Growing up, Glory had never liked going to the beach. The air was too salty, and the sand always stuck in her hair. But now, as she sat at the top of a dune, Glory changed her mind. She quite liked it.

She burrowed her feet into the cool sand and drew swirling designs with the tips of her fingers. The rolling waves lulled her into a daze, her swollen eyes half-closed. When the sun peeked above the horizon, she left and made the long drive back to town.

By the time she reached the Welcome to Beacon Hills sign, Glory's stomach was growling. She stopped at a gritty diner at the edge of town that looked like it hadn't been renovated since the nineties, with a dirty, faded green awning and hard plastic booths. Several neon letters of the sign reading DINER were burnt out, and the rest were flickering and making a high-pitched buzzing noise. There were two other cars in the small lot and a semi-truck parked around back.

Upon entering and setting off a bell, an older waitress greeted her with a smile and a friendly, "sit wherever, dear." She looked in her late forties, with greying blonde hair in a ponytail and kind blue eyes with little crow's feet in the outer corners. A small army of pink and green gel pens sat tucked away in her small apron and a red one hid behind her ear.

Glory slid into the cleanest booth she could find away from the other patrons: a trucker to whom the waitress was tending with a pot of dark coffee, and an old man with a beard so long he could probably tuck it into his belt. He was reading a newspaper and absently stirring his scrambled eggs into a pile of mush. The diner had a row of booths along the walls by the front and one side of the diner, while a long counter ran the length of the place. A window behind the counter allowed Glory to catch a peek at the cook, a heavyset man with dark locks pulled back into the kind of hairnets that the lunch ladies at school wear.

The waitress finished pouring coffee for the grizzly trucker, who resembled more bear than human, and then made her way over to where Glory was. Glory was pretty sure she looked awful; her eyes were sore, and she was just overcoming an achy head from crying so much.

"What can I get you to drink, honey?" asked the waitress as she slid a plastic menu onto the table. Her gentle tone was like a warm blanket on a cold winter's day.

Glory gave the woman a small, weary smile. "Coffee, please."

"Sure thing."

Glory gave the menu a quick once-over and ordered some waffles with lots of chocolate syrup when the waitress returned with her cup of coffee. Glory dumped in several packets of sugar and cream until the coffee was almost gold.

It was when she was finally digging into her waffles, soggy with syrup, that an unsettling feeling washed over her, like she was being watched. A quick glance around the diner showed that no one was paying her any mind: the trucker and old man were both busying themselves over their breakfasts and coffee, the waitress was writing on her notepad with a green gel pen, and the cook was still clanking around in the kitchen. Glory reluctantly resumed eating, but she still couldn't shake the feeling that someone or something was watching her.

Suddenly, the door banged open, the little bell above violently clanking. Glory jumped a mile high, knocking her knees against the table. She swiveled in her seat to get a look at who just made such an entrance, and she noticed the other diners peering over their shoulders, too. She smelt him before she even laid eyes on him: sandalwood, leather, and a distinct smell of dirt, like he'd been rolling around in it like a dog. She caught sight of his menacing expression and dark eyes, and immediately she shrunk in on herself, trying to be as small as possible in the hard-plastic booth.

She was in deep shit.

Derek stalked toward her table and sat down across from her without so much of a "hello," or "fine morning, isn't it?". She opened her mouth to say as much, but Derek silenced her with a glare, eyes flickering between red and a greenish-yellow. Her mouth snapped shut on its own accord.

"You've caused us a lot of trouble," he growled, his eyes glowing red for several long beats. Glory's hand twitched, and she was briefly reminded of their encounter in the grocery store and at her house. She almost slammed her head down on the table to keep herself from leaping across it. Instead, she wrung her hands on her lap, nervously pulling and bending at her fingers.

Derek continued speaking in a low voice. "Your uncle has us scouring the hills looking for you."

Glory held in a snort, briefly breaking from her internal struggle. "So, he actually noticed I was gone this time?"

Derek ignored her comment, even though she knew he heard it with his super-wolf hearing. Instead, he leaned back and flagged down the waitress, who had been eyeing them with apprehension from the register. He ordered a coffee and pancakes, and actually smiled at the woman. Glory had never seen him smile, whether it was genuine or just politeness. It was unnerving, seeing his white teeth bared in a friendly manner, especially when she knew he could rip out her throat with them.

When he finished his order, Derek turned back to Glory and his smile dropped. "Here is what's going to happen," he said. "You are going back to your uncle's house and you will stop causing trouble. The rest of us have enough to deal with on our hands without your tantrums. You will go back and stay out of our way. You will keep away from the others and pretend you are a normal, oblivious human teenager. Or else –"

Derek paused when the waitress dropped off his coffee. Glory took that moment to shove her shaking hands between her knees. Should she run? Should she stay and listen to his threats? Glory realized what he was asking of her. She couldn't do it. There was no way she could pretend none of this was happening. How could she? It was insane.

Supernatural creatures existed.

And she was one of them.

For years, she had shoved down that feeling that something wasn't quite right, that she wasn't quite right. It all made sense now. She will be damned if she let some werewolf with anger issues control her. She was not going to let him tell her what to do.

"Like hell I will."

The werewolf's eyes flashed blood-red. "What?" he growled. His features were cold and expressionless, but his eyes showed how furious he was.

Glory kept her voice low but firm. "Why should I listen to you? I don't know you and you definitely can't tell me what to do," she told him. She was clenching her fists so tightly they were white. "I-I won't be bullied into denying what I am."

Derek scowled. "Bullied? This is for your own good."

"How?" Glory asked. "Stiles is stupidly normal, but he knows. That's not fair."

"Stiles is Scott's friend. He's an exception."

"Well, I'm Stiles' –" she stopped in her tracks.

What was she to Stiles? I want you. She remembered the look in his eyes, how sincere and vulnerable he had been. How could he want her? Even her own birth parents didn't want her. They traded her for something better. Was there something Stiles saw in her that she couldn't see herself?

She didn't have time to argue further, for a car pulled into the diner's parking lot. It was the sheriff's car.

Glory stiffened. She shot Derek an accusing look. "How could you?" She hadn't seen him use his phone. Maybe he had used it before he came into the diner. It's not like she had run away for good, yet it felt like a betrayal. Like she had been tricked. Derek wasn't her friend. He had every reason to make the call. But it made her furious.

Derek reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, dropped several bills on the table. He gave her a smirk. "It's on me. Enjoy your ride." He stood and made to leave. Before he could get past Glory, she snatched his wrist, twisting it for good measure.

"Congratulations," she hissed. "You've ticked off the wrong person."

Derek regarded her with a blasé, belittling gaze, as if she was a silly child. "I'm sure I have," he replied, trying to shake her grip.

A spark of indignation flared. Derek's wrist grew hot under her hand; she could feel his pulse. She could feel power. She liked it.

It came faster this time, the energy. It flooded quickly, faster than it had with Stiles. It burned through her arm and filled her whole body, right down to her toes and the tips of her ears, which were surely pointed under her brown hair. The energy was like a high, and she kept wanting more.

Derek's shoulders sagged, and he grabbed the back of her booth with his free hand to steady himself. Glory released his wrist. The flow of heat stopped, but she could still sense the energy swirling in her veins, waiting to be spent.

Derek's breathing was laboured. "What did you do to me? What are you?" He panted.

Glory was surprised Dr. Deaton hadn't told him, or maybe there wasn't time. She put on her best Cheshire grin and flexed her fingers, because she had finally realized what she could do. She knew just what kind of power she could wield. Or rather, take.

"Ever wonder why Stiles was always so tired after seeing me? It was like that with my old friend, Cam, too…" She took a bite of her waffles, wriggling a little in her seat from the rush of energy.

"What are you?" Derek snarled again, leaning in close to her. Glory sniffed. He really did smell wonderful.

She finished chewing and swallowed. She wasn't afraid of him anymore, nor of herself. She wasn't afraid of anybody.

"I'm a changeling," she replied. "I take from people. Like I did with you. It's just what I do." She kind of liked this evasiveness, dangling her knowledge above the werewolf's head, so to speak.

"What did you take from me?"

Glory suddenly felt nails digging into the back of her neck. They had not yet broken the skin, but Glory realized her little power trip was over. She had tried to toy with someone who could snap her head clean off without breaking a sweat.

"Well, I don't know how to give it back!" she snapped.

Derek leaned in closer. The nails twitched. "What. Did. You. Take?"

His strength. His power. His will to live.

Where is my child? What have you done with her?

"Everything."

Everything that was taken from her.

Give her back! Give her back!

"Derek, that's enough," the stern voice of Sheriff Stilinski broke through.

Derek released his hold on Glory's neck and straightened up. "Sheriff," he said with a nod before brushing past him and bursting out of the diner. The door shuddered as it slammed behind him. Glory turned and saw that the waitress and the diners were watching them.

Sheriff Stilinski approached her table. "Glory, I need you to come with me," he told her.

Glory heaved a sigh. She was in so much trouble.

XXxxXXxxXX

The ride to the station was mostly quiet. Sheriff Stilinski let Glory ride in the passenger seat instead of in the back of the car. There were a couple wrappers from Jimmy John's and a couple of pop cans littering the foot of the seat. The car smelt like a fast food joint mixed with mint from the car air freshener.

"Sorry about the mess," said the sheriff. "Haven't had time to clean."

Glory didn't say anything.

They came up to a red light. "So," Sheriff Stilinski tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. "What was going on back there?"

"Noth-" Glory decided it was better to tell the truth. "We were having a disagreement." Most of the truth.

"What was it about?"

Glory crossed her arms and huffed. "He was trying to tell me what to do."

The sheriff chuckled. "Yeah, I don't like it when people tell me what to do, either."

There was a long, pregnant pause before he spoke again (because Glory was definitely not going to initiate conversation). "So… are you and, uh…" He hesitated, then he seemed to gather his thoughts. "Are you and my son… dating?" He asked.

Glory choked on her spit. "Ex-excuse me?"

"I know it's a weird thing to ask, but I'm his dad and he seems to really like you, so I like to know these things. Because I'm his dad," Sheriff Stilinski rambled. "And, well. Hm. I, uh, saw the… Well, I saw the, erm – bruises on his neck…" He trailed off.

Glory was mortified.

Heat rushed to her face and she felt like she was going to burst into flames, she was so embarrassed.

Glory finally managed to form coherent words again. "It's complicated?" She offered.

The sheriff nodded. "I'll accept that answer," he said. "I'm just glad he's got something, sorry, someone to distract him from meddling in police affairs. He seems a lot happier lately, too. Ever since his mom, well…"

Frowning, Glory glanced over to the sheriff, who had a sad, distant look on his face. Glory knew that Stiles' mom had gotten sick and died when Stiles was young. She never knew the specifics of Mrs. Stilinski's death.

"Anyway, I'm glad he has you," Sheriff Stilinski affirmed. "Just… be good to him, okay?"

The last part startled Glory and without thinking, she replied, "I will."

Sheriff Stilinski dropped Glory off at Uncle Bobby's, where she got an earful and a months' worth of grounding. Uncle Bobby tried to throw in dish-duty, but Glory already did the dishes most of the time, so he made her house arrest for two months, "for the snark." Glory supposed she deserved it.

While she wasn't allowed to leave the house, Glory considered the porch and lawn part of the house. She was sitting outside on the house's porch steps to avoid one of Uncle Bobby's angry tirades – which were somewhat funny, especially when he worked himself up so much his face turned red and he started sputtering nonsense.

She was playing with a slimy snail, poking it with a stick, when Stiles' Jeep rattled onto the street and stopped by the curb in front of Uncle Bobby's house. The car door slammed, and Glory watched Stiles make his way up the path. He walked right up to the porch and stood a few feet away from Glory.

"Hi," he said, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. She wondered how he could be wearing that silly red hoodie of his in the summer heat. She could smell that odd medley of the others on him from a mile away.

"Hey." Glory had to squint at him through the bright afternoon sun, which was behind him.

He kicked at the stone pathway for a few moments, seeming to gather up the courage to speak. "I'm glad you're okay," he settled on saying. "I, uh, I was worried."

Glory gave him a small smile. "Yeah, your dad told me."

Stiles' eyes bulged. "He what?"

Shrugging, Glory replied with a teasing tone, "It was a long drive from the diner."

Stiles pulled at his hair. "Oh my god – I can't believe him. What did he say? What did he tell you? Please tell me it wasn't anything bad or embarrassing – he didn't tell you about the bath incident, right? Or the time I –" he abruptly cut himself off when he caught Glory giggling. "What is it?" He asked.

Glory shrugged again. "He thinks we're dating."

"Aren't we?"

Glory almost got whiplash with how quickly she looked up from the snail. "No –"

Stiles cut her off. "Iknowthisisgoingtosoundcrazybutcanwebe?"

Glory rolled her eyes. "English, Stiles," she told him, standing up and stretching.

"Can we?"

"Can we what?"

It was Stiles' turn to roll his eyes, except he rolled most of his torso as well. "You're just as dense as – never mind."

Oh.

"I'll think about it."

Stiles' whole face lit up. "Really?"

Glory glanced at him sharply. "Don't make me regret it," she warned him half-heartedly. She couldn't really be mean to those sweet round eyes.

Stiles just stood there, grinning stupidly.

Before Glory could stop herself, she closed the distance between the two of them and hugged him. Stiles initially stiffened in surprise, but he soon wound his arms around her and squeezed tightly.

When they broke apart, he asked, "What was that for?"

Glory looked down at her feet, suddenly very shy. "For wanting me, I guess."

She found herself drawn back into another, bone-crushing hug. This time, they stayed like that until Uncle Bobby hollered at them from the second-floor window and nearly hit Stiles with a lamp.

XXxxXXxxXX

Several weeks later, with special permission from Uncle Bobby, Glory stood at the doorstep of her house, nervousness curdling in her stomach. Nothing had changed: the paint was chipped above the doorknob, the welcome mat still welcoming as ever, and a lopsided, leafy plant was still perched atop the porch swing. A deep sense of nostalgia and longing struck through, making her raise her fist and knock. The third thump seemed to echo for ages before the curtains drew aside and her father's worn face peeked through. The door opened moments later.

It looked like someone had taken a knife to her father's face and carved out lines that deepened whenever he frowned. "You're not supposed to –"

"Please," Glory interrupted him. "I-I need to see her."

"It's not a good idea," said Mr. Finstock. His eyes searched hers, and then wandered to her hair. "You look different. She won't…" he didn't even bother finishing. Glory knew what he meant. There was a niggling behind her heart that told her he was right. She didn't want to give in. Not yet.

"Please, dad, I've got to try," she pleaded. He let her in. A queer feeling settled in her body. The house was the same. Clean. Familiar. But it didn't feel like home anymore.

Mrs. Finstock was enjoying a cup of tea on the back porch. It was considerably cooler in the shade. Glory eyed her mother's pale linen clothes; they reminded her of hospital scrubs.

"Hi, mom."

There was the slightest tilt of her head, but her mother made no other move to acknowledge Glory as she sipped her tea. The cicadas were buzzing loudly in the heat, and the neighbour's kids' shrieks floated over as they played a game of tag. Glory stood awkwardly, feeling like a guest in her own house and waiting to be offered a seat. Except the hostess did not want to take up the task. She rubbed her arm.

At the beach, she had thought of countless things to say, but it all was useless now, she realized. There was nothing she could do to take back the years and do them over. Her mother especially would never change.

Unclenching her jaw and forcing her eyes to her mother's teacup (she couldn't bring herself to meet those hollow eyes yet), she mustered up the courage to speak.

"I know now that –" She faltered.

What have you done with my baby? Give her back!

She tried again, hands quaking. "You were right," she finally said. "I…" It suddenly struck her that she should never have come. She stepped a few paces toward the door, resting her fingers on the rusted handle.

"But I only wish you could have loved me despite it all."

She moved to leave, casting a final glance at Mrs. Finstock; the teacup was frozen at her lips.

Glory took a step inside the house and gently shut the door behind her, the motion evoking a sense of finality. Mr. Finstock was waiting in the living room, and he pulled her into an embrace as soon as he saw her.

"She'll get better," he reassured her, "one day."

Glory knew that would never happen – he had been saying that for years. They were empty words.

She took a sharp breath and decided to tell her father her plans before she lost the courage to do so. It was her choice this time, yet it hurt all the same.

"I called Trudy. She has a spare…" she started, though she struggled to find the right words. How could she tell her own father that she wanted to leave?

Mr. Finstock frowned briefly before understanding dawned in his eyes. "Are you sure?" He asked. Glory nodded. "I will arrange things with the school," he said slowly, after some hesitation.

Glory gave him a watery smile; she quickly wiped her eyes. She glanced toward the front door. "I should get going."

She hugged him once more and headed out. Like with her mother, spared a look over her shoulder and saw that her father had lowered himself into an armchair, one hand resting under his chin and elbow on the armrest.

The heavy door fell shut behind her. The feelings of homesickness that had so violently arrested her only a short time prior had thawed. She hadn't noticed it before: the reddish-brown specks on the welcome mat, the chipped paint looking like scratches from a key, the cigarette butts and bottle caps dotting the soil of the leafy porch plant.

Her resolve strengthened with each step away from the house. As she reached her car, a funny feeling made her glance back at the house.

She couldn't recall an instance where her father had told her he loved her.

And oddly, it did not matter.

XXxxXXxxXX

"How did it go?" asked Stiles as soon as Glory sat down in front of him. They were meeting in a bustling coffee shop near Uncle Bobby's house (who seemed to have trouble actually implementing Glory's grounding). Two coffee cups were on the small round table, next to an open notebook that looked as if a toddler had gotten ahold of it and attacked it with a pen.

Stiles slid one of the cups across the table and Glory took it gratefully. Her hands were still shaking, so she needed something to keep them busy.

Glory shrugged. "It was… It was what I expected, I guess," she said.

"It'll be okay." Stiles offered her a sympathetic smile. Glory looked down at her coffee.

He was so sweet that it made Glory's decision hurt even more. She had not yet told him she was going away; she had just made up her mind the day before and needed time to build up the courage to tell Stiles. That was why she wanted to meet him for coffee, so she could break the news gently. They weren't officially together or anything – neither of them had broached the subject, and they were still trying to figure out how to act around the other – so it was not as if she was breaking up with him. But Glory knew Stiles would be heartbroken.

"Excited for school to start?" asked Stiles.

"Not really," Glory replied. She cleared her throat and started to speak before she could lose her nerve, "Listen Stiles, I –"

Stiles' cell phone beeped, abruptly cutting her off. "Sorry," said Stiles as he checked the message. His eyes widened. "Uh, it's Scott. Is it cool if I get this?" he asked. Glory sighed and made a shooing motion with her hand.

"Okay, I'll be right back," Stiles assured her. "Don't move."

Glory sipped her coffee while she waited. Through the shop's front window, Stiles seemed to be arguing with Scott, gesticulating so wildly he knocked the hat off an old lady. Glory sniggered as she watched him dither apologies until the old lady whacked him with her pursed and walked off.

Stiles soon came back into the shop in a whirlwind of wayward limbs, skidding to a halt in front of their table.

"I'm so sorry, but Scott needs my help with, ah, his furry problem," he said. "Can we meet up tomorrow morning and talk? I can pick you up!"

"Yeah, sure," Glory nodded.

Stiles breathed a sigh of relief, as if he had been worried she would be furious. "Great! I'll text you." He hesitated for a moment before he suddenly lurched forward and kissed her right on the mouth. Glory made an indignant noise, and Stiles quickly pulled away, grinning.

"Bye!" he beamed and went traipsing out the door.

Glory was too flabbergasted to say anything in return.

She shouldn't have been so surprised, because Stiles did that sort of thing a lot. He liked to ambush her with affection, randomly, and occasionally kiss the snot out of her. She was going to miss that about him, and everything else, of course.

Glory finished up her coffee and then gathered her things. The sun was getting low in the sky. She had walked, so she wanted to get home before dark.

Her route took her through a quiet part of town with houses spaced quite far apart, and by the forest. At night, the forest looked shadowy and menacing, but with the late afternoon sun filtering through the branches, it looked warm and inviting. Instead of heading straight back to Uncle Bobby's, Glory veered off the sidewalk and into the woods.

Something was drawing her through the forest. Perhaps it was because it seemed so peaceful, a welcome respite from all the stress. While a breeze rustled the canopy overhead, sounding much like rainfall, and dead leaves and sticks crunched underfoot, the forest was otherwise silent. Glory could not hear the cicadas buzzing in the unbearable heat, nor did she hear any birds singing to each other. It was as if there were no living creatures at all, as if they had suddenly vanished or fled.

She was only walking for a few minutes when the sun dipped low, and the shadows grew longer. The air cooled considerably, but not as much to give Glory goosebumps.

A firefly appeared in her path, a flickering yellow light that disappeared in one place and reappeared a few paces farther down. Gradually, more blinking little orbs emerged, and some were even blue. But these blue fireflies were different; they held a steady glow and fluttered at a much quicker pace. Soon, few of the yellow fireflies remained as the blue ones outnumbered them.

Glory watched with marked curiosity as the blue fireflies cast a ghostlike glow on the forest floor, their tiny shadows dancing across the thick tree trunks. She kept on, the lights guiding her away from gnarled roots and loose stones, and deeper into the forest. After what felt like only a short time, Glory came upon a small lake. The water rippled in the moonlight, shimmering, soothing, alluring while large willows swayed around the banks, long tendrils of leaves caressing the surface of the lake.

The fireflies glided over the lake, covering the water in thousands of glittering blue diamonds. Their movements became erratic and energetic as more pooled into the clearing. They swooped near Glory, like small gusts of wind, almost begging her to join them.

Impulsively, Glory took off her shoes and socks and kicked them off to the side. She plodded down to the river's edge, climbing over a fallen tree as she did so, and dipped her toes into the water. It was unexpectedly warm, and a sense of peacefulness swelled in her chest. She pushed her whole foot through the surface, and then the other, and without a second thought, the blue lights dancing all around her, she wadded deeper into the water.

A firefly flew close to her face, so Glory held out her hand, palm facing the sky, and grinned unreservedly when the creature landed on her the tips of her fingers.

"Hello," she said to the glowing orb. The water was to her waist now.

The firefly stayed for a moment before taking to the air once more. However, it remained close to her outstretched fingers, just out of reach, as if to beckon her forward.

She obeyed.

And she never looked back.

XXxxXXxxXX

It was an unusually warm autumn evening as Scott and Stiles were walking to Scott's house. The hot sun hung low in the sky and a dry breeze kept up a steady pace. The cicadas were buzzing deafeningly in the heat and every now and then a car would roar past them in a cloud of dust and fumes. Stiles was describing to Scott the latest conspiracy theory he had about the new administrative assistant at school when he abruptly stopped in his tracks.

It took Scott, who had been half-listening, a moment to realize Stiles was several feet back, staring at a wooden telephone pole. The pole was plastered with rusted staples and bits of torn papers of old advertisements and lost and found signs. It was one poster that had caught Stiles' eye. The poster was crinkled and torn, but still legible.

MISSING, it read, GLORY FINSTOCK.

And there was a picture of her in black and white. It was an old school photo, before she changed so much. Her hair was light, and Stiles guessed her eyes were still blue at the time the picture was taken. The family's contact information was posted below, with the phone number printed several times so that passersby could rip it off. No one had taken the numbers.

"Are you okay?" asked Scott. He knew Glory was a sensitive spot for Stiles.

Stiles didn't respond for a long while as he stared at the picture of Glory. A torrent of thoughts churned in his mind and he battled the rising emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. Glory had disappeared months ago, and yet every time he thought of her, which was becoming less and less as time wore on, it was as if he was feeling all the things he had the day she vanished, all over again.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I just hope she is, too."

When Scott's back was turned, Stiles ripped a copy of the number from the poster and slipped it into his pocket – just in case.

XXxxXXxxXX

– And there we have it. A long time running (two years!), but finally wrapped up. I might continue this one day, but I'd like to tend to some other neglected fics as well. I hadn't intended this to be a lengthy fic, though I've left it in a way that I could come back and continue it. Thank you guys for sticking around 'till the end :)

Cheers,
ehcorns