Author's Note: Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or any of its characters. I do, however, own my OCs and this plot, which will be an original, alternative plot to season 4. I decided to take on this story because after season 3 I found myself growing more and more disappointed with the new seasons. Every premiere, I hoped that this would be the season it turned around - this would be the season that would change my mind. But season 6 has ended, and so has the show, and I was left with that same desire to feel invested in their story again.

I love the Teen Wolf characters, and I thought they deserved a little rewrite. That's what I've aimed to do with this story. My OC opens the door to new content and explores the life of Bea Stilinski and how her existence changes the lives we've become so familiar with in some surprising ways. Romance isn't the goal of this story but as I've gotten further along in developing the relationships and subplots, it seems inevitable, so keep your eyes open for that and enjoy the ride.

Bea is seven years older than Stiles and she was old enough to realize - possibly more than anyone else - what was happening to Claudia as she grew more and more sick, and she remembers everything. This story will get into that, too.

Also, very important: This story, if you cannot tell, deals with suicide. This might be triggering to some people. If you think you might be one of those people, please, do not read any further. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline in the USA is 1-800-273-8255.

Otherwise, thank you for stopping by and please review!

Paramnesia.

noun

1. A distortion of memory in which fact and fantasy are confused.

2. The inability to recall the correct meaning of a word.

September 1995

Beacon Hills, CA

Riley Bridge

The dusty blue jeep pulled into an empty parking lot just off of Route 23. It was warm out, so the windows were down, allowing the sound of the family singing inside to be heard over the drowsy thrum of the cicadas.

Claudia Stilinski kept the jeep running so they could finish the song. Her husband, Noah, smiled as his wife and his oldest child, Bea, continued to croon along with Patsy Cline about searching for their long lost lover after midnight.

Claudia reached out to switch the stereo off. "See? I knew it would be the perfect day to come. My instincts are always right."

Noah put his hands up in mock-surrender. "Whoa! That's a trap! I know better than to argue with that. I'd like to not have to sleep on the couch tonight, thank you very much." He snickered as Claudia gave him a good-natured swat on his shoulder.

"I don't know who you think you're kidding," She shot back. "You'll be asleep in that recliner before the game is even over this evening."

He chuckled in agreement and they undid their seatbelts to begin gathering the children to take them to the bridge. Noah leaned over Stiles' car seat and presented him a baseball cap with a flourish, arranging his features into that of over-dramatic admiration.

Stiles' pudgy little face lit up in delight and he giggled and grabbed at his father's face. "See that?" Noah pointed at the symbol of his favorite baseball team on the front of the cap. "That's for good luck! You're gonna be our good luck charm. Yes you are!"

Stiles gurgled merrily as Noah settled the cap gently over his head. He sat back to look at the child and made a noise of appreciation at the result. Stiles kicked his little feet and turned his head with the hat on, adjusting to the added weight and pressure on his head, and Noah laughed contentedly as he freed the baby of his straps and extracted him from the car seat.

Bea came bounding up, her dark ponytail bouncing as she held up a loaf of bread in a plastic bag, which swung slightly in front of her face. "For the ducks!"

"What? The ducks? No way! That's for my lunch!"

Bea giggled loudly at her dad and shook her head. She snatched the bag protectively to her chest and said, "No, daddy. The ducks are too hungry."

"Well!" He proclaimed, shifting Stiles in his arms. "Did you hear that? Bea's choosing a buncha lousy mallards over her own flesh and blood! Traitor."

"Oh, alright. But you just get two," She relented, and immediately plopped on the ground to begin picking at the twisty tie on the bag.

Noah quietly gasped at Stiles and bounced him in his arms. "We just get two," He reported to the baby, who stretched his hand and tittered. Noah shook his head. "No, that's what she said. Two. I know!"

"Okay, umm...?" Claudia called from where she was bent in the back of the jeep. "Noah! What did you do with the basket?"

"What?" Noah stepped around his daughter to approach Claudia.

"The basket! The basket of food for lunch."

"What are you talking about? I thought you were supposed to pack the basket."

"What? No, I was fixing Bea's hair, remember?"

"Honey, I had to take a call from the station." Noah grabbed the neck of Stiles' onesie to wipe at some dribble on the baby's lips. At that time, Noah was a rookie police officer at the local station. He had just graduated from the police academy and the station rarely called, unless it was to do with paperwork or picking up hours. It was an unspoken rule that if the station called, Noah answered, and sometimes that meant that certain responsibilities would be neglected. "Did you check the—"

"Yes, I checked the back seat. Twice! It's not there." She sighed loudly and pulled out from the back of the jeep. Her pretty face screwed up in distress and she ran a hand down her braided hair as she shook her head in defeat. "It's just not there. It's probably still sitting on the counter at home. Should I run back and get it?"

"No, that's okay. We'll just make this a quick trip," Noah shrugged. "We can be flexible, can't we, Stiles?"

Stiles stared up at him.

"I got bread!" Bea announced as she pushed off the gravel parking lot to brush her shorts off and hold the bag aloft. "It's hard to get open, though."

"Oh, no, baby." Claudia shook her head. "That's for the ducks!"

"Two for daddy," The girl corrected.

When Claudia shot a look at Noah he gave her a nonchalant shrug. "Deal's a deal."

"That it is," she relented, and retrieved the modest stroller from the narrow trunk of the jeep to transfer Stiles into its snug, cushioned seat. Noah strapped him in and grabbed ahold of the handles. Turning to Bea, Claudia held out her hand. "Come here, Bea, hold my hand when we cross the road, okay?"

As the family crossed to the paved trail that led to Riley Bridge, a few cawing black birds passed them noisily overhead.

"Ducks!" Bea shouted.

"Those are ravens, baby," Claudia said.

Bea led the charge onto the path and frowned as she turned to walk backwards and watch the ravens fly onto the power lines over the street. "Do ravens eat bread?"

"They can. Ravens are omnivores." Noah lifted the wheels of the stroller to get over the curb. "Do you know what that means?"

"It means… um… that ravens are dinosaurs?" Bea guessed, causing her parents to laugh loudly. She crossed her arms and stopped on the path to glare at them. "Stop! It's not funny! You stupid jerks!"

Noah, if anything, laughed harder, which made Bea stomp her foot and whine loudly.

Claudia did her best to stifle her amusement. "It means they eat both meat and vegetation, instead of one or the other. Like us. And insects. Not like us."

"Insects?" Bea squeaked, horror dawning across her small features. "Eww!"

"But mostly," Noah rumbled in a menacing tone as he leaned over the stroller and took on a predatory crouch, lifting a clawed hand. "They wait… until their prey is vulnerable and exposed… And they strike!"

He made a growling noise and Claudia watched in amusement as Bea turned with a high pitched squeal and tore down the path. Noah roared loudly and chased after her.

Nearby, a third, unseen person watched as the little girl sped down the winding path and shrieked in delight, her father close on her heels with the stroller bouncing over the bumps in the path all the way. The baby let out peals of contagious laughter as they chased his older sister up to the bridge, where they ducked down to hide.

The girl, unaware, continued running. "Momma!" She yelled. "Don't let him catch me!"

Her sandals plodded over the cement bridge and she gasped in another laugh. Slowly, she realized that she wasn't being chased. She turned around and stared at the path she'd just ran off. There came a rustle from the trees behind her and she whipped around, thinking her father must have somehow snuck across to catch her by surprise.

But when she turned she didn't see anything. She could only hear the rustle of something moving just out of sight, deep in the tall trees that blocked the afternoon sun. It was dark in the woods across the bridge and she could feel a cold breeze float out from inside, whistling a low, gentle tune that made her back up a step. A twig snapped close enough to sound like it came from the brush off to the side and she flinched.

"Hey..." Her voice twinged with distress. "Dad, where'd you go?"

"Raaaagh! I'm gonna getcha!" Noah popped up behind her and scooped her up in his arms, and her bag of bread fell on the bridge. "Hah-hah!" He triumphantly exclaimed, throwing her over his shoulder as she screamed in surprise. "Gotcha!"

"No!" She cried. "Put me down!"

Noah's teasing, monstrous roars dwindled slightly as the girl wriggled in his arms and pushed at him to try and escape. "Okay, okay. Hey…" He set her down and knelt before her, keeping a gentle hold on her arm when she tried to tug away. "What's wrong? I'm sorry baby, it was just a game."

She sniffed indignantly. "I know."

"Is it because you couldn't see me?"

She wiped at her nose and nodded, her chin nearly touching her chest, and Noah pulled her into a soothing hug, a shameful chuckle reverberating in his throat as he held her close and petted her hair. "Sorry, baby."

"Daddy's mean, isn't he?" Claudia instigated, having witnessed the whole scene. But it drew a rueful smile from the small girl, who chuckled and shook herself off.

"Yeah! A big, mean jerk!"

They carried on like this, playing and enjoying the warm afternoon and the view that the tall bridge afforded them of the creek that cut a curving path between Beacon Hills and the Preserve.

It was a deep creek; one with a muddy, rocky shore and a pool near the end that looked like it had been torn straight from a book of spooky fables. There was plenty of vegetation growing. Moss and cattails and lily pads with pretty lotus flowers, accompanied with a musical buzz of toads, bugs and various small creatures that called this spot home.

There were, however, no ducks. "They might have flown south," Bea suggested.

"It's the middle of September, baby," Claudia told her. "That won't happen for a couple of months at least."

"Who will eat the bread?"

"We can use the bread. It won't go to waste," Noah reassured where he was stooped by the stroller. He gave Stiles a vibrantly colorful set of linking rings to play with.

Bea pouted and grabbed a blue metal pole to one of the lamps on the bridge and leaned against it. She turned her eyes onto the pale metal and traced a finger down its smooth, warm surface. "Ssst…Stee…Stew."

"What?" Noah asked.

She tapped the pole. "Stew."

He came to her side, putting a hand on her back. "What are you talking about?"

Her finger, with its purple glitter polish, pointed at a name that was jaggedly etched into the metal. STEVE, it spelled, in uneven, crooked lettering, and the two last letters were so close together the V looked more like a W.

Noah opened his mouth to tell her it was probably just graffiti from some teen when a new voice answered unexpectedly. "Steve Young," A man said. He stood at the end of the bridge with the woods to his back and wore a dark blue windbreaker and a woolen, flat cap over his greying hair. "Only seventeen years old. Whole life ahead of 'im. Jumped last month."

"Oh," Claudia blinked, disturbed. She cast a weary glance down to her children and pulled Stiles' stroller closer. "How sad."

"Jumped?" Bea asked curiously. She started to step away from the pole to get a better view of the man but Noah held her in place, his hand having moved from her back to her shoulder. "What does he mean, daddy?" She looked up at him.

"I mean he jumped over the rail, little girl!" The man croaked, his voice bloated like a frog's, and Bea found that she didn't care for the mustache that seemed to take up his entire top lip. "Didn't your folks tell ya? This bridge's got a nasty reputation. It's famous around here."

"Why?" She asked, as children do, and her parents, unsure of how to handle the situation, hesitated just a moment too long.

"Cause it's a death trap. It might be pretty now, but don't ever come out here after dark. There's all sorts of things just waitin' for kids to get close enough…" He put his hand up in a monster claw that looked just like the one Noah had made earlier, but it was scarier to her now. "Then lure 'em over…" He snapped his hand shut and snatched it down. "And pull 'em in!"

Bea watched him with wide, stunned eyes as the man gave a low, somewhat insincere chuckle as if he was aware that what he said would scare her but he didn't want to anger the parents too much. He lifted his eyes from her to break the nightmarish trance he'd trapped her in, and then his grin dropped completely.

"Shouldn't bring your kids here," He told Claudia, in a stoney voice. "It ain't safe."

The adults stepped in then, telling the elderly gentlemen in as a direct manner possible, while still remaining polite, to please leave. As soon as he was gone Noah began reassuring Bea, who was not yet old enough to fully comprehend what she'd been told beyond the fact that it scared her, that nothing would happen to her as long as he or her mother were around.

Bea learned a very general understanding of what suicide was that day. What was intended to be a short, innocent trip to the prettiest view in Beacon Hills had taken an unexpected and somber turn, and Bea would always remember the way the murky woods had towered over her when she ran too far ahead of her dad. She would not soon forget the warning the strange man had left her with, either.

Never go to Riley Bridge at night.

Late December 2011

The Daily Sun, CA

Conference Room

As newspapers go, The Daily Sun was a rather reputable one. It's well known for its investigative journalists, who first broke ground in the early 2000s when they uncovered a child-predator sex ring that had been going on since the early nineties, and went all the way up to state government officials.

Bea was lucky to be counted amongst their ranks. She had nothing to do with the piece they covered on the child sex-ring, but she'd done her fair share of investigating and earned respect around the place early on.

At the moment, though, she just wanted to be in bed at her apartment, curled up with the lights off and curtains drawn, with nothing but the quiet swish of the fan blades overhead to disrupt the peace. It would be a welcomed relief from the loud chatter of voices in her ear.

She should be contributing. She should be making an effort. Not hunched down in her seat with her hand covering her eyes, fantasizing that she was far away on a warm beach with a cold margarita in her hand.

"Really?" Aarons whispered, leaning close. "Sunglasses? Could you at least try to be a little less cliché, please?"

Bea groaned quietly and reached out to push blindly at Aarons. "Go away."

He snorted. "Hey, you wanna know my cure for a hangover? It works, I swear."

She grunted in response.

"Don't drink in the first place," He suggested. "Seriously."

Bea drew in a breath to snicker sarcastically at him and turned to sit up in her seat. "That's revolutionary. Quick, give me your pen, I've gotta write that down!"

Aarons laughed and shook his head. "I'm serious though, Stilinski. You've gotta stop drinking alone. It's starting to make you look like you've got a problem." He paused as a thought occurred to him. "If Cooper finds out you're an alcoholic, we can't be drinking buddies anymore."

"I'm not an alcoholic, you jackass!" She grinned and shook her head, tapping a finger against her notes. "I was celebrating. It was the holidays. There was eggnog."

"Festive," He quipped.

She stretched a derisive grin on her face and nodded at him with her eyebrows raised.

"Honestly though, it's super obvious that you're hung over when you have those things covering your whole face. Why do girls wear sunglasses so big? Take them off before Cooper notices, or you'll be fired for sure."

"You talk a lot, you know that?" Bea lifted her glasses off her nose and slid them over the top of her head. She turned her face to squint against the light at Aarons.

He recoiled and immediately reached out to push the sunglasses back down. "Jesus! Cover that up!"

She made an unpleasant noise and batted his hand away, self-consciously pushing her chair farther away. As if that would deter him any. He reminded her of Stiles sometimes. At that thought, guilt panged deep in her chest, and she cleared her throat to repress the emotion.

After that she tried to catch any part of the numerous conversations occurring around them, figuring that it would be wise to at least look like she was conscious and working. She scribbled down a few superficial notes.

"You look like you're about to crawl up the walls," Aarons whispered, and Bea chuckled despite herself. "The power of Christ compels you—"

"Dude, stop," she whispered furiously. "You're drawing attention to us!"

Sure enough, a few of their coworkers had paused to turn and see what Aarons was referring to, and Bea offered them weak smiles of acknowledgment. They shook their heads and she shot Aarons a dirty look.

Unable to help himself, Aarons put a finger up like he was signaling her to be quiet so he could speak. He began to recite a prayer in Hebrew, and his tone alone expressed the nature of the prayer. He was cut short by Bea's fist, which sharply connected with his shoulder, and he loudly winced and flinched away from her with a laugh.

"Freaking asshole," She muttered, though she couldn't keep the grin from her face. "What were you saying, anyways?"

He shook his head. "I dunno. Nothing really, just Hebrew words."

"Jessica would be appalled."

"You're probably right about that," He admitted. His face drooped to a somewhat grudging, scathing expression. "Speaking of which, she wanted me to thank you for the planner you got her for the holiday. Thanks for that, by the way."

She grinned shamelessly. "You're welcome! That's a gift for both of you to enjoy. Now she can take full control of your life and strategize it down to the finest detail."

"You know what? On second thought, never stop drinking. I can't lose my drinking buddy. I'll need you in the months to come."

Bea's jaw dropped and she started to form a loud, amused taunt, but before she got the chance her name was called out. Cooper, the giant, sat at the head of the table with a stress ball he passed back and forth between his huge hands. "Something you care to share with the class, Stilinski?"

Recovering from the surprise of being called out, she shook her head and cast a fleeting glance to Aarons, who looked to be hiding his admonishment with a collected, and totally fake, expression of interest. "Oh, just that Jessica is going to go Full Metal Jacket when I tell her what Aarons just said to me."

There were a couple of oohs and several snickers from their coworkers, and Aarons scowled and rolled his eyes. Cooper was unimpressed. "What's the name of that town you're from? Lighthouse Valley? Beaming Hillsides?"

She grit her teeth. "It's Beacon Hills, actually."

Cooper snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "Yes! That's the place."

Everyone waited for him to make a point, but Cooper seemed to be in no rush as he hummed thoughtfully to himself and sat back in his desk chair to rub at his goatee. He gave the stress ball a tight squeeze.

The silence stretched on for another long second. Bea opened her mouth and Cooper took the opportunity to cut her off again. "How's that piece on the protest coming?"

She hated being put on the spot like this. Especially when there wasn't much to update from what she had last week. "Well, progress is slow. One of my sources who stayed are trying to push—"

"Cut it," Cooper interrupted.

Bea stared at him. "…What?"

He leaned forward, looking her square in the eye. "We're cutting the protest piece."

"But—"

"Do you keep up with the local news there? In Beacon Hills, I mean."

She shifted uncomfortably. Her eyes didn't meet anyone's as she ducked her face and cleared her throat. "Uh, sure. I try to. I mean, I still get text alerts on my phone for the area so I know when there's been an earthquake or something."

"Oh, so you know about the girl who went missing last week?"

Bea slowly lifted her head and the room had gone so quiet that the air conditioning could be heard whirring from the corners of the room. Once again, she didn't get the chance to respond.

"Casey Michaels. Her body was found yesterday evening by canine units on the shore of a creek off of Route 23. And a month before that, Andrew Brown. Tyler Jones. Mariah Miller. Any of these ringing bells for you?"

"Uh…" She stared at him. "Missing children?"

"Teens," He corrected.

"Cooper—I mean," Aarons spoke up. He shook his head. "At the risk of sounding insensitive, what's your point? There are plenty of teens missing right here in our own community too."

Cooper pointed at him. "But none of them were suicides. Were they?"

Neither Bea nor Aarons had anything to say to that.

He looked back at Bea. "I guess 'missing' was a poor choice of words on my part. For the last month, starting with Andrew Brown, there have been suicides off Riley Bridge once a week. Which is ironic since they're slated to start construction to put in a suicide barrier after the New Year."

"Am I fired?" Bea asked, earning a few surprised scoffs, and Cooper smirked at her.

"Not yet." Her heart dropped, and everything around her seemed to go still. Cooper just kept smiling. "Look, I'll lay it out for you. There's evidence of a suicide pact in a neighboring county, which happens to be your hometown. Your dad is the Sheriff there, for Christ's sake. You've been desperate for new content ever since your piece on the Russian Laundromat. And that was a great story; nobody is disputing that. You've earned your spot on this team.

"And I'll say something else, even while everyone else can overhear. Stilinski, you've got what it takes to be a really, really great journalist." Her coworkers exchanged unreadable glances. "I think this will get you back on track, as long as you do it right. There's a story here. I can feel it. So I want you to bring it to me."

Bea blinked widely. "I… I don't know what to say."

"Yes," he supplied for her, waving his hand. "You say yes."

"Um—thank you," she hastily added. "I think."

He snorted. "You're welcome."

Gradually, people started to comment on what just happened. Quiet conversations ensued around them and Bea was lost in thought. She blinked again, and she realized the meeting had drawn to a close. People were standing from their chairs.

She began to gather her notes. Useless notes, now; notes on a dead piece. Her hand grasped the papers tightly.

"Stilinski," Cooper called, from where he'd stood from his chair. He was fixing his shirt where it'd pulled out from its tightly tucked position. "Why the long face? You finally get to go home to that spastic brother you're always talking about."

"Hah!" Aarons barked, smirking down at her. He clapped her shoulder. "Good news, huh?"

Bea sighed and shook her head. She couldn't decide what to do with the notes in her hands so she just held them awkwardly and pressed her lips together. "I guess this means I need to finally get them some Christmas gifts, huh?"

Cooper tilted his head. "I guess it does." He tapped the doorframe with his pen on the way out, a folder tucked in his other hand, and he lingered.

"Whiskey for dad," Bea decided aloud.

"No, no, no!" Aarons waved his hands as if to dispel the offensive idea from the air. "A flask! Get him a flask. I always picture your dad like Clint Eastwood. Man needs a flask."

"Classy," She noted in approval. Bea dumped her notes in the trashcan when they strolled towards the door. "I'll have to hide it from Stiles, of course. He might try to take it if he knows dad has one."

"Really? How old is he, again? Does he like drinking?" Aarons frowned.

"Drinking is kind of a Stilinski requirement," She admitted with a shrug. "But that's not really why. He wouldn't want to give dad an excuse to have alcohol on his person at all times."

"This is all very heartwarming, but don't you have calls to make?" Cooper reminded her. She'd already forgotten he was standing there, and she grabbed her sunglasses off the top of her head and sighed loudly.

"The Stilinskis, reunited again," Aarons announced, his hand spanning over the space in front of them as if the words were displayed on the front page of their paper. "I can't wait to see how this turns out."