I HATED THIS. Hated the fact that I had to work while my friends were off risking their lives trying to track down the Kanima, who we now knew was Jackson Whittemore. But I had no choice; Joseph needed the night off and Grandma had been insistent that she needed help.

"Ugh, I can't believe you guys are at a club and I'm stuck here making grilled cheese and milkshakes." The sigh that leaves my mouth is heavy as I jam my phone between my ear and my shoulder, scooping strawberry ice cream into the blender rather aggressively.

"You know we're not actually partying... right?" Stiles assures me on the other end of the line, sounding a little too amused for my liking. He's right and I know it, but I still can't help but to think it would be a lot more exciting than this.

"Yeah, I know. But still..." words trail off as I turn to look at the door as it opens. Nothing could have prepared me for who walked in next.

My body freezes, head in a spin as Derek Hale walks towards me. I'm all too aware of the fact that I look absolutely terrible; with flour and fruit stains on the front of my apron, loose curls messily pulled back into a low ponytail at the base of my neck. But this was me: all five feet and five inches of chaotic energy. Never quite fully put together. Though sometimes I did try.

The sound of Stiles repeatedly saying my name over the phone snaps me back to the present and I fumble over words, "uh, yeah— yeah, I'm here. But I- I've gotta go, okay? It's super busy." It's not. Not really. But I'm not about to tell him that Derek has just walked through the door. The last thing I want is for them to worry about me on top of everything else. "Keep me updated though. Like, I mean I want a detailed update every hour on the hours so I know you're not dead, 'kay? Okay... bye!"

I leave him no time to reply and swiftly hang up the phone. The less I know right now the better. The less I know, the less I have to hide from the alpha werewolf who is now staring right at me. I say nothing, not a single word. All he gets from me is an angry stare that's completely unwavering. I'm still so mad at him for everything that had transpired at Scott's house the other night.

"What— no hello?" There's a softer side to him as he lets out a breathy laugh and stuffs his hands into his pockets, green eyes daring me to say something.

Anything. 

But I don't. I don't want to.

Slowly, he nods, acknowledging my decision to not engage in any conversation, and he seems to respect it. "Well, then, it's a good thing it's not you I came to see."

I want to ask who he's here to see, but I'm stubborn in my silence. I watch as my grandma makes her way over to us, the smile on her face growing the closer that she gets. I assume she's just putting on the display for him as a customer, but when he's smiles back at her like he's known her his whole life, confusion settles into the faint lines on my forehead as I glance back and forth between the two. Dumbfounded.

"Julia," he greets, my grandmothers name sounding so strange leaving his mouth. He sounds so nice... It's new to me.

"Derek. It's so good to see you." As she replies I can see the fondness she holds for him in the deep of her bright blue eyes. I find it a little unsettling. Had he known who I was this whole time?

"Wait, hold up— you know him?" My own eyes widen now, brows furrowed as I keep my eyes on my grandmother and point a dismissive finger in Derek's direction.

She nods, "yes, ever since he was a young boy. Derek, go take a seat I'll be over in a second. And Cassia, sweetheart, go serve some customers please. It is what I pay you for after all."

I scoff at her teasing tone and resist the urge to roll my eyes so dramatically that my brain hurts. The last thing I needed was for my grandma to think that I was sassing her. She'd probably take great amusement in embarrassing me in front of her... friend.

Half-sulking I glare at Derek once more just to emphasis that, despite my grandmother seeming to adore him, I still thought he was an asshole for the stunt he pulled the other night. He simply laughs before walking over to a table at the back, seemingly finding my display rather humorous.

As per my grandmothers request, I keep myself busy by filling up peoples drinks and taking fresh orders. Of course, I do all of this while constantly glancing towards the table they're both sat at: my grandmother and the grumpy wolf who doesn't seem quite so grumpy as he engages in conversation with her. It's in this moment I wish I had a werewolf's ability to eavesdrop into people's conversations, but sadly my powers are pathetically non-existent. Painfully human.

They talk for some time, my grandmother seemingly trying to comfort him by placing a caring hand on top of his. So many questions spin around in my mind:

Why was he here?

What did he want from her?

Did my grandmother know what he was?

I was one more deep thought away from a severe headache.

Eventually she gets up and leaves him sitting there, his back to us as she approaches me. I do my best to seem like I haven't been watching this whole time, but the knowing smile on her thinning lips tells me she knows exactly what I've been doing. But how could they expect me to resist?

"So, are you going to tell me how you know Mr. Grumpy over there?" I point towards him, eyes lingering on the back of his head momentarily before I look back to her.

She laughs and shakes her head, ever amused by me. "His mother, Talia, was a very good friend of mine for many years."

"Was?" I question why she speaks as though it's past-tense. Had they had a falling out?

Sadness washes over her and I instantly tense. It's rare to see my grandmother anything but happy. She'd always been good at keeping her composure, never letting negative emotion show. She kept herself together for the sake of keeping everyone else together. It was like her very own superpower.

"She died. Most of his family did. There was a house fire a few years ago. He's never been the same since."

"Oh," is all I manage to say in return, my gaze dropping as I begin to feel something for him I never expected: sympathy. My relationship with my mother was strained, sure, but I could never imagine losing her in such a horrific way.

She places a hand on my shoulder, causing me to look back up. "He's a good boy, Cassia," she begins to tell me, and despite what I've seen I'm inclined to take her word for it. There's an unexplainable part of me that just... knows it. "He's just... he's known a lot of loss in his life. Heartache. Isn't that bound to harden anyone?"

I nod slowly and swallow down the lump daring to form at the back of my throat. It was clear there were still some things my friends hadn't told me, but I couldn't really blame them for that. This was heavy. Derek had suffered greatly.

"You should take a break." It's not a suggestion, it's a gentle demand. "He could probably use a little company. And a few good people in his life."

It takes me a few moments to find my composure, to push down any feelings of anger that still linger. I slip my apron over my head and toss it on the nearest stool, revealing a worn-out grey hoodie, almost hidden under denim dungarees that are about one size too big.

Grabbing onto two mugs in one hand, the other reaches for the coffee decanter and then slowly, unsteady feet take more and more steps closer to him. I stop by the edge of the table and clear my throat. He looks surprised to see me, and a little unsure as I set the two mugs down.

"Can werewolves even drink coffee?" I question, curious as I give the pot a shake, my other hand falling onto my hip.

"So she does speak," he mocks, a underlying cockiness. Like he knew I eventuality would. That I annoyingly couldn't help myself. I give him a look that dares him to keep it up, but thankfully he doesn't. "Yes, we can drink coffee. It's just doesn't have the same effect as it would have on you."

My noses scrunches, but I pour some into his cup anyway and then occupy the seat across from him, pouring my own. A bad idea at this time of night, but coffee for me was a slight addiction. "Then what's the point?"

He shrugs and stares into his cup. "For the taste. The illusion."

"So if coffee doesn't have an affect on you, does that also mean you can't get drunk?" It's trivial conversation, but it's a start. An icebreaker.

"Unfortunately, yes." As he answers my meaningless question he lets his eyes wander back towards me. My breath hitches in my throat as my eyes stay locked on his for more than just a few, fleeting seconds.

He's a beautiful mix of grief and resilience; a mixture that seems to have me in a chokehold despite how hard I try to fight it.

"Yeah, that is unfortunate. You seem like you could really use a strong drink." I tease, the effort of trying to conceal my smile completely useless.

He chuckles, giving an agreeing nod. "You're probably right about that."

"I'm definitely right about that," I mumble as I lift the coffee cup to my lips and take a sip. It's nice to have what feels like a normal back and forth with him.

I watch as his eyes trail towards the plaster at the side of my head. It conceals the minor wound inflicted by his beta. I move quickly to untuck my bangs from behind my ear in order to cover it, but it's too late. I don't know what it is that takes over him, perhaps it's guilt. But I watch as his shoulders tense, and noticed the defined muscles beneath a khaki, perfectly fitted t-shirt that he wears.

"That wasn't supposed to happen," he tells me under his breath as he looks back down at the cup before him. Oh, he definitely feels guilty. It radiates off him like the warmth of the sun on the warmest day of the year. "Isaac wasn't supposed to hurt you. He didn't mean to hurt you."

I contemplate for a moment, not quite sure what to say. I exhale and lean forward, studying him carefully. After a moment I decide to take the humour route, seeing no point in making him feel any worse. It was done and over with, what was the point in dragging it on? He couldn't take any of it back now even if he wanted to.

"What, this little thing? Please, it's barley a scratch." I offer him up a smile, a truce of sorts. "Besides... it'll take more than a werewolf to hurt me."

A silence falls, and he's deep in thought and brooding once again. I should let it lie, force the thoughts in my head away and simply enjoy a rather nice moment with him. But I can't. The question burns, desperate to be asked. "Were you really going to kill Lydia?"

The question seems to take him a back, but he studies me now, watches for my reaction as he says, "if I had to."

"And Jackson?" I keep pushing, holding his gaze.

"If I have to." He's persistent; I'm unwavering. I just keep on pushing.

I swallow hard and ask rather meekly, "and if it was me?"

He falters, no quick reply this time. And in the end I don't get an answer. Grandma walks over the second he goes to open his mouth. "Alright you two, you don't seem to have noticed but we closed a half hour ago. Time to go."

Lips part, eyes blinking as I look around and notice that there is no one else there. Our conversation had seemed so brief, how had time gone so quickly? He stands to his feet and I slouch back, blowing out a low huff. It had been a strange night, maybe it was for the best we'd been interrupted. I probably didn't need to hear him say that he would kill me if he had to. It would hurt more than I'd care to admit.

"I'll just clear this away then I'll be right out." I try my best to give my grandma a smile, but I fall short. This whole thing is so exhausting and I have no idea how my friends or Derek have dealt with it for so long.

She nods and follows Derek outside where they talk some more as I empty out two barley-touched coffees and wash the cups, setting them aside for tomorrow. Taking one last look around I double check that grandma has done everything that needs to be done before closing, and I'm not surprised that she hasn't missed a single thing.

A sudden silence falls as I step outside and lock the door behind me, their conversation ending the moment that they see me. I check all the doors twice and then make my way over to grandmas car, watching as Derek makes his way towards his own.

"Don't be a stranger, Derek." Grandma insists, reaching for the door at the drivers side as she continues to watch him fondly. "I'm always here."

I want to say me too, but I breathe the words back in and keep them to myself. Maybe he knows. Maybe he can feel it too. Maybe it's not just me.

I hope it's not just me.

He nods with a smile, gaze intensifying when he settles it upon me. "Cassia," is all that I get with a single nod. A goodnight of sorts I assume.

"Derek." I nod in return, heart suddenly working faster than it ever has despite my best efforts to settle it. I hate the fact that he can probably pick up on it, and quickly get into the passenger seat, closing the door being me as my cheeks turn a subtle shade of pink.

It doesn't take too long for grandma to follow, and soon we're driving past him and are on the way home. I know I won't sleep much. I'll lie awake replaying the conversation in my mind.

"You know what he is, don't you?" I mumble the questions and turn to observe her. She keeps her eyes on the road.

"Yes."

I'm surprised at how easily she says it. And I'm confused, a little irritated.

"Why wouldn't you tell me that? Why wouldn't you tell me about werewolves before I moved back here? And that night he was at the house with Scott and Stiles, why didn't you say anything?" The questions come out fast, and I shake my head. I'm sure she has her reasons, but I never thought she'd keep something so big from me.

"Oh, Cassia... this world is a heavy burden, I wanted you to hold onto a simpler life for as long as possible. That night I didn't say anything because all that mattered was you. You are my number one priority. I didn't want this for you. But... like with me, it found you for a reason." I know that she's sincere. I'd never known her to be anything but.

"For a reason?"

"Yes. Some of us are meant to be allies. Protectors in our own way. It's part of the reason I opened the dinner. I wanted somewhere where everyone, of all kinds, could feel safe. Welcome." I hear the passion in her tone as she explains, and i feel a sense of pride. My grandmother was an incredible person.

"So... you think I'm meant to be an ally to Derek?" I give her a puzzled look, trying to piece it all together.

"To Derek. To Scott," she says his name and glances at me with a knowing look. She knows about Scott? "To anyone else who might come into your life."

"You know about Scott?" Maybe it was a good thing someone else knew. Maybe she could help. I refrain from mentioning Jackson and the Kanima for now, knowing I should speak to my friend first.

"I've had my suspicions. You just confirmed them." I mentally kick myself as she says it's, but I'm not worried. I know she's trustworthy. I know she cares for Scott as deeply as I do.

"Wait, so if you've known about this stuff for a long time then does that mean mom and dad know?" I can't imagine that they do, there's no way that mom could keep a secret this big during one of her drunken rambles.

Grandma seems to find it amusing, laughing as she shakes her her. "No. No, your father doesn't know and neither does your mother. I did plan on telling her when I felt she was old enough, but then... well she got pregnant with you at fifteen and I just didn't think she was emotionally ready for it. But you are. You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. You, Cassia, can handle this."

She sounds so sure of it, so confident in me. I'm not sure I feel the same way, but I know I have no other option than to simply get on with it. My friends needed me, and I needed them more than they even seemed to know.

Her hand falls onto mine, and she pulls me from my gnawing thoughts. I glance over, reassured by her warm smile. "Get some sleep. We'll talk more about this tomorrow."

I nod, the mention of sleep causing me to yawn. We get inside and go to our rooms, but I still can't settle. I quickly get out of my clothes and into pyjamas, sitting in bed with the covers pulled over my body. I realize then that Stiles hasn't sent me one update and worry swells in the pit of my stomach. Quickly, I reach for my phone and send multiple messages to them both. And as I wait and wait for a reply, eventually I drift off to sleep.

And he's there, haunting my dreams: Derek Hale.

In most he kills me.