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Peter knew the pack was attempting to save someone's life, but someone else's life had been in jeopardy who he cared about a lot more than some random teacher. He'd been hanging out in the corner of Cora's room, watching her and Derek, waiting for her to wake up. When he noted Derek's eyes drooping, he said he was going to get them coffee and would be right back.

Moving through the halls, he avoided the nurses's station, not wanting a run in with Melissa McCall. He did the same on the way back and was almost back to the room when he heard a scream that ricocheted through him, plucking hard at his eardrums, though not close enough to drop him to the ground.

He did drop the coffee, though, because he knew that scream. He'd heard it in his dreams, elicited it from her more than once last year.

Lydia.

Ignoring the splash of the hot coffee on the floor and not bothering to return to Derek and Cora, Peter took off at a run. He heard his name distantly shouted, but he didn't stop for it. He didn't stop for anything.

When he hit the school, he closed his eyes and felt for her, feeling the edges of her mind, seeing what she saw. He'd gone to school here; he knew it well, and the images he got from her helped him pinpoint her location. Students, parents and teachers were spilling out of the auditorium doors, though, screaming in a way that made him grateful he even could feel her--that she was still alive.

The crowd made going in problematic, so he went around, twisting toward the hall of classrooms where she was. Scanning rooms as he went by, he caught sight of something that about made his heart stop: Lydia, tied to a chair, a garrotte around her neck, and some woman moving toward the fallen sheriff. He couldn't see Lydia moving, didn't know if she was all right, but there was blood in the air--hers, Scott's, Sheriff Stilinski's.

Peter's eyes glowed blue and his claws and fangs extended as he growled. With a running leap he threw himself through the windows, knocking into the woman and sending her farther away from Lydia. He snarled, almost fully wolfed out, noting the others at the door. He wanted the woman, wanted her blood, but how much and how hard depending on how hurt Lydia was, so he spun to her, moving to kneel in front of her chair, senses trained on the woman for any sudden moves.

By the time he reached Lydia, his features were normal again, though his eyes were still glowing bright blue and the claws of his right hand were still extended. He slashed through the bindings holding her, careful not to nick her skin, then reached to pluck the garrotte away, eyeing the marks on her throat with a fury that had him growling again.

Another crash from behind him startled him enough to look and see the girl and the sheriff disappear. Whatever. He had her scent. He could hunt her down. His attention focused back on Lydia.

"Are you badly hurt?" She obviously wasn't all right, but he needed the physical damage report first.

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"They're short staffed, remember?" Allison pointed out, thinking of the three doctors that had disappeared. That Jennifer had killed.

Melissa walked in at that moment. "The CT scan looks fine, Lydia. There's no real damage beyond what looks like a bit of a concussion." She stopped by the bed as she noticed the girl's relieved smile. "But the doctor still wants a look at you, especially your throat." A pause. "Was there any other injuries?"

"No, luckily the Sheriff showed up." Then Scott and Peter.

Melissa sobered as she looked at Peter and then Allison. "Have you guys heard anything yet?"

"No." Allison frowned. "My Dad hasn't checked in yet."

Peter's relief that there was no lasting damage done to Lydia's head was palpable, and he squeezed her hand. Short staffed or not, he was about to go drag a doctor, any doctor, in to her room, though, so she could settle and rest or go home and rest or whatever they'd let her do.

If it was just a concussion, and not a serious one, he could make sure to keep an eye on her, to watch for anything getting more serious and waking her up every two hours.

Melissa's question snapped him back to the larger issues and he shook his head a little. "I haven't heard from Scott or Isaac, either." He assumed they'd contact him, at least, since Derek was with Cora.

"As soon as we know what's going on with Lydia, I'll go and find them." Allison nodded.

"You should go now." Lydia whispered, looking over at her friend with a serious gaze that said she wouldn't accept any argument from the hunter. "They're going to need you, okay?"

"But Lydia..."

"Go." She said it firmly this time. "Really, they need your help. They need everyone's help to find Stiles's Dad." She would even suggest Peter go to help them but she couldn't stand the idea of him leaving. Of walking into a fight with the Darach.

"Go." Melissa echoed softly. "If anything happens here, I will let you know."

Allison hesitated and then she was looking at Peter. "You better look after her." Then she was gone stalking out of the room.

Peter wasn't leaving her, especially when Cora was just down the hall, as well. He wouldn't be much use in a fight, too unfocused with worry. Still, the "everyone," made him shift, uncomfortable.

At the same time, he was relieved when Allison left, just arching an eyebrow at her order, because, obviously, he was going to do that.

He glanced up at Melissa when Allison was gone. "Can you get her something for the pain now?" She hadn't said anything, but he could almost feel the headache, phantom pain in his head.

"Yes, I can get her something now." At least something mild.

Watching Melissa leave again, Lydia relaxed against the pillows while watching Peter. "I'm not staying here tonight." She informed him then. "I'd be a lot safer at your place."

"Thank you," he murmured, and for more than the pain killers.

He switched his gaze to her, frowning slightly. "If the doctor agrees that the concussion is just mild, then we can go. I can watch you. But if he thinks you need monitoring..." He frowned more, shaking his head. "Cora's here. And Derek and I can watch over both of you." Being Cora's uncle and one of her two remaining family members at least kept him on the hall.

He made a slight face. "Someone at some point is going to want to call your mother. They might even be legally required to." Though he wasn't certain exactly how that went if Lydia told them not to--patient's rights, and all.

"Fine, then she'll take me home and you can come over after." She paused for a moment before frowning thoughtfully at the door. "Unless you want to stay here with Cora?"

"I want to be with you," he said quietly. Granted, it would almost be better if they stayed, in case Derek or Cora needed him, but he wanted her to be comfortable, able to rest.

Lydia sighed softly, looking away from him again before letting her eyes drift closed which made the headache at least a tiny bit better as the hospital lights were killer for her head. Truthfully, she really didn't feel safe anywhere any more and she wasn't sure she would till they had taken care of Jennifer.

"Maybe they'd let me stay in Cora's room." She mused out loud without opening her eyes.

Peter brightened a bit at that idea. It would give him and Derek a strategic location to watch both girls, let them be there if they were needed, and strength in numbers--even if they were smaller numbers.

"There is an extra bed in there. Melissa could probably arrange it, especially if we mention it's for your safety."

Lydia still wanted to go home but she knew he was hesitant to let her do so as well as hesitant about leaving Cora. So, for him, she decided to consent to staying as long as she could be placed in Cora's room.

It really wasn't all that hard to convince Melissa of it either when she came back with some painkillers for Lydia. It would take a few minutes to get everything in order but it wasn't long before she was back with another wheelchair to take Lydia to her room.

Peter actually breathed a little easier that that--he was worried about her, about her head and her other wounds and having something besides just his senses monitoring her, making sure she didn't slide into a coma or something, made him breathe a little easier.

Knowing no one could kick him out of the room, even if her mother or father showed up, was another relief. Being able to watch over Cora, too, was helpful to his self control, as well. Even just being with Derek helped the wolf--like it or not, upset as they both were or not, Derek was his Alpha, and the wolf needed that.

He let Lydia get settled, then reached out to brush fingers slowly through her hair, soft and easy and then...caught his breath as finally, now that he was quieter, his skin tingled, then crawled, blackness sliding up along his veins as he instinctively started drawing out her pain.

It was something he hadn't done since before the fire...something he, honestly, had forgotten they could do, and even if he'd remembered, he would have thought it something he could no longer do, for all the empathy it required. Really...all he could do was stare at his hand, not even flinching at the pain that slid into him for his body to deal with.

The painkillers had helped to dull some of the pain but not completely as Melissa still wasn't comfortable in giving her anything too strong. Still, it made resting easier as they got her settled into the bed across the room from where Derek was sitting with Cora, looking a bit surprised to see Lydia and Peter though he understood the reasoning behind it.

Closing her eyes, Lydia quietly tilted her head towards Peter's touch, seeking the comfort and the soothing connection as his fingers brushed slowly through her hair and over her skin.

Then, suddenly, it was a bit easier to breathe. The ache in her head and her throat grew easier to deal with, almost like she had healed a little even if the physical marks were the same. Opening her eyes in surprise, she saw it then. Saw the blackness slithering up his arm, along his veins, and then she saw the look on his face.

"What...." She gasped.

Derek glanced up at the noise and stopped at the sight of what Peter was doing. It was something he knew they could do but it wasn't possible for all of them. It was usually for the more compassionate of their kind like Scott and Isaac. And now Peter, it seemed.

Peter was torn between wanting to yank his hand back, just from the shock, and between wanting to keep it there and try to pull out even more. The latter impulse won, at least, as he focused and shifted it toward a more intentional pull. He couldn't fix the damage, couldn't heal her, but he could take as much of her pain as he could, to let her body work on healing, not fighting the pain.

"Shh...it's all right," he murmured soothingly, mostly just nonsense.

He doubted he'd be able to do this for most people. He didn't give enough of a damn, not like Scott and Isaac. But her? Her he cared about.

There was a burning in his hand that told him he'd probably taken all he could and he eased his hand back from her, massaging it with his other as the blackness crawled up and finally started to dissipate.

It looked scarier than it felt because she felt better the longer he did it. At least she felt better physically as she as still worried about what it was doing to him.

Still, the headache was nearly gone by the time he was done. There was still a dull throb right at the center of the gash where Jennifer had hit her but that was to be expected for awhile. She even found it easier to swallow as she watched him.

"What was that?" She asked softly.

Peter was more emotionally shaken than physically--the burning in his hand eased pretty quickly, though he was strangely tempted to cry, which was utterly ridiculous.

He cleared his throat of the lump that was in it and gave her a little smile.

"Just something we can sometimes do. Taking away someone else's pain. I...didn't think I could anymore."

Lydia understood now why he had been surprised. Her features softened as she reached out to take his hand, linking their fingers as she nodded her head. "Thank you." She murmured because clearly it had worked.

Derek watched the entire exchange, still surprised though it was a good thing to see. For a moment, when Peter was distracted and focused on her, Derek saw a hint of the uncle he used to know. The one that had been his closest confidant and friend before opposing ideas and bitterness had pulled them apart.

Turning his head before Peter caught him watching, he looked at Cora. He had been trying to take pain from her but something was blocking him from doing so. Whatever it was that was wrong with her.

Needing to distract himself, he had to ask. "So, a banshee."

Lydia's gaze flickered to Derek. "Did you know?" She watched him as he shook his head ever so slightly and then her gaze drew back to Peter. "What does it mean? Besides being creepy and finding dead bodies?"

Peter felt Derek's eyes, though he didn't look over. Right now, he didn't need the reminders of what had been. It all hurt too much. Reminded him too much of what he'd lost--and not just the family members who'd died.

Still a bit lost in trying to figure out how and why he'd been able to help her, he almost missed Lydia's question. Glancing up at her, he frowned a little in confusion before connecting what she was asking and shaking himself.

"Banshees are able to foretell death," he said quietly. "And are sometimes said to walk the line between life and death, able to bridge them." Which is why he'd needed her. "There are a lot of different stories. Which are true and which not...we should sort through when there's time."

It would explain why she had been able to overhear suicides at the motel, things that had happened in the past that had warned her about things that were happening in the present.

Closing her eyes, she gave a slight nod as he reassured her they would sort through things later. Keeping a hold on his hand, she let herself drift then, relaxing further since things didn't seem to be hurting so much now thanks to him.

Peter watched her drift, his own anxiety lessening under the wonder of what he'd done and watching her be calmer--as well as Derek's presence, though he was never going to admit that.

He hated to rouse her when the doctor finally came in, but he knew she needed to be examined. The man gave them all a wary look, like he could sense he was in the room with...something else, but then looked at Peter as the obvious adult in the room.

"Mr. Martin?" he said, coming forward with his hand, extended, clearly assuming he was Lydia's father.

Peter arched an eyebrow. "It's Hale, actually." He nodded at Cora. "Her uncle." The doctor gave Lydia and Peter's hand on her arm a confused look, and Peter shrugged easily. "Friend of the family. We thought it would comfort the girls to be together, since Lydia's family isn't here." He touched her arm again, lightly. "The doctor's here, sweetheart..."

Stirring at the sound of Peter's voice calling her back, she struggled to open her eyes, annoyed at the way her head felt like it was filled with cotton but she managed to look at the doctor a moment later. Then she frowned a bit. "Is there something wrong?"

She had forgotten, for a moment, that she acutally hadn't seen a doctor yet.

"I'm sorry you had to wait," the doctor said, still half to Peter. "We had a lot of traumas come in tonight and we're understaffed." And Lydia's symptoms hadn't presented as life-threatening, once her CT Scan was clear.

He consulted the chart. "You were..." He looked startled at the mention of a garotte.

"Surely you've heard about the serial killer loose in town?" Peter said, almost a bit sarcastically. "Lydia was attacked tonight, though the sheriff arrived in time to save her, thankfully. I don't think she wants to talk about it, so if you'd just check out her wounds and see what they need so she can rest..."

The doctor looked like he was going to protest the tone, but he looked at Lydia and nodded slightly. "Can you sit up?"

Really, Lydia didn't have much patience for answering questions most of the time and her patience was severely lacking at the moment. She felt rubbed raw and exposed, leaving her wanting to be alone with only Peter for company. So she was rather content to let him handle the doctor even if she felt a tiny bit bad for the man. Kind of. Not really.

Nodding, she sat up, figuring he would guess she was silent because of the angry red marks around her neck.

Still watching Peter a little warily, the doctor leaned in and examined the marks, frowning at their redness.

"Was it metal?"

Since Peter had been the one to toss it away, he answered. "Yes. Metal wire of some sort."

The doctor nodded. "It's unlikely to be an issue, with wire, but I'd like to get some antibiotic cream on that, and to keep it bandaged for a few days, at least. I assume your tetanus shot is up to date?" Since she was in school--it was usually a requirement.

Lifting her chin so the doctor could examine her neck, she glanced at Peter as he answered again and a shiver rushed through her at the memory of the wire wrapping around her throat. Not once but twice.

Realizing then she had been asked a question, she nodded. "Yes."