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The echo of Derek Hale's words refused to leave Octavia alone, his deep, almost growling voice telling her to ask Rhiannon what Peter Hale—the Alpha and Derek's uncle—had growled at her that night in the video store. It lingered like a shadow in her thoughts, unshakable. She'd spent the last several hours trying—and failing—to shake it off.

First, she paced her bedroom, staring at the ceiling fan until its spinning made her dizzy. Then she called Stiles, who, as usual, had a thousand ideas, most of which involved roping Scott into this mess. Octavia had shut that down firmly, though she knew Stiles wasn't about to drop it. His persistence and her exhaustion had eventually pushed her out the door in search of distraction.

As she approached the warm glow of Deja Brew's windows, Octavia felt her nerves prickle under her skin. The early evening air was crisp, the kind that made your breath visible, but the walk hadn't calmed her. If anything, the closer she got, the more her chest tightened.

She arrived earlier than her usual shift, her messenger bag slung over one shoulder and her hands shoved into her jacket pockets to keep them from fidgeting. Inside, the café buzzed with its usual symphony of grinding espresso machines, muffled conversations, and the occasional hiss of steam. The smell of roasted coffee beans wrapped around her like a familiar blanket, though it did little to soothe her unease.

Rhiannon was behind the counter, her eyes flicking between the register and a frothing milk pitcher, her movements smooth and practiced. With her hair pulled into a loose braid and a dark choker around her neck, Rhiannon looked as unflappable as ever. But Octavia knew better. She'd seen the cracks in her calm before, in the way Rhiannon sometimes stared too long at nothing, her jaw tight, her knuckles pale.

Octavia hovered near the door for a moment, unsure how to approach her. She felt like a coil wound too tight, each step forward threatening to snap something inside her. She glanced around the café. Thankfully, it wasn't too crowded. Most patrons were lost in their laptops or deep in conversation, none of them paying attention to her.

Finally, she approached the counter. Rhiannon caught sight of her, and something flickered across her face—surprise, maybe, or annoyance? It was hard to tell.

"You're early," Rhiannon said, sliding a to-go cup across the counter to a customer before turning her full attention to Octavia. Her voice was calm but not unkind.

"Yeah," Octavia replied, shifting her weight awkwardly. "I was hoping you'd have a minute before the rush starts."

Rhiannon arched a brow, wiping her hands on a towel. "A minute for what?"

Octavia hesitated, her eyes darting nervously around the café once more before she leaned in closer. Her voice dropped to a whisper, thick with unease. "It's... Well, it's kind of personal."

Rhiannon gave a knowing nod, her gaze briefly flitting to the front of the café where Clementine was busy with a group of customers. With a subtle gesture, she instructed Clementine to take over the counter before leading Octavia through a bead curtain into the adjoining oddities shop. The air grew denser here, heavy with the scent of patchouli and sandalwood incense. Every corner of the room was an alcove of curiosities—shelves lined with aged books, clusters of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, and antique furniture that looked like it was plucked from a whimsigoth's most elaborate dreams.

Rhiannon's office was a small, dimly lit space at the back, the walls adorned with vintage tarot cards framed in ornate wood. She motioned for Octavia to sit on a plush, velvet-covered chair that seemed too luxurious for such a cramped room.

"You're not quitting, are you?" Rhiannon's voice sliced through the thick atmosphere, her tone laced with unexpected desperation.

Octavia's head snapped up, and she let out a nervous chuckle, shaking her head. "No. No, I'm not quitting." She saw the relief momentarily soften Rhiannon's sharp features. "It's actually much more personal. And, well, to be honest, it might make me sound a bit crazy. But a friend of mine insisted I speak to you about this."

"Go on, dearest." Rhiannon's voice was a calm, soothing balm that eased some of Octavia's tension.

Octavia swallowed hard, the dryness in her throat making her voice a raspy whisper. "A few months ago, something happened to Scott that completely changed the trajectory of his, mine, and Stiles' lives..." She paused, her eyes glazing over as she recounted that fateful night in the woods—the night Stiles showed up unannounced, his eyes wild with the crazy idea of searching for half a dead body, the night she and Stiles were caught by his father, and the night Scott was bitten.

As Octavia unfolded the tale, Rhiannon listened intently, her eyes never wavering from Octavia's face. Octavia described the harrowing following months, filled with lycanthropic adventures and ominous threats. She spoke of the night in the video store, her voice trembling as she recalled the Alpha's hot breath against her skin, his presence so overpowering she could barely breathe.

"The words he growled pulsed through me like a burning flame," Octavia continued her voice barely above a whisper. "And the first time I heard Scott howl, my soul felt torn apart. I nearly dropped to my knees in agony."

She took a deep, shuddering breath, her eyes pleading with Rhiannon for understanding, or perhaps absolution. "And maybe this will be a one-way trip to Eichen House, but Derek said to tell you. As hard as it is for Scott and Stiles to accept, I trust Derek."

Rhiannon's expression was unreadable for a long moment, her eyes shadowed with thoughts Octavia couldn't decipher. Finally, she leaned forward, her voice a low murmur that filled the tiny room with a weighty seriousness.

"Octavia, what Derek has led you to reveal... it's not just important—it's vital. You're right to trust him. What you've felt, the power you've sensed, it's not madness. It's a gift, or perhaps a curse in these troubled times. But you're not alone in this." Her hand reached out, resting gently on Octavia's trembling one. "And I think I might know how to help you harness it to keep you safe from what's coming."

"What is it exactly?"

Rhiannon's eyes held a deep, unspoken knowledge as she stared into Octavia's wide, questioning gaze. With its heavy aroma of incense and shadowy corners filled with arcane objects, the office seemed to close around them as if to listen.

"It's magic," Rhiannon stated simply, her voice carrying a weight that resonated in the cramped space. She paused, letting the word hang in the air, thick with implications.

Octavia blinked, her mind racing. "Magic, like spells and potions?" Her voice was tinged with skepticism, yet a part of her, the part that had felt the inexplicable power of the Alpha's presence and heard the eerie resonance of ancient words, knew it was more.

Rhiannon nodded slowly, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Yes, but not like in the stories you read as a child. This is real, powerful, and dangerous. It's energy that binds all living things and can be harnessed and manipulated."

"But how does that relate to me?" Octavia asked, her confusion morphing into a cautious curiosity. "I'm just a girl who got caught up in all this... werewolf stuff."

"That's just it, Octavia. You're not just anything," Rhiannon's tone was earnest, insistent. "You've been exposed to powerful forces, and it seems you're sensitive to them. It's rare, but it happens. Those Latin words you heard, and the emotions you felt were magik, resonating through you, awakening something latent within you."

Octavia absorbed her words, trying to piece the pieces together. The sense of overwhelming power and the pain she felt when she heard Scott's howl weren't just empathy or coincidence. It was magic coursing through her, seeking recognition.

"So what do I do with this... ability?" Octavia asked, her voice steadier now, fortified by the knowledge that her experiences weren't just figments of her imagination.

Rhiannon stood up and walked over to a locked cabinet. She retrieved a small, leather-bound book and a worn, velvet pouch and returned them gently to the table. "First, you learn," she said, pushing the book towards Octavia. This is a grimoire—my recent notes and observations."

Octavia opened the book cautiously, scanning the handwritten pages filled with sketches of symbols, plants, and detailed incantations. It felt like a door had opened to a world she never knew existed yet somehow always belonged to.

"And this," Rhiannon continued, handing her the pouch, "contains a few basic charms and crystals. Protection, mostly. You'll need them if you're dealing with Alphas and the like."

"But, why me? Why is this happening to me?" Octavia's voice cracked slightly under the weight of her newfound destiny.

"Some things in life we choose, and some are chosen for us," Rhiannon replied, her eyes softening. "You may not understand it now, but you have a role to play in this. Your sensitivity to magik can either be a beacon that draws danger or a shield to protect you and those you care about. Which it becomes is up to you."

Octavia nodded, a sense of resolve building within her. She was scared, yes, but not powerless—not anymore. She had knowledge now, and allies. The fear of the unknown lingered, but with Rhiannon's guidance, she felt the first stirrings of control over her fate.

"Thank you," she whispered, clutching the pouch to her chest.

Rhiannon smiled, a genuine expression of reassurance. "We're all part of a much bigger world, Octavia. Welcome to it."

"So, if is this like a generational thing? Because I feel like my mom would've mentioned if she had weird, prophetic dreams."

Rhiannon leaned back slightly, her expression contemplative, as she considered Octavia's question. The soft glow of a desk lamp cast shadows across the cluttered surface of her office, illuminating the ancient symbols and texts that surrounded them.

"Not in all cases," she began, her tone hinting at the complexities of what she was about to explain. "Magik isn't always generational, though it can be. In many instances, it skips generations or emerges randomly due to unique circumstances. Your exposure to the supernatural, particularly your experiences with the Alpha and being near Scott, might have triggered something latent within you. Something that perhaps was dormant until the right conditions awakened it."

Octavia absorbed this, her brow furrowed in thought. "So, you're saying it's possible my mom or dad could have had this... ability, but it never surfaced? Or they never knew?"

"Exactly," Rhiannon affirmed. "Many go through life unaware of the potential within them. It remains dormant, untriggered, because they never encounter anything that would awaken it. But you, Octavia, you've been thrust into a world where these forces are active and very much alive. It's no surprise something within you has responded."

She paused, giving Octavia a moment to let the information sink in. "Also, it's important to note that magic isn't just about powers or spells—it's a sensitivity to the energies of the world. Your empathic abilities and reactions to certain events are all part of this broader spectrum."

Octavia nodded slowly, her mind racing with the implications. "So, this isn't just about dealing with werewolves. It's about... sensing and interacting with the world in a way most people can't?"

"Correct," Rhiannon smiled slightly, pleased with her understanding. "And learning to manage this will be crucial. Without guidance, it can be overwhelming, even dangerous. You'll need to learn to shield yourself, to draw on the magic when necessary, and to stay grounded amidst forces that would seek to unbalance you."

The idea of harnessing such power was daunting, yet a spark of excitement flickered within Octavia. This new understanding of her abilities offered a guide through the chaos that had become her life and a potential way to protect those she cared about.

Rhiannon reached across the table, placing her hand reassuringly over Octavia's. "You're not alone in this; remember that. I, and others like me, can offer you the support and knowledge you need. This is just the beginning, and yes, it will be challenging. But I believe you have the strength to face whatever comes your way."

Feeling a mixture of reassurance and resolve, Octavia squeezed Rhiannon's hand gratefully. "What's the first step?"

"The first step," Rhiannon said, standing and moving to a bookshelf to retrieve another tome, "is to understand the basics of protection and awareness. Let's start there."

Melissa McCall was seated at her vanity. Octavia was behind her, with a bobby pin between her teeth, securing Melissa's curly hair with another one. Melissa beamed as she made a joke about having dinner plans that didn't involve two sixteen-year-olds, not knowing when the last time she was even asked out on a date was. This was unfathomable to Octavia, who genuinely thought her mother was the most beautiful woman on the planet, inside and out.

Octavia took a step back, admiring her handiwork before letting out a girlish squeal and wrapping her arms around her mother. "You look amazing, " she said, looking at her mom through the mirror, their cheeks pressed against each other.

Octavia's eyes sparkled with mischief as they shared the mirror's reflection. "You should do this more often, you know. Get out there and let someone sweep you off your feet."

Melissa laughed softly, the corners of her eyes crinkling with warmth. "And leave you and Scott to your own devices? I think the town would need a warning first."

Octavia nudged her mother playfully. "We might surprise you. Besides, it's your turn to have some fun."

Melissa's smile faded slightly, replaced by a contemplative look. "It's not just about fun, Octavia. After your father... I just want to make sure you two are okay first."

Octavia's expression softened. She understood her mother's concerns—how the shadows of past pains could linger. "We are okay, Mom. More than okay. And we want you to be happy too. It's not just about us anymore. Now, let's go show Scott how great you look!"

Octavia pulled her mother out of the room and down the hall to Scott's room, ready to gush over Melissa until her eyes landed on Allison. Octavia looked between Scott and Allison, both jumped off the bed and onto their feet. "Hey, Scott, I'm coming home late tonight," Melissa said as Octavia gawked at her brother and his ex-girlfriend, trying to piece together what was happening. Scott stared at his mother in surprise. "What? What's wrong? Is it- is it my hair? Makeup?"

"Hey!" Octavia whined. "That's some of my best work."

"No. No, nothing." Scott blinked, his eyes and voice softening. "You look beautiful."

Allison nodded with a smile. "You look amazing." She agreed, causing Octavia to squeal.

"Amazing." Scott echoed. "Why do you look amazing?"

"Because, amazingly, I'm having dinner for once with a member of the male gender who's over the age of sixteen."

Scott playfully rolled his eyes, and Allison chuckled beside him. "Who?" He asked.

"Uh, it's a medical rep that came into the hospital today. Yeah, we just kinda started talking, and the next thing I know, I'm saying yes to dinner, and I'm really hating myself for skipping the gym last week..." Melissa responding,

Octavia shook her head, "You look incredible."

At the same time, Scott asked, "What medical rep?"

The doorbell rang. "That medical rep," Melissa replied nervously. And, uh, I'm not- I'm not ready. I'm not done. I'm not ready, so if you could please just get the door and talk with him, okay? Just be nice."

Octavia nodded, her eyes flicking to Scott and Allison with a look that promised a later interrogation. She and Scott moved toward the stairs, their steps hesitant. As they descended, Octavia's heart pounded against her ribs, each thud echoing louder as they approached the door. The hallway seemed to stretch before her, the walls pressing in as she imagined facing the stranger who might just sweep her mother off her feet.

This moment, the walk to the door, became a corridor of uncertainties, each step amplifying Octavia's nerves and the realization of how much was changing and how quickly it all seemed to be happening. Scott could hear the heartbeat of Melissa's date from outside and his sister's heart beating rapidly beside him. His hand lingered on the doorknob, looking between the door and his sister.

Another chime of the doorbell cut through the thickening silence, startling Scott enough to instinctively shield Octavia with his body. "Guys! One of you get the door!" Melissa's voice, light and unaware of her children's mounting dread, drifted down from upstairs. The twins hesitated, their movements laden with reluctance as the bell echoed again, urgent and insistent.

The doorknob began to turn slowly, ominously, on its own, as if compelled by some unseen force. Scott reached out, his fingers grazing the cold metal of the deadbolt, whispering a curse under his breath. But just as his grasp tightened, the door swung open abruptly to reveal—nothing. The porch was hauntingly empty, the night air still and silent.

"What are you doing? Aren't you gonna invite him in?" Melissa called, her head peeking from the upper landing, her tone a mix of confusion and mild irritation.

As the twins turned back to the door, their hearts sank. Peter Hale stood there with a smirk that didn't quite reach his cold eyes. "Hello there," he greeted, his voice smooth and menacing. Scott's attempt to slam the door was thwarted as Peter's hand stopped it effortlessly.

"Really? Slam the door in my face? Come on, Scott. Think it through," Peter taunted, stepping over the threshold like a dark shadow encroaching upon their safe haven.

"I'll tell her." Scott threatened.

"That I used to be a catatonic invalid with burns covering half my face?" Peter asked rhetorically. "Good luck with that."

Scott's voice was tight with threat. "If you hurt her, if you even—"

"Scott, if I may interrupt your listing of the top five most impotent-sounding threats for a moment, try and remember that I've been in a coma for six years. Don't you think I'd like to have sex with a beautiful woman?"

"Right." Octavia scoffed as her mother called out, declaring she'd be reading in a second. "Because I know if I had just woken up from a coma, my first two instincts are to go on a homicidal rampage and score a date."

"Or maybe, little witch, I've come up with an idea." The older Hale patronized, turning his focus on Scott again. "Like how it might be easier to convince you to be part of the pack if your mother is, too. Perhaps if your dear sister was." Scott's eyes widened as Peter began to walk into the house, edging towards the twins. Scott's arm remained in front of Octavia. "You need to understand how much more powerful we are together. You and me and Derek. Did you know that some of the most successful military operations during the Second World War were the German U-boat attacks? Do you know what they called them? 'Wolf packs.' Did you know that? Or are you failing history as well?"

Scott's eyebrows narrowed as Peter spoke, "I know the Germans lost the war."

Peter let out a humorless laugh. "I think you'll find that most historians would argue that that as a failure of leadership... And trust me, we don't have that problem here."

"I'm ready," Melissa spoke, stepping between Scott and Peter. "I'm ready. Sorry again."

Peter offered his arm with a charming smile, leading Melissa toward the door. "Mom..." Scott started, his voice strained.

Melissa turned around, glaring at him with a pleading expression that screamed, 'Please don't ruin this for me.' "Yes, sweetheart?"

"Have a good time."

Octavia's day had already been a rollercoaster of bizarre and nerve-wracking events, each more surreal than the last. Now, as she was unceremoniously ushered into her brother's room to keep Allison company, it seemed the chaos would never end. She sat on Scott's bed, feeling the familiar comfort of her surroundings but oddly out of place with Allison seated across from her.

The room was cluttered with Scott's things—posters of bands they'd seen together, stacks of books they'd argued about, the scent of his cologne faintly lingering in the air—a backdrop to an uncomfortable silence that seemed to stretch on endlessly. Octavia fiddled with the braided friendship bracelet on her wrist, a simple string of threads that seemed to hold as many memories as it did colors, each twist a reminder of simpler times with Stiles.

Minutes ticked by, filled only by the occasional sound of cars passing by outside and the distant laughter of Scott and Stiles, their antics muffled through the walls. The tension in the room was palpable, and just when it felt unbearable, Allison's voice cut through the quiet.

"So, do you, like, totally hate me?" she asked, her voice wavering with uncertainty.

Octavia's movements stilled, and she looked up, her eyes wide with surprise. "What?" she managed, the word catching in her throat.

"Do you hate me?" Allison repeated, her gaze steady yet vulnerable. "For breaking up with Scott?"

"Oh, my God, Allison, no!" Octavia responded more forcefully than intended, and she hurried to soften her tone. She let out a small, nervous laugh, more a release of pent-up tension than amusement. "No, I don't hate you. It's just—I didn't think you'd want to be around me, considering everything with Scott."

Allison's shoulders relaxed slightly, a visible sign of relief. "I was worried," she admitted, her eyes searching Octavia's for understanding. "Maybe you'd be angry at me for hurting him."

Octavia shook her head, her expression earnest. "I was upset, yeah, but not at you. Relationships are complicated, right? I saw how hard it was for both of you towards the end." She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, "Scott's my brother, and I love him, but I also know you didn't mean to hurt him. It's just... how things turned out."

There was a brief pause, a shared moment of recognition of the hurt and healing that had to happen on both sides. Allison nodded slowly, a tentative smile beginning to form. "Thanks, Octavia. It means a lot to hear that from you. I've missed talking to you."

"I've missed this, too," Octavia responded, her voice softening further.

Another moment of silence passed between them. "Look, Allison," Octavia said, her tone more confident now. Whatever happens between you and Scott, I hope we can still be friends—like, real friends."

"I'd like that," Allison replied, her smile warm. "Really."

Octavia could only stall Allison for so long before the inevitable happened. Allison's phone buzzed with a text, her face briefly flickering with something Octavia didn't press about. She repeatedly apologized for Scott's absence, assuring Allison that her brother genuinely wanted to talk. Allison had smiled softly, told her it was okay, and slipped out the door.

Now, Octavia paced her room, the uneasy feeling in her chest growing heavier with every unanswered question. She hadn't heard from Scott, and Stiles had only managed a cryptic text that promised an explanation "later." Later wasn't good enough. Her fingers itched to type another message, but something stopped her—a gut feeling that whatever was going on was bigger than a text could solve.

Her pacing came to a halt as the doorbell rang, its chime echoing through the quiet house. Unlike earlier, when Peter's presence had left a suffocating weight in the air, she felt no oppressive dread this time. Instead, curiosity prickled at the edges of her senses.

Descending the stairs, she opened the door to find the May siblings standing on the porch. Marshall, ever the embodiment of golden retriever energy, lit up with a broad grin. His uncontainable enthusiasm stood in stark contrast to the smirking, enigmatic expressions worn by Clementine and Fox.

"What are you three doing here?" Octavia asked, blinking in surprise.

"We heard you got some... interesting news today," Fox replied cryptically, stepping into the foyer without invitation. His shoulder brushed against hers as he passed, and the contact sent an inexplicable jolt up her arm—not unpleasant, but sharp enough to make her frown in confusion.

"Aren't vampires supposed to be invited in?" she quipped dryly, her eyes narrowing.

Fox turned, his smirk widening. "It's a good thing we're not vampires, then."

Clementine followed, her movements deliberate and smooth, as though she were gliding. Her piercing gaze locked onto Octavia's, thoughtful and probing. "He's right, though. We're like you."

Octavia's breath caught. She fought to keep her expression neutral, but her heart was racing, loud enough that she worried they might hear it.

Mars, trailing behind, grinned sheepishly. "We're witches," he clarified, his tone disarmingly casual. "To put it simply."

Octavia blinked, struggling to process the revelation. "Okay, but that doesn't explain why you're here."

"Because," Clementine began, stepping closer, her voice low and almost conspiratorial. We can feel it, Octavia. The shift. The connection. Your power—it's been waking up."

Fox leaned lazily against the banister, his gaze sharp despite his relaxed posture. "And given the Peter Hale situation, Rhiannon filled us in. We thought you could use some, so let's call it... guidance."

Octavia folded her arms defensively, instinctively guarding herself. "Guidance? From you three? What makes you think I need your help?"

Mars held up his hands in mock surrender. "Whoa, we're not saying you need us. We just thought it might be nice, you know, to not feel alone in all this."

Clementine's eyes softened, though her intensity didn't waver. "We know what it's like, Octavia. Being thrown into a world you didn't even know existed."

"We're connected, whether you like it or not," Clementine continued, her voice gentler now. "And if you'd let us, we can help you understand it."

Fox pushed off the banister, his movements fluid as he approached her. "Or," he said, his tone casual but loaded with challenge, "you can try to figure it out on your own. But from what I've seen? That's not going so well."

Octavia bristled at his words, her glare sharp enough to cut. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Fox."

He shrugged, unfazed. "Just calling it like I see it, sunshine."

Marshall stepped between them, his easy grin acting as a buffer. "Okay, let's not turn this into a fight. We're here to help, not make things worse."

Octavia's gaze flicked between the three siblings. Clementine's eyes held a quiet sincerity that made her question her initial wariness. Marshall's open enthusiasm was disarming, and Fox—well, Fox was as infuriating as ever, but there was something about him she couldn't ignore.

After a tense beat, she sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Fine. I might possibly need just a little help."

"Great," Marshall said with a clap of his hands, the sound breaking the last of the ice. "Let's start by figuring out just how much you know."

Fox leaned in slightly, his voice a soft whisper. "And how much you don't."

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there wasn't much i could do this episode stiles and octavia wise so i decided to drop some May family lore

i made a playlist when the concept of this story first came to me and i'm honestly so curious as to what songs you'd associate with this fic????? perhaps i'll include the playlist????

i love u

𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚟𝚘𝚝𝚎