Author's Note: This crossover has given me a lot of trouble plot-wise. I love both fandoms so trying to write something that does them both justice is super challenging. Regardless, I'm hoping to update more frequently from now on. Please enjoy this chapter!

"I don't know where you're going

But do you got room for one more troubled soul?"

—Fall Out Boy, "Alone Together"

"So . . ."

Scott's voice drifts off at Lydia's death glare. The alpha then begins to chuckle and Lydia sighs, somewhat dramatically.

"Don't start with me, Scott McCall," She hisses, stirring the pot of water on her stove, wishing it would boil faster. "It's six in the morning and I have a kink in my neck."

She woke up to find herself spooning Stiles and she still isn't sure if she should be more horrified or overjoyed that she fell asleep with him on her couch. Stiles, bless is heart, is still snoring on her couch, blissfully unaware of the confusion plaguing her thoughts.

"Look, I just came because you called." Scott still has that smirk on his lips though and Lydia wants nothing more than wipe it off his face.

"And I'm grateful, but since I'm still, you know, alive, you can—" The pot still hasn't boiled and Lydia wants to bang her head against her kitchen cabinets. She needs her daily dose of caffeine and if she's going to even remotely going to try and wrap her head around the craziness of the past few days, she needs it now.

"Lydia." Scott's voice is soft, the traces of amusement now gone. He's staring at her, using those soulful eyes to try and decode her scattered thoughts. "You and Stiles—"

"There are demons and angels in the world, and you really want to ask about me and Stiles—?" She can't have this conversation now. She doesn't know the answer. She isn't sure if she wants to give one, not while she's the target of a demon king—

"He loves you, you know." Scott states much too casually.

Lydia's hand shakes, accidentally brushing the metal of the hot pot. She curses under her breath and jerks her hand away, moving towards the sink. Running the burn under lukewarm water, she sighs, "I know."

"And you—?"

"Scott, do we really need to talk about this now?" She sighs and the alpha rises from the barstool and shakes his head.

"No, we don't." Then, with a grimace, he adds, "I just . . . want you two to be happy."

He's coming from a good place, she knows that. He cares for everyone in the pack and he's just trying to help, but it's not as simple as he wants it to be.

Lydia can't fall in love right now. She can't let her guard down. People around her—those closest to her—they always end up hurt on her behalf. If something were to happen to Stiles because of her, she would never forgive herself.

Never.

For now, she can't let herself think about the way she always seeks Stiles out whenever there's a crisis. She can't spend energy trying to sort out why she feels excited whenever his hand rests in hers.

"Lydia, the water is boiling."

She snaps back into reality and turns off the burner.

"You want a cup?"

Scott shakes his head, "No. I've got to head back to Alison's."

"Oh, the hunters are staying with her?" Lydia's eyebrows furrow, "Can we trust them?"

"We don't really have a choice," Scott shrugs, "We're out of our depth here. They've dealt with Crowley before. If anyone can help us stop this, it's them."

Lydia nods, accepting the logic behind the choice, even if her mind screamed at her to stay as far away from hunters as possible. They're all in uncharted territory here, any help they could get would be great.

Even if said help came from hunters they barely knew.

"You two will come by the house when he gets up?" Scott questions and Lydia nods softly.

"Sure. Have Alison call me."

"You got it."

Silence.

"And Scott?"

"Yeah?"

Before she can regret it, she wraps her arms around him and hugs him for a brief moment, "Thank you for coming."

Scott just grins, "Anytime Lydia."

And for a brief moment, Lydia feels like a normal teenager.

"Bad cold?"

Sam jumps a bit as Alison's voice filters in through the kitchen. Upstairs, his older brother is sound asleep and Sam's a bit jealous. Even with the amount of medicine he's taking to keep his fever in check, he still can't get enough comfort to sleep more than three or four hours at a time.

"Yeah." Sam replies, unsure of how much he wants to tell the teenage huntress. There's so much more to his world than she knows about. Up until the past few days, she'd been blissfully unaware of demons and angels. Once you lose that kind of innocence, you can never really trust the world to be what you thought it should be.

"You're a pretty bad liar." She smirks as she comes into the kitchen. Moving towards the fridge, she pulls out two yogurts, and offers him one. When he begins to decline, she interjects, "If you're sick, you should eat. Medicine doesn't usually sit well on an empty stomach."

"Are you always this nice to strangers?" He feels compelled to question.

She chuckles, "Well, usually the strangers that visit us try to kill one or all of us."

The fact that she can joke about that astounds him. He hadn't been able to get much information on their backgrounds, but he does know that the pack has been through some life-threatening situations. That's supposed to change people—make them wary or angry, not smiling and joking.

"Look, Alison, my brother and I—"

"It's okay," She interrupts, taking a bite of her yogurt, "I wasn't really an ally of the pack at first either." She smirks, "That's a long story though."

"I'm sensing that." He opens his mouth to say something else, but it dissolves into coughs and soon, he's gasping for breath. His body is shutting down and sometimes—though he would never admit it to Dean—it feels like he's going to die. That, one day, he won't ever recover his breath and he'll just fade away from lack of oxygen.

But this is the price he's paying to try and shut the gates of Hell. A task that, if he succeeds, would prevent situations like the one happening in Beacon Hills from ever happening again.

Eventually, the coughing fit ends and he finds himself breathing normally once more.

Alison's concerned visage swims into his vision when she hands him a glass of water, "You okay?"

"Fine." He wipes away a bit of blood staining his lips.

"Right." Alison mumbles, not buying the lie.

"Sammy." Dean is leaning in the doorway, rubbing his eyes, clearly still half-asleep. "Y'kay?"

"I'm good, Dean. Go back to bed."

But Dean ignores him and walks into the kitchen. To Alison, he murmurs, "Got any coffee?"

"No, sorry." She answers, "But I can make a Starbucks run—"

"Dean." Castiel is suddenly standing in the middle of the kitchen and the trio nearly jumps from the angel's abrupt entrance.

"Jesus, Cas, you need to make—"

"Dean, it's Crowley." The angel's voice is strained, tinged with worry.

"What about him?" Alison presses.

"He's found the third key. It's the blood of an Alpha werewolf—"

The color drains from Alison's face and she quickly pulls out her phone, "Oh, God, Scott!"

"How do you know this?" Sam demands.

"I can't get ahold of Scott!" Alison quickly redials and the huntress is nearly in tears, not that Sam can blame her.

"Where was he headed?" Dean faces her, placing a hand on her shoulder, trying to keep her in the moment.

"To Lydia's. He got a phone call from her—"

"Okay, we just need to—"

"Alison?" Scott calls, the sound of a door slamming behind him. "Lydia wants you to—" Coming into the kitchen, he notices his former girlfriend's distraught expression and immediately stiffens, "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Alison embraces him, a tear rolling down her cheek, "I'm fine. We just thought Crowley had gotten you."

"Crowley? What does he want with me?"

A shrill phone ring interrupts the conversation and Scott pulls out his device, only to tilt his head to the side in confusion.

"What?" Sam asks.

"It's nothing. Just a number I don't recognize—"

Dean snatches the phone and answers it, "Yeah?"

"Hello Dean." Crowley's voice is on the other line and Dean can picture the King of Hell reclining back in his chair, smirking at the two brother's incompetence. "Didn't know you were a secretary too. Taking other people's phone calls?"

"What do you want Crowley?" Dean growls, placing the call on speaker.

"Bring me the angel, the banshee and the alpha to the high school auditorium by 8pm tonight."

"Not going to happen Crowley." Sam informs the demon, his voice strong and unyielding.

"Figured you'd say that. Oh, well, thought I could try. Bye boys." A pause. "Oh, and Scott? Derek and Isaac say hello."

And then the line goes dead.

Author's Note: Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!