Sloan didn't recall falling unconscious, but she wished she had stayed unconscious. Because it appeared that Derek was as extra as she remembered, and he went and called a fucking ambulance.

Probably didn't want to get accused of a second murder.

She found herself sitting in the back of said ambulance in the Preserve parking lot where she left her car, a bottle of water in her hands and a discarded oxygen mask to her side. It made her more nervous than helped her if anything. Derek stood closer than he should, arms crossed and face stony as he watched the paramedic lady check over Sloan. Her partner, a young man about Sloan's age, took one look at Derek and decided he should stay in the front of the truck. To listen for accidents.

Fucking coward.

"Do you have a history of asthma, Miss Guerra?" the paramedic asked. She was older than either Derek or Sloan by a bit, her dark hair swept up in a tight bun. She had hard eyes, and reminded Sloan that she had a type. She wished she didn't look like such a mess.

"No," Derek answered for her, and she glared at him. Acting like he still knew her. The paramedic - her name tag read Elizabeth Delaney - eyed him for a moment before looking to Sloan for an answer. She shook her head.

"No asthma," she said, her voice raspy.

"Anxiety?"

"N-"

"Yeah," Sloan said, speaking over Derek, and he looked down at her in shock. She looked away from him, unable to meet his gaze. "Yeah. Panic disorder… Depression."

Delaney regarded Sloan closely. "Can I ask if you're taking medication for it?" Sloan picked at her thumb nail and didn't answer. "Right, then I suggest you have that conversation with your doctor next time you go. Which should be soon. It was a panic attack, Mr. Hale. She needs rest. She needs to stop drinking."

Sloan scoffed. "Easier said than done." She looked up at them and pushed herself up to stand. Her head swam at the movement, but she was proud that she managed to not fall on her face. "Can I go now?"

"You shouldn't drive yourself-"

"I'll be fine," Sloan said. "Thanks…" she paused, making a production of reading her name tag. "Miss Delaney." She smiled brightly, and Delaney rolled her eyes as Derek scoffed.

"Fucking unbelievable," he muttered. "I'll drive you-"

"Thanks, but no." She pulled her glove from her pocket and slipped it back on, not wanting to touch anything and be sent into another Memory. Because she was still on edge after falling back in when she should not have. "I just wanna be by myself and I just want to sleep." Hurt flashed in his eyes, and in another life, Sloan would have apologized immediately. But that life had come and gone. And now she was saddled with a damn ambulance bill, and she was kinda working for free at the moment because some fucker went and killed Laura.

Not that the money was the only reason she wanted to help Laura, but it sure as shit helped.

"Miss Guerra," Delaney called as she made her way to her car - an old El Camino. Mick had helped her find it after she graduated college, and he had helped her pay for it. Something about surviving being his receptionist, his partner, for so long. He was the only other person she allowed to drive her.

"Miss Guerra." Delaney touched Sloan's arm, and she jerked away in reflex. "I think you should accept Mr. Hale's offer."

"I think," Sloan started, glaring past Delaney to Derek. Fucking Derek Hale. Still ruining her life. "Mr. Hale should shove his offer up his -"

"I insist," Delaney pressed, and her voice grew hard as she went on. "Or I'll be forced to call Sheriff Stilinski."

"Fuck," Sloan said with a scowl. "Of course you know about that."

Delaney offered a curt smile. "Everyone does. He's made sure of it." She stepped back and motioned for Derek to move forward. "Take her home, Mr. Hale, and make sure she isn't alone." Sloan scoffed. She'd be leaving his ass the first chance she got. Derek came over, and he looked just as displeased as Sloan felt, like he regretted ever offering his help. She hoped he did, asshole. "Give him your keys, Miss Guerra."

Sloan pulled up her upper lip in a disdainful snarl and all but threw them at Derek. "Fuck up my car, and I fuck up your face."

"Same old Sloan," Derek muttered, and she knew he baited her on purpose. Well fuck him. She gave him her condolences, she didn't owe him anything else. She just wanted to be rid of him already so she could call Stiles and demand he bring Scott to her as soon as possible… maybe after she's had time to recover from the day.

"Be seeing you, Delaney," Sloan called as she moved around to the passenger side of her car.

"I should hope not," Delaney called back, and Sloan clutched at her chest in mock hurt. "Stay out of trouble."

Sloan gave a two fingered salute and slipped in. Derek followed suit. They sat in silence for a moment.

"Are you going to tell me where you live?"

"I was hoping to sit here until they leave and then kick you out," Sloan answered. He let out an annoyed huff. "I'm at Theatre Hill apartments."

"Aren't those shit?"

"They are, yes, thank you for reminding me, but not everyone can afford a studio apartment in New York, so…" Sloan trailed off. "Just take me home if you're going to or get out." She closed her eyes and leaned her head back in the headrest. She half expected him to get out right then and there. Instead, he started the car, put it in gear. She huffed and let her mind wander back to the memory.

A werewolf killed Laura. No denying that. Sloan wished she could have seen its face. A selfish part of her wished it had been human, had been a hunter. She could have brought John in. Now she'd be working around him, and she hated doing that.

But the second memory caused her just as much concern as the first, if that was possible. Scott McCall had been out in the Preserve last night. She had been back in Beacon Hills less than a year still, but she had reconnected with Stiles, and through him Scott. She knew his asthma. She knew his hair. And now she knew that he had been bitten.

Her hand massaged her side, and she knew that the bite would have killed him over the night if it had not taken. He hadn't appeared to her as Laura had - and god she'd drive off a bridge if she ever saw him or Stiles appear to her -, so that only left one thing. Scott McCall was a werewolf. Which sucked, because his Alpha was a murderer. Hopefully just a vagabond that kept moving. She can't imagine someone would want to take over Beacon Hills. It became no man's land when the Hales died.

"In terms of territory, how great is Beacon Hills?" Sloan found herself asking Derek. She looked up at him, and he arched a brow at her, like he didn't know what to think of the question. Was he annoyed? Angry? Pleased she wasn't treating him like shit like he knew he deserved to be treated? That would come after she's gotten what she wanted from him.

"The Preserve makes it ideal," he said, tone flat.

Sloan retreated back into her thoughts. Laura only came back three days ago, and she hadn't intended on staying. If a wolf wanted Beacon Hills, they didn't need to kill her. Yellow eyes bleeding crimson…

"Who all knew she was coming?"

"What?"

"Who all. Knew. Laura Hale. Was coming back?" Sloan repeated slowly and loudly. Patronizingly. Derek shot her a dark look. She wouldn't treat him like an idiot if he would answer the question the first time she asked it.

"Did you see who did it?" he demanded.

"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking you the damn question."

"I don't know," he said reluctantly. "She only told me the morning she left."

"Fantastic. You're useless."

The rest of the drive followed in silence. They make it to her apartment complex in one piece, and Sloan lost no time jumping out of the car.

"Keys," she ordered, holding her hand out to Derek after he had gotten out of the car. He scowled and dropped them in her open palm. "Welp, good deed done, Hale. Congratulations. I'll let John know you're not a murderer." She started for the building.

She should have been more tactful than that. If only for Laura's sake. But being around Derek brought up unpleasant memories - memories of her childhood, of her mother, of his absolute and utter betrayal in high school -, and she didn't want to be around him any longer than she had to.

"Sloan." His voice was quiet. It had a broken quality to it. Uncertain. Lost. He didn't know what to do. There had been a time when he would say her name like that, and she'd stick by him until he was back to his cheerful self. Bubbly Derek Hale. She had held him up for so long, and for a time he had done the same for her.

And then he decided she wasn't worth holding up. Sloan knew the dangers of grudges, Mick made sure of that, but damn if it didn't still sting.

"Sloan," he repeated when she didn't stop, and this time his voice was angry. Like he couldn't believe she was ignoring him. Like she owed him. And that made it so much easier for her to roll her head back before turning to look back at him.

"What," she shot back in the same tone, and she figured he didn't like it, because he drew back. She shook her head. Fucking Hale, never could handle getting his own shit thrown back at him. "I have shit to do. An apartment to clean. A murder to solve-"

"Yeah, my sister's," he snapped.

"I know who's murder it is," she said, and her voice grew cold again. She was tired of having to see his face. "You think I'd damn near poison myself over someone I didn't know?" His face fell, and she wondered if he knew that his family was what first drove her to drinking herself almost to death. He had been gone by then.

"You wanna talk?" she asked, and for a split second he seemed hopeful. "Hire me. Then we'll talk. Until then, stay out of my way until I come looking for you. I know it's not something you're used to, but you'll have to make do."

His face twisted in disgust. "You're a fucking bitch."

She turned on her heel and raised her middle finger back at him. Let him think what he wanted. She didn't owe him an explanation.

A sharp knock drew Sloan out of her doze, and she blinked in confusion. It took a moment for her to realize where she was. Her apartment. Her messy, can't be bothered to be cleaned apartment. She sat on the floor, between her couch and coffee table, and had her laptop and notes out scattered in front of her. Laura hadn't appeared to her, not since she went on the memory drop, and Sloan scrambled to figure out where she should start.

Does she continue with her investigation of the Fire? Should she drop it completely and focus on Laura's murder? God, and she still needed to call Mick. He worried, and she needed bullets.

"Sloan, I'm using your key and coming in!" a young voice called through her door, and before she could stop him, Stiles Stilinski stumbles into her apartment, juggling bags of take out and two drinks, his backpack slung over only one shoulder and threatening to fall off. He froze as the door bounced off the wall, and Sloan dropped her head back with a groan.

"Thank you, Spaz Stilinski."

"You're very welcome, Haley Joel Gonzalez," he answered cheekily, and Sloan flipped him off as he came in. "You need to clean."

"I'll pay you if you do it for me."

"You don't have money."

"I'll pay you later."

"You're perpetually broke," he countered, dropping the bag of food down next to her and holding the drinks out to her. She took them, holding them while he dropped his bag by the couch and dropped down himself. "That's why I'm bringing you food and making sure you're still alive."

"And it has nothing to do with your dad asking you to do this?" She dropped her head back to look at him, and he shrugged noncommittally. "And here I thought you loved me."

"I do. I just have to be reminded to love you."

"Fuck off," she said, and he laughed, nudging her with his leg. "What'd you bring me?"

"Sustenance, dear sister," he said knowingly. "Curly fries and a burger. And a Sprite."

"You are an angel," she sighed, holding his drink out to him and searching through the bags for the food that's hers before handing his over. "Tell me about your day."

"Only if you tell me about yours."

"You first. I'm older and asked first."

He huffed, and Sloan bit back a smile. As much as she hated him barging into her living area unannounced, she adored Stiles, the spaz. He was easy to listen to, his hyperactive brand of conversation enough to keep her grounded in the land of the living.

"Derek Hale is back in town." His tone was flippant, but Sloan had been around the boy for his entire life - anger seethed beneath his words.

Sloan looked back at him sharply, and he drew back in alarm. "Why do you know that?"

"Scott and I went to the preserve. He was there."

"Why were you in the preserve?"

She knew the answer, but she learned from Mick that if she made Stiles say out loud whatever stupid thing he had done, there'd be a chance he'd realize what he did was stupid. A slight, very small chance.

"He dropped his inhaler last night," he said in a quiet rush, and it occurred to her then that it could have just as easily been Stiles who had been bitten. Her stomach flipped at the idea, and her horror must have shown on her face. Stiles may not have realized why she was alarmed, but it didn't stop him from justifying his case. "Look, Sloan, I know, disrespectful, but come on! Nothing like that ever happens in Beacon Hills!"

She decided it would be best to not mention the true reason for her expression, and opted to turn the conversation back to a safe banter.

"I know. That's why I came back." Stiles looked pointedly at the bottles and glasses littering the living room. "Look, normal deaths get to me too, alright?" She smacked his leg. "Don't judge. Help clean."

"Pass."

"Stiles, come on. I'm busy. I got shit to do. Naps to take. Criminals to interview."

"What criminals?" He paused, his eyes lighting in excitement. "Hey, do you already know who the body is? You know who the body is. Come on, Sloan, you gotta-" he stopped short at the dark look she gave him. She could handle a lot from him, but she didn't make light of her Sight, and she didn't like him thinking it was just a cool trick. More importantly, she didn't like him drawing attention to it.

It had been the one rule of her mother's that she knew wasn't bullshit.

"What have I said?"

"Don't draw attention to the Sight," he parroted dutifully. "But you said the apartment was safe-"

"It is, but Jesus, Stiles. It's fucking disrespectful." His face fell. "For that you have to clean."

"GOD, you're the worst." But he said it in a tone that Sloan knew meant he would do it for her. "Do you have trash bags?"

"I'm gonna say yes."

"And you'll pay me?"

"I'll pay you back for the food?"

"You're the worst sister."

Sloan considered reminding him that they weren't actually siblings. But she could never do that, because, well shit. "And you're the best baby brother," she said, and meant it.

"Hey, what time does Scott get off work?" Sloan asked nonchalantly. She stood in her kitchenette, leaning forward on the counter that separated her from Stiles, who was in the living room gathering bottles and throwing them in a trash bag. A mug of coffee sat in front of her; she still felt drained from the memory incident, and she needed something to keep her up. Laura still hadn't returned, but Sloan wasn't worried about her moving on anytime soon. If anything, she was haunting Derek, wherever he was.

Sloan hoped he felt her presence, and an incredibly petty part of her hoped it hurt him as much as it hurt her.

Stiles stopped his work and looked up at her in a scrutinizing manner. The boy grew up with her as a constant in his life. He knew her nonchalance was anything but.

"6:30. Why?"

Sloan couldn't exactly come out and tell Stiles it was because Scott went and got turned into a werewolf. No doubt he'd figure it out on his own. He was a damn smart kid, and Sloan considered it a miracle he never found out about Mick when he visited.

She pressed the home button on her phone, lighting up the screen. The time read six. "It's supposed to rain…" she mused. "Doesn't he ride his bike around? I should give him a ride."

"What?" Stiles dropped the bag in his hand. "Why?"

"Because I like Scott," she said, moving around the counter to make her way to him. "And I would hate for him to get sick." Upon reaching him, she pressed a kiss to his forehead before turning and heading for the door. "See yourself out. Let me know when you leave and when you get home."

"I thought you were gonna pay me!"

"Later," she called over her shoulder, and thought maybe she should have made Laura pay something upfront.

It was drizzling already when Sloan left her apartment, and on the drive it only fell harder. She thanked her past self for not drinking during the day, because as much as she liked to think of herself as a competent driver, she drew the line at drunk and rainy.

A car is parked in the lot of the animal clinic, which made Sloan a bit nervous, considering that the clinic was supposed to be closed and Scott was just supposed to be cleaning right about then. Whoever owned the car had no business being there.

Sloan got out, pulling her jacket hood over her head, and made her way to the front door. She didn't have her gun with her - she hadn't expected any trouble, and so it had been left at home, hidden away from a certain nosey, ADHD ridden teenager who knew better than to touch it anyway.

The door was open when she tried it, and she stilled at the sound of voices coming from a back room. They were young voices, Scott and someone else she didn't recognize.

"Scott, you in here?" she called, walking in and pausing at the front lobby. A silence fell over the clinic, and Sloan almost smiled. It was the kind of silence that came when someone was caught doing something they shouldn't have been.

"Sloan?" Scott called, and immediately shushed whoever he was with. Sloan stuck her hands in her jacket pockets and rocked back on her heels as she waited for Scott to come barreling out of the back in three, two, one-

"What are you doing here?" he demanded as he skid to a stop behind the front desk. Sloan gave him a disarming smile and he frowned in confusion.

"You left the door unlocked, babe," she said flippantly, and arched a brow as a figure stepped out from behind Scott. A girl, pretty, with dark hair and eyes and- "Is that your shirt on that girl?" Sloan tsked them. "And here I thought you were the good kid out of you and Stiles," she chided.

The girl's face went a deep red and Scott sputtered. "That's not- we're not-"

"He gave it to me since I got wet in the rain!" the girl blurted, no doubt wanting to preserve her image.

"Right. The rain." Sloan offered a sly smile. "Look, I'm not interested in whatever you two were getting into."

"Then why are you here?" Scott demanded.

"I came to give you a ride," she answered, and he blinked in surprise. "What? I can't do something out of the goodness of my heart?"

"Not while you're sober," he said quietly, and Sloan had a feeling she wasn't supposed to hear that. It stung, just a bit. But she had been hurt by worse, and his quip rolled off for the most part.

"I mean, I can leave you to ride your bike in the rain," she offered, taking a step back toward the door, jerking a thumb back toward it. His eyes went wide, and realizing he was about to lose a good deal, hastily backpeddled.

"No, no, you can give me a ride. I'll just…" he looked back at the girl. "The dog will be fine," he assured her. "Dr. Deaton will make sure tomorrow, but the splint will hold until then."

He gestured to the door, and the girl smiled sweetly - and god, it'd been awhile since Sloan had seen a smile so pure. They moved around the counter, and Sloan watched in interest. She hadn't heard Stiles mention Scott talking to a girl. Even while he cleaned earlier.

"You're not gonna introduce us, Scott?" Sloan asked nicely, and he threw her a glare from behind the girl.

"Right," he muttered, stepping between the girls. "Sloan, this is Allison. Allison, this is Sloan, Stiles' sister."

Sloan gave a wave, but didn't offer her hand, and was glad the girl - Allison - didn't either. Even with her gloves, she didn't want to risk a Memory drop. Not after what happened last time.

"Sloan… Stilinski?" Allison asked hesitantly, as if she couldn't believe a couple would name both their children questionable, alliterated names. Sloan didn't blame her - Stiles' name was ridiculous, but it was better than the original. She also figured Allison's confusion might have come from the fact that Stiles and Sloan looked nothing alike, what with him being an absolutely a white boy and she was absolutely a latina.

"Guerra," Sloan corrected. "Sloan Guerra. Adopted, kept my name."

"Oh. Okay." she looked back to Scott, who gestured in an almost panicked manner to the door. "It was nice meeting you, Sloan."

"You too."

She watched the two file out, and looked around the clinic once they were gone. Deaton kept it in good order, just as she remembered when she had worked with the vet. As it was, animals didn't stick around like humans after death, and it made the job so much easier for her.

She waited, and Scott took longer than he should have to just walk the girl out. It would have made Sloan nervous, if not for how the boy walked in with a dopey grin on his face.

"Okay there, lover boy?" she drawled, and he gave a smile as he glided past her to the back room, probably to get his backpack. He came back, and Sloan walked out of the clinic first, letting Scott lock it behind him.

She wondered how she would go about this. Hey, Scotty, feeling particularly hairy lately? Rage? Golden eyes and claws? Well, it's not puberty. She shook her head, and once he had his bike placed in the car's bed, they both got in.

"I got a date," he said with a light voice. Sloan arched a brow, and wondered how much of him getting a date was him and how much of it was the wolf.

"Wow," she said in her best Owen Wilson voice, just to fuck with him. He took no notice.

"To a party Friday night."

Friday night. Which happened to be the full moon. Sloan hummed as she pulled out of the parking lot.

"Why are you giving me a ride?" Scott asked after a moment of silence, and Sloan looked at him in offense. "Oh, come on. You like me, but not enough to give me a ride out of the goodness of your heart."

"Point," she conceded. "I wanted to talk to you about last night."

He sunk deep into his seat. "Shit."

"I'm not gonna rat you out to your mom or anything," she assured him. "I just want to… check up on you."

She felt his suspicious gaze. "Check up on me," he repeated.

"Am I not allowed to do that?"

"Deep down, you're a Stilinski, and as much as I like you Stilinski's, you guys usually have ulterior motives."

"Fancy words, McCall."

"They're part of our vocab this week."

Sloan snorted. "Of course." She paused. "What bit you last night?" He didn't answer, and a tense silence filled the car. She knew he'd heal by now, and if he said nothing, she couldn't prove it otherwise. She took a breath. "If things get… weird with you," she started. "You come to me."

"What?"

"Shut up and listen." She heard his mouth snap shut. "If you start feeling sick Friday. If you feel wrong. You come to me," she ordered. "And only me, you understand?"

She stopped at a light, and looked at him. He stared at her with something akin to fear, unease in his eyes. Good.

"Understand?"

He swallowed. "Ye-yeah, Sloan. Come to you."

Sloan offered him a smile. "Good boy."

hello! huge thanks to those of you who fav/followed/reviewed! I really appreciate it! I just wanna throw in a reminder that i am the absolute worst at updating, and will throw up ch3 once it's done and i have ch 4 started.

stay schway y'all