Stiles was quiet as the Doctor fiddled with the control panel, pulling on levers and pressing buttons. He watched his companion out of the corner of his eye as the TARDIS began to shudder with movement.

When the Doctor threw him a concerned look, Stiles gave him a reassuring grin.

"The adventure's over, eh?"

The Doctor didn't know what to say. Did Stiles regret coming with him? It seemed that whenever the Time Lord interacted with the boy it always led back to painful memories. Particularly, memories of his mother…

And that's when the Doctor finally understood her intent. She had brought the two of them back together for one purpose. It was crafty on her part, but when was she never crafty?

But it was also cruel, to throw someone back into a painful situation like that. Was it a life lesson? It always seemed to be.

The Time Lord was old, and had lost dozens of friends on his endless journey. But with Stiles' short life, losing a single loved one must've held the same crushing weight as the Doctor losing hundreds.

The feeling was immeasurably terrible and crushing.

The TARDIS whirred and settled in place, just behind a clump of trees. Stiles was the first one to poke his head out, his eyes scanning the area. "We're on the Preserve," he informed the Doctor, stepping out the police box. Overhead, the night sky was teeming with stars. Dark trees surrounded them on all sides, closing in on them. Stiles was looking up, his pale face flush despite the chill. "Thank God that there's no full moon out."

The Doctor followed suit, and he closed the door behind him with a wistful snap of his fingers. It clicked shut.

"STILES!"

Stiles' head suddenly snapped in the direction of the voice. The Doctor watched silently as a teenager came barrelling towards them and tackled Stiles with an embrace, which nearly knocked both of them to the ground.

"Scott?" Stiles said. Surprise crossed his face as the boy's—Scott—grip on Stiles tightened, who looked confused and at a loss of words. Scott buried his face into Stiles' shoulder, and the Doctor could've sworn that a hint of claws had protruded from his fingertips.

This was the werewolf best friend, it seemed.

Stiles meanwhile, stood there, his arms pinned to sides. He looked over at the Doctor, and gave him a look that clearly said, I have no idea what's up with this guy right now.

"Are you OK?" Scott asked as he reluctantly withdrew a minute later. He kept Stiles at arm's length, gripping Stiles' shoulders, looking as if his friend would disappear if he didn't keep his eyes locked on his.

The Doctor watched, remembering that scene in the graveyard. First Rory, and then Amy…

Stop.

"Uh, yeah?" Stiles said, blinking in confusion. "Not that I don't mind the overwhelming concern, but what's wrong, Scott?"

Scott gave him a look of disbelief. "What day is it?" he asked suddenly.

The Doctor saw Stiles' eyes flick to him anxiously before looking back at Scott. "Uh, Tuesday?"

"It's Saturday," Scott corrected him, eyes wide. "Where have you been? Your dad's been out of his mind!"

"Wait, how could I've been gone for four days?" Stiles exclaimed. "I was gone for an hour! Scratch that—I barely left the house!"

"How could you not remember?!" Scott groaned. He stared into Stiles' eyes, squinting and frowning. "Were you drugged?!"

"Come on Scott," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. "It'd take more than that to subdue me."

The Doctor was at a loss. Four days wasn't the worst late arrival he's ever experienced—he'd been off by a year when he tried dropping Rose off several regenerations ago. He thought he'd gotten better at returning to the correct timeline, but that was obviously a false ability.

He gave Stiles a quick wave, and lightly made his way back to the TARDIS. But it didn't matter how quietly he tried to tread, it seemed.

"Stop," said Scott sternly, turning his gaze away from Stiles for the first time. He glared at the Doctor, and his eyes glowed a haunting gold.

"I didn't mean to be the, well, third wheel of your little reunion," the Doctor said quickly, holding up his hands. He watched Scott carefully, noting the tenseness in his shoulders, and the way he still protectively clutched his friend.

"Who are you?" the werewolf growled.

"I'm the Doctor."

Scott gave him a disbelieving look. "What are you?"

The Doctor frowned. "Pardon?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"Scott…" Stiles began, but Scott's eyes were fixed on the Time Lord, staring at his chest. The Doctor looked down, and nervously adjusted his bowtie.

"Right, the overly-sensitive hearing," the Doctor cheerily recalled. "It's amazing how much the lycanthrope clan has evolved over the centuries!"

"I can hear two heartbeats," Scott said, "and they're both coming from you." He reluctantly let go of Stiles, and warily walked over to the Doctor. He flicked a wrist, and full-fledged claws sprouted from his fingers. "So would it matter if I tore one of them out of your chest?"

"Jesus, Scott!" Stiles exclaimed. He jumped in between his best friend and the Time Lord, his back to the Doctor. "It's not even the full moon! What's gotten into you? Not that I don't appreciate the overprotective mode you're in right now, it's actually kind of a turn on—"

"Stiles, was it him?" Scott scowled, his eyes never leaving the Doctor.

Stiles stared at him. "Him? Uh, what? Seriously, what's going through your mind right now?"

"You disappeared, and now this guy's suddenly here with you? I don't remember ever seeing him around town."

Stiles grabbed Scott's wrists, pulling them down to his sides. "Oh my God! No, it was nothing like that!"

"You said that you can't remember being gone for days—"

"I wasn't roofied, OK?!" Stiles cried. "I'll take a drug test, even though you won't find a trace of anything in my system—"

"If I may intercept this conversation," said the Doctor, jumping a little on the balls of his feet. He spun around Stiles, now standing next to him. "I don't want you to get a bad first impression of me—I quite like meeting new people, and it's terrible whenever a misunderstanding happens! But whatever you're thinking has happened, it's quite possibly the opposite! Well, as long as you're thinking in a negative perspective, otherwise it's exactly as you believe it to be!"

Stiles gaped at him while Scott merely glared. His eyes, however, had receded back to their original brown color. That was a good first step, at least.

"Who are you?"

"I'm the Doctor. Just the Doctor."

Scott frowned. "You're not lying," he said. It was a statement, not a question.

"No, he's not, really." Stiles said. "Can you stop staring at him?" he added impatiently. Scott was watching the Doctor, unblinking and still vibrating with suspicion.

The TARDIS still haven't caught the boy's attention, even with his heightened senses. If he did eventually spot it the Doctor had no qualms about explaining the wonderful box to him, but Scott had this wild look about him. It was somewhat unhinged, and pulsing with raw anger. The Doctor knew all too well where that untapped energy was coming from; he'd felt it himself whenever one of his companions—his friends—had been ensnared in a life-threatening situation.

"I think for the time being," the Doctor said, "you should go home, Stiles." He raised a hand when the boy started to mouth a protest. "Don't worry, I'll come visit you."

Stiles clamped his mouth shut, his eyes wide, but he slowly nodded. Scott glared at the Time Lord, and then grabbed his friend's wrist. He began to pull Stiles away, tugging him along. Stiles rolled his eyes, and gave the Doctor one last look before allowing Scott to guide him off the Preserve.

He needed time, and having an expansive time-travelling machine gave him that leisure. The TARDIS brought the Doctor to a faraway galaxy, where he spent a month getting lost within a maze of crystallized flowers that bled blue honey. When he finally made his way out Sexy was waiting for him at the exit, her doors open and inviting.

"Are we heading back?" he asked as she whirred through time and space. She never answered back, but he knew that she was listening.

They landed next to the bleachers of an open sports field. It was nighttime, once again. The Doctor peered around; it was completely empty. He stepped out, and was immediately greeted by a pair of golden eyes.

"Scott!" exclaimed the Doctor. The boy had appeared out of nowhere, and was a foot away from the Time Lord.

"Why are you back?" Scott demanded. But there wasn't much force behind the words; he sounded a little weary and cautious. His hands were curled into fists; there were no sign of his wolf-like claws.

"Because I always meant to," replied the Doctor, and he meant it. He didn't want to leave this as a loose end.

"What did you do to him?" Scott asked. "What did it say to him? Because he's become obsessed with finding something all week. He spent days up in his attic, going through things. He won't even tell me why."

The Doctor watched Scott carefully. The boy looked genuinely concerned for his friend, with his wide eyes and frowning brow.

"He…" The Doctor trailed off, wondering how to explain this bizarre story. He instead pointed to the TARDIS, which was blending in beautifully with the night sky.

"It would be best if I just showed you," he said. Scott looked at the police box, blinking in disbelief. "It may be a bit… odd, but—"

"You know that I'm a werewolf," Scott interrupted.

The Doctor nodded. "Yes," he replied slowly.

"Did Stiles tell you?"

"He told me a vast amount of things," said the Doctor. "I do feel slightly guilty about… taking advantage of his vulnerable state to acquire new knowledge."

Next thing he knew he was being slammed up against the bleachers. Scott had grabbed fistfuls of his tweed jacket, pinning the Doctor against the cold metal.

"What did you do to him?" Scott snarled.

This boy had quite the accusatory nature! Really, if he would just let him explain…

"I was there, eight years ago," the Doctor said. "But I had never planned it. I was brought there, and I think I was meant to your friend."

The grip on his jacket loosened. Scott was still holding onto the Doctor, and he was waiting for an explanation.

"Go on."

"And you see, with my kind, we live near infinitely longer than humans, even werewolves," the Doctor continued. "I was gone eight years through Stiles' perspective, but for me it was a mere week."

Scott frowned, and the Doctor could practically see the gears in his head turning. "So what are you?" Scott finally said. "A time traveller?"

The Doctor smiled.

"You're pretty late for someone with Time on his side."

"I may have the power," the Doctor said carefully, "but I most certainly cannot control it. I try to make things go my way. I strive to paint a perfect, happy ending for those I love. But it doesn't always work out the way I want it to."

He could see it, that gleam of understanding in Scott's eyes. He released his grip on the Doctor, and stepped back.

"Show me what that is," he said, nodding toward the TARDIS. "I don't forgive you for kidnapping my best friend, but… I need to see this power. Just to make sure that it isn't a threat," he added quickly.

The Doctor nodded slowly. "Come with me."

Stiles had fallen over a box of papers when the TARDIS materialized in the attic. The Doctor stepped out, followed by a now-enlightened Scott.

Yellowing sheets and aging notebooks were strewn across the floor. Dust had collected in the corners; it looked like it had been years since somebody had properly visited the attic.

"Jesus, warn a guy when you drop by!" Stiles scowled. He began to stack the papers into a messy tower, grumbling about how his dad would come and investigate if he heard him screaming. It took a set of double-takes for Stiles to realize that it was the Time Lord.

Stiles eyes went wide. He stood up carefully, his hands slightly shaking.

"I wasn't expecting you to…" he began, arms hanging uselessly at his sides. "Um, wow. Did you miss me that much?"

"I wanted to make sure that you were alright," the Doctor said.

Stiles lowered his head, trying to hide a half-smile. "Geez, you didn't even give me enough time to start pining for you. Because that's something I've been mastering for years. Scott could tell you all abou—what are you doing here, Scott?"

Scott gave a small wave. "Hey."

"Were you space-bonding?" Stiles asked jokingly. "Because you have this look that—"

Scott rolled his eyes. "You don't have to make it sound so weird. We just talked."

"You didn't give him rabies first, did you?"

"Shut up, Stiles."

The Doctor walked over to Stiles, picking up some of the papers from the floor. The entire attic had erupted into chaos—unless it had always looked like pulp-induced explosion. His eyes trailed over the text. It was perfectly boring; dates and numbers and other mumbo jumbo.

They certainly didn't hold the answers that Stiles was seeking.

"Dad doesn't come up here," Stiles explained, pulling a new box toward him. "But he'd be pissed at the mess if he saw it."

Scott sat down on the floor, crossing his legs as he watched his friend with a worried look. "You looked through this place twice," he said. "It's probably not here—"

"But nothing's been touched up here!" Stiles shouted, and then quickly covered his mouth. But after a moment it was clear that nobody was running up the stairs, demanding to know what was wrong. Stiles continued more quietly, "Nobody's been up here, except for us. Dad hasn't thrown anything out; I know that."

Scott sighed, and crawled over to Stiles. He grabbed Stiles' arms, holding him in place. "Can you take a break?" he asked. "Please?" he added, a twinge of desperation in his voice.

The Doctor, meanwhile, was scanning the sloped ceiling, frowning slightly. Stiles had never gone into detail of what happened in the hospital room, but he had an idea of what it might have been. The Doctor walked over to one of the low beams, and reached up, sweeping his hand across the top.

There was nothing but dust there.

He then reached into his tweed coat's pocket, and brought out the sonic screwdriver. It may not work on wood, but it might pick up some sort of signal.

The Doctor quickly scanned the attic, waving his arm in a wide arc. Scott lifted his head, no doubt hearing the foreign device at work. He watched the Doctor carefully, frowning at his fluid movements. The screwdriver buzzed, and the Doctor brought it up close to his ear. Interesting.

"Of course," murmured the Doctor, nearly tripping over a stack of old journals in his excitement. "Brilliant! Oh, she was a clever one!"

He raced over to the eastern end of the attic, and placed his palm against the wall, patting it firmly. There was something there, he could sense it.

"Scott," he said, impatiently signalling the teen over. Scott pulled Stiles to his feet, and walked over to stand next to the Doctor. Stiles stayed where he was, frowning.

"Punch through the wood."

Scott gaped at the Time Lord. "What?"

The Doctor gestured at the wall. "I can't do it; the screwdriver doesn't work on wood!"

"Why do you want me to punch through the wall?!"

"Nobody's punching through any walls!" Stiles shouted.

The Doctor looked at Stiles, tilting his head. "Stiles," he began, "whatever it is that your mother told you, the answers are quite possibly hidden behind that wall. She was extraordinarily clever, and she knew that it would take that same level of cleverness in order for her secrets to be found."

Stiles stared at the Doctor, eyes bloodshot and ringed in shadows. Have you actually been up here for a week? the Doctor wondered.

"Try to be quiet," Stiles finally said to Scott. "Just don't bring down the whole wall, OK?"

Scott nodded, and curled his hand into a fist. He lifted his arm, and drove his fist through the wall. The fading wood splintered and cracked. Bits of it flew through the air, engulfing Scott in dust.

"Oh my God," Stiles groaned. "I said to be… whatever. Doesn't matter now."

Scott reached in, groping around. The Doctor waited patiently; he knew that there was something in there.

"Wait," said Scott as he withdrew his hand. He was clutching a cobwebbed-covered book, the pages yellowed and the leather cover warped from water damage and heat. He handed it to Stiles, who immediately cracked it open.

Stiles flipped through it, his eyes flitting rapidly from page to page. He frowned, and turned the covered upside down, his brow creasing with concentration.

"I've never seen these symbols before in my life," he said, handing the book to the Doctor.

"It's Gallifreyan," the Doctor said. He only needed a brief glance in order to decipher its contents. The circular patterns were as familiar and as haunting as his own skin.

"Gallifreyan?" Scott repeated. "Is that some sort of alien language?"

"To you it would be," the Doctor said.

"OK," said Stiles, jumping a little on his feet. His hands were shaking, either from a lack of sleep, food, or a combination of both. "What does it say?"

"It was written by an amateur," the Doctor replied, "someone who isn't fluent in the language. But it's amazing as well! Imagine, a human actively learning Gallifreyan!"

Stiles and Scott exchanged a look as the Doctor flipped through the pages, translating the curves and twists of the words of Gallifrey.

"I met a man… He was quite odd to say the least… He was accompanied by a woman and claimed to have travel in a…" The Doctor trailed off, realization dawning on him. He looked at Stiles, taking in his features. He vaguely recalled how the boy's father looked; they barely shared any physical traits.

The Doctor flipped to the front of the book, checking for a name. There was one.

"Stiles," the Doctor asked. "What was it that you were looking for?"

"My mom said that there was a journal," Stiles answered.

"But she never said it was exactly hers, did she?" the Doctor said. He showed the two teens the name written in English on the curling page: Julian Stilinski. "Did your father take your mother's name by any chance?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, he did," he said, "And that's… Shit, that's not my grandfather's name, either. Because, uh…"

"Then who the hell is this Julian?" Scott asked.

It was coming back to the Doctor all at once. It'd been so long since he'd delved into that part of his past. They were the times before Rose, before Martha, Jack, and Donna. And especially before his beloved Ponds.

He remembered a time back in his fourth incarnation, the time when he was traveling with Sarah Jane. They'd somehow ended up in the early twentieth century, a time before the human World War. He remembered a small boy, with a keen thirst for adventure. Suffice to say, Daleks were involved in the mishap at one point, but the part about the boy was becoming clearer in his mind.

He definitely shared similar traits with Stiles…

The Doctor remembered telling the boy about Gallifrey, and at that time it was still teeming with Time Lords. No Time War had yet been fought. The Doctor remembered a name parting his lips, spilling the word into the young boy's ear.

"It was the name of my best friend," the Doctor had told him sadly.

It seems that his name had been passed on. Even though he was dead, he was, in fact, still living within a carefully selected amount of syllables. And the Doctor just happened to befriend his incarnation.

Well, incarnation in a certain sense.

The Doctor glanced at Stiles, and could suddenly sense a hunger pulsating off of him. The Doctor didn't dare to think that Stiles would end up like him, but…

"Remember how I told you that your name was common on Gallifrey?" the Doctor suddenly asked. Stiles blinked, biting his lower lip as he nodded rapidly. "It may not be entirely important, but I think I should elaborate on its origin…"

The Doctor suddenly strode over to the TARDIS, snapping his fingers. Her doors opened swiftly, and the Doctor stepped inside.

"Come on, both of you!" the Doctor said, beckoning them to come in.

"What?!" they said in unison.

"Slow down, Doc," said Stiles, "Did you just forget that we were four days late the last time I went with you?"

"He's the worst kidnapper ever," Scott muttered.

"Well that's why I said for both of you to come!" the Doctor said, waving Julian's journal wildly. "This matter has turned to exactly entirely important!"

Scott gave Stiles a concerned look. "If he doesn't get us home on time, I'm going to rip his throat out."

"What are you, taking intimidation lessons from Derek now?" Stiles sighed. He then turned his attention to the Doctor. "Dammit, I really wanna go now…"

"I promise that you won't be missed for long," the Time Lord pleaded. He needed to get going; the facts and data were already slipping away.

There was a reason that Stiles had inherited that name. The Doctor had to figure out why.

Stiles grabbed Scott's arm, directing him toward the TARDIS. "You're coming with me, Lupin," Stiles said, grinning at his best friend. "I need a bodyguard, and apparently there are more scaly assholes like Jackson was out there."

Scott groaned. "Great," he said, "like one wasn't enough."

The Doctor stepped aside, allowing the two boys in. The doors closed shut, and very soon the TARDIS began to whir and spin out of the dusty attic.

Fin.