She hummed, happily drawing alongside her friend. He was now 13 and she was 11 (ithinkidkimforgetfull). He was quiet, as always now, drawing his own random mundane pictures, occasionally looking from the corner of his eye at her and what she drew. Today was different however. While she sounded happy, he could just sense that she was upset by something.

He grabbed a fresh, new pieces and started to write. It was large and sloppy. He nudged her slightly and moved the paper in front of her.

'What's Wrong?'

"Nothing's wrong." she frowned a little at him, but soon smiled, returning to drawing.

'Please Don't Lie What's Up?'

"Mom..." she narrowed her gaze at her hands, thinking intensely on how to put the words in her mind. Eventually she replied, only in writing; 'My Dads getting remarried'

'Why Would He Do That?'

'I think it's because he got this lady preganant' the last word was horribly misspelled but it got the point.

'You Don't Like Her?'

'No, she's a two faced, bitch,' she could see his mask raise slightly as he smiled underneath, that made her smile 'She's nice to me when my dad or my sister is around, but when it's me and her, she treats me like I'm only going to be a step child to her. I don't care if I am a stepchild, but she doesn't get to treat me like that.'

'Are You Going To Do Anything To Her?'

'Not while the baby is still a little. I don't want to be cruel to it, just because she's mean to me.'

'I'll Make You Something To Hide Your Face When You Get Her Though.'

"Thank you." she smiled at him, and started to color over the conversation you just had. He didn't need to get into any more trouble and you didn't want to be locked up here.

After a little while he slid another paper in front of you with a message. 'What Kind Of Animal Do You Want It To Be?'

"Hmm... A Wolfie" you giggled and he smiled. It was so cute and happy between you two. It's a shame that there would be so many incidents that would keep you two separate.

Namely the doting on your soon-to-be-step-mon and her baby that would replace you.

You knew it would happen. No one could tell you otherwise. Well they couldn't convince you otherwise.

You waited in dead silence, in the dark, near the front door. You had no idea why, after cheeking on the kids, you decided to wait downstairs, but you did. You started to blame to blame it on instinct. You had been driven by it safely before, so you trusted it, despite how stupid it was to follow your instincts at this time. You felt tempted every now and then to sigh or get up and peek out the curtains or check on the kids, but you remained where you were and stayed quiet.

You rubbed your sore eyes, still listening intently to the world around you. You suddenly tensed the entryway and there was soft light pouring in from the front door. There was a man shaped shadow in it too.

You knew who it was, but you didn't just the same. It was instinct, just as it was to protect Tommy and Lindsey. You had no relation to them or their families, you just knew them through Laurie and still you felt compelled to protect them.

You held your breath, watching wide-eyed as the shape moved further inside the home. You carefully got to your feet, making no noise at all and there he was, walking just as silently towards the stairs. He tilted his head, looking up the stairs while you soundlessly walked up behind him.

You knew who he was, but your rational mind wasn't functioning.

It was simple instinct.

Reflexive instinct.

Animalistic instinct.

Just as you struck his right right shoulder blade, he sensed your presence. It shocked him that you had caught him by surprise enough to pull him from his intensely focused state of mind. You looked just like you did when cutting up Dylan, cold and unfeeling to his pain, but a razor sharp focus on what needed to be done.

Your blade was aimed to dig in between in shoulder blade and spine, but he had turned just enough for the knife to strike against bone. It hurt. It hurt a lot. It hurt more then anything because you had been the one to deliver the blow. Still his body went into an defense mode.

He had dropped the knife from the tingle of nerves freaking out and teasing up his arm, but he had enough control and and strength to reach for you. You sidestepped slightly, but his hand still grabbed you. He grabbed hold of your sleeve, while you reached to grab his jumpsuit and possibly the knife.

Your fingers barely touched the fabric if his clothing before you you violently jerked and tossed into a wall. You hit the wall with a loud, but dull *Thunk* and your head smacked into the wall with a much louder *crack*. Little cracks appeared in the paint and drywall. Your body was wracked with an electric surge of pain and numbness.

As soon as you had made that sound by colliding with the wall, Michael felt the immediate tinge of guilt hit him. That was impossibly rare for him. He knew enough that even if you did remember him, knew that it was him, the terrified cries of the little ones upstairs made it perfectly clear to him why you attacked. You wanted them safe.

It was instinct.

The instinct of a Wolf, to protect the young.

You groaned lightly, stumbling away from the wall. You stared at the wall blankly as you moved from it. There was a three inch long line of blood left on the wall. There was blood leaking from your forehead. You didn't register it. You didn't even register that you had fallen after staggering a foot away from the (Y/n) sized dent in the drywall.

Michael caught your form before you could take another hard impact with the ground. He frowned, seeing the blood continuing to trail down your forehead, down your nose, mouth, cheeks pooling slightly near your eye sockets. You were still breathing, a little fast and quite shallow, but you were breathing, your pulse was still going. Both you slowing and calming down.

Michael let out a breathless sigh, and reached his hand over his shoulder to pull out the blade you had stuck in him a good inch deep. It was painful to complete the action, but it was in the way. He picked up his knife, the blade was stained red with the blood of Lynda, her boyfriend, Annie and her boyfriend, and the handle was red with some of Laurie's blood.

Sirens started to wail in the distance, and flashing red and blues appeared soon after.

Michael put the blade in his deep pocket and picked you up carefully, being extra careful with your head, as he thought you might have a concussion. He carried you like a baby; extremely protective. He slipped out the backdoor quickly and silently, disappearing with you off into the dark of night, bringing you home.

You'd be out for a while. He could just tell, while Laurie was going to wake up soon.

He laid you down in your bed, with the utmost care, pulled off your shoes, pulled the covers up and watched you in your dreamless sleep for a short time.

You looked peaceful, but stressed.

He gather a cloth and wet it, gently putting it over your bleeding forehead to help give you some relief.

For now at least, he'd let you rest.

He'd let you sleep.

He'd see you again soon.

So he hoped, as he descended to the basement, with a semi-conscious Laurie started to realize Lynda was dead, and wasn't waking up, never again to this nightmare. Laurie was only now waking up to the nightmare that would plague the rest of her life.

And she would not be able to escape it. No matter how hard she would try. And she'd give it several hells of tries as her life went on, but it would all end one day...

But....

Not tonight.