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"Bea, wake up."

A familiar voice sounds in her mind, waking her from her deep slumber. There is a warm hand shaking at her shoulder, eliciting a groan from deep in her chest.

Bea's eyes slowly open, blinking away the drowsy bleariness from them as she comes back to consciousness. She extends her arm, grabbing her glasses from her nightstand and slipping them onto her face. She looks up to find Stiles' whiskey eyes looking down at her.

"What time is it?" she questions groggily, looking around at the textbooks and notebook papers spread around her bed. Her last memory is doing the calculus homework she had been getting behind on, not like it matters very much. She can pass that class in her sleep.

"Almost eleven. Now, come on. Scott needs our help," Stiles informs, taking hold of Bea's wrist and trying to drag her out of her very comfortable bed. She rips her wrist away from his grasp, cuddling further into her covers.

"Why do you always have to take care of his werewolf ass? And why do I have to be dragged into this? I literally just found out about what you're really doing in your free time not even three days ago!"

Stiles glares at her, pulling the warm covers away from her body. She squeals as the cold air of her room hits her bare legs, goosebumps immediately rising. She curls into a ball, glaring at the boy.

"Seriously, get up."

"Why do you need me anyway?" Bea asks as she relents and walks into her closet, Stiles sitting on her messy bed.

"Because Scott said two doctors disappeared and thinks it has something to do with the sacrifices. He wants us to help him figure things out," Stiles explains, rubbing a hand over his tired face.

Bea's eyebrows crease as she slips off her sleep shorts and changes into a pair of leggings, leaving the sweatshirt she had fallen asleep in on. "Why didn't you just call Lydia?"

He will not admit the real reason is because he does not want her to be home alone, so, instead, he offers, "Because you literally live across the hall from me."

She emerges from her closet, looking at the boy with her hands on her hips. "But Lydia's known about this longer than I have. Plus, she's way smarter than me."

With a scoff, Stiles stands with his arms crossed. "Oh, please. You guys basically share the same brain."

The redhead rolls her eyes, grabbing her tennis shoes and slipping them onto her sock-clad feet. "I think she has a little more knowledge on fashion and makeup than I do."

"Your fashion sense is fine. Can we go now, please?" Stiles asks impatiently, Bea heaving an exasperated sigh in response. She follows him out of her room while pulling her messy, red curls into a ponytail.

"I must've been an awful person in my past life to deserve this," she mumbles as they hop into his Jeep.

Another scoff escapes Stiles as he pulls out of the driveway. "Oh, suck it up, Bea. You've only been dealing with this for a few days. Me? Try about eight months. Sometimes, I feel like I should be spending my day doing better things, but I always have to go an save Scott's ass. And now, if I'm going down, you're going down with me."

Bea looks at him for a moment, folding her arms over her chest. "You know, there's something about you that makes me want to set a small village on fire," she sasses.

The two fall silent after Stiles rolls his eyes, either of them bothering to turn the radio on as the city lights fly by them. Not soon enough, the two pull up to the hospital, finding a sea of police cars flooding the parking lot. The two teenagers hop out of the vehicle, rushing to Scott, the werewolf having taken a seat on the front steps.

"What happened?" Stiles questions as Scott stands up to greet them.

"I was bringing my mom dinner and everything was hectic from a ten-car pileup," he starts. "The E.R. attending hadn't gotten here yet, and the on-call doctor was held up in traffic.

"Ethan came in with Danny, and it turns out Danny was poisoned with mistletoe. When he was fine, I left. Ethan followed me. Once we got outside, we saw a van driving into the parking lot uncontrollably. It crashed into another car.

"When we went to check on the driver, there was no one in the car. Just a dead butterfly lying on the front seat," Scott finishes, the story wildly all over the place.

"What does Danny have to do with any of this?" Bea asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

Scott shrugs. "I have no idea." 

The three teens' attention is grabbed by Sheriff Stilinski's voice as he talks to Melissa a few yards away, and the older man motions for them to join. Melissa is recounting her version of events, Scott chirping in a few times.

"Hang on, hang on. They were both in the car?" Noah inquires, Stiles sighing in annoyance. His father has always had a bit of a hearing problem.

"No, Dad, they're trying to tell you that it was two, separate kidnappings, okay?" Stiles reiterates, hoping his father understands. "Two doctors, both gone."

"So, whose car is this?"

"Dr. Hilyard, the on-call doctor," Melissa repeats. "The E.R. attending is the one who never made it in." 

"Okay, let me just focus on getting your story first, all right?" he decides, leading the older woman away from the group of friends.

"These are definitely sacrifices, right?" Scott guesses once the adults are out of earshot.

"Yeah, it's the one Deaton said. Healers," Stiles confirms, shoving his hands in his front pockets.

"What about Danny?" Bea repeats, concerned for the goalie and not seeing the correlation. "He threw up mistletoe. That's not a coincidence, and if he hadn't been with Ethan, he probably would've died. Danny's not a healer, and I just don't see the—"

Bea is cut off when the boys' attention is drawn toward a police man with his radio to his ear. Stiles taps Scott on the shoulder, pointing at the man. "Can you hear that?" he asks the werewolf.

"They found a body."

//

She is feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.

"Bea, wake up," the same voice from the previous night directs, causing the redhead to roll her eyes beneath her closed lids. This is the second time Stiles Stilinski has woken her up in the past twelve hours, and she very much does not appreciate it.

"Of all the times you dare speak to me, you chose now?" Bea grumbles into her pillow as her bedroom light turns on. She refuses to turn to him, instead cuddling further into her mattress. "If you're gonna drag me out of bed in the middle of the night, the least you could do is let me sleep in the next morning."

Stiles rolls his eyes, folding his arms over his chest as he looks down at the girl drowned by the covers on her bed, only her mess of red hair poking out from the top. "Just wake up, Bea. We're gonna be late for school," the boy complains.

"You're gonna have to try harder to persuade me, Stilinski."

With an exasperated sigh, Stiles walks out of her bedroom, and for a moment, Bea believes she has won. She lets herself relax in her bed, already beginning to drift off when she hears loud footsteps pounding against the hardwood floors of the hallway.

The Stilinski boy comes running full force toward her bed, screaming at the top of his lungs as he jumps high in the air, landing right on top of the small girl. A loud grunt escapes her body at the weight of the boy as she desperately tries to push him off of her.

"Oh, my god, Stiles! Get the hell off of me!" Bea exclaims, trying to untangle herself from the many covers. It is proven difficult by the weight of the body on top of her preventing her from moving too many of her limbs.

"Then get up!" Stiles yells, an amused smile forming on his lips as he watches her struggle to get free of the covers underneath him. The way her eyebrows cinch together adds a child-like innocence to her, and he can only wish things could always be like this.

Her big, bright eyes look up at him as she stops moving for a moment, her chest heaving as she tries to breathe with the boy on top of her. "If I promise to get up, will you get off of me?" Bea asks calmly as if she is talking to a child. She might as well be.

"Pinky promise?" Stiles questions, sticking out his long pinky to the girl. Bea rolls her eyes at the whiskey-eyed boy, reluctantly linking her pinky with his in a promise. At long last, the boy gets off the girl, leaving her room while shouting, "You've got twenty minutes!"

Now fully awake, Bea rolls off her bed, grabbing her glasses from her bedside table and slipping them on her face. She walks into her closet, grabbing a pair of jeans and a nice shirt, along with a pair of tan, suede ankle boots.

Once dressed, she secures a watch around her left wrist and sticks some earrings in her ears. Walking out of her closet, she eyes the contact case that lies on top of her dresser that has not been touched for ages. Deciding to try something new, she opens the small container, taking her glasses from her eyes. She puts the contacts in, applying a bit of mascara after.

Bea takes a look at her reflection, slightly shocked at how different she looks. Of course, she has worn her contacts before, but she has never applied makeup along with them. Her fingers run through her hair, attempting to tame it as footsteps approach her bedroom once more.

"Hey, are you almost ready to—whoa," Stiles stops short, his wide eyes taking in the redhead's slightly altered appearance.

"What?" the girl asks, a blush creeping up her neck at the boy's stare. "Do I look bad?"

It is not often the Knight girl becomes insecure, but ever since she arrived in Beacon Hills and started making actual friends, all of the insecurities she felt when she was eleven have come rushing back to her. She feels like she has to impress these new friends of hers, because if she does not, they will leave. Just like everyone else.

"N-no! You look great. Amazing, actually. I—I didn't know you owned contacts," Stiles stutters, making Bea smile at his awkwardness.

"I just never wear them," she responds obviously, wanting to facepalm at the tension between them.

"Yeah, I can see that." It is silent between the two as Stiles scratches the back of his neck nervously. "Well, uh, are you ready to go? We should really get going if we don't want to be late."

Bea nods her head, grabbing her messenger bag from her desk chair before joining Stiles in the hallway, giving him a small smile that he returns. The pair makes their way downstairs and into the kitchen where Noah Stilinski sits at the table, a mug of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other.

"Morning, kids," the elder man greets as the two enter the kitchen, immediately going to the fridge. The two nudge at each other, trying to get a better look at the contents of the fridge.

"Morning, Dad," Stiles greets as Bea says, "Good morning."

"Stiles, get out of my way," Bea demands as she tries to reach for an apple on the top shelf over Stiles' shoulder. She is almost there, but her short height and Stiles in her way both prevent her from reaching the delicious, red fruit.

Smirking over his shoulder at the girl, Stiles grabs the honey crisp apple—which he knows is her favorite—acting like he is going to give it to her before pulling it back and taking a large bite from it.

The girl widens her eyes at the smug boy, hitting his arm as he laughs loudly. "Stilinski!" she exclaims as she continues her feeble attempt at harming him. Deciding to show her mercy, he gives her the rest of the apple, grabbing an orange from the fridge and shutting the door after.

"We're gonna head out, Dad," Stiles announces, putting a hand on the small of Bea's back as he leads her out of the kitchen. The Sheriff eyes his son's hand with a small smirk, the same one he has been sporting since the two walked into the kitchen.

"Have fun at school, you two," the police officer calls, his eyes moving back to the paper as the front door closes. He wonders how long it will take for the two teens living under his roof to realize how crazy they are about each other.

Knowing how oblivious his son is, probably a while.

//

"Oh, my God, just let it go!"

A scoff bubbles in Bea's throat as she and the youngest Stilinski walk through the blue, double doors of Beacon Hills High School side by side. "I will not let go of the fact that you almost killed me, Stiles Stilinski!" she exclaims as they walk to her locker. "That is not something that someone can simply just let go."

Stiles rolls his whiskey eyes as he leans on the cool locker next to Bea's, watching the girl grab her books for her first three classes. "I didn't almost kill you, Bea. Don't be so dramatic," Stiles rebuts, earning an incredulous look from the familiar pair of sapphire eyes.

She slams her locker door shut, causing Stiles to wince. "You running a stop light and another car almost hitting the passenger side is being dramatic?"

A sigh falls from Stiles' lips as they start walking to his locker. "Okay, I'm sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Bea rolls her eyes, leaning against the lockers as Stiles collects his things for his first few classes. "You could at least try and make it sound sincere," she grumbles, holding her books closer to her chest.

With another sigh, Stiles closes his locker door before getting on his knees, kneeling before Bea. He clasps his hands before begging, "Oh, please, Bea! Forgive me for almost killing you this morning on our stressful journey to this hell we call high school!"

"Stilinski!" Bea hisses, her pale cheeks igniting in a pink tint as passing students give the pair odd looks. "You're making a scene." 

"Please say you forgive me, Bea! I don't think I'll ever be able to move passed this if I don't receive your sincerest forgiveness!"

"Jesus, I forgive you! Now, get up from the freaking ground before I murder you."

Stiles smirks, standing from his kneeling position and regaining his towering height over the girl. Bea tosses her eyes as the two walk toward Ms. Blake's classroom for their first class. "Hey, you wanted regret. I gave you regret. Be careful what you ask for, babe," he remarks.

She hides her red blush with her matching red fly aways. "Whatever, Stilinski. Think we can make it through the rest of the day without you giving me anymore trouble?"

"You can think that, but it probably won't happen."

//

She wishes she were anywhere but here.

"Good morning," Ms. Blake greets the classroom full of physics students. "As you all know, Mr. Harris is still missing—I mean, sick." Bea raises her eyebrow at the woman's mistake. "Anyway, I'm filling while we all hope and pray for a more qualified substitute to take my place. Okay, so, let's get started, shall we?"

Since Mr. Harris's disappearance, the schedule for his physics students was changed around so all of them could be in the same class, even the AP students, like Bea. It is a bonus, because now she does not have a last class of the day.

Bea sighs from her spot next to Lydia, resting her chin on her hand. It is not that she does not like Ms. Blake, per se. The woman's voice just gives Bea a massive headache.

"Hey," she hears Stiles' voice whisper from behind her. She can only guess he is talking to Scott. "My dad said the E.R. attending wasn't strangled but did die from asphyxiation. They just don't know how."

"Do you think the on-call doctor could still be alive?" Scott questions quietly.

"I don't know. But, Scott, there's got to be at least twenty other doctors in that hospital...at least, you know? Any one of them could be next."

A buzzing sound makes its way to Bea's ears, and she assumes it is one of the boys' phones. Her hypothesis is confirmed when Scott starts whispering—not so discretely—to his boss.

"Hey, Doc. Sorry, I'm in class right now. Can I call you back later?" Scott whispers over the phone. "Doc, Doc, Doc, Doc? What's happening?" Scott asks frantically, making Bea look over her shoulder in concern.

Her concern deepens when the teen wolf pulls his phone from his ear, looking at the device with wide eyes. He glances at Stiles and Bea before grabbing his things, racing out of the classroom.

"Mr. McCall!" Ms. Blake exclaims, running out of the classroom after him.

Quickly, Stiles pulls his phone out of his pocket, hastily dialing his father's number while Bea and Lydia give him worried looks.

"Stiles, what's going on?" Bea asks while the rest of the students talk amongst themselves. The aforementioned boy looks up to her eyes with his own wide, worried, whiskey ones, his phone pressed to his ear.

"Deaton's the next sacrifice."

//

Bea is extremely hungry.

She fought as hard as she could against Stiles as he tried to drag her out of the school at the start of their lunch period. He insisted they go make sure Scott is okay; however, she insisted they eat first.

Unfortunately, Stiles won the battle.

"Would you stop pouting?" Stiles snips at the redhead sitting in his passenger seat, rolling his eyes at her bottom lip jutted out and arms folded over her chest.

"I'll stop pouting as soon as I get some food," Bea argues, defiantly looking out the windshield instead of at the boy driving.

The younger Stilinski lets out an exasperated sigh as they pull into the parking lot at Deaton's office. He has spent too much time at this pet hospital than even a person with a pet should.

"If I take you to get lunch after this, will you stop pouting?" Stiles pleads as he pulls into a parking space, turning off the Jeep.

Bea taps her pointer finger against her chin, contemplating the offer. With a roll of her beautiful eyes, she unbuckles her seat belt, opening the door. "Fine. Let's go protect your werewolf's ass."

Stiles chuckles as the two hop out of the Jeep, rushing toward the entrance of the vet hospital, taking notice of the several police cars parked in the lot. The bell rings as the two teens enter the building, the atmosphere noisy as police officers mill around, searching for clues. They spot Scott in a corner, talking to the Sheriff.

"All right, we're doing everything we can," the Sheriff assures, his eyes catching sight of his two kids. "Right now, the best thing you three can do is go back to school." He walks away before Stiles or Bea can say anything, leaving them with Scott.

Scott motions to one of the back rooms, beckoning for his friends to follow. They do, following the werewolf into the room with all the cat cages. "We have to tell him," Scott pushes as soon as the door closes.

Stiles' whiskey eyes widen in shock, as do Bea's. "You mean, like, tell him, tell him, or tell him something else that isn't what I think you want to tell him?" the boy asks pointlessly, already aware of the answer. Bea rolls her eyes.

"You know what I mean."

"You remember how your mother reacted? She didn't look you in the eye for, like, a week," Stiles rebuts.

"And she got over it, and...it actually made us closer," Scott persists.

"I don't know, dude. I mean, look at him. Come on, he's completely overwhelmed as it is," Stiles states, gesturing out the window in the door. The older man has bags under his eyes, frazzled as he talks to other officers.

"He's overwhelmed because he doesn't have even the slightest clue what's happening, Stiles," Bea agrees with Scott softly, putting her hand on the boy's shoulder. While understanding Stiles' reservations, she also believes it is time for Noah to know the truth.

"He's got people dying in his town; the town that he's supposed to protect," Scott furthers his argument. "And it's not his fault that he doesn't know what's happening. He's gonna find out sooner or later."

"Yeah, but is now really the right time?" Stiles questions, trying to find a way out of this conversation. Trying to find a way out of telling his father.

"What if not telling him now gets someone else killed?"

"What if telling him gets him killed, huh? I mean, okay, look, I get that Deaton's been like a father to you. I get that, okay? But this is my—Scott, this is my actual father. I can't—I can't lose both of my parents, all right? Not both of them."

Scott sighs, looking down at the ground as he nods his head. "You're right," he relents.

Stiles shakes his head, running a hand over his face. "No, I'm not," he admits, realizing he has just been putting off the inevitable. "I'm not right. I'll tell him."

"We'll help you," Bea offers with a small smile, Scott nodding along. Stiles returns her smile before the three exit the small room, walking back into the waiting room. All their eyebrows furrow when they spot their guidance counselor, Ms. Morell, talking to the Sheriff with her usual amount of emotion on her face. None.

"Please, whatever you need, however you can help find my brother," the small woman pleads as she talks with Sheriff Stilinski.

The Sheriff nods his head solemnly as the three teenagers look at each other with raised eyebrows. Brother? The Sheriff excuses himself, and Morrell walks over to the Three Musketeers.

"Okay, listen closely," she whispers, glancing around to make sure there is no one listening. "All of you. No sheriff, deputy, or detective is going to be able to find him."

"You don't have to ask us for help," Scott denies, more than willing to find his boss.

"Actually, I'm trying to help you, because if you're going to find my brother, then you need to use the two people who might actually have an ability to seek out the supernatural," Morrell explains, her brown eyes locked on Bea.

"Bea and Lydia."

//

"What are we doing?"

Bea's question goes ignored as Stiles drags her by her wrist through the empty halls of the school. Her stomach growls loudly, because despite Stiles' promise, she still has not had lunch.

"Stiles! You're hurting my wrist," Bea complains as they turn another corner, sliding across the floor.

Glancing back at her, he mutters an apology under as he slides his hand down to grasp hers instead of her wrist. She blushes at the contact, but does not have much time to mull it over as Stiles turns one last corner, pulling a fire alarm.

With widened eyes, Bea is about to yell at him until she is cut off once more, Stiles pulling her through the now crowded halls. They manage to snake passed a few teachers and into the boys' locker room. They move through the lockers and into Coach's office, finding an angry Cora Hale with a bag slung over her shoulder, gripping a frustrated Lydia's wrist.

"Let go," Lydia demands, wincing when Cora grips her wrist tighter. "I said—"

"Let go," Bea snaps, stepping forward slightly with Stiles' hand still gripping hers. The other two girls glance at her, one in relief, one in distain. "She said let go."

With a grunt, Cora lets go of Lydia's wrist, crossing her arms over her chest as the strawberry blonde rubs her aching limb. Bea rolls her eyes at the werewolf's childish behavior, detangling her hand from Stiles' and going over to her best friend.

Slightly disappointed by the loss of contact, Stiles follows after her, putting a hand at the small of her back as he leads all three girls toward Mr. Harris's classroom, shutting the door behind them.

Cora slips the messenger bag off her shoulder and pulls a box from it as Bea and Lydia sit at a lab table. Bea rolls her eyes from her spot next to Stiles as Cora pulls a Ouija board from the box, setting it on the table top.

"A Ouija board?" Lydia deadpans with a raised eyebrow after Stiles explains everything to them.

"Also called a spirit board," Bea pipes in.

"And it's worth a shot," Stiles persists, putting the planchette on the board upside down. Bea sighs, turning it the correct away.

"A shot in the dark," Lydia comments, Bea nodding in agreement.

"Could you just try it, please? Okay? Let's not forget who this is for. Scott's boss, the guy who has saved our collective asses on more than one occasion."

"Oh, wait. Should we all do this?" Cora asks, gesturing toward the wooden board.

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles affirms, all four of them placing their fingers on the planchette. He takes a deep breath before asking, "You guys ready?"

They all nod before Bea questions, "Where is Dr. Deaton?"

The four sit in silence, waiting for the two girls connected with death and pain to respond. When they notice Cora's and Stiles' eyes on them, they raise their eyebrows.

"What?" Lydia inquires.

"Aren't you gonna answer it?" Stiles asks.

"Oh, I don't know the answer."

"Neither do I. I thought we were asking some sort of spirit," Bea states, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Do you know any spirits?" Cora asks annoyed.

Lydia points at the girl, looking to Stiles. "Is she for real?"

Stiles sighs while Cora puts away the Ouija board, pulling out a ring of keys from his pocket. "These are Deaton's keys for the clinic. You're gonna close your eyes, and I'm gonna put 'em in your hand. And then we're just gonna see if you can feel out for his location. It's called psychometry," Stiles explains while Lydia puckers her lips.

"I'm not a psychic," Lydia states.

"I don't think I'm a psychic," Bea comments.

"You two are something! Okay? Just, Lydia, put out your hand. You'll go first, and then Bea will go."

Lydia sighs, but offers her hand in compliance as she closes her eyes. Stiles carefully places the keys in her open palm, and the strawberry blonde jumps a bit at the contact.

"What?" Stiles asks, his eyes widening in excitement.

"They're cold," Lydia responds, making Stiles' eyes widen further in annoyance, one of them twitching. Bea hides her smile with her hand.

"Lydia, concentrate, please? Trying to save lives here, for the love of God."

Rolling her eyes, Lydia starts to focus, gripping the keys in her hand as she tries to find Deaton. But she just...can't. She does not see anything. She does not hear anything. She does not feel anything.

"What is it? What do you see?" Stiles asks the strawberry blonde when she adjusts in her seat.

"Nothing," Lydia sighs, opening her eyes as everyone sighs. She tosses the keys onto the counter, a jingle resonating throughout the silent room.

"Okay, Bea," Stiles announces, picking up the keys again. "Your turn. You ready?"

Hesitantly, Bea nods, closing her eyes and holding her hand out. Stiles cups the underside of her hand with his, holding it as he places the keys in her pale palm.

A shock spreads through Bea's body, and suddenly, she is not looking at the back of her eyelids anymore. A bright, blue light invades her senses, the only thing she can see. As her vision pans out, a familiar face is revealed, pushing against an invisible barrier, the source of the blue light. Scott.

His hands push against the barrier toward Deaton, who hangs from a rope tied around his wrists from the ceiling. She cannot see the background of the scene, everything but Deaton and Scott black.

The werewolf pushes harder against the barrier, the blue light shining brighter. His eyes start to glow their supernatural amber, and then they gradually turn a different color.

They turn red.

A gasp breaks Bea from her vision as she drops the keys back onto the lab table, her eyes wide as she stares at them, a sharp pain in her left shoulder.

Stiles places his hand on her shoulder, causing her to jump, startled. Bea glances into his whiskey eyes with her wide ones, watching as his irises turn soft. "Hey, hey, hey. You're okay. What did you see?" he questions quietly, cupping her face in his hands as he tries to calm her down.

Warmth spreads through her body at his touch, quieting the pounding of her heart in her ears slightly. "I—I saw Deaton," she stutters, tears slipping down her cheeks at the overwhelming feeling she is experiencing. "He was hanging from a ceiling by his wrists, but I don't know where.

"Then, I saw Scott, and he was pushing against some invisible barrier created by mountain ash. There was a bright blue light, and Scott's eyes were glowing amber. But then—then they turned a...a blood red. I don't know where they were. I don't know what it means," she rushes out, her chest slightly heaving as she takes frantic breaths to get the words out.

Stiles rubs her cheekbones with his thumbs softly, trying to be gentle. "Hey, it's okay. You're doing great. Just—just try to calm down, okay? You're safe with us."

The girl nods her head, taking deep breaths as Stiles removes his hands from her face in favor of taking hold of one of her hands instead. His pale skin touches the coolness of the ring around her middle finger, sending a chill down his spine.

"We're gonna try something else," Stiles announces after a few moments, taking two pencils from his back pocket with his free hand while Cora takes out two notebooks, placing them in front of the ginger girls.

"Automatic writing?" Lydia guesses, sighing at the nod she receives from Stiles. Bea pulls her hand from Stiles', grabbing the pencil instead as Lydia copies her actions. They bring their pencils to the papers and start drawing.

"Bea, Lydia, what are you doing? What—what the hell is that?" Stiles inquires, looking down at their almost identical pictures.

"A tree," they say in sync, not taking their eyes of their respective drawings. Stiles wonders how they do that.

"A tr—" Stiles stops short, glancing at Cora. The she-wolf simply shrugs her shoulders. "Bea, Lydia, you're supposed to be writing words, like, in sentences; something like a location. Something that would tell us where he is!"

"Well, maybe you should've said that," Lydia snaps, making Cora groan.

"Aren't they supposed to be some kinds of geniuses?" the Hale asks, making Bea roll her eyes.

"Geniuses? Yes. Psychics? Not exactly," Bea retorts.

"Honestly, I don't know why you're even bothering with us, anyway. I mean, especially when it's obvious you should be talking to Danny," Lydia interjects, adding some finishing touches on her tree.

"What? Why Danny?" Stiles asks just as the classroom door opens, revealing Scott clutching his left shoulder. Bea immediately grips hers as well, realizing that is where her pain had been coming from.

"Because, last night, he was a target," the teen wolf explains. "But it wasn't a sacrifice."

"What happened to your shoulder?" Bea asks, massaging her own.

"Just Deucalion," Scott brushes it off like it is not a big deal. Bea is about to respond when Cora cuts her off.

"But isn't Danny still in the hospital?" Cora questions as they start walking from Harris's classroom.

"Yeah. That's where we're going now," Stiles informs, regaining his comforting hold on Bea's hand.

"I'll meet you there," Scott announces, walking ahead of them.

"Why?"

"I need to talk to Allison."

Stiles nods, motioning for him to go. The werewolf gives them a fleeting look before walking out of the door. The rest of them are about to start moving again when Bea starts to feel lightheaded. She plants her feet as she starts to sway, alerting Stiles of her distress.

Grabbing her by her shoulders, Stiles steadies the girl, looking at her paler than usual complexion. "Are you okay, Bea?"

Bea nods, unconvincingly. "Yeah, I'm okay. I just haven't eaten since this morning. But I think you should probably take me home. I don't want to slow you guys down," she explains, Stiles nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, you don't look so good. Right when you get home, I want you to get some food, and then go straight to your room and get some rest, okay?"

Snorting, Bea nods her head with a smirk. "Sure thing, mom."

Stiles rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless, slinging his arm around her shoulders as they walk out of the school toward his Jeep, Lydia and Cora following behind.

He thinks he could get used to this.

//

"Stay in the house, okay?"

Bea rolls her eyes at the demand she has heard three times in the past two minutes. "Okay, Stiles!" she exclaims, putting her hands on his shoulders and pushing him backwards toward the front door. "I get it! You can go, now."

With a sigh, Stiles relents, turning to the front door. "Okay, I'll leave. Just—just call me if you need anything, okay? I swear I'll come right—"

"Stiles, I'll be fine! You have bigger problems to worry about than me. Now, go. They need you. Go."

She cannot understand why he is acting this way. Just a few days ago, he did not even want to share a hotel room with her. This morning, he was acting like an annoying older brother. Now, he is acting like this is the last time they are ever going to see each other. Though, with their lives, it could as well be.

Stiles nods, starting to walk down the front steps, then seemingly changes his mind as he turns around and walks back, his sights set on Bea.

The girl rolls her eyes, putting her hands on her hips as she reprimands, "Stiles I said—"

Bea is cut off when the boy cups her face in his hands, placing a long, hard kiss to her soft, beautiful, red hair. He does not know why, but he has this feeling deep in his bones that something is going to go wrong.

"Be careful, okay?" he mumbles into her hair as she grips his biceps. She nods her head, the both of them pulling their heads back to look into each other's eyes.

"You, too," she whispers, a pit sitting in the bottom of her stomach. She has a similar feeling to him.

He looks like he wants to say more, but a honk prevents him from doing so. He whips his head around to ses Lydia holding her hand against the horn, a smirk on her big, red lips. Stiles rolls his eyes, glancing back at Bea.

"I mean it. If there's any trouble, just call me or Scott. We'll be here as soon as we can," Stiles reiterates. 

"Okay, I hear you. Now go!" Bea laughs, pushing him in the direction of his Jeep. With one last look, Stiles rushes to his Jeep, hopping in and swatting at Lydia's hand as he buckles his seat belt. The blue Jeep speeds off, leaving her to an empty house.

Or so she thought.

Bea rolls her eyes with a smile, closing the door and locking it before turning around. A scream leaves her lips as she pushes herself back against the door, a figure appearing before her.

Aiden.