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A Tree

Stiles's mouth hangs open in disbelief. "A tr-Lydia! People are dying for God's sake and you're drawing trees?!"

Lydia slowly looks up and stares into Stile's face. "This tree," she says, "it means something."

I look at Stiles suspiciously. "What does it mean Lydia?" I ask her.

She shakes her head. "I don't know, but I've drawn it so many times over the past week."

Stiles looks into Lydia's face, his eyes wide. He grabs the notebook sitting next to her and flicks through the pages.

Every.

One.

Has a tree on it.

The same exact tree.

Big.

Small.

Black.

White.

The same tree, drawn at least fifty times in Lydia's notebook.

Stiles and I look at each other, trying to communicate through our eyes.

"We need to talk to Derek," Stiles states aloud, grabbing Lydia's hand and dragging her out of the room.

I quickly follow, snatching the keys off the desk and running after them.

We drive to Derek's loft and knock on the door. It slides open to reveal Peter, standing with his arms crossed. Derek and Scott stand behind him, crouched over a piece of paper that covers the length of the table.

When Peter sees me, his eyes scan my face, then lock with mine.

"Uncle Peter?" I say, my voice quavering.

Peter steps up to me and envelopes me in a warm hug. "Cora," he mutters in my ear.

When I pull away from Peter, Derek, Stiles, Scott, and Lydia are already deep in conversation, discussing the tree.

"Wait...guys!" Scott says, bringing his hands up to his ears.

Everyone silences and stares at Scott. Derek raises his eyebrows. "What is it, Scott?"

"Deaton," Scott mumbles, "we have to talk to Deaton. He'll know what all this means."

No one responds until Derek says, "Alright, to the animal hospital everybody," and jogs out the door with Lydia and Stiles in hot pursuit.

We pile into the black Porsche and Derek drives, rather recklessly, to the animal hospital, where we sprint inside, knocking down the closed sign on our way in.

"Deaton!" Scott yells, looking around frantically. "Deaton, you here?"

But instead of Deaton, who I know is middle aged and dark-skinned, the boy who steps out from the back room has curly brown locks that fold over his forehead, outlining innocent blue eyes.
He stands at about 6'4" and has buff arms and a broad chest.

Scott stops short, staring at the boy in front of us. He slowly moves toward him, his eyes darting around the boy's face.

A tear slips down the boy's cheek, dripping onto mouth. He hastily wipes it away with the sleeve of his Beacon Hills Lacrosse sweatshirt.

He just stares at Scott for at least twenty seconds, before they both step forward and throw their arms around each other.

Their hug is tight and their grip on each other is hard, as if they each thought the other was dead.

"I thought you stayed in England after Allison's death, Isaac...?" Scott mumbles.

A small smile appears on the boy-Isaac-'s face. "I had to come back and help you defeat Deucalion. Couldn't let you have all the fun."