"This is the welcoming committee..."

Rebekah

Rebekah glanced up in her rear-view mirror to check her tail, but the distance behind them had been vacant for quite some time. The bleached, void of color dunes of rocks and sand all around them was terribly dull. The road ahead cracked with ill-repair. How often had this view welcomed strangers?

Despite having another passenger in the cab with her, she felt...lonely.

This was the route Hope had taken to Beacon Hills, and she was sure they'd stumble upon the diner soon, but she couldn't seem to stop her mind from wandering. Is this how Hope had felt when driving this stretch of road? She'd been by herself. Had she been lonely too?

Had she been afraid?

Rebekah sighed softly to herself and brushed a stray strand of pale hair from her forehead, attempting to focus on the near-silent radio. Though it crackled incessantly from lack of signal. She turned the thing off with a quick swipe.

Stiles was asleep in the passenger seat. The light snoring on his intake of breath was easily recognizable. Well, at least someone was able to sleep. She hadn't found enough peace to sleep in two days. Rebekah was beginning to feel the weight of exhaustion.

She glanced over at him, raising a groomed brow to see his face pressed against the glass. Mouth agape, half of his features squished against the window while leaning forward. Neck bent at an odd angle.

"Hmm-hmm..." Stiles started a little giggle in his sleep.

Rebekah scrunched a face and bit her lip, fighting a tiny laugh. Does he talk in his sleep?

"Yeah, baby, I like that...." Stiles continued.

Rebekah snorted, putting her sleeve to her mouth to stifle the sound. Oh, Hope, you know how to pick the most entertaining guests, don't you?

Looking ahead, Rebekah noticed a pothole on the left side of the road. Well, no one was around, and let's be honest. Dreaming she could handle vocal sex dreams...not as much.

Turning the wheel, she hit the pothole head-on, and the cab bounced with a tumultuous crash, making everything in the car lift up and fall back down for a split second before she slid back into the right lane.

Stiles sat up quickly with wide eyes. "Woah!" He gasped and let out a heavy breath. Trying to release the tension in his chest.

"Oops," Rebekah smirked slyly.

Leaning back against the backseat, he rubbed the back of his neck, hoping to massage the kinks, and squinted his eyes as he yawned.

"You seemed to be having a fascinating dream. Care to share?"

Stiles felt his ears begin to burn. He pursed his lips into a thin line and slowly shook his head. "Uhm...not entirely."

Rebekah narrowed her eyes, suspicions becoming alert. "It wasn't about Hope, was it?"

Stiles raised his brows, and his eyes widened further. His ears felt as though they'd been scorched by the sun. "What? No! God, no...not...not that she isn't...I mean, she's gorgeous, but...but I mean... There's this girl, Simone. I met her while in New Orleans. I swear it... wasn't Hope..." he trailed off, trying to backtrack as he bit his lip so hard it indented marks into his flesh. Praying she didn't take offense and yeet him out of the car.

Laughing, Rebekah shook her head. "You know, it wouldn't be so bad even if it were. Niklaus and Elijah both have taken a liking to you. That doesn't happen often."

Stiles stared at her, puzzled. As if she'd just spoken gibberish.

"I'm sorry, what?" He asked in confusion. They...the almighty original brothers...like him?

Rebekah shrugged and smiled. "Elijah respects your resourcefulness. Niklaus respects your courage. Few can stand against my ill-tempered brother and live to tell the tale. But, above all, they both respect your allegiance to our Hope."

Stiles nodded slowly. "Hm..." he pursed his lips. "They have an interesting way of showing it."

Smiling, she glanced over at him. "If this family had even an inkling of you harming Hope, you'd already be in an unmarked grave."

"Oh..." he started, but Rebekah quickly cut him off.

"So, Simone?" She smirked, eyes glittering with humor.

Stiles forced a chuckle and nodded slowly. "Uhm...yeah. I..." he started to respond, but the words couldn't escape. Instead, his mouth continued to hang open like a gasping fish. His heart began to pound erratically.

There, on the left-hand side of the road, was the diner.

Stiles licked dry lips as Rebekah pulled into the parking lot of the desolate place. It looked like a terrible excuse for a place to inhabit people. The lights were off, and a couple of windows looked fractured even.

Why did it look so...abandoned?

"Hope stopped here?" Rebekah's question forced Stiles back to reality. "It looks like it's been empty for...God knows how long."

Stiles nodded slowly; something wasn't adding up. If this was supposed to be a place for hunters to gather, as Hope had described, then shouldn't this place be swarming with them?

"Maybe it's a trap." Stiles pursed his lips thinly, ignoring the crawls he felt over his skin. "If it is...then Derek...." Stiles swallowed hard, a chill rushing up his spine. Could they really have...killed Derek? He supposed if he'd been alone and there were too many of them...Stiles closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, trying not to think of the scenario. Taking a deep breath, he reopened his eyes and looked around.

He furrowed his brow into a deep, confused scowl. "Something doesn't feel right."

Rebekah nodded. "It shouldn't. This is obviously a setting in some awfully scripted scary movie."

"No, like something is missing...." Stiles looked around, and his eyes landed on an abandoned buggy car in the far corner of the lot. That thing could have been there for years with the amount of crusted rust on the hood. "Derek's car," he said with sudden realization, "It's not here. Maybe he hasn't gotten here yet...." That news could have been a comfort if Derek hadn't left for the diner before he and Rebekah had. He should have arrived here a long time ago.

So, then where is his car? He thought silently.

A stalking movement passed one of the large front windows of the diner.

"Did you see that?" Stiles asked, voice rattling in his chest.

"Yes, I did," Rebekah said, already shutting the car off and stepping out. She looked back at him, "Are you coming?"

With a hard swallow hard and a quick nod, he responded. "It's against my better judgment, but yes."

Rebekah was already halfway to the diner's front before Stiles could get himself fully untangled from the seatbelt. He jogged his way up to her and skidded to a stop just a little behind her, stopping where her extended arm was to keep him from moving forward any further. He glanced over at her. Was she trying to protect him?

The movement behind the glass appeared again. Stiles looked ahead, trying to peer inside, but he could barely make out anything behind the glass. It was so clouded with red dust from the surrounding desert it was impossible to see more than the grime and his own reflection. Wow, I look tired.

"Allow me," Rebekah said as she slid sideways to grab the handle of the door, which was locked. She cocked an irritated eyebrow and stood back. She leaned back on one heel, and with the other, she smashed through the glass with minimal effort. The glass in the surrounding area shattered and broke free, leaving a good-sized hole in the door with jagged pieces threatening to come loose from their hold.

She looked down at her designer-heeled boots and scoffed. She called through the foot-sized hole in the door. "Whoever decided to lock the door, you'll be paying for my scuffed boots with either your credit card or your life."

No answer.

"Fine," Rebekah rolled her eyes, "I'll steal your credit card off your lifeless body." She reached her hand through the glass, grabbed hold of the lock, and twisted it before slamming the door open with a thunderous bang. The action caused the remaining in-tact glass to come free and sprinkle the ground with millions of sparkling shards.

Strong hands seized Rebekah a foot into the entrance and threw her with staggering strength across the diner.

Rebekah landed on a couple of circular dining tables in the center of the room that collapsed as she fell into them. Her body hit the floor with a hard thud, and her head smacked the surface with an audible crack. White flashed across her vision. Rebekah sucked in a sharp breath, ears ringing as she sat up enough to eye her attacker. Her legs entangled with the chairs strewn about her.

Hovered above her, just a few feet back stood a man with the face of a demon. Deeply set wrinkled brows, contorted in such a way they were easily inhuman. Fur, or what seemed like fur, lined his face. Though what caught her attention most were the large fangs dripping drool past his lips and bright blue eyes that bore into her as if she were its prey.

The monster figure stalked toward her, and the panic sent Rebekah's instincts back into the fight. She grabbed hold of one of the legs of the fallen table and, with a little effort, wrenched it free from its bolts before standing. Her own face shifted. Eyes dark, fangs exposed, dark veins wriggled beneath her hungry eyes.

Rebekah hissed and attacked.

Grabbing him by his shoulders, she tackled him to the ground as hard as she could. She wanted to make him as disoriented as he'd made her. Their fangs inch apart as they snarled at each other. Then, with one hand gripped around the metal bar and the other holding his throat in a vice, she raised the metal, prepared to bring it down into his heart.

"Stop!" Stiles screeched, "Stop!" He crouched so that he was right next to their faces. "It's Peter! It's Derek's uncle!"

Rebekah and Peter glared at each other, but it was Peter first who transformed before her eyes into...just a man. Rebekah leaned back on his hips and withdrew her own fangs but continued to glower down at him.

"So, this is the welcoming committee?" Peter asked, his expression morphing into a sneer, "I must say... I'm not disappointed." His eyes trailed over Rebekah's body.

Rebekah narrowed her eyes and stood off him, bringing the metal down to connect with his abdomen with a loud thwack. As he wheezed, she squatted down again and removed his wallet from his back pocket.

"That," she pointed to his abdomen as she stood again, "Is for treating a woman like a slab of meat. This," she held up his wallet, "Is for my boots."

She stepped away from him and shoved the wallet into her own pocket.

"Now," she eyed him, "Where the bloody hell is Derek?"