"You know, I really liked you when you were born. Smelled weird of course, but you were red and soft, and your nails hurt like a son of a bitch when you clawed me!"

We giggled softly by the pond in the woods that was filled with green murky water, and salamanders trying to squiggle through our feet. Ophelia cursing under her sixteen year old breath. This caused my own pudgy six year old hands to grip my brown pants while my giggles became louder. Ophelia couldn't help it and began letting out a honking laugh that rivaled that of a goose. I began my snorts and it seemed like a barnyard was trying to explode.

"Mmm, sorry for corrupting your little brain." She smiled and ruffled my head. "Should we start catching salamanders and you can scare Mom while I snatch the cookies off the counter, sound good?"

I had already began splashing into the water, causing my airy shirt to begin wet with splashed while my bottoms had already soaked through. Goose noises created melodies with my pig snorts throughout the day.

I didn't stutter out of my sleep like most, I woke gently, like a wave crashing upon the shore in the almost non-existent breeze of the summer. My body had an achy feeling from waking up from a stationary position on the Stilinski boy's couch. I don't know what woke me up, there wasn't the sound of Sheriff Stilinski making coffee, and there wasn't the sound of his shady son taking a shower. I slowly lifted myself up, feeling the clothes the nurses so kindly gave me at the hospital crinkle around my midsection. Those woman knew me enough that they had clothes stashed, that was kind of sad.

I snorted and slowly departed from my warm nest, allowing the heat to seep outside and for the cold to embrace me with goose bumps. I curiously looked around and rubbed my hair, feeling an array of knots touch the base of my skull. It would be easily cured by a minute of tugging with my hands, but I didn't much feel like it. I left the couch and felt the plushness of the carpet seep into my toes as I emerged into the kitchen to harsh tile to find something to eat. Good thing it was a weekend, don't think I could have dragged myself outside to go deal with secretary shit, Sheriff Stilinski would most likely cover me though.

I opened the fridge and hunched over to look at any leftovers the two men might have left. Meatloaf? God… there was small collection of beer on one of the side shelves that caught my eye, but I scoffed. Must have a toaster around, last time I remember making toast at the Stilinski house the toaster tried to keep my toast. Maybe one of the ladies at the department made home-made bread that I always hear over the nightly phone conversations I sometimes pick up? I shut the door with a slam to make sure it sealed and turned around to look for bread only for my arm to be tightly gripped. I yelped loudly and for it only to have a hand placed around my mouth.

"SHHHHHH." The sound of the two boys made my anger flare, and I jerked my arm out of one of their arms, one tightly held onto me. And I reached a hand over and tried to pull it slowly by one finger at a time, obviously did not work.

"What's the diagnosis Scott?" I heard sniffing and glared harshly at the cheeky child of the sheriff who was trying to man handle me or something, well he was a weakling, might as well leave it to his able bodied guard dog! I threw my other hand in the air.

"She smells like blood and Derek."

And there's the fucking goal. For some reason the glass puncture and Derek were their main goal in this giant scheme was there a reason Derek was important? All he did was talk to me, about werewolves… I jolted and suddenly felt my heart begin to beat a mile a minute, a small sweat beginning to pool on my neck. They shouldn't know about wolves, I mean, Derek mentioned this was all a very secret, secret thing. Even the Hunters had backups of just having these guns for military background or for sport. I broke from my thoughts for second and glanced at the boys who now noticed my tense posture. I bolted back to my thoughts, feeling my spine creak at the mere idea of a tenser pose I was trying to adapt. Okay, I need a cover story and now, and then he'll stop smel-…..

Wait… how does he smell me?

I broke from my thoughts again and glared at the curly haired boy named Scott, he flinched and tried to get out of my sights by placing a Stiles in front of me. I almost sighed in relief when he let go of my arm the feeling of his nails digging harshly into my skin was a horrible feeling, worse than the feel of the glass against my thigh last night.

"So, I was wondering, do you think I smell bad or something like that?"

Scott and Stiles looked at each other for a moment, just with confused expressions on their faces. It didn't last long until Scott's face dropped and he backed up, Stiles grabbed his arm and started harshly whispering in his ear, most likely asking what was happening since his own face dropped. Then I saw them turn around, Stiles began to open his mouth, most likely to create some excuse I heard muttered over the phone by his Dad.

"Cut the shit Stiles." I crossed my arms and nodded my head at the both of them, watching both of their crestfallen expressions. "You into it too? Derek come and do some big inspirational speech with you too?" I sneered at their horrified questions and it seemed that Scott was trying to sniff the air even harsher now. I glared at him, hoping I was the Goron called Medusa, and he was an idiot and turned to stone in my lair. "What, you accept it too?" I brought a hand and pointed at Scott. "And you?" I pointed towards Stiles who looked to be chocking on his spit. Scott seemed to make a slow approach to me, his hands in front of him. I stepped back one step as he made one forward.

"Derek didn't explain everything did he? He didn't tell you how bad this stuff can get. Now just, don't get mad." He slowly moved his hands down into what looked like a calming fashion.

"Oh, don't get mad?" I threw my hands in the air, and I swear I could feel the steam flowing through my nose and ears. "I'm fuming!"

Now, I was easy to get mad, and that would have been a great fault in getting the bite. I didn't used to be like this thought, I used to be a nice little girl, catching frogs and salamanders in the pond near our house. I used to be happy and full of life, I used to be scared, and scared is what I was now when he began getting ready for a fight he would never get.

His face began a transformation that scared the shit out of me, the hair growing and his nails elongating from his hand, curving slightly. I could see budges from behind his skin showing fangs that looked about ready to tear into me. My pupils dilated and tunnel vision that I used to get when running from the boys in my neighborhood came back. All I saw was his face, a face that was slowly morphing back into a normal soft faced boy with horror marring his skin. I crouched quickly and buried my head into my arms, my mouth letting out a loud yell, or scream, I was not sure. All I remembered was rocking back and forth, letting out this little sounds. That face, it reminded me of images I had never been able to conceive when Ophelia died. I'd imagined a mountain lion for awhile, but it never came to fruit. But I imagined a face that Derek had showed me, a face of his uncle from when he was younger. I could see the teeth and the nails and fear begin to consume me. Should I have taken Derek's advice and take the bite, able to become what Scott and Stiles have become?

I flinched, feeling hands touch my back in a manner that would have been seen as comforting, I kicked out and felt it connect with Scotts stomach, his breath leaving his mouth in a whoosh. I had fallen on my butt, one cheek on the floor while the other was crookedly held up with a bent leg. I crawled backwards fast and opened a cupboard quickly, finding a wooden spoon to be my object of defense. Scott had gotten up, seemingly recovering very quickly, he tried to approach with a calm, measured steps. But I waved the wooden spoon around with a revealing of my white teeth for warning.

This was the situation that Sheriff Stilinski walked in on. Scott holding up his hands while I was cornered in the kitchen with that stupid wooden spoon. The man just sighed loudly and stepped in-between us with measured steps that made my tense muscles melt like butter in a microwave. His calm voice resonated through the room, and distantly, I could recall him saying that I was to be left alone, I'd been through a trying night and that I was staying here for a little awhile, and for god sakes, just leave me alone.

I don't like werewolves, I had decided that then.

"Meh!"

I poked my head from the long grass stalks, my hair puffed from being brushed while it was dry. Over in the distance Ophelia was throwing up tufts of rabbit fur that was shed this summer in the rabbit hutch our family owned. The rabbits didn't last long for Ophelia went into a save the helpless animals faze a month after we got them and released them into the woods. Ophelia currently had a tuft of hair stuck over her lip as a moustache and the rest was hazardly placed on her collar bone and on her head. The down fur floating off softly only for it to be smacked back on with her hand.

"Whatcha doing?" I trotted over to where she was, only for a hand to slap some downy fur in my own hair, my sneeze permeating through the air when a stray hair floated down and tickled my nose. My chubby arms grasped onto the bottom of her pants, grasping her leg with what she called my razor finger nails.

"Hmm, you know, just playing around. Mom and Dad won't know if we threw this away like they asked us to. For all they could know is that some animal got its fur ripped out right here."

I looked up at her, curiously watching her. "But won't that be a sin?"

Her chuckle reached softly into my ears like the music box sitting in my room to help me sleep. "Nothings a sin, for we all have reason to the things we do." Her finger pointed at me, her brows furrowed deeply into her eyes, her blonde hair leaving wisps around her eyes from her braid coming slightly undone.

"Mom said that…"

She growled under her breath. "I don't care what Mom says, she's wrong. We do things for a reason, no matter if it's a sin. Just you remember that, and we'll be fine when I take you out of this shit city and to a better town without Mom and Dad mowing on us."

I nodded slightly to her and wrapped myself tighter on her leg, gaining comfort from her presence that was always there.

I sighed softly, remembering the life lessons Ophelia taught me back at our old house with our parents. Her tricks at making sure Mom and Dad didn't find out what we did out back were the highlight of the days. She was so stupid and wise back then. Beacon Hills changed her for better, got rid of some of her stupidity, not much though.

I yawned in my hand, thumbing through a police report Sheriff Stilinski sat me down in the chair of his office while he was working on some kind of paperwork. I didn't really care much for reports, all I was thankful for was that he took me away from those two idiots who were bothering me horribly and with a insisting air around them. With a soft audible sigh, I leafed through the report.

Mayella Lewis arrested for drug trafficking and prostitution in downtown Beacon Hills.

I gently traced my hand over the picture of the woman who didn't look like a druggie at all, maybe a little bit of a whore with the smudged makeup around her lips, but that was it. I leafed through it again, finding where she was arrested and at the areas she was most found at. Not interesting in a case its self, but then again, it was simply interesting when you hadn't actually seen or noticed things like this.

But what I was wondering, what drove this woman this low to attempt this stuff? She certainly didn't seem like she was doing it for money, she seemed to have enough to buy drugs. Did she do it for something, or just her own pleasure? I stopped questioning her when I saw the child adoption papers for a teenager copied into the file. I flinched and felt a horrible feeling claw up my throat. Was she trying to help this kid? Was she trying to get it back?

Before I knew what I was doing, I spoke. "Stilinski, what causes people to do things they don't want to do?" I stared down at the folder in my hands, flipping through it and feigning ignorance. I could hear his sigh, and his thumb rubbing at his chin in thought, the scratch emanating through the room.

"Money, food, survival, obligation, regret. It's mostly those, can't think of what else a person would do something they don't want to do." He paused, and I took a glance at him, seeing his eyes watching me curiously. "Why do you ask?"

I fidgeted, and I heard the offer of the bite resonating through my brain, I didn't want redemption, I just wanted protection. A sense of security. What if a werewolf tried to attack me? I could fight back. I could protect myself like Ophelia.

But I could die. This is why I needed Stilinski, he was an advice expert. "I was, thinking about doing something, and I was… wondering why I wanted to do it. It could change my life drastically if I did it, and I-…"

The man cut me off quickly with an air of concern dotting his brow and eyes. "I wouldn't know why you would do it Jamie, are you doing it for money?" I shook my head. "By obligation?" I shook again. "Regret?" I stopped, and stared down at my hands touching my pants, did I regret Ophelia that I definitely felt the need to become what she wanted to become? Yes.

"I… think so." Stilinski was the advice king, and I was sure of that. He was an easy person to talk to, and it made me feel less alone in the world. "I think I want to do it because Ophelia would have wanted it." I spoke softly. Twiddling my thumbs in my lap, I felt my hair brush softly against my neck, caressing it as it fell over my shoulders and down to my breasts.

"How do you regret that?"

I shook my head and sighed loudly, standing up, I need to get out and back home. "I don't really know. I just do." I paused and smoothed my shirt out. "I need to go home and get ready for school. Just…" I looked at the man who was curiously watching me, I smiled at him. "Thank you."

I only took a glance at his desk when I was leaving, but I saw it clear as day. Ophelia's dead body was showing her glazed eyes and bloodied lips, and right next to that, was a picture of Ophelia and Me smiling at a camera, right next to a picture frame, ready to framed.

"You're welcome!" I heard the yell as I closed the door and began the short walk home.

Yeah, I screwed up on her moving age here to Beacon Hills, just ignore that. Here's the ages for the story.

Ophelia is nine years older

So six year old Jamie is Sixteen year old Ophelia in the flashbacks.

10 years ago they came to Beacon Hills, Ophelia was 18/17, Jamie was 10/9.

Oh and, have a good day and or night!