In the distance, I could see a storm coming.

Large gray clouds were beginning to blanket the town, blocking the view of the night sky. The air was still, patiently waiting for the inevitable downpour. I took the storm as a warning, knowing I had to find Liam before the first drop of rain fell.

I crept out of my room, my helmet and keys in hand.

I already swapped my clothes and shut all of the lights off, the latter action an attempt for Melissa not to notice my absence. Once she did, she would most likely tell Scott, and I wasn't exactly in the mood to see him.

Hurriedly, I made my way to the stairwell after firmly shutting the door behind me. I had to move swiftly, not wanting to risk any nurses or doctors spotting me, as they would surely tell Melissa. I followed the steps to the basement parking garage, finding my bike in the same spot I had parked it in days ago. There was a thin layer of dust on its surface, but I don't mind it as I straddle the seat and start it up.

I wince as I adjust my posture, my wound making it difficult to get comfortable.

I had wrapped my waist before I left, but not even the thick layer of gauze made a difference. I do my best to place the pain in the back of my mind, and focus on pulling out of the parking garage. The familiar rumble of my bike's engine echoes through the streets, and I dare to smile at the sense of freedom it brings me to ride again.

The wind pushes against my body aggressively as I speed toward the high school. The roads were already empty at this hour, allowing me to make it to campus in no time. Upon arrival, I find the lot already packed with a flood of cars, and feel the distant thumping of whatever song the DJ was playing vibrate my bones.

I park near the sidewalk, not caring enough to search for an actual spot. I slide off my bike and leave my helmet on my seat, staring out at the scene before me.

In the courtyard, dozens of students were pressed together, their sweat transferring onto someone else's skin as they danced in close quarters. Those who weren't moving about aimlessly to the music were huddled together, drinking out of water bottles that I was positive didn't actually contain any water. At the center of them, was a large metal cyclone-shaped structure, a fire blazing from within. The flames reflected across the crowd, creating a hellish atmosphere.

"Fantastic," I mutter sarcastically.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my composure, as I ventured towards the mob in front of me in order to find my Beta.

As I advance on the horde, I notice some of the lacrosse players wearing their jerseys. I keep my eye out for Liam's nine, hoping he had followed the trend of his teammates. I scan the crowd in search of him, but end up making eye contact with a security guard instead. It made me slightly uneasy, as it wasn't a random coincidence.

He had already been watching me.

At first glance, he didn't seem intimidating. He had a sickly slim build, and the uniform he wore seemed baggy, as if it wasn't even his. The only thing that made him stick out to me was the way he gripped the hilt of his security baton, the weapon dangling from his belt. His hand seemed to cradle it too possessively for someone who had to basically babysit teenagers for a night.

Eventually, he breaks our connection and stiffly travels into the sea of people. I debated following him out, but when I notice Liam in the distance, everything else fades.

He was in the middle of the mass of flailing limbs, completely oblivious to the world around him as he stared up at the night sky.

I brush shoulders with multiple people as I push my way through the crowd. Some of them snap at me for my seemingly rude actions, but I barely register their insults. I didn't care about them, I only cared about Liam. It was as if he had his own gravitational field and it was pulling me in without caution.

"Liam," I breathe out when I reach him.

He stiffens at the sound of my voice. His gaze is still on the moon and stars above, but his senses are pulling him back to me. He lowers his head, slowly registering my presence in front of him. I beam freely, unable to hide the thrill inside of me after finally seeing him. Those few days apart had been torturous for more than one reason.

I expected him to mirror my joy, but he doesn't.

"You're not real," he whispers shakily.

"What?" I ask, eyeing him curiously.

"You're like those things, you're in my head," he continues cryptically.

"What are you talking about?" I press.

He doesn't give me any type of answer, remaining silent and mildly crazed. He starts to scan our surroundings in a twitchy manner, breathing as if he's preparing himself for a fight. I do as he does, worried that he's picked up on a threat with his senses that I can't see, but find nothing out of the ordinary.

The panic in his eyes is almost painful to me. Without thinking, I step closer to him, reaching for his hand to cradle it within mine.

"Liam, I'm right here," I say gently. "I'm with you."

He looks at me again, his blurred eyes focusing solely on me with newfound intensity.

"They're not here anymore," he tells me, stunned. "You made them go away."

"I don't know what you're talking-"

Cutting me off, Liam lurches forward to wrap me in his arms. I keep my feet planted firmly in the grass, not wanting to stumble with how he leans into me. I'm surprised by the sudden contact, as Liam almost always asked to touch me, but don't take offense to his lack of warning. I swiftly return his embrace, not caring to question his strange behavior any longer.

Liam pulls back after a beat, creating a small gap of space between our bodies.

"You're okay?" he questions softly.

I smile at him, nodding at his words.

"I'm okay."

He mirrors my smile slightly, his eyes drifting downward. One of his hands travels to my waist, cradling the side of my hip. He's careful not to touch the edge of my wound as he rubs tender circles into my side with his thumb. The action is bold and it takes me by surprise, and I have to suppress the shiver that threatens to run through my body from the contact.

"Liam?" I say quietly, wondering what was the cause for his forward behavior.

He doesn't reply as he uses his other hand to grab the small of my back, pulling me into him further. I gasp as our chests are pressed together, and our faces are inches apart. His is illuminated by the nearby flames of the bonfire, his features accentuated by the cascading shadows. I almost laugh at the fact that, because of him, I start to consider fire angelic.

The growth of Liam's pupils makes it impossible to see the blue of his eyes. I have to tuck my head beneath his chin, resting my head on his chest to avoid his blazing gaze.

He doesn't argue and settles for holding me as he starts to sway from side to side. He's acting as though the DJ is playing slow songs rather than an electronic chaotic mess. I don't fight Liam's rhythm, and bury my head into his chest more to listen to the beat of his heart. I close my eyes at his personal soundtrack, pretending as if it was only us. No drunk and sweaty classmates, no assassins, no one but him and I.

I soon regret it, because once I forget about them, I realize I never wanted to open my eyes again.

"I like it when you're close to me," Liam whispers, an odd slur to his voice that drags out his words. I assume it's because he was pressing his face into my hair, making him sound muffled.

I try to bury my face into his jersey, feeling flustered with his personality tonight. It felt different than how he usually was, his actions and words beyond forward. Liam doesn't allow me to hide away, though.

"Look at me," he demands in a low voice.

When I don't, his hand works its way under my chin.

He raises it, making me meet his intense stare. His breath is shallow as he watches me, and his eyes soon leave mine to study my lips. He starts to lean into me, and I can't help but do the same to him. I could practically hear my heart beating like the drums of war, the anticipation for what was about to happen sending me into a frenzy.

I had never kissed anyone before, never even wanted to, but here and now with Liam, all I craved was the feeling of his lips on mine.

Though, before my craving can be satisfied, Liam slips.

He had been leaning into me too heavily, and because I hadn't expected to handle his weight, he buckled slightly. I swiftly place my hands at his sides to hold him steady, unsure of why he had expected me to practically carry him.

"Liam?" I search for an explanation.

Rather than be put off by his change in balance, he starts to... giggle?

I stare at him as if he's a madman. That doesn't sway him in the slightest, and his giggling only intensifies. He's not at all bothered by what's just happened, or more importantly, what hasn't happened. I swallow my embarrassment over that as I hold him up, his posture starting to cave in. His behavior was utterly confusing, and it isn't until I take a quick glance around does everything click.

Liam's stumbling and laughter were a mirror for the inebriated teenagers that surrounded us.

"Why are you acting drunk?" I ask him warily.

Liam grins crookedly at me.

"'Cause I am," he snorts.

I freeze in place, stopping to practically gawk at Liam. He was still new to his powers so he probably had no idea that a werewolf getting drunk was virtually impossible. Their metabolisms wouldn't allow it. Whatever was making him appear intoxicated was something beyond alcohol, and that put me on edge.

I grip Liam's hand into mine, not daring to let go as I start to pull him away from the mass of people. I shove those who stand in our way aside, unbothered by their curses from over my shoulder. My only thought now was getting Liam somewhere safe, as I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was about to go incredibly wrong.

Liam stumbles at my hurried pace. I move to wrap his arm around my shoulder so he can keep up, but that only leads to him draping himself across me like a touch-starved house cat. I set him down on one of the benches of the outdoor lunch tables, taking his weight off of me. He allows me to step in between his legs and take his face into my hands as I start to search him for signs of poisoning. As I do so, his hands run up and down the sides of my thighs, and I have to force myself not to focus on that.

His boldness tonight finally made sense, but it also made me feel embarrassed because it meant his actions had only been the product of whatever he was infected with. It hadn't been him; it hadn't been real.

"Who's been giving you drinks tonight?" I question Liam.

He hums in thought as I check his eyes for irregular veins, and measure his temparture with the palm of my hand. There's nothing out of the ordinary, which made me rule out wolfsbane. He was slightly clammy, but that could be attributed to the giant bonfire.

"Mason," he finally answers, much to my relief.

Mason wouldn't have allowed Liam to drink something that was left unattended and possibly spiked. That helped to narrow down the source of what was causing this, as it wasn't something that could be ingested.

"And the whole lacrosse team," Liam promptly adds, much to my dismay.

"You don't make things easy, do you?" I mutter spitefully.

Liam smiles, gripping the backs of my thighs to hold me closer.

"I'll make you easy," he giggles once again.

I shake my head at his attitude and turn my attention to the crowd, searching for a familiar Alpha. I hadn't wanted to see him before, but now it was necessary to find him. I had hoped his towering height would make it easy to spot him through the dozens of raised arms that swung to the beat of the music, but with the smoke in the air, it was difficult to see much.

"Jac," Liam moans petulantly at the lack of my attention.

"Stop, we have to find Scott," I say distractedly, still searching.

"No," Liam grunts, making me look back at him.

"Why?" I ask.

"He wouldn't let me see you." Liam whines.

I pause, trying not to linger on how his words stung my chest.

"That's not important right now," I say softly.

The only thing that was important to me was protecting him. He looked like he was ready to pass out. His eyes were drooping and his body was slumping awkwardly against the table. He kept trying to sit up to hold me, which only led to him using me as an anchor to stay upright. I needed to get him out of here and to Deaton, because if there was currently something lethal coursing through his system, I didn't know how much time we had to find it.

Liam didn't mirror my panic in the slightest. He continues with his befuddled behavior and finds new amusement in tugging at my sweater. I have to bend down to counter his pulling, because if I didn't, I would run the risk of him yanking me into his lap. He seems satisfied with my new height and smiles blindly, my face is only inches away from his.

"I don't care what Scott says," he slurs to himself.

"What are you-"

Liam doesn't bother to listen to my questioning, bringing his hands to either side of my face. He tries to draw me forward and connect our lips, making me tense. I narrowly dodge the connection and lightly push at his chest, keeping him from doing something he would regret in his current state.

A drunk kiss wasn't a real kiss, and even though he wasn't truly drunk, he still wasn't himself.

"Liam," I say his name gruffly, trying to pull him back to reality.

His hands fall away from me and he leans against the table, staring up at me with a wounded expression.

"You don't want me?" he whispers.

His voice cracks as he speaks, draining my body from the warmth he provided me with. I wanted to reach for him, to comfort him, but a familiar voice stops me.

"Jac, what are you doing here?"

I glance over my shoulder, finding Scott approaching our position. Mason is at his side, while Malia is in his arms like a bride on her wedding day. She's in a similar state to Liam, giggling under her breath as Scott's steps made her head bounce. He sets her down on the bench beside Liam, studying his Beta with concern.

Mason pushes past us to kneel in front of his best friend, attempting to get his attention. Liam pushes Mason's hands away and continues to whine under his breath, repeating the same thing he had just said to me over and over again. I avert my eyes from the pair, unable to bear watching any longer.

"How long has she been like that?" I ask, referring to Malia.

Scott shifts with frustration from the corner of my eye, not fond of me ignoring his question. I don't bother to amend that and go over to Malia, checking her in the same way I had Liam. It's a useful distraction.

"Scott said she was kind of loopy earlier, but it just got really bad. What about him?" Mason replies, gesturing to Liam who held his head in his hands.

"The same," I murmur, unable to say much else when it came to Liam.

I press my palm to Malia's damp forehead, trying to gauge her body temperature. She was warmer than him, and sweating more profusely. However, she seemed more in control than he was, as she wasn't trying to make out with anyone. Whatever was happening to them was affecting them in different ways.

"Did you get the rabbit?" Malia groans, her delirious mind fixating on a random piece of information.

I smile down at her, a bit of levity finding me.

"Yeah, I got it. Thanks, Malia," I say, genuinely touched.

Malia's rabbit was as close to an olive branch as we would get. It meant she hadn't completely left us in the dust, and we still had a chance to redeem ourselves.

"Jac," Scott says from behind me, his voice demanding.

I turn around because of it, Scott never taking that tone with me. The two of us end up glaring at each other, as he wants to talk, and I was still debating ignoring him. Ultimately, I let out a reluctant sigh, and put my attention on Mason.

"Give them some water, okay? Try and flush their systems," I instruct him.

He nods, allowing me to step away as he takes over. Scott instantly grabs my arm, dragging me out of earshot of the table. Though, we didn't have to move very far considering the supernaturals there weren't in any shape to use their enhances abilities, let alone regularly eavesdrop.

"What are you doing here?" he repeats his earlier question.

"I got discharged early," I shrug.

"Don't lie to me," Scott says heatedly, making me narrow my eyes.

"I really don't think you wanna lecture me on lying."

His face falls, all of his frustration slipping as I call him out for his hypocrisy.

"The next time you wanna keep secrets from me, you should do a better job of covering your tracks," I lecture him. "Like, for example, the person you built the lie around, who is my doctor that I literally see daily."

Scott shrinks under the power of my scowl.

"Usually Stiles comes up with the plans," he counters pathetically. I gape at him, in utter disbelief that he was using that to dismiss his actions.

"Really? That's what you're going with?"

Scott sighs, shaking his head at the both of us. "Jac, go back to the hospital. I'm handling things here."

"I know Liam's worth eighteen million now. You need all the help you can get."

"If you get caught in the middle of this you could get hurt."

"Scott, between the two of us, who has more training?"

The Alpha avoids my eyes and remains silent, both of us already aware of the answer.

"Exactly," I quip. I move to head back to the table, considering this situation dealt with, but Scott rounds my form and stands in my way.

"How can you argue with me about this after what happened?" Scott presses impatiently.

I scoff at his attempt to gain the upper hand, hating that he was using what happened at the hospital against me. I wished this whole conversation would come to an end, as it was only making unnecessary tensions grow between Scott and I. I mean, we disagreed quite often, but we rarely had actual arguments or fought. I may have threatened to kill him a few times when we first met, but that was more of a one-sided, slightly empty threat, in my defense.

"Assassins are easier to deal with than a Berserker. Why won't you let me help?" I reply hotly, not holding back the bitterness in my tone.

"I just don't want you to get hurt!" Scott shouts.

People who had been close by stopped to stare. None of them were used to Scott losing his temper, and frankly, neither was I.

Scott winces, regretting his outburst the second it happens.

"Scott, what's going on with you?" I ask him quietly.

He hesitates, dropping my eyes from mine. There's a desperation within his gaze, a look I had only seen him wear twice before. The first time was the night at the Glen Capri Motel when he had doused himself in gasoline and was ready to drop a flare into the puddle at his feet, and it took Stiles putting his own life on the line to pull him back. The second, was the night at Oak Creek only a few months ago. I'll never be able to forget the feeling of having to pry his arms off of Allison's body as he wept over her.

"It's my fault, Jac," he says, hanging his head shamefully.

"What is?" I press further.

"All of it," he whispers. "All of this."

His eyes find mine again, peppered with unshed tears.

"You were dead, and it was because of me. I lost you... like I lost her."

My stomach twists into a knot as he talks of Allison. I hated when he compared me to her. He couldn't help it sometimes, but it made me feel... wrong.

"That wasn't your fault," I insist, putting aside my personal desires to not speak of her for Scott. I wanted to help him combat his guilt, even if it meant losing the grip on my own sanity.

"Maybe it was," Scott says. "Maybe if I'd stayed away from her like Argent told me to, she'd still be here."

Scott flinches at the memory of his hidden romance with Allison. It was a relationship that happened to coincide with a lot of really crappy events, and made it almost impossible for them to reconcile. Scott tried, and I think Allison did too in her own way, but it never worked out. The timing was never right. Perhaps it could have been different as they matured, but that's not something we would ever be able to know.

The music intensifies, only adding to the way Scott and I's conversation seems out of place. A bonfire was no place for a heart-to-heart, but that's when it hits me that whatever was messing with Malia and Liam was getting to Scott, too. As a True Alpha, he was immune to giggling like a schoolgirl, but only because his effects were presenting themselves differently. Whatever this was, it was toying with his emotions, drawing forward all of his secretive remorse.

"Scott, I think you should sit down," I suggest warily.

"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it," he mutters robotically, disregarding my words. I give him a quizzical look, unsure of what he has said.

"Mister Yukimura told me that quote once," he explains. "It's all I've been able to think about since that night at the hospital. Since the night you died."

Scott's distant eyes leave mine, going somewhere off to the side. I follow his line of sight, finding Liam.

"I remember the past, Jac. I remember it all and I let it come for you anyway," Scott trembles.

"I wanted you to have that, I really did," he continues, sounding almost apologetic.

His words are cryptic, but I piece them together when he looks back at me. There's so much sympathy within his stare that I could've drowned in it. I wanted to recoil, to pretend like this wasn't happening, but it was.

Scott knows I care about Liam, and he's about to ask me not to.

I tried to think rationally, to tell myself Scott was only saying this as he was under the influence of an assassin's manipulation, but that rational part of me also understood that Scott was speaking honestly. He meant everything he said and wanted to vocalize these sentiments for some time, he simply didn't have the filter to keep it to himself anymore as his brain fuzzed over.

"But not anymore?" I force myself to ask, force myself to face the truth.

"Not if it keeps you alive," Scott replies somberly. "I thought you could be the exception, but I was wrong, Jac. We can't challenge fate. If we try, we're just inciting death."

My limbs grow heavy as I process his claims, my body wanting to give in to my exhaustion as it feels as though I have nothing to fight for. I hadn't even begun to face how I felt about Liam, and here Scott was, asking me not to feel anything at all? I couldn't believe that; I didn't want to believe that.

"There's no such thing as fate, Scott," I tell him, my voice gently breaking.

Scott laughs wryly, my words getting to him in a way I didn't understand.

"There's no such thing as werewolves," he counters softly, seeming to speak more to himself than me.

We both want to say more, but before we can, Mason rushes over.

"Guys, they're not getting better," he panics. "I think someone spiked their drinks. It's really bad."

While we argue, Mason's freaking out over what's happening and neither of us is helping him. My guilt over that encourages me to step away from Scott, not only needing some distance from him after what's happening, but to also fix whatever was going on with Liam and Malia.

"I'm gonna call Stiles," I inform them. "He can help us take them to a doctor."

I leave out the fact that the doctor I was referring to was technically a veterinarian, as Mason didn't need to know the specifics, and take a few steps away.

"Jac," Scott calls to stop me, but I brush him off.

I walk away from the large collection of people, desperate for some solitude. I could feel my aggression spiking, and the desire to lash out violently was growing inside of me. It would be so easy to punch and shoot my way to peace, but that's not what I fought death for. I try to find balance, and focus on calling Stiles rather than reliving everything Scott said.

The call rings a few times but always goes to voicemail. I text Stiles that it's an emergency and call repeatedly afterward, but the line never clicks open, nor does he send any responses.

"Come on, Stiles. Pick up," I growl under my breath as I get his voicemail yet again.

I sigh and scroll through my phone to Derek's number. He told me the other week that if I ever needed him I should call, so I hoped he wasn't simply saying that.

After one ring, he picks up.

"What's wrong?" he asks, and I feel relieved at the sound of his gruff voice.

"I need your help at the high school. There's something going on," I inform him urgently, saving the details for his arrival.

"We're already on our way there," Braeden interjects, revealing her presence.

"I interrogated Haigh and he confessed to contacting other people using the Dead Pool," Braeden explains. Her position as a US Marshal always gave her top-secret intel. Although she may not technically still be a marshal, her badge worked all the same.

"He said that he gave them security guard and deputy uniforms, Jac. They're undercover at the bonfire right now," she continues hurriedly.

I whip around, facing the direction I had just come from. I search for my friends, fearful that we had walked directly into a trap and were going to be swarmed by assassins any second now. My fear only increases as I find the table I left them at completely empty.

~

||| A/N |||

side note - would you guys be interested in a prequel from Season 2-3? I already have an idea of where I want to take Jac's story through Season 5 (hope yall stick with me for that lol), but if you guys want I could do a prequel with slow updates? Just an idea I had. LMK!