Hallucinate

-----♡-----

I was trapped in that space between sleep and wakefulness, where the shadows stretched too long, and the silence wasn't really silence at all. My own voice murmured in my head, over and over, a frantic mantra.

"No, no, no, no, no... Don't let them in... Don't let them in... No, don't let them in..."

A soft voice cut through the fog.

"Stiles?" It was gentle, familiar. But there was something else beneath it, something tight with worry. "Stiles, you okay?"

Cassie.

I blinked, my chest still rising and falling too fast, my fingers twitching against the sheets. My throat was dry when I spoke. "Yeah... I was just dreaming. It was weird—it was like a dream within a dream."

"A nightmare?" she asked, her voice quieter this time.

I exhaled sharply. "Yeah..."

I frowned, finally looking at her. She was laying beside me in bed, in one of my tshirts, her blonde hair a tangled mess from sleep. Something wasn't right.

I sat up straighter.

"Wait a second... Cassie, what are you doing here?" My pulse kicked up. "Hang on..."

I turned, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, feet hitting the floor.

"Stiles?" Cassie's voice wavered as I stood.

"I'm just gonna close the door."

She stiffened. "Just go back to sleep."

"No, no, I should close it..." My skin prickled as I turned toward the hallway. The door was open, just a few inches, but the darkness beyond it was suffocating, too thick, too deep.

Cassie reached out, grabbing my wrist. "Don't worry about it."

I hesitated.

"What if someone comes in?"

She swallowed. "Like who?" I didn't know. But I could feel it. Something was waiting. Watching.

"Just go back to sleep, Stiles."

"No... but what if they get in?"

Cassie's fingers curled around my wrist, tight with something like desperation. "What if who gets in?"

The whispers were starting again, creeping through the cracks, curling around my ribs.

I took a step toward the door.

Cassie's grip turned bruising. "Stiles, just leave it." Her voice was strained now, breathless, like she was afraid.

I kept moving. She dropped my arm, her eyes wide with fear.

"Please, Stiles..." she tried again, her voice cracking. My hand reached for the door.

"Stiles, come back to bed!" I hesitated. "Stiles, please. Don't, Stiles! Don't! Don't go in there, please don't!" Her voice broke into something desperate, terrified.

I turned back to look at her—her face pale, eyes wide, shaking her head so fast it was a blur. My stomach turned. Something was wrong.

A sharp knock, and a voice cut through the suffocating weight in the room.

"Hey, time to get up, kiddo."

I jolted, my eyes snapping open to bright morning light and the familiar sight of my dad standing in the doorway.

"Get your butt to school!"

I gasped for air, my chest heaving, the panic still clawing at my throat. My head whipped toward the other side of the bed, Cassie wasn't there.

Of course, she wasn't there.

-----☾-----

"It's your fault." A flash, movement in the dark. "You led them here."

I turned sharply, but the shadows twisted around me, shifting, warping. The sound of metal against metal rang out, sharp and sudden.

Then I saw them. Figures, their armor glinting under the eerie glow of their fire-lit swords. Their black, featureless masks sent a chill crawling down my spine, the demonic slits for eyes burning like dying embers. The ground beneath them cracked and split, the roots of the Nemeton writhing like veins through dead soil.

One stepped forward, blade dripping with something dark.

"The Nemeton called to us. Because of you."

I shook my head. "No."

"Because of your power."

I backed away, my boots scraping against broken branches. Behind them, flickering images began to take shape, like glimpses through shattered glass.

I saw Scott, his eyes glowing red, his face twisted in agony as he clawed at his own chest. "You were supposed to protect him."

I saw Stiles, his face pale, his body limp as dark veins spread up his arms, his lips parting in a silent scream. "You let him suffer."

I turned, trying to run, but the scene shifted again. I was in the woods now, standing before the Nemeton. Its bark was charred, its roots gnarled, stretching toward me like skeletal fingers.

A figure lay at its base. Lydia.

Blood stained her throat, her green eyes wide and unseeing. A slow, suffocating dread filled my lungs as I stepped toward her. "Lydia?" My voice sounded small, broken.

Then she moved. Her head turned, slowly, too slowly. Her lips parted, but it wasn't her voice that came out. "You did this."

Another flash. Jackson, his body convulsing on the lacrosse field, claws sinking into his own skin, screaming my name.

Allison, eyes hollow, her bow slipping from her hands as a sword pierced her side

Danny, reaching for me, his face twisted in terror before he was dragged into the darkness.

Everywhere I turned, another one of my friends suffered, bled, died.

And then I saw myself.

Standing at the center of it all, hands coated in something black and thick, fingers trembling, my silver eyes burning in the reflection of the Nemeton's roots.

"You awakened it. You brought this upon them."

Their voices overlapped, whispering, accusing, taunting. The images around me flickered like a dying fire- Stiles, screaming- Scott, shifting uncontrollably- Lydia, motionless- Allison, drowning in shadows- Danny, gone- Jackson, choking.

"You cannot save them."

"You will only destroy them."

A sword sliced through the air and pain exploded across my stomach.

I gasped, stumbling back, hands flying to my abdomen. Warm, sticky blood pooled through my fingers. I collapsed to my knees.

"You were meant to doom them." I woke up choking on air.

My hands clawed at my sheets, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might shatter. My bedroom was silent, the house empty around me.

I scrambled out of bed, pressing a shaking hand against my stomach. No wound. No blood. But the phantom pain still lingered, a cold ache settling deep in my bones. The Nemeton still whispered in the back of my mind.

And I wasn't sure if I'd truly woken up at all.

-----☾-----

The cafeteria was buzzing with conversation, but it all felt distant, like background noise in a dream. My fingers toyed with the hem of my sleeve, twisting the fabric as I forced myself to focus on the conversation in front of me.

Scott and Stiles sat across from me, both leaning in close, voices hushed despite the steady flow of students around us.

"And you couldn't wake up?" Scott asked, frowning.

"Nope," Stiles muttered, shaking his head. "And it was beyond terrifying. You ever hear of sleep paralysis?"

Scott hesitated. "Uh, no. Do I want to?"

Stiles let out a humorless chuckle. "Have you ever had a dream where you feel like you're about to wake up, but you can't move or talk?"

A shadow flickered across Scott's face, and he nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I've had that." I swallowed hard. So had I.

The images from last night's dream still clung to the edges of my mind, the figures in armor, the Nemeton, my friends suffering, dying, and the whispers. It's your fault. You brought this upon them.

I shifted in my seat, forcing my expression to stay neutral.

"It happens because, during REM sleep, your body is basically paralyzed," Stiles continued. "It's called muscle atonia—so that way, if you start dreaming about running, you don't actually start running in your bed."

Scott nodded. "That makes sense..."

"But sometimes," Stiles added, lowering his voice slightly, "your mind wakes up before your body does. So, for this split second, you're aware that you're paralyzed."

Scott exhaled. "And that's the terrifying part."

Stiles nodded grimly. "It turns your dream into a nightmare. You can feel like you're falling, like you're being strangled, or, in my case, like you're at the center of a grove of magical trees where human sacrifices took place."

I tightened my grip on my sleeve, nails digging into the fabric.

Scott glanced between us, brow furrowed. "You think it means something?"

"What if what we did that night..." Stiles hesitated, his fingers tapping against the table, "...what if it's still affecting us?"

"Post-traumatic stress?" Scott offered.

Stiles shook his head. "Or something..."

Neither of them looked at me, but I felt the weight of my silence. I could have spoken up then. I could have told them about my own nightmare, about the voices, the pain, the way that blade had felt so real slicing through my skin.

I could have told them that I woke up still feeling the phantom ache in my stomach.

That I wasn't sure if I had truly woken up either. But instead, I stayed quiet.

Stiles let out a slow breath. "But you want to know what scares me the most?"

Scott leaned in. "What?"

Stiles hesitated, his fingers going still against the table. "I'm not even sure this is real."

Scott bid us goodbye, and I turned to Stiles. "You okay?" I turned to him, gently lacing our fingers together.

He sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know." I pursed my lips, wishing I could say something that helped.

"We'll figure it out." He gave me a tight smile. I paused thinking for a moment. "Would your dad be ok with me staying again? My house, after everything, just feels empty."

"Of course Cass, my dad loves you more than me. You're always welcome." I grinned as he squeezed my hand. I pressed a kiss to his cheek enjoying the flush that rose.

"I'll see you after school?"

-----☾-----

The Stilinski house was quieter at night than I expected. It always had this feeling of home, but now, curled up in Stiles' bed wearing a pair of his sweats and an old Beacon Hills lacrosse t-shirt, it felt safe.

"Alright, you ready for this masterpiece?" Stiles asked, wiggling his eyebrows as he held up the DVD case.

I rolled my eyes, adjusting the blanket draped over both of us. "If this is another conspiracy documentary about the government hiding aliens in national parks, I'm kicking you out of your own bed."

"Excuse you," he scoffed, clutching his chest like I'd personally insulted him. "This is a classic, The Empire Strikes Back. You do remember our friendship clause, don't you? The one that explicitly states that if we're going to be best friends, you have to love Star Wars?"

I smirked. "You wrote that clause. And I do love Star Wars—I just think you use it as an excuse to avoid watching anything else."

"Lies and slander," he muttered, pressing play.

I curled up against the pillows, stealing a handful of popcorn from the bowl resting between us. Stiles was warm beside me, radiating heat like a human furnace, and despite everything that had happened this week, the nightmares, the Nemeton, the suffocating weight of secrets, I felt a little lighter.

About halfway through the movie, I felt Stiles' head droop against my shoulder. His breathing had evened out, his body slowly relaxing as sleep overtook him.

I smiled softly, shifting just enough to tug the blanket higher around us.

"Goodnight, Stiles," I whispered.

-----☾-----

I wasn't sure how long I'd been asleep when the screaming started.

I jolted awake, my heart slamming into my ribs. Stiles thrashed beside me, his face twisted in terror, his breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps.

"Hey, hey, hey!" The Sheriff's voice boomed from the doorway as he rushed to Stiles' side.

Stiles' hands clawed at the sheets, his entire body shaking as if something had its grip on him. The Sheriff restrained him, holding him against his chest.

"It's okay! It's okay!" the Sheriff tried again, gripping his son's shoulders, his voice tight with worry.

I scrambled upright, my own panic clawing at my chest as I reached for Stiles' hand. "Stiles, wake up! You're okay, I promise, you're okay."

His eyes snapped open, wild and unfocused, his breath ragged. For a moment, he looked right through me, like he wasn't sure I was really there. Then, his gaze locked onto mine, and the tension in his body slowly melted.

I gave his hand a small squeeze. "You're safe, Stiles. You're home."

He exhaled shakily, nodding.

The Sheriff let out a breath of his own, his grip loosening. "You alright, kid?"

Stiles swallowed, blinking a few times before running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "Yeah... yeah, I'm fine. Just a nightmare."

The Sheriff didn't look convinced, but he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Alright. You want me to stay?"

Stiles shook his head. "No, it's okay. I'm good." I didn't let go of his hand.

The Sheriff glanced between us, his expression softening just slightly. "Alright. Try to get some sleep, both of you."

I nodded, watching as he hesitated in the doorway before finally heading back down the hall.

Stiles let out a slow breath, flopping back against the pillows.

I hesitated before lying back down beside him, pulling the blanket over both of us. "You sure you're okay?" I asked softly.

He didn't answer right away. Then, finally, "I don't know. It felt... real."

I swallowed hard. I knew exactly what he meant. Instead of saying anything, I shifted closer, resting my head against his chest. His arm instinctively wrapped around me, like he needed the contact to ground himself.

Neither of us said another word.

-----☾-----

The smell of coffee and bacon pulled me from sleep. Sunlight streamed through the window, warming the room, making everything feel too normal compared to the way the night had gone.

I stretched, glancing to my side. Stiles was already sitting up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The Sheriff knocked lightly on the doorframe. "Hey, you all right?"

Stiles blinked up at him. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

The Sheriff gave him a look.

Stiles sighed. "Dad, seriously, I'm fine. It was just a nightmare."

His dad didn't look convinced, but he just sighed, shifting the files in his arms.

Stiles frowned. "What's that?"

"Just some files from the office..."

His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the label. "It says 'Sheriff's Station, do not remove...'"

The Sheriff chuckled, ruffling Stiles' hair. "Well, yeah—unless you're the Sheriff."

I smirked as Stiles scowled, quickly fixing his already messy hair.

"Now, get your butts to school, alright?" The Sheriff gave me a pointed look. "And Cassie, you're always welcome to stay here. But if we need to have a conversation about protection and keeping the door open.."

My cheeks flushed, shaking my head.

"Dad!" The embarrassment was obvious on Stiles' face, his cheeks scarlet.

"Just checking. Now go, grab breakfast on your way out."

-----☾☼-----

Scott McCall was already in a mood before Isaac even knocked on his door.

He had barely slept, his mind looping through the same frustrating image over and over, Allison laughing with Isaac, their heads tilted too close, the lingering touches, the looks. It was stupid. He had no right to be jealous. He and Allison were over. But still, the ache sat in his chest, stubborn and relentless.

And then there was Cass.

Scott clenched his jaw at the thought. It wasn't just Allison—it was Cassie too. She had been with Isaac first, seriously with him. He remembered watching them together, the way she'd leaned into Isaac's touch, how her eyes had always softened when she looked at him. Cassie didn't love lightly, and she had loved Isaac.

And Isaac had let her go. Just like that.

Scott had been there when she fell apart afterward. He'd seen the way she buried it, shoved down her feelings and forced herself to keep moving. And now she was with Stiles.

Scott supported them, of course he did. They were his best friends, and there had always been something there. But part of him wondered if Cassie was just trying to force herself forward, trying to fill the void that Isaac had left behind.

A knock sounded at the door, pulling him from his thoughts.

When he swung it open, Isaac stood there, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. His curls were messier than usual, his posture tense. "Hey..."

Scott blinked. "Oh. Hey."

Isaac rocked back on his heels. "Um, are you going to school?"

Scott narrowed his eyes. "Yeah."

"Okay, me too."

"Good." The awkwardness hung heavy between them. Scott was fine with letting it sit there, but Isaac, of course, had to push forward.

"Can I ask you a question?" Isaac asked hesitantly.

Scott exhaled. "Okay..."

Isaac shifted. "Are you angry with me?"

Scott didn't even hesitate. "No."

Isaac raised a brow. "Are you sure?"

Scott opened his mouth to say yes—but then he stopped.

Because, honestly? He wasn't sure. "...No," he admitted finally.

Isaac frowned. "What's that mean?"

Scott ran a hand through his hair. "I guess I'm not really sure how I'm feeling."

Isaac nodded, taking that in. "Okay." He hesitated for a beat before adding, "...Do you hate me?"

Scott sighed. "No, of course not."

Isaac chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Do you want to hit me?"

Scott blinked. "What?"

"I think you should hit me," Isaac offered, as if it was the most reasonable suggestion in the world.

Scott scoffed. "I don't want to hit you."

Isaac shrugged. "Are you sure?"

Scott's patience was running thin. "Why would I want to hit you? You didn't do anything... did you?"

Isaac stiffened. "No! I mean, um... what do you mean?"

Scott's eyes narrowed. "I mean, like, you didn't kiss her or anything, right?"

Isaac's eyes widened. "No! Absolutely not. No."

Scott exhaled, but then, before he could stop himself, he muttered, "You already hurt one of them. I wouldn't put it past you to do it again."

Isaac stilled. There it was.

Scott didn't know if he meant to say it, but now that it was out there, he felt it. The lingering resentment, the quiet anger, the part of him that hadn't forgotten the way Cassie had broken when Isaac left her.

Isaac's jaw tensed, but he didn't back down. "You mean Cassie."

Scott folded his arms. "Yeah. I mean Cassie."

Isaac's lips twitched, not a smirk, not really, but something bitter. "Funny. I don't remember her spending too much time mourning me when she moved on with Stiles."

Isaac took a step forward, lowering his voice. "You want to be mad at me for hurting her? Fine. But maybe you should ask yourself if she even cared that much to begin with. Because last I checked, she's doing just fine."

Scott clenched his jaw.

He wanted to argue, to shove the words back in Isaac's face—but he didn't. Because, deep down, a small part of him wondered if Isaac was right.

Melissa's voice cut through the tension.

"HEY!"

Both boys jumped slightly as she appeared at the end of the hallway, fixing them both with her signature I deal with supernatural disasters, don't test me glare.

"You two?" She pointed between them. "Don't test my entirely un-supernatural level of patience."

-----☾-----

Scott was pale, eyes darting around like he expected something to jump out at him. He looked like he hadn't slept at all, which, given the nightmares I'd been having, wasn't exactly surprising. But what was surprising was how shaken he seemed.

"Hey! Hey, you all right?" Stiles' voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

Scott hesitated before nodding. "I'm okay."

Stiles shot him a look. "No, you're not. It's happening to you, too—you're seeing things, aren't you?"

Scott froze. His entire body tensed like he'd just been caught in a lie. "How did you know?"

Lydia's voice cut in before Stiles could answer. "Because it's happening to all three of you."

Scott, Stiles, and I all turned to look at her, Allison beside her.

She stood with her arms crossed, an almost smug expression on her face as she looked between us.

"Well, well, well..." She smiled. "Look who's no longer the crazy one."

Allison scoffed. "We're not crazy!"

Lydia arched a perfectly manicured brow. "Hallucinating? Sleep paralysis? Yeah, you guys are fine."

My stomach twisted at her words, but I forced my expression to stay neutral. I hadn't told them about my nightmares. About the figures, the Nemeton, the voices. Stiles had talked about his night terrors. Scott had admitted to seeing things. But me?

I kept my mouth shut.

Scott exhaled, rubbing his face. "We did die and come back to life... That's gotta have some side effects, right?"

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, nodding. "Okay, so we keep an eye on each other, alright?" Then he turned to Lydia. "And Lydia?"

"What?"

"Stop enjoying this so much."

She gave him an innocent smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about." I wanted to laugh, but I couldn't.

Because I knew the truth. This wasn't just side effects.

-----☾-----

The classroom was already filled with the usual morning chaos, people talking, papers shuffling, the occasional groan of someone who clearly hadn't done their homework, when the door swung open, and a well-dressed man stepped inside.

"Good morning, everyone." His voice was calm, authoritative, but not unkind. "My name is Mr. Yukimura. I'll be taking over for your previous history teacher."

I sat up a little straighter, glancing at Stiles, who had already leaned over and whispered, "Guess we scared the last one off." I elbowed him lightly, biting back a grin.

Mr. Yukimura continued, pacing slowly in front of the class. "My family and I moved here three weeks ago. I'm sure, by now, you all know my daughter, Kira?"

There was a brief silence. I glanced toward Kira, who was sitting behind Stiles, who shrank slightly in her seat, looking like she wanted to disappear under her desk.

"...Or, you might not," Mr. Yukimura added, raising a brow at his daughter, "since she's never actually mentioned anyone from school..." A few people snickered, and Kira sunk lower. "Or brought a friend home, for that matter..."

At that, Stiles turned to me with wide, amused eyes, whispering, "Oof, that's rough."

"Either way," Mr. Yukimura pressed on, gesturing toward her, "there she is!"

Kira gave a weak, mortified wave, her cheeks burning.

I leaned over to her and whispered, "Could've been worse." Trying to give her a supportive smile.

She sighed. "Doubt it."

"Now," Mr. Yukimura clapped his hands together, turning his attention back to the rest of us, "let's begin with American history at the turn of the 20th century..."

As he launched into the lesson, Stiles leaned over again, whispering, "Think she's gonna forgive him for that by graduation?"

I smirked. "If he doesn't embarrass her again? Maybe."

-----☾-----

Once class finished I turned towards Kira. "I'm Cassandra."

She smiled, "Kira, but, you already knew that." her cheeks flushed again.

"Well, welcome to Beacon Hills," I said softly, giving her one last smile before heading out of the classroom. Scott and Stiles were standing by their locker.

"Maybe we need a little more time to get to normal?" Scott muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Stiles scoffed. "Yeah, try not to forget—we hit the reset button on a supernatural beacon for supernatural creatures." He gestured vaguely around the hallway. "There's a pretty good chance things are never going back to normal."

Scott sighed. "Yeah..."

"What?" Stiles asked, narrowing his eyes.

Before Scott could answer, a familiar voice carried from further down the hall.

"I thought you said you wanted to make friends?" Mr. Yukimura's exasperated tone rang out, making me glance over my shoulder.

"Not like that!" Kira groaned, visibly cringing.

"You said you wanted to be noticed!"

"I could set myself on fire and be noticed!"

"Well, then you'd be dead."

"Exactly!"

I bit back a laugh as Kira stormed past her dad, her face still burning with secondhand embarrassment.

I turned back to Scott just in time to see Stiles suddenly stiffen beside him.

"Oh, dude, your eyes!" Stiles hissed, his expression flipping from casual annoyance to full-blown alarm.

Scott blinked, confused. "What about them?"

"They're starting to glow!"

Scott's entire body tensed. "You mean, like, right now?"

"Yes, right now! Scott, stop! Stop it!" Stiles frantically waved his hands, like he could physically put a lid on Scott's shifting.

Scott squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn't help. I could see the way his hands clenched into fists, his breath coming faster.

"I can't—I can't control it."

Stiles grabbed his shoulder. "All right, just keep your head down. Look down, come on. Keep your head down."

Scott let out a low, rumbling growl, his body shaking. His claws twitched at his sides, and for a second, his teeth lengthened, sharp and predatory. I shoved open a classroom door, locking it behind us.

"Get back!" Scott choked out.

"Scott, it's okay—"

"I don't know what's going to happen. Get back!" His voice was panicked, raw, a stark contrast to the usual control he kept over his shifting.

"SCOTT. CALM DOWN" I tried to put all the persuasion into my voice, and for a moment, I thought it worked. My vision swam, the sheer action of trying to use my power leaving me exhausted. But, it didn't matter.

A full, guttural roar tore from his throat, his body shaking from the effort of restraining himself.

Scott's breathing came heavy and ragged. I saw him grit his teeth, his claws flexing, digging into the skin of his hands, blood dripping on the floor. Then, slowly, the glow in his eyes dimmed and his hands uncurled.

His voice came out hoarse. "Pain makes you human."

I exchanged a glance with Stiles, worry tightening in my chest.

Stiles took a slow breath, his voice quieter now, but no less shaken. "Scott, this isn't just in our heads. This is real." He swallowed hard. "And it's starting to get bad for me too. 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 waking up."

Scott frowned. "What do you mean?"

Stiles hesitated. "You know how you can tell you're dreaming? You can't read in dreams." He inhaled sharply. "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."

Scott's face darkened with concern. "Like... even now?"

Stiles let out a humorless laugh. "I can't read a thing."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

-----☾-----

The tense feeling of the rest of the day never left. The entire day I felt wound, like a spring ready to snap. One second, I was walking with Scott towards lunch, and the next, everything around me shifted.

The lights flickered, dimming into a sickly yellow glow. The sounds of footsteps and murmured conversations faded, replaced by a low, ominous hum, ike something pressing against my skull.

And then I saw it. Someone, I couldn't tell who, was on the ground, gasping for air. Their hands clawed at their chest, as if something unseen was crushing them from the inside. A figure emerged from the darkness.

The same ones I had been seeing for days.

Its black armor gleamed under the flickering light, its mask expressionless, empty, hollow. The glowing slit of its eyes burned like dying embers as it raised its sword.

A strangled gasp tore from my throat.

I jerked as the vision snapped back, and suddenly, I was a classroom, Scott staring at me with fear.

"Cass?" His voice was sharp, urgent. "What was that?" he demanded.

I exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to my forehead. "Scott, I-"

"Cass, tell me. Your eyes were silver, but you looked horrified."

I hesitated, my fingers twitching at my sides.

"I saw something," I admitted finally. "It was, someone in the pack. They were on the ground, gasping- like they couldn't breathe. And then I saw them." I swallowed, my throat dry. "These, these figures. I've been seeing them since that night. Its like a warning."

Scott's whole body tensed, his fists clenching. "Are you sure?"

I nodded. "It felt real. More than just a dream."

Scott ran a hand through his hair, his breathing uneven. "You've been seeing things, too?"

I hesitated. I could lie. I could brush it off, tell him it was a one-time thing. But the weight of my nightmares, the whispers, the visions, the way they felt like memories more than dreams.

I let out a slow breath. "I've been having nightmares," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Every night since."

Scott's expression tightened. "They're always the same," I continued. "Those figures. The Nemeton. My friends, our friends, suffering." My voice wavered, but I forced myself to keep going. "And it's not just nightmares, Scott. It lingers. I wake up and I still feel it. It's like I know it's going to happen, I just don't know when."

Scott stared at me, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, slowly, his expression hardened.

"You should've told me sooner." I swallowed, guilt gnawing at my stomach.

"Scott, please." I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "You can't tell Stiles."

His brow furrowed. "Cass"

"I mean it." My voice came out more desperate than I wanted it to. "He's already dealing with his own stuff, and if he knows I'm dealing with this too, he's going to freak out. He'll blame himself, or he'll, he'll try to fix it, and we both know he can't." I took a shaky breath. "I don't want to do that to him."

Scott clenched his jaw. He looked like he wanted to argue, to tell me that Stiles deserved to know, that he needed to know, but after a long moment, he exhaled sharply, nodding.

"Okay," he said quietly. "I won't tell him." He exhaled. "Are you ready to go?" He said after a beat. I nodded, wiping the stray tear from my eye.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm okay."

-----☾-----

"So—what happens to a person who has a near-death experience and comes out of it seeing things?" Scott asked, glancing between his friends surrounding the lunch table.

Stiles added, "And is unable to tell what's real or not?" His voice carried that familiar edge of exhaustion, the kind that came from too many sleepless nights and far too much supernatural horror for one teenager to handle. It made my chest ache, seeing the exhaustion in his eyes, his posture.

"And is being haunted by demonic visions of dead relatives?" Allison chimed in, arms folded as she shifted her weight.

Isaac, sitting with his usual air of detached sarcasm, shrugged. "They're all locked up because they're insane."

Stiles shot him an irritated look. "Ha. Can you at least try to be helpful, please?"

I had been leaning comfortably against Stiles, resting my head on his shoulder, let out a soft laugh. "He's not wrong, though. If someone started rambling about demons and visions in the real world, they'd be in a padded room faster than you can say 'exorcism.'"

Stiles let out a short huff, though he didn't move away from my touch. "Great, thanks for the vote of confidence."

Isaac shrugged again, this time with a little more bite. "For half my childhood, I was locked in a freezer... So, being helpful is kind of a new thing for me."

Stiles scoffed. "Hey, dude, are you still milking that?"

Isaac's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, maybe I am still milking that!"

I rolled my eyes and nudged Stiles with my elbow, a teasing but firm gesture. "You know, maybe lay off the childhood trauma jokes?"

Stiles glanced at me, and for a moment, the tension around his mouth softened. "What, am I supposed to start handing out sympathy cards?"

Before I could reply, a new voice cut through the conversation. "Hi."

Everyone turned to see Kira standing there, looking a little hesitant but intrigued. "Hi, sorry... I couldn't help overhearing what you guys were talking about... And, I think I actually might know what you're talking about..."

I straightened slightly, exchanging a glance with Stiles before looking back at the new girl.

"There's a Tibetan word for it—it's called Bardo. It literally means 'in-between state.' The state between life and death."

Lydia, ever unimpressed, tilted her head. "And what do they call you?"

Scott answered before Kira had to. "Kira. She's in our history class." I raised a brow, sharing a look with Stiles with a small grin.

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "So, are you talking Bardo in Tibetan Buddhism or Indian?"

Kira shrugged. "Either, I guess... But all the stuff you guys were just saying? All that happens in Bardo. 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."

My fingers absentmindedly played with the sleeve of Stiles' hoodie as I listened, my brow furrowing slightly. "Wrathful deities? And what are those?"

Kira hesitated before answering, her voice quiet but certain. "Like... demons."

Stiles let out a long, tired breath. "Demons. Why not?"

Allison looked over at Kira, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "Hold on- if there are different progressive states, then what's the last one?"

Kira met her gaze, her expression darkening. "Death. You die."

Silence settled over the group. I instinctively squeezed Stiles' arm, his fingers brushed over mine for just a second, as if silently acknowledging her.

-----☾-----

I sat on the edge of the examination table, arms folded as Deaton studied Stiles like he was some complicated puzzle to solve.

"It sounds like your subconscious is trying to communicate with you," Deaton said.

Stiles scoffed, rubbing at his face with both hands. "Well, how do I tell my subconscious to use a language that I actually know?"

I giggled but Deaton remained infuriatingly calm. "Do you remember what the sign language looked like? The placement and movement of the hands?"

Scott turned to him, surprised. "You know sign language?"

Deaton nodded. "I know a little. Let me give it a shot."

Stiles exhaled sharply, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Okay, the first one was like this..." He demonstrated a movement with his hands, then another. "Then, there was this, twice..."

Deaton observed carefully. "That's 'when.'" Stiles frowned, then repeated another motion. "That's 'door.'"

I straightened slightly, glancing between them. "When... door?"

Deaton nodded, prompting Stiles. "And this in between it?"

"That's it," Stiles confirmed.

Deaton's expression darkened slightly. "When is a door not a door?"

Stiles blinked, clearly lost. "When is a door not a door???"

"When it's ajar." I said quietly.

Stiles let out a groan. "You're kidding me. A riddle? My subconscious wants to tell me a riddle?"

Deaton shook his head. "Not necessarily. When the two of you and Allison went under the water, when you crossed from consciousness to a kind of superconsciousness, you essentially opened a door in your minds."

Scott frowned. "So, what does that mean? The door's still open?"

Deaton's lips pressed together. "Ajar."

Stiles inhaled sharply, his hands gripping the table. "A door into our minds?"

"I did tell you it was risky."

Scott exchanged a glance with me, and I shook my head, telling him not to mention me. He frowned, but turned back to Deaton. "So, what do we do about it?" Scott asked.

Deaton hesitated. And that was all it took for Stiles to snap. "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!"

Deaton sighed. "One thing I do know is that having an opening like that into your mind? It's not good. You each need to close that door, and you need to do it as soon as possible."

I crossed my arms tighter over my chest. "And if they don't?"

Deaton met my gaze, steady but serious. "Then you won't be the only ones stepping through it."

-----☾-----

Stiles looked up the moment Sheriff Stilinski walked in. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

His father sighed, his stance unusually tense. "I'm here because I could use some help."

Stiles frowned. "Help with what?"

The Sheriff's eyes flicked over to Scott. "Actually... your help."

Scott straightened. "Why me?"

The Sheriff hesitated before explaining. "Because eight years ago, almost an entire family died in a car accident. One of the bodies, a young girl named Malia, was never found. There's enough evidence to have me thinking that a werewolf could have caused the accident and dragged her body away."

A knot formed in my stomach at the implication.

"If you could somehow get a lock on her scent," the Sheriff continued, "if you could somehow help me find her body, it might provide the missing clue..."

Stiles hesitated before voicing what we were all thinking. "But what if it was a werewolf?"

His dad's expression hardened. "Well, there's somebody out there that murdered an entire family—someone who still needs to be caught."

-----☾-----

The smell of damp earth and hay hung in the air as we stood outside the Tate property. Sheriff Stilinski was talking to the owner, Henry, a man with tired eyes and a guarded stance.

"I've been having a coyote problem," Henry muttered, gesturing toward a small, rusted trap. "The population is up around here, and they get into everything."

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't exactly look big enough to catch one..."

Henry gave a short laugh. "It's a rat trap—take away the coyote's source of food, and they leave you alone. And these days, to be honest, I'd prefer to be left alone."

Stilinski nodded. "I understand. Just a couple of questions, and I promise, I'll leave."

Henry studied him, his jaw tightening. "New evidence?"

"Possibly."

-----☾-----

We stood in the bedroom, I stared sadly at the picture on the dresser. Scott inhaled deeply, his face scrunching up slightly. "All I'm getting is some animal smell..."

Stiles leaned toward him. "What kind of animal?"

Before Scott could answer, a deep growl rumbled from the door. A massive dog, fur bristling, teeth bared.

Scott shifted slightly, keeping his hands up. "Uh... dog?"

The dog growled again.

Scott cleared his throat. "Hi, puppy..."

Stiles stepped back immediately. "Get rid of it."

Scott gave him an incredulous look. "Me?"

"Yes, you! Glow your eyes at it! Something! Be the Alpha!"

He took a menacing step forward, lips curling back.

Scott swallowed hard. "I can't... I don't have control..."

I instinctively reached for Stiles' wrist, gripping it. "Okay, buddy, you're gonna have to try something else, like right now."

Scott's shoulders tensed. "Nice... doggy...?"

Apollo lunged.

A flurry of barking, snarling chaos erupted until Henry yelled. "Apollo! APOLLO, SHUT UP! Shut the hell up!"

Apollo immediately dropped his head and whimpered, trotting away.

Stiles exhaled sharply. "Here, try that." He said, offering a stuffed animal.

Scott closed his eyes, inhaling again. I watched his face, hopeful. Then he sighed. "All I'm getting is that dog..."

Henry's voice was raw with emotion, and his words hit like a punch to the gut.

"Murder? I spent eight years thinking that it was an accident, and now you're telling me that it could be murder? Who the hell would want to murder my wife and girls? My whole family?"

Sheriff Stilinski shifted uncomfortably. "That's what I want to find out."

Henry's face twisted in pain. "I don't. I don't want to redefine this entire nightmare as an unsolved murder. Just leave me alone with tragic accident... Because that's what I've spent eight years getting used to, accident. Not murder."

"I apologize-"

Henry's jaw clenched. "Just go!"

The car ride back was silent for a while.

"I'm sorry," Scott finally said. "I tried as hard as I could. If it wasn't so long ago, I might have been able to do it."

The Sheriff sighed, nodding. "It's okay. It was a long shot. 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." He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Thanks for trying, all right?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah..."

As the Sheriff walked away, Scott frowned. "Aren't there a lot of cases that go unsolved?"

Stiles leaned back against the seat. "Yeah... I just think this is one he felt like he could've figured out right now."

Scott hesitated. "Why is it so important now?"

I watched as Stiles' face shifted, something flickering behind his tired eyes. He sighed. "Because he wants to be able to solve one more... while he's still Sheriff."

Scott's eyes widened. "What do you mean, 'still Sheriff?'"

-----☾-----

I pulled my jacket tighter, trying to fight off the chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. Stiles was the first to break the silence. "Hey, what's going on?"

Scott didn't slow down, his face set with quiet determination. "We're going to go out and find a body. A dead body."

I groaned. "I'm getting a sickening sense of deja-vu"

Stiles huffed out a laugh. Scott didn't respond. His expression was tense, distracted.

Stiles nudged me before glancing back at Scott. "You know, if my dad's right, that means there's another Werewolf in town that we haven't met yet..."

Scott exhaled sharply. "I know."

Stiles made a face. "If it turns out to be something, like, triplets that form into, like, a three-headed hound of hell, I'm seriously not up for that."

I raised an eyebrow. "That's... specific."

Scott ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, me either. Especially if I can't even control my own transformation anymore."

Before I could respond, a long, piercing howl split the air.

I stiffened. Stiles, beside me, flinched hard. "Sorry, Cass," he muttered. "I hate coyotes so much. They always sound like they're mauling some tiny, helpless little animal." I laced my fingers with his, searching for some kind of reassurance.

Scott inhaled deeply. "It still works."

Stiles frowned. "Let me see the flashlight."

Scott handed it over, and Stiles flicked the beam toward a rusted, abandoned car nestled between the trees. My stomach turned.

"I think we found it..." he said.

Scott stepped closer, his brow furrowing. "Uh, why wouldn't they move it? Isn't it evidence?"

Stiles shined the light over the car. "Probably too much of a pain in the ass to tow out."

I leaned in, my eyes scanning the vehicle. Something about it felt... wrong.

"Look at this," Stiles said, his voice dropping slightly. He pointed at the scratches along the metal. "See those? Animal claws would be closer together, right? A lot closer."

Scott's jaw tightened. "Then it was a Werewolf."

I swallowed hard. "So, your dad was right..."

Scott was still staring at the car when something caught his attention. He stepped forward. "What is that?"

A small, dirty doll sat half-buried in the leaves.

"I'm hungry."

Stiles screamed. "WHAT THE HELL?!" He stumbled back, clutching his chest. "I think I just had a minor heart attack!" Dragging me with him away from the doll. My heart rate jumped, and I clutched my chest.

Scott bent down, nudging the doll with his foot. "Relax, it's just a-"

"Creepy possessed nightmare machine?" I suggested.

Scott sighed. "It's just a toy."

Then his entire body tensed.

His voice was barely above a whisper. "Hey, Stiles...?" Something about his tone made my breath catch. Scott didn't look away from the trees. "Please tell me you see that."

Stiles followed his gaze. "I see it."

I turned, my heart stopping cold.

Electric blue eyes, glowing in the darkness. A shape moving through the trees, too fast to be fully seen, but I could feel it watching us.

"Wait, hey, Scott!" Stiles called as Scott suddenly moved forward. "Scott, wait!"

A snarl tore through the silence.

"Malia?"