STILES WAS ELEVEN WHEN HE FIRST LEARNED ABOUT MAGIC. Remington was eleven as well but full of giggles, the smallest in her class but the most charming with her English accent and blonde pigtails and funny ways of spelling, eager to show the world what she could do with her powers. But it's a secret, she would always say with a toothy grin, my mom said I'm not allowed to.

The other kids would laugh and play along when she would declare herself as a witch, cooing over her but they never took her words seriously; Stiles was the only one who believed her.

It was easy to pretend like magic could save him for a while. Believing in the supernatural, watching someone so tiny do unexplainable things—making toys dance together, reviving flowers to make crowns, trapping bullies in chalk-drawn circles and making paper cuts disappeared with a single touch—while his mother gradually got sicker. It was his world to disappear off to when his dad drank too much and Claudia forgot him; Remington was Stiles's closet to Narnia.

Then the girl full of giggles got sick and his mom died. Magic was banned by Eva. They grew up.

Remington secured her seatbelt, closing the car door after waving at her mother. She didn't speak at first, hesitating. "Hi, Stiles!" She chirped after a moment, searching for a reaction.

Stiles half-smiled at her, starting the car. He didn't get a chance to speak with Remington following yesterday's minor argument. After dropping her at home, Stiles received a phone call from Allison warning him about hunters searching for Isaac at the police station, then he had to deal with Derek Hale's attitude issues. It didn't leave a lot of time to speak with the sickly girl.

He remembered Isaac's words, now, seeing Remington's eager expression for any form of reaction; please don't tell her. It made him want to grind his teeth together.

"Remington," Stiles began with hesitation.

She perked up, the previous dejection from the lack of greeting disappearing. He felt terrible about what he had to do, but he made a pact with her mother. Inhaling, Stiles continued. "Do you remember what I told you about yesterday?"

Remington's expression dimmed. "Staying away from you?" She asked in a low voice. She looked down at her lap, grabbing the seatbelt tightly. Stiles looked forward, driving fast. He wanted to get to school and end the conversation quickly.

"You have to, Remington." Stiles insisted. "For your own good."

"I don't see how." Remington retorted, her sweet tone melting away into something bitter. "It's not fair! You can't keep saying that everything is for my own benefit but never tell me how. You and mom are always like this! What exactly are you trying to protect me from that I can't do as well?" She gritted her teeth, then breathed out, forcing herself back into a well-mannered appearance. Her shoulders settled and her expression smoothed into a calm smile. "Stiles, nothing is going to stop me from dying, okay?"

"I can't keep you from dying but I'm not letting you get murdered, okay?" Stiles snapped. Seeing her control herself so perfectly always left him reeling. "Someone new is trying to kill Scott every month, Lydia is half-insane, Allison's entire family is full of psychopaths! Isaac is a—I can't—I'm not letting anything happen to you."

Anger was clouding his words, but Stiles realized his mistake immediately; Remington's expression pinched, her eyebrows furrowing with accusatory confusion.

"What about Isaac?" She asked. "You've been asking a lot of questions about Isaac; you never cared before, but now that's the only thing you talk to me about. I heard your dad was looking for him, too. What happened, Stiles?"

The light turned red. Drumming his fingers against the steering away, Stiles debated with himself. He tries to lie to Remington, but never could without feeling like an absolute asshole. But if it meant protecting her feelings, for at least a while longer, then maybe...

"Please don't be mean," she pleaded calmly. "Don't lie. Don't be mean to me, Stiles. I'll stay away from you, even—just don't lie to me."

Sucking his bottom lip, Stiles consideres it. Isaac told him to not tell Remington. But who the hell is Isaac Lahey to tell him what to do—Especially when Remington is concerned?

Please don't tell her. Obviously Isaac didn't realize who he was talking about. Stiles scowled at the tearful blue eyes that stared back.

"He accepted the bite ," he told Remington, hating her as he tried to figure out if he was being tricked again. "Derek turned him. He bit Isaac, he's a werewolf now."

Remington didn't speak. She looked horrified, eyes widening; it allowed the tears to roll down freely. "What—What do you mean?"

It's a known fact; Stiles Stilinski will never like Isaac Lahey, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he is Remington's best friend.

There's always been tension between them, even before junior high when the two of them collided for the first time in a school setting. Stiles isn't a wholly immature, just a bit, so he can firmly state that it was Isaac who decided to start the cold war between them. Even now they can't speak to each other without retaliating during lacrosse practice, frequently ending with one of the two limping home more so than usual.

They never willing sought each other out. He didn't want to know anything about Isaac, gladly carry on without knowing of his existence—but Isaac was never meant to get involved in the supernatural.

Derek picked him because he had no other option but to accept the bite.

Helplessness always tasted bitter in Stiles's mouth. He didn't want to imagine how it felt to someone like Isaac.

Remington didn't speak for the rest of the car drive, and Stiles didn't force her to. She left the car quietly, looking dazed as she disappeared into a crowd of students.

Only a few knew of Remington's powers outside of him, but he was the only one who understood. Eva made a deal with him after he showed up at the ivy-covered mansion, shaking anxiously with the possibility of Scott being a werewolf months ago. It's a simple arrangement: Eva helps when Stiles asks, but in exchange, he has to keep her daughter safe. Remington doesn't get involved.

He's the brains of the pack, according to Eva—Stiles figures out the plans and the next move, why enemies attack and how to eliminate them. He controls the chessboard. He has to protect Remington at all costs, even if it means sacrificing Scott or Allison or Lydia.

Stiles never planned for anything else. He said yes. Now, it only caused a small sense of guilt whenever he remembered how easy it had been to agree.

"You okay?" Scott asked him when Stiles rested his head against the locker, sighing with frustration.

Stiles nodded. "Remington found out about Isaac. She, uh, she isn't happy."

The obvious choice to fix the situation is to find Isaac Lahey so he can show Remington that he's alright; the main issue is finding out where Derek is keeping him hidden along with his other betas. He could call Eva to track him down with a spell, but he preferred to stay out of the witch's way as much as possible.

"Derek's problems now," Scott shrugged. "Remington is like a puppy—just take her out to the park or something." He doesn't even have the energy to tell Scott how condescending he sounded, trying to make a list of priorities in his head; all his issues nowadays seemed to come from werewolves. Why can't something new happen, just for a change of pace?

"It's not safe for her right now," Stiles shook his head. "Derek could target her next using Isaac."

Scott looked disturbed. "You think Isaac would do that to her? Aren't they best friends?"

If he was Isaac, it would be tempting. There's no hope for Remington to be cured with mundane methods. If the bite could cure Scott's asthmas, give Isaac the strength to stop living in fear, why wouldn't it save Remington? "I don't know," Stiles mumbled, trying to get the idea out of his mind.

Scott opened his mouth to reply but stopped mid-sentence, looking troubled. "What is it?" Stiles asked him. Scott took off before explaining, rushing out of the locker room through the doors connecting to the main gymnasium. Stiles ran after him, heart picking up agitatedly when he recognized just who was inside.

Remington stood in the middle of the gym; head tilted back as she stared at the rock-climbing wall with terror.

Stiles ran to her, not caring about anything else in the room. "Remington!"

Her nose is bleeding, spilling over her lips and staining her mouth red. She didn't seem to notice—her eyes were glued to Erica, who was shaking at the top of the climbing wall.

"Close your eyes," Stiles urged her as Erica began to fall, jostling Remington to his chest and placing his hands over her ears so she wouldn't see or hear.

Just as he braced himself for the sickening crack of Erica slamming against the wooden floor, Scott ran forward, catching the girl just in time.

The class crowded in a circle around Erica as she began to have a seizure. Stiles looked down at Remington with concern. "What were you doing here?" He demanded. "Remington? What were you doing here? How did you know?"

"She's next," Remington buried her face into his chest; blood continued to drip from her nose. Her whole body seemed to shake, and when she opened her eyes, they were an eerie milky blue. "She's next, Stiles."

Great, he thought. Just fucking fantastic!

He cradled her head again, hiding her as he glanced around the room cautiously. He met Scott's gaze and willed himself to look away.

Scott didn't need to know.

Remington looked tired as the nurse examined her. Stiles tied her hair back and cleaned her face as much as he could, and the nurse said she could rest in the infirmary until she felt better. With Scott in class, he felt safe to bring up what happened with Erica.

"I felt it," the witch said wearily. "She's going to be turned."

Out of all of Remington's abilities, divination continued to be the biggest bitch of all. It only worked when it wanted. At Stiles's irritated face, Remington bit her bottom lip. "If you give me enough time to figure it out, maybe we can stop it."

Stiles shook his head, giving the girl a look of disbelief. "We? Are you kidding me?" He scoffed. "Did you suddenly forget that massive nosebleed? Nope, you are going home. Nobody can know about your powers, remember?"

"Nosebleeds happen," Remington whined. "They're not a big deal, Stiles!"

"They are if you are diagnosed with the risk of sudden organ failure." At her dejected expression, Stiles softened his tone. He touched her forehead with a finger. "How are you feeling?"

Remington shrugged, lowering her eyes. "It hurts, all the time." She stayed quiet for a moment. "Mom's pain reduction spells stopped working. It's like I'm burning from the inside—like something inside of me is being suppressed to ashes."

Helplessness is bitter. Stiles didn't reply, hugging the small girl close to him. He couldn't promise her anything. If it was up to Stiles, his only focus would be finding some way to cure Remington. But what could he do that her mother hasn't? Eva's life has been dedicated to her daughter, she has supernatural connections and knowledge; how could he compare to that?

"I'm sorry I haven't been doing a good job at avoiding you," Remington said after a moment of silence.

Stiles huffed out a small laugh. "Yeah, day one and you completely screwed it up. Do better," He held her tighter, holding back whatever other words he felt like saying. It's not the right time.

"If I can't help you, promise me something..." Remington said. "Go to my mom. I know you are scared of her, but she's good. My mom is good. She'll help you, Stiles."

Nodding tightly, Stiles promised. "Okay,"

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! ! !

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