The Sheriff drove Scott and Stiles to the police station, with Derek following behind in his vehicle. It had begun to pour, raindrops bouncing off the street, and gushing down the hill into sewer grates. The parking lot was nearly empty when they pulled in; most people had already gone home a few hours ago. Rain splashed against the windows loudly, and the roof of the vehicle.

"I'll be right back," Sheriff Stilinski told them. "I'm going to go get that man's name, so we can pay him a visit. Hopefully, he hasn't left town, yet." He told them, as he put his jacket over his head, and ran into the station. Stiles watched the wipers work furiously, as they waited for his dad to return.

"I heard screaming when I was in your head," Scott remembered, as he sat in the back seat. Scott's ears had healed, and he was able to hear properly again. "It sounded like a banshee."

"Was it Lydia?" Stiles asked, worried.

"I don't know."

Stiles called her on the phone, and she picked up right away.

"Stiles? Are you okay?" She asked, breathless. "I called your house phone, but you didn't answer. I think something bad's gonna happen. I was in my room, and I started screaming, and I don't know who – "

"Lydia, I know. Scott heard you, we're at the police station. Can you come over?" Stiles asked.

"My car's dead," Lydia told him, looking out the window at the pouring rain. She considered walking, but by the time she'd get to the station, Lydia knew she would be soaked.

Stiles glanced over to the vehicle parked beside him, and saw Derek watching him. He rolled down his window, and stuck his head out.

"Can you go pick up Lydia?" Stiles yelled, jumping as lightning flashed across the sky.

"I'll go pick her up," Derek said, starting his engine. "I have to stop by at the loft anyway, and change into something dry," He said, looking down at his rain-soaked clothes.

"Lydia, Derek's coming to pick you up," Stiles told her, as he rolled up the window. "He's just leaving now – he should be there in a few minutes."

"Okay, thanks," She said, hanging up. Lydia grabbed her jacket, and ran out to the porch to wait for Derek.

"Peter, are you here?" Derek called out in annoyance, as he walked into the loft with Lydia. His uncle's laptop and books were spread out on the kitchen table, his cell phone was sitting on the kitchen counter.

"Where are you?" Derek called out. The loft was deathly quiet.

"Maybe he went out?" Lydia suggested, sitting down at the table. "I didn't see his car out front."

"I'm gonna change," Derek told her. "I'll be right back."

Derek ran upstairs to his room, and slipped into a dry Henley, and a pair of jeans. He carried his sodden clothes to the laundry room, and dumped them into the washing machine. Derek grabbed a pair of socks out of the laundry basket, and pulled them on. Derek heard Lydia talking to someone downstairs, as he walked down the spiral stairs.

Peter was sitting at the table, his laptop open. Lydia watched Peter type, looking uncomfortable. Derek noticed his uncle's hair and clothes were dry, and he automatically presumed Peter had driven home. It didn't occur to Derek to question him, or he would've discovered that Dennis had dropped Peter off once he'd withdrawn all his savings for the man.

"Where were you?" Derek asked, grabbing his sneakers out of the hall closet, and tying the laces. He watched as Peter glanced up at him. He blinked, and gave Derek a confused look.

"What?" He finally asked.

"Tell me where you were," Derek repeated. He wondered about his uncle's behaviour, noting that he was acting slightly more unusual than normal. He seemed distracted, and to be honest, a bit sickly.

"Oh, I went to the mall to get some new clothes," Peter told him, gesturing to the large bag at his feet.

"What'd you get?" He asked, walking over. Derek peered into the bag, and took in the folded shirts, and the large jacket. Derek could hear his uncle's heart beating way more rapidly than it should. Peter's face was flushed, and his eyelids were drooping tiredly. Derek hesitated, as Lydia followed him to the door.

"You feeling alright?" He asked, watching Peter start to scratch his arm, painfully gouging into the skin. Peter didn't answer him, his attention focussed entirely on the rash forming on his skin.

"Peter, stop scratching," Derek told him, reaching out to grab his wrist. Peter obediently stopped, and dropped his hand to his lap. Derek reared back in surprise, when he caught a glimpse of the man's dilated pupils.

"What the hell . . ." Derek said, in surprise. He watched as Peter stood up and started to walk to the bathroom, a little unsteady on his feet.

Lydia gave Derek a concerned look, as she watched Peter grab the beam, his eyes clenched shut.

"Peter?" Derek asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you sit down?"

"I'm fine," Peter told him, shrugging his hand off. "I'm so thirsty," He said, walking into the kitchen. Derek could hear the tap running, as Peter chugged a glass of water.

"Should we go?" Lydia asked, hesitantly lifting her eyebrows at Derek. "Is he sick?"

"I dunno," Derek told her. He was torn between leaving with Lydia, and staying a few more minutes to make sure his uncle was okay. There was a loud crash from the kitchen, and Derek quickly ran into the room to see if Peter was alright. Derek froze, when he saw that Peter was lying on the ground, convulsing . Derek ran to Peter, and quickly rolled the man on his side. He used his sleeve to sweep away the shards of glass away from them. He'd never seen Peter have a seizure in his whole life, and it terrified him. Peter's breathing was harsh, his mouth frothing.

"Call 911!" He shouted to Lydia, as she stared in horror as Peter writhed. Lydia pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. She quickly told the operator what had happened, as she watched Peter continue to shake. Peter finally stopped convulsing, his body fully relaxed. Derek was relieved to hear Peter's breathing start to return to normal, though he was unresponsive, and his eyes had rolled back in his head. Lydia watched Derek hold his uncle's hand, leeching the pain. The continuous, black pain shot upwards through Derek's veins, as he sat on the tiled floor.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Lydia asked him, worried. She reached out and touched Derek's arm, trying to comfort him. Lydia hoped that Peter would be all right – asshole that he was, the man was still a member of Derek's family.

When she'd started screaming earlier, her mind had immediately jumped to her friends and family. Her mom, Scott, Stiles, Derek, Kira, Malia, Liam, the Sheriff, Melissa McCall, everyone she could think of. Hoping that they would be okay, that she wouldn't have to attend another funeral. Lydia had jumped on the phone, calling everyone to make sure they were okay, checking in. It hadn't occurred to her to add Peter to that list.

"The ambulance should be here any minute," Lydia told him. She watched as Derek reached down, and touched the collar of Peter's shirt. There were flecks of white powder dusting the collar of his black shirt, and Derek wondered what they from. He stood up, staring down at his uncle. Lydia wrapped her arms around Derek's chest, her head against his chest, as they waited tensely for the ambulance.