Disclaimer: Um, I own the books. Like, my own copies. And some bookmarks. But that's it. Sigh.

A/N: Happy Halloween! I'm telling you, I love this holiday. Even though I live in Florida and missed all the fiery leaves and chilly weather, I had a good time trick-or-treating with my younger brothers, and I got in a few episodes of classic Scooby Doo. XD But tomorrow is the first day of National Novel Writing Month! (OMGTHEPRESSUREEEE.) But I did a lot of research so I'm not too freaked out. ;D Anyway – moving on!

I feel I planted small seeds of a plot in the first half, but they didn't blossom until this half. I could've edited it down, but I'm a sucker for the fluff in the beginning. So now you get the legit story along with it. :)

So here's some super-sugary fluff to go along with your Halloween candy. ;D Enjoy or destroy!

She paid rapt attention through Dracula, mouthing lines at certain points, smiling when people jumped at the scares. She was the same through Nightmare on Elm Street, only she hadn't seen that one as often. She jumped with everyone else, hand tight on mine, but I wasn't complaining. Not even the obnoxiously drunk goths could ruin my night.

There was an intermission before the last movie, so after she went to the bathroom, I went back to the lobby to refill our drinks and popcorn.

"How's your night goin'?" asked the ticket girl. She was at the concession stand now, moving slow and causing a line behind me. She smacked her gum as she rang up the order, either ignorant or indifferent, thick fingers poking at the keys.

"Fine," I said, forking over the money. She let my hand hang in space.

"Yeah, my night's alright, too. Rather be watchin' the reels though," she said. She shoveled some popcorn into my bucket and sighed. "You know I had a date tonight? Marcus. But I had to work, so..." She shoveled harder, popcorn trickling to the floor. "So now he's out with Sierra."

"Sorry to hear that," I said. My foot twitched.

She shrugged, moving on to the sodas. "If he has that kind of taste it's not such a loss."

"Guess so."

She grabbed a tray from a stack on the counter behind her, fitted the food into it, and finally took my money. "So who's the girl you brought in? The blonde ball of perk?"

I snorted. She'd love that comparison. "Girlfriend."

She nodded in approval. "She's cute. How long've you been dating?"

Despite knowing the answer almost down to the hours, I shrugged. "Six, seven months. Since April." She handed me my change, a dollar short. "Missed one," I said, handing her back the money. She chewed her lip while she recalculated.

"That's about how long my ex and I lasted," she said. She blew a bubble with her gum as she pawed through the quarters. The guy behind me groaned. "He dumped me, like, a week after we hit the six month mark."

"Oh really?" I said, drumming my fingers on the counter. You gave me back four; you owe me five, so just switch the bills and–

She found a five. "Yeah. Wanna know why?"

No, but you'll tell me.

She finally found the right change, dropping it into my hand. "He said I brought the wrong kind of attention."

I met her eyes, a sightless green, and her sour expression that hadn't changed the entire conversation.

She slid the tray into my hands and popped another bubble. "Enjoy the movie."

He said I brought the wrong kind of attention.

I don't care if I look like an idiot.

But you're not an idiot.

Stop that... You're better than that.

So you don't care?

I kicked open the theater door, balancing the tray in one hand as I sidestepped a girl on her way out. She smelled like a bar, and I threw her a look – one of the goths, her pale face suddenly green. Two more followed her out, catching me in the act.

"Perv," said one, while the other one curled his ringed-lip in a snarl.

Yeah, she was exactly my type. I rolled my eyes and kept going.

He said I brought the wrong kind of attention.

You know I don't think you're a stupid delinquent, right?

I climbed the stairs, trying to tune out the thoughts with better ones. She sees past the stereotype, remember? She's different, she knows you. What's the problem?

Maybe she doesn't always like what she sees.

I forced myself to zero in on the scent I was most familiar with, purely Chloe, and noticed there was an extra smell – kind of like a bar. Shit.

The drunk ringleader of the goths was sitting in my seat

"Yeah, Emma can't really handle more than a sip, but I bet you could," he said, tweaking a rod in his ear.

"Not interested," Chloe said, leaning away. He sighed.

"C'mon, don't be that way. Ditch your brother–"

"Boyfriend."

"Whatever, just ditch him, okay? You can do better. I'll drive you home. After we hit this party–"

She pinned him with her typical defiance. "Why should I?"

His eyes flashed, and he leaned forward to whisper something in her ear. Something he thought no one else could hear.

Guess he hadn't counted on her boyfriend being a werewolf.

"Listen, you're gorgeous, I've got a nice place, big bed–"

Time skipped. I found myself behind him, even though I didn't remember walking there, and said the only word in my mind that wasn't a swear. "Leave."

He looked up as he settling into his – my – seat, the rings on his eyebrows scrunching together like a chain link fence of annoyance. "Who's making me?"

Bad idea. I stared at his yellow teeth and felt the muscles in my back tense, my stance harden, and the beginnings of a growl rip through my throat.

"Derek," Chloe warned, but it only reached the edges of my hearing. Instinct had kicked in. Protect.

I dropped the cardboard tray on a neighboring seat, ice cubes rattling louder than the surrounding whispers. Those stopped. "I am."

He laughed and stood, not the least bit phased when his full height only brought him to my shoulder. "Oh yeah? When's the last time you got in a fight, kid? One that wasn't over the last chicken leg?"

"You'd be surprised," I said. He would be – I doubted he'd killed anybody, in self-defense or otherwise.

"I would? Why's that, buddy? You got a secret weapon?"

"Do you? I'm twice your size. Unless you've got a gun stapled to your face, I'd say I have the advantage."

He sneered, and my eyes flicked to Chloe, barred from escaping because of us. "You've got a smart mouth, buddy. I like that. Maybe I'll let you off easy this time–"

"I can't say the same," I said.

"Derek, please," Chloe hissed, still just a picture, too outside of my sphere of thinking. Our eyes caught, but then the guy stepped forward and blocked her from sight.

"Derek, please," he mocked, grinning. "She's your girlfriend, huh? How much did you pay her to come out tonight–?"

I didn't think. I swung, fist slamming into his stomach, the air rushing out of his lungs in one intoxicated gasp. He doubled over in a wheeze, and I wrenched him up by the shoulders and shoved – he toppled over the empty seats in front of us like an oversized Slinky, crash landing three rows down on the gum-splattered carpet. He moaned, swore, teetered to his hands and knees.

Something constricted on my elbow and I turned – Chloe. Her fingers tightened, my vision widened, and finally I saw her. Her eyes were wide with shock and – what else? – disapproval. "Derek–"

"He," I started, realizing I'd chucked my vocabulary over the seats, too. There was no explanation. "He's drunk."

"I know."

I swear to God if he touched you–

"Derek," she said, all business. Her eyes flicked to the bottom of the stairs. People were talking to a theater employee, who was looking right at me. None of it sounded good. "We have to go. Now."

Our eyes locked, and I wasn't even sure what we were silently arguing about. All I did was–

Pick up a guy and throw him?

I inwardly swore. "Yeah. Okay."

She watched me a second longer and nodded, bending down to get her sweatshirt. I looked around, the heat sliding off my back. People were starting to stare. Of course. Even next to the guy who would set off a metal detector, I would be the one everyone gave dirty looks. That's how it always was, and that's how it always would be. Shit.

"C'mon," she said, nudging me until I backed into the aisle. She grabbed the food and then my hand, steering us down the steps and out the side door before anyone could stop us.

Chloe let me drive, but not because she thought it was a good idea. She didn't have much choice without a license.

"It's okay," she said. "We'll just go home and–" She took a deep breath. "No, too many people. We don't have to go home–"

"I'm fine," I said, hitting the brakes too hard at a stoplight. She looked at me. "I'm fine."

She touched my arm. "I'm sure he's fine–"

"I don't care if he's fine," I said. But it was a lie. It was happening all over again. I'd screwed up, and now my family would have to pay for it. And this time it wasn't just Dad, Simon, and I. We had the girls to worry about. I had Chloe. How could I do that to Chloe?

"You don't mean that," she said, absently massaging my shoulder. "You're stressed, you're worried, but it'll be fine, trust me. He was drunk; he'll get in trouble before you–"

"It wasn't him they were scared of," I said, not bothering to fill her in on the conversations I'd overheard on our way out of the theater. When they weren't talking about me, they were all talking about her – poor girl, dating that monster. Wondering if she was okay, just how violent I was, and if I'd ever hurt her–

I leaned out of her touch, her hand falling to the console between us. I kept my eyes on the road, trying to ignore the fact that I could see her in my peripherals, smell her over the forgotten popcorn, and hear her breathing and the way her heart pounded. "Derek–"

"We're going home," I said. I made all the right turns. Followed all the traffic laws. Avoided her pointed stare.

"BRO!" Simon called as we entered the house. The music was loud, a rock song I barely recognized, and the amount of people crowded into our living room slash dance floor was definitely more than Dad had allowed. "DEREK! OVER HERE!"

Chloe trailed behind me as I crossed the crowd to find him with his laptop hooked up to the stereo. iTunes was up, and he was making up a new playlist. "You don't have to yell," I said. "Turn the music down."

"WHAT?"

"Turn the music down!"

"WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU! THE MUSIC'S TOO LOUD!" He was grinning ear to ear, the red eyeliner scar smudged with something that looked a lot like lipstick. "DO YOU SEE THIS? THIS IS THE PARTY OF THE YEAR. WE'RE LEGENDARY."

"Correction, I'm legendary," Tori said, coming up behind me. I groaned. The noise was drowning out most of my enhanced senses, but unfortunately, I could still see. Tori had vacuum-sealed herself into a leather jumpsuit, complete with tail and ears. Her painted nose twitched at the sight of me, and she peered around to look at Chloe. "You're home early! Decided you couldn't miss this?"

"No," Chloe said, glancing at me. I shook my head. "We're just tired–"

"YEAH DAD WAS TOO!" Simon said. "DO YOU KNOW WHERE HE IS? GUESS WHERE HE IS!"

I tensed. "Where is he?" Where could he go without the car?

"HE WENT BACK TO THE OFFICE! SAID HE HAD A CASE TO WORK ON! BUT HE TOOK HIS PILLOW!"

"Did Aunt Lauren take him?" Chloe asked.

"YEAH, SHE SAID SHE WAS DROPPING HIM OFF. I ASKED HER TO PICK UP MORE SODA. DUDE, WE'RE OUT OF SODA. WHEN'S THE LAST TIME WE HAD A PARTY WHERE WE RAN OUT OF SODA?"

"Your fifteenth birthday," I said. He frowned.

"WELL YEAH BUT– OKAY, BUT DUDE, IT'S ONLY BEEN LIKE TWO HOURS–"

"Three and a half," Tori corrected, rolling her eyes. She turned to me. "Simon's been hitting the candy bowl."

"I ONLY HAD THREE PIXIE STICKS, I SWEAR–"

"Does that count the amount Hannah downed just before she sucked your face?"

I swore. "When's the last time you checked your blood sugar?"

Simon's grin deflated. "UM–"

Chloe sighed. "I'll go get his test kit." Simon blacked out the laptop screen and took off after her.

I looked at Tori. "Is anybody in my room?"

"Oh come on, this is not that kind of party–"

I looked to my left to find a girl dressed as a vampire straddling the waist of a guy dressed as a banana, the amount of dexterity in their tongues enough to give Gene Simmons a run for his money. Tori flushed.

"HEY, GET THE HELL OFF MY COUCH! GO FIND AN OVERPASS TO DO THAT SHIT UNDER! AND SERIOUSLY? A BANANA?"

I left her to argue with her party guests, heading for my room. I needed a quiet place to call Dad and warn him. We had to be ready to run.

The house was trashed. I weaved in and out of the kids I recognized and the ones I didn't, spills and garbage sprinkled on the floor like cheap confetti, crunching under my shoes likes leaves. The landlord was going to be pissed when he found it abandoned like this.

The crowd filled up every crevice, right down to the hallway, and I had to elbow my way past two more couples and a group of witches huddled around a crying princess. I finally found my door – guarded by a disgruntled Santa.

"Password?" he said. I rolled my eyes.

"I live here."

"Password?"

"Aren't you a little early this year?" I asked.

He groaned, ruffling the mustache on his fake beard. "Yeah, like I haven't been hearing that all night. It does double duty, okay? I wear it for Halloween, Dad wears it for Christmas for my little sister, but sometimes girls sit on my lap, and I tell them they're on the naughty list–"

"Yeah, great, can I get in my room please?"

He deflated, his speech pointless. Then he hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Last I heard, somebody was in there, if you know what I mean."

Just great. "Is there anyone in there now?"

He shrugged. "I dunno."

"Then why are you standing here?"

Across the hall, a toilet flushed, and the bathroom door opened to reveal the Cowardly Lion. "S'all yours, Nick." He left the hall, stopping only to hand the crying princess a wad of tissues.

Santa grinned, "Merry Christmas," and was unzipping his fly before he'd even shut the door. I shook my head as I barreled into my room.

Judging by the mountain of sweatshirts, parkas, purses and backpacks, Tori dubbed Simon's and my room as the coatroom. I heaved the pile off my bed and added it to Simon's, sitting down as I pulled out my phone and hit speed dial. The noise was still outrageous, but I could at least hear my own breathing now. It rang once, and sent me to voicemail.

I tried a few more times before leaving a message, telling him to call me back, intentionally vague. He always answered his phone – the only time he didn't was what landed us in Lyle House. I started pacing, thinking, before finally dialing Dr. Fellows, the last person to see him.

"Hello?"

"Hey, It's Derek. Are you with Dad?"

"Yes, actually," she said, laughing. I realized she was yelling over noise not too different from the noise here. "Well, he's somewhere around here. Didn't he tell you? They're having an office party at the firm! You should see him; he's the life of the party."

"Oh." I exhaled in relief. "Simon said he took his pillow–"

"Yeah, it's part of his costume. He came in his pajamas."

"Really?" But then I got it, his earlier comment. I also need my beauty sleep. I didn't ask what her costume was – the phrase 'what are you wearing' was not something you say to your girlfriend's aunt.

"Mmm hmm." She sounded buzzed. "Do you need to talk to him?"

"Yeah, it's impor–" But did I? He was having fun. Did I really want to ruin that?

I cleared my throat. "No, I was just wondering why he wasn't answering his phone. Chloe and I are home now."

"Good. Did you have fun?" She cleared her throat, uncomfortable with the kind of 'fun' she always suspected us of having.

"Yeah," I said. The door opened, blonde hair falling into the room. Chloe raised her eyebrows, asking permission to come in. I nodded. "Listen, I gotta go."

"I'll tell him you called. We should be home by the time your guests leave."

"Thanks, Dr. Fellows."

There was a pause. "It's Lauren. Call me Lauren." It had to be the buzz talking.

"Okay. Thanks, Lauren."

"Happy Halloween." The line died, and I snapped the phone shut.

"Simon's fine," Chloe said as I tossed the phone onto the pile of coats. She sat down next to me. "Aunt Lauren?"

"Yeah, I couldn't get a hold of my dad, so I tried her." I filled her in on his office party, and repeating the story helped clear the panic I'd felt since hearing his voicemail. Dad was fine, Simon was fine. Everyone was fine.

For now.

"You called her Lauren," Chloe said after a minute. Her eyes narrowed. "You never call her Lauren."

"She asked me to," I said, getting up to dig around the room. What mattered? What did I have to take? Clothes, obviously, but I'd been making a life here. There had to be more. Books? Too heavy, too much space. Movies? There'd be nowhere to watch them.

In the end, there wasn't anything. Maybe a few pictures, the folder of things Chloe had written for me, the gifts from my last birthday. But those weren't even that important. I had my family to worry about.

"You're overreacting," Chloe said, grabbing my hand as I passed her.

I had her to worry about. My fingers flexed, and I dropped her hand.

She didn't say anything for a while, her face warring between anger and confusion. It settled on a tense mixture. "What's wrong?"

"We need a plan," I said. That was what mattered. I needed a plan to get us out of here. Everyone else could have their last night of freedom, but I was going to be ready.

"You need to calm down," she said.

"I did that last time and look what happened?" I snapped. "I screwed up, and now I'm going to fix it."

"He's fine–"

I wheeled. "How do you know?"

She stared at me, blue eyes still calculated slits, cheeks still red, raspberry on her lips. "I don't."

"Good, so we're agreed. I'm planning for the worst." I crashed into the chair at the desk and pulled out a notebook and pen. "Go check how much food is left in the kitchen – it won't be much. I'll see how much of Simon's meds we have stashed and start getting our things together, and I know where Dad keeps the money–" My hand soared over the page as I wrote everything down, my thoughts zapped into neat little letters, undoing the knots in my head.

She grabbed the pen out of my hand, looking down at me with imploring eyes. "Stop."

I grabbed another pen. This time I was expecting it. As soon as she reached for it, I moved, holding it just out of reach. After a minute or so of keep-away, she laughed, still stretching over me.

"C'mon, Derek–"

"I've got to do this–"

"Just give me the pen–"

"No."

"Please," she said. I got up and walked away, writing with the notebook over my head. She jumped for it, and my face cracked into a smirk.

"There are other pens," I said.

"But I need that one."

"Why?" I shook it. "It doesn't even work."

"Well, maybe if you weren't fighting gravity–" She made another swipe.

"Chloe–"

"Derek."

She was in front of me now, hand on my shirt, pulling me down to her level. A strand of hair fell into her face, and she chewed on her lip, but otherwise the smirk was the same. We were at that red light again, only this time, nobody was around to honk. I put the notebook down.

"It can wait," she murmured. "We never finished our date."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault; Red was just being a jerk–"

"Red?"

She blushed, letting go of my shirt. "That's what I called him in my head. Red, red hair. He never told me his name."

She took a step back, and I followed. "I heard what he said, and I just–" I shook my head. "I lost it, and I brought the wrong kind of attention, and now we're back where we started–"

"What's today?" she said.

"Saturday?"

She smiled. "No, what's important about today?"

I fished around for an answer. "It's Halloween."

"Exactly. And what happens on Halloween?"

She stepped back again. My hands went to her waist, pulling her back and rolling my eyes. She put her arms around my neck. "Ghosts appear, witches fly, demons walk the earth. Wait," I pretended to wince. "That already happens."

"Tori can fly?"

I gave her a look. "What's the point?"

The joke in her eyes disappeared. "Look at what's going on in your own house," she said. "Everyone gets into trouble tonight. Do you really think your misstep is going to get any attention? Think about it."

Having her stare me down actually made it easier to think, because I wanted to prove her wrong. But it made sense. We'd passed two accidents on the way home, parties worse than this – the cops would be preoccupied. The papers would have other things to talk about. Nobody would see another article about me, so nobody could be tipped off on our whereabouts.

"I still shouldn't have done that–"

"Do what, defend my honor?" Her smile came back. "Was it stupid? Yeah. But I'm not going to lie..." She stepped back once more, the backs of her knees hitting the edge of my bed. "It was interesting."

"Interesting?"

She nodded, her face completely red now, both of us waiting for the other to make a move. I wished she'd keep talking, give me the excuse…

Eventually, she said, "Okay, teasing aside. I appreciated it. I know it was just your protective streak kicking in but–"

"That's not it," I said.

"Then what?"

I stared at her. You're everything. I could think it, but I couldn't say it. Red just suggesting she should leave made me paranoid that she would. Why shouldn't she? I probably gave her ten reasons a day.

The truth was, even if I didn't care what anyone else thought, her opinion was one that mattered. And I wanted that opinion based on me alone, not on what guys like that told her, or people whispered behind our backs, or the things her aunt insinuated. If it was me against them, I barely stood a chance.

I'd reacted out of fear. The fear that, if I waited five more seconds, the past six months would be over. Then I had to fight the losing battle. Had to disprove my own doubts – and there were a lot of them.

It sucked, but I could deal. I didn't have a choice, because I was pretty damn sure I was in love with her.

I just didn't have the words.

"I need to tell you something," she mumbled. "I..."

"Yeah?"

She hesitated, but she was here. She'd found me – again, like she'd been doing from the start. If she could do that, I could tell her the truth. Six months or not, she needed to know.

She exhaled. "I, um, I don't know how to say this–"

I cut her off. "I love you."

Now time slowed down, ticked by, flickered out. For some reason, that was okay. Every second made me more sure.

After an eternity, she blinked. "W-what?"

It was a fact, and once it was out and verified, I didn't have a problem repeating it. "I love you." She blinked again, like I was speaking Farsi. "Okay, I know sentence structure isn't my thing, but I know I said that right–"

"I love you, too," she said. I must've froze, because her eyes went wide. "No, really, I mean it, I was t-t-trying to say it b-b-but–"

"You mean it?" I asked. "You're positive?"

"Y-yes–" She huffed, waited for the stutter to pass, and went on. "Yes, I'm positive. It's not really something I could lie about–"

"I didn't ask that, I'm asking–"

"If I'm sure, yeah. Completely. Absolutely."

I'd seen Chloe's nervous face, her lying face, and her pressured face – this was not any of those. Her eyes were serious but her mouth twitched, as if she wanted to laugh. I realized I was slowly nodding, shocked into a relief so strong I could practically taste it. Even after tonight, she still liked what she saw. "Good… That's good. Great. Because I'm sure, too. Been sure–"

She tugged until our foreheads touched. "I think you should kiss me."

I nodded again. "Sounds good."

Wasting no more time, I crossed the space between us.

A/N 1: I tried to get Derek as accurately as I could, drawing heavily from Kelley's novellas, Dangerous and Divided. I think I got at least his thought process right – the actions are always up for debate. ;) I also think it's very possible that Derek values Chloe's opinion that much, enough that he would worry about it. And the worry would intensify the more attached he became… I think he has to have some weakness there. :D

A/N 2: While writing Derek's 'I love you', I giggled and my inner critic instantly said, "AW DEREK YOU MUSHY BEAR." Why? I have no clue. This was at four in the morning, okay? But those of you waiting on chapter eight of Ghosts deserve a good reason to make fun of me, so I thought I'd share. :)

A/N 3: Only five points to Gryffindor this time if you caught the second Ghosts reference. That one was way obvious, lol.

Thanks for reading, guys. You rock my metaphorical socks!