Stiles was shaking. Trembling, actually. In fact, it was so terrible, he could barely hold on to the marker currently situated in his hand, poised to write on his board. But write what? Murderer? I am a murderer? Or should he have written that the person who almost tried to kill him was now missing and presumed to be at large?

Donovan not dead, he began, his handwriting even messier than usual, Walked out.

He took several steps back, the only sounds he was able to hear were of his breath coming out unevenly and rapidly. He knew he was moments from a panic attack, but he needed to think straight. Clinically and unemotionally, as he once heard someone repeat to themselves under their breath whilst in sticky situations.

Looking back at the writing on the board, he shook his head. There was simply no possible way to walk away from a metal support beam running through someone's  entire chest cavity. Stiles nearly dropped the marker at the memory of the large amount of blood pooling from the wound and from Donovan's mouth. Looking down at his hands, he could've sworn he saw blood stains, despite having furiously scrubbed at his hands under scalding water for nearly fifteen minutes.

Regardless, he knew Donovan was dead. Striding back to the board, he wrote underneath his previous idea.

Donovan dead, he underlined the word "dead" repeatedly, as if every line was a self-reminder of what he had done.

Clinically and unemotionally.

Thinking somewhat clearer, one thing was blatantly obvious: If Donovan was really dead, how did his body disappear? Stiles' eyes widened at the possible answer that came to him.

Someone took the body, was what was written next. He stared at the thought, and the idea that someone else knew, someone living, was too much to bear. Stiles desperately grabbed at the eraser and began to strike at the writing on the board. Half his mind was focused on getting what he'd done completely erased so no one else could read it, but the other half, the overwhelming half, was wishing he could erase what he'd done along with the words.

Panic and fear finally seized him, and Stiles threw the eraser at the board with a cry of desperation. His breathing remained frantic and his hands still trembled as he turned around to tug at the roots of his hair. Attempting to ignore the throbbing ache in his shoulder, his eyes desperately scanned the room for a reprieve from this nightmare when finally, they found one.

Stiles' eyes landed on the pictures beside his bed. There was a picture of Stiles with his mother, large grins on their faces, and a giraffe right next to them. Stiles always thought his mom looked slightly more panicked than he did at the sight of such a large creature so close, but she always went on about how fun that day was for all three of them.

What would she say now? He shook his head to rid himself of that thought. His eyes slid over to the next picture. It was taken right before freshman year, and Stiles had his arm slung around Scott. They both had their lacrosse gear next to them, and were about to head out to tryouts together. It was the last year of normalcy, and Stiles wouldn't admit it, but he sometimes missed his asthmatic best friend, and the times they had before anything ever tried to kill them.

And then there was June. It was one of the pictures Stiles had taken on her camera, and he begged her to let him keep it. It was of her perched on a redwood tree, rain pouring down all around her. Despite the neutral colored clothes she wore, she was undoubtedly the focal point of the picture. She had been staring around the cluster of trees, deep in thought while they both ate their lunch, and Stiles couldn't help but think that there was something so undeniably perfect about her, that he knew he would hold onto her as long as he possibly could.

Would she do the same for you, knowing what you did? The voice in his head wouldn't leave this time, and its presence not only frightened Stiles, but sent him spiraling. Would she think of Stiles the same way if she knew what he had done? This wasn't him accidentally spilling pizza sauce on one of her favorite shirts, this was murder.

Self-defense, he reasoned with himself, all the while staring at June's picture.

But will she see it that way?

The secrets between us never end well, a third, feminine voice joined in, with the undeniable mixture of hurt and betrayal.

Stiles' phone buzzed in his pocket. Jolted out of his thoughts, he yelped in surprise. Sighing, he dug out the phone from his sweatpants and brought it to his ear.

"Scott?"

"Stiles," Scott's voice came across as urgent, and Stiles tensed to listen, "Someone's taking the bodies."

Stiles froze, almost forgetting how to breathe. His theory proven correct, he now was made aware that someone else knew about what happened to Donovan. It was also a confirmation that Donovan was not in fact alive, and that he was dead at the hands of Stiles.

"Stiles, you there?"

"Yeah - um - where? What're you talking about?" Stiles rubbed at his forehead.

"I-I'm at the animal clinic with Kira. Tracy's body is gone. The lock on the door was broken from the outside. Not to mention June just texted me saying that my mom and everyone else has been scouring the hospital for Lucas's body after he went missing from the morgue. Someone's stealing the bodies."

There was a brief back-and-forth between the two, with details such as Stiles informing his dad, and Scott sniffing around to see what he could find. Stiles was ultimately grateful that the conversation had ended, but also dreaded to be alone with his thoughts again. The tears that had been brimming as a result of fear now had nowhere else to go but out. He let out a few sobs as he sat down, and thought things over.

Sighing, his head turned back over to June's picture. What happened next was simply what Stiles thought was best for everyone.

"No one can know," He muttered.

                                                                                {+}

"What, no Stiles today?" Malia asked me as I got out of my parked car, Lydia following suit.

"Said he came down with something last night," I shrugged, "Couldn't help but get sick a couple of times." I straightened out the shawl I was wearing over my dress, and adjusted the messy Dutch braids that came over my shoulders. Lydia insisted that we both have somewhat matching attire for our first day back, and simply being over the moon that she was out of the hospital so quickly had me eagerly saying yes.

"Anyways, Mal, what was that thing you wanted to show us?" I asked, and she nodded. Bringing her backpack around to face her, she dug inside it as the three of us walked to the student doors. Thrust into my hands was a tattered book with a turquoise cover. On it were three people in masks, which had me turning back to Malia with surprise before reading what was on the cover.

"'The Dread Doctors' by TR McCammon," I shrugged before handing the copy over to Lydia. "These are the people you and Scott saw before they killed Tracy and Lucas?" I asked her.

"Yep, they're identical. What?" The last question was directed at Lydia, who had cocked her head and had an expression of faint recognition.

"I don't know, something about it... Has anyone actually read it?"

"Just me," Malia answered, "And I didn't understand any of it."

"We should probably all read it," I suggested.

"Kira's working on it," Malia seemed a little proud to be one step ahead of the two of us. We rounded the corner to the hallway where our lockers were. One by one we all stopped to empty out our things until at last we made our final stop at Malia's locker.

"Stiles says he can't find anything on the author. He thinks it's a pen name," She went on, and I nodded, thinking about that possibility. I turned the book over for more.

"'In a small New England town, teenagers are taken in the night and buried alive...'" I trailed off, once again handing the book to Lydia after sharing a meaningful look with her.

"'Days later they emerged transformed, wreaking havoc, and spreading terror, commanded by an ancient order of parascientists known only as the Dread Doctors.' Sounds vaguely familiar."

"How does it end?" I asked Malia, and she shook her head.

"It doesn't. This is supposed to be volume one."

"Oh, let me guess, there is no volume two," Lydia suggested sarcastically.

"I think we're living volume two," Malia reasoned, and I couldn't help but agree.

"Then maybe the real question is... is this a novel or someone's prediction?"

Thirty minutes later, I was in my world history elective when I got the text. A small text from Lydia, but it had me reeling.

Doctor Gabriel Valack is on the acknowledgements page. We have to go to Eichen.

                                                                      *****

"June, I'm going with you," I watched as Stiles gathered up his red hoodie from off his bed.

"I thought you said you were sick," I tried to argue. Looking at his appearance, I would say he was looking the part perfectly. His eyes were bloodshot and bags darkened them in contrast to his pale and clammy skin. He certainly looked like he shouldn't be moving much less taking a trip back to a place so haunting in his past.

"I'm feeling slightly under the weather."

"You don't have to come," I reasoned, using what I hoped was a reassuring tone. "Malia's not going either."

"Malia's not going because she knows that that place is a nightmare asylum of insanity and death, okay? Let's go."

I huffed, crossing my arms as he situated the jacket when all of the sudden, he flinched. He started to discreetly rub his shoulder before shaking it off.

"What was that?" I asked him.

"What was what?" He grabbed at the zipper.

"You winced," I was simply thinking he'd slept on it wrong when his answer threw me for a loop.

"I have a bad elbow."

I quirked an eyebrow, "It was your shoulder."

"Pain radiates. It does that." He walked forward to his bedroom door, but I slid in front of him, blocking his path. He sighed, "You are not going without me." He enunciated his words very clearly. "You remember what happened to Deaton when he talked to Valack?"

"Scott and Kira are going to be there with Lydia and me."

"Okay, well I am definitely not letting you go to a place where one of the orderlies almost killed your best friend."

"He almost killed you too!" I nearly yelled, slightly mad that he said he wouldn't let me go anywhere.

"And we're both still alive, see? Teamwork." He brushed past me without another word and went down the stairs.

"You're in the backseat," I called out, following him, "Stubborn ass." I mumbled the last part, but nearly jumped in surprise after Stiles replied.

"Heard that," He called from the front door, and I rolled my eyes.

                                                                      *****

After several minutes of trying the call button, the gates to Eichen finally buzzed open. We all filed in, and I watched Stiles stare at the top of the gates as he cautiously entered the building. Falling back from the rest of my friends, I held my hand out for Stiles to take. He glanced at it cautiously, but quickly grabbed onto it, squeezing tightly. I stared at him reassuringly, squeezing back in a similar manner.

In all honesty, I had always hoped to steer clear of mental institutions. It was simply something that for some was unavoidable, and witches were no exception. In fact, many witches occupied institutions across the country, citing cases of god complexes, or the less common collapsing in on your own knowledge of the universe. Magic has its failsafes, and when witches simply cannot endure the constant demand of keeping up with their magic, they start to fold in on themselves mentally. There's no way to describe it but catatonia: they become shells of their former selves.

Knowing Eichen House and its history with my friends, I had all the more reason to stay away. But there I was, standing in a small lobby, with the front desk situated behind a clear window. The window could slide open back and forth, but it seems even then you needed a key to do so. The rest of the place had a dingy aura to it, similar almost to one motel I had no interest in ever returning to. The once white paint had yellowed, and the faux-brick flooring was fading away. Everything had a sort of cleanliness, but was overwhelmed by the feeling of neglect. I immediately sensed a theme about this place.

I was brought back to reality by the sound of plastic thumping onto a hard surface. The orderly surveyed all of us, before droning in a monotone, "Please empty your pockets into the container."

"We're here to see-" Scott started.

"Please empty your pockets into the container." Staring around at each other, we all nodded. Stiles fished out his phone and wallet while I removed my bag from my shoulder. Nudging Stiles, I nodded for him to put his belongings into my bag. He did so, and I set it down into the container with everyone else's things.

The orderly's eyes landed on Kira, "Please remove your belt and place it into the container."

Kira awkwardly shrugged, "I kind of need the belt. I mean, it's crucial to the outfit."

"Please remove your belt which patients will attempt to take from you and use to either strangle themselves or others." His voice had a certain rehearsed tone, and sounded almost bored. His eyes were anything but. They took us in, excitement flickering at the prospect of new faces.

"Right, got it." As Kira undid her belt, the man's gaze fell on me. His stare was unnerving, as he seemed to drink in everything he possibly could. The hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up as his leer shifted to something that began to feel almost perverted. It was then I felt Stiles shift to stand in front of me just enough to garner the orderly's attention.

All of us snapped our heads over to the sound of a gate clattering, and we were faced with a man in a security guard's uniform. He beckoned us over, and we quickly followed behind him. Personally, I was just glad to get away from the man at the front desk, who seemed like he should consider becoming a patient here himself.

"I'll remind you that I'm only doing this as a favor to Deaton," The guard spoke as he led us down several flights of stairs. "And I'm doing it against my better judgement."

"Hey, what's the etiquette for talking to this guy?" Stiles asked, rolling up his sleeves. "I mean, do you ever look at the other eye?"

"I wouldn't," The guard suggested, "In fact, while you're down here, try not to make eye contact with anyone or anything."

He led us down a series of hallways, past doors with the sounds of moans and screams sounding beyond. The neglect in this place only seemed to become more prominent the further into the institution we went. The walls were no longer clean, and they seamlessly blended into the floors, which were no better. The whole place felt grimy, and I felt the need to bathe grow stronger the longer I was down there.

Lydia, Stiles, and I were leading the group when we all heard several sounds of protest. Turning around, I saw Kira and Scott a considerable ways down the hallway and froze.

"You didn't think you were all going, did you?" The guard asked rhetorically.

"It's mountain ash, isn't it?" Scott asked, and the guard nodded.

"Everywhere, but heavily concentrated down here." He swiped a card to open the gate to what I'm assuming was finally the closed unit. "Valack's cell is the last one at the end of the hall."

Turning to our friends, Scott ushered us to go on. "We'll be right here."

Stiles placed a hand on my back, guiding Lydia and I through the gate. We turned the corner to a dimly lit hallway, and began our walk.

"June, how come mountain ash doesn't work on you?"

I shrugged, "Probably for the same reason it doesn't work on Lydia. Plus, we use it to defend ourselves against other creatures, not the other way around."

Stiles nodded, rounding yet another corner. This corner had multiple cell walls on either side. I was honestly just silently praying that we weren't about to endure the same walk as Clarice, and that we weren't going to be questioning something more terrifying than Hannibal Lector.

I tried to heed the security guard's warning, and kept my locked straight ahead. I heard multiple sets of banging on the walls and some bone-chilling growls, but other than that, it wasn't so terrible. I didn't eve realize that somewhere down the line, I had once again grasped on to Stiles' hand. This time it was him reassuring me.

I had noticed Stiles stop several times, whether it was to gawk at someone or to simply understand what they were, I didn't know. One particular cell I could have sworn I had felt Stiles' hand clench up and grow clammy. He kept stopping in between the windows to catch a glance at whatever was occupying the cell. I dared to peek at whatever he was staring at, and immediately wished I hadn't. For there, fitting right in amongst everyone else, was something that plagued my dreams for almost a year: myself.

My hair was scraggly, and I had a deranged stature about me. I was staring straight ahead at what I figured must be me, but quickly changed my mind. My stare seemed to stretch on into nothingness, and I quickly realized that the person I was staring at wasn't present at all. She was trapped inside her own mind.

Stiles quickly pulled me along to the end of the hallway, and I tried to rid myself of the pee-your-pants kind of terror coursing through my veins. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we reached the last cell.

"Tell me what you just saw," A British accent floated through the holes in the cell which held a normal looking man. Well, he would be normal if there wasn't a bandage covering up a third eye.

"Me?" Stiles pointed to himself.

Valack nodded, "The creature in the previous cell. The sluagh. The myth is they can take on the appearance of the lost souls that have become inextricably bound to it. Happen to have seen any lost souls, Mr. Stilinski?"

"Everyone down here," Stiles retorted. Still, his eyes betrayed the fact that he thought this man was unnerving.

"Don't give up on us yet. We're all works-in-progress."

"Where did you hear that from?" Lydia asked.

"Wise words from a former cellmate." Valack stood up and walked to the window, "Did you bring the book?" With that, Stiles brought out the book from under his jacket and showed it to Valack.

"Very nice," He commented, "First edition. Of course, there was only one printing."

"There's not TR McCammon, is there?"

Valack smiled, "No."

"You wrote the book," I stated, still aware of his fascinated fix on Lydia.

"That's right, June. Maybe you've already guessed that it's not just a book."

"What is it?" Lydia pressed.

"A tool, designed to open your eyes."

"To what?" Stiles asked.

"To them. The Dread Doctors."

"Why did you use a pseudonym?" I asked, stepping in front of Lydia in the same way Stiles had earlier stepped in front of me.

"I had a professional reputation once. I wasn't interested in ruining it by putting my name on a second-rate piece of trash." I nodded, understanding where that could lead in an academic setting. However, none were as terrible as a mental institution that housed supernatural creatures.

"Then why write the book in the first place?" Stiles questioned.

"You haven't even read it yet, have you?" My eyebrows shot up at that statement. "I wrote it because no one believed me. Because no one listened."

"And it looks like we've unlocked some kind of tragic backstory," I muttered, thoroughly uninterested.

"They're here, aren't they?" We were back again with the attention-grabbing questions. "In Beacon Hills."

"What are they?" Lydia asked after pursing her lips in answer.

"Not entirely human. At least, not anymore. They were scientists, once. Scientists who worshipped the supernatural. Tesla said, 'If you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency, and vibration.' They found their secrets in electromagnetic forces. Ways to prolong their lives, give them power, and most importantly, making sure you forget you ever saw them."

"What do they want?" I asked him, slightly worried about what he was saying in regards to their exploration of science.

"Good question, June. Everybody wants something, don't they?"

I heard Stiles sigh in frustration, "Okay, so what do you want?"

Answer ready at his fingertips, Valack held up a recording device. He reached over and placed it into the drawer near the door of his cell. He slid it open and pushed the recorder forward.

Staring directly at Lydia once again, he instructed, "Hit record."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't want you to say anything. I want you to scream."

And there it was. I grabbed the recording device that had somehow landed in Lydia's palm, shaking my head all the while. "No way. Not happening." Lydia turned around with an argumentative look on her face.

"He's the only one who knows anything."

"The guy's a nut-job who drilled a hole into his head," Stiles disputed, "He's probably lying his ass off."

"How many have died so far?" Valack lost his patience and was now yelling. We turned back to face him, "All of them teenagers, am I right? Want to know how many died the first time they came here? Wonder how many will die if they succeed?" The lights began to flicker, and my gaze wandered.

"This did happen before," I confirmed.

Valack glared at me in a way that quite plainly ruffled my feathers. "And now they're back. All because a few teenagers, who never even considered the consequences, decided to reignite a supernatural force they barely understand!"

"The nemeton," I whispered.

"How did you even know about that?" Stiles asked.

"I know because I saw it." His hand flew up to the bandage on his head, and my eyes immediately glued themselves to the floor. He didn't give us reason to stare long, however, for the lights began to flicker at a much more frequent pace.

"Who did you come with?"

"Our friends."

"What are they?"

"Don't answer that," Stiles warned, but it was futile.

"You brought a kitsune." As if to really add to the theatrics, the lights behind us began exploding, pitching us all into a darkness.

"What's happening?" Lydia's voice reached a level of volume I wasn't comfortable with.

"She's disrupting the building's defenses," Valack answered.

"What do you mean, how?" I asked.

"It's not just the mountain ash that keeps this building secure. It's the electromagnetic energy. Eichen is built on the convergence of telluric currents. Ley lines. It's what allows it to keep certain supernatural creatures in, and certain others out." A very distinct whirring sent my jaw clenching and my muscles tensing.

"They knew you were coming," Valack continued, "They're here. And you've unlocked the door for them."

We were distracted by the emergency generators turning on when he threw himself up against the confines of his cell. "Hit record. Do it now, it costs you nothing."

"But it's worth something to you, so you're not getting it for free," Stiles taunted.

"What does the book do?" I asked. He was silent too long for Stiles' liking.

"Tell us!"

"I told you," Valack relented, realizing he no longer had the upper hand. "It opens your eyes."

"How?"

"It triggers the memory centers of the brain, clearing the fog and bringing the images of the Dread Doctors into focus. I wrote the book in an effort to find out if anyone else like me had ever seen them before. I thought I could circulate it, an effort to trigger someone's - anyone else's memory."

Stiles' gaze was darting between us and the hallway behind us, waiting for whatever was coming our way as Valack continued with his explanation. "They'd see the cover, a hint of memory. They'd pick up the book, read it, and the suppressed memory would surface, and then they'd find their way to me to discover more. Just like you did."

"Did it work with anyone else?" Stiles asked.

"You didn't see it on The New York Times' Best Seller list, did you?"

"So all we have to do is read the book?" Lydia clarified.

"If you've seen them, if they've done something to you, then the book will help you remember. Now give me what I want."

Without staring at me, Lydia held out her hand for the recording device. Trying to convey in my stare that this was a terrible idea, I relented, handing it over to her. Standing back with Stiles, I threw a shield over us both and slammed my hands up against my ears, Stiles following suit. When all was said (screamed?) and done, Lydia turned off the recorder and handed it back to Valack. Just in time too, for the alarms started going off.

"Tell us what they want," Lydia demanded.

"Lydia, we need to get out of here," I ushered.

"What are they trying to do?" She ignored me again.

"Read the book. Anyone who's come into contact with them."

"Lydia, we've gotta go, now," Stiles agreed, and not letting her ignore me this time, I grabbed her by the hand and tugged hard. We all started jogging down the hall, Stiles' hand on my back, and Lydia's hand in mine. We rounded the corner to another hallway when we heard the sound of heavy boots clanking right ahead of us.

We skid to a stop, and my eyes landed on a door to our left. Releasing my grip on Lydia, I marched over to the door and rattled on the handle. To my great relief, it was open. Ushering them both inside, Stiles and Lydia both ran into the room at the same time I could see a flash of black leather turn the corner.

Not stopping to ogle, I found Stiles holding Lydia behind a pillar. Stiles reached for me and I grabbed his hands, hugging Lydia around the front and sandwiching her in between the two of us. I held my breath as my stare caught what must've been the Dread Doctors. Too terrified to even think straight, my eyes moved over to Stiles, who was looking at me reassuringly.

I didn't have much time to feel reassured, for almost immediately after that, we all heard Valack roaring in pain. If possible, I clung to my friends even tighter than I thought possible.

A minute or so after that, we heard the kick start of the generators as all the lights began to switch on. Soon all we could hear was our breathing, and I sighed in relief.

"I think we're okay," Lydia stated, but Stiles simply clung onto me tighter.

"Stiles?" I whispered.

"It's not okay," He shook his head. "All of this, it's on us. Everything that's happened, everything that's gonna happen, it's our fault."

I squeezed him back before letting go, standing up straighter, "It's our responsibility."

                                                                           {+}

He watched with glee as the shards of broken glass surrounded the broken recorder. If there was anything he learned from tonight, it was that there were multiple opportunities to get what he wanted. It was comforting enough to dull the ache that had replaced his third eye. It was now time to get to work. The world may seem like it's closing in on these senseless teenagers, but for Dr. Valack, his future only looked promising, and in more ways than one.

No excuses. I'm sorry it took so long. My computer is apparently feeling better. I feel like Moss in the IT Crowd. Love you all, thanks for waiting and pushing this story to amazing things. Unedited. Xx.