"When a heart shatters in front of you..."

Stiles

The bulb in Stiles' desk lamp flickered as he scratched out another sentence in the short answer section of his history homework. He'd lost his pink eraser, and he would check over the floor every so often in case it had magically appeared while he worked. It never did.

The light flickered again before going out completely. Stiles frowned and stuck his pencil between his teeth, and stood a little to reach under the shade to twist the bulb free.

"Agh!" he dropped the bulb and his pencil to the ground and held his hand. "Note to self, bulbs are hot" he grimaced and reached for a new pack in a lower desk drawer.

A scream ripped through the air.

Stiles' blood chilled to ice, and goosebumps sprinkled over his skin. That wasn't just any scream. It was chilling. Like a scream you hear in a horror movie just before the killer claims his next victim.

And it came from next door.

Oh, God...Hope.

Stiles turned slowly, facing the curtained window that faced Hope's house before slowly slinking forward. Suddenly very glad his lights had gone out and moved the curtain aside just enough to peek through. Then, with bated breath - trying not to fog the windows - he peered into her lawn. Trying to see through one of the windows on the top floor.

A dark figure walked past the upstairs window.

Stiles watched in silence, breathing quickening as panic set in. He fumbled for his new phone, took it out, and immediately called Derek.

Straight to voicemail.

"Dammit," he growled in frustration, pressing Scott's name, and waited, still watching the house. He could feel his heart in his ears.

"Dude, what?" Scott asked, voice thick with sleep.

"Shut up and listen to me. Someone's at Hope's house..." he trailed off, watching another dark figure walk from the woods and disappear into the back of the house. "More than one..." he swallowed hard.

"What? Stiles, what are you talking about?"

"Hope! Scott. I'm telling you that the guys she killed apparently had buddies, and they're in her house..." he watched smoke billow from the window. "I think they're setting it on fire...I see smoke. Oh, God, I see smoke. They're going to kill her...."

"Wait right there, I'm coming right now," he said in an attempted calm voice, but Stiles heard the shake behind his words. This wasn't something Scott could handle...maybe not even Derek. If Hope couldn't get out of this, then no one could.

He hung up his phone and took a deep breath. A black glint caught his eyes. A black truck parked on the side of the road. It was the same one Hope depicted chasing after her toward the warehouse. Stiles quickly tried to use his phone to zoom in on the license plate, but it was so blurred it was completely unreadable.

Stiles groaned and raked his fingers through his hair, hands shaking. Do it now, before the adrenaline wears off. He nodded before his fear could change his mind and took off down the stairs two at a time. Slipping past his dad, who was fast asleep on the couch, he made it to his porch and practically dove into the surrounding bushes. Swimming in them as he army-crawled toward Hope's house.

"Don't see me. Don't see me. Don't see me." He whispered to himself and then cringed, thinking. "Don't hear me. Don't hear me. Don't hear me."

He made it to the edge of her porch and swallowed, seeing the shadowy outline of a man standing on the patio. No, two men. He couldn't see them, but he could hear them talking.

"You really gonna put that much on her?" one asked with a scoff.

"Did you see that warehouse? Nothing was left. I'll take my chances. Anyway, Dorian seems to think she's worth it, and whoever he's betting on, I'm betting on."

Stiles could practically hear the eye roll of the other man.

Bet? What bet? No, Stiles, don't get distracted. He moved himself a little closer, inch by inch. Holding his phone just out of sight around the corner of the house. If either man took one step to the left, he'd be spotted.

He zoomed in on the truck and took a picture of the whole, then another of just the license plate. If only he could get a picture of their face. Stiles took a slow, quiet breath to calm his heart. Then, scooting just a little closer, he peeked around the corner of the house.

He could only see one man, the one on the left, mostly because he was huge. Tall, shaved head, red beard. A sleeve of tattoos on at least one arm- he couldn't see the other. Were those names?

The man spun his head to the side, looking directly where Stiles was hidden. Stiles quickly pulled himself back. Then, slow footsteps began walking in his direction.

Stiles held his breath.

He closed his eyes and waited.

"Let's go." A man with a very thick Scottish accent voiced gruffly, walking past the porch and spitting something from his mouth. Blood? A tooth?

Behind him, another man walked carrying...Hope. She lay limp in his arms as if her limbs were detached from themselves. Stiles bit down on his tongue to force himself to stay silent as he searched for any sign of life on her. Her chest rose and fell, and he almost breathed an audible sigh of relief, but luckily biting his tongue kept him from the action.

The man with the red beard laughed as another man emerged with eyes dripping blood.

"What the hell happened to you?" he snorted.

"The bitch threw a door at me."

The Scottish voice piped in, "I warned you to keep your distance. That's on you. Now, I said let's go." Irritation pricked his voice in a low grumble.

No one else spoke as they all piled into the back of the black truck. They took Hope with them. It wasn't fair. Watching them take her, knowing there wasn't a thing he could do to stop them. Evil people could walk right in with him standing there and take whatever they wanted.

Stiles felt tears redden his eyes as he slowly stood from the bushes. The black truck disappeared just as Scott came zooming in on his bike.

Scott let it fall to the porch and jogged to Stiles, his expression falling. They were both silent for a long moment before Stiles finally spoke.

"She's gone," he turned to him and swallowed, "They took her."

Scott's brows furrowed as his shoulders slumped, breathless. "I'm sorry, Stiles. I didn't get here fast enough."

"No, it was good you didn't," he shook his head, running his fingers through his hair, "They would have killed you."

Scott wrinkled his nose and nearly lost his balance, grabbing the porch post to steady himself.

Stiles frowned, watching him. "What's wrong?"

Slowly shaking his head, he looked over at Hope's front door, which stood wide open. A hazy fog was still making its way outside.

"It's wolfsbane," he started and then looked over at Stiles. "You know what..." he frowned. "I wonder if...the Argents have anything to do with this. Allison would have at least told me, right?"

Stiles sighed and shrugged with a shake of his head. "I don't know. She's kept secrets from you before, but Scott, it's different this time. Now, someone seriously innocent- as innocent as a vampire witch werewolf could be is probably going to be tortured in some medic lab."

Scott nodded. "Okay, so we'll go talk to her. Did you end up getting ahold of Derek?"

Shaking his head no, he checked his phone. "And he hasn't called back, probably some wolfy training session...."

Without warning, Derek stepped out of the darkened copse of trees. Breathless. He must have sprinted from wherever he was.

"Where is she?" He demanded. Even breathless, even exhausted...if looks could kill, Stiles was sure both he and Scott would be dead. He had never seen Derek look so terrifying. He stalked toward them, eyes glowing brightly. Filled with murderous rage.

Scott spoke as Stiles could only stare in a state mixed with shock and sorrow.

"She's gone, Derek. They took her...."

Derek stopped in his tracks. His eyes continued to glow, but his expression contorted into something of actual, heart-wrenching pain. It looked like someone had branded him with a hot iron.

This is what it looks like when a heart shatters in front of you. The guilt you feel and the swell of emotion in your throat prevent you from speaking. Stiles could feel the atmosphere itself dampen, making it difficult to draw in a breath.

"She left me this...." Derek started, holding up his phone and playing a voicemail. Hope's voice rang through. Adrenaline and terror mixed with her raspy cough, probably caused by the wolfsbane fog.

"French Quarter!"

The sound is like a meat slab being hit by a bat. A man hollered. There was a jumble of incoherent noise before the line went dead.

The three looked between each other in silence for a long moment before Derek finally spoke.

"We need to go to New Orleans."