Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

You could be my bad dreams,
You could be my only think about-
You could be my nightmare,
But would you still be my love?

Bad Dream - Jungle Giants

Stiles has been having trouble sleeping...

That's nothing new really. It's not the first time really, but this- this is different.

It's not just dreams. Nightmares he could handle, no problem. He's been dealing with those for years now.

But these aren't just nightmares.

They're night terrors.

It all really started the night they found Natalie under that tree. Or, well, more realistically it probably began after the whole Darach thing - because he actually hadn't rested until then. He couldn't rest until he knew she was safe. 

And now he can't rest at all.

Every night... he's falling into this endless abyss of darkness.

Just this- like, this complete void of empty nothingness.

He's basically blind, and it's almost worse than the never ending fall.

He thought the sensation of falling was meant to wake you up? That's what people always say, right?

But it's not true. Not for him. Not anymore.

He's always falling.

Deeper and deeper.

Endlessly.

There's nothing for him to hold onto, nothing to figure out how far he's gone. It's all him, all alone, in the darkness, with this intense sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach as he just keeps falling deeper and deeper.

And there's absolutely nothing he can do to avoid it.

This one's a little different though.

Because, for the first time ever, he actually stops.

He lands with a solid thud, falling onto his back with enough force to wind him and he struggles to breathe properly.

It's still so dark - he literally can't see anything. Why can't he see anything?!

Then he hears it. A lid snaps shut on top of him with a deafening crack.

Like a coffin.

Holy crap - it's a coffin. 

He's in a coffin!

Is he actually being buried alive right now? Oh god, what a horrible way to go. That's probably up there with, like, top ten ways to die that he would like to avoid, please. It sounds absolutely horrifying and is not at all something he wants to experience.

But when he opens his eyes, again (because apparently his eyes were closed this whole time and that's why he's not been able to see anything but he swears he literally had them open this whole time!) he sees the slits of a locker door.

Suddenly it's like gravity fully shifts.

He's not actually laying down, he's standing - how could he not have realized that?

This isn't a coffin either, he's in a locker.

And he- he knows this locker.

It's his, from middle school.

Oh. Yeah, okay, he remembers this now.

He remembers this day - back when Scott had to stay home because he'd broke his collar bone. Stiles was all alone, and some of the older kids they- they shoved him into a locker.

Stiles screamed, he begged, but- but it felt like no one could hear him. Or maybe they could, and they were just ignoring him.

He really doesn't know which one is worse.

Eventually someone found him though.

Boyd.

He'd opened the locker and Stiles collapsed out of it in a frantic pile of hiccups. His hands were bruised from battering the door - but he didn't have the strength to even make a dint in it. Boyd didn't say anything - he didn't ask if Stiles was okay or what had happened. He just offered him a hand. Stiles took it with a sniffle, wiping his nose with the other one.

Boyd hadn't said anything, just looked him up and down, and just... he just walked away.

He never was much of a talker.

That's what Stiles found out - when he sat with him during lunch the next day - but Stiles was kind of glad for it. He never told anyone what happened. Neither of them ever mentioned the incident.

He's not sure how, but Scott definitely found out about it. That was just obvious from the fact that after that day he refused to take another day off school. He could be half asleep and sneezing non-stop but he'd still demand to come to school. Stiles was grateful for that - even though neither of them mentioned it. 

Stiles could almost pretend it never even happened.

But not now. Not anymore.

Now he's reliving it all over again.

But no- no. It's a dream. This is just a dream. 

Only it's not a dream.

It all feels too real for that.

The cold metal of it, the tiled ground under his feet. It's solid. It's real. This is real.

He balls his fist, and methodically bangs down the door. 

He knows how to do it now, he'd practiced. he didn't want to ever get stuck like that again.

One, two, three, four hits and it swings open kind of ominously.

He's in the boys locker room, that's different. That's not where he was last time.

One thing stays the same though - he's not alone out here.

There's a figure in the shadows, staring at him.

He walks toward the... person here with him. They do the same, slowly prowling toward him like they own everything in this room and Stiles is the intruder here. Which is dumb, because it's a school and who would want to own that anyway?

When he gets close enough he realizes who it is.

It's him.

He's looking in a mirror.

But it's... it's also not him?

It's hard to explain but there's something about the reflection that just doesn't look right.

Still, that's basically at the bottom of his list of concerns right now.

He needs to get out of here. Being at school at night is creepy enough, especially alone. He kind of wishes it was some ominous entity, at least then he'd have someone to talk to here rather than just himself.

He keeps walking, out into the hall. Every step feels really loud, like it's echoing endlessly down the empty corridors. There's no one around, everyone has left him there. Had they forgotten all about him?

Except he- he can hear someone, in the shadows. The echo of a bell like laugh bouncing off the halls. 

Could it be...?

"Natalie?" He calls out, because if she's actually here then this won't really be so scary honestly.

He makes his way further down the hall, looking for her. He's pretty sure this is the direction that the noise was coming from.

A door is open, not completely but enough for something to get through.

It's the one to the chemistry lab - the class they shared together back in freshman year.

The door shouldn't be open.

He feels that almost instinctively, but he pushes it wider anyway because how else is he meant to get through?

Is this where she's hiding?

That's when sees it.

The Nemeton.

The entire room is destroyed, like this huge ancient tree stump had crashed landed right in the middle of the room. Desks and chairs flung to the side, shades unevenly drawn. It's total a mess, like a tornado came through or something.

There's power here too, he can feel it seeping onto the air around him like a sickly tar drawing him into its depths.

He can't help walking forward, he can't stop himself. It's like he doesn't have control over his actions.

He reaches a hand over it, he doesn't know why, and that's when he feels it.

A cold porcelain grip on his arm.

He sees her razor sharp smile as she pushes his hand right through the stump and he feels the bones in his arm snap with the force before falls right in - that horrible cackle he'd only heard once before in their school parking lot while Derek was dying is echoing above him as the darkness swallows him completely.

He's falling, deeper and deeper, endlessly, into the void.

Stiles wakes up, gasping for air because he can't freaking breathe.

What the hell kind of twisted nightmare was that?

That felt way too real.

He can still feel her grip on his arm, that arm, the one that she had marked with her teeth so long ago.

"You okay?" A melodic voice asks sleepily.

Natalie rolls over in bed beside him, looking as beautiful as ever as she stares up at him with those vivid blue eyes. He seriously doesn't understand how he got so lucky to be able to share a bed with her every night. She sits up and rubs her hand over his arm, like she knows exactly where he hurts, and wraps her other arm around him so her cheeks is pillowed against his shoulder and nuzzling into him.

"Stiles?" she repeats softly, "You okay there?"

He takes another deep breath, trying to stead his racing heart. "Yeah, I was- I was just dreaming," he assures her.

She strokes his back softly and questions, "What about?"

"It was weird," he admits, trying to remember because it's all kind of slipping away from him now. Something about school? "It was like a dream within and dream."

"A nightmare?" She wonders gently.

He grips her hand tightly, squeezing her fingers, "Yeah."

"Let's go back to sleep," she says, running her other hand through his hair just like he always imagined she might one day.

And that's when he realizes it.

This... This isn't right.

Natalie... She- She's not soft, not physically anyway. And she's definitely never been in his bed before.

How could he forget that?

"Wait a second - Natalie," he looks at her, really looks at her, and he can just tell something isn't right. She's looking back so openly, with her eyes on him but it's not- it's not quite right. There's something off about it, something off about her. He doesn't know what it is, but just that this- this doesn't make any sense. "What are you doing here?

That's when the door creaks.

It gets his attention immediately, and part of him vaguely winders if it was intentional.

The door is open.

Who left the door open?

Natalie tells him with a drowsy voice, not to worry about it

But... he needs to close the door.

She just wants him to go back to sleep, please.

But what if they get in?

She's begging him to just leave the door open and come back to bed, fingers clutching the back of his shirt as he makes his way toward it. But she's fumbling. 

Natalie would never fumble.

He reaches for the handle.

She gets more frantic, begging him not to go through, pleading.

But he has to.

He wants to listen, it hurts to hear her sound like that even if he realizes now its not Natalie, not really, but he can't stop.

Stiles walks through the door and there it is again.

The Nemeton.

He's standing in the Forrest, alone.

The doors gone from behind him, just vanished, and there's nothing familiar here other than the deep sense that he just does not belong.

He shouldn't have come here.

He should have just shut the door when he had the chance.

And now its too late.

Lights turn on suddenly, surrounding him like they do on the lacrosse field at night, and he remembers so vividly that horrifying moment where Peter held Natalie's squirming form in the air in the middle of the lacrosse field. This feels so much like that moment, it's almost unbearable. He can still see her legs dangling helplessly in the air. Her hands clawing at the arm that holds her suspended and the cracks growing in her skin. Her eyes that pure black abyss that sucks everything into their depths. He can hear the snap of her neck when Peter crushed it under his grip, punctuated by the snapping of a dried root under Stiles' feet in this moment right now.

In this dream right now.

"It's a dream," he reminds himself out loud, because he has to. He has to remember, "this is just a dream."

That doesn't help though.

The vision changes now. And it's worse. He's staring at the large oak tree stump, unable to stop remembering how she looked buried beneath it. How she hadn't breathed, hadn't blinked, hadn't moved until he forced that blood down her throat. Her gaze so lifeless, crystal blue eyes wide and vacant as they stare straight through him like he's not even there. He'd nearly lost her because he hadn't been quick enough. 

"It's just a dream," he tells himself more desperately, because he can't keep seeing this. "Get it out of your head Stiles! You're dreaming!"

He hits his head, pulling his hair in the hopes the pain will bring him to his senses, but he can't tear his eyes away. He can't stop seeing her, desperate, helpless, bleeding. And it's all his fault. He should have been down there, with her. He should have saved her. But he couldn't - Stiles could never save anyone.

"You're dreaming, alright?" He shouts, "So wake up Stiles!"

There she is again, the way she looked after being tortured by Argents. Both ankles strapped to either leg of the chair and her wrists weighed down with iron chains. She's covered in her own dark oozing blood with her head hanging low in defeat. Her strawberry blonde hair that an ashy grey from her own blood.  And she slowly looks up with duct tape over her eyes, oily black blood dripping from her broken nose and pouring from her mouth as she tries to say something he can't understand.

"Wake up stiles!" The world trembles around him as he yells, "WAKE UP!"

That's when he feels it again, that merciful cold porcelain grip slides around the sides of his head and snap.

His eyelids are heavy, his entire body is as he slowly comes to what he can only pray is actually consciousness.

The birds chirp happily, and the door swings open easily. The fresh smell of coffee pervades the air as his dad barges in. "Hey, time to get up, kiddo. Get your butt to school!"

Is this... Is this actually real?

His dad's already gone before Stiles can even ask. Not that he would. Well, probably.

There's only one way to tell really, and only one thing he wants to do anyway.

Stiles drags himself out of bed, and immediately begins to search for his phone.

He has to make sure she's alright. He needs to get those intrusive images out of his brain because literally all he can think right now is did they even manage to get her out of there? What if that was the dream, and she's actually still stuck down there, buried alive. That can't be possible, right? That's not possible!

She answers on the second ring - and the wait is agony. "Hello?"

The sound of her melodic tone sends relief flooding through him instantly. "Oh, thank God." The words just slip out, unintentionally. He's just so happy that she's okay!

"Stiles? What happened?" Suddenly Natalie's standing right in front of him, phone still in her hand as she asks, "Are you alright?"

He jolts at the sudden breeze, jumping back into bed and pulling the blanket up to his chest, the last thing he wanted was for his angelically beautiful crush to see him in his cartoonish dolphin pajama bottoms! "Ah, yeah. I- I'm fine. Thank you for knocking by the way."

She ignores his sarcasm, a hand already on his forehead. He almost hums at the bare contact of her smooth porcelain skin, and berates his sweat glands for even existing. While his brain is conjuring up images of those hands doing... seriously conflicting things to him. He's definitely not uncomfortable in a fear for his life sort of way, just maybe fear for his dignity.

Like... he actually is curious to know what it would feel like to have them wrapped around his neck right now - is that weird?

Probably.

"You don't have a fever, but you are awfully pale," she notes almost clinically - it would be entirely if not for the hint of concern in her tone.

He almost manages to laugh, feeling way better just for seeing her. "Pot, meet kettle."

"Perhaps you should stay home," she muses with a thoughtful expression.

"What? No! I'm not staying home," he tells her immediately. "It's your first day back!"

"Then we shall both stay home," she says way too cheerfully, climbing onto his bed and sitting cross-legged. He moves his own legs out of the way to make space for her almost instinctually.

He knows she's just putting on that facade for him now. She can tell he's unsettled so she's trying to balance it out by being overly enthusiastic. It's kind of weird, but he can't deny how much he genuinely appreciates it...

God.

He loves her so much.

"Sounds like someone might just be looking for an excuse to play hooky," he teases, because if she's trying to be happy for him he's not going to question it. He could really use some happy in his life right now.

She looks at him, something sparkling in her eyes. "Perhaps..."

The way her melodic voice trails off seems almost suggestive.

Is she serious right now?

She's still staring at him, and he sees her eyes looking over every inch of his face

Oh my god. She might actually be serious right now.

There is no way he's going to miss this opportunity. Stiles starts leaning forward and bringing up his hand to push the hair behind her ea-

"Stiles, didn't I tell you-" his dad starts but cuts himself off when he sees they have unexpected company.

Seriously?

Again?!

"Oh. Hello Natalie," his dad says stiffly.

Natalie adjusts her thick rimmed glasses needlessly as she greets, "Hi sheriff."

"It's... good to see you're doing better," his dad says awkwardly, clearly uncertain how to handle having an immortal vampire in his son's bedroom so early in the morning. "But, Stiles really needs to get ready for school."

"Stiles isn't feeling well today, I think he should remain home," she advises.

His dad quickly assures, "I think Stiles will be fine."

"Stiles, can make his own decisions," Stiles says, emphasizing his own name. "And I'm going to school. We both are."

Natalie's smile dims, but she doesn't argue. "Fine. I will be in the living room."

"Um, what?"

"You're driving me to school today," she says like he should have expected this.

He points to himself, asking, "I am?"

"Unless you... do not want to?" She says, not looking at him. Her heads turned to the side but he's pretty sure by the sound of her voice that she might be pouting right now.

Stiles immediately exclaims, "No, I- uh, I do! Just let me get ready, okay?"

She smiles, and he feels his heart stutter in his chest. "No problem!" She practically skips out of his room. "Bye sheriff."

The father and son are in silence for a moment. Then his dad asks, "Really Stiles?"

"What?" He defends, quickly gathering his clothes to go have the fastest most thorough shower of his life.

His dad sighs and shakes his head, but walks out without a word.

He can't fight his grin. Sure, he's having nightmares of endless falling interrupted by the girl he loves breaking some bones and every waking moment there's this ominous feeling hanging over him like the sky might crack open, but today is a good day.

You know why? Because today he is driving Natalie Schaefer to school.

He's taking his wins where he can get them.

She listens avidly when Stiles describes his dream within a dream within a dream. She's basically staring at him the whole ride to school, until he just can't take it anymore.

"What're you staring at?" He finally asks.

She just says, "You."

"Well, can you stop it?" he wonders, "It's kind of distracting."

"But I don't want to," she almost whines, definitely playing it up for him.

He grins. God, he loves how easy it is to talk with her now. Even when he's feeling distressed she just- she always knows how to cheer him up.

Life has seriously been pretty good all things considered - when he's awake anyway. It's just when he's dreaming he's gotta be concerned about things getting weird...

She follows behind him and Scott as he recounts the dream again, somehow still not getting tired of hearing the same story all over again. He wonders if it might be the same for her too - could she just listen to him talk about anything and be content? He'll have to ask her some time...

She sits right behind him in class, no doubt trying to keep an eye on him or something. He loves how she's always doing stuff like that. She cares so much about other people and he just... he really loves her.

So why does it feel like he shouldn't?

Wasn't there something... 

He promised himself that he wasn't going to do this anymore, right?

He's meant to be moving on, so why does it feel like... this isn't right?

That's what prompts him to finally confesses to Scott that he's not even sure this is real.

A hand clamps down on his shoulder from behind him, almost a soon as he says it. He feels more than sees the person lean forward and breathe him in deeply.

"Natalie?"

He turn toward her, wondering what she's doing. Her grip on his shoulder is pretty tight - but it doesn't hurt.

She could never hurt him. He knows that, he feels it so deeply. It's the one thing he could always depend on. Natalie would never choose to hurt anyone, even if she wanted to she just couldn't do it. That's how he knows those dreams were just dreams, because it would never happen.

Stiles looks back at her with concern, wondering what's wrong - because something must be wrong for her to be acting this weird. Are they in danger? Is someone coming? Is she hurt? "Are you okay?"

Natalie looks at him, and she seems kind of confused for a second - like he isn't reacting the way she expected him to.

Stiles doesn't really understand what she's expecting from him right now... but he- he feels like he's missing something.

There's something important he's missing.

...something in her eyes...

Her eyes... they're... different.

Now that he's really looking at her properly he can tell they- they aren't quite right.

And that's when things get worse.

She starts crying - not sobbing. No, it's worse than that. It's just these silent tears that bead in the corners of her eyes like she can't help it.

He's never actually seen her cry before.

Her grip of his shoulder is slipping. He tries to grabs her hand before she can take it back but its like he's stuck. He can't move. He can't stop whats about to happen.

She's sobbing now, like agonizing wails. Her tears turn black and its like the whole room pulses around them as her eyes start melting out of her face leaving those hollow sockets that stared at him in the Argents old basement. She's crumbling, like that body he saw her drain oh so long ago now. She- she's literally falling to pieces right in front of him and he's absolutely helpless to stop it!

He can't stop it.

He can't do anything.

He leans forward to try and grab her again and- and-

He's falling.

He's falling deeper.

The darkness - the void.

It's going to swallow him whole.

And there's nothing he can do to stop it.

That's when he wakes up, again, but screaming this time. His throat raw from the pain of it - arm arching like its trying to separate from his body entirely.

His dad rushes in, trying to calm him but he cant stop, Stiles is screaming and crying and trying to fight but he can't. He can't fight this! He can't fight something battling inside of him!

He feels the pain in every inch of him, its like his brains been split open and someone scooped it out to play with like dough.

There's nothing he can do to stop it.

Nat was certainly not expecting a phone call this late... or perhaps early would be a more accurate assertion.

The origin of the call is even more peculiar.

"Sheriff Stilinski?"

"Sorry, I know it's late but, uh..." the kind hearted man hesitates, voice lowering as he admits, "something's happening to Stiles."

Her heart jolts as though an electrical current has run through her body. It must be serious for him to be contacting her directly. "What?"

"Nightmares."

She remains silent, taking in the information. The state of his subconscious is in turmoil?

"But, not like any I've seen before. He hasn't had night terrors like this even when he was a kid and I... I don't know what to do."

"So why have you contacted me?" She asks, for it is best to seek permission and guidance in such a scenario.

"I don't know," he says almost helplessly, "I thought you might know some way to... to help him."

"I will try," she assures him.

She wastes no time in appearing at Stiles' window, and takes in the situation. He sits on his bed, looking so... fragile. His sheets are a rumpled mess and he is breathing rapidly. His head down as his fingers drag their way through his hair.

The sight of him is... startling. She has done her best to maintain her distance this past week, unable to comprehend how he could have done something so startlingly foolish - not to mention how unbareable it is to consider the fact that she had very nearly killed him again. 

Perhaps this is not a wise decision. She should not be here. 

But... his father had contacted her, he is concerned. He had trusted her, even knowing what he does about her. 

To turn away now would be an insult.

So, she knocks on the window, alerting Stiles to her presence before she can convince herself out of it.

He jumps at the sudden noise, and the sight of his face makes her heart fluctuate with concern and something deeper entirely.

He looks terrible. As though he has not slept since she last saw him, and given the limited information she has been provided that seems quite probable.

He hesitates for a moment as he stares at her. When he slowly gets to his feet, he wastes no time in securing his bedroom door shut before opening the window.

"Natalie? What are you doing here?" He asks, leaning out of it slightly.

She hovers back, to give him space, although she longs to be closer to him. Perhaps that is what drives her to create the much needed distance between them. "I heard you had a nightmare."

"Oh." He retreats inside siting on his bed, holding his head in his hands once again. "Yeah. I did."

"Do you want to talk about it?" She offers somewhat uneasily, taking a seat upon the edge of the windowsill.

His voice is a low murmur as he admits, "Not really."

"That is... fair." She will not pry, although she is admittedly curious. The idea that he is not comfortable sharing such information with her sends a sharp pain through her.

"How do you know if you're dreaming?" He asks suddenly, looking at her with such an earnest expression that every sensation within her drifts away until all that remains is this moment.

"I... do not know," she admits reluctantly. She so wishes to be able to assist him somehow, but this is beyond her limits for, "I have not dreamed in some time."

He is unsurprised by her response, which somehow serves to make her feel worse. "You're lucky then."

Searching intently for something to comfort him, she supplies, "I have heard one cannot read in their dreams."

"Really?" He asks, something indecipherable in his tone as he stares at the floor. "Well, I'll have to remember that."

"So..." considering he had opened the door to this line of questioning, it does not feel improper to ask, "What was this dream about?"

"That's the thing, it wasn't just one dream it was like... I kept waking up but I wasn't actually awake," he explains. "I'm not even sure this is real right now, because I've already explained this to you like three times."

She can see how deeply this is troubling him, although admittedly part of her is strangely pleased to know that she had featured so prominent within his subconscious manifestations.

She hums quietly, slowly levitating off of the windowsill in thought. "...That is quite the predicament."

He does not notice, too busy staring at his trembling hands.

He is quiet.

Too quiet.

That is one thing Stiles so rarely is, that it feels quite concerning. She... misses the sound of his voice.

She seeks to find a way to draw him out of himself once again. To reach our physically feels... inappropriate, so she settles for something distinctly different.

Nat lays forward in the air, and starts to rotate slowly as she gently moves closer toward him while she contemplates his thoughtful expression.

"It certainly does not help that your waking life is completely unrealistic," she tells him, hair hanging upside-down along with the rest of her.

"I know, that's why I-" he finally looks at her and cuts himself off. He stares for a moment while she stays looking at him upside down. "What are you doing?"

"Attempting to startle you out of a negative thought pattern." Her glasses clatter to the floor, unable to perch on her ears with the force of gravity pulling them the wrong way. "Is it working?"

"Not- Not really," he says, but he is still watching her with a somewhat confused expression. Something flickers in his gaze, but she cannot identify it from the distance between them.

What an intriguing expression... she does not think she has seen one like it from him before. Although perhaps she simply has not been playing close enough attention during prior encounters.

She floats closer, righting herself so that she can be level with him. Her soft curls bouncing and they shift at the whim of a gravity that does not affect the rest of her. Laying down with her hands connected beneath her chin as though she is on a bed made of nothing but air. "Perhaps more drastic measures are needed then," she whispers theatrically.

"Like what?" He asks, tone matching hers with a hint of mischief she has not heard from him in too long.

It makes her heart flutter, to see his playful nature returning to him.

There is some form of tension building between them, an intensity she cannot quite name or describe. Her heart thunders in a dramatic pattern, while his seems almost unnaturally calm as he looks at her.

"You really look different without your glasses," he muses distantly, staring directly into her eyes.

Ah, yes. Her glasses. That explains his reaction. She should retrieve them. It is not at all fair of her to interact with him without that barrier in place between them. Although she has been unable to directly influence him in the past she would prefer not to take the chance while his subconscious is in such a volatile state.

Nat pulls away, intent to search for them on the floor. Before she is able to, he reaches out and cups her cheek with his soft, warm, human hand.

She startles, lowering her feet to the ground immediately. "Stiles?"

"I like it," he tells her. "Your eyes are so beautiful."

Oh.

Well, that is- ...unexpected.

She stares at him, uncomprehending.

Complements are far from a rare occurrence, but receiving one from him feels distinctly different. It makes her heart jolt in a way that is not entirely uncomfortable.

"I still have your old glasses," he almost whispers as though it is a confession of sorts.

He does? She had assumed they were lost at the hospital. "Why?"

"Because they're yours," he tells her, as though that provides any clarity, "And I... they remind me of you. I like having something of yours."

Her hear palpitates again, and she is uncertain what to reply to that.

"Sleep with me."

She deflates at the abrupt comment, looking away from his expectant gaze. This had barely been amusing the first time. "I am not going to sleep with you Stiles."

"Not like that," he almost chuckles, but it does not feel quite as earnest as his usual laugh. He had quite likely made that blunder intentionally simply to gauge her reaction; she does not appreciate the implications that holds. "Just sleeping. Please? I- I always sleep better with you here.

She looks at him closely, at the bags under his eyes that stare up at her with this subtle hope that pangs at her insides. It is evident how much he needs this and she finds herself unable to deny him anything, especially when he appears so vulnerable. She has no choice but to consent - although she is not making any effort to search for a compromise... 

Nat moves to lay beside him, ignoring the incessant pulsations of her heart. He holds up the covers and once she is encased in them he seems to almost wrap himself around her, his arms encased her in a hug, and his knee shifts up as if he is contemplating laying that over the top of her as well.

He pulls her closer, nuzzling his face beside her ear he makes a claim that startles her to her core. She has not been this close to another being since... quite some time. 

"I really like you," he murmurs quietly, almost as if in sleep.

The sudden admission is entirely unexpected, although perhaps she should have anticipated such a thing. She almost reflexively longs to escape his presence before she is forced to reply, but his grip tightens around her as if in anticipation for such an event. Fleetingly she wonders if this had been a deliberate decision on his part. She would certainly not put it past him - he has always been too clever.

"I don't think you understand how much I like you," he continues to mutter.

She attempts to calm her racing heart with deflection, "You are tired, Stiles, go to sleep."

He hums, burrowing his face into her neck, but does not concede his point.

He soon falls asleep curled into her side, arms wrapped around her possessively.

Hoe could he so easily slip into unconsciousness after such a startling revelation.

She cannot deny she enjoys the feeling as she lays carefully awake for the remainder of the night.

Stiles wakes up slowly this time... he thinks. It's hard to trust it, but this time doesn't feel like the others. It's not quick, or sudden by any means.

It's kind of like trying to dig his way through molasses. His fingers claws through an oozy substance and every time he thinks he's making progress more just slides in to fill the gaps - trapping his hands in the process.

That's to say that really - regaining consciousness this time feels thick and heavy.

But it- it also feels like the most solid sleep he's had in months. Kind of like that time he slept for 13 hours after pulling an all-nighter playing video games with Scott when he bought his first PlayStation.

"Good morning," an unmistakably melodic voice greets him.

"Good morning," he hums, snuggling deeper into her porcelain frame.

Wait.

Stiles freezes, trying to comprehend what's happening right now?

It that-?

"Natalie?"

Her voice is reluctant and questioning as it answers, "...Yes?"

He can feel the response vibrate through the body he's literally wrapped himself around and, um-

What?!

Stiles pulls back so far and quickly he literally falls of the bed - landing on the floor with a loud thump still tangled in his sheets. "What- What are you doing here?"

A dream- this must be another dream. There's no way that Natalie Schaefer could be in his bed right now unless this is just another dream!

Her head tilts to the side curiously as she sits up in his bed! Her hair is even kind of messy! He didn't even think her air could get messy! "You don't remember?"

"Remember? Remember what?" Falling asleep? Because yeah he remembers that! And he was most certainly alone when he did it! He's pretty sure he'd remember if Natalie was in his bed when he fell asleep because there is no way he'd be able to just fall sleep with her right there next to him in his bed!!

"That is peculiar," she muses.

She appears right in front of him and raises a hand likes she's going to check his temperature or something. He can't help but remember how she did the exact same thing the last time he thought he'd woken up with her in his bedroom, so he flinches back.

She stills instantly, and drops her hand. "Sorry."

"No, I'm- " He starts to apologize but cuts himself off and gets distracted by his own curiosity, besides he'd rather not dwell on the fact that he just flinched away from the literal girl of his dreams. "Natalie, what are you doing here?"

She stares at him with those large eyes and tells him, "You... asked me to stay?"

"I did?" He points to himself and she nods slowly. He runs a hand through his hair, like he's raking his brain for the memory because the last thing he remembers is going to bed and then- then it's just that endless fall. The never ending void. That's all... He definitely doesn't remember falling asleep with her, definitely just the falling endlessly. "I- I don't remember that."

"Oh..."

There's an off note about the way she says it, but he's too scattered to really pick up on it beyond the basic mental acknowledgement that that's just happened because he's too busy wondering - what the hell happened last night?

He literally can't remember her ever coming over at all. That's weird, right? That's really weird. He should remember that. Seeing Natalie is not something he thought he could ever forget so...

"Perhaps I should go," she mutters lowly

He makes a noise because that's what you do when people say something to you but you haven't figured out the words to reply yet - because he's still just wondering how the hell Natalie is here in his room and he doesn't even remember it happening? That feels like something he would definitely remember!

The sudden rush of air around him makes it finally click that - wait, she's leaving already? But- But-

Part of him wants to call out, to ask her to wait or come back... but there's this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that it's not even worth trying that. She won't hear him, and even if she could it's not like she'd actually listen to him anyway.

All things considered, he's kind of relieved actually. He really didn't want a repeat of his dream, that idealistic scenario was nice but... entirely unreal. There was no way his dad would be that cool about Natalie coming over to hangout.

He picks up his book, slowly getting himself and realizes somethings weird. This is- This is his book, right? That's where he left it but- but-

He can't read what it says.

The title, its just a jumble of letters that don't make any sense whatsoever.

His dad announces himself by saying, "I hope you don't mind me calling Natalie last night."

Okay, this is going too far. This definitely can't be real. "You- You called her? Why would you do that?"

He shrugs, "I just thought she could help."

Um, "What?"

"What 'What'?"

"You just- You're just fine with her coming over?" Stiles asks with disbelief.

"Look it..." he sighs and admits, "I won't lie, I still don't really understand the whole thing and she's given me more I've got more answers than I know what to do with, but, well, I trust your judgement son."

"Uh... right. Okay." This is way too weird.

"Where is she by the way?" He wonders, looking over his shoulder.

"She went home - to, uh, to the animal clinic."

Because where else would she go?

An awkward tension settles between them both after that, and Stiles knows exactly what it is.

"You should get ready for school," his dad says abruptly, and Stiles knows he feels it too.

It's not just the fact that now his dad knows all about the supernatural and is apparently trying to be fine with that. 

Nope. It's because of what day it is.

It's not just his first day back at school since the whole Darach thing.

It's... it's also his mom's birthday.

Nat makes a decision that she is sure to regret. 

The fact that Stiles does not recall what occurred last night is... troublesome. She had only gotten a brief story of what exactly the three of them had done to find their location, but what she had gathered from Deaton during their brief interaction was certainly concerning.

They had essentially died - offered themselves up as substitute for their parents souls.

Such a thing could not be taken lightly. They had made a bargain with the other-side, placed a gambit with their souls as the wager... it was entirely foolish.

How Deaton could ever permit such a thing is utterly unacceptable. It was all she could take from unleashing herself upon him in that moment, and he no doubt sensed how his wards pressed against her as her intent meurtrière grew. The only thing preventing her from ending his existence was the knowledge that if an issue were to arise he may be the only one able to resolve it...

It appears she would be needing to make a house call soon, although she would need to get her temperament in check first. She had tried this morning and found herself unable to enter the premises at all. 

Besides, there are larger priorities for her to attend to.

Someone needs to keep an eye on them - someone who purely has their best intentions at heart.

There is no one is better suited for observation than she.

Hence, she must return to school.

Danny has spent the better part of the morning attempting to convince her out of this decision, but no words could change her mind. She must ensure their safety with her own eyes.

They pull up together in his car, and as she closes the passenger door Danny makes another remark that has her pondering.

"So, I take it things are just gonna get worse, huh?"

Nat pauses, and turns to see how he looks to her expectantly. "Why do say that?"

He states as though it should be obvious, "Because your so determined to come back to school."

She stares at him. This is quite the leap of logic.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad your back," he assures her. "I'm just saying it really doesn't bode well for the rest of us..."

She wonders what she could say, but does not give it much thought as her attention becomes consumed by something out of the ordinary.

Allison.

It has always been quite unsettling to gaze upon her, but this is more than merely her appearance that causes discomfort.

It is her demeanour.

She races up the steps in a frantic manner, as though trying to escape from an unseen force and entirely ignorant to the people she pushes out of her way.

Nat has learnt to trust her instincts on such matters.

"See, this is exactly what I mean," Danny claims, evidently noticing this peculiarity as well.

"I need to-" She indicates vaguely in Allison's direction.

"Yup," he nods. "Let me know if you need a lift home, okay?"

She hums in acknowledgement.

As she leaves she can hear him mumble, "I am so not getting involved in that."

Nat follows her carefully, intent to intercept her as quickly as possible yet entirely aware of the plethora of eyes upon her. This is a delicate situation which should not be handled carelessly. She could not merely appear beside her, that would be far too noticeable. Her pace and movements must be carefully calculated to ensure any attention she garners does not extend beyond the fact she is interacting with a distressed teen.

As such, she is only able to reach her after Allison flings open the doors to the school hall.

They reveal a sight Nat has longed to see - however different circumstances would have been much preferable.

Lydia.

Driven entirely by instinct and emotion, Nat places a hand upon the hunter girls shoulder with a speed that is entirely illogical. She feels the prickle of attention upon her, but does not linger on the sensation. She shall not allow anyone to approach Lydia in a frantic state.

It is doubtful that the surprise on Lydia's face is entirely due to the movement - as this is the first time they had crossed paths since that night beneath the Nemeton.

Nat had thought it best to give her space. While Lydia had been relieved to see her then, she was uncertain how far that relief truly extended. Surely Lydia would be excited to see any of their pack alive. Nat did not wish to read further into her reaction, as she could not bare it if she assumed a closer connection than Lydia was comfortable to provide. Distance was best for both of them.

"Natalie, what are you..." she trails off, evidently seeing the disheveled state of her friend. "Allison? Are you okay?"

"What did you see?" Nat all but demands.

"I-It was my aunt," the hunter girl stutters, eyes blown wide as she frantically looks around the room as her breathing rapidly increases. "We were- she was stalking me through the hospital, and I- I couldn't get away. I tried, but-"

"Hey, its okay," Lydia assures her, taking a step closer, no doubt also aware of their spectators and attempting to calm her friend before the theatrics could continue.

Nat has less patience, especially when she sees Lydia's tactics are not successful. "You must pull yourself together Allison."

Her harsh tone must resonate on some level, because the tears cease before they can commence.

"When did this begin?" She asks quietly, intent to gather as much information as possible even while so entirely exposed. This is too important to waste time.

"Just- this morning," she admits, "When I left, that's when-"

"No," Nat interrupts. "When did the hallucinations first begin?"

"What are you talking about?" Lydia wonders, looking between the two of them.

But Allison remains quiet, guilt seeping off of her.

"This is not the first time, is it?"

She shakes her head and admits quietly, "No."

"Oh my god," Lydia breathes.

"We must tell the others," Nat informs them, walking toward Stiles' locker. He had usually gone their first when the arrived to school, and she hopes that remains the case.

"You didn't tell me you were coming back to school," Lydia points out, shifting almost self consciously as they walk side by side.

"It was a recent development," Nat assures. She had no intention of doing so until this morning when she realised how drastic Stiles' condition was. Had she more forethought into this, she would have found a way to warn Lydia in advance about her impending arrival.

"Right, of course," she says and takes a deep breath before regaining her usual queen bee demeanour with a deliberate force. "I saw Stiles already - he should still be over here."

When they find Stiles he appears surprisingly well put together considering his state this morning. Regardless, they do not have time to dwell on such matters.

"Oh, hey guys," he starts, seeing their approach. His open smile soon dims as he notices their harsh expression. "What happ-"

"Where is Scott?" She presses immediately for it is one thing for a mortal to be tormented and unable to discern reality from figments of their imagination - and quite another for a wolf to do so.

"Uh, I don't know," he admits, "probably still out by his bike or-"

She grabs his hand, dragging him with her in that direction while the other members of their pack follow behind her.

"Seriously, what's going on?" He asks, struggling to keep pace.

"Allison is having visions," she tells him quickly. The as well is left unsaid, as she deems it best not to mention his own struggles until he is ready to address it himself. 

His eyebrows raise dramatically, looking back at the others as if for confirmation.

"So, what's that go to do with Scott?" Allison asks, easily keeping pace.

Lydia heels tapping rapidly against the laminated floor as explains in panted breaths, "You're freaking out and Stiles obviously isn't sleeping - which means we really need to find out what's happening to Scott."

"Oh my god," Stiles realises, suddenly finding the strength to pull Nat forward rather than lagging behind.

"Exactly," Nat says approvingly.

Scott's bike is here, but he is not.

How troubling...

They see Scott running down the stairs, as if trying to escape his own shadow.

Nat hesitates, a sudden fear spiking through her heart. She does not particularly wish to expose it to a volatile wolf again.

Stiles has no such reservations. He runs up to stop Scott with reckless abandon that makes her heart squeeze in pure terror. He places both hands on his shoulders. "Hey, hey, are you alright?"

Scott takes a deep breath, looking as though he has seen a ghost, and does not reply beyond a subtle and hesitant nod.

Stiles looks at him sceptically. "You don't look alright, Scott."

"I'm okay," he denies.

Nat stares at him incredulously. It is utterly foolish for him to claim such a thing - does he not realise the risk this poses not only to himself but those around him? Exposure is one thing, but Nat is more concerned with the possibility he may unknowingly harm another. Not only would that be a weight on his soul, but it would jeopardise the security of the entire pack considering his claim to power is through his status as a "True Alpha". Even with her limited knowledge on such things, she is almost certain causing the death of an innocent would be enough to revoke his claim. 

"No you're not," Stiles contradicts quickly. "It's happening to you too. You're seeing things, aren't you?"

"How'd you know?" Scott wonders.

Lydia takes a step forward and informs them all with certainty, "Because it's happening to all three of you."

The all look between one another, startled by the revelation. Nat finds it difficult to believe that none of them had interacted prior to this - had they all been avoiding one another? Or simply hiding it? Granted, it had been less than a week since the initial incident occurred... She had assumed they would have been in contact, as one should after such an extreme encounter.

Stiles sighs, "So what do we do about it?"

"You need to see Deaton," Nat tells him intently, then looks to the others, "You all do."

"Yeah, definitely," Scott agrees far too flippantly. "I'm working with him after school  so..."

She stares at him with utter disbelief. "You cannot be serious."

Surely this is in jest.

The bell rings, and these teenagers demonstrate their ineptitude by truly believing they should not be late to class.

This is unbelievable.

Lydia leads the way almost triumphantly, an ill-befiting strut in her stride. Allison and Stiles follow closely behind her, but Nat calls out to Scott quietly - seeking to talk with him directly. The others spare them a glance back, but continue forward.

"Are you certain you are capable to be here?" She asks intently.

"Y-Yeah," he stutters. "I'm fine."

"Scott." She stops and places a hand on his arm, against her internal wavering. "There is no shame in this. True weakness is charging in regardless of our capacity."

He quirks a lip at her and gently brushes her hand off. "Honestly, I'm fine. I've got it handled."

If only she could truly believe his words... however mortals never were that reliable.

The two of them are able to quickly catch up with the others

"Well, well, look who's no longer the crazy one," Lydia proclaims smugly as she pushes open the doors with a triumphant grandiosity. 

Generally Nat would quite appreciate the flippant attitude she displays - it is certainly one of her favourite traits about her - however in this particular scenario it seems entirely... unkind. 

Nat does not appreciate the total disregard she displays. 

Nat finds herself... concerned about this situation, deeply so. 

These are her friends, her pack, and she does not wish to see them suffer - certainly not at the hands of something within themselves. For how can one battle their own subconscious. 

Allison is quick to cut in, "We're not crazy."

Lydia turns around instantly, tone judgemental. "Hallucinating? Sleep deprivation? Yeah, you guys are fine?

"We did die and come back to life," Scott claims with far too much understanding, "That's got to have some side affects, right?"

"You have no idea," Nat mutters. All things considered they had gotten off quite lucky. At least they had died in water, the natural fluid that bends and regenerates. They had not crossed over to the other side, not completely. That much is obvious. Such a journey cannot leave one mortal. 

"Wait this... this shouldn't be possible, right? I thought- didn't you stop this from being possible?" Allison asks, looking to Nat almost desperately. "You made it so we hand control of our own minds, so hoe could this happen?"

The others turn to look at her expectantly, and she feels the weight of their gaze.

"I... am not infallible," Nat admits somewhat hesitantly. It is not something she desires to share, but they are certainly aware of it already.

She had hoped it would not be possible but it appears the meager thought suggestion she had instilled within them was not enough to hold off the tides of whatever force they had crossed paths with.

Perhaps they should have simply allowed her to rest beneath that magnetic tree stump. Would the forces of nature have been satisfied with exchange? Perhaps. These teenagers could have been left in peace. She would have been satisfied to pay such a sacrifice in exchange for their safety.

The bell rings once more, alerting them that the school day has well and truly started. 

"We keen an eye on each other, okay?" Stiles commands seriously, taking charge of the situation. "And Lydia, stop enjoying this so much."

He leaves, Scott trailing behind him while the girls go in the opposite direction and Nat is left with a choice. 

More like the illusion of one.

Lydia is able to watch over Allison, but to expect the boys to watch over one another is... foolish. 

As daunting as the task my be, it falls to her to ensure they remain safe from harm.

Her fingers tremble, and she fights with them behind her back as she takes long strides behind them and toward her first class.

"Maybe we need a little more time to get to normal?" Scott says as he leans against a locker between their classes. 

Normal. Yeah right. What even is that for them? Things haven't been normal since, like, middle school. This is their normal now.

As if to reinforce that fact, Natalie's still hovering behind him. Not literally hovering but she's, like, standing way too close.

Seriously, it feels like he hasn't had any space away from her insightful eyes all day which just makes his stomach clench uncomfortably. It's like he's hyper aware of her presence right beside him all the time. He kind of wants to reach out to her again and assure her everything's fine, but there's something holding him back - somethings telling him that's a really bad idea. 

Stiles always tries to listen to his gut instincts - that's why he reaches for his locker combination lock instead of her hand.

"Yeah, try not to forget, we hit the reset button on a supernatural beacon for supernatural creatures," he reminds Scott as he carefully inputs the combination to his locker. "There's a pretty good chance things are never going back to normal."

"Yeah..." Scott agrees, but he seems entirely distracted by something - which Stiles is unable to check on at the moment because something really weird happens.

He pulls on his lock, but it- it won't open.

Why won't it open? 

That's the code this month - because, yeah, he changes it pretty regularly, but, like, that's definitely it now. He's certain that's it.

So why won't it open?

He looks at the lock, just to double check it and- 

Oh. 

It's... it's... it's not got numbers written on it. 

Is he dreaming again?

Oh god, he might actually be dreaming again. 

He can't do anything but stare at it. He's scared to look at anything else. Like, maybe if he keeps blinking at it the numbers will go back to normal again and everything will be totally fine.

"What's your code?" A melodic voice asks. 

Natalie. Right. Natalie's right there, right behind him. 

Oh god - he really doesn't want to see her face melt off again! His voice is frantic as he keeps his gaze locked on the lock and asks, "What? My what?" 

A gloved hand slowly wraps around his own trembling grip. It's only with how steady she is that he actually realizes how badly he's shaking. That hard feeling of it almost seems to ground him somewhat but he- he can't trust it because he can't freaking read right now which means he's probably still dreaming! 

His eyes shoot up to meet hers, almost against his will, and he can just feel how wide with panic they are. 

But as soon as he's looking at her it's like... like everything else just... smooths out...

She's watching him over the top of those thick nerdy glasses, and he's seriously getting lost in her eyes right now. He can't look away they're just- they're so pretty. What is it about them? He can't define it but there's just- there's something in the way that she's looking at him that his subconscious just can't get quite right. 

Maybe its that flicker of green in the. He's never really noticed before - is that new? It must be new, right? Surely he hasn't missed that this whole time, had he? He always thought he was an expert on all things Natalie but, oh, yeah right - he doesn't actually get the chance to look into her eyes that often. Like, He always thought they were crystal blue but they're really not. Is this how they've always been? Because if they've changed recently then that- that just opens up a whole new set of questions for him honestly.

But it doesn't really matter now, not in this moment. He doesn't have to worry about anything because everything's fine. He knows that, because there's no way this could be a dream. Not with her looking at him like that. This has to be real.

"Do you want to tell me you're locker code?" She asks, and he's honestly not sure if she's already asked him before or not. There's a concern in her voice that he's really coming to appreciate, like, she's always showing concern for everyone these days and it's definitely one of the things he loves about her-

Wait- no. Nope. He's not doing that anymore. No. Not love- just- it's- this is friend love. Yeah. That's- that's what this is. Friend love that friends do.

"Yes- no!" He says suddenly, jumping as he realizes he still has to say something back. "What was the question?"

She sighs, but it kind of seems more sad than exasperated. Adjusting her glasses with one hand, she uses the other to hold his lock steady. "Here."

He looks at it, and within her fingers it's like the number finally start to make sense. With a muttered, "oh, thank God," he starts to actually put the code in.

Once he's finally got it open he looks up to Scott and- Holy Crap! 

"Oh, dude, your eyes," he warns quietly. What the hell? Scott's never just flashed his eyes in public like this before!

 Scott looks totally confused. "What about them?"

Is he serious? "They're starting to glow!" 

"You mean, like, right now?" He asks cluelessly.

"Yes, right now!" Stiles tells him, quickly looking around to see if anyone else has noticed yet. When the hell else would he be talking about? "Scott, stop! Stop it!" 

"I can't- I can't control it," he admits hopelessly 

Stiles looks at Natalie and practically begs in a tone of voice that's as quite as he can make it, "Do something!"

She blinks and... well, she definitely does something. 

She just straight up punches Scott right in the freaking face!

That's not exactly what he was expecting, jesus!

Scott clutches his jaw, but his eyes are back to normal now so, hey, it was affective at least. 

"Pain makes you human," Scott mutters, rubbing his cheek. 

"Come with me," she commands and oh wow. Yeah, Stiles would follow her anywhere when she talks like that. It's so hot when she steps up to take control like this - and that's got literally nothing to do with a non-existant crush, that's just him being a guy, okay?

She starts walking off, but Scott just stands there rubbing his jaw and Stiles is- he's definitely not looking anywhere he shouldn't be. 

She turns around suddenly and his eyes snap up to her face as quickly as humanly possible. "Now."

Stiles scrambles to follow her, and so does Scott. 

She leads them to an empty classroom and locks the door behind them. 

The part of Stiles that he's really trying to squash down right now is kind of bummed that she brought Scott in here with them. But he reminds himself that there's absolutely nothing for him to feel any type of way about - the quivering feeling in the pit of his stomach is just indigestion. 

She leans against the door, crossing her arms over her chest so tightly he can hear her leather jacket creak with the strain. "Explain."

Stiles looks at Scott, who just looks back at him. "What do you-"

"Scott," she cuts him off, voice leaving no room for argument. "Explain what just happened."

"N-Nothing happened," he tries to downplay it like its no big deal when this is in fact a huge freaking deal. "It's fine. It- It was just in my head."

"Scott, this isn't just in our heads," Stiles points out with genuine worry. Like, this guy dude was legit about to wolf out in front of everyone at school! "This is real."

At least, Stiles really hopes it is. 

This feels real, right now, but- but it always does, doesn't it? He can never tell, not really. It's- it's impossible to know and it doesn't help that he actually can't figure out what any freaking thing here is saying and he's trying to be rational about this, alright? He's trying to be helpful and patient but he just- he just- can't. He doesn't know how to do this, not at all. 

There's nothing he can do. 

He feels it in his gut, he knows its true. He's still falling. He's falling and there's nothing to hold on to. 

Absolutely nothing-

His eyes move rapidly around the room, taking in everything around him until- 

Until they settle on her.

He looks at her and it's like... it's like everything slows down.

It's like he can breathe again.

He really... he doesn't want to look away from her. He wishes that things could just stay like this. Why can't life be this simple all the time? 

She's staring back at him imploringly and he just knows he has to keep talking. 

"It's starting to get bad for me, too..." he admits reluctantly. He really doesn't want to have this conversation again, but she knows it and it's just a matter of time before everyone else figures it out. Lydia had already guessed it anyway. "I'm not just having nightmares, I'm having dreams where I have to literally scream myself awake. And sometimes, I'm not even sure if I'm actually ever waking up."

"What do you mean?" Scott wonders.

"You know how you can tell you're dreaming?" He asks kind of rhetorically.

Natalie answers anyway, "You can't read in dreams."

"Right, y-yeah," he stutters. "Well, more and more, the past few days, I've been having trouble reading. It's like I can't see the words, I can't put the letters in order."

"Like, even now?" Scott asks.

Stiles takes a moment to look around the room again, feeling his face scrunch with effort as he looks at the jumbled board, at the posters that make no sense. He can feel his heart beating rapidly as he admits, "I can't read a thing."

They're all silent as he just lets that sink in for them.

"So, that settles it," Natalie claims with the suddenness of a hand clap. "Neither of you should be at school."

"What? No," Scott says with shock, "We can't just leave-"

"Yes," she says so strongly it almost comes out as a hiss. "You have left for lesser reasons."

Her phone is already out presumably texting Lydia or Allison to let them know. 

"Natalie-" Stiles tries to reason.

"I don't think you should return tomorrow either," she talks over him, "not until this matter is resolved."

"We can't just not go to school," Scott points out.

"Distance education," she says dismissively. "I did it."

She cant be serious right now. "I can't read! How am I meant to learn online?"

"I'll decipher it for you," she tells him with this total innocence like it's something completely obvious.

That stops him in his tracks, and he just kind of stares at her. 

Is- is she serious right now? 

That is so sweet.

"Not happening," Scott claims with determination, "We have to be here."

She looks at him like he's a complete idiot. "You realize that being here puts everyone at risk?"

"It's fine!" Scott assures passionately, "I have it under control."

She crosses her arms over her chest. "Well, I am not as inclined to believe that a second time." 

"Nat, I-" he begins.

She cuts him off quickly, "You didn't even notice Scott. Your eyes were changing and you had no idea! How can you prevent something when you don't realize it's happening?!" 

She's more passionate than he's ever seen her, arms in the air moving faster than his eyes can track and her hair is blowing around her so vividly.

"Natalie..." Stiles starts softly, not sure what he's trying to say exactly but he just- he really feels like they need to be here. They have to stay at school, she can't hide them away forever.

She sighs, and he can see how her finger nails dig into the fabric of her leather jacket as she clenches them tightly.

She must realize that she can't just keep them locked up at home or they'll have no shot of figuring this all out.

"Fine!" She consents. 

Relief floods through him so overwhelmingly it's almost staggering. 

"You have one more chance," she tells them both - holding up a finger to demonstrate. "But we stay together. I will be watching you both closely."

"Seriously?" He asks before he can help it, "Haven't you been doing that already?" 

She stares at him flatly and responds with one word. "No."

"Fine," Scott agrees quietly. 

Great, well, now that that's out of the way they can all just move on with their lives.

She seriously wasn't joking. 

For the rest of the day, Natalie doesn't leave their sides for even a second. 

There's no breathing room at all, and it's honestly kind of smothering. He had no idea it would be possible for him to not want to see her - but she's managed to push it to that point. There's a tension in him that's building each time he turns around to see her piercing blue eyes staring at him that's just honestly grating on his nerves. 

So, needless to say, when school finally finishes Stiles is pretty dam relieved. He high tails it out of there - knowing that in all likelihood Natalie's just going to follow Scott to work because, you know, he's the werewolf who could actually hurt someone out of the two of them and she said herself that they should go talk to Deaton.

Still not wanting to take any risks, he jumps into the jeep to back it out of the car park as quickly as possible. 

When he switches into gear and looks up he nearly screams because oh god he almost hit her!

She's standing right there behind the jeep. 

And boy, does she look pissed. 

Like, genuinely. Not even in that obscure, absent way she usually does. She actually looks really mad at him right now.

Stiles gulps. 

She approaches slowly, and stands by his window. "What are you doing?"

"Uh, schools over," he points out weakly.

She stares at him. "Is the danger over?"

He senses there's only one right answer to this question. "Um, no?"

"So why are you not with Scott?" She demands.

"Natalie, come on," he pleads, "He's going to work. I can't exactly do that with him. "

She frowns, looking contemplative. 

"Besides, I have plans already." And it's true, he actually does. As much as he's tried not to think about it while at school today, he's been more than aware of what today is. It's his mom's birthday and wow does it suck when that happens to fall on their first day back at school. Either way, he's still gotta follow tradition. He knows it's what his dad wants and he can never find the time to go to the flower shop himself. 

"May I join you then?" She asks, and honestly he's kind of surprised she's not just inviting herself along already.

"Uh..." picking out flowers to put on his moms grave is not exactly Stiles idea of a good time. It's not an experience he genuinely wants to share with the girl he used to have a mega crush on (which definitely doesn't anymore). "Do you have to? I'm just buying flowers..."

She stares at him again, but it's very different this is- oh. He knows this trick. She's doing the puss in boots thing again - staring at him with those wide eyes and that quivering lip and how is he meant to deny her anything? When the hell did she get so good at this?

Something fluttering in his stomach - that's totally still indigestion and that is all it is. 

"Alright, fine!" He consents, throwing his hands in the air.

She's already in the car before he can even finish. 

"Uh, is- is that really a good idea?" He wonders as he puts his jeep in gear.

She looks at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"You know," he gestures at her with one hand, keeping his eyes on the road, "Showing off your super speed like that. Aren't you going to get yourself caught?"

"Oh." Her light kind of dims. He can't see her but he just feels it in the air. She's pulling away from him and closing herself off again. "I... yes. You are right. That was... foolish of me."

"So why, uh, why'd you do it?" He can't help but ask.

"I was... excited," she admits almost reluctantly

He glances over at her. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Why?" He wonders, "What's so exciting about buying flowers?"

Without looking she tells him, "It has... been a while since I last visited a flower shop."

Their drive is mostly done in silence for a while, but it's not all that uncomfortable. He doesn't feel that pressing need to keep talking around her that he used to. It's kind of nice actually, to be able to just exist with no pressure of trying to engage her in conversation because he can finally just be content with what they are now. Just friends. That's all he needs.

Suddenly she asks, "So... who are you purchasing flowers for?"

Stiles glances at her, just quickly because he's still driving. There's something kind of off about her tone but it's hard to check if that's just him projecting again (which is entirely possible) because he can't get a read of her face when she's staring out the passenger window like that.

He doesn't really want to say it, but, well, there's no point in hiding it. It's not a secret or anything.

"My mom."

He's the one avoiding her gaze now as he makes sure to keep his eyes fixated on the road ahead of them. Still, he can basically feel her questioning gaze upon him. 

"It's, uh, it's her birthday," he mumbles, "Was her birthday."

"Oh."

He feels the awkward silence, but has no interest in filling it.

"What flowers will you get her?" She wonders, and he appreciates that.

"Um, I don't know really," it feels weird to say he usually just lets the shop keeper pick something out for him. "Probably just, like, lilies or something."

Her voice is hesitant as she asks, "May I... select something?"

She says it so quietly he feels like it might have been in his imagination, but when he glances over at her she's looking at him with those wide blue eyes.

He has to check, because there's no way he heard that right, "You want to get flowers for my mom?"

She nods. "If that is alright with you."

"Uh, yeah. Sure," he agrees, muttering under his breath, "Why not?"

Seriously, like how is he meant to get over his feelings for her when she's always being so nice and generous all the time? It's just not fair, honestly. 

When they walk in the shopkeeper asks if they need any help and Natalie looks to Stiles expectantly. 

Oh is- is he meant to answer that? Is she just double checking he's okay with her picking something out?

"No, we're- we're fine," he stutters. "Thanks."

Natalie gives him a soft smile and wanders over to a section of exotic looking flowers. 

"Could you... tell me about your mother?" She asks almost hesitantly.

"Why do you want to know?" He can't help but ask because it's kind of random, right? Why would she care to know about his mom?

"It will help me to select the appropriate flowers for her," she explains, running her gloved hand along the stem of a white flower that kind of looks like a rose but with, like, three times as many overlapping petals.

Oh, right. Yeah. Of course. Makes sense. 

It's seriously- it's kind of unbelievable that she's putting so much thought into this. 

The words start slow, and then seem to almost flow out of him as he admits, "She was... incredible.

"Honestly. She just- she had this way about her that made you want to smile whenever you saw her. She was always happy - I don't think I ever actually saw her frown before, well... and she always made time for me. She'd always ask about my day and wanted to make sure I was still eating right without her cooking for us. She'd pack my lunch every day when she could. She never complained about the food at the hospital, even though I know she hated it - and sometimes I used to try to sneak her in food just to make her smile. She made the best lasagna, and- and every year for her birthday we used to go to the movies as a family because she wanted to make sure I was never left out and she... she..."

He didn't realize how long it had been since he really spoke about his mom. Everyone in town already knew her so there was never realize a reason to... It's really nice actually, to be able to talk about her, but it's still- it's hard. 

Natalie's staring at him, with those wide blue eyes and her moth in a perfect 'o' shape. She probably didn't expect to hear so much. 

Her mouth closes and she gives him a soft smile as she pulls out that intricate white flower. With closed eyes she turns to him and says, "She sounds lovely."

"She was my mom," he shrugs, trying not to sniffle. The last thing he wants is to start crying in front of her - especially in public. 

Wait, can she even cry? He's never seen her cry before, and he knows she doesn't sweat (because she has no scent, obviously) so she probably can't cry either, right? That just makes sense.

"What about you?" He wonders, because he's honestly been wondering this a lot and this is probably the only chance he'll ever get to ask. "Do you- I mean, obviously you had a mum at some point but what, uh, what was she like?" 

She freezes for a moment, and he wonders if he's crossed some kind of boundary or something. Almost definitely he has.

"You don't have to, uh-" he rushes to defend, kind of feeling as foolish as he used to back in chemistry class when he asked anything and she'd just look at him like he'd murdered her cat or something. 

She shakes her head, and actually answers him which is totally surprising. "I... do not recall my... original mother," she admits slowly, like she's being very careful with her words or maybe just really doesn't want to say it. 

He doesn't blame her, that's a hell of a thing to admit. 

How could you forget your own mom?

"Oh.. is that- is that something that happens overtime? Do you forget people?" Would he forget people too eventually?

"No-" she winces slightly (what, did she just prick her finger on a thorn or something? Weird) and corrects herself, "well, yes actually but that's not... She died giving birth to my sister when I was... young. I barely had time to get to know her."

"Oh." That's really not what he was expecting at all. "I'm... I'm sorry."

Natalie shakes her head again, picking up a specific light purple flower that the sign calls 'sweet peas' and wandering over to another section with the grace of a ballet dancer. "It was a... long time ago."

He really does have to take her ice skating again, now that she can actually do it. 

You know, just as friends. 

Wait. What did she just say? Sister? She had a sister? Really? Does that mean- wait, okay, "What was her name?"

She pulls out another flower, a pastel pink kind of colour. "Who?"

"Your sister - what was her name?" This is the first time she's ever spoken about her family, and he can't let the opportunity to learn more about her pass him by.

Nat smiles and tells him with this indecipherable emotion, "Imogen."

He mouths the word, trying to commit it to memory. Imogen. Its vaguely familiar. He's pretty sure he's seen it in Lydia's family tree a few times. One thing stands out most though, "That's- That's Irish, right?"

"Yes." 

When its obvious that's all she's going to say he tries to hide how desperate he is for information by casually prompting, "Are you- Were you from Ireland?"

"I suppose," she admits, She leans in closer to inspect the flowers, holding up the few she's already gathered as a reference point or something. "although we did not call it that."

"Wait- seriously?" He asks with total disbelief, "You're that old?"

She looks at him, something like amusement on her face. "How old did you think I was?"

He can feel himself flushing red as he stutters, because he hadn't really thought that much about it honestly. Like, yeah it's important but what matters most is right here and right now - that's what his mom had taught him. When she was sick in the hospital, on her good days...

...he thinks she would have liked her. They would have really gotten along before, well, everything that happened after her diagnosis. 

It's not like that's saying much though, who couldn't like Natalie? Even now he's barely making words and she's just standing their patiently waiting for him to form a coherent sentence. 

Man. He wishes he could just love her without knowing she would never love him back. It sucks trying to deny this overwhelming rush of affection he feels for her and just pushing it down deep into the pit of his stomach instead. 

"Just- just hurry up pick out some flowers," he says - hyperconciously aware of the tremble in his voice. 

"You can't rush perfection," she says absently, but he's so sure she's actually teasing him right now. 

Still, "You really don't have to put this much thought into it."

"I know."

She grabs out another flower, adding it to her growing bouquet.

"So, what do you think?" She asks with that adorable head tilt showing him the variety of flowers she's accumulated during their conversation. "Would she like them?"

Yes. 

Yeah, she definitely would have.

Stiles has literally no idea what any of the flowers are (other than pretty) because he hadn't really been paying much attention when she picked most of them all out. They're all gentle and soft pastels, mainly pink and purple and hints of orange throughout, a lot of white between them all too - most of them have barely opened, not yet blooming. He likes that, it feels kinda poetic with the potential there...

But honestly, he's barely looking at the flowers. 

He's looking at her. At the hope in her face as she stares up at him, waiting for his approval. It's like she really genuinely cares - not just about his opinion, but his mom's too.

God, she's so beautiful.

It's really not fair.

He wishes he could stop seeing how beautiful she was and just- just see her as the person she is. 

His stomach churns, and he coughs as he assures her that they're great. It's fine. Let's just get them and leave.

When they get to the counter Stiles pulls out his wallet (mentally wincing because wow this is really going to add up) but she totally surprises him by insisting to pay herself. He tries not to make a big deal of it in front of the cashier but, um, when the hell did she get a wallet? Why is she actually carrying around money? He thought she didn't believe in that stuff!

Was it- Did she only do that after he complained about paying that one time? He really doubts it, but its nice to think that maybe its the case. Especially when she could just use her freaky jedi mind trick to avoid paying all together. It's like she really want to do this right...

She never ceases to amaze him.  

Stiles opens the door to his father's office for her, and Nat walks through it holding the bouquet she had selected for his mother.

Part of her is almost reluctant, entirely unsure of what she may be walking into. Her interactions with the sheriff had been cordial in the past, but to contact her at night when desperate is one thing - to see her with his son in the light of day (although it is far closer to evening now) is another thing entirely.

Would he disapprove of this arrangement? She certainly would not hold such a thing against him. 

Once the door is closed she offers the bouquet to Stiles, perhaps it would be best coming from him instead. 

He takes them without a moment of hesitation and stares into them for a moment ad he claims exasperatedly, "You know, the last time we brought one of these to her grave, it was stolen the same day."

Nat hums in acknowledgement, hesitant to say anything before the sheriff has been revealed.

"Hey, Dad?" Stiles calls out, realising he is not sitting at his desk. He places the bouquet on the desk and peeks over to see his father on the floor surrounded by files. "Hi. What are you doing down there?"

"Working," he replies simply, returning his attention back to it. "And, hey, if somebody wants the flowers that badly, they can have them. It's the gesture."

Nat nods in appreciation as Stiles circles the desk to gain a clearer vantage as to what his father is doing.

"...What's all this?" Stiles wonders, staring at the scattered files that surround his father.

"I've been looking over some old cases from a more..." he sighs, a short noise as he looks at Nat from the corner of his eye. "illuminated perspective, if you know what I mean..."

"Wise," she nods appreciatively, keeping her hands behind her back as she fiddles with her fingers. It was far from a direct acknowledgement, but more than she had expected. "May we assist you?"

"Uh, no," he says uncomfortably, barely looking at her. "I got it."

Stiles does not bother to ask, already looking through a report. He lifts the page between two finders reading aloud, "Strange sighting of bipedal lizard man sprinting across freeway." 

"Kanima pile." His father takes it from the top of the box and throws it into a small pile on the floor. 

Intriguing. Nat wonders what kind of filing system he has created here for himself. Would any of these piles relate to her in some way? She longs to check them all immediately, filled with an impulse that is difficult to control but she does her best. It would be unwise to push her luck by doing something so foolish. Yet, that does not quite curb the urge.

Stiles crouches down beside his father and asks with concern, "Dad, you're not going back through all your old cases, seeing if any of them had something to do with the supernatural, are you?"

"I admit, the recent opening of my eyes to the greater mysteries of the universe has got me... reassessing," he tells his son reluctantly. 

Stiles hangs his head low, as though he expected such a response but was still hurt to hear it. 

"There's at least a hundred cases here, where I look at the details and I can ask myself, 'If I knew then what I know now-?'"

"Right, but are you sure you wanna go down that path?" Stiles cuts in.

His father looks to him intently and asks, "Do I have a choice?"

Seeing Stiles struggle to formulate a response, Nat reminds them both, "We all have a choice."

"Right." The sheriff agrees agrees, rising to his feet. 

Almost instinctually she feels the urge to take a step back, simply to demonstrate her unwillingness to encroach upon his space without his consent. She holds herself steady, but feels the strain in her finger as she tugs it almost incessantly. She so deeply longs for his approval, in a way that she had not in... so very long.

His eyes do not linger on her, almost as if he can sense her discomfort. Instead, his attention is directed toward the flowers, "Oh, these are... different."

"Yeah, uh, Natalie picked them out," Stiles admits openly, flipping through a file as though this is nothing out of the ordinary. 

His father finally looks up at her, and Natalie lowers her head out of respect. There's an assessment to his gaze, she feels it. He is much like his son. She hopes he cannot sense how her heart races and she holds her breath, playing with her fingers to mask how they tremble under the weight of his stare. 

"That was nice of you," he says lightly, giving her a soft smile. "Thanks."

In mild disbelief she replies, "You are welcome."

Stiles closes the file and indicates to the room as he asks, "Hey, Dad? Where are all these going?"

The answer is obvious, the name is plastered on every one. 

Agent McCall. 

Scott's father. 

He and Stiles had not mentioned him before. The fact they neglected to mention his role within the FBI is something she is attempting not to hold against them. It is quite pertinent to know that she has closely associated herself with someone who's father could easily check her story as it pertains to any detail of her history. 

How fortunate she has been provided such a legitimate cover using Natalie Audrey Schaefer's identity. Were it not so secure she would undoubtedly be having concerns about this.

An uncontrollable flood of sorrow bursts through her at how flippantly she over looks the true weight of her words. It had been so long since she last thought of them... To have died in such a preventable way, it is utterly shameful that she had not been able to prevent such a thing. However, she intends to ensure her sacrifice was not for nothing, by maintaining the safety of her family that remains alive. Lydia shall not suffer such a fate, Nat will ensure that.

The sheriff informs his son reluctantly, "Yeah, we, uh... We probably need to talk about that."

He looks between the two of them as he says it.

"The... FBI have decided to investigate my position here," he admits.

Stiles stares at him in shock, struggling to process this new development. "What?" 

"They're not certain if I'm fit for this position anymore."

"You mean Scott's dad is trying to get you fired?" He assumes.

"No- that's- it's not that simple son," he insists, "Look at the number of files here, honestly I can't blame them."

"There is no one better suited for this position than you," Nat affirms. "Especially given what you know."

"Uh, thank you..." he says quite awkwardly, uncertain of what to do with her praise. "Let's just hope the auditors will see it the same way."

"That's why you're looking into these files, isn't it?" Stiles realises.

"That's part of it," he admits, "truthfully i would have done it anyway."

Nat nods in understanding. This man is too similar to his own son to allow a mystery to rest unresolved...

There is an awkward moment between them where she doesn't know how to say goodbye. Surely they intend to depart soon, and it is best she take her leave now before they are forced to ask her to do so.

She knows that this is something best done alone, and a cemetery is not a place she would enjoy being. However, she is... reluctant to leave Stiles' side. 

She almost wishes to seek assurance from his father that he will indeed watch out for him, but she knows how disrespectful such a suggestion would be. There is no need for her to remind the sheriff to keep an eye on his own child. She is certain he is already doing so.

She should leave. Now.

Yes. It is for the best, she should- she must go. 

Her feet move, almost instinctually to vanish from their sight, but she is held in place by the memory of what he had said in his car. She should not be so foolish. 

"Have a good evening," she tells them with a duck of her head. 

"Wha- you're leaving?" Stiles wonders. 

"Yes," she tells him, uncertain how this could come as a surprise. 

"Oh... okay," He says quietly. "well, I'll see you at school tomorrow I guess..."

She hesitates for a moment, holding the door in her intentionally delicate grip. "Indeed."

As she slowly departs, she cannot help but overhear their exchange. 

"School, huh?" His dad wonders. 

Stiles breathes a simple reply of, "Yeah..."

Stiles is dreaming.

He knows he's dreaming.

...Well, he thinks he's dreaming.

No, wait, nope.

He's definitely dreaming.

Literally no one in class is moving at all. Including the coach, and that's the biggest indicator that somethings off because the coach literally never stops yelling for anything. 

Then he starts signing something.

They're all signing now, in total unison. 

It's silent and yet deafening at the same time.

He has to get out of there, the quiet is so oppressive. 

And he stumbles right into Natalie-

She asks if anything wrong, tilting her head in that way she does but its off, its so off. 

Its not her. 

Oh god.

Before he can say no her hands come closer and the pressure is nice at first until its not and its pain and his ears are ringing and shes laughing and- 

The ringing in his ears.

It- It turns into the sound of coaches whistle

Class had been surprisingly uneventful. 

While she does enjoy this teachers exuberance, Nat cannot deny that she expected more from him. Altogether, it had been informative but no where near as entertaining as she initially predicted.

He ceases his lecture to ask the class a question, but one thing does not stop with him. Or person rather. 

Stiles is still writing. 

Nat is unable to see what exactly it is from this vantage point, but he scribbles instantly. 

"Stilinksi, are you paying attention back there?" He demands

Stiles does not react at all, still scribbling.If anything he becomes more frantic.

Nat attempts to intercept. "I'm sure he-"

He turns to her with wide eyes and exclaims, "Oh, I'm sorry - I didn't realise your name was also Stilinski."

She stares at him with surprise, it has been quite a while since someone has spoken to her so directly. 

"Oh, what's that? It's not?" He asks rhetorically. "Well colour me surprised. Hey Stilinski!"

There is no response, not even a hint of acknowledgement. 

"STILINSKI!"

Stiles head shoots up, appearing entirely disoriented as his grip finally laxes on his pen. "Uh-huh?"

"I asked you a question!" Their teacher reminds him.

"Uh... Sorry, Coach. What was it?" He asks with confusion 

He heatedly repeats, "It was, 'Stilinski, are you paying attention back there?'" 

"Oh," Stiles says awkwardly, fiddling with his pen. "Well, I am now..."

Nat would almost find it amusing were she not so concerned for his welbeing.

"Stilinski, stop reminding me why I drink!" He commands, muttering lowly "...Every night."

A flare of uncontrollable amusement shoots through her at the unprofessional statement and she is forced to bring a hand to her lips. She certainly is glad to have finally enrolled in one of his educational programs. He had proven to be able to hold her attention with his contact volume. 

He demands "Does anyone else want to try the question on the board?"

"I'm okay," Stiles assures quietly, "I just fell asleep for a second."

"Alright, fine-" the teacher begins.

She can hear Scott tell him with concern, "Dude, you weren't asleep..."

"You - leather jacket," he calls out, "you're up."

It takes Nat a moment to understand, the main indication being the jarring sensation of eyes upon her. "Me?"

"Yeah, you," he proclaims, "You so valiantly volunteered, so you're up. Let's see what you've got."

She looks at the board, as the hastily written question 'What is the difference between GDP + GNP?'

Admittedly, she had not been paying as much attention as she should have been, for the presence of Stiles had certainly become too distracting as of late. 

However, the acronyms are vaguely familiar... She had learnt a thing or two while Canyon was abusing the developing stock markets - he had been rather enthusiastic about the developing technological advancement, so entirely devastated to not be able to partake in the transactions that took place on the stock market floor. Although the multitude of numbers only served to confuse her, she admired his enthralling. it simply never made sense, not in the way the human body does... 

However... words are something she is quite skilled at, and fundamentally this is a question of the difference of words. 

One letter stands out in stark contrast. From there, she can extrapolate some semblance of an answer.

"The... difference is that GDP refers to the domestic production. It is internal. While the GNP is the external - the gross national production."

Their disheveled teacher squints at her. "You weren't in my class last year, were you?"

"No sir," she confirms respectfully.

"Hm," he mutters, looking thoughtful.

Does that mean she was correct?

"Well you're wrong!"

Oh.

"Gross National Product means goods produced inside and outside our boarders."

Of course. It could not that simple. It was foolish to think she may have gotten it right without any intention. She should not have assumed so.

"But, uh, at least you tried," the coach mutters quietly. In a louder tone he proclaims, "which is more than can be said about the rest of you numbskulls!"

Perhaps this class shall not be so bad after all. It appears she still has a few concepts to learn, and that is quite.... exciting.

Natalie sits across from him at the lunch table outside. Something that was a rare occurrence when she used to come to school but now feels might become pretty commonplace. Seriously, he cant even get one second to himself around here now - hoe long is she going to keep this up? 

She's watching him intently, like he's an elderly person she's expecting to slip and fall at any moment. It's really grating on his nerves - even more than it was yesterday.

"Okay, so, what happens to a person who has a near-death experience and comes out of it seeing things?" Scott wonders, pulling all their attention.

"And is unable to tell what's real or not?" Stiles reminds him pointedly, fingers still hooked in place between the pages he had displayed to them. The words 'wake up' written in every conceivable way - something he'd apparently done in coaches class while he thought he was sleeping.

Allison adds with concern, "And is being haunted by demonic visions of dead relatives?"

Isaac's really great contribution is just, "They're all locked up because they're insane."

Before anyone can react, Natalie reaches out and slaps him in the back of the head. 

"Ow!" He complains, rubbing it with a glare.

"This isn't a joke," she tells him pointedly, and she's got that authoritative tone that boarders on snooty. "We must take this seriously and please, lower your voices."

"Yeah, can you at least try to be helpful, please?" Stiles requests in a loud whisper, irritability oozing from his words. 

Isaac looks at him through squinted eyes and claims in a tone that's barely quiet, "For half my childhood, I was locked in a freezer - So, being helpful is kind of a new thing for me."

Stiles can't stop the scoff from escaping, bur he tries to muffle it. "Hey, dude, are you still milking that?"

"Yeah, maybe I am still milking that!" Isaac claims, almost as annoyed as Stiles is right now. "Not like any of you helped."

He can see the pointed way Isaac looks at Natalie, and how she almost wilts under his gaze. There's definitely something more going on there. "Hey-!" He starts, fulling intending to berate this guy when he gets interrupted.

"Hi..." the new girl says awkwardly, suddenly standing right freaking beside him. 

Stiles jumps. How the hell did he not notice her there? Seriously, Natalie can't even sneak up on him anymore so how's this random girl manage it? And- oh great, he probably thinks he was saying Hey to her now. Ugh.

Natalie doesn't appear surprised at all, but she's looking at the new girl intently. Kind of like how she looked at Matt... 

It just sets Stiles further on edge. He already didn't like this girls whole vibe and her approaching them like this is totally suspicious. This weird look Natalie's giving her just confirms it. There's no way they can trust her.

"Hi, sorry... I couldn't help overhearing what you guys were talking about," she explains, clutching her books to her chest awkwardly. 

Too awkwardly. Very suspicious. No one is naturally that awkward.

"I told you to be quiet," Natalie mutters under her breath. 

Stiles gives her a look like, 'seriously? Is that important right now?'

She gives him one back that he interprets as, 'Well I did tell you so.'

He can't deny the excited tingle that runs down his spine with their silent exchange - no matter how brief it was - but he quickly shakes his head to focus on what's happening because someone's still talking. 

"...actually might know what you're talking about," This random girl explains taking a deep breath as she looks around their table. "There's a Tibetan word for it - it's called 'Bardo.' It literally means 'in-between state.' The state between life and death."

As she says the last part her eyes almost linger on Natalie, and Stiles does not like the implications there at all.

Lydia must catch it too, because she asks condescendingly, "And what do they call you?"

"Kira," Scott says too quickly, with too much emphasis, and he's giving Lydia a glance like he's telling her to be nice. 

Oh god. Not again. Stiles knows that look! Stiles has dealt with that look for the past year!

"She's in our history class," Scott elaborates.

"So, are you talking Bardo in Tibetan Buddhism or Indian?" Lydia wonders.

"They're the same thing," Natalie clarifies, almost like she can't help it. "The idea originated in India but was expanded upon by Lamaism."

"What, uh-" Stiles starts, wondering what the hell Lamaism is, but doesn't get the chance to finish his question.

"That's right," the girl, Kira, smiles, taking a seat beside stiles and woah, hey he did not consent to this what the hell. "It was tibetan Buddhism that really delved into the whole concept."

He scoots over closer to Scott not wanting to make contact with this weird new girl. 

"But, all the stuff you guys were just saying? All that happens in Bardo." Just how long was she silently listening to them? That's so creepy! "There are different progressive states where you can have hallucinations. Some you see, some you just hear. And you can be visited by peaceful or wrathful deities."

"Wrathful deities?" Isaac asks, scratching his chin like he's some sort of scholar, "And what are those? "

"Like, um, Izanami?" Kira mumbles, which really doesnt help them to understand what the hell that word was.

"I'm sorry, who?" Lydia asks.

"Izanami," she states more clearly, "She- well, legend has it that she protects life and death, and sometimes she chooses worthy souls to be her... um, elves."

Is she serious right now?

Stiles looks at the others, to gauge their reactions, because this is a joke, right? Scott looks totally enamoured, so he doubt he's even heard a word she's said. Lydia looks skeptical, but at least she's actually listening. If only the same could be said for Natalie - almost as soon as the new girl sat down she started doing that thing she does where she stares off into the distance to make you think she's not paying attention to anything but he's pretty sure she is...

The others are more vocal about it.

"Elves?" Isaac cuts in with a chuckle, and Stiles has to agree it sounds pretty rediculous. "What, like Santa?"

Allison rubs her wrist, the one her ghost aunt had apparently dragged her down a hallway by. "That doesn't sound too bad."

"Well, no they're not- theyre not bad," the new girl says, stressing the word. "They're... they're... terrific, actually."

Okay, but then why does she say that like it's a bad word?

And why is it, out of everything so far, that's what really seems to get Natalie's attention?

Her gaze snaps toward the new girl, and she's looking at her like she's assessing her really intently or something. Its super weird. Hopefully the new girl doesnt notice because after stating at Natalie, like, this whole time she decided that now is a good time to dodge her gaze - literally as soon as it was reciprocated.

Like, who does that?

Allison wonders, "Hold on - if there are different progressive states, then what's the last one?"

"Well, some say it's death," Kira hesitates again and finishes kind of dramatically, "but... I've heard there's some things worse than death..."

Huh. Okay. Sure. 'Worse than death.' Sounds great. Awesome. Really.

"Well, uh, thank you for the lesson in, um, Bardo - super helpful," Stiles says hoping she'll get the hint and leave already.

She grins, totally oblivious. "You're welcome."

Okay, well, gotta be direct then. "Now, uh, go away."

"Stiles! Don't be rude." Natalie instructs, like this is out of line for him to do when this random girl literally just told them they're going to die or worse! He needs time to process this properly! 

God, he hates when she talks to him like he's a child, it's bad enough with her being all mother hen on him at the moment and not letting him out of her sight. Ugh.

"No, he's right," Lydia backs him up, at least someone's on his side! She even gives the motions with her hands as she insists, "Shoo." 

Allison makes a disapproving noise and gives Lydia a look like she can't believe she just did that. Isaac just smirks that smug little smirk he has.

"Guys, come on," Scott protests, trying to take control of the situation. Yeah, good luck with that.

Natalie bats Lydia's hands away with her own, not even making contact as Lydia is too quick to retreat. Without pause, she says to the girl earnestly, "I apologize for their behavior. We do appreciate your help."

"Um, y-you're welcome," the new girl stutters, clearly a bit dazed. Stiles can't blame her - when Natalie smiles at him like that he struggles to form words too. 

That's not unusual though, she had that affect on people, even with how for their group had fallen to the bottom of the social ranks, people still looked to Natalie kind of reverentially. He's kind of torn between believing it's something she made happen with her freaky jedi mind trick or if its just a natural by product of her not hiding away like she used to during freshman year. People were happy to see her back at school and they'd genuinely go out of their way to tell her that or just to smile at her. He'd seen it on more than one occasion, and the only reason he doesn't fully believe she made it happen is because he noticed how absolutely bewildered Natalie looks when she gets any kind of direct attention.

He knows it must be driving Lydia absolutely mad that the title of most popular girl in school was stolen without Natalie even trying. Their peers hovered of the edge of her orbit, eager to find a way in since she had begun to actually open up, but she left literally no opening for anyone outside of their circle.

He bets Lydia enjoyed it when Natalie wasn't at school last semester. Even though she was still looked at like a freak, at least there was no genuine competition to replace her

Stiles shakes the thoughts from his head, not knowing why his mind was drifting to such dark places as his stomach churns uncomfortably. 

Nat refused to allow any more excuses. As much as she loath to see him again, it is time they visit the druid. He had gotten them into this mess and should be able to provide the answers they seek. 

They require knowledge on Stiles dreams, she found that to be the most pressing issue - although having an alpha wolf not able to control their shifting was also quite important - but dreams should be a safe haven, a refuge from the horrors of reality. To have ones own subconscious turn against them is not something she would wish upon anyone.

Besides, she still has questions herself for the druid. 

"I was wondering when we would see one another again," he says with a smile. He deliberately leaves the boundary in place, making it clear that should she wish him harm she is not welcome here. 

She gives him a flat stare and crosses her arms. She is hardly impressed by his display. 

This was their first encounter since she had learned of the foolish thing he permitted these teenagers to do. Not for her lack of trying. He had been cautious not to leave the safety of his confiding sanctuary here for any meaningful duration of time.

Stiles looks between them, and even behind his tired eyes she can see how his clever mind notices the tension. He appears almost reluctant to speak with Deaton following the exchange, voice weavering as he hesitates to shsre any information. "I, uh, well..."

"Stiles has been having... dreams, " Scott cuts in, having no such reservation, speaking with the druid as if this man has unquestionable intention. It is rather foolish, to not have any room to doubt someone's intention.

Although part of her does wonder... she had seen how effortlessly Scott had played the elderly argent. He is evidently not above such tactics should it mean the safety of his family and pack. It is one of the predominant reasons she is willing to listen to his commands, for he shows an aptitude on a multitude of fronts.

"But he's not just sleeping," Scott continues. "They're happening while he's awake now. In class, today, he said that, um, everyone was using sign language in them."

She is certain they must make quite the peculiar picture. The earnestly strong alpha wolf, flanked by an admirably cautious human and a stoically defiant creature. A trio, the foundation of their pack, tethered together by the threads of mutual respect and undeniable care for one another.

"It sounds like your subconscious is trying to communicate with you," The druid explains to Stiles, holding himself together quite well.

"Well, how do I tell my subconscious to use a language that I actually know?" Stiles asks in a raspy voice, scratching the side of his temple awkwardly as they enter the back room. Even with his reservations, he masks them well. Had she not been so attuned to his disposition perhaps she would not have noticed they way his hands had trembled slightly.

She longs to reach out and grasp them in her own, to reassure him that they will not allow further harm to come to him, but such a thing would be... impossible. 

Nat has no idea what they are up against, try as she might she cannot force the words out that may reassure him. 

Instead, she turns to reliable questions. She asks the druid with a meaning she hopes he grasps, "What does it mean?"

Deaton looks at her, and she is certain he must understand. This is his fault, this is his mess, and these mere teenagers now face the consequences. He must resolve this.

He turns to Stiles. "Do you remember what the sign language looked like? The placement and movement of the hands?"

"You know sign language?" Scott asks in shock. 

Deaton gives a small smile, but his eyes shine with concern as he claims, "I know a little. Let me give it a shot."

Nat is almost unsure whether it is concern for them, or for his own life. He has proven to be quite adept at hiding his true intentions.

"Okay, the first one was like this..." he says uncertainly, holding a hand out with one finger raised, "then," using the other he tracing a circle above it.

Deaton confidently claims, "That's 'when.'"

"Then there was this, twice..." Stiles holds both hands out before of him, with the pointer fingers almost side by side, then rapidly pulls his right hand back toward his shoulder.

Nat notices how his gaze almost seems to flicker to her for a moment, something indescribable passing over his face that she cannot quite ascertain quickly enough.

"That's 'door.'" Deaton comments.

"And this in between it," Stiles finishes, putting his right hand under his chin and bringing it back down to meet his hand quickly.

"That's it?" He wonders 

 Stiles confirms, "Yeah..."

Deaton asks, "When is a door not a door?" 

Nat sucks in a breath, unable to help herself.

Stiles looks between the two of them and blinks rapidly as he asks with confusion, "When is a door not a door?"

She cannot contain herself, she quickly moves and grasps the object she seeks and throws it directly at Scott's face out of sheer exhilaration.

She knows this one!

He catches it with ease, as she knew he would. It is why she had not thrown it at another.

Stiles and Deaton both step back in surprise, having struggled to comprehend her quick movements while Scott holds the object out extended in his arm. Deaton appears almost weary, and she cannot blame him for such a thing.

Scott himself looks at it, relaxing his posture as he realises she has answered it for them "...When it's ajar. 

"You're kidding me. A riddle?" Stiles scoffs in disbelief, "My subconscious wants to tell me a riddle?"

"Do you know any others?" Nat wonders, unable to hid her eager emotional state as she leans in to look at him curiously. 

He ducks away, taking a small step back and face flooded with surprise. "What? Why?"

"Um, no reason." She twirls her hair, avoiding his eyes. It is hardly relevant. She should not be wasting time with such trivialities.

"Do- Do you like riddles?" He wonders openly.

She sees little reason to hide the truth, but simply shrugs and claims, "Who does not?"

"Um, me? I don't?" Stiles says. "There's enough mystery already, just let words be words."

"Regardless, I don't think this is what we should be focusing on," Deaton reminds them.

Nat bristles, feeling a flush of embarrassment at being called out by the druid. "You are correct."

"What do you mean?" Scott asks.

He explains to them all, "When the three of you went under the water, when you crossed from consciousness to a kind of super-consciousness? You essentially opened a door in your minds."

Nat clinches her fists, and shoves her hands into a crossed position to hide that fact. She still could not believe they had been so incredibly foolish. The wards of this place rise against her in retaliation and she sees how the druids eyes cast over to her, no doubt sensing her growing intention meurtrière.

"So, what does that mean?" Scott wonders, regaining their attention. His earnest disposition is almost enough to ease her tension. "The door's still open?"

Deaton takes the jar from his grip, returning it to the shelf where it belongs. "Ajar."

Stiles says slowly, "...A door into our minds?"

"You did not instruct them to close it?" Nat asks through gritted teeth, hands straining as she crosses her arms against her chest tightly to refraining front lashing out. She can feel the tension against her, prompting her to leave this place.

He gases at her levelly, safe in the assumption his wards would be enough to protect him. "There was no time."

"So make time-" Nat moves to take a step forward, but finds a hand on her shoulder holding her in place. 

Without looking she can tell who the sour hand belongs to. 

"Nat," Scott says with an authoritative tone.

When she turns to look she can see Stiles behind him. 

His eyes shine with emotion, jaw clenching and nostrils flaring as he realises the extend of the ramifications from their rushed decision. It is something he is struggling internally to come to grips with. 

Not for the first time, Nat laments the fact that she had not been in control of the situation. For so long in the past she had believed herself to be. When the despicable alpha attacked, when the hunters had held her captive - she remained there and allowed them to harm her purely to hide her time for the opportunity to gain the most from the situation. She considered her options logically and weighed out the cost and chose to wait for rescue rather than risk destroying another life. 

This time... when the Darach had taken her, she had no cards to play. She had been caught and these mere teenagers had bargained with their lives for the sake of her and their parents (she was not naive enough to believe any of them would have done so purely for her). 

Had she been stronger, had she not so selfishly re-assimilated her heart, perhaps she could have done more. She would have been strong enough to make these difficult decisions and their lives would not have been wagered in such a manner.

Perhaps that is why she had avoided Deaton thus far... she senses he had realised something similar. 

Ultimately, this is her fault.

"I did tell you it was risky..." Deaton reminds them softly.

But this clever, foolish boy - he had received more than he bargained for. 

She reaches over, grabbing Stiles' hands with her own in an attempt to offer some semblance of support. 

He jolts at the contact, but does not pull away as she so suddenly and overwhelmingly fears. He squeezes her hand, almost pulling her tighter into a closer position which she is more than willing to oblige.

"How do we resolve this?" Nat asks him intently.

Deaton looks at her almost imploringly, as though he expects her to have the answer for that. "Well, that's difficult to answer-"

Stiles points at the druid using his free hand, interjecting, "Oh, no! Wait a second, I know that look-- that's the 'we know exactly what's wrong with you, but we have no idea how to fix it' look!"

There is only one way he could be familiar with such an expression. He must be referring to when the doctors had delivered the news of his mothers illness... she cannot imagine how difficult that must have been for him to face at such a young age.

Deaton claims, "One thing I do know is that having an opening like that into your mind? It's not good."

"To say the least," Nat mutters.

Stiles looks at her for a moment, glancing down as he squeezes her hand. It is only then that she realises her free hand had been caressing his arm. She freezes instantly. How long had that been occurring?

Stiles gives her a tense half smile, before returning his focus back to Deaton.

"You each need to close that door, and you need to do it as soon as possible." He instructs seriously.

"How?" She demands. 

"Well that is... difficult to say," he deflects quite poorly. "Each mind is unique. Methods that work for one may not work for another."

"Surely you can provide some guidance," she insists.

The druid sighs, rubbing his forehead. "There is something that might work..."

They walk out of the animal clinic with quite a lot on their minds... Gonna make it harder to sleep tonight, even though that's apparently exactly what they need to do to 'close the door' or whatever the hell that means.

A car pulls up out of no where, momentarily blinding the three of them with it's headlights. 

It's his dad. 

What's his dad doing here?

He gets out of the car in his sheriffs uniform so obviously this must be something important, and Stiles gets to actually ask out loud, "Dad, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here because I could use some help," He admits, then points to Scott and and says directly, "Actually... your help." 

Stiles takes a step back, while Scott just seems confused by the whole thing.

"Why me?" He wonders earnestly. Everything Scott does is just so freaking genuine he can't even be mad at him right now.

Stiles presses his lips together tightly and tries not to be offended by his dad easy dismissal of him. Their relationship hadn't really been the same since he found out about all this supernatural crap - which is exactly what he warned Scott about in the first place. Feels like his dad was always dismissing him now, it was like he could hardly look at him, and honestly it kind of felt a lot of the times like they were just going through the motions and acting out the way they used to naturally be around one another. Why wouldn't he go to Scott for help? 

A gloved hand wraps around his arm, pulling him away from his dark thoughts once again and into the present.

"Are you alright?" Natalie whispers, arm essentially intertwined with his own as she snakes her hand down to interlock their fingers.

He nods shakily, not trusting himself to speak without wavering. How does she always seem to know exactly when he needs support the most? He squeezes her hand, and she offers him a small smile in return that makes his heart skip a beat while that queasy feeling churns in the pit of his stomach. 

His dad explains about his first official duty to inform a man that all his family members had passed away in a fatal car accident. His eldest daughter had been dragged from the car by coyotes...

Which is weird. They are scavenging animals, but it doesn't seem like normal behavior for them.

The most damming fact was that this all happened on the night of the full moon. Like, obviously there's something more going on there.

Stiles can kind of feel Natalie stiffen suddenly, which is weird because she's already stiff normally but now its like she's just stopped breathing entirely as she takes in what his dad is saying. 

Stiles is confused for, like, two seconds until he connects the dots and it seems so obvious.

A car wreck, a family dead, the missing body of a young girl... it all sounds eerily familiar.

It's almost exactly like what happened to Natalie Schaefer - the real one that is. 

And Natalie, she'd been there too when it happened, in the car with them. He's pretty sure about that. She must have witnessed it first hand. That would have been pretty traumatizing.

Not for the first time he kind of wonders what her name is - this Natalie who obviously isn't really Natalie but like he told Lydia they really don't have anything else to call her... it would have to be something old and regal, considering her sisters name... Imogen. He still can't believe she remembers her sisters name after all these years... however many years.

Yeah, okay, he should probably focus on figuring out how old she is before he tries to find a name for her honestly. 

Or- no. Wait. Stiles. He should be figuring out this murder mystery for his father. That's what he should be doing right now.

Because regardless of the similarities here, this isn't Natalie that his dad and Scott are talking about right now.

It's Malia Tate. 

Stiles and Scott both attempt to gather information from the Tate residence. Stiles had insisted she stay behind so adamantly because there was no reason for the three of them to get caught, before Scott reminded him that Nat could hardly join them on their journey into another person's house. 

He looked contrite, as if he was almost berating himself for forgetting something to crucial. It was quite endearing to see.

Perhaps that is part of why she remains close by... Although there are undoubtedly better ways to be spending her time, she cannot bare the thought of leaving the two of them entirely alone. She strains her hearing to ensure that they are safe, and baring a brief encounter with a dog, they are.

When they emerge Stiles seems almost surprised to see her there, and the expression makes her shift self-consciously in the back seat. Yes. Certainly it would have been wiser for her to leave.

Scott merely gives her a nod of acknowledgement, as though this is not out of the ordinary, and his casual disposition relaxes her somewhat.

Unfortunately, they have gained little from their expedition. Scott had been unable pick up a scent, although Stiles shows her the picture he had taken of a photo of the missing girl.

They drive down the street, far enough away that they will remain undetected by the residences. Stiles gets out of the car then waits patiently for the to make Nat way from the back seat out before closing the door for her and heading over to his father.  

She finds her self touched by the selfless gesture. He does it so habitually; it is as though he does not notice the small acts he performs for the benefit of those around him.

"I'm sorry. I tried as hard as I could. If it wasn't so long ago, I might have been able to do it," Scott admits once they stand face to face with the sheriff.

"It's okay. It was a long shot," the sheriff assures, shaking his head. "In fact, it was a pretty terrible idea. I think I just ripped a wound open in that poor man. I never should have brought you guys here. I don't know what I was thinking."

"You wanted to help," Nat points out. It is a family trait apparently. Stilinski's are unable to allow injustice to rest undisturbed.

"Well, it didn't." He clasps Scott's shoulder in a friendly pat as he displays his gratitude and attempts to abate his guilt, "Thanks for trying though, all right?"

"Yeah," Scott says quietly, not looking assured.

Stiles picks at his fingers, looking quite out of place. Nat watches the anxious habit and tells the sheriff pointedly, "You are welcome."

He looks back at her with confusion in his troubled eyes. She stares back resolutely, not removing her hands and hoping he may understand her implications. 

He glances toward his son and mutters, "I'll see you at home." 

Nat is not satisfied with that reply at all, but he gets in his car with an air of defeat and she deems it best not to press the issue.

Scott wonders, "Aren't there a lot of cases that go unsolved?"

"Yeah," Stiles admits, putting his hands in his pockets. "I just think this is one he felt like he could've figured out right now." 

"Why is it so important now?" He asks, turning to them with those large confused puppy eyes.

Sighing, Stiles tells him, "He wants to be able to solve one more... while he's still Sheriff."

"What do you mean, 'still Sheriff'?" Scott asks with complete shock.

Stiles opens his mouth to reply and evidently does not know how to answer that. 

"Ask your father," Nat cuts in pointedly. She cannot claim to be content eith the fact that neither of them had thought it pertinent to share his occupation sooner, but it is the least of their problems at the moment.

His eyes widen with surprise, and quickly become filled with a burning rage. "Of course," he scoffs.

His entire disposition is bristling, almost akin to a wolf ready to pounces. 

"Perhaps-" Nat starts, wondering if he should take some time to work through his volatile emotions before entering a confined space with Stiles- who himself is clearly still on edge. 

"I'll see you later," Scott cuts off, already running through the woods. "I need to blow of some steam."

"Later, right, okay!" Stiles yells after him, voice increasing as his alpha moves further away at rapid pace. 

Scott throws up a hand in acknowledgement, but does not slow down. 

"Do you think he'll be alright?" Stiles wonders softly. 

Always looking out for others, even while he himself is in turmoil. "Yes, I do," she admits without hesitation. Their wolf will be fine, of that she is certain. 

How admirable that Scott is able to realise this fact for himself. She had not needed to guide him at all, for he shows such great aptitude at acknowledging his own emotional turmoil. If only he could admit the risk it poses upon the general public at school, but it is progress nevertheless.

Alas... it has left her in quite the predicament. 

Stiles shifts uncomfortably, as if also realising that they are essentially alone.

She is hyper conscious of the movement. He does not seem entirely comfortable. 

"Would you li-" he starts.

"I could le-" She says almost simultaneously, having already begun before he rapidly interjected.

They both cut themselves off, and Nat gestures for him to go first. It is only fair.

"Would you, uh, want to come over?" He wonders, fiddling with his car key and not quite looking at her. "We could, you know, discuss the case some more or something."

She had assumed he would want her to leave, to realise that he valued her company is quite... unbelievable.  

She nods, struggling to form coherent words. "I would... like that."

"Really?" He asks with disbelief, snapping his head up quickly. "Uh. Good - great! I'll uh, let's- let's go.

When they get to his house Natalie takes off her shoes at the door and - wow. It's just so immediately noticeable how short she is as soon as she does it. He didn't even realize- has she been putting lifts in her shoes or what? It's crazy. The subtle heel on them makes all the difference. She's not short short but, well, she's definitely shorter than him now even if its only just a little. 

She used to seem so tall, back when they were freshmen. Now he can see over the top of her head. It's- It's kind of weird actually. 

"Your father isn't home yet?" She notes, but it sounds more like a question when she says it. 

Stiles really hadn't expected him to be honestly. "No, he'll, uh, he'll probably be out late working."

She hums in acknowledgement, running her finger along the railing of the stairs as they make their way to his room. He let her go first, and it's definitely not just so he can watch her walk in front of him, because that would be weird. 

"So, um, what- what was your father like?" He tries to ask it casually, but it's so out of the blue he knows it must sounds really freaking awkward. 

She turns to look at him, her brow furrowing in a way that's just- definitely not adorable because that's not how friends think of each other. 

"I mean, I just thought, you know about both my parents now so, uh..." he rushes to justify but, uh, he really doesn't know where he was going with this. There's no easy way to seaway into this conversation.

"I though we were going to discuss the case?" She asks, and he feels like he's been put in check mate. His own words used against him. She's a tricky one.

"Right, well, um, let's do that then." He says, sitting down on his bed. 

She kind of just awkwardly hovers by the door, looking between his closed window and his desk and basically anything but him. Like, literally, her feet are an inch or so off the ground... and she still seemed short? Surely she wasn't hovering that whole time, right?

God, just looking at her is making him feel anxious. His stomach twists uncomfortably at the frankly painful sight of it. 

He pats the bed trying to silently assure her that this is fine. Like, she can just sit down here she doesn't need to over-analyse all the different possibilities - she can just rest, plain and simple. 

She looks at his hand, at the soft movement he makes and her face is blank in the most... strangely endearing way. Like, he's pretty sure she's in disbelief or something which is weird because literally all he's doing is offering for her to sit down. 

But she finally does, and it's with this slow and cautious grace - like she's fully anticipating for him to suddenly snap and yell at her. She carefully sits on the edge of his bed and he's pretty sure if he just breathes too hard in her direction she'll fall off.

Some twisted part of him almost wants to yell 'boo' or something, just to see how she'd react. Could he actually startle a vampire right now?

But, the main part of him is just... in disbelief too. For some reason he can't help but think back on Scott's second full moon, how she'd actually jumped then. So, wait, yeah, He'd already startled her once before. But- But the way she's looking now almost reminds him of that actually, and he wants to ask. It's literally killing him not to ask what happened to put that expression on her face because he's pretty damn sure it wasn't anything he's done. There's something deeper going on here, something she still hasn't told him...

But she doesn't want to talk about it, and she's made that clear, so he's just going to accept that. Add it to the long list of mysteries that surround Natalie-who's-not-actually-Natalie.

He's patient, he can wait. 

He'll get his answers one day.

Stiles is evidently tired, but refusing to sleep. 

She cannot entirely blame him, considering the daunting task that he must handle. To close a door is no easy thing. 

Still, sleep is something he must attempt; and her presence is hindering his efforts.

She pauses their discussion so she can simply offer to leave, but he denies it with a yawn. He claims to not be that tired. 

She looks at him with disbelief. His own actions betray him. 

He looks back with curiosity, asking, "Do you even yawn?"

What a peculiar question. "Not recently."

"Yeah, I've noticed that." Of course he had. He notices a lot of things, yet appears almost oblivious to her lingering stare. "I always thought yawns were contagious."

"So is the flu," she reminds him absently. 

He stares at her with wide eyes. "So you don't get sick?"

"Not the way you do," she admits, and how that had caused trouble in the past. Plagues had swept through town and it was not left unnoticed that one girl stood among the dead bodies. It was enough to drive some mad. Perhaps that is part of what led her astray...

"What's that supposed to mean?" Stiles asks with those wide innocent eyes that, while confronted with some horrors of this world, had yet to be entirely tainted by them. 

She could hardly admit it now. If he understood the extent of her deeds he would be sure to turn away in shame. These hands are unclean, and would never be the same again. She stares down at them, uncertain when exactly she had removed her gloves, only that they are now bare for her to examine. 

Removing them has become somewhat of a habit around Stiles. He appears to have no reservations about touching her hardened skin, and she finds herself longing for him to reach out once again.

He awaits the answer patiently, although she is entirely reluctant to answer it. "...Not all sickness is physical."

"Oh," he frowns. "That's ominous."

She nods, looking to the side. She does not wish to see his face consider her implications.

"What about mirrors?" He asks, drawing her attention once more.

It appears this was his true intention for the evening. Hardly what she had agreed to, but as she looks into his tired eyes she finds it impossible to dismiss him. Nat reminds him, "You have seen me in a mirror."

"Yeah, that's what I mean," he exclaims with a hint of excitement that she has missed so dearly these past two days, "Like, why do people think you can't be seen in mirrors?"

So many questions this evening, and he appears to have an almost unnatural patience for each answer. He has that diligent focus of one entirely enamoured by their quest for knowledge. Something she admires greatly. Certainly, that is why she answers directly, "...because it is not the mirror, it is the medium."

He pulls a face, and she can see how he turns the phrase over in his clever mind. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You recall what the argents said about silver?"

He stiffens slightly, and she had no doubt he vividly recalls that evening - the one where she had nearly killed him. The mark is covered, and she is thankful to not see the reminder of her horrible deed. He quietly confirms, "Yeah."

She pushes her recollection away to focus on her intended point. "Modern mirrors are not pure silver."

"So if I had something pure silver I wouldn't be able to see you?" He summarises.

She hums in agreement.

"That's so..." he trails off in thought

Unsettling? Horrific? Suaite?

"Cool!" He exclaims suddenly, looking ready to jump out of bed. "Oh my god. I need to find something silver right now!"

She cannot help but release a chuckle at his exuberance. "It must be pure, I doubt you own anything of the sort."

"Yeah, true," he admits through another sudden yawn. "Guess I'll have to order something online."

She would certainly prefer he refrained from doing such a thing. 

"Don't worry, I'll be cautious about it," he says - as though detection is her major concern.

It is... quite disarming that he is able to somewhat gauge her reluctance with such a quick glance. She had not considered herself so easy to read.

"Okay, now I've got to know-" he claims, pulling his legs in closer as he sits with them crossed on his bed. "Garlic. What's the deal there? Toxic, right? It's got to be toxic." 

Nat almost smirks, recalling how he had carried it with him for so many months after his initial discovery of her. "That one is our own creation actually."

"What- What does that mean?" He stutters with confusion.

"You are aware that garlic is a blood thinner, yes?"

"What does that have to do..." he trails off a look of realisation as it suddenly dawns on him. "You're kidding."

She shakes her head. "No." 

"What - so you guys started that?" He asks with disbelief, throwing his head back to laughing uncontrollably. 

He falls back, and Nat is there in an instant, overwhelmed concerned that perhaps the distance was too short. Her concerns are not unfounded, as she places her hand between his head and the frame of his bed.

His hair is soft upon her hand, as she does her best to cushion the blow. His eyes peek up at hers slowly, the whiskey brown colour of them filling her with an unfamiliar warmth. He stares up at her for a moment, and she feels... lost. She is uncertain of how to behave around him. This delicate mortal whom she had put in harms way more times than she could count... almost as often as he willingly wandered into danger himself. 

He grabs her hand and gently tugs it back with him while he shifts over on the bed, as if silently inviting her to lay down beside him. 

She does not have the strength of will to refuse, for she does not want to. 

"What about crosses then," he asks her quietly, as though this is not a peculiar situation for the two of them to be in, laying side by side on his bed. "Do they work?"

"You are asking if shoving the emblem of a torture device in my face will cause me to recoil?" She points out in an equally quietly voice - it seems only fitting. "Only on a bad day."

"Huh... I guess I never really thought of it that way," he realises.

She shifting to lay on her back and stares at the ceiling. This situation feels far to familiar, and the knowledge she is the only one who recollects what had transpired makes her ache in a way that is painfully familiar. She... longs for that connection, but it is not something she will find here. Yet, she finds herself admitting, "It often was not the symbol but the person. It can be... rare to find someone who is... kind within a leadership position."

"That's- that's fair enough I guess," he claims, but he sounds quite distracted. 

She reminds him quietly, "This town is lucky to have someone like your father."

"Hah, Yeah..." he mumbles, shifting his position.

Then something incredibly strange happens.

His arm finds its way around her shoulder in a swift yet tentative movement, and his cheek nestles into the side of her neck in a move quite similar to the predicament they had found themselves in previously. The positioning is almost the same, and it feels entirely natural to have his body wound around hers, if slightly constricting.

She keeps herself steady, not daring to breath for fear of disrupting him.

They remain in this position for what feels like an eons but could simply be moments. Time has ceased to hold any meaning, for she is enraptured within this moment.

"I still feel like I barely know anything about you," he admits softly, and she is uncertain whether he intended to say it aloud. 

"I have provided plentiful information," she reminds him in a whisper, unable to comprehend how she had found herself here again. She is lost in his arms, a warmth spreading through her the likes of which she has never known.

"Well yeah but I'm not- I mean, like, what was your life like before all this? You never really talk about it. I didn't even know you had a sister or anything..." his voice trails off, but the question is clear.

Yes that... is true. She does not like to dwell on her life before. It is not a pretty thing. 

But... he is a curious soul, and that is something she gravely admires. 

"It was... difficult," she admits carefully, attempting to recover what brief recollection she has of such distant events. "Out father, he... left me to care for my sister."

"Oh..."

"I was... considered a woman by those standards, but he was... concerned. I was... unprotected, but we had no one else. What meager funds we had were... not sufficient. It was not easy, but I... we made due. We had already struggled before his departure..."

"Why did he leave?" He asks quietly
 
"He felt compelled to... join the war."

They are silent for a moment, until stiles asks through a yawn, "Was he in the confederacy?"

Is he attempting to distract her with jovial suggestions? "No? Why would you ask that?"

"It's always- you know, in books and stuff," he mutters, "There's always have some link to the confederation."

Almost certainly that is what he is doing. But, although she realises his ploy, that does not make it any less sucessful. "That is atrocious."

"I'm not wrong through," his voice is almost teasing.

"What books?" She wonders, sensing his hesitation to elaborate further.

"Hmm?" He hums sounding almost asleep, but he is certainly deflecting. 

"You said books," she points out. "Plural."

"Did I?"

"Yes."

"Huh," his muttered voice cracks. "That's weird."

"What books stiles?"

"Okay fine!" He concedes. "It's in Twilight, Vampire-"

She shivers at the word.

He hesitates for a moment, before continuing, "-diaries, and True Blood. All confederate soldiers turned into va- you know, immortals."

"And you have read all of these books?" She rushes to question, hoping her involuntary movement may be disregarded. She doubts to be so lucky

He squeezes her shoulder and claims, "No comment."

She huffs an exhale, grateful that Deaton had done something right - creating a sufficient totem to mask Stiles' alluring scent. "Stiles. This is not a novel."

"I know." He yawns again, pulling her closer. "If it was, things would be different."

She hums, for she is somewhat distracted by his grip on her shoulders. It is strange to have such prolonged contact sustained with a person, although she does regret leaving so much material between them. Her jacket had been discarded with her gloves, but her longer sleeves prevent majority of the direct contact between them. It is rather unfortunate.

Not long after that, his breath settles into a somewhat regular rhythm. His breathes are harsh in her ear, but she finds herself quite liking the human pace of it. His heart beats so gently, and she holds herself entirely still to ensure she does not disturb him. 

However, he lets out a quite moan, almost as if in protest. 

A bad dream?

Moving almost on instinct, she carefully raises her free hand to the base of his skull. With a moments hesitation, as she is uncertain whether this is truly a good idea, she gently caresses it as she once had during their late night researching after her return from the Calavera's. She recalls how it had brought him comfort then, and seeks to recreate such a sensation for him. 

Stiles hums contentedly, further burring his nose into the crook of her neck. His heavy breaths tingle along the sensitive skin. 

It is unusual for her body to react in such a way. She had been in a similar situation on more than one occasion prior, and yet no other had quite made her... feel so strongly. Which, all circumstances considered, is quite the horrific omission. Perhaps it is merely the distance of time diluting her recollection - or the more dominant memory of what had transpired afterwards.

She has not been this close to a man in... centuries. She did not consider that she ever would be again. It would not be... right, for her to do so. 

Yet... she almost finds herself wishing to reach out for more. 

What she seeks exactly, she is uncertain. The idea of it makes her almost uncomfortable if she is entirely honest with herself and yet she is certain that she wants to be closer to him. 

It is intoxicating, to have him so close and yet so far away - within his own subconscious. She wishes she could travel there with him, to defend and assist as he endeavors to close the door to his mind once again, but this is a journey he must take on his own. She cannot assist him.

He had barely managed to rest for an hour or two when Scott bursts into the room unannounced. Somehow she had not detected him, so consumed by the fragile mortal in her arms.

Part of Nat intends to reflexively retreat, but she finds herself entirely unable to in the possessive grip. He is akin to an anchor holding her down, but she finds that she does not mind it entirely. 

Stiles rouses slowly, almost reluctant to leave her - but that could simply be her projection, for she is entirely reluctant to let him go. "Hey, what's going on?" He asks sleepily.

"Oh!" Scott blinks, clearly surprised to see her there as well. "I, uh, I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Nat is almost certain that had she the fresh blood within her, she would be blushing. He had certainly interrupted her less than decent thoughts, although perhaps that is for the best.

Stiles merely rubs his eye and says in a low tone. "What are you doing here?" 

Scott declares, "We're going to go out and find a body."

Stiles eyes gain more awareness as they flicker down to the flashlight in Scott's hands. 

"A dead body."