[ tried to update quickly so you weren't left on that semi-cliffhanger. but was is a cliffhanger if we all knew who was carrying willow?

i believe there's like a 1-3 week gap give or take between the end of the last episode and this one, though it's not super clear. so it jumps back and forth from the beginning of this episode and just after the events of the last chapter

and if you don't like allison or have a love/hate relationship with her, these next few chapters are for you guys. you'll be valid for going off in the comments ]

☽︎

i can't lose you, willow. i wouldn't survive it.

[ 2.11 ]

NOW

Stiles sat across the desk from Ms. Morrell, trying to distract himself from the mandatory meeting by re-stringing his lacrosse stick. It made it easier to drone on if he didn't look into her cold, calculating eyes. Weren't guidance counselors supposed to be comforting?

"You know when you're drowning, you don't actually inhale until right before you blackout. It's called voluntary apnea," Stiles said, thinking of what Matt must have gone through in his last moments. "It's like no matter how much you're freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won't open your mouth until you feel like your head's exploding. But then when you finally do let it in, that's when it stops hurting. It's not scary anymore. It's - it's actually kind of peaceful."

"Are you saying you hope Matt felt some peace in his last moments?" Morrell asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't feel sorry for him."

"Can you feel sorry for the nine-year-old Matt who drowned?" she asked.

"Just because a bunch of dumbasses dragged him into a pool when he couldn't swim doesn't really give him the right to go off killing them one by one," he said snarkily. "And by the way, my dad told me that they found a bunch of pictures of Willow on Matt's computer — way more than we thought there'd be. And not just of her though. I mean, he photoshopped himself into these pictures. Stuff like them holding hands and kissing. You know, like he had built this whole fake relationship. So yeah, maybe drowning when he was nine years old was what sent him off the rails, but the dude was definitely riding the crazy train."

"And Willow—"

"I don't wanna talk about Willow," Stiles said, his throat feeling tight. 

Morrell nodded, knowing she'd need to wait until they were well into the session to bring her up again. "One positive thing came out of this, though. Right?"

Stiles nodded, knowing that she was referring to his father getting his job as the sheriff back. "Yeah. Yeah, but I still feel like there's something wrong between us. I don't know. It's just like tension when we talk. Same thing with Scott."

"Have you talked to him since that night?"

"No, not really. Not even when we were at the hospital waiting to — I mean, he's got his own problems to deal with though. I don't think he's talked to Allison either. But that might be more her choice, you know. Her mom dying hit her pretty hard. But I guess it brought her and her dad closer."

Stiles didn't really care about Allison. Not after she put her vendetta against Derek as a higher priority than everything else. Higher than the kanima. Than Matt. Than Willow.

Before a stray bullet knocked the security camera feed out, they watched as Allison walked right past Willow bleeding out on the floor. She didn't even stop to check on her. Just kept looking for Derek.

How could she go from threatening to kill Matt for even looking at Willow to moving past her dying body without trying to help?

If only that camera had stayed intact. Then they'd have some answers as to what really happened to Willow that night.

"Jackson?" Stiles repeated when Morrell asked. "Jackson hasn't really been himself lately. Actually, the funny thing is, as of right now, Lydia is the one who seems the most normal."

"And what about you, Stiles?" Morrell questioned. "Feeling some anxiety about that championship game tomorrow night?"

"Why would you ask me that?" he asked defensively. But then he realized he had been nervously biting the strings of his net instead of tying them. "Ah. Uh, no. I - I never actually play. But hey, since one of my teammates is dead and another one's missing, who knows, right?"

"You mean, Isaac. One of the three runaways. You haven't heard from any of them, have you? The last time they were spotted was in the hospital visiting her. Now they're gone."

"How come you're not taking any notes on this?" Stiles asked instead of answering.

"I do my notes after the session," she informed him.

"Your memory's that good?"

"How about we get back to you?" she asked, turning it around. "Stiles?"

"I'm fine," he said, shrugging. "Yeah, aside from the not sleeping, the jumpiness, the constant, overwhelming, crushing fear that something terrible's about to happen."

"It's called hyper-vigilance, the persistent feeling of being under threat," she told him.

"But it's not just a feeling, though. It's - it's like it's a panic attack. You know, like I can't even breathe."

"Like you're drowning?"

"Yeah."

"So if you're drowning, and you're trying to keep your mouth closed until that very last moment, what if you choose to not open your mouth? To not let the water in?"

"You do anyway. It's a reflex."

"But if you hold off until that reflex kicks in, you have more time, right?" she asked.

"Not much time," he mumbled.

"But more time to fight your way to the surface?"

"I guess," Stiles said, not understanding why she was still pressing.

"More time to be rescued?"

"More time to be in agonizing pain. I mean, did you forget about the part where you feel like your head's exploding?" he asked.

"If it's about survival, isn't a little agony worth it?" Morrell asked.

"But what if it just gets worse? What if it's agony now and then - and it's just hell later on?"

"Then think about something Winston Churchill once said — If you're going through hell, keep going."

"Not everyone is made to keep going," Stiles mumbled, looking at his lap. "Not everyone goes through hell and comes out stronger. Even if they survive."

"I thought you said you didn't want to talk about Willow," Morrell noted, knowing exactly what was running through his mind. Who was.

Stiles sighed and rubbed his head in frustration. "I can't - I can't even walk down the hall with her locker. All the cards and candles and stuffed animals and pictures. It's - it's like they think she's dead."

"But she's not dead," she reminded him.

"No," he mumbled, shaking his head.

"The way you act when her name is brought up makes it seem like she is, though. Why is that?"

"B - because she almost was. We thought she was when we couldn't find her. We spent hours trying to find her only for her to be at the hospital. Who - who the hell brought her there? And then it was three agonizing days of waiting. Three days of holding our breath and crying every time the heart monitor flatlined. Three days of waiting for her to stabilize. Three days of listening to the doctors say they didn't know if she was going to make it," Stiles said, his eyes watering.

It had been awful for all of them. Terrifying to see someone they all loved so much in such horrible condition. But Willow had made it eventually. She was in no condition to come back to school, though. So, every day that she was absent from class was a reminder that Willow wasn't fine and that she'd almost died.

"I haven't - I haven't been that scared since - since my mom," he said, putting his head between his knees so that he wouldn't have to look at Morrell.

"Have you spoken to her much?"

"Every day," he said, biting his lip. "Lydia does too. And when you talk to her, it's like she's herself but she... isn't. She's on edge. She's scared."

"But Matt's dead."

"Matt's not the only scary thing out there," Stiles said quietly. Matt was dead, but everything was far from over.

"You said you and Lydia. The others haven't visited her? Even now that she's home?"

"Scott - Scott tries but sometimes he goes a few days. Like I said, he's got his own problems at home. I think he feels guilty," he said. "Guilty because he couldn't stop Matt. But tonight, uh, tonight, Willow's dad is taking a short shift at the emergency room. It's his first time going back to work since she got shot. So, Scott's gonna bring her to the vet clinic with him. The animals might be nice to be around."

"Any other visitors?"

"Danny, some of the cheerleaders. I know Willow wants to see Jackson and Allison but it's just - she's just not a priority for them anymore, I guess."

For Allison at least. Jackson, as far as excuses went, had a pretty solid reason. Gerard wouldn't release him long enough to let him even think about visiting Willow. And even then, he didn't trust himself to not hurt her.

"Do you think her returning to school next week will make it easier to walk down the hallway? Even if they keep dropping off cards and gifts, Willow will be there to clean it up and remind you that she's alright. That she's healing."

"She's probably gonna make me lug it all back to her car," Stiles grumbled, though he wasn't annoyed. If anything, the expectation made him smile. "It'll be worth it though."

"Because she's alive to boss you around."

"Yeah," he said, chuckling. "I'll never complain about her asking me to do things ever again."

Morrell raised an eyebrow. "A bold declaration from someone who likes to complain as much as you do."

Stiles thought for a moment before nodding. "You're right. I give her until the wound scars over."

☽︎

THEN

The first time that Willow woke up in the hospital — well, remembered waking up — was four days after the incident in the police station and being shot. And Warren was thankful to have been the first face his daughter saw.

A dull, throbbing pain in her abdomen was the first thing that Willow registered. She also felt groggy and slowly moved a hand to rub her tired eyes before opening them. Only she stopped when she felt some kind of tubing wrapped around her cheeks and under her nose.

An oxygen tube?

It was hard to peel her eyes open given how long it'd been since they were last used. There was a light above her head, but someone had dimmed it so that it wasn't as overwhelming.

Willow took a minute to remember as much as she could before looking around. Her thoughts were slow, but they came nonetheless. Lydia's party. The police station. Matt and the kanima. Scott, Stiles, Derek, Noah, Melissa. Finally discovering why Matt had done all this in the first place.

She also remembered being shot.

Suddenly, a fast-paced beeping hit her ears — a heart monitor speeding up.

Willow blinked repeatedly, frantically looking at her surroundings. There was barely time to process the blank white walls and machines hooked up to her before someone was at her side, holding her hand.

It was Warren, who had dozed off but snapped awake as soon as he heard even the slightest change in the heart monitor. The steady beep was the only thing keeping him sane — and it hadn't been that steady for the first three days. To see her awake was a relief.

"Wha - wh—" Willow cut herself off with a cough, her throat in horrible pain. They had only just taken out the breathing tube that morning.

"Shh," Warren said, smoothing down her hair. "It's alright. You're alright. You're in the hospital."

"M - Matt - Matt, he - where—"

"Matt's dead, Willow. He's not going to hurt you again," he assured her. And Willow managed to find a little comfort in that, though she instantly wondered what happened. "Everyone else is alright. Scott, Stiles, Melissa, Noah — they're all okay. The Sheriff got the worst of it with a concussion."

When had Noah gotten his position back?

"What - what happened?" Willow asked, getting out her first full sentence. "I mean, I - I remember but not - not after."

Warren sighed softly and squeezed her hand. "All of the remaining security cameras that Matt hadn't already taken care of were somehow destroyed, so they aren't really sure, especially since Noah and Melissa were locked away. They brought in officers from the next county over to help with the investigation but they're all scratching their heads to figure out how a sixteen-year-old boy murdered a third of the police force."

Willow didn't say anything or interrupt. She couldn't. If she went on about kanimas and werewolves then her father would think she was crazy. Besides, she didn't want her father to know, especially if it could end up putting him in danger down the line.

"Sweetheart," he said softly. "I know that you said you don't remember, but now that you're awake, the police will need to question you. Scott helped fill in a lot of gaps, but do you have any idea how you got to the hospital?"

"What?" she asked, eyebrows scrunched up.

"Scott, Stiles, and their parents have no idea how you got here or who brought you. Somebody carried you in, covered in blood, and left you with the night shift nurse at the front door. The cameras didn't catch who, and Nurse Lola couldn't give a good description of him because she was focused on you."

"He just brought me and took off?"

It couldn't have been Derek, could it? He would've stayed, there wasn't a doubt in Willow's mind about that.

"I don't know if it was a Good Samaritan or someone that was hiding from Matt in the station, but it's a miracle he got you here on time," he told her. Then Warren's already red eyes began to water, a sign that this wasn't the first time he'd cried. "Baby, you don't know how... close I was to losing you."

"I'm right here," she told him softly.

"Yeah, you are," he said, smoothing down her hair as he smiled.

"Sorry if me almost dying pulled focus away from what I hope was a successful date," Willow said, suddenly recalling his plans from that night.

Warren chuckled and shook his head. "As Ron Weasley once said, you need to sort out your priorities, Will."

"Did you kiss her?" she asked, grinning.

"That's none of your business."

"Well, if you plan to keep kissing her, someone needs to shave," she noted. Willow reached out and poked her father's jaw, who was sporting the beginnings of a beard. "I know for a fact Natalie and Lydia both hate beards."

Warren rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair while scratching his neck. He hadn't really been home long enough to shave, too worried about Willow. Now that she was awake, he'd take better care of himself.

"You don't like it?" he asked, tilting his head. "Thought I'd copy Derek's look."

Willow hesitated, seeing the teasing smile on her father's lips. "You... you've met Derek?"

"Oh, yes. He hardly ever leaves the hospital — in fact, he'll be very jealous that he missed you waking up," he told her. "There are only two visitors allowed in the room at a time, and I've heard him, Stiles, and Lydia bicker like children for days about which of them gets to sit in here with me. Finally, Lydia came up with a schedule."

He nodded to the other side of the room, and Willow turned to see a whiteboard with a table set up, including time slots with each of their names. There was also a massive amount of balloons and stuffed animals and cards that were set aside, a sign that many people had come to check on her in the last four days.

"You know," Warren said, getting her attention once more. It seemed he wasn't done talking about Derek. "When you told me his name was Derek, I didn't quite picture Derek Hale who was once accused of murder."

"H - he was proven innocent," she stuttered out. Willow really didn't want her father to hate Derek because of the whole fugitive business. "Do you - I mean, after spending time with him, do—"

"Do I like him?" he finished, giving her a knowing look. "Why's it matter if I like him if you two aren't together?"

"It's... complicated," was all she could think of. Honestly, she had fully planned to go to Derek the day after the full moon to talk about getting back together. "But maybe, I don't know, if he still wants to."

"Trust me, he wants to," Warren said chuckling. "That young man is in love with you, darling."

"I don't know about love," Willow said. But the notion did put a smile on her face. "Do you know when he'll be back? I'm really tired, but I don't wanna fall back asleep and miss him."

"I think it'll be another hour or so — said something about helping Isaac with something. I'm sure he'll be here when you wake up," he said as Willow nodded. "I'm gonna call Melissa to come check on you and let her know you've finally woken up. Are you in any pain?"

"Yeah. It's pretty dull but still there," she said.

"I'll ask her to bring something for it. And it'll help you get to sleep."

☽︎

The next time Willow woke up, her father wasn't in the room, but there was someone she wanted to see just as badly. Derek had his chair pulled to the edge of her bed and his forehead was resting on his arm on the mattress by her elbow. He seemed to be asleep, and Willow contemplated letting him. But the medicines that she was on made her tired, and she wasn't sure when she'd be awake next so didn't want to miss her chance.

"Derek," Willow had called softly. Her throat still hurt, so she couldn't be much louder even if she wanted to. As she spoke, she gently brushed her fingers against his wrist.

He was up in an instant — even in his sleep, his ears were straining, desperate to hear her voice for the first time in days. Derek sighed in relief when he saw her blue eyes open and trained on him.

"Sorry for waking you," she said before he could even speak. "You look really tired."

"Don't - don't apologize," he said, shaking his head. "Do you need anything? Water? Something for pain? I can call Scott's mom."

Willow was the one to shake her head this time with a soft smile. "No, I don't need anything. I just... wanted to see you."

Derek swept up Willow's hand to hold it tightly, bringing her fingertips to his lips. "Willow, I am so sorry."

"What could you be sorry for?" she asked, growing confused.

"I left you. If I had been with you that night of the party, I would've been there when you went to the station. Instead, I went in blind, and you got shot. I promised to protect you and I did a lousy job."

"It's not your fault, Derek. It was an impossible situation and none of us knew it was going to go so horribly," Willow told him, trying to ease any guilt he was shouldering. "And I'm okay. We're all alive. I'm alive."

"But you almost weren't," he said, his voice raising a little. "Willow, I heard that gun go off. I heard you scream. Heard your body drop and I couldn't do anything."

"Der—"

"I've lost a lot of people in my life," Derek continued. He had to get his thoughts out now that she was finally awake. "And I haven't been that scared since—" He paused before reaching forward to gently cup her face, brushing his thumb along her cheek. "I can't lose you, Willow. I wouldn't survive it."

Willow leaned into his touch, savoring the comfort that the warmth of it gave her. "I'm not going anywhere."

☽︎

NOW

While Willow would always prefer cats to dogs, that didn't mean she didn't enjoy their company. So, when Scott brought her to the animal clinic with him — her first official outing back into the world — she was content to sit in a chair that was pulled up to the table and gently pet the dog on it as Dr. Deaton prepared a shot to give him.

"You're a very good patient, Noodle," Willow said, resting her chin on the table as she spoke with the dog. "And I bet you're not scared of needles like Stiles."

Scott snorted from the side as he sorted through some files. Then the doorbell rang, signaling that someone entered the building.

"Would you mind seeing who that is?" Deaton asked Scott, still measuring out the medicine.

However, before Scott even reached the door, all the dogs in the back room began barking uncontrollably — a werewolf. Deaton set the needle down to go check while Scott followed. He also held back a hand, signaling for Willow to stay put.

It was simply Isaac at the door, standing with his shoulders hunched and hands stuffed in his pockets. Deaton, seeing no threat, opened the wooden gate separating the waiting room from them. "It's okay, Isaac. We're open."

Isaac slowly shuffled back into the operating room. He smiled softly at Willow while walking over to her. Whatever reason he had for showing up, he didn't disclose right away and instead let Deaton and Scott get back to work.

"Why does it smell like that?" Isaac asked as Deaton finished giving Noodle his shot. Both Scott and Deaton shared a knowing look, which he obviously noticed. "What?"

"Scott said almost the same thing to me a few months ago," Deaton told him. "One day he could somehow tell the difference between which animals were getting better and which were not."

"He's not getting better, is he?" he asked knowingly. "Like cancer."

"Osteosarcoma. It has a very distinct scent, doesn't it?" Deaton asked. Then he nodded for Isaac to come closer to him. "Come here. I know you're well aware of what your new abilities can do for you. Improved strength, speed, and healing. You ever wonder what it could do for others? Give me your hand. Go on."

Willow watched curiously as Deaton placed Isaac's hand to Noodle's side. Slowly, black veins traveled through Isaac's hand and up his arm. Noodle seemed to let out a relieved breath as Isaac tensed up.

"What did I do?" Isaac asked, pulling his hand away and studying it like it was a foreign object.

"You took some of his pain away," Scott explained.

"Only a little bit. But sometimes a little can make quite a difference," Deaton added.

"I didn't know you guys could do that," Willow said, her eyes watering. At least they were happy tears, glad that Noodle found some relief.

"Derek and I spent a good amount of time taking yours while you were still in the hospital," he admitted. Then he looked back at Isaac. He had his hand to his nose as a few tears slipped out. "It's okay. First time he showed me, I cried too."

Willow stood and moved to Isaac's side, wrapping her arms around his waist. He hugged her back, though gently because of her still-healing side.

As Willow stood there in Isaac's arms, she looked at the dog. A thought crossed her mind — or rather a hazy memory. She couldn't remember a lot after being shot but in that moment, Willow was almost sure that her pain had lessened when her mystery savior carried her to the hospital.

But there weren't any other werewolves in town. So she must have been imagining things. 

"They're leaving tonight, during the game," Isaac said once Deaton finished up and took Noodle from the room.

Willow knew he was talking about Erica and Boyd. With the hunters and the kanima in addition to what happened at the police station, they finally realized that being a werewolf wasn't all that glamorous. They wanted to get out of Beacon Hills and that meant leaving Derek and his pack.

"So, why are you telling me?" Scott asked.

"I'm not telling you. I'm asking you. I'm asking for your advice," he admitted.

"From me?" Scott asked in disbelief. He and Isaac weren't exactly friends. "Why?"

"Because I trust you."

Again, it was hard for Scott to believe. "Why?"

"Because you always seem to want to do the right thing," he said, shrugging.

"I usually have no idea what I'm doing," Scott admitted, chuckling. "Actually I always have no idea what I'm doing."

"Do you want to let me know what you're doing right now?" Isaac asked.

"I'm not going anywhere if that's what you mean. I have too many people here who need me," he answered while glancing at Willow.

"Well, I guess that makes me lucky cause, uh, cause I don't have anyone, so," Isaac muttered before slowly walking to the door.

"That's not true, Isaac," Willow spoke up. She didn't have much say when it came to werewolf business, but she'd never allow Isaac to think he was alone. "You've got me — and Derek even if he's not the most friendliest of faces."

Isaac nodded, knowing that it was true.

"Are you gonna go with them?" Scott asked hesitantly.

"Yeah," he answered after a minute. Willow was crushed by the decision, not wanting to lose yet another friend. "Yeah, I think I will. Good luck with the game though."

"Well, thanks, but I'm not - I'm not going either. Can't even think about playing some meaningless game right now," Scott said, shaking his head.

Isaac peered at him, a nervous glint in his eyes. "You weren't at practice last week, were you?"

"No, I skipped it. Why?" he asked.

"Then you didn't hear?"

"Hear what?" Willow asked. She was also out of the loop, having not been to school in weeks, let alone cheerleading practice which was held at the same time as lacrosse.

"Jackson was there," Isaac revealed, shocking them both.

"What do you mean "there"? Like, he was—"

"As if nothing had happened," Isaac claimed.

"Really?" Isaac nodded. "That means - the game tonight?"

"Yeah. He's playing."

☽︎

Warren kept his arm around Willow's shoulder as they walked to the bleachers on the lacrosse field. The team would be coming out any time to begin warming up, and the stands were already flooded in anticipation for the championship game. Even though she wasn't well enough to cheer, she still dressed out in her uniform.

"Are you sure you feel alright? Cold? I can grab an extra sweater from the car," he offered, wanting to make sure she wasn't uncomfortable.

"I'm alright," she assured him. "There's Mr. Stilinski. Wanna sit with him? There's room for Melissa and the Martins when they get here too."

"Lead the way," he said, nodding to the sheriff. Noah was only on the second row, so there wasn't much climbing to reach him. "You don't need Derek to appear and carry you again, do you?"

Willow's cheeks heated up at the teasing remark — her father had an infinite amount of them since meeting Derek. This one in particular was referencing the day she came home from the hospital.

Derek came to help, of course. And once Willow took a look at the imposing, grand staircase in her home, she declared she'd rather sleep on the couch for a few days than attempt to climb them. Then all of the sudden, the werewolf swooped down and effortlessly lifted Willow, carrying her up the stairs.

Meanwhile, Warren was behind him and making kissy faces at Willow, who had never been so embarrassed by her father's behavior in her life.

"I think I can climb two stairs," Willow mumbled, doing just that.

"Hey, Willow. Feeling better?" Noah asked, leaning forward to look past Warren at her.

"I am. Really glad to get out of the house," she told him. "Sorry Stiles has been spending so much time at mine instead of yours."

Noah scoffed playfully. "Your family can keep him for all I care."

"Now don't get ahead of yourself," Warren joked.

The three of them sat for a little while longer, eventually being joined by Melissa as the players came from the locker room to run warmup drills. Willow spotted Jackson almost immediately and tensed up. But then after a moment, she mustered up a bit of courage and stood up.

"Hey, Dad, I'm gonna go wish Jackson and Scott good luck."

"Alright. Don't wander off," he said, still wary about her being on her own. If he hadn't of had to go back to work, he very well would have gone with her to the animal clinic the day before.

Willow slowly made her way from the bleachers and toward Jackson, who was standing by himself and adjusting the strap on one of his gloves. But he froze when he spotted her coming closer.

"Hi, Jack," she greeted softly.

"Willow, you need to stay away from me," he said, clenching his jaw and taking a step back. "You just - you just need to give up on me before I hurt you even more."

Willow shook her head, not wanting to listen. "I am never going to give up on you, Jackson. And I won't let the others. We're gonna find a way to save you from Gerard and the kanima. I—"

"No," he interrupted as she tried to get closer. "No. I don't deserve it or you, and I think we both know there's no saving me. So just give up before things get even worse."

Jackson ran out on the field, not giving Willow a chance to say anything more. Doing her best to not cry over potentially losing Jackson, she then made her way over to the bench, where both Scott and Stiles were sitting.

"Why are you on the bench, Scott?" Willow asked, frowning. She took a seat in between the two as she did. "Coach is gonna yell at you if you don't start warming up."

"I'm not playing," he mumbled, clearly upset about the decision. It wasn't his choice.

"But it's the final," she said, shaking her head. That made no sense considering he was the best player on the team.

"I'm failing three classes which means I'm not academically eligible," he explained. "Gerard told Coach that I couldn't be on the field because of it."

"But - but we'll lose! Isaac and Boyd are gone. There's no telling if Jackson's going to play like he normally does. They need you," she argued.

But it was pointless. The rule was there for a reason, though Gerard certainly pointed it out to Coach for something else. He didn't want Scott on the field, which told them that Gerard was planning something — they just didn't know what. 

"Your dad coming?" Scott asked, looking to Stiles.

"Yeah, he's already here," he answered, nodding to the bleachers where all three of their parents were sitting.

"You seen Allison?" he asked.

"No, you seen Lydia?"

"Not yet."

"You know what's going on?"

"Not yet," Scott muttered.

"It's going to be bad, isn't it?" Stiles asked. "I mean, like people screaming, running for their lives, blood, killing, maiming kind of bad?"

Scott sighed heavily, feeling like the weight of the entire world was on his shoulders. "Looks like it."

Stiles, too, sighed heavily. "Scott, the other night seeing my dad get hit over the head by Matt, hearing Will get shot, you know, while I'm just lying there and I can't even move, it just - I want to help, you know, but I can't do the things that you can do. I can't—"

"It's okay," Scott told him. And Willow leaned her head on Stiles' shoulder.

"We're losing, dude," he muttered.

"The hell are you talking about?" Coach Finstock asked, appearing behind them as he heard the last bit of the conversation. "Game hasn't even started. Worthington, off my bench. And Stilinski, put on your helmet and get out there. You're in for Greenberg."

All three of them looked at Coach with wide, surprised eyes. But none of them were as surprised as Stiles. "What? What happened to Greenberg?"

"What happened to Greenberg? He sucks! You suck slightly less," he stated.

"I'm playing? On the field? With the team?" Stiles asked in disbelief, still trying to wrap his head around it.

"Yes, unless you'd rather play with yourself."

"I already did that today, twice."

"Gross," Willow said, grimacing. That was her cue to get up and leave. But she did stop and kiss Stiles on the cheek. "Good luck, Non-Benchwarmer."

"Get the hell out there!" Coach shouted as Willow made her way back to the stands.

She was grinning excitedly as she took her seat beside her father, glad that Stiles was finally getting his chance on the field, even if it was the last game. Noah, spotting Stiles leave the bench, groaned in annoyance and rubbed his forehead.

"Oh, no. Why is my son running out to the field?" he asked, earning amused looks from Melissa and Warren.

"Because he's on the team?" Melissa reminded him, holding back a laugh.

Noah took his head out of his hands, realizing what was going on. "He is."

"He sure is," Warren said, chuckling.

"He's on the team," Noah said, still processing. Then he stood up in the stands to shout excitedly. "He's - he's on the field. My son is on the field!"

Willow giggled, knowing that Stiles was likely embarrassed as everyone looked to Noah in the stands. He awkwardly sat back down but never dropped his excited smile. Then just as the game was beginning, Lydia and her mother arrived.

They did some shifting around so that Willow was in between her father and Lydia, which also coincidentally put Warren and Natalie next to each other. Lydia and Willow had shared a mischievous smile — as if a lacrosse game was the most romantic setting to trap their parents in.

As the referee blew the whistle and the game began, slowly, everyone's faith in Stiles began to dwindle. Though Willow still cheered for him loudly — she wouldn't have been allowed if she were on the sidelines with the squad considering that he was terrible.

"Oh! Oh, he caught it—" Willow cut herself off with a wince. Just as the ball landed in Stiles' net, two other players came out of nowhere and tackled him roughly.

"He's probably just warming up," Melissa said, hoping that Stiles would run next time he got the ball.

But getting the ball was a challenge. Even on the ground right in front of him, it took several tries to pick it up with his net. And when he did, he got excited instead of actually playing. "Ooh, I got it! I got it, I got it—"

Yet another brutal tackle ensued.

"He's just a little nervous," Lydia said, doing her best to sound convincing. "Plenty of time to turn it around."

The next time a ball came his way, he tried to catch it only for it to slam into the faceguard of his helmet. Noah was hiding behind his hands as the majority of the people began booing Stiles.

"Come on, Stiles! You've got—"

Warren had reached up and covered Willow's mouth, knowing that popcorn would soon be thrown at them if she kept on supporting the reason why the opposing team was winning by four whole points.

Though things seemed to be looking up when Willow spotted Isaac arrive. Willow's heart soared, knowing that he had decided to stick around.

He sat with Scott on the bench for a moment, the two seeming to plan something. And as soon as Isaac got on the field, it was clear that the plan wasn't to score.

Isaac started tackling players left and right — Beacon Hills players. One by one, boys dropped and were replaced by even worse ones. He ignored Coach, who was yelling angrily at him, and as the last second-string player took the field, Willow realized what he was doing.

"He's trying to get Scott on the field," Willow muttered under her breath.

"To play?" Lydia asked, keeping her voice low so that the adults wouldn't hear. "Or to stay on Jackson?"

"Something tells me we'll still be relying on Stiles for a win."

"Fantastic," she mumbled.

To Isaac's credit, the plan worked, and Coach had no choice but to play Scott or they'd have to forfeit the game. Unfortunately, Jackson had tackled Isaac and nicked him with his claws, paralyzing him. They had to carry him off the field on a stretcher.

Before the time-out finished, Melissa ran down to speak to Scott. Then the game continued. With Scott on the field, they managed to catch up a little, getting the score at 7 and 9, with Beacon Hills still behind.

There were only a few minutes left, and Scott seemed to have disappeared from the field. Though there weren't enough players, the referee didn't stop the game.

Then things changed as the ball was misplaced. No one on either team seemed to be able to spot it. Well, no one except Stiles who saw the ball at his feet, several yards away from anyone that could take it from him.

He hesitated a moment before picking up the ball and running. Once the others realized he had the ball, they all barreled toward him with the intent to stop him — it wouldn't be difficult as proved by past plays. But Stiles still made it to the goal.

Instead of throwing it, he nervously looked back at the approaching horde of lacrosse players.

"Oh, crap," Noah muttered, ready to cover his eyes at a moment's notice.

"Stilinski! Shoot it. Shoot the ball!" Coach ordered. "Shoot it, you idiot!"

"Shoot it!" Lydia yelled.

"Move, Stiles!" Willow shouted.

In a swift move, Stiles reared back before flinging the ball right past the goalie and into the net. Everyone in the stands jumped up and screamed excitedly as Stiles scored.

"I scored a goal? I scored a goal!" Stiles exclaimed, jumping up and down. "I scored a goal!"

And then he scored again.

And again.

With only a few seconds on the clock and Beacon Hills leading by a point, the other team's coach let the clock run out, knowing there wasn't enough time to complete another play. The players all swarmed around Stiles, hyping him up, knowing they wouldn't have won without him.

Stiles looked over at the stands, seeing his dad holler loudly for him, the biggest smile on his face. And Willow and Lydia had their arms around each other's necks, jumping up and down excitedly as they cheered for Stiles.

Then the lights went out.

Someone cut the power to the field lights, sending them all into darkness. It wasn't long before people were screaming and running around blindly, trying to get away in case there was danger.

"Girls, stay with me!" Warren shouted, keeping a tight grip on Willow and Lydia so that they wouldn't get swept away.

As their eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, Warren spotted many players huddled around someone on the grass. "I think someone's hurt."

Finally, the lights came back on and Warren was proved correct. He quickly moved through the crowd, his medical instincts kicking in, and Melissa wasn't too far behind.

Willow and Lydia were slower to move to the center of the field. But then they heard Jackson's name being thrown around and people rushed away from the scene.

"Jackson? What's happened to Jackson?" Lydia asked, she and Willow running over. Both girls pushed through players to see Jackson lying on the field, his eyes shut. "Jackson!"

"J - Jackson?" Willow asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"He's not breathing," Melissa said, glancing at Warren who was kneeling at Jackson's other side.

"There's no pulse," he said, putting Jackson's wrist back down.

"Nothing?" Coach asked, dread creeping up on him.

"Nothing," Melissa confirmed.

Then Warren pulled up Jackson's lacrosse jersey. Everyone gasped when they saw blood soaking his white undershirt. It looked as if he had been stabbed multiple times.

Willow's knees felt weak and she slowly fell to them. "No, no, no. This isn't - this isn't — not Jackson."

"Oh, my God. There's blood," Lydia said, freaking out. "There's blood."

"Look," Scott whispered, no one hearing him but Isaac. He was nodding to the blood on Jackson's fingertips.

"He did it to himself," Isaac realized.

"Willow," Warren said, getting her to focus. He had already started chest compressions, trying to get Jackson's heart beating once again. "Hold his head. Tilt it up."

Though she was crying, Willow nodded and did as told. Melissa quickly called for an ambulance, though things weren't looking great.

In all the chaos, only one noticed the absence of the night's MVP. Noah turned in circles, trying to spot his son in the crowd, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Stiles? Where - where's my son? Where's Stiles? Where's Stiles? Where the hell is my son?"