The Sheriff came in the evening, looking pale and overworked. Melissa had phoned him earlier to tell him about Stiles, but couldn't get out of his shift until six. A body was found on the side of the highway, and just so happened to be within the county that was part of his responsibility. It had been torn into pieces, and that was all of the information the Sheriff was willing and able to dole out to explain his absence.

Stiles was still weak, but he sat up as soon as his father entered the room. "Hey Dad," he said, giving him a small smile.

"Thank God you're alright," the Sheriff breathed, pulling Stiles into a hug. Scott's senses blazed with the familiar smells of the Stilinski home, the draining scent of tiredness. Scott had no doubt that this was actually the Sheriff, and quietly left the room, giving the two some privacy.

He leaned up against the wall, trying to block out the voices of the Stilinskis while staying on alert as patients and doctors passed by him. He blinked rapidly when his vision turned red, hoping that no one saw his eyes flash gold.

Where the hell was holding Lydia up? He wanted to phone her, but could already hear the snippy comment about him delaying her work, so his phone stayed in his pocket.

His stomach growled loudly, and Scott looked at the closed hospital door. Would Stiles' father stay with him long enough for Scott to go grab a sandwich?

Scott decided not to risk it. Half an hour later, the Sheriff re-emerged from the room. Scott stood up; he'd been sitting on the floor, listening for anything unusual.

"Thank you for getting him here, Scott," the Sheriff said. His face looked relieved, and yet Scott saw the tenseness in his shoulders and how his eyes had entered Interrogative Mode. He crossed his arms, and Scott watched him, refusing to look away as the inevitable question was spoken.

"All Stiles said was that he was stabbed, but he didn't see his attacker's face," the Sheriff began. "But according to his doctors he was assaulted from the front, so unless he was completely blindsided he must've seen something. Did you see the guy's face, Scott?"

"It wasn't a very distinctive face," Scott replied, and it wasn't completely a lie. The shape shifter changed his looks so many times within those last few minutes that he didn't know how to pinpoint its "true" face. Did shape shifters have a default look, or did they go through their lives stealing others in order to survive?

The Sheriff sighed, knowing that he wasn't going to get anything else out of Scott. "How long have you been here?"

"Since I brought him here," Scott replied, gesturing at his bloodied clothes.

"You should get some sleep."

"I will," Scott said. But not now, he told himself. I can't.

Scott stayed in the room until Stiles finally fell asleep. Scott yawned, his eyes itching with tiredness, and he looked over at the clock. It was half past two in the morning. Earlier that evening, Melissa had come in to check Stiles' vitals and gave him painkillers via through one of the thin tubes stuck in his arm.

"Come home with me," Melissa had said wearily. "You've been up all day; you need to get some sleep—"

"I can't leave him alone," Scott insisted. "That thing that attacked us is still out there. It'll strike once we're separated." He was being annoyingly stubborn, and he knew it.

His mother gave him a stern look. "And what good will you be if you're dead on your feet?" Scott gaped at her. Melissa's expression suddenly softened, and she gripped Scott's shoulder affectionately, running her thumb against his taunt collarbone.

Scott looked at her, his eyes wide and begging. Melissa sighed, and nodded wordlessly toward the empty bed to Stiles' left.

"Don't stay up too late," she told him. "And get something to eat." Scott nodded as Melissa left, her shift finally ending.

She had smelled like her usual, human self; citrus-scented bath gel and the lilac aroma of her scrubs.

He didn't hear from Lydia until eight the next morning. His phone rang from the other side of the room from where he slept, facing Stiles' bed. Scott blearily stumbled out of bed, and scrambled over to his phone. Stiles was still asleep somehow.

"Did you find out anything?!" Scott whispered, looking over at Stiles. He heard Lydia sigh dramatically over on her end; she was probably rolling her eyes at him as well.

He was tired, restless with anticipation and fear for Stiles' life. He needed answers, and Lydia stalling, even briefly, was setting his teeth on edge.

"The first search result on Google led me to Wikipedia," Lydia began loftily. "But that was completely useless. Then I found another site called Listverse, but all that gave me was a Top Ten list of mythological creatures." Scott could practically see the little smirk on her face. "Number one was Lycanthropes, in case you were interested.

"There are also quite a few interpretations in Norse, Slavic, and Asian mythologies. That show Stiles likes—Supernatural—is mentioned there for a second. I also checked out their Super-Wiki for some actual information, because every story holds a grain of truth to it. Did the shape shifter's eyes turn silver at any point?"

"No," said Scott, frowning.

"How about molting out of its flesh and growing a new set of teeth when it shifted?"

"None of that," Scott answered. "It just—shifted, with a new face and clothes. Its skin didn't melt off and grow a new one."

"Good," Lydia said, "that would be disgusting."

Lydia's tone almost sounded mocking. Was she even taking this seriously?!

Scott didn't even realize that he had said that out loud until he heard her tsking on the other end.

"I am taking this seriously, Scott McCall," Lydia said angrily. "Filter your thoughts before you say them, or I won't be so willing to cooperate."

"But you will," Scott said desperately. He looked over at Stiles, who was still breathing deeply in his sleep. He could hear his heartbeat, slow and shuddering every few seconds. "You won't let him die."

Lydia was silent, and then said, "Can you handle holding silver?"

Scott nodded, and then realized how useless that gesture was. "Wolfsbane's my fatal weakness," he said. He never had trouble using his grandmother's silverware at home; the whole silver thing was almost laughable to a werewolf. Shades of it were fine, but he never experienced the sensation of pure silver yet, and he didn't want to try that out anytime soon. "I should be OK."

"Shifters seem to have a commonality in weakness with it," Lydia said. "Find some, and keep it on hand until I can figure out a better way to deal with them."

The nurse came in an hour later to check on Stiles' vitals, who was still miraculously asleep. She was petite, her head just barely reaching Scott's shoulder. She gave the werewolf an anxious look as Scott stood at Stiles' side, glaring at her. He didn't mean to give off the vibe that he was challenging her, but he was trying to catch a whiff of her scent without shoving his nose into her throat.

Plain soap and fabric softener. Scott felt himself relax by a fraction. Those types of fragrances weren't enough to persuade him that the nurse had Stiles' best interests in mind. Anybody could lather themselves with soap and call it a scent.

"Were you here all night?" the nurse asked, raising an eyebrow. Scott nodded, not daring to blink. The nurse frowned in disapproval. "We have a set rule about visiting hours, young man."

"I don't care," Scott growled. "I can't leave him."

"You're going to have to sometime today, young man," said the nurse. "How long have you been here?"

"Since he was in surgery."

"That was over twenty-five hours ago," said the nurse, checking the charts on her clipboard. She gestured at his clothes. "I suggest going home and taking a shower. Your friend will still be here when you come back."

"Why are you trying to get rid of me?!" Scott snapped. He dug his nails into his palms when he felt them lengthen into claws. Why couldn't the staff realize that he needed to be here?! Even if they were ignorant of the shape shifter, Stiles had still been stabbed, and that would make anyone panic.

"Scott, calm down."

Scott looked over at the door, eyes growing wide at the sight of Lydia, wearing her red jacket and fitted white dress underneath. She strode into the room, smiling sweetly at the nurse, who looked like she was ready to throw both of them out.

"I'm sorry about him," Lydia said, glaring at Scott. "He has a one-track mind."

Scott was about to protest, but Lydia gave him a warning look before turning back to the nurse. "Can I talk to him in private?"

"Talk outside," said the nurse sternly. She gestured at Stiles. "I have to check his vitals, and your friend here is disturbing my patient."

"Disturbing him?!" Scott shouted, and he saw the nurse flinch. "He's my best friend—"

Lydia came up to him, and grabbed at his arm, directing him to the door. Scott glared at her, and she rolled her eyes.

"Did they not teach you manners at wolf school?" Lydia hissed once they were outside Stiles' room. Scott wrenched out of her grasp, fuming.

"You were the one that told me to keep my guard up!" Scott whispered angrily.

"Guard up, yes," Lydia replied, "but I didn't say to act paranoid! Stop treating everyone like they're going to jump you!"

Scott clenched his fists, and his eyes flashed gold. Lydia was giving me so many mixed messages that he was getting whiplash. He suddenly reached out, and grabbed Lydia's shoulders, and she stumbled as he roughly pulled her towards him. He breathed in her scent: strawberry shampoo and the nauseating stench of perfume layered evenly over her regular scent.

Lydia scowled and shoved him away. "Have you been doing that to everyone?" she scoffed, narrowing his eyes at him.

"From a distance, yeah," Scott said defensively. He looked over at the door. Why was the nurse taking so long? He was tempted—no, determined—to race back in there before she could do anything.

"Scott!" Lydia hissed, and he snapped his head back to face her. "You wanted my help yesterday, and here I am. Stop ignoring me, or I will leave."

Scott sighed heavily, and ran his fingers through his hair, and winced when he felt sharp claws dragging across his scalp. He focused on breathing; in and out, in and out, and felt his claws recede into blunt fingernails.

"Better?" Lydia asked, tilting her head. She had a wide-eyed, accusing look on her face. Her hands were on her hips, waiting for his reply.

"Yes," Scott spat out.

Lydia raised an eyebrow.

"I haven't eaten in over a day," Scott said. He looked back at the door, where the nurse was coming out of. She gave Scott a suspicious look before heading down the hall.

"Go grab something to eat," Lydia instructed him. "I'll meet you in his room to talk. Or do you not trust me to be alone with him?"

Scott narrowed his eyes. "…I'll be back in ten minutes," he said. Lydia smiled victoriously, and sauntered into Stiles' room.