Disclaimer: I own nothing, enough said.

Chapter Edited on 8/22/13

Chapter 1

The History in the Prologue

::

Beautiful beginnings do not ensure beautiful endings...

::

Stiles

Outwardly they'd never make sense.

Stiles is as sure of this as he is that he'll forever renounce the name on his birth certificate.

And honestly, sometimes it baffles him just how much she doesn't care.

It never even seemed to register with her, the confused looks their classmates threw her as she—a seemingly perfectly sane heterosexual female with all the working parts—hung off two second-string hopefuls with an enthusiasm that just couldn't be faked.

Ask anyone and they'd tell you Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski were already an odd pair on their own. But add a 5'7 blonde with the most entrancing set of hazel eyes he'd ever seen to the equation, and people really started scratching their heads as to why a girl gifted with the looks common for cliques ruled by the Lydia Martin's of the world wasn't herding with the rest of the beautiful people. Even Stiles knew that the social hierarchy most kids followed without any conscious thought should have been enough to insure that Vivian Parrish never saw more of them than a few passing glances in the hall.

John Hughes could've made a movie about them.

Against the backdrop of two lackluster sophomores with no higher aspirations than making it off the bench and onto the lacrosse field, Vivian was the ivy-bound hopeful whose sum total of crappy life experiences just begged to be poetized into one hell of a college admission's essay. Practically a school counselors wet dream, and not just because of her spotless attendance record. Even so, she was rarely seen outside his and Scott's presence, and Stiles counted himself lucky that his friend never realized just how much she was slumming-it. She'd probably threaten to remove his limbs for even thinking of it that way.

Their first day of freshman year, Vivian had committed an unthinkable act of social suicide by refusing Jackson Whittemore's invitation to sit at The Only Lunch Table That Mattered, aka the table that all other lunch tables aspired to be near.

In doing so, she had wasted nearly all the potential her genetic lottery afforded her as far as the beautiful people were concerned. The fact that she'd done it without so much as a backward glance still made Stiles grin like an idiot, not to mention the constipated look on Jacksons' face once he realized the girl was actually ditching him for two benchwarmers-in-the-making had been well worth the hell he and Scott went through at practice the next day.

But he was getting ahead of himself...

In the beginning, people assumed the three of them had gravitated towards each other because of proximity. And why wouldn't they? Four years ago, Julian Parrish and his twelve-year-old daughter had moved to town from the Lone Star State in a mysterious whirlwind worthy of any teen-angst ridden novel the summer before seventh grade year, coincidentally renting the house right next door to the Stilinski men.

Needless to say Julian and his smooth Texan drawl were a big hit in the quiet California suburb despite the fact that people found it bizarre his daughter was harder to spot than Bigfoot during their first few months in town. Stiles figured the man's popularity was mostly due to the uncanny resemblance he shared with the guys found on those romance novels Melissa McCall had slapped he and Scott upside the head for gifting her with a few birthdays back. Teller's Auto Repair had really hit the jackpot with the guy, if only because their female clientele had tripled overnight.

His looks not withstanding, there was definitely a magnetism about Julian, one that even the town Sheriff had fallen prey to when the southern man offered to look over the old Jeep gathering dust in their garage for the price of a few beers and a resumé reference; a junker that Stiles dad had won at an Impound auction a few years back and promised he'd get fixed when his son learned how to drive.

It didn't escape his attention that the two men seemed to bond over their status as single parents, both father's struggling to raise decent kids and make peace with the wives they'd laid to rest. And while his dad wasn't exactly a hermit (being the town Sheriff and all), he wasn't exactly Mr. Social either. The revelation that his father might have been lonely was jarring for Stiles back then, in the same way that kids didn't realize their teachers did more than grade papers on the weekend until they were older. It hadn't occurred to him before Julian that his dad might actually need a friend.

A month into the move, Stiles had broken down and asked his dad about the reclusive family and the pretty blonde he'd only ever seemed to catch out of the corner of his eye. Really, he should've gotten a medal for that kind of restraint. Even his dad had been impressed. But whenever he asked about the girl, his dad managed to always avoid direct answers, saying it was none of their business how a man went about raising his own kid.

"Girl's got ten fingers, ten toes, and a smile that can outshine the sun, leave it alone Stiles," the Sheriff would say. "People just like to talk...so let em."

That was Stiles first clue that not all was well in Who-ville.

Halfway into the school year, not even Julian's popularity among the towns housewives could dissuade people from asking why his daughter wasn't attending any of the local schools. Stiles could remember overhearing the cranky office aids talk about it during his many trips to the Principal's Office.

It took six months before his dad's friendship with Julian Parrish pays off and meeting his daughter becomes a real possibility for Stiles.

Football season rolls around and suddenly it's rare not to find the Parrish family at his dinner table or catch the dad's relaxing in the living room on the weekends to talk smack and watch a game when their schedules allowed it. This is when Stiles finally gets his chance to know the enigmatic Vivian Parrish.

Much like their fathers, the friendship between the two of them forms quickly. Nothing had ever felt so easy, not even Scott and his lifelong brotherhood of nerd-tastic proportions. Stiles vividly remembered the girl bouncing forward, noting miserably that she was an inch taller than him, and before either of their fathers can introduce her, swiping his hand with a self-assured air he wasn't accustomed to. "Hey! I'm Vivian. Vivi or Viv if you like, that-weird-Parrish-girl if you don't."

It was a wonder he'd managed not to wet himself let alone stutter out some semblance of his own name before the girl smiles widely enough to put him in a daze. Stiles had only been twelve at the time, but he could remember imagining in those first moments after their introduction (where he probably looked like an idiot that couldn't string two words together let alone form whole sentences), looking into the future, when he and Vivian were sitting around contemplating exactly where the starting point had been for them; this was the moment they'd go to. The first meeting where she'd dazzled him stupid with her smile.

It was different from the way he and Scott worked, because they'd been friends so long—forever it seemed—it was hard to pin down when they'd actually become friends. But that was just one of the many ways the two friendships were different, and though Stiles knew eventually he'd have to share her with his best friend, he'd always look back fondly on the time when Vivian Parrish was just his girl-next-door.

Objectively, Stiles could admit it was out of character for him—getting along with a girl as well as he does Vivian. From the way other girls' in his class acted, he had been convinced that he had some mutant form of BO only they could smell.

She was a breath of fresh air in world where the only women that could stand Stiles hyperactive personality had been his own mom...and Scott's on a good day. She'd loved the way he didn't edit everything he said, assuring him repeatedly that his word vomit was "totally endearing" where others had deemed it troublesome and weird. He'd liked that she was easy to laugh and completely okay with making a fool of herself if it kept him smiling. Not many thought him worth that much effort, and it was a welcomed change.

Despite the fact that he'd rarely seen her venture outside her house other than to walk the twelve paces it took to get from her front porch to his for their dads' weekly get-togethers, Stiles remembered wondering how a girl with such a big personality could manage being home schooled over the internet with very little human interaction and not go crazy.

She'd been nothing but warm smiles and bright eyes the nights she spent in his house, laughing at all his jokes with an energy that was self-sustaining, to the point where he'd puff up his chest thinking he'd finally found someone to appreciate his cleverness. Though she was quick to make fun of him every time he felt obligated to text Scott: "there's a girl in my room!"

"Yes, Stiles, that's right," she'd say with a grin, hair falling around her in tangled wisps of gold. "I am a girl, and I'm in your room. Girl. Room. See how that works?"

For a time, Stiles was completely enamored with his pretty blonde neighbor, and if he were being honest, he had felt rather proud of the fact that he was the only kid in town to have met the illusive girl. Even Scott had seemed putout every time Stiles came back with yet another tale of how 'awesome' his new friend was, though he tried his best to hide it. Part of it was his fault, Stiles knew, because he hadn't been ready to share Vivian just yet, nor Scott, but he also knew his best friend wasn't used to sharing him either.

Just when he was ready to give in, to let the two meet, let her grin capture Scott the same way it had Stiles, she'd do something—reveal another piece of herself that had him pulling back in hesitation, unwilling to let her go until he could say with absolute certainty that he knew her best. Years later, when he's grown and the three of them had plenty of time to perfect their group dynamic, he'll blame this possessiveness on the fact that he's an only child.

She'd sneak over sometimes, in the middle of the night while both their dad's slipped into food-induced comas, all swirls and gold-soaked curls as she raced across the wet grass in batman pajamas he'd been more than a little envious of, climbing the tree outside his bedroom window with wild abandon just to talk about his day. The attention had warmed his insides and he'd eaten it up greedily as if it might disappear. She was always so eager to hear about him and Scott and all the trouble they got into, or what he was learning in class. She listened attentively with fisted hands tucked beneath her chin, the epitome of concentration. When he'd asked her why she didn't just let him sneak downstairs to open the door for her, all she'd say was that climbing trees was a luxury she might not have forever. And just when he thought they might actually broach more serious topics, she'd quickly come back with something like global warming killing all the trees leaving none for her to climb and how it would be all his fault because he and his dad didn't recycle enough, and they'd laugh trying to muffle the sounds so they wouldn't get caught. Despite getting the distinct impression that he was missing something important, Stiles felt special, like his troubles mattered, and not just the one's boys went to dads or best friends that weren't girls with. It was an addictive feeling, one he'd grown accustomed to having in the short time he'd known Vivian.

But the dinners started happening less frequently, to the point were weeks were passing between visits, and then he barely caught more than a few glimpses of his fair-haired friend. When he did, it was only long enough for her to give him a passing smile, though the effect was dampened by how tired her eyes looked and how quickly her father ushered her into their car with an apologetic wave at him as they headed off to God-knows-where like clockwork. It's during these brief glimpses that Stiles absolutely hates Julian Parish and the villainous bastard his mind has turned the loving father into.

It had all seemed like some grand plot back then. Like people were conspiring to keep them apart. Scott, who'd been too jealous of Vivian at the time to care about how worried Stiles was. His dad; who'd kept ducking all of his questions about where Julian took Vivian everyday. Even the gossip about the Parrish family had died down and Stiles hadn't understood why.

Summer had come again, and Stiles, determined to start his high school career with both of his friends in tow, made it his mission to uncover the mystery of his disappearing friend, dragging a reluctant Scott along for the ride.

Collectively, it would be the best summer of their lives.

::

Scott

The clarity with which he remembers his first encounter with Vivian still amazes him.

The first time he saw her, she'd been wearing a ridiculous blue knit beanie shaped like an owl, walking hand-in-hand with a mountain of a man that Scott was pretty sure could bend him like a pretzel with just his pinkie if he felt so inclined.

He'd been waiting impatiently for his mom to get off an afternoon shift when he spotted her—impishly smiling up at her dad as he tugged her down the busy hospital hallway.

He hadn't recognized her right away, but then...she'd started laughing.

And damned if it wasn't everything Stiles had said it would be; loud and unapologetically infectious enough to make you smile without even realizing. Sure enough Scott had felt the corners of his mouth already starting to curl before he could think twice.

If his twelve year-old-self had been aware of what she would come to mean to him over the course of their lives in Beacon Hills, how much unwavering loyalty she'd bestow on him during some of the darkest points in his life, Scott might have felt more inclined to fight the childish flames of jealousy that had raged inside his chest.

He remembers being surprised that the fabled sunshine laced curls his dopey friend had practically written sonnets about for the ten months he'd known Vivian hadn't been the thing that gave her away.

And, God, had Scott wanted to hate her! The boys-only-club had been working just fine for him up until that point, largely because he hadn't been that comfortable with the fairer sex despite all the time he'd spent with his mother.

But Scott hadn't seen his best friend so unbelievably happy in a long time, not since before his mother had died, and so he'd tried not to completely rain on the other boy's parade.

Everyone always said he was the nice one.

It was for this reason and this reason alone, a twelve-year-old Scott had told himself, that he took so much care to observe Vivian and her dad as they passed by him on their way out. Back then, Stiles had been driving him crazy with all the conspiracy theories he was cooking up (none more so then that weeks' which had heavily featured aliens and pod-people) and maybe a part of him, the part that had still been a kid unwilling to share his best friend, had hoped that once all the drama was over he and Stiles might actually get to enjoy the rest of their summer.

Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible standing by the nurses station, Scott recalls catching the end of the pairs conversation.

"Look at it this way dad, at least now you won't have to learn how to french braid, right?"

"You know this happy-go-lucky thing...it's all your mother," the man shook his head ruefully, rolling his eyes heavenward. "It was cute when you were five, now—not so much."

"Oh please, I'm adorable." Vivian huffed.

"If you say so, kid."

"I do," she'd said resolutely, tugging on the ends of her hat in a way that had belied the sureness of her tone.

At the time, he'd been annoyed that Vivian sounded so vain, just like every other girl after Stiles had sworn up and down that she was nothing like the girls they'd been used to. But even his younger self had noticed the way her lower-lip trembled, had realized that his dislike had been keeping him from seeing things that should've been obvious.

Her father had noticed it too.

Julian's easy stride faltered as he'd stopped to kneel in front of his daughter. "Hey, lemme see those eyes of mine," the southern man had commanded sternly, pulling at Vivian's chin so she'd had to look him straight on.

Years later, he will find it hilarious just how often Julian curses his own genes to hell and back for making his daughter a mirror image of himself.

"We knew this was coming, and Mary said it'll all come back after so all we have to do is make it to after."

Her smile wobbled some, and Scott would be lying if he said it hadn't tugged at his heart, and even the brat he'd been back then wasn't completely incapable of empathy...even for a best-friend stealer with pretty eyes.

"...You think?" She'd asked earnestly.

"I know," her dad bobbed his head, climbing out of his squat with the ease of a man who'd made his living bent over car engines. "Till then though, I think I'm going to start calling you Gandhi. Hope that's cool."

"Dad!"

"Or Howie...when's the last time you saw a guy named Howie with hair?"

"Dad!"

"Alright, alright, jeez Fester no need to get sensitive."

Julian chuckled, pulling his daughter's squirming form into his arms to place a kiss on her forehead before letting her shove him away.

"You're unbelievable."

"So they say, its part of my charm." Her father wagged his eyebrows, earning an eye roll and a long suffered sigh from his younger companion. The father-daughter duo bickered all the way out the sliding doors, and probably, Scott thought, long into the parking lot.

Watching the two interact had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he knew it wasn't just Vivian's hold on Stiles that he'd been jealous of that day.

The turning point for Scott and Vivian comes later; once he understands why she never joined his 7th grade class and why she won't be joining his 8th grade class either, why the beautiful hair Stiles was so enamored with is inexplicably absent the first time he meets her, why the weekends Vivian spends with his best friend, pretending she doesn't have a care in the world, are so special to her.

"Honey, you ready," Melissa McCall came up behind her son, placing a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. She followed Scott's line of sight, catching the retreating form of the hunky mechanic all the nurses had been fawning over and his daughter. "Sorry I took so long, Ruth needed some help finding a patient's chart."

"Yeah, no problem," Scott assured his mother with a half-grin, his earlier ire at her lateness forgotten. "Hey, do you know anything about them?" He nodded towards the exit the pair had just taken. "The Parrish family, I mean...?"

"Only what I've managed to pick up through the hospital grapevine...why?"

Leave it to his mom to be especially vague on the one day he actually wanted to know about her work drama. "Do they come here a lot?" Scott tried again.

"I don't know...often enough to have some of the younger interns sniffing after Mr. Parrish I guess. And again I ask, why?"

"It's nothing, really," Scott tried to play it off, not wanting his mother to get the wrong idea, a knack of hers that usually left him mortified and red faced. "Stiles is cool with Vivian, and I've never met her so..."

"Ohhh-ho, you mean the new friend Stiles is always gushing about who you keep telling me you're not jealous of?" His mother nailed her point with deadly accuracy. "I was beginning to think she was imaginary."

Scott opened his mouth to protest, huffing at the knowing smirk she gave him. "I'm-why would I even-I'm not jealous..." At her skeptical face, he defends,"I'm not!"

"Hello, I'm your mom," Melissa jested, grabbing her coat and purse from beneath the front desk, "we've met, right? And to answer your first question, I work the ER shifts, so I don't really see them but my friend Mary does."

When she didn't continue, he prodded,"...And?"

"And nothing, I'm a nurse, Scott. Patient info isn't meant to be gossip—"

A few nurses walk by them, talking in scandalized whispers. "Did you hear about the guy in room-112 getting caught with Shannon from the night shift? Naked and everything! Dr. Wilkins is on the war path."

The disbelieving look Scott gave his mom gained him a cuff to the back of the head. "At least not in my book...and for future reference, no one likes a smart-ass."

It wasn't until they were both situated in the car, when he'd been ready to deem this fact finding mission an absolute FAIL that his mom threw him a bone.

"Just..." she paused, biting her lip like she's not sure she should be telling him what she's apparently about to tell him, and Scott has a death grip on the edge of his seat, really hoping that the little voice in her head telling her to keep her mouth shut doesn't win. "Do me a favor and tell Stiles to be careful, okay. Don't let him spend all of his time with her."

Understandably, he was puzzled by the request because he wonders what his mom thinks he's been trying to do this whole time.

At his confused look, Melissa gives him a tad more, "Not because you're being a baby —which, you are, by the way— I'm just saying, don't let him get too attached to her..."

His mom pinned him with a look. "And don't ask why! I've already said too much." She shook her head sadly, scolding herself. "I just don't want this to be another loss he isn't properly prepared for," she added quietly, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

Reading between the lines wasn't exactly one of Scott's strongest skills, but he would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to understand what his mom had been trying to tell him.

To say he felt like a world class jerk for all the time he'd secretly been wishing Vivian Parrish would just disappear was an understatement.

He'd wished it was aliens.

::

Vivian

Before werewolves were even a speck on her radar, fruit baskets had been the bane of Vivian's existence...otherwise known as the kryptonite of terminally ill patients everywhere.

Vivian remembered them well. Full of condolences and get well soon's and in your time of need's and every other Hallmark staple of sympathy along with whatever was crowding or about to spoil in the Good-Samaritans' pantries. After her last few rounds of therapy at the hospital, they'd started showing up like ill-timed alarms going off just when you'd managed to find a comfortable spot on the couch.

Word really did travel fast in small towns. Probably faster than swine flu and that was saying something.

It'd taken nearly every ounce of her reasoning skills to persuade her father not to toss them outright, so overrun with memories of his dead wife that he couldn't appreciate the kind gestures fully.

Vivian hadn't really blamed him.

Fruit baskets were the kiss of death in their family. The telltale smoke before the fire. She'd only wished she'd been better prepared for Stiles to sniff out the scent. Or at least had the nerve to tell him herself. In hindsight, Vivian knew things had played out exactly as they were meant to.

It had been one of her better days, one where she almost felt human, and she didn't have the threat of endless appointments and countless needles looming over head. At that point, it had been a waiting game, and all she had really wanted to do was marinate in the stage, bask in the freedom of not knowing. Her dad had been nice enough to set out some lawn chairs in the backyard so they could take advantage of the summer sun for a change, because by then they'd really had nothing to hide. Even with the warm breeze, Vivian had still needed a blanket to keep the chill out.

She heard them before she saw them, and she bit her lip hard at the bumbling picture the two boys made, knocking their shoulders purposely every few steps. Stiles and another boy (who she'd known had to be the infamous Scott by the harassed look and floppy hair) were covered in grass stains and dirt and more than a few scrapes, the necks of their shirts stretched taut.

Her dad, who'd been contently reclined in the chair beside her, cold beer in hand, leveled the filthy boys with his patented all-knowing stare, sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose —a gesture her mom had always called his devil-may-care-James-dean-wannabe impression. "Well, who won?"

Stiles grinned wickedly, shoving an elbow into Scott's stomach before he could speak, "I did."

"You did not," the other boy yelled indignantly, "swiping my inhaler and then telling me to forfeit doesn't mean you win. I call foul!"

Stiles scoffed, flailing his arms in a motion as he turned to face his friend. "On what grounds?"

"...On the grounds that you're the biggest cheater ever!" Scott edged toward Stiles ready to call do-over, when her dad stood to separate them.

"I think what you boys need is an impartial judge..." Julian offered diplomatically, grinning at the sight of his daughter smiling widely. While that wasn't a rare occurrence, it was the first time it had actually been strong enough to reach her eyes in days.

"If we're being fair, I'd say neither of you won." Vivian laughed at the affronted look on both boys faces, even more so at Stiles kicked-puppy expression.

"This one's got asthma," Vivian tilted a thumb in Scott's direction, before nodding at Stiles. "And he's a major spaz, so neither of them are really playing with a full deck of cards if you know what I mean. It's kinda like saying you won a race against a blind three-legged dog. "

"Ouch, judge rules: tie!" Chuckling, her dad gave the boys a rough pat on the back before making for the house. He didn't have to be a mind-reader to sense his cue. He knows his presence won't be welcomed if the gleam Stiles has gotten in his eyes is anything to go by, but he throws a few parting words over his shoulder, because he remembers being a petty kid, "Nice meeting you Scott, we've heard a lot about you."

"Really," the boy questions doubtfully, glancing at Stiles before turning his face back towards Julian's retreating form.

"Yeah," the older man assures, and he smirks to himself when he sees the relieved look on the young boy's face at not being completely forgotten by his friend. Sometimes, it was tough knowing everything.

The backdoor slams shut, and the three of them are left in silence.

And somehow Vivian knows. Knows that Stiles knows. It's obvious with the way he's taking her in, looking for things, signs, that he hadn't known to look for before. He was hard to read in those moments, and Vivian can't help but hold her breath under the shrewd inspection. At first she'd been sure it was exactly the attention she didn't want, that watchful eye on her, analyzing every move. Better — she had thought — to let people wonder.

"Ask me," her voice finally cut through the tense air, and she spares Scott's squirming form a glance before focusing back on Stiles.

He looks at her for minute, no blinking or facial expression to give away what he's thinking. He takes in the dark circles under her eyes, more pronounced now that he sees she's lost her color, knows the restless look she's wearing, the same way he knows the hat on her head is the only thing keeping her warm from the neck up. "I don't have to. When Scott...when he said...I didn't believe him. I got mad. Thought maybe he was just being a jackass." Stiles shuffled his feet, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

Vivian turned to Scott, who'd been busy staring at the tops of his shoes, "Oh, wow, so...the fight...?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry." When Scott didn't look up, Vivian said it again, shifting in her seat to see him fully, hoping she hadn't completely ruined her chance to get to know the shy boy her friend spoke so highly of. "Scott, I'm really sorry. You don't know me, and all I know about you is what Stiles tells me, but I really hoped to give you a better impression of me then the chick that makes you fight with your best friend."

"S'okay." Surprisingly, it really was. Because Scott realized that whatever issues he might have with the girl, they didn't matter anymore. And maybe Stiles dad had sat him down after pulling he and Stiles off each other and told him that he wasn't losing a friend so much as he was gaining one if he could just pull his head out of his ass; which had led them to a different discussion about the merits of keeping certain life lessons between men and away from the delicate ears of women, namely, his mom. Either way, he'd started to feel like kind of a douchebag, but then Stiles dad assured him he'd grow out of it, or at least learn to hide it better.

"So what changed your mind, aside from how amazing I look today," Vivian asked.

Stiles motioned with his chin towards the baskets crowding her front porch. "We used to get them," he confided, "before, when my mom...they came by the dozens. That's how I knew."

"Oh," and that was really all she would say on the matter, because she knew how hard talking about his mom was for both the Stilinski men, even now. What remains unsaid is that she knows exactly how he feels, in a way someone who has not lost a parent can never understand.

The silence comes again, only now it isn't so empty — and she has to keep her eyes moving, focusing on the rips in their jeans and the knots in their shoelaces that they'll probably have to cut to get rid of so she's not dwelling on how much she wants to cry.

"You're not allowed to die, Viv," her friend tells her adamantly, locking his eyes with hers. "Just so we're clear...and someone's saying it out loud, you're not allowed to die."

Vivian can't remember if she'd ever felt so overwhelmed in the span of a single moment, and the words she's meant to say get caught at the base of her throat for a time. "Just so we're clear," she makes sure to hold his gaze, even though her hands are fisting the folds of her blanket, "I don't plan on dying."

The breath that leaves him is nearly back breaking, and neither of them will acknowledge the moisture he fights back as he blinks.

"Besides, who's gonna make sure you don't look like a total headcase when you finally get to take out this Lyla girl you're pining for?"

"Lydia," he corrects automatically, though her bright laugh tells him she knows exactly what the girl's name is.

Before Scott can focus too much on the awkward sensation that makes him feel like he's interrupting a private moment, Julian sticks his head out the backdoor of the house in a brilliant move that's both unexpected and perfect timing, "If you guys are all done with your Lifetime special out here, I've got pizza and buffalo wings for those of us who can stomach it, and soup for the pansies that can't."

The smiles they share aren't a sign that everything is perfect, nor are they an indication that the discussion is entirely over, because all of them know they might be too young to make sense of everything right then—though it won't keep them from trying.

"All right, Scotty, help me up and I'll tell you all about the time I caught your sad little friend with his pants down."

"Oh, jeez...really?" Stiles groaned in humiliation, cheeks reddening.

Vivian held a hand out to the dark haired teen, flexing her fingers in his direction as she fixes him with an all too adorable look that Scott thinks just might be the one his mother warned him about when he hit double digits—the look that could get an unsuspecting boy into all kinds of trouble. It should have surprised him, how easy it was for her to make him feel like he wasn't the third-wheel. She really was irresistible, and Scott knew he'd learn just how useless fighting this had been.

Pulling her up took little effort on his part. For being so tall the girl weighed less than paper. She heaved a sigh, throwing her arms over both of their shoulders in a move none of them were certain was just her being friendly or simply unsteady on her feet.

"So, Scott, since we're such old pals, I've been meaning to ask..." the girl between them says airily, playfully tugging on Scott's hair as if she'd been doing it forever. The look he gives Stiles over her head clearly asks if she's for real. Of course the other boy is too busy snickering to answer. "I've got this list, you see...and I'm kinda hoping you guys can help me with it."

Intrigue is heavy in the air as the three of them hunker down at her kitchen table, Julian milling around them with plates and napkins though he does tilt his head in their direction as if he's just as eager to see where his daughter is going with this.

"What kind of list?"

Vivian shakes her head, as if they've said exactly what she was expecting. "No, no, that's not the right question. Where's your sense of adventure? The only thing you need to ask yourselves is...do you have the ball—"

"Ah, ah, ah," Julian tuts before his daughter can finish. She blows out an irritated breath, and even though her hair is gone, all of them can imagine her bangs ruffling at the action. "Fine, fine...trample on my poetic license" Vivian grumbles before amending, "do you have the guts...to journey into the unknown without wetting your pants, to do things you'll probably remember for the rest of your lives, and maybe gain a few chest hairs in the process?"

Scott looked at Stiles, wondering if he felt the tingle at the base of his spine the way Scott did. Here they were, sitting in the home of a girl he'd been ready to despise not two weeks ago, feeling as though he were on the brink of something life changing. Scott didn't know if it was the unconventional circumstances or Vivian's gravity defying personality pulling him in, but a mere five minutes in the doe-eyed girl's presence and he felt as though something epic could happen at any moment.

He soaks in the feeling, wordlessly sharing a grin with his best friend across the table before turning back to Vivian. "We're in."

"Thundercats a-goooo," Her dad pipes in, trailing off when the kids stare at him as though he's spoken some form of gibberish.

"Hmm, before your time then...uh, how bout' go-go Power Rangers," he tries again, though at his daughter's so-so hand gesture, he gives it another attempt, "...to the bat-mobile?"

The three teens grin gleefully, and Julian knows that's the one.

"God, I really need to start watching the news or something..." the older man muttered miserably to himself, leaving the young trio as plans for the summer were thrown around.

The loud laughter that trails from the kitchen tells Julian Parrish two things: one, he's going to have to stock up on his junk food because he knows he'll be seeing a lot more of the Sheriff's son and Scott McCall. And two, unlike her mother, his kid was going to survive this. And that was all he could ask for. He'd worry about the hormone ridden teenage time-bombs and their proximity to his daughter another day.

::

AN: Tell me what you think. Too sappy, not enough humor? I'm kinda going for a supernatural dramedy vibe, though romance will come into play later. I'm debating whether or not to include (SPOILER: if you didn't already make this out) the bucket list summer in this fic. Please note that in these little reflective vignettes, the gang is approx. 11-12 when they first meet.

Let me know what you think. Reviews = love people, or 'like' if you're a commitment phob.

The pairings are very solid, so unless I get knocked upside the head, Derek/OC will happen. Even if you can't see it just yet (though I'll probably have to come up with a Stiles/OC fic to make up for keeping him out of the main pairing).

I'm a firm believer in ground work, it's the only way my mind lets me put OC's into these fandoms, which is why I wanted to give you all a prologue worthy of your time (hopefully) Because none of this really matters if you don't care for Vivian or her story. But, I will say that this won't really be a fic that harps on the 'sick-woe-is-me' angle as it's not my intention. I hope to hear from you guys, because Teen Wolf is only a recent find of mine, and I'd really like to know if I'm doing these characters justice.

Edited on 8/22/13