"Allison," Lydia says. "When you said you needed to stop for an errand before we went shopping, a five-mile hike in the woods was not what I was expecting."
It was not what I was expecting either, but I have to say it's not bad. I enjoy shopping sometimes too though, and I was glad when Allison and Lydia asked me, because I'm desperate to do something normal and not anxiety-inducing for a change.
"Before I forget, I wanted to ask if you're okay with something. Jackson asked me to the winter formal," Allison says, and I suddenly feel quite uncomfortable witnessing this conversation. I'm also kind of confused as to why Allison would want to take Jackson to the formal, which is in a couple days.
"Did he?" Lydia just asks, careful not to let any emotions show on her face.
"Yeah. Just as friends. But I just wanted to make sure you're okay with it first."
"Sure. As long as it's just friends," Lydia says, and it's sad how clearly she's trying to hide that she doesn't like it.
"Well, yeah, I mean- it's not like I would take him to the coach's office during lacrosse practice to make out with him or anything," Allison says casually, and I wince as if that burn is actually hurting me.
"Oh god, Allison," I mutter.
"Uh, about that..." Lydia begins. "I'm sorry."
Lydia Martin said she was sorry. And I witnessed this historical moment.
"I accept your apology," Allison says.
"I think you're kind of even now," I say, wanting the subject to change to something less sensitive and awkward. "Besides, I'm sure Lydia has someone else who'll be her servant at the formal, right?"
Lydia just looks at me and opens her eyes a bit wider.
"I'm keeping my options open," she says. "How about you?"
"I'm gonna go alone and watch everyone get drunk," I say honestly.
"Wait, you're not going with someone?" Allison asks, surprised.
"Uh, no," I say, frowning.
"No one asked you?"
"No? Why are you surprised?" I ask.
"I- I was just thinking that-... never mind," Allison says.
"What are we doing here anyway?'" Lydia asks.
"I wanted to try this out," Allison says, getting a bow and arrow out of her bag. I recognise the arrow, it's one of our exploding ones.
"Where did you get that?" I ask her.
"I found it," she says, and a worrying thought forms in the back of my mind. Chris or Kate don't just leave weapons lying around in the house. So unless Allison deliberately searched through our weapons, someone left it for her to find. And if that's true, that someone is definitely Kate.
I can't imagine how much more danger Allison would be in if she became a hunter, and I can't let Kate throw her into that life. After this, I need to go talk to her.
"What does that do?" Lydia asks, looking at the arrow.
"We're about to find out," Allison says, shooting the arrow at a tree in the distance. Just like I expected, it explodes.
"What the hell was that?" Lydia asks.
"I don't know," Allison says.
"It was an explosion," I say matter-of-factly.
"Well, that was fun! Any more lethal weapons you wanna try out?" Lydia asks Allison.
"Hold this," she says all of a sudden, giving the bow to Lydia.
"What? Why?"
"Because I thought I heard something."
That something turns out to be Scott, who's immediately tazed by Allison - who has a tazer, I know. Once he's standing up again, he hands her the necklace back that he 'found'.
I'm just about to tell everyone that I'm heading home, so I can go talk to Kate, when my phone buzzes with a text from Stiles.
'About to get my dad drunk for information about the murders. Need moral support. Be my Robin?'
'We both know I'm Batman. I'll be there asap.'
***
Stiles pours his dad a glass of whiskey - a very full glass of whiskey - and tries to get a look at the sheriff's documents.
"Any leads?"
"You know I can't discuss that with you," Mr. Stilinski says, glancing at me, then at the glass of whiskey. "Not too much."
"Okay," Stiles says, even though there's already way too much whiskey in the glass. "There you go, dad," he hands him the glass, and the sheriff takes it without looking.
"Thanks."
"Bottoms up," Stiles says, and his dad downs the whole thing at once. I catch Stiles' eyes. This won't take long.
***
"You know, Derek Hale would be a whole hale of a lot- Hale of a lot?" Stiles' dad is so drunk by now, he can't even form logical sentences anymore. Great.
"Hell of a lot?" I suggest.
"Hell. Yes. He would be a hell of a lot easier to catch if we could get an actual picture of him."
"How do you not have a picture of him?" Stiles asks.
"It's the weirdest thing. It's like every time we tried to get a mug shot, it's like two- laser beams were pointing at the camera," he says, showing us a picture that's supposed to show Derek - behind the beams of light.
"Nice," I say. It must have something to do with the werewolf eyes.
"Oh my god," the sheriff says, suddenly realising what he's doing. "God, that ounce hit me like a brick. And I have said way too much, and if you repeat any of that-"
"Dad, it's me. I'm not gonna say anything. Neither will Grace. Come on," Stiles convinces his dad, and due to the large amount of alcohol in his blood, he gives in.
"See, the thing is they're all connected. I mean, the bus driver that got killed, he was an insurance investigator assigned to the Hale house fire."
Stiles gives me a look, but my eyes are on the document in front of me.
"Terminated under suspicion of fraud," I read out loud.
"Exactly."
"Who else?" I ask.
"The video store clerk who got his throat slashed - I'm sorry about you having to see that, by the way, Grace - he's a convicted felon, history of arson."
My mind is racing by now, knowing there's a logical conclusion in here somewhere, but I can't get to it.
"What about the other two guys, the guys who got killed in the woods?" Stiles asks.
"Priors all over their records, including-"
"Arson," Stiles says. "So maybe they all had something to do with the fire."
Oh god. It's way too obvious. If Peter's killing everyone he thinks is responsible for the fire... then my family's next.
"Another shot?" Stiles asks his dad.
"No, no, no, no more."
"Dad, come on. You work really hard, all right? You deserve it," Stiles says.
"Oh my god, I'm gonna have such a hangover."
"You mean you're gonna have such a good night's sleep," Stiles says, pouring him another glass. "And I'm gonna have an eternity in the lowest circle of hell," he mutters. I would've laughed if I wasn't freaking out. Because if it's true, I'm gonna be in hell too, very soon.
***
"Stiles, there's just so many questions," Mr. Stilinski slurs.
"Like what?" he asks.
"Like if Derek... wanted to kill everyone involved with the fire. Then why start with his sister? I mean, she had nothing to do with it. Why make it look like some kind of animal did it? When that cougar ended up in the parking lot, I checked with animal control. You know the instances of wild animal reports were up 70% over the past few months? It's like they're just going crazy, running out of the woods. I don't know."
"Or something's scaring them out," Stiles mutters. 'Something' meaning Peter, I guess. Stiles looks at me and I nod. We have enough information.
"You know, I miss talking to you. It's like we never have time-" the sheriff begins, but Stiles cuts him off.
"Dad, you know, I have to make a phone call. I'm sorry. We'll be right back," he says, and we're both walking out of the room, but we stop when Mr. Stilinski starts talking again.
"I do. I miss it. And I miss your mom."
It hits me hard, this sentence, because that and the fire and Peter, all of it just makes me think of my parents. And I miss them.
"What'd you say?" Stiles asks, sounding choked up, and I feel like I have to get out of here to give them, and myself, some space to think. So I get to the veranda, looking at the darkness outside through the window, and let my thoughts drift to those tough subjects for once.
All of this, Peter's killing sprees, Derek, my parents, it's all because of the fire. More people are going to die, that's for certain, and because Peter still thinks my family caused the fire, they're definitely in danger. And lately it seems like everyone is convinced they did it, for some reason. I mean, just because Derek's dead sister mentioned the necklace, doesn't mean we actually did it. Okay, my parents were there, but there's no way they had anything to do with it. No way.
God, I miss them so much. And I'm scared of losing the memories I have with them, scared of just forgetting. There's a necessary balance between moving on and remembering that I just can't get right. Actually, I think I usually do neither of those two and just repress everything.
"Are you okay?"
He's behind me somewhere, but I don't turn to look.
"Yeah. Just thinking," I say.
"Tell me," Stiles says. "Please."
"He's gonna kill my family. My aunts, my uncle, probably me, maybe- maybe Allison. And it's so hard without my parents and if I lost anyone else I don't know how... It just can't happen. And I'm convinced my family didn't do it, you know, but... what if they did? And what if- And my parents were there, yeah, but they didn't do it, I know that," my voice breaks, and I still can't look at him right now so I just keep staring through the window. "My parents read me fairy tales every night before I went to sleep. They didn't burn down houses and kill entire families."
I'm rubbing my eyes to avoid any tears from falling when his arms wrap around my waist from behind. I tense up, but let him turn me around and pull me into a hug.
"I believe you," he says, his voice low, and I put my arms around his neck, holding on tight, as tight as him. That's how we stay, for a long time, until he moves his head to press a kiss to my temple.
It's without a doubt the best hug I've ever had, and I take a deep breath, taking it all in. All of the contact makes my skin tingle, something that has happened a few times before, I remember now, and Stiles always understands, he always does, and he's so hilarious and ridiculous, but ridiculously smart as well, and there's just something about him that's so-
Oh.
Oh no.
I have such a massive crush on him.
And, thinking about it for the first time, it all makes sense now. Because I've kind of always felt this way. And I was just so focused on the little details of him that I couldn't see the big picture of what was happening to me.