Stiles stared off into space as Isaac snored lightly at his elbow. But thankfully for him, Stiles had been with it enough to move his tray before he'd face planted. After last night's events, he wasn't entirely shocked that both Scott and Isaac had a problem keeping their eyes open, but explaining it to Jackson in a way that didn't make him more suspicious was proving difficult.

And the fact that he had joined them for lunch, with Lydia in tow, made hiding the more obvious signs and symptoms of their affliction nearly impractical. He just wasn't buying that they'd stayed up too late playing video games and eating junk food anymore. Especially since Stiles had supposedly fallen asleep before them. Something that had happened literally never.

Each new day brought a more confused Jackson. And a more volatile version too. Any second now he was bound to find irrefutable proof of his werewolf theory and they'd all be screwed.

But as Peter had explained, they'd just have to wait until that problem presented itself instead of inventing one. They had plenty that fell into their laps without adding more, he'd insisted. And unfortunately, Stiles had to agree.

"Stiles, if Jackson won't take me to the doctor, will you?" Lydia questioned, turning to face him.

Jackson hissed a response to her, but Stiles didn't catch it. And since he hadn't really been paying them much attention, he had no idea what was going on between the pair.

"Umm, yes?" Stiles responded slowly. "But, uh, why?"

"Lydia thinks she's seeing dead people," Jackson retorted calmly.

Like he wasn't discussing something absolutely ludicrous.

"Huh, okay. Well, uh, she has been seeing a lot of dead people lately," Stiles answered, stabbing his mashed potatoes, already bored with the conversation.

"Tell him," Jackson instructed. "See what he thinks of your little theory."

Lydia sighed and Stiles offered her a soft smile, sitting up straighter. While he had no desire to get in the middle of whatever argument they were having, and loathed being their designated deciding vote, he wanted her to know he was still there for her. She'd been dealing with a lot, and he knew Jackson loved her and cared for her deeply, but his patience with her could wear thin at the most inopportune times.

She needed to know someone was still there for her. Through thick and thin. And since that's what he'd promised her on the first day of school all those years ago, he owed it to her too.

"I was in the park this morning..."

"Super early," Jackson interrupted, triggering a glare from Lydia.

"Yes, okay, it was early," she conceded, "but I saw her, Jackson. I don't think..."

"Lydia, there are a million explanations," Jackson asserted.

"There is one," she insisted, crossing her arms over her chest and pushing her untouched tray away. "I see dead people. That isn't normal, Jackson." She swiveled on the bench seat until she was blocking out her boyfriend entirely, garnering a smirk from Stiles in return. "I saw someone I know is dead. And has been for, like, a long time."

"Oh, so... not someone who died recently?" he wondered, furrowing his brows. "You didn't stumble on another dead body?"

"No. I think it's escalating," she admitted, clearly concerned with the new development. "And Jackson..."

"I really, really don't think that's what's happening here, babe," he continued, undeterred by her heavy sighs or her shooting daggers at him for cutting across her again. "And you need to be careful who you say this around."

"My point is, Jackson, that if it is..."

"Are you a danger to yourself or others?" Stiles interjected.

"Wh––what?" she stuttered, blinking rapidly.

"If we take you to the doctor, they'll have you committed against your will, Lyd." Stiles paused, taking a breath and allowing that to sink in fully. It was true that he was intrigued by the new turn his afternoon had suddenly taken, but she needed to be careful. "Which is what I'm sure Jackson is trying to save you from by gaslighting you. Being involuntarily committed would probably cause more harm than good."

Jackson instantly bristled at the succinct accusation, but as he'd never been someone who approved of being called on his bullshit, it didn't surprise Stiles in the slightest Jackson would respond that way.

"Seriously," Stiles continued, pushing his own food back. "A psych hold is not a place you want to find yourself. I'm with Jackson. We take a beat, find out what's going on before we make any rash decisions. But honestly, if you're not in danger of hurting yourself or anybody else, it might just be something you have to deal with through, like, I don't know... yoga or something."

Lydia's face fell, and the guilt that congealed in Stiles' veins at having done the exact thing he'd just chastised Jackson for felt awful.

With the way things had gone lately, Stiles couldn't very well count out the idea that what Lydia suddenly found herself dealing with might be supernatural in nature, but he couldn't tell her that. And he didn't know if it was possible, either. But there were ways to find out, and he'd have to do that quietly.

"You think yoga is going to fix this, Stiles? Really?"

"Would it kill you to relax a little? Fuck, Lydia. I mean, I love you girl, but unclench," he teased.

Jackson snorted his laughter, eliciting another deathly glower from his girlfriend. Stiles attempted to go back to eating his lunch, but he'd lost his appetite.

Not that he was counting, but if Lydia wasn't entirely human, he was officially the only one left. Lonely didn't begin to cover the depth of emotions attached to that sentiment. And Jackson hadn't counted in the human category for a while. He was clearly an alien. An alien from a planet where all they cared about was sports.

Either way, Stiles needed to know how much of what went bump in the night was not only real, but had been deemed a folktale to save the collective sanity of humanity. And he needed his tether to the Hales to figure it out as soon as possible.

As he gathered all their stuff and pulled up with Isaac, the sleepiest werewolf, with him to go to their next class, he peered around everyone in the hall as he looked for Scott. He'd hoped to have more time to discuss things, but he'd been with Allison, so that was a crapshoot.

They didn't come up for air unless the world was falling apart. Even though Stiles had stressed the importance of subtlety with her grandpa as their principal.

When he finally caught sight of him, Scott was indeed holding Allison's hand and walking at an infuriatingly leisurely pace. But the minute he saw Stiles, he did manage to move faster and detach.

"Hey, sorry. I..."

"I literally do not care about your make out sessions with Allison, dude," Stiles said, cutting him off. "I need you to call Derek."

"Oh, okay. Uh, why?"

Isaac giggled next to them from where he was propped up against the doorframe, but Stiles didn't turn to see if he'd fallen all the way asleep or not and was now dreaming. As long as he was still standing, they were good.

"I need to know if other supernatural creatures are real," Stiles blurted out in a whisper as others rushed past them.

"Aren't you the lore expert?" Isaac asked, never opening his eyes. "Can't you just Google it?"

"What? Werewolves are real, so everything is?" Stiles scoffed, rolling his eyes at Isaac before turning back to Scott. "Can you call him? I need to know if anything else exists or if it's just werewolves? And if the answer is yes, find out what the other things are, okay?"

"Okay, um, but still. Why?"

"Lydia is... dealing with some stuff," Stiles explained, becoming increasingly exasperated with having to rationalize his request. After everything they'd been through lately, and how cool he'd been with it, he deserved blind trust. "I'm trying to decide if it's something maybe the Hales can help with, that's all."

"You want to tell her about us?"

"What? No, dude. Chill. I just meant, if she's seeing dead people, and they can point me at the right creepy creature, that might save her a lot of heartache, right?"

"Oh, okay. Sure. I'll, uh, be right back. Take this," he demanded, shoving his backpack at Stiles. "Tell Ms. Blanchard I went to the bathroom and I'll be right back."

"Sure. Thanks, man."

Scott nodded, pulling his phone out of his back pocket as he rushed off again, leaving Stiles to get Isaac into a seat without rousing too much suspicion. But several minutes passed with no Scott, and when he did finally appear again, sneaking in behind their teacher's back, Stiles' leg was bouncing so fast he was sure it was going to fall off.

Unfortunately, since almost fifteen minutes had passed since class had officially started, there wasn't a lot they could do in the way of talking out loud. So, Stiles pointed to his phone and maneuvered it until he could type under the desk, and out of anyone's line of sight.

< What'd he say?

< And which 'he' did you talk to?

< Is it just werewolves?

Thankfully, Scott understood the urgency and began to type back frantically before even the second and third messages had come through.

> It was Peter. Derek didn't answer. He said other things exist. And he told me to stop calling with dumb questions and go to class.

Stiles scowled as he rolled his eyes, sending another set of rapid fire texts.

< I told you to ask him what else there was, man.

< Tell Ms. Blanchard you have diarrhea or something. You have to go back to the bathroom.

< Lydia thinks she's losing her mind, Scott.

Scott shook his head as he responded, never looking in Stiles' direction as he did so. And while he knew why that might be the case, probably finding it too tempting to just carry on an actual conversation, he didn't find it less irritating.

> I told him about Lydia. He asked if it was Kate Argent she saw. Who is that?

Stiles groaned at his own stupidity. He'd never thought to ask Lydia who it was that she'd seen. He knew Kate Argent, a woman he also thought was dead, was alive and well and at the Hale House.

He pulled up another set of messages, the ones that held Lydia's name at the top, and decided to go straight to the source. And what she sent back made Stiles nearly squeal in delight. He wasn't the only human left. Thank. God.

> How'd you know that?

He was right. He switched back over to Scott, navigating the different windows with the ease only someone with poor concentration could master.

< It's not supernatural. She saw Kate Argent. She's Allison's aunt. A bunch of people went to her funeral and thought she was dead. Myself included. It's fine, though. You don't remember that whole thing?

> We should tell Allison.

This time it was Stiles' turn to disagree visibly with their discussion, peering at Scott only out of the corner of his eye. If they all didn't tread very, very carefully, this was bound to blow up in their faces. And based on what he'd overheard that morning with Kate and Peter, no one could really afford that right now. He needed more information first. Information that didn't come from overhearing a whispered conversation with the Alpha and a woman that was dead until this morning according to everyone in Beacon Hills.

< I don't think Gerard is supposed to know she's here. I'll explain after class.

Stiles then tucked away his phone, and not a moment too soon. Their teacher had begun to pass out the practice test she'd been droning on about for the past week, walking up and down every aisle.

He tapped Scott's leg as she peered down at them, leaning back slightly to jab Isaac in the side and wake him up long enough to play the part of a conscious teenager.

When she finally made it to them, slapping the stack of tests down on his desk, there wasn't an electronic in sight. And Isaac seemed as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as always.

A win all around.

Now he just had to figure out what to do with this new slew of information and decide if it bothered him that he'd become so accustomed to the weird in Beacon Hills he hadn't batted an eye at any of it. But then again, Stiles reasoned, Beacon Hills seemed to be a magnet for the strange and sinister.

And so was he, it seemed.