Kismet

"You're telling me that we can bring Allison back?"

Scott, skipping out on his first day of senior chemistry by hiding in the Beacon Hill's High bathroom, nearly tripped over the name that had become so foreign during the last year. It was a name—a person—he'd tried to distance himself from ever since her untimely and painful departure. As things had picked up and their hunt for the benefactor began, letting her go had become easier. He hadn't had time to focus on her absence, or the way the letters of her name still lingered in his contacts, but as Chris Argent said her name it was as if someone had ripped her away from the world yesterday. The pain was still new, fresh, but dulled by the circumstances.

"… it's risky," Chris affirmed, voice muffled by his poor connection, "It's really, really risky. We're talking more dangerous than anything we've ever dealt with before—"

"And that's why you called me," Scott surmised.

"And that's why I can't ask you to help," Chris corrected him, "I'm only telling you because I know how important Allison was to you, and… well, we've seen where keeping secrets gets us."

"Whoa, whoa, , you can't drop this on me and not expect me to—to help. If it's dangerous, you've got a better chance with me around," He dropped his voice like there was someone listening in, "And if it's Allison—if it could bring her back—you know there's nothing I won't do."

"That's a dangerous mindset, Scott." There was a long pause, and then the sound of a long-held breath being let go. "I'll be in Beacon Hills in two days. Meet me at Deaton's, bring Lydia, Stiles— let's talk specifics before you pledge your life to the cause, okay?"

"Yeah… yeah. I'll be there." He couldn't keep the hope out of his voice, "Definitely."

As soon as Scott walked into chemistry (at the price of one tardy slip and the threat of detention), Stiles was giving him that look. The one with the raised brows and twirling pencil, silently asking 'what's going on'. Scott refused to give him anything; not the slightest nod or shrug, just a smile he couldn't trace away.

This resulted in Stiles throwing bits of paper at him until the teacher intervened (the teacher was new; they'd cycled through staff at Beacon hills quickly given the high death rate), and as such only got an answer after the bell had rung.

"What was that about? Late to chem, day one—dude, I thought we were going into senior year with a fresh slate. No detention, straight A's, and B's, and maybe a C once in a while, and a D if the teacher's an ass—"

"Stiles, chill." Scott hadn't stopped smiling since he'd gotten to chemistry, and it was the kind of smarmy smile that said 'I know something you don't', and it was obviously driving Stiles up the wall. "I'll tell you, but we need to get Lydia."

"You need to get Lydia for what?" Malia turned the corner, having heard the entirety of the conversation from well down the hall. Given her poor performance in science the year before, she'd been put in remedial studies in nearly all subjects, and as such, they had almost no classes with one another this year. It was, as Stiles remarked, a hell of a lot better than being held back as a Junior. "What's going on?"

"I'll let you know as soon as I do," Stiles explained, sending Scott a mock-accusatory look, "Honestly, I'm not even curious anymore. Literally nothing will surprise me. Aliens? Awesome. Armageddon? Alright. I just want to know if I can wait until second semester to start fearing for my life."

"It's not like that," Scott half-laughed, starting to lead the group down to the cafeteria, "It's… a good thing. Like, a really good thing."

"But it's a supernatural thing," Stiles added, "Because you said we need Lydia."

"I didn't say we needed Lydia," Scott countered, "I just want to tell you both what's going on at the same time."

"What about Kira?" Malia asked, brow furrowed, "You're probably going to need all of us for whatever this is."

"You're going to need all of us for what?" Kira asked, joining them from the Physics room as they passed. "… did something happen?"

Scott turned around to address the entirety of his small following, "Yeah—well, not yet. But it's not a bad thing—it's the opposite of a bad thing,"

"But Mr. 'Big Boy Alpha' here won't tell us what the thing is," Stiles said.

Kira looked at him with the vexation Malia had greeted him with earlier. "Why not?"

Scott exhaled, "I'll tell you all about it at lunch, alright?"

"All about what?" Liam, now a sophomore, had been keeping track of the conversation on his way down the stairs. His hearing was just as sharp as Malia's.

"Oh my god," Scott looked towards the ceiling, turning to face forward again, "Five minutes. I'll tell you all in five minutes." In the interim, Stiles caught Liam up, which only invited further questions, and for Scott, further frustration.

By the time the five of them had found Lydia, caught her up, and found a decent spot for lunch,every single one of them was asking Scott what the news was, what had happened, what was going on.

"Alright," Scott addressed them all, standing at the head of the table. "Listen up. I got a call from Mr. Argent during third period. He says he's going to be back in Beacon Hills in two days, and… he has a way to bring Allison back."

He made sure every word was clear so that there was no room for miscommunication, and Lydia practically choked on her parfait. Stiles stared at him in wide eyed astonishment, leaning back in his chair like he'd been struck. Kira gaped; despite the fact that she'd only known Allison briefly, they'd been sisters in arms against the nogitsune nearly a year ago, and Kira didn't think she'd ever forget the moment of her departure.

Malia and Liam, on the other hand, were completely and utterly lost. Malia was, as usual, the one to speak up. "Okay, I'll bite. Who's Allison?"

Scott, Stiles, and Lydia all looked at her as if the question was inherently offensive, and Malia visibly recoiled. The silence was heavy and so thick that for a moment not one of them could hear the cacophony of sound that was the cafeteria beyond.

"…She was a friend," Scott finally managed, "A hunter. An Argent. She…"

"She was badass," Stiles enunciated, eyes unfocused, "She—"

"She was human." Lydia added, lips pursed, eyes downturned beneath heavily shadowed lids.

Off put by the sudden somber mood, Malia refocused on Scott. "But you said you can bring her back, so…" What was the problem?

That faint hope broke them from their sour memories, and Scott pressed on. "Not me, Mr. Argent. I don't know what he plans to do yet, but he wouldn't call me about it if he wasn't sure it was a real lead."

Stiles exhaled, looking down as he thought it over. "…Listen, Scott, I want Allison here as much as the next guy, but I have never heard of anyone bringing anyone back from the dead and it being a good thing. Ever."

"We did it," Lydia interjected, "All of us did."

Stiles shook his head, "Yeah, but that… that was different. That was like facilitated zombieism, and it still screwed us over."

"It doesn't matter. We don't know what Mr. Argent has yet, and if there's even a chancethat it could bring Allison back—"

"We've got to try," Lydia agreed, resolve reflected deep in her eyes, "She shouldn't have died. It was wrong, and if we can give her a second chance, it's our responsibility to make sure she gets it." Despite her best efforts she sent Stiles a very pointed look. She knew what had happened hadn't been his fault, but the demon had worn his face, and even a year later it was hard to shake the association whenever Allison was brought up.

Thankfully, Stiles didn't notice. "I'm not saying we shouldn't, I'm just saying that I think we need to approach this—the whole thing—really, really carefully."

"Yeah, definitely," Scott nodded, "But we can decide what to do after we hear what Mr. Argent's got."

Kira, not feeling it her place to speak about a girl she'd hardly known in comparison to the three beside her, stayed silent.

Malia, having next to no cognitive empathy, exercised no such restraint. "So, what, two days?"

Scott nodded once, "Two days. Lydia, Stiles and I will go meet him and see what's going on. Before you say anything—" He could tell Malia was about to step in with some objection, some reason she, Kira, and Liam should go too, but he cut it off. "I'm not letting anyone else come. This is kind of a private matter for Mr. Argent, and if he only wants the three of us there, he only gets the three of us there. I promise we'll tell you all everything as soon as we can."

Kira nodded somewhat solemnly, even though the back of her mind was racing. She knew she shouldn't be worried. Of all things to think of when Scott brought up Allison, the state of the blossoming relationship between she and Scott should have been the last thing on her mind. She pushed the concern as far back as she could, "You know, my mom might know something about… the afterlife. At least in our culture. I could ask her about it, if it'll help Mr. Argent."

"Not yet," Scott decided, "I don't know who's supposed to know about this. Until we get the details from Mr. Argent, this is top-secret. Got it?" He looked around the table, making eye contact with each one of them in turn, "Not parents, not friends, not Derek. Just the six of us."

Everyone nodded, even if Malia and Liam did so somewhat uncomprehendingly, and the six went on to share a silent meal. The hope was there, shared amongst those that had felt the most loss, but they were too wise to celebrate yet. A year ago, things would have been different. A year ago, they didn't yet understand that meddling in the world of the supernatural called for sacrifice. But now they knew there were tricks, and something so miraculous had to have an equally impressive price.

The next two days were uneventful. They didn't mention their planned meeting with Mr. Argent, treading around the topic like speaking of it might make it less likely to take place. Classes were paramount, lacrosse practice went on, and life continued as if it hadn't been a habitual nightmare the past few months.

The day the meeting was supposed to take place, Lydia and Stiles met at Scott's house before they headed to Deacon's animal hospital. The excitement was tangible, the muted hope, the tentative potential, it was electric.

Lydia, seated on the end of Scott's bed, looked at her hands folded in her lap as she spoke. "You really think there's a chance was can bring Allison back?" Her voice was strong, demanding, like she only wanted the most realistic answer regardless of how much it might sting. "Honestly."

"Yeah, I do," Scott pulled a hoodie over his shirt, "Mr. Argent knows what he's doing. He doesn't follow bogus leads. If anyone could find a way to safely bring Allison back from… wherever she is, it's him."

Lydia nodded, giving herself room to genuinely hope. Stiles just shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Scott. Doesn't sit right. Every zombie movie I have ever seen says this is a bad idea."

"Because movies definitely know what they're talking about. What about werewolf movies, huh?"

Stiles counted off as he spoke, "Uh, uncontrollable on the full moon, claws, teeth, mutton-chops, bloodlust… missing anything?"

Scott just answered him with a look, opening his mouth to reply with words that didn't come. "Okay, point. But we're not bringing Allison back as a zombie."

"Re-animating the dead sounds a lot like zombies," Stiles argued, "I just don't want you to get all into this just because it's Allison, y'know? I get how important she was to you, but—"

Scott realized what Stiles was getting at, and chuckled incredulously. "I'm not going to let it cloud my judgment, Stiles. I'm going to look at whatever Mr. Argent has objectively."

"Okay, okay," Stiles surrendered, "Are you almost ready? You've been trying to decide on a sweatshirt for like, ten minutes."

Honestly, Scott was anxious. Part of him hoped he'd be able to see Allison again as early as today. Maybe Mr. Argent had already brought her back, and he wasn't going to show up in anything ratty. But, as Stiles said it, he realized just how monstrous the pile of discarded hoodies on his bed had become. "Oh. Yeah, let's go." He pulled on the last hoodie he'd tried on, and waved the two of them out the door.

They took Stiles's trusted-and-true jeep over to Deacon's place, and bypassed the "closed" sign on the front door without issue. With everything going on recently and how often Deacon found himself treating some of his more unorthodox patients, Scott wondered just how well the animal hospital itself was doing. There couldn't be nearly as much money coming in nowadays, and Deacon had to keep both traditional and non-traditional remedies stocked, regardless of how expensive they were (how much did pure mountain ash even cost? Ancient bones from sacred burial grounds? Who knew.) but the place was still open. Of all people Scott had learned not to underestimate, Dr. Deacon was one of the first.

"Dr. Deacon?" Scott called, going behind the counter to open the door to the back room, "It's Scott. Lydia and Stiles, too. Mr. Argent tol—"

"Sh!" Deacon cut him off, waving them in to the dimly lit back room. "I know."

Scott cast a confused glance back at Stiles and Lydia, both of whom just mirrored his expression. "Is Mr. Argent—"

"Here?" Chris Argent stepped forward, expression as haggard as it'd been last Scott had seen him. Not long after he'd recovered from his injury at the end of last year, he'd gone back overseas without so much as a goodbye. Scott had texted him more than once and only ever gotten a single reply; "busy".

"Mr. Argent has come to me with something of a ludicrous proposition," Deacon explained, "I'm sure he told you what he plans to do."

Scott nodded, "Yeah."

"He told him the what, but not the how." Lydia amended, looking from Deacon to Mr. Argent.

Deacon, approving of her skepticism, gave Mr. Argent the floor with the slightest inclination.

"I've been in Greece for the past five months," He began, "I was there looking for a rare plant. A species of Hellebore. While I was there, I met a group of hunters that specialized in—get this—ancient gods. They hunt ancient gods. Zeus, Poseidon, you name it, they've run into it. These days, it's mostly just keeping the gods from calling for sacrifices and killing innocents, but they told me about something… interesting. You've heard of the Moerae."

"The fates," Lydia translated, "They work with the thread of life and are said to dictate destiny—even the destiny of the gods."

Neither Scott nor Stiles was surprised she knew; over the last two years, they'd come to understand Lydia was much, much more than met the eye.

Stiles was taking all of this in a slightly different way. He waved his hands about like he was trying to brush the words away, "You are telling me that all that stuff we read about when I was a freshman—the Odyssey and all that—those things are real? Cyclopes, harpies-"

Mr. Argent nodded, first at Lydia and then to Stiles. "It surprised me, too. I didn't believe them at first, and then they showed me where they'd mounted Cerberus's head on the wall."

"But Cerberus had three heads," Lydia quipped.

"They only managed to cut off one."

"I don't care about Cerberus," Scott redirected the conversation, "What can we do about Allison?"

"I'm getting to that," Mr. Argent settled, "They told me the about Moerae. If you summon them—all three of them—"

"A bad idea in it's own right," Deacon interjected, side-eyeing Mr. Argent with hard eyes.

"You summon all three of them, you trap them, and you tell them who you want back. They set the terms and conditions, they tell you what they need, and if you get what they need—"

Deacon cut in again, "And you're in their favor,"

"They've been known to bring people back from the dead."

Mr. Argent let it settle amongst them for a moment before continuing, "I understand if you don't want to help. I'm going to try. I've got to try."

Shaking his head, Deacon addressed the three youngest in the room. "The fates are notoriously dangerous creatures. If you think about supernatural creatures and monsters, you start with werewolves, vampires, wendigo, just the basics. Over them, there are alphas. Beyond that, predicting life and death, you have banshees. Banshees are the servants of the Moerae. Moerae are effectively immortal, and when they are angered they are deadly."

Unperturbed, Scott went on, "So are werewolves. That doesn't mean we can't handle them." He looked to Mr. Argent, "So, we capture them, we ask them what they want in exchange for Allison, and if we don't like the terms, we just let them go?"

A sigh from Deaton took the reply from Mr. Argent. "First of all, if you're going to do this, and I advise against doing this, you're going to want to summon them without trapping them. When you want help from the other side, it's polite to allow the spirits you've summoned the opportunity to leave. The Moerae are extremely curious creatures; if they're interested, they'll stay."

"You just said they're deadly," Stiles noted, "Two seconds ago."

"So you protect yourselves," Deaton offered, "While it's impossible to stop the fates, there are a few old tricks I know that dissuade them from taking any extreme action."

Mr. Argent thought it over, "So we don't trap them. We summon them, talk, and go from there. That's not really my style, but if it's the best chance we have to get Allison back…"

"It is. Of course, summoning all three fates is no easy task. There're a lot of very specific incense, items, spices—"

In response, Chris Argent let a bag drop from his shoulders. "What do you think I've been doing?"

Cocking a brow, Deaton knelt down to examine the bag's contents. "… Even the blood. I'm impressed."

"Blood?" Scott asked, taken aback, "What blood?"

"None that wasn't already shed," Mr. Argent assured, "The ritual calls for the blood of a life not lived, a life fully realized, and a life not yet over. They were all dying. It was a hospital; I just took a vial or two."

Despite the sour taste it left in his mouth, if no one had truly died, Scott couldn't bring himself to have a problem with it. He threw a hand over his nose as Deaton opened one of the vials; the blood sure wasn't fresh.

"Greek, too. Old school." He nodded towards Mr. Argent, more in appreciation than anything else, "You didn't cut any corners. They'll notice."

"That's what I'm counting on," Mr. Argent smiled, taking the vial back from Deacon and placing it safely back in the bag, "We'll preform the ritual on the Nemeton. In the old myths, summoning took place on an enchanted altar. I don't think anything fits the description better these days."

"I thought that thing was already kicking out a crazy strong signal," Stiles mentioned, "Won't this just make it worse?"

"It can't get much worse," Deacon emphasized, "It's been calling creatures here with as much power as it has. If anything, it's definitely the best bet you have to call the Fates together. Instead of creating the draw yourselves, you'll only be specifying the draw the Nemeton already has."

"It's settled, then." Lydia confirmed, "It's not going to hurt anyone and it's our best chance of getting Allison back." She honestly couldn't see a down-side. Not ever an extreme risk.

Scott, on the other hand, was a bit more discriminatory (perhaps only because of Stiles's comment earlier), "Wait, If it's this easy, why isn't everyone calling their relatives back from the dead?"

"Because," Deaton started, "Aside from the materials you need, you also need a banshee."

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