Shifted

Chapter 3: Shifted

As Stiles pulled up to Lydia's grand house, the glow from the porch light illuminated the sharp lines of her jaw, though her usual confidence was noticeably absent. She was clinging to Hope like her life depended on it, her head resting lightly on Hope's shoulder.

"Lydia… we're here," Stiles said softly, glancing at her with concern.

Lydia didn't move. Her gaze was locked on the house, her body rigid. The memories of her episode earlier, the inexplicable fear, the overwhelming sense of losing control—it all replayed in her mind like a broken record. But what scared her most wasn't the episode itself; it was how utterly helpless she'd felt. And now, she couldn't bear the thought of being alone.

"Lydia?" Stiles pressed gently, his voice softer this time.

"I don't want to go in alone," Lydia murmured, her voice uncharacteristically small. She tightened her grip on Hope, as if letting go would send her spiraling back into the chaos.

Stiles sighed, looking at Hope for guidance. Hope, as composed as ever, nodded subtly, her expression calm but understanding.

"I'll stay with you," Hope said simply, her tone steady. "If that's what you need."

Lydia finally lifted her head, her eyes glassy but desperate. "You mean it?"

Hope's lips quirked in a small, reassuring smile. "Of course. What kind of person would I be if I left you after all that? Besides, I've got nothing better to do."

Stiles frowned. "Uh, I feel like I should point out the obvious—Hope doesn't exactly have a—"

"Not now, Stilinski," Hope interrupted smoothly, shooting him a look.

"Right," Stiles muttered, raising his hands in surrender. "Just call me if you need backup or snacks or, you know, someone to yell at for comic relief."

Hope smirked. "Noted."

The trio made their way to the door, Lydia still clinging to Hope like she was her lifeline. Inside, the house was eerily quiet, the usual warmth of Lydia's home feeling distant and cold.

As they stepped into the living room, Stiles lingered awkwardly by the door. "Okay, so… I guess I'll head out. Lydia, you sure you're okay?"

Lydia didn't answer immediately, her gaze flickering to Hope before nodding faintly. "Yeah, I'll be fine." Her voice lacked conviction, but Stiles decided not to push it.

"Alright," Stiles said, giving them a small wave before heading out. "Goodnight, ladies. Don't burn the place down."

As soon as the door shut, Lydia sank onto the plush couch, finally letting go of Hope. Her composure was fraying, but she wasn't ready to admit just how shaken she felt. She crossed her arms and stared blankly at the coffee table.

"So," Hope began, sitting down next to her. "Do you always greet people by clinging to them like a baby koala, or am I just special?"

Lydia blinked, the unexpected comment snapping her out of her thoughts. "Excuse me?" she said, a flicker of indignation breaking through her fear.

Hope leaned back, her expression casual but teasing. "Hey, no judgment. It's kind of flattering, really. I just didn't have you pegged as the clingy type."

Lydia's lips twitched, a hint of her queen bee attitude resurfacing. "Clingy? Please. I was merely… ensuring you didn't run off. People have a habit of being unreliable."

"Ah, of course," Hope said with a mock-serious nod. "Completely understandable. Next time, I'll wear a sign that says, 'This Mikaelson doesn't bail.' Would that help?"

Lydia let out a reluctant laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "You're insufferable."

"And yet, you don't want me to leave," Hope pointed out with a grin.

Lydia rolled her eyes but didn't deny it. Instead, she leaned back against the couch, finally letting herself relax a little. "Fine. You win. But don't think this means I'm suddenly your best friend."

Hope raised her hands in mock surrender. "Never crossed my mind. Queen bees like you don't give out those titles lightly."

Lydia arched a brow, her confidence starting to return. "Exactly. Glad you're catching on."

Hope smiled, glad to see Lydia finding her footing again. "Alright, Queen Lydia. What's the plan? Tea, face masks, or dramatic rants about life?"

Lydia actually considered it for a moment, then smirked. "All of the above. But if you're staying here, you'd better get used to a certain level of fabulousness. My standards are high."

Hope chuckled, settling in beside her. "Lucky for you, I'm a fast learner."

As the night wore on, Hope managed to draw out more of Lydia's usual charm and sass, steering her away from the lingering fear of her earlier episode. And while neither of them said it aloud, both felt the beginning of a bond—a partnership that could weather whatever was coming next.

_________

As Stiles and Scott walked through the halls of Beacon Hills High, the atmosphere was tense. The knowledge that Derek was creating his pack weighed heavily on Scott, but Stiles? He was in his usual chatterbox mode—though this time with a distracted edge.

"We gotta admit, though," Stiles said, leaning closer to Scott. "Erica looks pretty good now. I mean, the word sensational comes to mind. Like, I'm just saying, she's had a glow-up, man."

Scott raised an eyebrow but kept walking. "I thought you were in love with Hope?"

Stiles froze mid-step, nearly colliding with a locker. His face turned a shade of red so vivid it rivaled the school's mascot colors. "What? No! Love? Hope? I mean, come on, Scott, that's—that's crazy talk. I mean, she's—she's just... cool, okay? Super cool. Not in a 'I'm totally into her' kind of way but more of a 'she's a solid new friend' kind of way. Right?"

Scott stopped, turning to give Stiles a long, knowing look. "You're rambling. You only ramble when you're lying."

"I do not ramble!" Stiles exclaimed, his voice a touch too loud, drawing a few glances from nearby students. He lowered his voice, muttering, "Okay, maybe I ramble a little. But it's not about her, alright? Hope's just... different. She's—she's mysterious, sarcastic, smarter than me—which is, you know, saying something—and she's... fine. She's fine."

Scott crossed his arms, watching Stiles flounder. "Right. Totally not in love."

"I'm not!" Stiles insisted, tugging at the straps of his backpack. "Can we please focus on the Boyd situation here?"

Scott chuckled softly, but his expression turned more serious as they resumed walking. "Fine, but speaking of Hope... don't you think there's something... off about her?"

Stiles stopped again, spinning on his heel to face Scott, his expression defensive. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Scott hesitated, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "Look, she just showed up out of nowhere, and she's... different. I mean, she stopped Lydia's freakout the other night like it was nothing. You don't think that's... weird?"

Stiles frowned, his brows knitting together. "First of all, Hope's been through a lot, okay? She's probably just good at calming people down because she's seen some stuff. Second, Lydia was freaking out because of, I don't know, the supernatural crazy we live in? And third—why are we suddenly interrogating Hope? She's not the one turning innocent kids into werewolves, Scott!"

Scott sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not saying she's bad, Stiles. I'm just saying we don't know anything about her. What if she's... dangerous?"

Stiles' face hardened, his usual easy-going demeanor replaced with rare determination. "Hope's not dangerous, Scott. She's helped Lydia, she's... been good to me. And she doesn't exactly scream 'evil mastermind.' I mean, come on, she's sarcastic and snarky but in the fun, 'call-me-out-on-my-BS' kind of way."

Scott raised his hands defensively. "Okay, okay. I'm just saying we should keep an eye out. You know how Beacon Hills is—no one's ever just normal around here."

"Yeah, well, maybe for once someone can be normal," Stiles muttered, his voice quieter now. "And maybe Hope deserves the benefit of the doubt. Because if we start doubting everyone who's different, what does that make us?"

Scott stared at him for a moment before nodding. "Alright. I'll drop it—for now."

Stiles nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Good. Now, can we focus on finding Boyd before Derek adds him to the 'Teen Wolf Gone Wild' pack?"

Scott chuckled softly as they continued down the hall, but Stiles' mind lingered on Hope. Scott might have his doubts, but Stiles was certain about one thing: Hope wasn't just different—she was something special. And he wasn't about to let anyone paint her as a threat.

________

Stiles drove through the sunny streets of Beacon Hills, squinting against the glare as he muttered under his breath about how Scott always dumped the most dangerous tasks on him. His mind was a swirl of thoughts, plans, and a decent amount of panic as he approached Boyd's neighborhood.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a figure stepped into the road.

"Holy—!" Stiles slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching as his Jeep skidded to a halt mere inches from the person standing in front of him. His heart pounding, he leaned out the window, ready to yell.

"Hope?!" he exclaimed, his anger giving way to shock as he recognized the calm, collected figure staring back at him.

Hope Mikaelson stood in the middle of the street, completely unbothered, arms crossed over her chest. "Stilinski, ever consider taking a driving course? You're a menace on the road."

Stiles groaned, slumping back against his seat. "You can't just walk into the street like that! What are you even doing here?"

Hope smirked, walking over to the passenger side and opening the door. "What do you think? Making sure you don't do something stupid, like trying to handle this on your own."

"I wasn't—" Stiles started, but Hope raised an eyebrow, cutting him off.

"Save it," she said, climbing into the Jeep. "You're heading to Boyd's, right? Let's go."

Stiles sputtered. "I didn't—You can't just—Why do people keep hijacking my Jeep?!"

"Because you don't lock the doors," Hope replied dryly. "Now drive."

Muttering under his breath, Stiles put the Jeep back in gear and started toward Boyd's house. "This isn't exactly a joyride, you know. Boyd might be Derek's next recruit, and if he's already halfway to werewolf mode—"

"Then it's a good thing I'm here," Hope said, cutting him off again.

"Right," Stiles muttered. "Because you've just been dying to throw yourself into supernatural drama. What's your deal, anyway?"

Hope glanced at him, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Stiles groaned, running a hand through his hair. "You're impossible."

The banter was cut short when they pulled up near Boyd's house. Stiles parked a little way down the street, scanning the area for any sign of trouble. As he climbed out, he noticed Hope lingering by the Jeep, her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings.

Stiles knocked on Boyd's door, fidgeting slightly as he waited for a response. Hope leaned casually against the Jeep behind him, her arms crossed, watching the scene with disinterest. When the door opened, Stiles was greeted by Erica's smug grin.

"Oh, wow," Stiles muttered, caught off guard.

"What are you doing here, Stiles?" Erica asked, leaning against the doorframe with a confident smirk.

"I'm, uh… just looking for, um…"

"Boyd?" Erica supplied with a knowing look.

Stiles nodded quickly. "Yup, yeah. Boyd."

Erica stepped closer, her gaze predatory. "What you're doing right now, it's kind of funny… You're only looking in my eyes."

Stiles blinked, confused. "That's funny?"

Erica tilted her head. "Well, yeah. Because it's that kind of look where you're trying not to look anywhere other than my eyes. But you want to, don't you? You want a nice, long, hard look."

"Not really, no," Stiles answered, his voice cracking slightly.

"So, it's just my eyes?" Erica teased, her smile widening.

"Yeah, you have beautiful eyes," Stiles said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I have beautiful everything," Erica declared, stepping even closer.

Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly and took a step back. "And a newfound self-confidence. Congratulations, Erica. I should get going."

He turned to leave, but Erica blocked his path, holding up a small car part.

"You're not going anywhere," she said, smirking. "You're having car trouble."

Stiles stared at the part in her hand, his eyes widening. "That's mine! You—"

Before he could finish, Erica swung the car part at him. Stiles flinched, bracing for the impact, but it never came.

Hope appeared in a blur, catching Erica's wrist mid-swing with an iron grip.

"Enough," Hope said, her tone calm but commanding.

Erica yanked her arm, but Hope didn't let go. The smugness in Erica's expression faltered as she realized she couldn't break free. "And who might you be?" Erica asked, her voice laced with annoyance.

Hope's lips curved into a sharp smile. "The last person you want to piss off."

Before Erica could respond, Hope pulled her forward with startling strength and delivered a single, precise punch to her jaw. Erica crumpled to the ground, unconscious, like a marionette with its strings cut.

Stiles' jaw dropped as Hope casually grabbed Erica's limp form by the collar and dragged her to a nearby trash bin. With little effort, she hoisted Erica up and dumped her inside, brushing her hands off like she'd just taken out the garbage.

Stiles stared, slack-jawed, his heart pounding for entirely new reasons. "You just—you just—"

"Threw her in the trash?" Hope finished, brushing her hands off casually. "Yeah, I did. Where she belongs, apparently."

Stiles blinked, completely dumbfounded. "That… that was something…"

"Incredible? Badass? Amazing?" Hope offered, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, all of the above," Stiles said, still staring at her like she was a superhero.

Hope smirked, adjusting her jacket. "You're welcome. Now, are we going to find Boyd or what?"

Stiles nodded, still in awe as he followed her toward Boyd's house. As far as he was concerned, Hope Mikaelson was the most terrifyingly impressive person he'd ever met. And, to his dismay, he was crushing for her even more.

"He's not here," Stiles muttered.

"Derek probably got to him already," Hope said, her voice steady as if she'd expected this outcome. "If he wanted to join Derek's pack, it's his choice. Not much we can do about it now."

Stiles frowned but didn't argue. "I just hope he knows what he's getting himself into…"

As they turned to leave, Stiles' phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen to see a text from Scott: Found Boyd. It's done.

Stiles sighed heavily, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "Yup, Derek got him."

Hope shrugged, her expression unreadable. "Let's go. Lydia's probably waiting for me."

Stiles chuckled, shaking his head. "I still can't believe she's glued herself to you like that. Lydia Martin doesn't get attached to people. She makes people attached to her."

"Guess I'm just that special," Hope quipped, flashing him a sly grin.

---

Hope arrived at Lydia's house. She barely had time to knock before Lydia pulled the door open, her face lighting up.

"You're late," Lydia declared, stepping aside to let Hope in.

"I was busy," Hope said simply, stepping into the grand foyer.

"Busy doing what? Punching more people and throwing them in trash bins?" Lydia teased, closing the door behind her.

Hope smirked. "Maybe."

Lydia rolled her eyes but didn't push further. Instead, she gestured toward the living room, where several shopping bags sat waiting.

"What's all this?" Hope asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Clothes," Lydia said nonchalantly. "I noticed you've been recycling the same outfits a little too often, so I took the liberty of getting you a wardrobe upgrade."

Hope raised an eyebrow, glancing at the shopping bags. "Recycling?"

"Yes, recycling," Lydia replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You've been wearing the same outfits in rotation all week. I don't blame you; your wardrobe situation is probably limited. So…" She gestured dramatically toward the bags. "I took the liberty of picking out a few things for you."

Hope blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. "Lydia, I can't—"

"Can't what?" Lydia interrupted, crossing her arms and giving Hope a pointed look. "Accept free clothes? Relax. I had nothing better to do today, and besides, I'm a genius when it comes to fashion. You'll love it."

Hope sighed, but her lips twitched into a small smile. "You're unbelievable."

"And you're welcome." Lydia sat down on the couch, patting the spot next to her. "Come on. Let's go through it all."

Hope joined her, pulling out the clothes from the bags one by one. There were sweaters, jeans, skirts, and even a few pairs of boots. Everything looked expensive, trendy, and perfectly tailored to fit someone like Hope.

"Lydia, this is way too much," Hope said, holding up a leather jacket.

Lydia waved her hand dismissively. "Nonsense. You're practically my roommate now, so you have to look the part. Speaking of which…"

Hope froze mid-motion. "Speaking of what?"

Lydia grinned mischievously. "I talked to my mom. She knows someone at school who handles enrollment paperwork. Everything's official now. You're a student at Beacon Hills High."

Hope's jaw dropped. "You're kidding."

"Nope. You're welcome—again," Lydia said, smirking.

Hope set the jacket down, staring at Lydia. "Why would you do that?"

"Because you're my friend," Lydia replied matter-of-factly. "And friends look out for each other. Plus, I couldn't have you wandering around like some mysterious drifter forever. It was ruining your aesthetic."

Hope chuckled softly, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

"And you love it."

The two fell into a comfortable silence, sorting through the clothes. Lydia occasionally held up an outfit, giving her critiques and suggestions, while Hope listened with amusement.

As they reached the bottom of the last bag, Lydia suddenly frowned, flexing her fingers.

"Everything okay?" Hope asked, noticing her change in demeanor.

Lydia hesitated before shaking her head. "It's nothing."

"Lydia," Hope said firmly, setting the clothes aside. "What's wrong?"

Lydia sighed, holding up her hands. Her knuckles were swollen and bruised, the skin red and tender.

"I may have… had a moment," Lydia admitted, her voice quiet.

Hope's brow furrowed. "A moment?"

"Fine. I punched the mirror," Lydia confessed, looking embarrassed. "Twice."

Hope blinked, then let out a surprised laugh. "You? The queen of self-control?"

Lydia glared at her. "It's not funny! I was just… frustrated."

"Frustrated enough to go twelve rounds with mirror?" Hope teased, but her tone softened when she saw Lydia's embarrassed expression.

"It's stupid," Lydia muttered, avoiding Hope's gaze. "I just… felt like I was losing control of everything. Like my brain's betraying me."

Hope's teasing expression melted into one of understanding. She gently took Lydia's hands, inspecting them carefully. "Lydia, you're not losing control. Everyone has moments where they feel overwhelmed. You're human."

Lydia scoffed. "Not exactly a comforting thought."

Hope smiled faintly. "You'd be surprised how much strength there is in being human."

Lydia looked at her, the vulnerability in her eyes clear. For a moment, she seemed on the verge of saying something, but she quickly shook her head, the familiar confident mask sliding back into place.

"Well," Lydia said, sitting up straighter. "Enough about me. We need to figure out how to get you a wardrobe worthy of your new status as my sidekick."

Hope snorted. "Sidekick? I thought I was the mysterious drifter ruining my aesthetic."

"Details," Lydia said with a wave of her hand. "Now, let's try that leather jacket on you again. It screams 'don't mess with me.'"

Hope laughed, the tension easing between them as Lydia returned to her usual self. But as they continued their banter, Hope silently resolved to keep an even closer eye on her new friend. Whatever Lydia was going through, she wasn't going to face it alone.