She makes a face, but doesn't comment further.

He leaves her be.

They get "home".

Scott is waiting on his porch, staring at the wooden floor.

"How did it go," he says, not looking up.

She doesn't have it in her to say 'it's all right.'

"He's human now. We left him alive, but I told him to stay away from you and Lydia. Derek's got responsibility of him. Managed to get a peace between him and the Argents over it. He's not allowed to cause any trouble, it would start a war and I think the Argents would kill him for it." She doesn't say if I don't get to him first.

"No, there's been enough death. Thank you, for everything you did for us."

"Yeah, she was really something. Derek didn't really listen, but you know Derek."

"I think I got through to him a little," she muses. "He didn't seem to hate me as much after the impassioned but badly misaimed speech." Sigh. "Anyway. No problem. Allison was more of a help than I was, I was, uh. Not very pleased to meet him, let's go with."

"Sorry. I probably made it harder for you to handle him. I should have prepared you better."

... Yvette peers at Scott.

"My problem wasn't that I wasn't prepared and was caught off guard. My problem was that I was so furious I was having trouble not spending the entire time shouting at him."

"Oh. Because of what he did to Lydia."

Stiles waits by the car.

"And you. And Derek. And everyone else he's hurt, it sounds like it's a long list."

"If he stops now, it's okay. Lydia is tougher than most people. She can decide if this is what he deserves, but she'll live with it if it's all they can get."

Yvette does not understand this person and his incredibly bizarre mental structure. To be honest, she doesn't really want to, because she doesn't really care. But gosh can she look at the results of it and boggle, because what the hell is that shit.

"All right," she says, because voicing her thoughts right now is the opposite of helpful.

"It should be fine. She'll be okay. Nothing to worry about..."

He tugs at his sleeves.

"Me and Scott are going to hang out out here for a while. Good night, Yvette."

"Sure. Good night." Pause. "Thanks for the help, by the way."

And then she's going to flee to the safety of the couch. Is there a mother that Yvette needs to explain everything to? She feels responsible.

Nope. It's pretty late, she's probably asleep.

Well. That means Yvette has nothing obvious to do, and she's too wired to sleep. Instead, it's a parade of concerns and preparations and fears. Thoughts of how to possibly get Derek to stop pushing people away, how exactly she's planning to kill Peter if she decides that he needs to die, weighing what buttons she could push to stop the Argents from going to war with any werewolves... And, more pettily, how Scott got home from Lydia's house, when they left him there with her. Probably got a ride? Probably got a ride.

She tries, briefly, to watch television, but can't make herself focus. Nothing on the screen is really worth her time, even just as a distraction. Instead, flits from seat to seat, anxious and trying to find somewhere that would be comfortable for the jittery raging beast that seems to have taken home in her gut. She has to be prepared for whatever the hell is going to happen next. Can't let herself die, and can't let herself lose, either. This insane town filled with murderers and monsters does not get to win. It will rue and celebrate the day she showed up and threw a cellphone at someone. Except if she's honest with herself, she doesn't have much to back any of those claims up. She's been here three days and she still has barely any idea what's going on or how these madmen function, and she's - still just an ordinary teenage girl. Human. While she doesn't think 'human' means 'harmless' she also doesn't think that she would have lasted very long if the kanima decided she looked delicious instead of like its girlfriend. What's to say the next thing won't just think her a meal?

Well. She knows the answer to that, actually. There's something that's been with her since the beginning, she just has to close her eyes, and there it is. Waiting. That fucking book.

Almost more than she wants to go home, she wants to read it. Finally figure out what the hell is going on with it. If someone asked her, do you want to go home, or do you want to know what's up with the evil book? she'd have to think about it. She'd fall in favor of going home to her family, because she'll be damned if she leaves them heartbroken for an unknown, but maybe the book offers ultimate cosmic power. Maybe it's not an 'or' situation, but an 'and.' Read this book, and be able to save this insane town, and then be able to go home. Or maybe it's the Necronomicon, and will drive her absolutely mad shortly before summoning an eldritch horror from the ninth circle of Hell. She doesn't know. That's the problem.

Making decisions after having a long, painful day filled with yelling at people is - well. It's not advisable. Especially when it comes to books that may or may not be Cthulhu. So instead of snatching it from behind her eyelids to read, she just - looks at it. Hungrily. The temptation of answers, of power, just within her grasp.

She does manage to sleep, eventually. After entirely too much time spent staring at a book. She dreams of dark twisted horrors and of helplessness and of a family that can't even hold a funeral, because they don't know whether she's dead or not.

They let her sleep as long as she needs. 

She's up surprisingly early, for how late she was out and for how exhausted she looks.

"Hi," she says in a near-monotone, as she fetches cereal.

"So how did it go last night?"

She considers how to succinctly summarize last night.

"Nobody died," she says, sagely.

"I want to know how you're doing. I got that much from the note."

"Sorry. I'm. A complicated mess of emotions that I'm having trouble putting into words right now. Proper analysis and explanation pending for after I lock myself in the bathroom to cry for a while." Cereal, mouth. Nom. "Also not dead though, so that's pretty cool."