"It well may be that we will never meet again
In this lifetime, so let me say before we part
So much of me is made from what I've learned from you.
You'll be with me, like a handprint on my heart.
And now whatever way our stories end,
I know you have rewritten mine by being my friend.

Like a ship blown from its mooring by a wind off the sea,
Like a seed dropped by a sky bird in a distant wood.

Who can say if I've been changed for the better? But…
Because I knew you…"

The line faded softly, dispersing through the air and evaporating before it could bounce off the stark white hospital walls. Instead, all that remained was the hum of machinery, the steady beeping of the heart rate monitor. People were talking in the hallway, but it was hushed and indistinguishable. It'd been the same soundtrack all weekend, almost completely without change. Only shallow breathing and the occasional full-volume voice of a doctor or a parent coming in to check on the situation. The same monotonous routine since Friday night. And I hated it.

"Come on, Lyd. Your turn," I urged, stroking my thumb across the back of her stiff hand.

Her bruises had faded slightly, the skin becoming slightly less pale, but the limb was just as still as it had been the rest of my time here. No sign of life beyond a pulse and the slight rise and fall of her chest. I'd never gone so long without hearing Lydia Martin's voice, and after sitting by her bedside for so long, I was starting to notice how its absence was slowly breaking me.

"Lydia, please," I begged, cupping both my hands around hers. "You can't just miss your cue like this. Don't leave me hanging." Lydia's eyelid twitched slightly, and I held my breath. But it was no use. Even after several seconds, she remained unresponsive. I sighed, feeling my eyes prickle with unshed tears. "Lydia…you need to wake up," I begged, biting my lip hard in an effort to keep my composure. "I need you to wake up… And it's not just me. My mom needs you to wake up. Your mom needs you to wake up. All the kids at school. I mean, who's going to run the school if you're not there? Who's gonna be the—the envy of all the girl and all the guys' dream, huh?" I tried to force a chuckle out of my throat, but it was weak and broken. If anything, the pathetic sound just made my eyes water even more. "There's just so much we have to talk about. I mean, you're causing an uproar as usual. Everyone's worried sick about you." I looked around at the few cards and flowers that had been sent since she'd gone under. "Even Jackson came, apparently," I went on, tracing abstract patterns on the back of her hand. "Not that he came when I was awake. Or left anything. One of the nurses just saw him. He's still a jackass, but I guess he saved you, so…"

I paused to glanced at the heart rate monitor, still beeping steadily. I wanted to say that he'd saved her, but no one could be sure of that yet. The doctors said she was well on her way to healing. She would wake up soon if everything went according to plan. But the doctors still thought this was a mountain lion attack. I knew better. I wouldn't say Lydia was saved until I knew she was okay, and right now she was still stuck in limbo. She wasn't up and talking, but at least she wasn't…

"I have to talk to you about Scott and Allison, too," I said quickly, shaking my previous train of thought away. "They're back together now. At least, I think they are. They were dancing a lot at formal, and they kissed, so… Guess that means they can go back to being giggly and sickeningly adorable together, yeah?" Lydia's eyebrow twitched up ever so slightly, perfectly conveying the emotion she should not be able to feel while she was unconscious. "Oh, come on. Don't look at me like that," I said, shaking my head slightly. I glanced at the open door, biting my lower lip before I sighed. "I don't know where Stiles and I are right now," I admitted. I shifted in my chair, folding my arms on the edge of the bed and resting my head on top. "I mean, we danced, and then he almost kissed me and then I kissed him and… I don't know." I let out another pitiful sigh, tightening my grip on her wrist. "That's why I need you awake, you know? You… You said my love life was a hundred and ten percent your business. I mean, I just had my first kiss and I don't know what I'm doing or what I'm supposed to say to him or…"

I paused in my ranting, staring down at the sallow, lifeless face on the bed in front of me, sunken eyes and chapped lips, carefully framed by her usually vibrant hair. But today the strawberry blonde curls just looked dull and limp. This was hardly even the shadow of Lydia Martin.

"I…I just need my best friend back. I'm not gonna be able to do anything without you, Lydia. You can't just… You can't be…"

My brain wouldn't let me finish the sentence, but that tiny voice of guilt was still screaming in the back of my head. "My fault. This is all my fault." Lydia had only been outside because I had run out of the dance. Lydia had only gotten attacked by Peter because I hadn't let him turn me. Lydia had been completely oblivious to all of the danger in Beacon Hills because I just kept lying to her about everything. If she'd known what was outside, maybe she wouldn't have come. She wouldn't have ran in, unaware and unprotected, if she knew there was a psychopathic murdering Alpha werewolf on the loose. She deserved to know just as much as I did. She was friends with me, with Allison, and we were both pretty heavily involved at this point. Hell, werewolves were the reason that Jackass Whittemore had broken her heart, left her because he wanted to be some wolfy lacrosse star. I'd just wanted to protect her, to let her go on with her normal life without having to face the music. But everyone around her knew. She was a target whether she knew what was happening or not, and this was proof. If lying was protecting her, then it shouldn't have been Lydia lying motionless in a hospital bed. It should have been me. I'd known for ages and decided not to tell her. I was the reason she walked into that field without knowing what she was getting herself into so if… If Lydia died…it was going to be my fault.

I'd started crying again, the warm tears dripping down my face faster than I could stop them. I tried to wipe my cheeks, but it didn't do much good. It was almost surprising just how much I could cry. I hadn't been able to the first day. I just sort of sat there and stared, void of all emotion. Then I'd woken up in the middle of the night, face soaked with tears, and I almost hadn't been able to stop since. My eyes just refused to dry out.

I took a shaky breath, retracting my hands and clasping them in front of me as if in prayer. But who did you talk to in a situation like this? I'd already prayed to God, to saints that were supposed to protect people. I'd bowed my head and tried to talk to my dad for over an hour. Lydia still wouldn't move. But then again, when had Lydia ever willingly let someone help her?

"Lyd," I begged. I stared at the edge of the blanket this time, not sure if I could look at her unresponsive face any longer. "Please wake up. I'm—I'm so sorry. It's my fault you're here and—and when you wake up I promise I'm going to try and fix everything. I'm gonna tell you everything, okay? No more lies. I—I'll tell you about the murders and Peter and—and Kate and Allison's family and Scott and Derek and everything. I'll tell you about what a fucking dumbass Jackson is, and about the video store and about formal. I promise! I'm gonna tell you, I just…! God, please, Lydia. Please, please, please wake up!"

The heart monitor continued its monotonous beeping. The machines all continued to whir. Lydia's chest rose and fell at an even pace. But that was the only response I got.

I let out a half-strangled sob as I began to cry once more, my head falling into my hands so my fingers could twist and knot in my hair. My nails dug into my scalp, and if I didn't know any better I would have said my elbows were leaving bruises on my knees. But I didn't seem to be able to stop. I rocked back and forth in the chair, trying to keep my sniffling quiet until I could stop the tears. Then I just sat there in silence, raw eyes staring down at the floor. A few late tears slipped off my nose and splashed on the white tile below, but I couldn't be bothered to wipe them away. I just watched in mild interest as they collected on the floor, falling farther and farther apart until my eyes finally dried out. I felt hollow, somehow. Like I'd shed all of my emotions and thoughts with my tears, let them fall down and spatter at my feet and leaving me a mere shell of myself. God, I was tired.

A hesitant knock at the door made my head shoot up, fingers quickly wiping at my eyes. My assurance that I was fine died half way out of my mouth when I actually looked at the door though. It wasn't a nurse or a doctor, the way it had been the last few times. It wasn't my mom or Mrs. Martin either. Instead, a very apprehensive Scott McCall stood in the doorway, one hand still raised to knock, and the other shoved deep in the pocket of his sweatshirt. I swallowed thickly, sniffling and running a hand over my hair to erase any evidence of my distress. But I knew it was useless. Scott could probably hear me crying from down the hall, even if he couldn't smell the salt in my tears that were coating the floor.

He immediately noticed my effort to hide. "Hey, it's fine. If anyone's got a reason to cry right now, it's you." That statement alone felt like a punch to the gut, and I felt my mouth hang open slightly. Scott's eyes went wide as he realized just how accusing he'd come across and he back-pedaled furiously. "No! No, I just meant… She's your friend and… Uh, sh-should I just come back later?"

"No, it's fine…" I nodded slightly and Scott edged into the room. He shut the door behind him without asking, looking around in a would-be-casual sort of way. "You got a haircut," I observed, raising a feeble hand to point at his head. His mop of brown hair had been cut short on the sides, trimmed so that it no longer fell in his eyes. It wasn't as short as Stiles, but it was still a significant difference. He looked older, more mature with his clean-cut hair and his forest green sweater.

Scott smirked, bobbing his head in agreement but narrowing his eyes. "Uh, you remember that time you made fun of me for making a comment about your clothes instead of asking the obvious question?" he asked. "Well, that's kinda what you're doing right now."

That coaxed a smile out of me. I gave a feeble grin, recalling the first time I'd invited myself over Scott's house, right after I found out that he was a werewolf. But the grin quickly slid off my face as I remembered that I'd been in a sling during that visit. That was the first time Lydia and I had been attacked by Peter. And now it had happened again.

"What are you here?" I asked quietly, barely lifting my head to look at him.

Scott's face quickly became serious, getting back to the matter at hand. "I wanna try something," he confessed, rolling up his sleeves and taking a few steps towards Lydia's bed. I opened my mouth to protest on instinct, but he sent me a reassuring look. "I promise, I'm not gonna hurt her. Exact opposite, hopefully." At his insistence I bit my lip, sitting back down in my chair with just a twinge of worry still etched onto my face.

Scott took a deep breath before stepping right up to the hospital bed. Cautiously, he lifted Lydia's left forearm, wrapping his hand around it as gently as he could. Then his eyes fluttered shut and there were a few seconds of silence. I barely suppressed a gasp when the veins on Scott's arm suddenly began to swell. I could see them pulsing through his skin, pumping what seemed to be black blood into his body.

"Scott…"

"It's fine," he mumbled, eyes still shut tight in concentration. I grudgingly held my silence, gripping the arms of the uncomfortable hospital chair for all I was worth.

Eventually, the veins ebbed away once more, leaving Scott's tan skin completely smooth. He pried his eyes open and set Lydia's arm gently back on the bed next to her.

"What the hell was that? Are you okay?" I asked quickly, scooting to the edge of my chair and letting my eyes fly back and forth between my two friends.

Scott shook out his hand, flexing the fingers experimentally. "Yeah, fine. I just took some of her pain away."

I raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You what?"

"Took some of her pain away," he repeated with a small shrug. "Just a little bit. Apparently it's another perk of being a werewolf. First time I've used it on a human, though. Deaton's been teaching me to help the animals down at the clinic."

I let my eyes slide back to Lydia. There didn't seem to be any difference. Her skin was still sickly white, her limbs still, her heartbeat steady. But that small crease between her eyebrows did seem to have faded a bit. I cleared my throat. "Wow, well…um…thanks…"

He shrugged off the praise, sidling around the end of the hospital bed to face me. "How are you?"

"Fine," I said quickly, and cringed at how small my voice sounded.

"How's your shoulder?"

"Stiff." I glared at the white padding that stretched the length of my right shoulder, hiding the long slashes that Peter's claws had left in my skin. "They're giving me meds and everything, but I don't know what it's doing. I just try not to move it too much."

"Well, here," Scott offered, raising his hand and taking a few steps in my direction.

"No!" Scott halted immediately, even jumping back slightly with both his hands held up. I winced at the look of confused panic on his face and cleared my throat. "Um…no. Really. I'm fine."

He lowered his hand, eyes narrowing as he took in my hunched position in the chair. "Something's wrong."

I rolled my eyes feebly. "No shit, Sherlock. Take a guess." I waved my hand towards Lydia's bed, but Scott just shook his head.

"No… It's me." He took a step back and stared at the floor.

"Scott," I protested, but I broke off when his head snapped up.

"Sadie, I am so sorry that all of this happened," he said. "I mean it. You've been so great and helping out whenever you could and I am so sorry. And—And I know that the other night was crazy and that—that everything sort of became real, you know? Because you hadn't really seen me or Derek like that but… If you… If you don't want to do this anymore… I get it." Scott paused, playing with his hands. "I'm really sorry you got hurt, Sadie. And Lydia. And… I'm gonna try and make sure it never happens again." My mouth fell open and I just blinked at him. He seemed to take that as some sort of silent agreement, because after a few seconds he nodded. "Right. I'm just gonna…"

"No!" I said quickly, stopping his retreat to the door. Scott turned back, but his big, brown puppy dog eyes looked resigned, making a pang of guilt shoot through my stomach. "It's not that. God, that's not it at all. It's… It's me."

"It's not you, it's me?" he asked, raising his eyebrows skeptically.

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. "Yeah, it's just… I'm… I'm the last person you should be helping."

Scott's doubt quickly faded to shock. "What do you mean?"

I took a deep breath, moving my gaze to the white patch of floor that my tears had washed off. "I almost shot you, Scott."

The reminder was followed by several heavy seconds of silence as we each thought back to the night's events. Or rather, Scott did. I was doing everything I could to not think about it. I didn't want to think about the gun in my hand, or how terrified Scott had looked crouched in front of me, even if he was a wolf. I didn't want to think about Kate laying her finger over my own, or how she hadn't needed to help when I started to pull the trigger. I'd almost shot Scott for the hell of it, and here he was, in my best friend's hospital room, apologizing to me for what we'd gone through. How could I let him think, even for just a second, that it was his fault? Was I that terrible of a person?

"But you didn't."

I looked up sharply, my eyes beginning to water. "What?"

Scott shrugged. "You could have done it, but you didn't. You didn't shoot me."

"But I could have!" I balked. "Maybe—Maybe I didn't kill you, but I held a gun and I pointed it at your face! Scott, I was going to shoot you! Not even to kill you! I was going to shoot you in the knee just because I could! Just for some sick power trip!"

"Even if Kate had made you shoot me, I would have healed," he countered. He seemed totally calm. Much calmer than anyone in his position should have been. Why wasn't he running? Why wasn't he screaming at me, or better yet, attacking me? That's what I deserved.

"This isn't about Kate, Scott!" I burst. "This is about me! I was going to shoot you! I wanted to!" The room sank into complete silence again, Lydia's heart monitor beeping away behind me. "If… If Mr. Argent hadn't shown up, I would have shot you, Scott. Not Kate pulling the trigger. Me. And I—I'm sorry. God, I know that doesn't mean anything, but I'm sorry. I just… I was so scared and I wanted to be powerful and… I wanted to shoot you."

I let my gaze fall back to the floor, too ashamed to look at anything but the scuffed toes of my shoes. But at least it was out in the open now. I could stop thinking about it. I didn't have to steep in my guilt while I sat alone at Lydia's bedside, running through all the different possible outcomes of the conversation. Scott didn't even have to yell. He could just walk away. He'd tell Stiles. And that would be the end of it.

"What about now?"

I lifted my head. My vision was blurred with tears, but I could tell that Scott had taken a few steps closer to me. "W-What?"

"Do you want to shoot me now?" he clarified.

"What?! No! No, of course not!"

"Okay."

I tried to blink away my tears, desperate to get a clearer view of his face. But Scott still looked utterly calm. He didn't look upset in the slightest. He'd stuffed his hands in his pockets, still actually moving closer. "Okay?" I repeated with wide eyes. "That's it? I tell you I wanted to shoot you and all you've got it 'okay'?"

"I've almost hurt you a lot more often than you've tried to hurt me."

"That's different, Scott," I scoffed. "You're a werewolf."

Scott sighed, but instead of leaving he closed the distance between us. He pulled up the other hospital chair, gently lowering himself to sit beside me. I tried to pull away, like my subconscious was afraid I'd snap again if I got too close to him, but Scott ignored the physical reaction. "It's like that night at the school," he explained, rubbing his hands on his knees. "I tried to kill you guys. I wanted to."

"But you were being controlled by Peter," I interrupted.

He waved me off. "Part of me was being influenced by Peter, yeah. Being a werewolf is part of who I am, but I think everyone has that side to them, you know? Maybe mine's a little more dangerous, but you've got one too. So does Stiles. Allison, Lydia. And I think on Friday, maybe Kate was just like Peter. She brought out your dark side."

I shifted in my chair. I didn't like that idea. I didn't like that idea at all. The Sadie Bennet that left Menlo Park would not have been capable of shooting her friend for the hell of it. Had I changed that much? Or had I always been some power-hungry psycho that was great at hiding it? Even to myself?

"Sadie, it's really okay," he promised. "It's… Well, nothing we go through is normal, but…" He chuckled slightly, and even I let out an inch of a smile. "Everyone has to learn to control their dark side. And if I did it, then you definitely can. You're loads better than I am." He gently bumped his knee into mine, but I simply leaned forward, avoiding his gaze.

"Thanks for the confidence, but…I don't know. I mean, they thought Anakin wasn't going to go dark side either, you know?"

"Who?"

There was a beat of silence as I finally lifted my head, turning to look at him with a raised eyebrow. "Anakin. As in Vader."

"What?"

My mouth actually dropped open. "Seriously? Scott, how do you not know who Darth Vader is?"

"Oh!" He jumped slightly in realization. "That's the, like black robot from Star Wars, right?"

My hand flew over my mouth as I burst out laughing, the first time in days, shaking my head all the while. "Oh my God, I'm gonna pretend I never heard you say that."

"What?! He is, right?!"

"No!" I giggled. "He's… He's just a guy. He was this really great guy, with friends, a wife, a lot of power, but…it went to his head…and it turns out he was a lot more dangerous than anyone expected…" The laughter quickly faded away as I remembered what we were supposed to be talking about. I bit my lip, hard, but Scott nudged me again.

"Well, I don't think you're dangerous," he consoled. "Maybe the protective kind. I mean, I wouldn't mess with you. But you're not evil."

"Is it possible to not be both?" I asked helplessly.

Scott decided not to answer that. He just looked at me, but the answer was there. He should have been yelling at me, turning his back. But instead he held my gaze, sitting next to me without fear of what I was capable of. It hit me after a few seconds that this must have been how Scott felt the first time I visited him. I didn't have the excuse of some supernatural bite. I was completely human when I tried to hurt him. Maybe I didn't have superpowers, but I still felt like a monster. Scott didn't see it that way. Instead he was just as willing to help me work on my human problems, as I'd been to help him with his furry one. And he probably couldn't see it, but to me that seemed even more amazing.

"Hey," he said after a few seconds. "Would you, uh…not tell Stiles about the Darth Vader thing? He'd probably kill me."

I giggled, shaking my head at him. "Yeah, absolutely."

"Thanks."

"No," I corrected with a smirk, "I mean Stiles would murder you. And it would be painful and bloody. To be honest, you do that again and I'll probably help him."

I expected him to pout, make some joke about how teaming up on him wouldn't be fair. But Scott's face morphed into a mirror of my smirk, and I felt my stomach drop. "So," he drawled. "You and Stiles?"

"Shut up," I grumbled, trying to elbow him in the ribs.

Scott laughed, grabbing by arm before the thought of hitting him had even fully formed in my head. "Hey," he said. He held my hand, his thumb rubbing comforting circles on the back. "It's gonna be okay."

I allowed myself a small smile, and Scott grinned back. I knew that he couldn't actually know things were going to be okay. Lydia was hospitalized. Derek was an Alpha. Allison's family knew Scott was a werewolf. There was no telling what was going to happen to any of us. But I was too tired to dispute the lie for now.

My right arm began to tingle slightly. I quickly looked down, only to find that the black veins had reappeared on Scott's arm, the one that was holding my hand.

"Scott," I scolded, wrenching my arm out of his reach.

Scott just smirked proudly. "See? Don't you feel better?"

The truth was that I did. I hadn't exactly been in pain before, but it was still an improvement. My arm felt lighter, less itchy and cramped. But I was too annoyed at that Scott had tricked me to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. "No, actually. I feel gross, terrible and diseased. And I probably reek of wolf."

Scott rolled his eyes, but before he could reply the door swung open and my mom strode into the room, balancing paper bags in her arms.

"Hi, sweetie, so I got you…" She trailed off when she noticed Scott, and dropped the bags onto one of the other hospital chairs. "Oh, sorry. Sweeties, plural."

"Hi, Mrs. Bennet," Scott chuckled, brushing off his pants as he stood.

"Scott," she replied with a nod. "I didn't know you were stopping by. Are you staying for lunch?"

"No, no," he said, waving her off. "I was just heading out."

"Well, fine!" She pouted for a moment before breaking into a smile. "Well, tell Allison I said hi."

Scott paused on his way to the door, almost imperceptibly. I noticed that for a moment his smile seemed forced, and he gave a tight nod. "Uh, will do."

"Hey," I called him back. For the first time in days, I got up from my chair without necessity. The only other time I'd left Lydia's side was to go to the bathroom, but stretching my legs felt nice. I crossed the room, pulling Scott into the best hug I could muster with my arm taped up. "Thanks for coming."

"Hey, no problem," he said, squeezing back. "Couldn't let Stiles pull all the weight, right?"

I pulled back and bit my lip, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "How…How is he?"

Scott smirked, earning himself a solid glare. "He's fine. Dead asleep in the waiting room. Just waiting on you." He raised his eyebrows suggestively and I smacked his shoulder, making him laugh. "Okay! Okay, I'm going."

"I'll talk to you later," I added with a probing glance. I wanted to know his reason behind the hesitation about Allison, but I had a feeling it was a conversation we couldn't have around my mother. Allison might have been fine with dating a werewolf, but something told me that none of our parents would feel the same.

Scott nodded, understanding the message, and then ducked out of the room. The door had been shut for less than a second before my mother went off. "Would you please just go out there and talk to him?!"

"No," I sighed, turning back to the room. I snagged a water bottle out of one of the shopping bags, but she looked so frustrated that I wouldn't have been surprised if she just snatched it back. "I have to stay with Lydia."

"Lydia's not going anywhere, sweetheart," she said, softening slightly. "She'd want you to be happy."

"Mom, I'm fine. If it were me…"

"Don't say that."

"If it were me, Lydia wouldn't leave either."

"And would you want her frozen by your beside, looking as tired as you do?" she retorted. "You know if she could she would be the first person to kick you out of here. Just go talk to Stiles."

"It's… It's not that simple, Mom."

"What's not simple about it?! You kissed him and he kissed back!"

I simply shook my head, stalling for time by taking a long sip from my water bottle. I'd told my mother everything I could about what happened Friday night. I couldn't just not tell her about my first kiss. That wasn't the way our relationship worked. So I'd given her a slightly different version of events, one that lined up with the story we'd given Sheriff Stilinski. Stiles and I had danced, I freaked and ran out—at which point my mother had looked like she wanted to smack me—and then Lydia and I had been attacked. We came to the hospital, but I was too distraught to stay around Lydia for long. I'd gone wandering around the hospital, crying my eyes out, until Stiles found me. He'd brought me home to get changed, tried to calm me down, and in the haze of my distress I'd kissed him. He'd kissed back, but we both decided we should stop. I was injured and emotionally compromised. And that was close enough to the truth for me not to feel too guilty about lying to my mother. Of course, Stiles didn't know about the last part of the story. I hadn't really gotten the chance to talk to him since that night. Or maybe I did have the chance, but I was just too terrified to take it.

Friday night I'd thought the kiss was perfect. Stiles had kissed me back, I'd kissed him again, but… That was the trouble with locking yourself in a room by yourself for a few days. I couldn't talk to Lydia, so I'd done a lot of thinking. And as usual, I'd managed to think myself right back into a corner. What if it'd only been a relief thing? What if we were both high on adrenaline and Stiles had kissed me back because I was there? Or worse, what if it was a pity thing? Lydia was hospitalized and we'd been through a whole ordeal and he just felt bad for me? I knew that any of my friends would have slapped me for even thinking it. That wasn't the kind of guy that Stiles was. But being alone for that long made it hard not to think about the possibility. And thinking about the possibility had paralyzed me with fear of finding out exactly what had happened.

I managed to make my mom drop the subject with a few more repeats of "It's complicated" and "I'm fine." She was pouting like a petulant child, but she'd stopped pushing, at least. Usually it didn't bother me too much. I knew that she wanted me to be happy, and that she loved Stiles to death. She was so excited to watch me go through all of my firsts—kiss, date, boyfriend, sex and whatever. I was just too busy worrying I was going to fuck it all up.

Miss Eleanor joined us a few minutes later, smiling tiredly and taking the seat on the opposite side of Lydia, next to my mom. They talked for a bit, trying to distract themselves from the reality of the situation, but I just tuned them out. What good was talking when Lydia was comatose? I just picked at the food my mother had brought back for me, and then went back to resting my head on the bed. I had to pull my chair in as close as I could, fold my left arm under my head like a pillow while the right held onto Lydia's hand. So far, it'd proved a fairly pointless routine, but I wanted to be as close as I could in case something happened. I wanted my eyes on her at all times, and if my eyes were closed, my hands would suffice. I was just waiting for some sign she was going to be okay, something more than a pulse or a twitch that would send me into a frenzy, thinking she was going to wake up only to be disappointed. So the first time her hand twitched in mine, I thought nothing of it. It wasn't until her whole hand tightened around my fingers that I reacted.

I ripped my head off the mattress, startling our mothers. "Lydia?" She didn't respond for a moment, but I felt her fingers wiggle slightly in my hand. I jumped out of the chair, sending it skittering back with a clatter, and grabbed the edge of the hospital bed so hard that my knuckles turned white. "Lydia?!"

"Sadie? What is it?" Lydia's mother asked rapidly, mirroring my position on the other side of the bed.

"She—She squeezed my hand. I think she's…"

Before I could finish, Lydia let out a quiet groan, her head lolling to the side and pulling her hair across the pillow. Mrs. Martin gasped, hands flying up to her mouth as she stared down at her daughter. My mom batted her on the arm and backed out of the room.

"I'll go get the doctor."

"Lyd?" I repeated, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Lydia?"

"Hm?" Lydia hummed slightly, returning the pressure on my hand as her eyes fluttered open. She seemed completely normal, as if she were waking up from a long nap rather than some kind of coma. Her mother swooped down on her, smothering her face in kisses while I collapsed forward and face-planted into the bed, laughing and crying from relief. She was okay.

Lydia was thoroughly unamused by the fuss we were causing. Generally she loved being the center of attention, but at the moment all she wanted was to pretend nothing had happened at all. That meant convincing us all that she was fine, so she could get out of the hospital, go home and get back to normal. The doctors, oddly enough, seemed to be on the same page, and assured us that Lydia seemed to be fine. They checked her over calmly, apparently not as astonished as the rest of us that she'd finally woken up. They checked her vitals, the cuts and the bite on her side, all of which seemed to be in the best condition we could hope for. They'd tried to make us vacate the room while they looked her over, but I refused to leave Lydia's side. She didn't seem to mind my insistence though. She'd occasionally reach out and grab my hand again, too proud to actually say anything, but still in some need of reassurance. She hadn't wanted any from her mother though. Lydia had told both of our parents to stop worrying so much and let the doctors do their jobs. My mother had reluctantly smirked—a defiant Lydia was a healthy Lydia after all—and pulled Miss Eleanor out of the room so they could tell everyone that Lydia was awake and healthy.

In the end, the doctors decided there wasn't much to be done. Lydia's side was holding up well, and had done a considerable—yet not supernatural—amount of healing while she was asleep. The medication had kept her under so her body could focus on healing, but there was no immediate need to keep her hospitalized. So long as she was supremely careful and continued to stay well rested, Lydia would be able to go home and come in for a check up every few days. They wanted to keep her overnight, but Lydia practically threw a fit, demanding that she be released.

"I'm not stupid, okay?! I just want to go back to my own house and sleep in my own bed, not go traipsing through to woods or jumping out of airplanes! And if there's nothing else you people can do, then a team of doctors breathing down my neck is not going to help a girl heal!"

I probably should have tried convincing her to stay the night, reminding her that she'd been out for a while and it would probably be best not to move her. But I was too happy to see her awake to do anything but smile maniacally as she put the doctors back in their place. It'd been far too long since I'd witnessed Lydia's sass, and I was still riding the high of having my best friend back.

All the attitude did tucker her out though. As soon as the doctors left, I had to force her to lie down again. She fought me the whole way down, but was dozing almost as soon as her face hit the pillow. I took up the chair Mrs. Martin had been occupying earlier, right next to Lydia's head, and stayed there for the next few hours. My mom and Miss Eleanor had both offered to watch over her in my stead, so I could go stretch my legs, get some food—insert pointedly raised eyebrows—and talk to my friends. But I simply shook my head, pointing out that I was still holding Lydia's hand, and if I moved I might wake her up. The only thing that made me want to move in the slightest was the arrival of Lydia's father.

I'd met Mr. Martin a handful of times over the summer. He'd been cordial, but he wasn't a good enough actor to hide his distaste about my mom and I moving into the house in his absence. He saw us as intruders, and no matter how many times he smiled or thanked us for watching over his girls, he couldn't hide how much he was really looking down his nose at us. Sure, that annoyed me a little bit. We'd been invited in because he decided to abandon his family, not because we pushed him out of it. And I didn't like the way he looked at my mom like she was some sort of wounded animal that had been left on the side of the road—completely incapable of taking care of herself since her husband died. No, the real reason I didn't like Mr. Martin was the way he looked at Lydia.

Maybe it was because she'd chosen to stay with her mother, but Lydia's father seemed to think Lydia was just a teenage tragedy waiting to happen. He didn't seem to trust her in the slightest, always making some sort of slighting comment about how she was dressing, or the people she was associating with, or the amount of time she spent socializing. He thought she was just some weak little girl that was going to get corrupted by her mother and all the other bad influences around her. For example, me.

I might not have been as pretty as Lydia, or as smart, or as social, but that didn't mean I was a delinquent. Mr. Martin was of the opinion that Lydia befriending and feeling responsible for a damaged girl from an incompetent, single parent home was only going to take her bad places. Her grades would drop, she'd start acting out, and her life would effectively spiral out of control. I didn't really give a shit about how he saw me. I didn't see him enough to care. But this man was supposed to be Lydia's father, and the fact that he thought so little of her—that she was weak and incapable of being her own person—really ticked me off.

Mom had asked me to play nice. Tensions were already high, and we didn't need to complicate things with unwarranted animosity. I was trying really hard to comply, but it was very difficult. I'd already passed up several opportunities to shut him down with a sarcastic comment, but I still managed to bite my tongue, if not for Lydia's sake, then for her mother's. But the peace could only last so long.

"Do you want help getting in the shower?" he asked as I helped ease Lydia into a sitting position. Mom was keeping Miss Eleanor busy in the gift shop, hoping to keep her as far away from her ex-husband as possible.

Lydia and I both paused in our motions, glaring at him. "Wow," I offered, "that's really considerate. Driving to the hospital days after your daughter gets attacked just so you can help her shower when she wakes up. Not creepy at all."

Mr. Martin crossed his arms over his chest, biting the inside of his cheek before grinding out and answer. "I'm gonna take that as a no."

"Maybe if I was four," Lydia said groggily, sliding off the bed and limping past him. "And still taking bubble baths."

"Right, I'll just wait outside then," he agreed, "where it's slightly less sarcastic." He glared at me for a moment before heading out into the waiting room.

I flipped off the door as it closed behind him, making Lydia giggle until she jostled her side and winced. I stepped forward in concern. "Seriously, though, are you going to be okay? I'll stay if you need me to."

"Oh my God, why are you so obsessed with me?" she gasped as she batted me away. I gave her a pointed look until she sighed, smiling softly. "I'll be fine, promise. I think I can manage to shower alone without having a complete breakdown."

"Okay," I sighed, rubbing her shoulder slightly. "If you're sure." Lydia dismissed me with a nod, but called me back before I could make it to the hallway. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," she said quietly.

I smiled, nodding bracingly with my hand on the doorknob. "Yell if you need me," I said, knowing she wouldn't want to drag out the heartfelt moment anymore than we needed to while we were still in the hospital.

I ducked out of the room for the first time that weekend, gazing around awkwardly. The waiting room seemed almost foreign at this point, I was so used to the walls of Lydia's room. But there was the desk with the nurses on duty, a few hallways leading to more hospital rooms, and the small collection of chairs in the waiting room. I bit my lip, noticing the sleeping figure residing there.

Stiles had slung his lanky body over three different hospital chairs, balancing off the arms while his head lolled backwards and upside down. Someone had clearly brought him a change of clothes—Scott, probably—since he was in a T-shirt and jeans instead of the formalwear I'd seen him in last time. Or maybe someone had finally convinced him to go home. I doubted it, though. It seemed like my mother had been casually checking on him every fifteen minutes, just to make sure he hadn't run off. But he had kept his word, obviously exhausted from the ordeal of Friday night and all the waiting. He must have heard the good news about Lydia, judging by the "Get Well" balloon that was bobbing gently above him. I held back a giggle as he mumbled in his sleep, mouthing words I couldn't hear as his legs twitched, one thrown out in front of him while the other was propped up on the wall.

"All weekend?" Mr. Martin's whiny voice asked someone from behind me. "Can't you make him leave?"

"Actually, I learned a long time ago that I can't seem to make Stiles do anything."

I turned on the spot to find Lydia's father standing a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest as he glared down a very familiar nurse. Mrs. McCall would have looked amused if she wasn't the one who actually had to deal with the irate patron. He seemed to have pulled her away from her shelving job to complain about Stiles. Typical. If he couldn't bother Lydia and I, he had to go and find someone else we knew. I was about ready to go snap at him to leave Mrs. McCall alone, but before I could he was off again.

"You can't make him leave the premises? Well what are they paying you for if you can't maintain an orderly atmosphere for your patients?"

"Probably the medical upkeep of patients like your daughter," Mrs. McCall replied shortly. "I'm a nurse, Mr. Martin, not crowd control. Stiles isn't the one causing a scene. Besides, he's not here for your daughter. He's here for that daughter."

I froze on the spot as Scott's mother gestured in my direction with a smirk. I felt my face heat up as she smirked, and reluctantly shuffled in their direction. "Uh…hi Mrs. McCall."

"Sadie," she replied with a nod.

Mr. Martin pursed his lips, pointing towards Stiles's spot on the chairs. "Belong to you?"

"Oh no, he doesn't belong to me," I replied, shaking my head adamantly. "You might have missed it, but they outlawed slavery a few years ago."

Mrs. McCall struggled to contain a laugh as he glared at me. "Unbelievable," he huffed, and stormed off.

I watched him go with a supreme feeling of satisfaction, though I knew I'd probably pay for it later. I turned back to Mrs. McCall with remorse. "Sorry about that."

She held up both hands, shaking her head with a grin. "It's fine. Not your fault. Well," she paused to nod in Stiles's direction, "that might be your fault, but I don't hear him complaining."

"How is he?" I sighed, wrapping my arms around my torso as I turned to stare at him with worry.

"Strange. Unconscious. Worried," she offered. "Probably a lot better if you'd actually talk to him."

I bit my lip. "I just don't know what to say."

Mrs. McCall grinned, rubbing my shoulder gently. "You want in on a secret? None of us do. That's the fun of dating." I raised an eyebrow incredulously, watching as one of Stiles's feet slid off the chair and fell to the floor with a thud. Mrs. McCall tilted her head to the side, silently agreeing with my overall air of skepticism. "Why don't you just start with waking him up? Good luck." She hurried away with a nervous smile, abandoning me with Stiles without any idea what to say.

I bit my lip again, wringing my hands and slowly edging toward the row of chairs he had claimed for himself. I wasn't quite sure what I wanted to say, so I didn't want to wake him up yet. I mean, where did you start after everything we'd been through? Lydia was awake, though, and supposedly fine, so wouldn't he be expecting some sort of forthright confession? Was I supposed to wait for him to bring it up? No. This was Stiles, for one thing, and he was waiting on me to be okay. He wouldn't want to push me for an answer, which meant I would have to broach the subject on my own. God, that was awkward though. How was that gonna work? "I think we need to talk"?That sounded cliché and desperate. But I couldn't just poke him awake and say, "So how about that kiss, yeah?"

I settled for perching myself on the edge of one of his chairs, the end one that his foot had just vacated. I took a shaky breath, glancing at his sleeping form out of the corner of my eye. Was I just going to sit here until he woke up? Was I going to wake him up?

Before I could make a decision, Stiles's left foot slipped from its place on the wall and inadvertently kicked me in the back.

"Ow!" I jumped forward slightly in the chair, rubbing at my shoulder. Stiles groaned, his face scrunching up as he adjusted his position in the chair. "Stiles?" I asked tentatively, glad he was waking up on his own. If I woke him up on purpose then I needed to have a reason. If he woke up on his own, maybe we could delay the conversation just a little longer.

Stiles hummed slightly in response to his name, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips.

I bit my lip, trying not to grin too widely at the cute action. "Thanks for waiting for me."

"Sadie," he mumbled, his head lolling to the side as his nose crinkled slightly. I rolled my eyes and began to wring my hands again.

"Yeah, it's me. Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty."

Stiles didn't respond immediately. He shifted again in the chair, eyes squeezing shut hard as one of his hands dragged lazily over his stomach. I tried desperately not to follow the action. "Mm, Sadie…"

"Stiles?" I asked again, narrowing my eyes. "Are…Are you even awake?" I craned my neck, trying to discern whether he was squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to adjust to the light or if he was just twitching in his sleep. As I leaned forward though, my upper arm brushed along the leg that had just fallen down behind me. Stiles moaned, and I jumped back so quickly I nearly fell off the chair, hands flying over my mouth with a cry.

My yelp of surprise finally woke Stiles from his slumber. He jolted awake, eyes flying open and fluttering as he tried to adjust as quickly as he could. "Sadie?"

And then his eyes actually met mine. We stared at each other for a solid three seconds in silence—Stiles looking disoriented and hazy while I remained shocked and terrified. Was Stiles…? Had I just…? Had he just been…?

Before my brain could successfully complete any of those thoughts, Stiles's brain caught up with reality. "Oh my God! Sadie!" He tried to scramble back, only to remember that he was actually precariously perched on a row of chairs. His arms and legs flailed as he tried to keep himself from falling while putting as much distance between the two of us as he could. He toppled sideways onto the floor, hit his head on the tile, kicked one of the chairs away from the wall, and then promptly smacked himself in the face with the "Get Well" balloon. I just watched, caught between amusement and horrified embarrassment. Stiles finally managed to scramble to his feet, violently snatching the balloon out of the air and using it to cover his increasingly red face for a moment, before he decided it would be more useful if precariously placed over his crotch. "Hey! Sorry! I mean, what? Hi! Uh…"

"Hi," I squeaked. I quickly realized that my hands were still clamped over my face in an attempt to hide my blush, and forced them back into my lap. "Hi."

"You're—You're here. Like, actually here."

"Yeah…hospital, so…"

"Right! Yes!" He clapped his hands together, momentarily letting go of the balloon. It attempted to escape towards the ceiling, forcing him to frantically capture it once more. "You, uh—You look hungry! Are you hungry? I'm hungry. I'm gonna—I'm gonna go to the vending machine. I'll be right back! So don't—don't go anywhere, I'll just…be back…" He didn't seem to have the mental capacity to finish the sentence. Instead, he let go of the balloon and awkwardly sprinted down the next hallway, almost knocking over several people and attempting to hide the not-so-inconspicuous bulge in his jeans.

I simply watched him run away with wide, terrified eyes. Way to go, Sadie. Perfect. Well done. The first time you speak to him since you kiss him you decide to practically grope him and scare the shit out of him. That won't make things awkward at all.

I sat there staring at the empty hallway for a few minutes before letting my face sink it to my hands. I emitted some weird, strangled noise of frustration, debating whether it would be better to stay in the waiting room like Stiles had said or to go curl up into a ball in Lydia's hospital room and demand to be home schooled. But before I could think of anything more drastic, another voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Well that was almost painful to watch."

I jumped about a foot out of the chair, ready to shriek in surprise. But the sound died in my throat when I recognized the man who had taken up the chair next to me. My jaw dropped open even further, and I frantically looked around to ensure that we weren't drawing attention. Then I fixed my glare on him.

"Derek, what the hell are you doing here?!" I hissed.

He looked supremely calm for a recently accused murderer, lounging in the waiting room with his hands clasped in front of him. Being an Alpha didn't seem to have changed his wardrobe. He still wore the same black T-shirt, black leather jacket, dark jeans. He had a little less scruff than the last time I'd seen him, which made him look younger. Or maybe that was just the playful smirk he had plastered on his face. It was odd to see Derek with any sort of expression besides a scowl, but I had to remind myself that it was possible. At the moment he looked convincingly and thoroughly amused.

"Enjoying the show," he said, and I glared at him.

"What are you doing in public at all? Remember? Derek Hale, number one on Beacon Hills Most Wanted?"

"They pinned the murders on Kate," he dismissed calmly. "It's all over the papers. I've been cleared."

"Just because you're legally cleared doesn't make you look any less guilty," I snapped. "You shouldn't be flaunting your face around town. Especially because of the Argents."

Derek looked like he was exerting a considerable amount of force to not roll his eyes, but he didn't argue. Instead, he changed the subject. "How's your friend?"

"Fine, apparently." I sat back in my chair, attempting to look casual and comfortable even if I wasn't. "She's healing at a nice, human pace. Want to explain that?"

I watched out of the corner of my eye as Derek's jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around the arms of his chair. "I don't know," he admitted after a few seconds. "I'll look into it."

"Thanks," I said, but it was half-heartedly. If Derek didn't know what was happening to Lydia, and Dr. Fenris didn't know what was happening to Lydia, I was fairly certain we were never going to find out. The only thing we would be able to do was wait, anxiously anticipating some bad reaction when the full moon came up. I'd have to sit down with Lydia, have a long discussion about the supernatural and the attack, map out all the possible outcomes. We'd have to lock her up and just wait it out, wait for her eyes to flash or her teeth to grow or her claws to sharpen. I thought about the pressure of waiting for that, to find out whether or not my best friend was still human. God, that was going to be torture.

"How are you?" Derek asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I sighed, crossing my arms and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Tired. Human. Peter clawed me pretty good, but not deep enough to cause any lasting damage."

I watched as Derek's jaw locked again, a distant look in his eyes. I felt a pang of guilt shoot through my chest. I didn't plan on sugar coating everything that Peter had done. He'd killed loads of people, Derek's own sister, attacked my best friend. But to Derek he was family, the last family he had left. Peter didn't deserve a shred of sympathy, but Derek did.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. I wasn't sure if it was an apology on behalf of his uncle, or if it was for betraying us to side with him. Either way, it was a moot point.

"Me too. But you could have said that over the phone."

"I thought you weren't supposed to use cell phones in hospitals," he said dryly.

"Cut the bullshit, Derek," I snapped, my sharp tone making him look at me quickly. "You wouldn't have come all the way over here for a personal visit with all of this going on. You're smarter than that."

Derek didn't respond immediately. He just sat there with his hands clenched into fists, staring straight ahead. I'd almost decided to leave him there when he finally spoke up. "I need to talk to you about what happened Friday."

"I figured."

"I know Peter came to talk to you at the school," he said, finally meeting my eye. "What happened?"

"He attacked Lydia," I said, narrowing my eyes.

Derek returned the hard look. "Before that."

I held his gaze for a few seconds before I sighed. "I don't know. He… There was a lot of talk about the Argents, about you toying with my head for your own nefarious purposes, me being some sort of prodigy if I let him turn me…"

"So he offered you the bite?" he asked. I pursed my lips, but nodded, and there were a few seconds of loaded silence. "Why did you say no?"

"Because," I sighed, "that would have given Peter more power. He would have killed Allison's family, and I wasn't going to let that happen."

Derek nodded, and we lapsed into quiet once more. I tried to shake the thoughts of Peter from my head. I had spent so much time replaying the conversation in my head over the last few days, wondering how things might have turned out differently if I hadn't given him the answer I had. But Lydia was awake now. There was no point in second guessing myself. Everything had turned out fine.

"I'm the Alpha now," Derek said suddenly. I turned to look at him, but he was still glaring ahead, eyes fixed on a small point as if he didn't want to meet my eyes. "The Argents are going to come at me for revenge."

"Then maybe you should just lay low for a while," I offered, but something about his voice made an uneasy feeling grow in my stomach. "No more hospital visits."

"I don't need to hide," he growled, and his hands tightened on the arms of his chair. "I need to fight. I need to be more powerful." I sank back slightly in my chair, more than a little uncomfortable about the ferocity of his voice. Derek sensed the motion, finally turning to look at me and softening slightly. His hands relaxed on the chair, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "That's why I came to talk to you," he admitted. "Peter… He wasn't lying. You're…good." He scrunched up his face slightly, as if saying the cliché, Hallmark words was almost painful for him. "I saw it even you didn't know what was going on yet. You can't see it, but you have potential. And I know this probably isn't the…ideal time to ask…"

"You are not serious right now."

Derek looked up quickly. "What?"

"Please tell me you aren't trying to ask what I think you're trying to ask," I begged, shaking my head slightly in disbelief.

Derek glared. "Sadie, the Argents blame me for Kate's death. They're going to try and kill me, and I can't fight them off on my own."

"Then we'll help you," I said. "I'm not just going to stand by and let the Argents kill you, Derek."

"I don't need a bunch of teenagers who think they know how to protect themselves," he spat. "What I need is a pack. You, Scott… I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you could handle it. I can help you control it."

I could hear the anger and frustration in his voice, trembling as he tried to stay in control. I couldn't believe he'd decided to have this conversation in the hospital of all places. It was one place that definitely reminded me of all of the drawbacks of the bite, the dangers of getting involved with werewolves. Then again, maybe it was supposed to remind me how much I had to lose if I couldn't step up and protect my friends. I certainly hadn't been able to protect Lydia. Or maybe he was just that desperate. He didn't know where else to find me, and he clearly felt there was cause for immediate action. But was that true? I hadn't had any news from Allison, from anyone really. Caring for Lydia had left me almost completely uninformed, and that was hardly the best state to be in when making important decisions. I wanted to help Derek, obviously, but even if he was right, there were some points of my argument against the bite that still stood.

"Derek, I can't."

"Why not?" he demanded.

I tore my look away from him, running a distressed hand through my hair. "The Argents aren't the only reason I didn't take the bite. Obviously I'm not a fan of the idea of getting gunned down, but it's more than that. Learning to control this has—has taken over Scott's life. He doesn't talk to his mom, he's struggling with Allison at best, he's gonna get left back a year at the rate his grades are dropping. I'm not putting my family through that. I don't know how I'd tell my mom that I decided to put myself constantly at risk of being cut in half just because of what I am, not after we lost my dad, or—or making Stiles go through this as one of the only humans left, cause I don't see you revving to bite him…"

"Oh, so this is about Stiles?" Derek snapped, rolling his eyes.

"No, Derek, this is about you!" He immediately turned to look at me in confusion, and I winced my eyes shut. I hadn't meant for it to come out as an accusation, wanted to build up to it as a successive point, but there was really no going back now. "It's…just something else I've been thinking about…now that you're the Alpha…" Derek didn't speak, but I could feel his eyes boring into the side of my head, waiting for me to go on. "You're the only person who's ever heard of the cure—that killing the Alpha that bit you could save you. I mean, Stiles and I have done tons of reading, and Dr. Fenris has done a lifetime of research and never heard of it once."

"And I come from a family of actual werewolves," Derek defended. "I think I know a little more about the subject."

"No, you're right. Of course. It's not that I think you're lying or… I don't want to think you're lying, but… Even you said that you weren't sure if it would work. If killing Peter would cure Scott."

"So what are you saying?"

I sighed, trying to choose my words carefully. "It's just…you do know a lot more about werewolves than we do. And you obviously knew that if Scott killing Peter didn't cure him, then it would've done the exact same thing it did to you. Scott would be an Alpha, and…you'd still be a beta… And—And I know that you killed Peter because you wanted to avenge your sister, I get that, but…part of me wonders if you were ever really going to risk letting Scott kill the Alpha in the first place…"

Derek didn't respond. I hadn't really expected him to. How do you respond to an accusation like that? I wasn't even really sure whether or not I believed it myself. But the possibility had been nagging at me ever since we'd found out that Peter had killed Laura for her powers—that killing and Alpha automatically made you one. I'd buried my doubts under my trust, but in the end, Derek still hadn't let Scott kill the Alpha. Maybe it was an unrelated point. Maybe Derek didn't think Scott was capable of killing. Maybe Derek just couldn't stand by and watch someone else kill the last member of his family. Maybe he felt responsible, and felt it was his duty to it himself. But the reason didn't really matter. Taking Peter's life was Scott's only hope for being a teenage boy again, for getting his life back without the threat of the Argents hanging over his head. But Derek hadn't even given him a chance.

"I still want to help you," I said softly, after what could have been seconds or an hour of silence. "But not as part of your pack."

I was afraid of what kind of response I might get—terrified in fact—but a few seconds later Derek nodded. "Yeah. That's what I thought. But I wanted to ask." His voice was gentler than I would have thought possible. It was odd hearing such a tone come from such a big, rough looking guy, with his scruff and his leather jacket. But the contrast made me smile slightly, albeit sadly.

The heavy silence was broken by an almighty crash, making both Derek and I jump slightly. I spun in my chair, trying to locate the sound of shattering glass. My eyes landed on the hallway that Stiles had disappeared in and I shook my head, disbelieving smile stretching over my face. "Seriously, Stiles?" Derek gave a half-snort of amusement behind me. I looked back to him, rolling my eyes.

"I hope she's okay," he said after a moment.

I followed his eyes to Lydia's hospital door, and my smile tightened slightly. "She will be."

Derek nodded again, drumming his fingers on his knee. I wished I could laugh about seeing him actually look uncomfortable and awkward for once, instead of broody and unemotional, but knowing that I'd been the cause of it zapped all the enjoyment out of the situation. "Let me know if anything changes," he said, standing up. "I'll see what I can find out."

"Thank you." Derek began to walk away, making my stomach seize up. "Really," I blurted, causing him to pause mid-stride and look back at me. I held his gaze from under my lashes, not completely sure how to handle the situation but desperate to convey as much as I could. "Thank you, Derek."

He gave a firm nod. Then he stuck his hands deep into his jacket pockets and continued on his path out of the hospital. I watched his back recede down the hallway, a slight feeling of guilt gnawing at my insides. I knew that was irrational though. I was completely justified in my reasons for refusing the bite. I knew that Derek was lonely. Yes, he needed a pack for power, but he also needed a pack for family. I wanted to help him, but not at the cost of my own family. I wouldn't be able to lie to my mother about something like that, and how could I decide to make myself an even bigger target for the Argents when it hadn't even been a year since my father died? Mom wouldn't be able to handle it if I died, I knew it. And it wouldn't help that my own death was likely to be a lot more gruesome than a bullet to the chest. I was already risking my safety by having the friends I did. I couldn't just paint a target on my chest. It'd cost me my friendship with Allison too. I didn't think her parents would be comfortable with two teenage werewolves in town, both of whom associated frequently with their daughter. And friends and family aside, there was still Stiles. I couldn't let him go back to being the only human. He didn't deserve that burden.

Thinking about Stiles brought my mind back to reality. It'd been the first time I'd spoken to him in days, and I'd woken him up from what seemed to be a very good dream about…me. I could feel my face heating up with a flush at the thought, and glanced down the hallway he had escaped down once more. What was I supposed to say when he got back? Did I pretend I hadn't noticed? Did I call him out on it? Guess that was as good a way as any to segue into the fact that we'd kissed.

Unfortunately, I never got to find out what he would have said when he got back.

A high-pitched scream ripped through the semi-quiet air of the hospital, making everyone in the general vicinity pause in their actions. I knew that voice. I knew that terrified shriek, and it shot panic right through my core, wiping every other thought from my mind.

"Lydia?!" I jumped out of my chair so quickly that I managed to throw all of the chairs askew. I sprinted to her door, wrenching it open and forcing my way into the bathroom mere seconds later.

But it was already too late. I whipped my head back and forth, turned on the spot, inspecting every corner of the room. The bathroom was perfectly empty. White, spotless, plain, just like everything else. The shower was still running, but I could tell by the lack of shadows on the shower curtain that nobody was inside. But I was desperate. I ran over, still screaming her name. I tore the curtain aside and fell to my knees next to the tub, paddling my arms through the clear water as if I might pull her invisible body from under the surface. But she wasn't there.

A pair of arms wrapped around my shoulders, dragging my dripping arms out of the water and forcing me away from the shower. I fought them for a moment, kicking and thrashing, until I finally realized who it was.

"Sadie! Sadie, hey, it's okay! It's me," Stiles consoled, wrapping his hands around my wrists so I would stop hitting him. "Are you okay?!"

"Lydia…"

The shower turned off, and I blinked, looking around the room. Mrs. McCall and Mr. Martin had piled into the room after us, both of whom looked extremely confused and worried. I turned back to Stiles, whose maple eyes were boring into mine with concern.

"Lydia…she's gone…I—I heard her screaming and…" I broke off, rapidly becoming frantic again. Stiles's eyes flicked past me, and I turned on the spot to follow his gaze.

The solitary window in the room had been wrenched open, letting a frigid breeze into the room from the dark night outside. I just stared at it for a few seconds, trying to process what could have happened. She'd been fine. She'd been perfectly fine. Until I left her alone…

My vision started to blur. I could feel myself trembling and I took a huge, shaking breath. And then Stiles was wrapping his arms around my shoulders again, pulling me to his chest as I broke down.

I'd had Lydia back for less than a day, and now my best friend was gone.

A/N: I'm baaaack! Muahaha! So this wound up being a super long chapter. I'm still getting back into the swing of writing Sadie. I love her to death, and I'm not sure if everything's going right as of now, but I'm trying and I wanted to put this up. Thank you all so much for being so patient with me, for following and favoriting and reading even while I was taking a break. I never expected this amount of interest when I started, never dreamed I'd actually have the inspiration to complete a story, let alone work on a sequel. I'm more than a tad nervous about living up to your expectations, to my own expectations, but I'm going to try my best.

I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter, and I can't wait to hear what you think!

Much love,

Brittney