last step and holds the bundle out to me, and I realize that it's a set of clothes.

"Oh, you don't-"

She jerks her head to a door just past the staircase - it's very Harry Potter, what with being a room under the stairs - and shoves the clothes in my hands. "There's a bathroom with a shower." She crinkles her nose at me. "You're starting to stink."

"Oh." I blink at her blunt statement. "Okay, thanks."

"And just leave your clothes there, I'll deal with them."

Right. You know, before I fell in with werewolves, I didn't often find myself taking showers in random motel rooms and apartments after a hard run and getting blood on my person. For what it's worth, the water pressure in Angie's apartment is better than any apartment has any right to be.

I take a moment to check my various hurts as I dress myself in the borrowed clothes. The bruises on my legs from Scott's attack - the pin pricks of his grab - have all but faded, and the bruising on my side has turned a sickly yellowish green, and is much smaller in size. The edges of the scabs on my shoulders have started to flake away, leaving behind pink, scarred skin behind. The shirt - a thin sweatshirt - Angie let me borrow is a bit big thanks to our heights, and the neckline hangs low on my shoulders.

The bruise on my face has finally started looking more green than purple, and it hardly hurts at all anymore. With no new bruising from last night, the worst of my hurts comes from the handprints on my wrists.

What exactly had Derek protected me from? What did Peter do to win him over?

God, why had Derek thought it worth it?

Leaving my discarded clothes folded on the toilet seat, I step out into the apartment, and am immediately greeted with the smell of breakfast. Eggs, bacon, and hash browns, just like at the diner. Angie stands in the kitchen, and gestures for me to sit at the island, where she has a plate waiting.

"Hurry up before it gets cold."

I rush over, and drop into the barstool. Angie sets a cup of milk - chocolate, of course - and gives me a knowing look.

"You didn't have to-" I start, and she waves a hand.

"You just had a traumatic night and need to eat," she says. "Let me take care of you, alright?"

I drop my gaze, ignoring how my stomach rumbles. "I don't need to be taken care of," I say, just as I had back at the clinic. "I wasn't the one shot, or left for hunters."

No, I was only used against those those who had been shot and left for hunters.

"No," Angie allows. "But you saw someone get shot, and you were covered in the blood of someone you love, and the boy you're "not dating" was left behind to protect you." I inhale sharply, because that's not something I need to be reminded of. "And I know that that kinda shit will mess you up." She pushes the plate closer to me. "So eat." I glance up at her, and while her gaze isn't particularly comforting, it's open, and there's some reassurance in her eyes. I take the fork, and we fall into a silence as I eat. She makes herself a cup of coffee, and leans against the bar opposite of me.

"How… how did you know about last night?" I ask carefully. She arches a brow at me. "Did Dr. Deaton call you?"

She snorts. "Oh no. I called him." I frown in confusion, and she sets down her mug, looking at me. "How about a quid pro quo - how much did Alan tell you last night?"

I poke at my eggs. "Not much. Said the alpha is Peter Hale, that he knew about Scott the day after he was bitten. He said he worked with Talia Hale, but that it wasn't supposed to be his job."

Angie sighs. "No. No, it wasn't supposed to be his job. It was supposed to be mine. Oldest child birthright bullshit," she mutters before shaking her head. "Nevermind that."

I frown. "Hey, you said quid-"

"It's not important right now," she says, giving me a look as though daring me to question her. I scowl, because of course she's just one more person hiding things from me. She must have an idea of what I'm feeling, because she sighs, rolling her eyes. "There really are more important things to worry about right now than my past, girl."

I clench my my jaw, the title she uses for me grating on my nerves. Her tone isn't cruel, isn't malicious, but the word feels too much like Elisa's niña.

"So," she goes on. "You kids must have thought of a plan to deal with Peter."

"Not like anyone else offered help," I mutter, and her eyebrow twitches, having caught the dig. Rather than raise to the bait, she waits for me to answer her question. I huff. "Derek wanted to kill him and Scott was supposed to help. That way Scott would stop trying to kill me and people would stop dying and-"

"And Derek Hale would be the alpha," Angie finishes, her gaze intense as she looks down at me. "Forgive my blunt thoughts, but that boy isn't exactly Alpha material."

I narrow my eyes at her, absolutely not forgiving her blunt thoughts against my lobito, stupid though he might have been acting last night. "Would you rather have Peter Hale killing people?" She doesn't speak, but her eyes give all the answer I need. "It's him or Scott, and I'm not making Scott become an Alpha when he doesn't even want to be a normal werewolf."

"A beta." She takes a drink of her coffee and seems to consider this information. "You have a point. A sixteen year old has no business being an Alpha. If your boy wanted to kill Peter, why didn't he do it yet?"

"He only said on Monday-"

"It's Friday."

I glare at her, frustration building in my chest. If she's gonna nitpick, why didn't she ever come out and offer help? "They didn't know who it was until Wednesday. I didn't find out who it was until last night."

Angie sets her cup down and places her hands on her hips. "Then he should have done it Wednesday."

Anger wells in my chest at her tone, only to be swept away by distress as I remember what Scott had said. As I remember Derek's confession last night.

"I've lost everything… I can't lose you."

"He couldn't - he -" I pull my hands back and press them to my stomach. "Peter forced him to join him," I say quietly. Angie arches a brow, opening her mouth to speak, but I go on. "He was protecting me." I shake my head. "I don't know what happened, and I don't know why Derek couldn't have just…" I take a shuddering breath. Jesus, what had he been thinking? "He shouldn't have done it. He shouldn't have joined Peter, or, or stayed behind last night so the Argents could kill him-"

Angie claps twice, cutting me off. "Alright, enough of that," she snaps, before taking a breath and starting again in a calmer tone. "First of all, the Argents didn't kill him. Whoever has him - and I'm guessing it's that devil of a woman Kate - needs him. She'll want him to tell her who the Alpha is, and if they know there's a second Beta, she'll want that out of him too." She huffs. "She'll keep him alive until she gets what she wants, which means you have time to get him out."

"He wouldn't even be in this situation if it weren't for me!"

"This isn't your fault. Look, girl-"

"My name is Ares!" Her expression is shocked at my outburst. "Not girl." I take a shuddering breath, unable to hold back the wave of emotions I'd tried to hard to shove down since finding those damn bruises on my arms, since finding Derek's stupid note. "And what do you know about what happened last night? You weren't there. No one was there, because no one bothered to let us know that we didn't have to do this alone. Not you or Dr. Deaton, you just, just let us do it on our own-"

"We had our reasons-" she tries to cut in.

"Fuck your reasons! They don't mean shit! Scott almost died! I've almost died! Derek- Derek is with Kate, and she's gonna kill him, and that's on me. Me." I press a hand on my chest, and my heart feels like it's gonna fucking burst. "Because he wouldn't have even been there if Peter hadn't forced him, and Peter wouldn't have been able to force him if it weren't for me. But he was there. He was there, and I left him. I should have - have made him come with us, I shouldn't have let him stay, I should have tried-"

I choke back a sob, and another, and they become too much for me to even try to stop. I squeeze my eyes shut, as though it'd stop my tears, and my throat burns from trying to keep myself in control, from making an idiot of myself.

But the tears come all the same, and I don't bother trying to stop them anymore. Dios mio, I'm just so tired of it all. Tired of not knowing what to do, tired of worrying about someone dying, tired of almost dying myself.

A hand falls on my shoulder, and I open my eyes to see a blurry Angie standing on my side of the counter. I wipe at my eyes, and her expression is softer than I've ever seen from her, and she holds out a handkerchief to me. "Wipe your face," she says. "And listen to what I have to say, g-" She stops short, takes a breath. "Ares."

I swallow hard, and take the offered handkerchief from her with shaking hands.

"You're right," she goes on. "I wasn't there. But what happened wasn't your fault. Last night wasn't your fault. Peter forcing Derek to join him wasn't your fault. Those choices were Derek Hale's, not yours."

I let out a shuddering breath. "Then he shouldn't have made them," I say. "He didn't have to-"

"You really think he'd have done anything else?" Angie snorts. "He'd sooner rip his own throat out." She gives me a pointed look, and lets out a humorless laugh when I furrow my brows in confusion. "Nevermind," she goes on. "Let him tell you. Right now, you focus on getting your head on right, because you're going to need it if you want to get that boy of yours back."

"How am I supposed to do that? I don't even know where he is, or if he's alive or-"

"He's alive," Angie reassures me, and I narrow my eyes at her as she pulls her hand away from my shoulder.

"How would you know?"

She looks down at me, gaze scrutinizing, before she lets out a breath and crosses her arms, rolling her head back in mild exasperation. "Oh, I'm gonna regret this," she mutters under her breath, and I only just catch it. She looks back down at me and steps back, gesturing me to follow her as she makes her way back to the stairs. "Come with me," she orders, and I scramble out of my seat to follow her. "Alan told you that worked with Talia Hale," she starts. "What he didn't tell you is that to work with werewolves the way he did - the way I was supposed to - you have to be… More." She glances back at me as we make our way up the stairs. I grip the rail as I follow her up, something about the spiral of it making my steps feel more unsure than usual.

"More?"

"A Spark," she says in a way that makes it clear that the word is important, that it needs capitalization. The stairs open to a small hallway, which has a door on each side. "How this manifests depends on the person. Alan always had a knack for healing, for fixing things and focusing on the present. No looking back for that brother of mine."

She walks past the doors to where the hall opens into a den. Sunlight streams in from a large circular window on the wall farthest from the hall, and plants have been strategically placed in the areas of the room that would get the most natural light. Herbs and succulents, and I'm pretty sure one of the pots sitting on a small table in the corner homes a Venus Fly Trap. Purple and yellow flowers are tied by the bundle and hang in front of the window to dry out, and a stone mortar and pestle, kinda like the one I've seen my abuela use to make salsa, sits on a work bench that sits just beneath the window. Next to the mortar is a necklace holder shaped like a tree, and a number of pendants and bracelets hang from it. Different colors and shapes, stones and metals.

Bookshelves and cabinets with glass doors line the walls, the cabinets full of the kind of vials you'd expect that one tia everyone has that swears by the traditional home remedies that may or may not just be a step up from brujeria.

"Our younger sister, Marin, she can read people. Can find out what makes them tick, can get them do tell her anything. She's a damn smart girl, got a degree in psychology. She's the counselor at the highschool right now, but she's overqualified."

"And you?" I ask, not sure I wanted to know the answer as I glance around at her stuff. Unmarked candles of different sizes and colors are shelved in one of her cabinets, and just above them are a number of crystals. I half expect to see a cauldron in a fireplace, a wiry broom in the corner, a black cat to jump out hissing and scratching. There's no cauldron, broom, or cat, but there is what looks like a hot plate stashed in one of the cabinets with a number of pots and pans.

"I've always been a little more destructive," she says. "Played with fire a bit too much. Got burned more than once." She rubs at her arm absentmindedly. "I decided to do something more with my Spark," she says, gesturing to the room around us.

"Are you, like, a witch?" I blurt out, because the stuff in the room, this talk about a spark - it seems very Charmed. She arches a brow at me.

"And if I am?"

I draw back, just a bit. Swallow hard. "My tia Lettie always told me not to mess with Brujeria."

"She knows what she's talking about, but sometimes a bruja is just what you need to get shit done," she says. "I'm not a witch," she reassures me after a brief pause, and I can't help the small sigh of relief that comes out. "I just happen to dabble in the craft."

"And that's better?"

"It saved your ass last night and it's what's gonna save your boy, so yeah, I'd say it is." She turns, making her way to the work bench. I stare after her, not quite sure what to make of her statement.

"And, uh, what exactly did you do to save my ass?"

She pauses, looks back at me. There's something unnerving about her gaze - as though she can see to my very soul. "I saw it happen. And I sent Alan to pick you up."

"You… saw it." I let out a nervous laugh. "What, you peer into your crystal ball?"

She blinks, and if anything her gaze gains intensity. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't peer into anything. I just see. Do you have to peer into a crystal ball to see what's in front of you?" she demands, and I'm taken aback by the heat in her voice.

I try again. "You can see the future? Or, like, real time?" She narrows her eyes at me, as though trying to decide if this is a conversation worth pursuing.

"Both. Snippets," she says finally, turning back to her work bench. "Some stronger and longer than others. I saw what happened last night at the Hale House, and I saw your boy after." She glances back at me. "He's alive, and he'll stay alive."

"You'll help save him?" I ask hopefully, because if Harry Potter taught me anything it's that you want a witch - or a waitress who happens to dabble in witchcraft - on your side when you go on big adventures. She goes still, however, for a split second before taking a pendant from the necklace holder.

"No," she says softly, and my heart sinks. "Not the way you want me to." She turns back to face me, holding the pendant to her chest. "I can't go with you. I wish I could, Ares," she says, voice earnest. "But I can't." I scowl, ready to call her out on her shit, but she goes on before I can. "There are things you can't even begin to understand." She crosses the room back to me. "I can't interfere with the Hales, not directly, not anymore."

"Why not?" I demand, my frustration, coupled with the remnants of the emotions let out downstairs, getting the best of me. "What's the point of all this then? Why bring me here and show me all this crap and admit to brujeria if you aren't going to help?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously, like a tia about to whoop someone's ass. I cross my arms and look away as she stops in front of me. "We might as well still be doing all this shit by ourselves."

"By yourselves?" she parrots in disbelief. "How old are you?" The question catches me off guard, and I blink up at her in confusion.

"Nineteen?"

She lets out a harsh laugh, throwing her head back. "Christ. And your cousin?"

"Why does that matter-"

"Age, Ares," she orders.

"He's just turned sixteen."

"And that Hale boy can't be more than, what, 23?" She shakes her head.. "Babies. You're all babies-"

"We are not!" I snap.

"You don't know what the hell you're doing," she retorts. "Running around playing Nancy Drew at the school, running through the preserve in the middle of the night after werewolves, going to the hospital alone to confront the Alpha-"

"How do you know about that?" She draws back, just a bit, and glances away for a split second.

"I told you, I see things."

"And you never bothered to tell us?" My voice rises to dangerous octaves, and even the warning in Angie's eyes can't cull it. "You saw us at least once a week! What the fuck, were we just your own personal novela?"

"Would you have believed me?" she demands, and I scowl at the floor, because as much as I hate it, she has a point. If she had come to us as Angie the Waitress and tried to warn us from these things, I can only imagine how Derek would have taken it. He would have thought her connected to the Alpha, and it would have been her rather than Deaton he would have wanted to "talk to."

"You're out of your depth, Ares," she goes on. "You don't have the experience to fully understand what the hell is going on - this isn't your world, or your cousin's, and the Hale boy has been so far removed from it for so long he doesn't know a damn thing besides trying to fight it to make it right. I know this world, I know these things, but I can't literally and physically cannot get involved. But you are not beholden to these forces. So I'm going to tell you what you need to know, and give you the help you need to survive this and get your boy back." She pauses, holding her hand, curled around the pendant, out to me.

"That is why you're here."

She lets the pendant go, and it bounces on its chain. It's a sooty looking stone, about the size of a half dollar coin, and even as it twirls on the chain I can only just see the small symbols etched into it. "Peter will still try to get to you," she warns, "and if Kate can't get Derek to talk, she'll want to use you to make him."

"That's… not something I want to hear," I admit. Angie offers a smile, sharp but reassuring all the same as she places the pendant around my neck. It's heavy, but the stone is warm, and weight is comforting.

"Keep this on and you won't have to worry about too much about them." I pick up the stone and try to get a good look at it, but the chain isn't long enough. Angie catches my hands before I can slip it off, and her gaze is damn near scathing. "Keep it on. No matter what," she orders.

"What am I supposed to do with it? I don't think it'll be much good against bullets and killer claws," I say, dropping it back onto my chest.

"Oh, ye of little faith," she says, her voice almost teasing.

"What about Derek?" I ask. "How am I supposed to help him? What am I supposed to do?"

"You need to find him." She pauses before her voice taking on an almost… drowsy quality to it. "But first… go shopping."

Honestly, what the fuck.

She shakes her head, as if waking herself up. "And when this is over, and you want to know things you shouldn't know, and play with things that will only burn you…" She glances back at me, and her eyes shine with a warning, but also with a promise of power, of control, of excitement.

"You know where I am."

Happy late valentine's day?

Thanks for having patience with me, y'all. We're gonna get through this first season if it's the last thing I do (and then we'll see where season 2 takes us.)

(while I have you here, dear readers, I have something of an announcement to make. The reason I haven't been working on this here fic as much as I should be is because I've been working on my other teen wolf plot bunnies. Which I have posted. Which you should definitely check out. One's a Night Vale crossover and the other is more close to canon but also not at all.)

te quiero mucho

stay schway, y'all.