I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Life has made writing fanfiction impossible these last two years, and so now I only updated sporadically when I get a bit of random inspiration. I'm sad it's come to this, but I want you all to know that I so appreciate your support and friendship over the years. I'm so glad you all enjoy this story, and I will continue to post a new chapter every once in a while.

Just to remind everyone, this chapter is picking up towards the beginning of Season Three Part B, just before we find out that Stiles is possessed by the Nogitsune. I promise I have something really cool in mind for Stiles and Sam through all of this, and it will get posted eventually. I thank you all for your patience and support.

And, as always, I hope you like this chapter.

PART VEINTICUATRO

When is a door not a door?

When it's ajar.

"There's a door inside our minds..."

Deaton had figured it out.

"Or its the door to our minds, and it's open, and pretty much anything or anyone can get into it. Those demons that Kira chick from History was talking about—from Bardo—...they're playing with our minds. They're inside our heads, Sammy..."

"Samantha! Stiles is here! Don't forget to grab your lunch." My mother's voice was muffled slightly through my closed bedroom door as I darted about my room grabbing my shoes and my bookbag, barely remembering to snag a hair scrunchie off of my dresser for gym class. Bolting down the stairs, I bounded into the kitchen to get my lunch from the fridge, dipped into my mom's office to kiss her cheek, and skirted barefoot out the front door.

The Jeep was parked, as it was every morning, beside the curb in front of our mailbox. Slipping into the passenger seat, I leaned over to kiss Stiles good morning before putting on my shoes. "So, did you and Boy Wonder do it?"

A maniacal grin split his boyishly innocent face. "Oh, we did it. And it's going to be beautiful."

"You have no shame," I snickered. Stiles gasped in mock offense, "I have shame. I just also happen to have a respect for tradition. And pranking Coach on Mischief Day/Night is as solid as traditions get. Besides, its his birthday. It would be rude not to do something special for him."

"You mean to him."

Stiles huffed. "Scott said the same thing."

"Because Scott has morals."

"Yeah, well, he didn't last night..." Stiles mumbled, thankful that his best friend had agreed to help him rig everything in Coach's office last night for what was bound to be the ultimate Mischief Day prank in the history of Beacon Hills High. Without Scott's help, Stiles would've been there all friggin' night. Pulling out of the subdivision, Stiles changed the subject. "My dad went to check on Malia yesterday."

I glanced at my boyfriend. Oh, right, Malia. Because were-coyotes were a thing now. "Yeah? How's she doing? I mean, eight years trapped in coyote form had to have some lasting effects. How's she handling being in a human body?"

Stiles shrugged. "Mr. Tate wasn't very forth coming. He's just happy to have her back, ya know? And apparently Malia hasn't been talking much, so...we don't really know. My dad's having a tough time with it. He's happy we got her back and everything, but he's wondering if it was what was best for her."

I tried to suppress a groan. "You and your dad, I swear. You two have got this obsession with self-guilt. He cannot blame himself for this. You and Scott helped her. She was trapped as a coyote for Christ's sake. That's got to be traumatizing, of course, but she will get better. It's just going to take some time-"

"Yeah, a lifetime—of therapy."

"Probably..." I mumbled, finally buckling the strap of my sandals around my ankle. Hesitating only a moment, I asked, "So you, um, you got some good sleep last night, huh?"

The lines around Stiles' eyes and mouth widened a fraction. "Uh, yeah. Yup. I slept fine."

I nodded. "Uh huh. That's why your shirt is on inside out, right?"

"Wha-" He glanced down at himself. "Seriously? Oh, come on. Well, this isn't totally embarrassing." Stiles sighed. His grip on the steering wheel flexed just so, and he conceded, mumbling, "I didn't have any nightmares. Or at least, if I did, I don't remember them, but I kept waking up sweating. Literally a pool of sweat. Every two hours. It was disgusting."

Frowning, I mumbled a quiet, "Sorry, babe." He couldn't keep running on empty. This exhaustion was going to catch up with him eventually. If he didn't get some decent sleep soon, he was bound to slip into a total Sleeping Beauty-esque coma. Until then, he was forced to operate on caffeine and adderall, so I suggested a quick run to Starbucks. Stiles tapped a thermos in the cup holder that I hadn't noticed. "Dad's already got me covered."

"Good ole Papa Stilinsky."

Stiles reached over to twine our fingers together. He rubbed small, smooth circles on the back of my hand with his thumb, a behavior that had now become automatic for him. He glanced at me earnestly. "What about you? How did you sleep?"

I mumbled a noncommittal response to which Stiles promptly piqued a single eyebrow. "I'm sorry what?"

"I slept fine. All seven hours right here." I laughed, then quickly added, "Not to brag."

"I know you've been keeping yourself awake worrying, Sam."

"Have you been talking to my mother?"

He nodded earnestly. "She calls me every night."

When we arrived at Beacon Hills High, we pulled into the parking lot just in time to see Scott's motorbike come to a stop in front of the school. As Stiles parked and we moved to join the young werewolf, Stiles jerked to a stop and groaned, "Oh, no. Nononono. No-ugh! What are they doing back? Shouldn't they have died? How have they not died yet?"

My brow scrunched. "Who?" I followed his line of sight. Oh. "Oh no."

Standing mere feet before Scott were the former-Alpha twins, Ethan and Aiden, also known as the Super Evil, Super Twin Douchebags.

"I thought they left with Duecalion?" I asked Stiles, eyes wide, staring helplessly as our Alpha was confronted with two of our archenemies. Stiles's grip on mine was like steel. "Apparently, not."

"Great. This is gonna be fun."

"I think gym is the high school equivalent to evolution," Livy's voice floated above the lockers between us. "-designed to root out the weak."

Rubbing and rotating my sore wrist, I couldn't help but agree with her. Gym was cruel. Coach was crueler. "I can't believe they can still legally get away with making us play dodgeball."

"Yeah, well, they're still spanking elementary school kids in Arizona, so it could be worse."

Damien was waiting for us outside of the locker room, but Taylor was mysteriously absent from his side. Olivia's boyfriend jerked his chin back toward the boy's changing rooms. "Check this shit out."

Taylor was talking to Danny Mahealani, also known as Jackon Whittemore's once-upon-a-time best friend and the former plaything of not-as-terribly-evil-as-his-brother-but-still-pretty-fucking-evil-werewolf-twin Ethan. Livy's brow furrowed. "I thought Taylor was over Danny...besides, isn't Danny dating one of those twins?"

"Yeah, but nobody's seen those guys for weeks," Damien reminded his girlfriend. "Looks like Mahealani's moved on. It's about damn time, too. Taylor's been driving me crazy whining over him. It's pathetic."

"Oh, please," Olivia scoffed. "Like you don't bitch just as much when I'm gone visiting Nana in Wisconsin every summer."

Before Damien could stroke his own wounded ego, Taylor came rushing over dragging Danny behind him, "It's happening again, guys!"

Damien sighed. "One of my favorite phrases to hear as a Beacon Hills resident," he clipped sarcastically. "Is it just me or is this town beginning to look a little less Mayberry and a little more Village of the Damned?"

"Who's dying today?" Livy snickered, mocking her boyfriend.

"Somebody might be, actually," Taylor declared. He nudged the boy at his side. "Danny overheard Coach talking to some police. There's a serial killer on the loose, and they think he's headed for the school."

"What?" Olivia and Damien shrieked together.

"Of course." I groaned. Great. Just fucking great. When are we gonna catch a break?

"They spotted him near Truman Avenue," Danny added as Taylor launched in a retelling of Danny's retelling of Coach's conversation with one of the sheriff's deputies. As Taylor rambled anxiously, his voice steadily rising in volume and panic, Danny elbowed me, speaking softly under his breath. "Remember when this school used to be full of just normal students? Now it's all werewolves and serial killers."

"And serial killing werewolves. Don't forget that your favorite pup has murder on his record."

"Jackson was being controlled. It wasn't his fault." Danny frowned, and I couldn't help but feel a little guilty. Danny was a really nice guy, a lot like Scott, actually—somebody who would help anyone who needed it if he could. I smirked and added, by way of apology for the dig, "Well, you're still wrong. This place was full of Lydia Martins and Jackson Whittemores and Stilinskys...hardly what I would call a normal bunch on a good day."

Danny gave a lazy half-grin. "Fair point."

"Um, excuse me," Olivia barked upon spotting our matching smirks. "I'm sorry, what's with the grins? You two did hear the part about the serial killer heading our way, right?"

Oh, yeah.

"Right. I need to find Stiles."

Damien nodded, slipping his arm protectively around Olivia. "Text us if the sheriff's kid knows anything."

I shot a tight-lipped grin at my friends. "Sure thing."

"Stiles! There he is," I mumbled, catching my boyfriend's arm and tugging him down the hall to our right. "Scott!"

McCall was loitering outside our history classroom, his ear turned toward the door. He glanced up as Stiles's sneakers squeaked on the tile floor, his best friend calling out, "Hey, dude, where the hell have you been?"

Scott blushed. Through the window in the door, I could see the new girl, Kira, sitting and talking with her father, our history teacher. Our Alpha sputtered, "Uh, I was just-"

Before he could stammer out a lame excuse for using his werewolf hearing to ease-drop on the new girl like a totally creep, Lydia rounded the corner. Her pink cheeks were flushed and furious. "The police are leaving. Why are they leaving?"

"The police?" asked Scott, brow furrowing.

"They must have cleared the building and grounds," answered Stiles. "Which means he's not here."

"Who? What're you guys-" Scott was clearly confused and ignorant about the bomber lose on campus, but Lydia once again cut him off, directing her words to Stiles. "He has to be here," she pleaded. "That sound—the buzzing I've been hearing—it's getting louder."

"How loud?"

Lydia licked her bright red lips and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, water had gathered in her eyes. She breathed deeply. "Overwhelming."

"What noise?" Scott growled. "What are you guys talking about?"

"That crazy Uni-bomber wanna-be who blew up that school bus full of kids...? The one whose operation your mom was supposed to be assisting on today? Well, he escaped, and now he's here," I replied, glancing at Lydia. "Or he was...?"

The redhead clenched her jaw. She snapped, defensively, "And he still is. I know it."

"Okay, okay, Lydia," Stiles murmured, shooting me a side-glare as if to say hey, knock it off. "We believe you, okay?"

"But the police don't," I pointed out gently. "So if they can't find him-"

"We have to," Scott finished. There was finality in our alpha's voice. His shoulders straightened and his jaw clenched, two very common signs that Scott McCall was getting serious about business. "I'll get Isaac and the twins. We can sniff him out."

Stiles nodded. "Text your mom, too. Barrow was at the hospital, right? There's gotta be a bedsheet or something with his scent on it."

I nudged my boyfriend. "And you've got to talk to your dad. The police can't leave. They've got to keep looking."

"Right." Stiles turned to Lydia. "Looks like it's time to tell my dad you're a banshee."

Lydia gave an awkward and painful smile. "Great."

We had a plan, but no one moved.

"Uhh, is this the part where we all put our hands in and yell 'break' or...?" I joked. "Let's get a move on, folks. We've got a school to save."

Scott went one way, Lydia and Stiles another. When I turned to follow Scott, Stiles caught my hand. He looked at me expectantly. "You coming?"

"No, actually. You and Lydia have got this. I'm going to find Allison."

Scott's head whipped around at werewolf speed. "Allison?" he squeaked. "Why?"

"We've got a guy who was giving enough anesthesia to kill a horse currently running around the school looking for kids with glowing eyes. Oh, and let's not forget the, and I quote, 'tumor of flies' that burst from his stomach. This Barrow, whoever he is, clearly has some ties to the supernatural world." When the boys remained silent, I rolled my eyes and explained, "And where do we look when we need more information about the supernatural?"

The best friends looked at one another in realization and in unison replied, both rolling their eyes at their own air-headedness, "The beastiary."

"Tens points for Gryffindor, guys. Now, let's go. The police might be gone already."

"Yup, good plan." Stiles nodded, backing away with Lydia following suit. He swallowed. "Hey, Sam, be safe."

"You mean watch out for the bomb-wielding maniac? Can do. You be safe, too." I jutted my chin toward Lydia. "You, too, Martin." Turning to Scott, I asked, "Where's Allison?"

He blushed. "Why would you-"

"Can we just not right now, what with the time sensitive matter and all? Where is she?"

He looked down at his shoes, shuffling bashfully. "The art classroom."

"Thanks, bud," I clapped his shoulder, before turning and jogging toward the electives hall. I shouted over my should, "Find Isaac!"

Classes were stalled for the afternoon while the faculty tried to assess the situation on whether or not to evacuate. Most of the students were lingering in the halls, gossiping about the predicament, so finding Allison was easy. And filling her in was even easier.

"The guy who's loose-"

"William Barrow, the bomber." She nodded knowingly. "I overheard the assistant principal talking with Mr. Griggs. What's the plan?"

"The police think he's left, but Lydia has a feeling."

"What kind of feeling?"

I looked at her pointedly. "The kind of feeling that only Lydia gets."

She glanced around at the crowded hallway and motioned for us to dip into one of the empty classrooms. "So he's still here?"

I shrugged. "Lydia thinks so. Scott and the other wolves are going to try to find him."

"Other wolves?" Allison raised her eyebrows. "As in plural? As in-"

"Super Evil, Super Twin Douchebags, yeah. Those wolves."

"But I thought Scott said he wasn't going to let them in his pack. They're murderers, and they're dangerous." Allison's face was contorted with a deadly mixture of rage and concern. I held up my hands in Scott's defense, "I know, I know. But right now there's another murderer loose somewhere on the grounds, and once again we need their help. And we need your help."

The littlest Argent blinked. "My help? What can I...?"

"You still have Gerard's journal, right?"

Her face smoothed in realization. "The beastiary. You think Barrow's supernatural?"

"I know bombing isn't usually the M.O. for supes, but yeah. Something freaky happened at the hospital, I'll explain later, but-" My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Stiles. I sent a quick reply and told Allison that Stiles and Lydia were on the way to join us. "Anyway, you still have the beastiary, yeah?"

"Yes, of course." Allison nodded. "It's on my father's computer at home."

"Great. We need-"

Stiles burst through the classroom door. "They're gone. My dad and Scott's dad and all the other deputies—they left. Something about an eye witness, I dunno. Listen, the school's on lockdown until three o'clock. Nobody in or out."

I groaned. "Awesome. Just what we need—more good news."

"How are we going to get the beastiary if it's at my house?" asked Allison.

"What about your dad?" offered Stiles, but Allison shook her head. "He's...taking care of some other business."

Stiles grinned sarcastically. "Because that doesn't sound totally concerning."

"Mhmm..." Lydia cleared her throat. Glancing at us, she pointed behind Allison. To the windows. "Ahh."

Allison immediately hoisted her bag higher on her shoulder and strutted over to the window. As she unlocked the latch and forced the glass open, she spoke, "The beastiary is literally a thousand pages long. If I'm going to find anything about flies coming out of peoples' bodies, it could take all night."

Lydia chirped, "Remember the word in archaic Latin for fly is 'musca'."

Argent skillfully maneuvered out of the classroom window. "Got it."

"I'm going with her," I announced, making my way over to our makeshift exit. Stiles grumbled, "Uh, wait, what?" He drew closer, a gentle hand on my elbow. "Are you sure about this?"

"I can't help you here, but I can help Allison. It'll go quicker with both of us looking."

Outside, Allison called, "Literally a thousand pages...! Wouldn't hurt to have a second pair of eyes."

Stiles seemed hesitant, but eventually conceded, squeezing my arm affectionately. "Okay, yeah. And I suppose it does get you away from the bomb." A muscle in his jaw flexed. An internal battle took place, the signs flickering across my boyfriend's face. His hand found mine, our fingers lacing. He gave a tender squeeze. "I just...I don't like splitting up. It doesn't..."

"Feel right?" I kissed the corner of his mouth. "It'll be okay. Just try not to get blown up."

Stiles snorted. "Yeah, no, I'll do my best."

The Argents lived in a classy apartment building on the east side of downtown Beacon Hills. Although I'd been to Allison's house once or twice, I hadn't seen the new apartment.

"Ritzy joint."

Allison laughed. "It is a little ridiculous, isn't it?"

We went straight to her father's office to set up camp. The beastiary was on her father's desktop computer, so Allison made a copy of onto a flashdrive, which she then opened onto her laptop so that we could both search simultaneously. "I'll start on the first page, you jump ahead to the middle?"

"Page five hundred it is."

"And remember, musca."

"Musca. Uh huh." I drummed my fingers on the keyboard of her laptop as the file loaded, all the while muttering, "Musca, musca..."

We read in silence, the gravity of the situation heavy on us. More familiar with Latin and the beastiary, Allison read faster than I did, but I was able to keep up a decent pace. One or twice we had a few potential references—mysca, muscka, muscan—but nothing panned out.

We had only been reading for forty minutes or so when my phone rang.

"Hey, babe. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, we're fine," Stiles's voice was calm but annoyed. "He's gone. He's not here. The guys didn't pick up anything."

"But Lydia said-"

"Yeah, I know. She was wrong, I guess."

Allison stopped reading. She looked up with concern. "What is it? What's wrong?"

I cuffed the phone speaker. "No bomb so far and no sign of Barrow."

Now that school was over and Barrow was nowhere to be found, Scott and Stiles had decided to let the police handle it. Everyone was heading home. "So...should we keep looking? I mean, we're still pretty sure this guy has something to do with the supernatural, right?"

"I don't know. Scott's not worried. In fact, he's so not worried that he's going over to Kira's for dinner. I think we can let this one go." Stiles paused, talking to someone in the background. "...Well, dad'll be working late tonight. Come over and we'll cook him some dinner together?"

Smiling at Stiles's obvious affection for his father, I agreed to meet him at his house in half an hour and ended the call. That's when I noticed Allison's rigid posture. She was staring blankly at the computer screen, her shoulders tense and her face tight. I felt a pang of sympathy. She must've heard.

A few seconds passed and spoke. "Kira..." She blinked stiffly, finally tearing her eyes away from the monitor. "She's cute."

The bitter admission was heartbreaking. It's never easy seeing your ex move on. "I'm sorry, Allison."

"Well, we broke up, right? So, I have no right or reason to be upset. And I'm not. Upset. I'm..." Her jaw flexed. Her gaze was pleading. "Should I be upset?"

"I think...it's perfectly normal to be upset, and with lives like ours, normalcy is probably a good sign."

Allison gave a pained smile. She didn't look comforted. "You should go. Don't want to keep Stiles waiting."

Although Allison and I hadn't really spent too much time together since she dumped Scot and absconded for the summer in France, we had once been quite close, bonding over our mutual plight—the craziness that is dating boys like Scott and Stiles. I closed her laptop and set it aside. "Are you going to keep reading?"

She cleared her throat and nodded seriously. "Yeah, just in case. You never know..."

"I'll see you at school tomorrow?"

The young hunter nodded. "Sure thing."

When I arrived at the Stilinsky household, the Jeep was in the driveway and the front door was unlocked. I let myself inside and called out, announcing my arrival. I was met with silence. Dropping my bag by the door, I made my way upstairs to Stiles's room, voices drifting down the stairs.

"...get detention for pulling the alarm?"

"Yeeeep. Everyday this week. It's okay, though, we were on to something." Stiles's reply was gentle and I recognized the other, female voice as Lydia. His bedroom door was cracked, and as I topped the stairs, I could see Lydia laying on Stiles's bed. The sight made me hesitate, an uncomfortable sensation washing over me.

"Even though we couldn't find any proof of Barrow being there?"

"Hey, Lydia-" There came the sounds of shuffling, and suddenly, I could see Stiles kneeling before the redhead. "You have been right every time something like this has happened. So don't start doubting yourself now."

"No scent. No bomb." Lydia's voice dropped to a pitiful whisper. "I got you in trouble..."

"Okay, okay." I watched my boyfriend reach for the banshee's hands and wrap them in his own. "Barrow was there. You know it, you felt it, okay? And look if you wanted to, I'd go back to that school right now and search all night just to prove it." His voice was tender and considerate, two things I loved about Stiles, and hearing it now directed at the girl for whom he'd had the crush of all crushes on since he was seven made me want to vomit.

Turning, I quickly made my way back downstairs, snagged my bag, and left.

At home that evening, I waited for Stiles to text or call and ask where I was and why I had never showed up at his house to make dinner. Only the texts and calls never came. Not until around two a.m., anyway.

We got him, Sam. We got Barrow.

Reading the text through sleep-blurred eyes, I instantly jolted up in bed and called my boyfriend. He sent the call to voicemail and texted back, Sorry. At the police station. Can't talk here. Still with the feds.

What?! What happened? Are you okay? Is anyone hurt?

Yeah, we're all fine. Kira's a little shaken.

Kira? The new girl? Omg.

Yeah, she's here. Scott and Lydia, too. It's a long story. Call you when I get home?

Don't worry about it. You can fill me in tomorrow. Just get home safe and try to get some sleep.

K. Stay safe, Sammy. Love you.

You too.

Dropping my phone onto my night stand, I stared hard at the ceiling above me. Something had happened. Someone had caught a lead on Barrow, and Stiles hadn't called. He had taken Lydia, Scott had brought the new girl, but Stiles hadn't called me. Abruptly feeling very useless and forgotten, I groaned and glared up at my ceiling. Something told me sleep wouldn't come very easy that night.

And so it begins!

The Nogitsune is driving a wedge between Sam and Stiles in the best and cheesy, teenagery way possible—love triangle drama!