They run through the woods.
Malia's fastest. Her feet are swift and light and it's at times like these that Isaac remembers what Allison said about coyotes.
They tiptoe.
Now isn't the time for tiptoeing. Now Malia and Isaac are running, feet pounding on the ground in time with their heart beats, the earth hard and cold beneath them. Malia's fastest. It's to be expected considering she used to live in the woods as a coyote. She ducks and weaves through the trees on instinct, and it's all Isaac can do to keep up with her.
The trees end suddenly and the pair erupt out onto the tarmac of the road, frantic and wide-eyed. Malia spins around, head tilted in a way which suggests she is scenting the air.
"Where is she?" Malia is frantic. She paces several steps up the road and then turns, heading back the other direction. Her hair is loose, cascading over her shoulders in disarray. "Isaac!" Malia calls his name as if it makes their next move any clearer, "Isaac, what now?"
"I don't know!" he looks both ways up the road, the sky dark above them, except for the moon which hangs, nearly full and illuminating the country road.
A howl rings through the air and both the werewolf and werecoyote whirl around to face the woods. Isaac's eyes are golden while Malia's burn blue. "We've got to go," the coyote is getting antsy, backing away from the sound, "Isaac," she whines.
"Just a little bit…" his teeth are gritted, and so it's noticeable when he relaxes his muscles at the roar of an engine. A light flares around the road as the motorbike pulls up towards them. A woman kicks down a stand, sliding one leg over the bike and turning almost immediately to the limp body behind her.
"Hey!" Isaac feels a growl well in his throat as the woman on the motorbike makes a move towards her unconscious passenger, "Don't touch her!"
The woman looks annoyed, hair windswept around her tanned skin, "Do you want my assistance or not?" she snaps, just as another howl sweeps through the chilled air.
Or maybe it's not cold. Isaac's sweating after all, but he's terrified. He's terrified and he's being hunted. Cold shivers make his teeth chatter and he and Malia together grab hold of the unconscious passenger. Blonde hair slides out of her face and Isaac takes a moment to brush a strand out of her eyes.
"It will be okay, Erica," he breathes to his friend. His pack mate, "We're going to get you to Scott. To Derek."
"To Stiles," Malia adds, and Isaac just glares at her. Nonetheless the pair hoist Erica's unconscious body between them, draping her arms around their shoulders and starting off down the road.
"Wait, wait…" Isaac pauses, turning to look at the woman who had shown up out of nowhere to rescue them. There is gunpowder clinging to her hands and she stinks of blood, "What about you?"
She shakes her hair out of her face with a laugh, "I'll hold them off," she says, "You go! Run!" she turns back, pumping her shotgun and grinning as she turns to the woods, "Come on!" she shouts, and Isaac stumbles backwards.
"Let's go!" Malia's self-preservation skills aren't letting her stay much longer, "Isaac!"
He tears his gaze away from the woman who had rescued them, and together he and Malia begin limping along the road, half-carrying, half dragging Erica between them. He hears howls and snarls as their hunters descend towards the mercenary.
Isaac doesn't look back.
The full moon is approaching. It's a time of stress for all of them. Scott and Allison may not be dating anymore and things are sort of awkward between them, but Scott knows he can still control his shift when he needs to. Stiles is fine as long as his dad is around, and John Stilinski tends to make a habit now of taking the full moon nights off to spend the time with his son. Recently added to that is their adopted coyote.
Malia hates full moons. Stiles has managed to teach her tenuous control, but it's still a work in progress. She had managed to control her shift last month, but due to her having a tendency to lash out, she had been forced to remain in handcuffs for the whole night and day leading up to the full moon.
Lydia had been a big help. "I thought you were done with supernatural creatures?" Stiles had joked, and Lydia had thrown the nearest available object at him. She was still against using her lake house, since her mother was beginning to worry about her spending lots of time down there, but considering the alternative was Derek's ruined house, there sometimes weren't a lot of options.
Isaac was insistent that Derek had an actual building of his own now, but their sporadic texts and phone calls to the other wolf meant they hadn't actually been there yet.
"Stop worrying!" Stiles punches Scott's shoulder, appearing from behind him. Scott's perched on a bank, looking out over the forest. "Everything's quiet tonight," Stiles says, cheerfully, "The border looks fine."
"We're not actual wolves you know," Scott stands with a sigh, rubbing his hands together as if cold. He's not - he's a werewolf - but it's the thought that counts. "We don't need to patrol our territory."
Stiles shrugs, "We both know it's not about patrolling territory, as much as keeping an eye out for Erica or Boyd. Or…" he stops, chewing his lip, "Derek said there were alphas in town, right?" his voice is hesitant, "Well where are they? It's been… it's been four months. They - what? Kidnapped Erica and Boyd and then didn't even ask for a ransom? That… that's not what people do."
"But they're not people," Scott reminds his friend as they begin picking their way back through the forest towards the cars, "They're werewolves. Alpha werewolves. And if you were arriving in a new area wouldn't you scope it out for a while? Stay low? Let your enemy worry and waste energy by staying on guard all the time?"
His friend snorts, "On guard," he mocks, "We had a nice peaceful summer. Allison spent most of it in France and the few times I could drag Lydia away from Danny or the shops, we did nothing productive." His grin is wide, "It was wonderful."
Scott pouts.
"And you might not have got your tattoo," Stiles pats Scott's shoulder, making sure to pat the area that only a few hours before had been burned and scarred with ink for about thirty minutes, before healing. Stiles probably does it on purpose. Asshole. "But it was an ugly thing and I hated it," Stiles may look like he's appearing sympathetic, but Scott knows he's just attempting to hide glee.
Scott glares at him and Stiles sighs, spinning towards the road with a flourish. His best friend is a jerk.
That doesn't change the fact that they'd still die for each other in an instant.
"Where's Malia?"
"Isaac was helping her with geography or something," Allison hums, "And then they were probably going to look through the town again."
Lydia leans against the door of the car, turning to look at where Allison sits in the passenger seat, a book and a flask of hot chocolate balanced in her lap. "They've look through the town about - how many times now? Twenty-four? Do they really think they're going to find anything now?"
Allison sighs, dropping her head from the economics book she had been reading, "The moment we stop searching is the moment we may as well give Erica and Boyd up as dead," she says.
Lydia idly twirls a strand of hair around her one finger, and she glances down at the text book. She wrinkles her nose, "Studying, Allison? Really? I thought this was meant to be a night out."
"Really? You're going to go there? How's Jackson?"
Lydia winces, "The doctors looked like total idiots when he turned up alive," she sighs, "He ran off to London as soon as Derek taught him the werewolf 101."
"And?"
"And what?"
"Have you seen him since?"
"No," Lydia's voice is like a taunt string, "But, whatever. He left. And seriously, an American werewolf in London? Like, that's not gonna be a disaster," she rolls her eyes. Her tone is dismissive, but there is tension underneath it. Lydia is going to miss Jackson. She loves him still but she's not the same girl she was two months ago. She's more somewhat.
And sometime (in a few months once she's lost the urge to Molotov him again) she and Allison will pay Peter Hale a visit to learn about her immunity.
She notices Allison's worry, "I'm fine," she stresses, "To be honest, I've enjoyed it. I can see why you went so long in France without dating - it's… kind of relaxing. Boring… but relaxing. This double date makes a nice change."
Allison determinedly looks back at her book and begins reading, "It's not a double date," she says, without looking up, "Because Scott and I aren't dating. And I don't want to date Stiles."
"What's wrong with Stiles?" Lydia says, and Allison looks up because Lydia replied far too-quickly.
"Nothing," she leans back in her seat, "I just respect him too much to want to date him." She grins at Lydia's puzzled frown, "He's a friend, dumbass," Allison teases her gently, "Anyway, all things considered it's probably better than I'm not dating him. I mean… my aunt…" she coughs before she can finish her sentence, "…my aunt tried to kill him," she says instead because it sounds better than 'my aunt tortured him'. "And," she adds, "I stabbed him with daggers."
The strawberry-blonde just shrugs, "So you have your issues," she lauds, "What about Isaac?"
Allison's head snaps up, and she is about to open her mouth to indignantly protest Lydia's attempts to pair her up with a boyfriend, when her eyes focus suddenly on the gloomy road in front of her. She spots the shape and she squints to see it better, seconds before it slams straight into the car.
Her hands fly to her face as glass shatters and a scream escapes from her throat. Her hot chocolate spills to the floor, but that's the least of her worries. Lydia is flinching back, and Allison practically throws herself out of the car and onto the tarmac.
"Oh my god!" Lydia is saying over and over, "Oh my…"
Allison's heart is racing and she staggers backwards, gaze fixed on the large body of the deer, its head still stabbed through the car windscreen. She steps around, spotting the blood welling up. "What the hell?" she whispers, "It didn't even swerve…"
There is the sound of pounding footsteps and Stiles and Scott crash out of the woods, eyes glowing. Stiles is faster by a good several metres, and he skids to a halt, glancing between the girls, "Are you okay? What happened - we heard screams…"
"The deer," Lydia's tone borders on hysterical, "It just came out of nowhere…"
"It went straight through the windshield," Allison adds. Stiles' nostrils flare as if he's scenting her. He probably is, and judging she seems okay he turns towards Lydia. The strawberry blonde meets his gaze as if his help is unwelcome for a few seconds, before slumping, going limp against him as she allows the blue-eyed wolf to check her over.
Allison blinks and Scott is there, hovering in front of her. "Are you okay?" his brown eyes bore into hers and Allison just wants to sink into them.
She holds herself back, "I'm fine. Just startled… I… the deer didn't even swerve. It was running like it couldn't even see us…"
"Like it was scared…" Stiles whispers, "Terrified. It was running from something."
"Maybe we spooked it?" Scott offers.
"Or maybe there are other wolves." Lydia suggests darkly, and in the night there are distant howls.
"Yeah," Scott gazes into the distance, "Probably."
It's Lydia's car, but Allison can still yank open the trunk and pull out a bow. Their friendship is on that level. "Well?" she glances between the wolves and Lydia, "Are we going?"
Scott looks apprehensive, but Lydia looks determined. Stiles grins, "Hell, yeah."
"Are we nearly there?" Malia has no sense of direction, and Isaac peers ahead of them, up the road. He can see lights that may or may not be where the rest of their friends have parked.
"We better be," he says, feeling Erica's cold fingers against his neck. He hoists her up and walks a little faster.
"She weighs a tonne," Malia grumbles.
"Hey!" Isaac chides. Erica is his friend so he is indignant on her behalf, "She's just dead weight at the moment."
"If she is dead when we get there," Malia spits out, "After all this carrying, I am going to kill her and eat her." She's barely finished her sentence than a dark shape appears through the gloom of the night, eyes blue. Isaac almost trips over himself in alarm, but Malia relaxes.
"Stiles!" she says, and Erica almost drops off her shoulder before the coyote rescues her. Behind the blue-eyed wolf gold eyes flare and Scott jogs into view, "Scott!" Malia's tone notably dims in enthusiasm, "We found Erica."
"I know we say we like some meat to eat, but this is taking it to a whole new level," Stiles hurries forwards to help them with the weight, "What the hell happened? Where was she? Did you find Boyd?"
It's a sea of questions Isaac is swimming in. He lets Scott take Erica's weight from him gratefully, stumbling to the side as Allison and Lydia appear, both breathing heavily.
"Oh my god," Allison's hand flies to her mouth, "Did you find the alphas?"
"Yes," Malia answers, eyes wide, "They almost killed Erica. And then this woman appeared with a gun and..."
"She helped us!" Isaac blurts out, "She took Erica on her bike while we ran. Once out of town she gave us Erica and stayed behind to hold them off!"
"Is she dead?" Stiles was looking with worry at the blonde, "Holy - I can't hear - can you hear her heartbeat? I can't hear a thing, not with the moon this close to full…"
"She's alive!" Scott whispers, "We need to get her to Derek."
Stiles makes an abortive flailing motion for his car keys, "Get her to the jeep?"
Allison scoffs, "Really? We're not throwing her in the back seat, Stiles."
"So what, we go in yours which still has the body of a deer draped across the front bonnet?" Stiles scoffs, "Look - it's my car or no car," he jangles the keys, "Take your pick."
It's not his alarm that wakes him.
That's what he's expecting. That's what is going to ruin the end of Stiles' holiday; a loud beeping dragging him from sleep.
Instead it's the quiet creak of his window opening and the soft groan of wood as someone moves closer, fingers brushing over the glass.
Stiles moves in an instant - a single surge of motion throwing off his duvet and spinning around, his eyes glowing blue and his fangs bared and…
He relaxes back down when he suddenly realises who it is. Malia freezes there, looking alarmed at his reaction. He sinks back down onto his bed, thinking that he's getting rusty. His senses are normally better than that, but then again he's in his own home and he can hear his dad slumbering a few rooms over, his heart beat quiet and rhythmic in his head.
"Don't do that," he scolds Malia, even as he gestures for her to come in. Without hesitating she pushes his window open and slides through, feet padding lightly on his carpet as she makes her way over to the end of his bed and curls up there. Stiles remembers when she used to sleep there as a coyote. She doesn't fit there now, but she sits cross-legged and hunches her weight to keep her anchored down, "We've been through this," he tells her, patiently, "We don't use the window. We use doors."
She pulls a funny little face at that, as she tries to understand it, "But doors…"
"Are totally unnecessary and unwieldy and it hurts way more than it should when you try to knock it off its hinge with your shoulder, but they are something you are going to have to get used to."
"Like cutlery?"
"People have standards. And most people don't like you using your fingers at the table. Unless it's fries."
She pouts at him.
He sighs, "What are you doing here anyway? It's…" he peers over to look at the clock, "One o'clock in the morning. We have school tomorrow…" and Stiles actually wants to get some sleep before the new term. That's going to be hard enough as it is without worrying about alpha packs roaming Beacon Hills, but at least Erica is safely at the hospital. Stiles downright refused to just leave her with Derek because that guy was honestly a black pit of unhelpful at the best of times.
Melissa was going to phone later with an update. Derek had been moping around the hospital when Stiles had left with the girls. He'd apparently been the go-to driver with Lydia's car out of commission.
"Why…" Stiles sighs, when Malia makes no effort to leave his room, "Why do I even bother dropping you at your house when all you do is come straight here?" He shifts over, thinking sometime him and Malia need to have a proper conversation about her dad.
Now isn't the time though.
"We need to find the girl," Malia says.
"What girl?"
"The girl who helped us."
Stiles squints a little at the coyote before he realises what she's talking about, "You mean the girl who helped you escape from the alphas? The one with the motorbike and gun who kicked the alphas' asses and could potentially be dangerous?"
Malia doesn't understand sarcasm, "Yeah," she nods her head eagerly.
"Mal, it's the middle of the night." She doesn't appear to get his point so he elaborates, "We have school in the morning. We'll look tomorrow, okay? I'm sure the girl will be fine."
"I don't even like school."
"You've spent the whole holidays practising just so you can be in the same grade as us," Stiles reminds her, "Not only that but I don't want to be out tonight. Not with alphas around." The coyote still looks like she wants to argue, so he shuffles to one side, pulling his covers back so she can lie down beside him, "Besides, I'm tired," he says, "Go to sleep."
"Fine," Malia agrees, petulantly, like a sulking child. Despite that she settles down next to him but not before extracting a promise from him, "But we go out tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay," he agrees, "Now go to sleep."
"Can I…?"
"You can sleep here," Stiles says. He doesn't know why Malia seems to be such a social person, especially since coyotes tend not to be social, but the girl has apparently attached herself to him. He used to find it awkward, back when he still woke up screaming from nightmares, but the longer she's been around and the more he's gotten used to her; the less times he wakes up with thoughts of PeterKateAlpha running through his head.
She settles down next to him and instinctively he curls into the warm body, relaxing and trying not to think of himself like a dog, curling up against his pack mate.
He's a werewolf, dammit. He should probably start acting like it.
"Hmmm, not bad," Lydia says critically as another guy walks down the school corridor past them, "I'd give him at least a seven out of ten."
"Lydia," Allison hisses, hiding her face in her locker and thinking that she's going to die from embarrassment, "They're fourteen," she hisses, because, hello, jailbait.
"Hmm," Lydia frowns, "I thought they looked older."
Further down the corridor, Scott is staring at Allison. He must have made it too obvious or something, because Stiles clears his throat and glances pointedly between them. "You managed the whole summer," Stiles says, "You even got a tattoo to celebrate the lack of pining."
"I did not pine," Scott says, pointedly. He rubs at his arm though, still feeling like the pain, the mark should still be there.
"No," Stiles' voice is dripping with sarcasm, "You were the picture of manly composure and never one made me suffer through your love poetry."
"It's weird, because she's right there. But we're not together and…"
"Is it freeing?"
Scott frowns, and he thinks he probably looks like he's constipated. It's hard to put his feelings into word. "It hurts," he says, "But it… I kind of like it?" Judging by Stiles' expression his friend doesn't understand it. But then again Stiles' dating experience is a bit limited, considering the only girl he's ever kissed was Lydia and that was only due to some freaky power play between them that Scott never quite understood.
There is a confused voice from down the hall and for a moment Scott and Stiles pause, heads angled towards where their new principal is checking out his office.
"Someone needs to fix up the library, it's like a pack of wild animals got in. Not to mention the swimming pool and… what is this…?"
The pair pause, just in time to see a large broadsword being tugged out of a desk drawer. Exchanging a pair of awkwardly glances, Stiles shoves Scott away from the open office, "Hey," his best friend says, "At least Gerard's gone."
"We don't know where," Scott complains, moodily, "You know I really thought it was going to be better this term. A fresh start."
Stiles laughs, and there is a note of bitterness to his voice that still makes Scott flinch, thinking about Peter and Stiles with blue eyes and bloody claws and - "You don't need to start a new term at school to make a fresh start," Stiles shakes his head.
"But it's not just me. It's Allison, Lydia…"
Stiles snorts, and Scott turns to look at him, "You didn't hear?" Scott asks, "Jackson went to London?"
"Really?" Stiles' interest perks for a moment, and then he dismisses it, "Nah."
"What do you mean: 'nah'?"
"That's because Jackson is like a venereal disease. Just when you think he's gone, he comes raging back. We're never going to get rid of him."
"Well, I think we might have actually succeeded this time," Scott shares.
Now Stiles just looks slightly sympathetic, "I guess the kanima thing was too much, huh? Well at least he's out of our hair. Now we can kick back, relax and concentrate solely on these alphas and… why do you look like that?"
Scott tries not to look guiltily at the floor, "I may need my grades to improve," he sighs, "And I can't do that with all this… stuff… interfering with my life."
"Well," Stiles pats Scott's shoulder in what is supposed to be reassuring, but just turns out to be slightly awkward, so Stiles stops after only two pats. "I'll tell you one thing - Allison tracked down Gerard. He's in a hospice just out of Beacon Hills. Ironically I think that may be the same place Peter stayed in. I may be wrong." Scott is watching Stiles' face frowning in confusion, so he sees the moment something changes. Stiles' head snaps up, eyes narrowing.
Scott has to wait those precious few more seconds before it comes into his hearing. Fresh heart beats entering the building don't immediately send up warning signals, but then he angles his head and all he smells is wolf.
"Oh no," Stiles whispers, eyes flaring blue. Scott glares at him, and Stiles ducks his head, blinking them back to brown, gaze flickering up to the end of the corridor.
Scott turns, taking in the pair walking forwards. Twins. They look older than school age, but walk down the corridors as if they own the place. Lydia leans back against her locker to admire them, but then Scott meets Allison's gaze and he watches Lydia's smug grin fade.
The new arrivals are werewolves.
And they're not just any werewolves.
They're alphas.
Stiles makes it through two periods before he can't take it anymore. "I'm sorry, dad," he says to the sky as he heads to his jeep. He can't just sit there at school and do nothing. He's never just been able to do nothing, and now is the same.
His father will understand. Scott may have gone around, announcing his promises to be a better person this school year to the whole world, but that didn't mean Stiles hadn't made his own, private promises.
He stops by his home to dump his school bag. He still remembers a memorable time he had tried to hand Coach in an essay still dotted with spots of blood. Satisfied, he grabs his clothes from the previous day. They're still slightly bloody from having carried Erica to the car and her scent is all over them. Stiles can use that to track her, and if he tracks where Erica had been, then hopefully he'll find the girl who helped them.
He makes to leave and opens his bedroom door. Despite his werewolf senses, he still almost kills himself with an early and unexpected heart attack when he steps forwards only to be confronted with Malia standing on the hall waiting for him.
"Oh my god-" he shakes off his pounding heartbeat to demand, "How did you get in here?"
"The door." She gives him a proud smile - she totally remembered the window lesson. "It was unlocked." This is true, too. He did that on purpose to avoid a second broken lock this week.
"Remember, we talked about knocking? That way people know you're there and can let you in?"
"Oh. Right."
"But, hey. I'm so proud you used the door. So proud." He pauses, taking in her clothes. Lydia had managed to drag Malia to the shops at one point, but seemed unable to convince the once-coyote into skirts or dresses. Malia is wearing a stylish pair of jeans and a wool jumper with too-long sleeves that she has curled around her fisted hands. "What are you doing here?" he asks.
"I heard you were skipping school," her tone is accusatory.
"Just because I'm skipping school, does not mean I'm a good example to follow."
"I am not going to school if you aren't there."
Stiles wants to argue but he's not in any position to do so, "Okay, okay, fine…" he's such a bad influence. He tosses away his bloody shirt, "Make yourself useful - we're going to where you met that girl."
In the daytime the road looks completely different. To Stiles and Malia though, the scents and sounds mark it out clearly as the same place. Stiles wonders sometimes if that's why he gets along better with the coyote - because they are the pair who both use their senses more than anything to help them. Scott and Derek may be stronger physically, but Stiles has other advantages he can use.
"Okay, so tell me what happened last night," Stiles demands, tracing his steps back along the side of the road. Malia slips past him, taking the lead as she follows the trail back towards town.
"I'm not sure," she says, "We were running pretty quickly." She pauses, trying to orientate herself, "We met up about here," she says, "The girl found us at the bank and told us to run. She took Erica on her bike and we ran. We met up again here because Isaac didn't want to leave Erica with her. We headed straight for you guys and she…" Malia freezes, head spinning around and gaze fixed on something in the distance. "This way!" she says, taking off.
Stiles barely manages to keep up. The coyote girl is more used to travelling quickly through the woods, and she darts between twigs and leaves as if it's second nature. Stiles twists and turns and it's only as he gets closer that he manages to separate the scent she's picked out from all the other scents clouding his head.
Blood.
Malia skids down a leafy slope. There is a girl lying at the bottom, a pile of leather and dark hair. She looks dead, but Stiles can hear her heart beating.
"She's alive," Malia whispers from where she crouches over the woman, "But only just. She needs a hospital."
"No…" the girl moans. She's older than them - looks to be in her late twenties. Her eyelashes flutter as Stiles leans over her and she struggles weakly to sit up.
"Woah," Stiles says, finally seeing where all the blood is coming from. There's an open wound on her neck.
An open claw wound.
"You need a hospital," he says, "You need a doctor…" he's already sacrificing another shirt to a bloody cause, tearing it into strips that he hands to Malia.
"I don't know what to do with these!"
"What do you mean you don't - never mind, give them here," the woman flinches under his touch, protesting with a half-whine in the back of her throat.
"No hospitals," she mumbles, "No… the alpha…"
"The alphas aren't here," Stiles shakes his head, still trying to stop the bleeding, "It's okay - you're safe, so is Erica…"
"I need… to speak…" the girl coughs a little, blood dribbling down her chin, "Need to speak to the alpha. Need to tell… him…"
Stiles leans back, frowning at her, "You mean Derek? What do you want with Derek Hale?"
"No…" the girl whispers, closing her eyes, "Not Hale. McCall." Her shoulders shudder as she convulses, coughing up blood.
"That can't be good," Malia says.
"Hey! Hey, stay with me! What do you mean McCall? Scott? Scott McCall?"
But it's too late.
The girl is already unconscious.
Malia and Stiles aren't in school.
Then again, neither is Isaac.
Scott sits down at English, frowning, because the last time he checked Stiles had definitely been around that morning. Which means he's left since. Scott sighs - and here he was trying to set a good example.
"Have you seen Stiles?" He jumps when Allison sits down in front of him in English. She looks apologetic, looking around nervously, "Sorry… was this seat taken?"
"Uh… no…"
Things are better between them, but Scott still feels awkward. He had seen him and Allison in five years' time, together and happy. He'd never predicted this, this distance, this separation, the lies and secrets that had burned between them.
He offers her a weak smile, "I think Stiles skipped. Malia isn't here either."
He notices Allison's expression cloud slightly, seconds before there is a buzzing from his pocket. Next to him someone's phone beeps cheerily, and there is some more buzzing and muted chimes as everyone's phone goes off simultaneously.
He clicks the screen of his own cell on, peering at it. The number isn't familiar. The words are strangely lyrical and though not familiar, the style and tone is.
Scott's done his summer reading.
"The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds and the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed sombre under an overcast sky, seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness."
Their new English teacher is a woman, long curly brown hair and dark eyes. Her high-heels clip importantly on the floor as she enters the classroom, sliding her phone closed and slipping it away, "That, is a quote, from the novel we will be studying this year. Joseph Conrad's 'Heart of Darkness'. That is also going to be the last text or call you will receive in this class. I want your full attention…"
"How the hell did she get all our phone numbers?"
Scott looks to his left. He might have forgotten to save Stiles a seat, but Lydia has spread herself out across two desks, her bag and jacket on one and herself in another, frowning down at the text message that everyone received.
"It's required," Allison says over one shoulder, "We have to give the numbers to the school, she probably picked them all up…"
"I knew that," Lydia doesn't turn her phone off, Scott notes. She locks the screen and pockets it, still looking frustrated. Her pen taps at the paper as if she wants to stab it. Scott notes her gaze keeps wandering to the two empty seats.
"Mr McCall," Ms Blake stops right in front of him, and his chair squeaks as he struggles to sit upright and look attentive, "Do you know where Malia Tate or…" she stops, frowning at her piece of paper that contains the register, "I… is this a word?"
"We call him 'Stiles'," Lydia says. "And they're not here."
There are whispers in the classroom, and Scott wonders if the pair even realise what rumours they're starting off. He tries to remember what lie he and Stiles had agreed upon…
"They had a meeting with someone," Allison says, and Scott doesn't understand why he relaxes the instant the new teacher's gaze turns away from him. Allison seems unbothered by the stare, merely shrugging, "Stiles has been tutoring Malia over the summer, and they were meeting someone to check up on her curriculum, to allow her to stay with her age group."
"Oh," Ms Blake nods in understanding, "I'll have a talk with them. Thank you, Allison. Right, now who has done their summer reading…?"
Her lesson is interrupted before it's begun with the ringing of a phone.
"Miss Martin," Jennifer Blake's smile is thin, "I thought I told you to turn your phone off."
"I'm sorry," Lydia really didn't look sorry as she scooped up her ringing phone, "But I have to take this." She then proceeds to answer it, still ignoring their teacher. Scott twists his head, trying to hear the other side of the conversation but before he can focus Lydia's expression turns into something akin to confusion and annoyance and she glances to him. "It's for you," she mouths, passing the phone across the saved desk to Scott.
"Uh… hello?"
"Mr McCall," his teacher sounds annoyed, but he tunes it out as his best friend's voice echoes over the phone.
"Scott? Oh thank god-" Stiles' voice is cut off by his mother speaking over him.
"Scott? Sweetie, we think it might be a good idea if you come down to the hospital. Stiles and Malia - they found the girl."
"She's sedated at the moment," Melissa says when Scott arrives. His bike is parked in the parking lot, and his mother hurries him through the hospital, past nurses in scrubs and doctors with stethoscopes around their necks.
"But she's alive, right?" Scott asks.
His mother nods, "Stiles and Malia found her just in time. She said she wanted to talk to you."
"She was awake?"
"For a bit. Look, Scott… are you sure you want to do this?"
He pauses, glancing down the corridor and trying to avoid his mom's gaze, "Do what?"
"All this…" Melissa waves a hand around, "This supernatural stuff. I thought you weren't going to go back to that. That you were moving forwards, that was what the tattoo was about, wasn't it?"
Scott swallows, and finally meets his mother's worried brown eyes. She hadn't been fond of his plan. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But I can get one, I'm old enough. You knew I was going to."
"Yes, I did, and I'm not really in a position to judge you…" she trails off.
Scott blinks a few times to register the words
"Mom, do you have a tattoo?"
"That's not the point. Where is it anyway?"
"It healed," Scott rubs at his arm where it was, "It was here, but it healed. Stiles was ridiculously pleased. I'm going to ask Derek."
"Derek? Why Derek?"
"He has a triskele tattooed on his back. That means it must be possible, right?"
"Look, Scott, are you sure you want to do this?"
"I wanted a tattoo when I turned eighteen anyway…"
Melissa interrupts, shaking her head, "I'm not talking about a tattoo… I mean - this summer - everything you've been doing - the extra reading, the summer school, that damn bike that scares me half to death, your words of the day…"
"Ephemeral," Scott says, thinking about what it means. Transient. Momentary. Something fleeting, something that only lasts for a short time… he feels like it describes his life right now. From the tattoo that healed, to his fading love for Allison, right down to the answers he seeks that always escape him.
Melissa leans back, "Exactly," she says, as if she's made her point, "You seemed to be finding a rhythm, but if all this stuff starts up again are you sure you're going to be able to cope?"
Scott's voice trembles as he answers, "I-I'm gonna be better this year. A better student, a better son, a better friend, a better everything. I promise."
With a sigh his mother steps back, gesturing down the corridor. "The girl is in room 216."
"Did you know that there were 247,000 vehicle accidents last year involving deer? But that was just crossing the road and I'm telling you - that accident wasn't natural."
John Stilinski sighs, his head sinking down into his palm, "I knew I shouldn't have let you spend half the night reading up on deer."
"I didn't spen the whole night. I was asleep until Malia turned up."
"Yeah, about that, we need to talk about Malia. In fact, we need to talk about this with Malia. Potentially even with her dad…"
"Aw, no, don't get her dad involved," Stiles can't help the whine that creeps into his voice, "Do you know how many therapists he's had Malia seeing? She tried to bite the last one. With her teeth."
"I hope you told her…"
"I explained we don't bite people. Not without clear and concise consent. Unless it's Derek. I told her she could bite Derek whenever she wanted."
Stiles thinks his dad may be getting a headache because he rubs at his temple again. That's about the moment Stiles hears the elevator open and notices Scott step out of it. His friend looks and smells worried, slightly panicked, but at least his heart isn't racing.
"Dude," Stiles frowns, "You took your time."
"I'm sorry - there was this blind guy in the elevator who needed help down the corridor…"
"Sometimes," Stiles says, "You are too nice for your own good." Scott's face gains this puzzles little crease as he ponders that sentence, so Stiles jerks his thumb over his shoulder, "She's in that room."
Scott slips past him, even as the Sheriff bristles with annoyance, "He can't just walk in there…"
"Scott needs to talk to her…"
"Stiles, what is going on here? You bring this girl in and the doctors find a modified military stun gun in her belongings. Who the hell is she?"
"I don't know…"
"That's not reassuring…"
"Uh - guys?" Scott leans back from the doorway, eyes wide, "Is this the right room?"
"Yes, it's the right room, Scott," Stiles' tone is unusually snappish and annoyed, but Scott barely flinches.
"There's nobody in here," he says.
"What?" the Sheriff pushes past Stiles, and he moves, bouncing a little on his feet before following his dad. He stops at the doorway next to Scott. The bed covers are pushed back, sheets wrinkled and the IV line is gone. His dad stalks around the room, but Scott is right.
The room is empty.
There are four empty seats in their English class. The teacher - new, kind of pretty, looks a bit dim - is ignoring them, continuing her lecture of themes and motifs in the novel they're meant to be studying.
The woman turns her back for a few seconds and Allison uses that time to relocate next to her best friend. Lydia's eyes flicker to her and she smiles, then glances back down to where she's making notes.
Allison leans over, asking the question that's been nagging at her since this morning, "Hey," she catches Lydia's attention, "What happened to your leg?"
"Oh, this?" Lydia shifts one perfect heel, revealing the bandage on her ankle, "It's nothing. Prada bit me."
"Your dog?"
"No, my designer handbag."
Allison shoots her friend an unimpressed look.
"It's nothing," Lydia shrugs one shoulder, "She was a bit edgy last night. I think she's ill - she's not normally like that."
"You mean she doesn't normally bite you?" Allison frowns, because there's something wrong with that. Some pattern she's not seeing. She almost wishes Stiles was here. He has a knack for spotting patterns.
Something smashes into the window and Allison blinks.
"The deer," she says, "The dog… what is it that Stiles always says about threes?"
"Once, twice… thrice…" Lydia isn't looking at Allison, she's staring outside.
Allison follows her gaze, and outside the sky is black with the wings of birds, seconds before they hit the school.
No, she thinks. Not the school.
Just their classroom.
A window shatters as one finally hits hard enough and instantly chaos breaks out. Their teacher shouts to get down and Allison and Lydia drop from their chairs to the floor so fast it probably says something about the number of times they've been in situations like this. Overhead is a whirlwind of feathers and loud, raucous caws. The birds - crows, she thinks - are everywhere. They've reached the building and can't fly any further. They throw themselves around the room with thumps and a flutter of wingbeats, beating in a tornado of black around their heads.
Allison wishes she'd taken her dad's advice and just taken the first day off.
"I can't…"
"Just try…"
"I don't think this is working…"
"Shhh…" Stiles violently hisses at them, his eyes closed and his face scrunched up in concentration. John has no idea what it must be like for his son, trying to filter through the noises of the hospital for one specific sound. Stiles keeps tilting his head, glancing blindly around as if visualising everything. Scott stands nearby, holding his breath so as not to disturb his friend. "Okay," Stiles says, "There's something odd on the second floor."
"And you're sure it's her? You didn't even notice the girl sneaking out!"
"I had to drop Malia off at home! I wasn't here the whole time!"
"Boys!" John stops the pair bickering, worried about the dangerous edge to their arguments that occurs far too often nowadays, "It's nobody's fault and besides, there is nothing we can do about it now except find her. Scott - you head to the second floor. Stiles, you head to the entrance and see if she's left yet or if anyone has seen her. I will look for the cameras…" he sighs as in his pocket his mobile phone rings. It's probably the department, and he grabs it, turning away from his sons, "What now," he mumbles, frowning at the number, "Lydia?"
Lydia looks up when Stiles' dad appears, fifteen minutes later. "I got here as fast as I could," he says, "Are you two okay?" he glances from Lydia to where Allison is talking to her dad. The Sheriff narrows his eyes at Chris Argent in suspicion.
"We're fine," Lydia says, arms wrapped around herself. She tries not to look at the dead birds that litter their classroom, and she tries not to think about the beating wings pounding down on them. Nearby, their new teacher looks like she's in shock.
Lydia's throat still itches and she still wants to scream. She keeps it down, biting at her lip. It feels hot and swollen beneath her tongue from already being chewed too much.
"This…" the Sheriff looks around at the classroom, "This wasn't normal, was it?"
Lydia shakes her head numbly. There is a creak of leather as Chris Argent takes a step towards the Sheriff, "I don't think this is a coincidence," he says, grimly.
"It's not," Lydia whispers, "First the deer, then my dog, now this?"
"Is it the alphas?" the Sheriff lowers his voice.
Allison's dad frowns, "Werewolves don't usually elicit this sort of reaction from the local wildlife. Remember, the Hales have been in Beacon Hills for centuries. No, this is something else."
A phone rings and with a sigh and a rub of his eyes, the Sheriff steps away to answer it.
"Next time you want to stay at home, you stay home," Chris whispers quietly to Allison. She shrugs off his reassuring hand though.
"I'm sick of hiding," she says, "I want to fight. To do something…"
"It's dangerous," Chris warns.
Lydia lets out a brief laugh, "As if it hasn't been dangerous already," she deadpans, "Honestly, at this rate it's almost the norm."
"That sounds about right," the Sheriff re-joins their conversation, "That was Deaton."
"Scott's creepy boss?" Allison asks. Lydia shoots her a weird look, because that sounds more like something Stiles would say.
The Sheriff nods, "All the cats are dead. He thought at first someone broke in, but apparently they all did it to themselves. They clawed themselves to pieces." He is silent for a moment. "It's been like the whole day. Suicidal deer, pets behaving aggressively… it's like there's something in the water."
"So it's supernatural?"
"When isn't it nowadays?"
"Is it just me, or is Beacon Hills turning into more like Beacon For The Totally Bizarre and Supernatural?" Lydia asks Allison as they head to their locker to grab their things. The Sheriff has left to go chase up on another weird animal behaviour report, and Allison just hopes he spends the time quizzing Deaton properly. Apparently the vet can be cryptic. At least according to Stiles.
Allison's father just wants her to leave it alone, but they both know that's not going to happen.
"I should have let my dad drive us home," Allison whispers, sliding books and paper into her bag.
"What?" Lydia turns to her.
Allison shakes her head, "Nothing," she says, closing her locker and then almost jumping out of her skin when she sees someone the other side, "Woah!" she says, taking in the tanned girl, dark hair fluttering loosely around her shoulders, "Are you okay?"
There is a thick wad of bandages around the girl's throat and her eyes are closed, "Huh?" the girl blinks her eyes open, focussing on Allison, "Yes, I'm fine. You're Allison, right? Do you know where I can find Scott McCall?"
"He… uh… he's at the hospital…"
"Typical," the girl rolls her eyes.
"Wait a minute," Allison reaches out, just as the girl sways heavily, "You're the one who saved Erica."
Lydia's brow rises, "Really?" she says, sceptically as the girl looks seconds away from fainting.
"Will Scott be back?"
"Let me phone him. Don't go anywhere…" Allison's voice trails off when she realises the girl has already fainted, "Well that will work."
Lydia just regards the girl with one elegantly arched eyebrow, "People tend to faint a lot around me," she notes, with some subtle dramatic flair.
Allison blinks in bewilderment.
"What?" Lydia crouches to check the girl's pulse, "It's a thing. Last time I had someone faint on me it was Derek and I had to drag his unconscious ass to my lake house and then convince you to steal a bullet so Stiles and I wouldn't have to cut his arm off."
Allison remembers that. She recalls Stiles and Lydia calling her and asking her to steal a bullet from her aunt.
From her aunt who had a mini arsenal in a backpack.
Shaking her head to get rid of the memories, Allison lifts her phone, dialling Scott.
"Scott? Hi, you know that girl…"
"Sorry!" she hears over the phone, then there is a loud thump, "Can't talk now."
Allison drops the phone from her ear and stares at it a moment. "He hung up on me," she says numbly, feeling slightly betrayed.
Lydia rolls her eyes, "Plan B. I'm calling Stiles."
Scott's back hits the wall, all his breath leaving his lungs in a rush. He slides down, his shirt riding up uncomfortably but he ignores that, twisting to one side and out of the way as a fist comes crashing down where his head was, seconds before.
Scott wonders how he gets into situations like this.
The alpha attacking him is large and brutish. His eyes are blood red and his claws swipe through the air far too close for comfort. Scott had found the alpha where Stiles had said he would be on one of the upper floors of the hospital. There was no sign of the girl, just an angry alpha annoyed by his meddling.
The werewolf leans over Scott, grabbing his jacket and tugging him up to eye level. Scott's eyes flicker gold faintly as he struggles in the other werewolf's grip, "Where is she?" the brute demands, shaking Scott slightly, "Where is the girl?"
"I don't know," Scott says between fanged teeth. Seconds later he is flying through the air, his back hitting a closed elevator door. Reaching out he manages to slam his fist on the button, the doors opening behind his back. He falls into the elevator, backing away from the alpha stalking down the corridor towards him.
His back hits something warm and soft. Legs. Scott freezes. He hadn't known there were two of them.
But in front of him, the approaching alpha stops, gaze fixed on the person standing behind Scott. Scott hesitates, and then glances up.
Derek Hale peers down at him with a frown, "Shouldn't you be in school?"
The alpha roars and charges them. With a ding, the elevator doors close in his face and Scott slumps back in relief. Derek stalks to the door, just in case something goes wrong.
"The girl…" Scott says from his position on the floor.
"Yeah, I know. Isaac told me," Derek answers curtly.
"Isaac…?" Scott doesn't understand how Isaac knew about the girl.
"Malia." The Hale Alpha is answering in grunts and single word sentences. It's not looking good.
"Oh," Scott blinks, and then shakes his head, "No, not, it's not okay, you don't understand. She's gone."
The elevator grinds to a halt and the doors ping open. There is a flash of movement from the entrance and Derek spins around, looking about ready to jump whichever poor hospital worker he finds there.
"Woah!" Stiles steps back, well out of Derek's reach, "I know you and I have our differences, but is that really how you feel?"
Derek relaxes, hands uncurling from the fists they had been. Scott reluctantly pushes himself up from the floor.
"What happened to you?" his best friend helps him out of the elevator with a frown.
"Uh…" Scott smooths down his hair, rubbing at his already healing jaw, "Nothing…"
"One of the alphas was here," Derek steps forwards, taking in the blue and gold eyed betas, "He was looking for the girl."
"She's not here." Stiles' tone is a deadpan.
"We know that," Derek sounds impatient.
"But we know where she is. Allison and Lydia found her at the school."
"This better be good," Lydia crosses her arms as the boys pull up, each in their own vehicle. Stiles' jeep makes an awful rattle, as if it is about to die. Then again that is its usual sound. Scott has a new motorbike, while Derek-
"What happened to the Camaro?" Lydia arches one eyebrow, "I liked the Camaro."
Next to her, Allison cranes her neck at the big black SUV, "I like it," she says.
"You would. Hunter."
"And proud," Allison grins as Scott drops his helmet on the seat of his bike and steps forwards.
"Why are we meeting here?" he pulls a face as he looks around the clearing of the Hale House.
"Nostalgia," Stiles shrugs, his gaze sliding straight past the two girls to the seat of Allison's car. Lydia just hopes her own gets fixed soon, not having a car is proving to be a huge inconvenience. "What was she doing at the school?" the blue-eyed beta keeps trying to inch past and Lydia sidesteps neatly in front of his path. He narrows his eyes at her and she smirks, smugly.
"She was looking for Scott," Allison says, opening the door and Derek and Scott move around to see, "She's not in good shape."
She's really not. Blood has soaked through the bandage wrapped there and Allison has already applied another layer from her first aid kit.
"What are we going to do with her?" Scott looks anxious, "She's already escaped from the hospital once, and the Sheriff is asking questions-"
"She was carrying military grade equipment," Stiles calls from where Lydia still blocks him off. He could probably get around her with ease, but it's the principle of things, "If we bring her back to the hospital, someone is going to have to ask questions."
"No-" Everybody jumps half a mile at the grating voice from the car. The girl's eyes flutter open weakly, "No hospitals."
"But you're injured," Allison says, surprisingly gently. It always amazes Lydia how someone so capable with blades and arrows can be so kind-hearted and soft at other times.
"No hospitals," the girl says, her chest rising and falling as she obviously struggles to breath.
"But my mom-"
"No, she's right," Stiles is standing behind Lydia with his arms crossed, examining the scene, "Melissa is only a nurse. She might be able to fudge a few records regarding quick healing teenage werewolves, she might be able to make sure she's around when we need her, but not even your mom can be around all the time. There were alphas there already, what about later, when we go home? She's in danger there."
There's a pause, and Lydia just stays silent, hoping that nobody remembers she has a house down by the lake. She got enough questions from her mom last time, let alone-
"Fine," Derek grunts, "I've got a place. She can stay with me."
"You…" Stiles turns to look at the ruins of the Hale House behind him, "…do not own a place. There is no way you still live here." He pauses, "You don't still live here, do you? Dude, I knew you were a rough and tough sort of guy, but this is sort of pushing it. There's not even any running water…"
"Not here, idiot," Derek looks seconds away from rolling his eyes, "I bought a building downtown. The council reclaimed the land."
"Oh, thank god," Lydia sighs, "That means we can stop meeting here."
"Scott-" the girl looks like she's trying to clamber out of the car, "McCall-"
"I'm here," Scott shifts into her view, "You - wanted to talk to me?" he sounds uneasy. Worried. Lydia would be too if a woman carrying the same types of guns that this girl did wanted to talk to her. "Why do you want to talk to me?"
"And why…?" Stiles finally succeeds in sliding around Lydia, "Why did you help Isaac and Malia get Erica away from the alphas last night?"
"Someone hired me," the girl says, weakly.
"You're a mercenary?" Derek sounds disgusted.
"For the right price," a smirk flickers onto her face, "Girl's gotta' eat. Name's Braeden."
Lydia narrows her eyes as Derek smiles back - actually smiles. Out of the corner of her eyes she's aware of Stiles doing a double-take. "Are you flirting with each other?" Allison gapes at the pair, but as soon as she says it, Derek face slides back to monotone, "Maybe another time," the huntress suggests, "It's weird," she narrows her eyes at Derek, then turns back to Braeden, "Who hired you?" she asks, "What do you know about the alphas?"
"And why do you want to talk to me?" Scott inputs, quickly.
"I know their leader is called Deucalion," Braeden replies, "I know they've come to Beacon Hills because they're after something." Her gaze rests on Derek and then slowly but surely, flicks over to Scott. "You."
He blinks, "Me? Why would they back after me?"
"They're scared of you," Braeden shrugs, "Hell, if even half the rumours about you are true, I can see why."
"Rumours?" Scott mouths, seemingly dumbstruck.
"What rumours?" Lydia demands.
"You don't have an alpha," Braeden says, and Derek looks mildly offended, "But you still have a pack. You lead a pack. You, a beta, lead a pack."
"I don't have a pack," Scott frowns.
Lydia clears her throat, "Actually, I think you kind of do," she says, her gaze purposely drifting from Stiles who looks uneasy, to Allison who stands strong and prepared and then to Scott, nervous, but brave and determined.
Nobody disagrees. Not even Derek.
"Come on, let's get her into my car," Derek helps Braeden limp across to his new SUV. Scott helps.
"Okay, seriously, what happened to the Camaro?" Stiles points out, as if it is suddenly really important.
"Can't I buy a new car, Stiles?" Derek even sounds irritated, "It was Laura's. Laura is dead. I bought a new car. I can't… I have to move on."
It's actually a mature thing to do, and probably a healthy thing for Derek. Stiles doesn't seem to think so but then this is his friend now, bitter and antagonistic at all opportunities.
"Uh, Derek…" Scott should say it now, before it is too late, "I have a question - you know that tattoo-"
"I still don't get why you want this," Stiles pulls a face, "Ugh, needles."
"It's a rite of passage," Scott has given up trying to make Stiles see reason. "It means 'to mark something' in tahitian, but in samoan it means 'open wound'. I just thought… it felt appropriate. I was going to get one when I turned eighteen anyway, I just decided that after everything that has happened…" he shrugs, "It feels like an open wound."
Derek shrugs, as if to say that was a good enough reason for him, and he turns to his bag to rummage through it.
"Did you see the door?" Stiles asks Scott in a low voice, "He repainted it."
"That's where the alphas marked…" Scott falls silent as Derek turns around, as if the older werewolf hadn't heard them.
"Yes," Derek agrees, "And you two really shouldn't be getting involved."
"Too late for that," Stiles scoffs, crossing his arms. He looks around and flinches back as Derek produces a blowtorch from somewhere, "Woah! Dude!" he takes several steps backwards, "How is a blowtorch is going to help? Are you going to burn it into his skin? In that case, why doesn't Peter have loads of tattoos?"
Derek glares at Stiles, who grins back, completely unabashed about his joke. "I have no idea how Peter put up with you," he mutters under his breath.
"Apparently he liked me," Stiles shrugs, and Scott hates how casual his friend is when Peter comes into the conversation. It's too casual, too fake and it makes him uncomfortable, even six months later.
"It's not the heat alone," Derek explains, his voice growling slightly and he gestures at Scott's arm, "The ink is already in place, it's just under the skin. The heat brings it back out and makes it permanent."
Stiles wrinkles his nose, "So what's with the wolfsbane?" he gestures at the plants sitting innocuously on Derek's bag.
"If brewed correctly, they help speed up the healing process."
"I thought they were poisonous."
"Just trust me… okay?"
Stiles holds up his hands, "Fine, okay… I just don't like the stuff. Ugh, your house is coated in the it. Which makes no sense, because your family were werewolves, yet the stuff grows around here like weeds," he gestures around, studiously ignoring the patch of house with no floorboards and filled in earth that had once been a grave.
"It grew after the fire," Derek says, voice level. Older, Scott thinks and more relaxed, at least when Stiles isn't making barbed insults.
"Oh," Stiles seems to realise he's gone too far, "You know, maybe I should just… I'll help the girls, look after Braeden..."
"Stay," Derek commands, "I need someone to hold him down."
"That… that doesn't sound good."
The howls carry outside to where Allison and Lydia wait, their shoulders tense, "That doesn't sound good," Lydia comments, idly, "What are they doing, murdering him?"
"I think he's getting a tattoo," Allison frowns, "Wow, they sound painful."
"I…" Lydia announces primly, "Am never getting a tattoo."
"Do you think he's still alive?" Allison asks, as the sounds die down.
"I'm not going to check."
"Deucalion will kill him," Braeden murmurs from the car. It doesn't sound promising, Lydia thinks. Then again, when does it. "He thinks Scott's a threat. Not now. But he will be," she laughs weakly, and Lydia thinks she should really be at the hospital. She sounds delirious. She just hopes Derek has some magical mystery cure.
"Why?" Allison asks, "Why is Scott a threat? He's a teenage boy. We're all just a bunch of teenagers."
Braeden blinks, lazily rolling her head to see Allison, "You are now," she says, "But you won't be forever. One day you'll be dangerous. He knows that. Why else do you think he's trying to deal with you now?"
Scott rubs at his tattoo like it hurts. Tingles. Stiles doesn't really want to look at the permanent black lines marking his best friend's skin.
He's never been a fan of change.
"You sure about this?" Scott asks, looking nervously towards where people swill into a house lit with bright lights. Stiles doesn't recognise anybody, but even from hear he can make out every single sound of the building, hear and smell the familiar scent of his childhood friend.
Or - more like one of those friends he only made because their moms used to get them together and have baby parties, but, whatever. Technicalities. He liked her well enough.
"Yes. And don't give me that look, we need to do this. It will be fine," Stiles doesn't know if he's talking to himself or Scott.
"Are you sure," or Malia, he thinks, who looks more nervous than either of them.
"Can you two stop being so negative?"
"I just don't know," Malia debates, looking at the party with dread, "The last party I went to everybody went crazy and Lydia knocked Stiles unconscious with wolfsbane."
"Well that is why I didn't invite Lydia," Stiles jokes, "Besides. Last time, you were a coyote. This time, you're human. Which means you can drink."
"Drink?" Malia pauses, "Oh, you mean alcohol drink!" she looks bright eyed and happy, just like every time she works something out.
"That's my coyote!" Stiles claps his hands together, "All ready?"
"Wait, no, how does my breath smell?" Scott waves a hand in front of his face, sniffing the air.
"I am not smelling your breath, dude."
"Do you have gum?"
"No! No gum. You're fine! Just fine…"
"What kind of party is this anyway…?"
"It's a birthday party."
"A birthday party! I didn't bring any gifts!"
"You still give people presents at seventeen?"
"Malia, you can give people presents anytime - hey! There is the birthday gi-" Stiles is suddenly assaulted with a strong scent of perfume layered over familiar childhood and then suddenly he's kissing Heather. It takes him a moment to readjust. His last kiss was Lydia. That kiss was violent and dominant and more of a power-play than anything else-
This is warm. Pleasant. Soft, nice almost…
Boring.
Heather draws back. Stiles is vaguely aware of Scott's jaw hanging somewhere near ground level. And Malia is-
Malia is growling.
"Nice to see you too," Stiles says, still somewhat dumbstruck.
"So glad you could make it!"
"Me too," he says, grinning, "This is Malia," he gestures at the girl, "And Scott, you remember Scott-"
"Come downstairs," Heather tugs at his hands, "Help me pick out a bottle of wine…"
"Stiles," Malia's eyes are wide and panicked, "Don't leave me-"
The coyote isn't jealous. Stiles doesn't even think Malia would understand jealousy. Besides, she looks more like she's going to run and hide. If she was furry with four legs and a tail she would be trembling, ears back, pressed into his arms and-
Heather is standing there like she expects Stiles to go with her. Downstairs. Downstairs where she looks like she plans to kiss him again and Stiles doesn't object, he really has no objections, more kissing sounds good but-
Claws pierce his skin and he tries to focus through the swimming sounds, "How about I- I'll be down in a bit. I need-"
Air, space, silence, his dad…
"A glass of water."
Heather's face falls, but there is still a note of hope. The intent in her eyes has faded, thankfully, although Stiles feels a tinge of disappointment. He slides away, grabbing a drink and downing it.
"Easy there," Danielle says. Stiles takes a step away from her on instinct, because he still remembers her pouring a glass of water over his head.
He can barely taste the alcohol. It doesn't do anything in the slightest.
"You okay?" Malia is there suddenly, "Was she kissing you? Was it any good? Are you and her going to mate? Have pups?"
Stiles is half-way through his second drink and he chokes, spitting it out. Danielle wrinkles her nose and moves away, pausing to ward off a still dumbfounded Scott. "What? No, Malia, we don't, humans don't… we don't have pups. Not until we're old. Very, very old." He pauses, trying to recall how long coyotes live for, "Wait - have you have pups?"
Malia shakes her head, "There were other coyotes," she says, "But they thought I was weird. At least, I think they did. It's hard to understand coyote."
"Humans don't… we care more about the emotions behind relations. Unless it's a random hook-up, in which case we're just in it for the pleasure. But you have to use protection, otherwise you might end up pregnant. And you can't just give it up after a few months, you'd be stuck with this pup for nine months. Nine months and then sixteen years, and you don't want that."
Malia wrinkles her nose, "So do you have protection? What do you need to protect yourself from?"
"From getting pregnant," Stiles can't believe he hasn't had this conversation with her before, "Because when a man and a woman…" he waves his hands around, "do it… they sometimes make babies. So protection - stops babies being made and-"
Stiles stops, and nearby Scott just blinks, "I think I joined this conversation at the wrong time," he says, still looking like a deer in the headlights.
"So use protection, don't have pups, make sure you have emotional feelings for the peron unless it's a random hook-up. Is this a random hook-up?"
"Is this-" Stiles pauses, "I don't know."
Scott nods, "I think it was," he looks awed.
"Do you have protection?" Malia asks with such concern that Stiles feels almost mothered. Which makes no sense considering he'd just lectured her on this, she has no right to use his own warnings against him.
"Yes," he snaps, "No. But I will, and I'm going."
"Good luck on your random hook-up!" Malia says, bouncing a little on her feet supportively and looking excited. Scott looks even more confused and Stiles takes a step towards the basement and-
There's something. A noise. A smell. A sense of danger but suddenly-
Something is wrong.
"Stiles?" Scott sounds alarmed when he takes off, "Stiles?" but he is already through the door, down the stairs and-
There is nothing down there but dust and wine bottles. Shelves and shelves of them, but beneath that-
He can smell Heather. Perfume and soap. He can smell her fear. Acrid. Bitter.
But there's something else. A tang in the air. It reminds him of the mountain ash Lydia had thrown down around the club that once. Electric.
Ozone, he thinks. It smells like ozone.
"Stiles?" Scott lingers at the top of the stairs, "Stiles - is everything okay?"
"She's not here," Stiles says dumbly, "She's not… not here."
"So - no random hook-up?"
Maybe she left, he thinks. Yeah, that's it. She got tired of waiting and left. He probably upset her, showing up with another girl. He never even got a chance to explain how - yeah, this is the girl I found in the woods and she kind of imprinted on me while a coyote…
"No," he says, moving back up the stairs, "She's gone. I just… I thought I heard something."
"I told you," Malia says, stubbornly, "Parties suck."
"Did you know, that according to a 2400 year old document, in Ancient Greece snakes and rats abandoned town just before an earthquake struck Helice? There are hundreds of tales - chickens don't lay eggs, cows won't give milk, bees abandon their hive days, hours, even minutes before tornados strike."
Stiles appears to be marching off, and Malia trails after him, feeling a little lost. She always does feel this way when Stiles goes off on one of his rants, but she loves listening to them all the same, even if they don't make much sense to her.
Things make more sense after summer school. But it's still difficult, impossible sometimes to catch up with six, seven years of education.
"And this is important to me getting passing grades how?" She's pretty sure that had been what they were talking about.
They were talking about that, right?
"Dogs though, dogs apparently are the most consistent. They think it's something to do with their sensitivity to geological vibrations, electromagnetic changes, shifts in atmospheric pressure - however they do it, they abandon cities before hurricanes, tunnels before floods. Their behaviour changes before disaster hits. Something must have come to Beacon Hills. Or will come. Some disaster that hasn't hit yet…"
"And you think it is because of the alpha pack?"
Stiles looks grim. His jaw is clenched and he's staring at where the two twin alphas are stalking into the high school like they own it.
"I want one," Lydia appears by Stiles' elbow, "You can have the gay one if Danny doesn't beat you there and-"
Malia wrinkles her nose, peering around Stiles to look at Lydia. She's examining the twins the way Malia has eyed a rabbit once. Like a piece of meat, "Do you have a thing for werewolves?" Malia asks, "Stiles told me you liked the big bad ones like that funny looking guy who turned into a lizard-"
Lydia has stopped, looking pale, "Werewolves?" she asks.
"Yeah," Stiles says, head tilting towards her, "The twins are alphas. Didn't Allison tell you?"
"No," she huffs, "So next time," Lydia slides her bag over her shoulder, "I'd appreciate it if someone could at least make the pretence of trying to keep me in the loop."
She flounces off, and Malia watches her go with confusion. "Uh-" she opens her mouth to ask Stiles, but he shakes his head emphatically before she can.
"Ask Allison," he says. "Just… why is it that everybody keeps thinking I'm gay?"
"Why are we meeting here?"
"I really don't see how this is important. We should be planning how to get into that bank and how to rescue Boyd."
"Has Erica…"
"She hasn't woken up yet. Her wounds were made by an alpha, and they're healing slowly."
"Stilinski! Lahey! What do you two think about these strategies for lacrosse next se-" Coach falters, and the impromptu pack meeting appears to grind to a halt. His gaze roves over them - Isaac, Allison, Scott, Stiles, Lydia, Malia, Derek - and he just sort of blinks, turning around, "I give up," he mutters, walking off.
Scott peers after him with concern, "Is he okay?"
"Probably wondering why half the girls have migrated to the boy's locker room and why Derek here spends more time in this room that most of the boys on the lacrosse team do." Stiles pats Derek on the shoulders as if he's being helpful. Derek glares and Stiles retracts his hand with a curl of his lip. "Why is it that nobody even notices you around school?" Stiles asks, rhetorically, "Have you been picked up yet for stalking underage teenagers or what?"
"I don't spend my time stalking underage teenagers, Stiles," Derek says through gritted teeth.
"Actually," Lydia twirls a strand of her hair around her finger, "You kind of do. So does Peter. I think it must be a Hale thing." Stiles nods in agreement with her.
"Can we focus?" Scott tries to ground the meeting, "Boyd. Erica. The bank. I know you guys suck regarding communication, mostly because you don't like working together…"
"Don't like?" Derek snorts, "She-" he gestures at Lydia, "she resurrected my psychotic uncle. She also has a tendency to throw me into swimming pools while I'm paralyzed."
"You're welcome, by the way," Lydia grins at him.
Derek rolls his eyes. "And this one almost shot me!" he points at Allison.
"At the time I thought you had murdered my mother," Allison shrugs one shoulder, "Now I know it wasn't you, well…" her grin isn't pleasant, but Scott thinks she looks beautiful all the same, "Why do you think I came back from France? We're going to find this alpha pack and we're going to make them regret ever coming to Beacon Hills."
"Beside," Stiles points out, "She stabbed me full of wolfsbane knives and left my crucified to a tree. Look at us now," he gestures between where there is less than ten inches between them, "We're practically besties."
Derek's face makes an interesting, if slightly constipated expression. It's becoming an almost familiar look.
"Exactly," Allison just rolls with Stiles' answer.
"It didn't seem that bad," Malia raises one hand like she's still in grade school, "And you seem on good terms, so why can't we work together to find Boyd? We've been sort of working together the past few months anyway… well, Isaac has…"
Said beta studies the ground with great focus.
"Nobody has died yet," Stiles says, "let's count that as a plus. So there might have been a little maiming, some mangling, but otherwise, we work. And we can do this."
"Just, maybe not now," Scott speaks up, "I have class."
"After school?" Isaac asks.
"Fine," Derek grinds out, "My place."
"Great. We'll be there. Now I have economics and Coach…" Scott glances around, but thankfully doesn't see the man anywhere, "Coach might skin us if-"
"Stiles!"
They all collectively pause. Scott's shoulders just sink because with all these interruptions he might just make it to lessons. Eventually.
"Daddy-o!" Stiles' voice is full of false cheer as he spins around, "Can I help?"
The Sheriff stands in the doorway to the locker room, gaze roving over everyone, "Coach said you guys were in here. Can I talk to you a moment?"
"Sure."
Scott's friend makes no inclination to move.
"Away from people with super hearing?"
"Oh. Okay."
"What do you mean nobody has seen her?"
His dad shrugs, "You were the last person to have seen her. Last night, at her party-"
"She went down to the basement. I… I didn't…" Stiles frowns, "I thought I heard a noise, but when I went downstairs there was nothing. Just a weird smell."
"Weird like good weird or bad weird."
"I don't know. I've never smelt anything like it," Stiles doesn't know what else to say, "I haven't seen Heather since. I thought maybe she went off with someone else."
His dad looks tired, running a hand through his hair much the way Stiles does when frustrated, "We've put out an A.P.B. but-"
"Do you want me to take a look?"
It's a genuine offer and his dad looks grateful for a moment, before shaking his head, "Nah - you have lessons. I don't want you skipping," here he gives a stern look as if he knows about yesterday. He probably does, Stiles has given up asking how by now, "Besides," the Sheriff shrugs, "you look like you're missing a scintillating lesson."
In the classroom Coach snaps something at Greenberg and waves a mug around, "Risk or reward?" he bellows out, "Danny, you in?"
"What's the reward?"
"No pop quiz tomorrow."
"Coach, it's not a pop quiz if you tell us about it."
"Danny, you know, I really expect more from you at this point."
"Yeah," Stiles says, "Looks really… uh…" his dad is already half way down the corridor, and Stiles is about to head back to the lesson. Inside the classroom the coin being thrown flashes in the light.
The bank, he thinks, wondering for a second why that is so important before-
He turns down the corridor, jogging after his father, "Hey, dad!" Stiles calls, "You were involved in that bank robbery, right?"
"Please don't tell me you're planning on robbing a bank."
"Well?" Lydia asks Allison over a study period, "Are you going to Derek's?"
"Yeah-" Allison agrees, sounding distracted. Lydia leans on her one shoulder, then pulls away when she sees what Allison is browsing. Images of Beacon Hills First National Bank fill the screen. "You're going to go there alone, aren't you?"
"Unless-"
"I am not coming with you. If I go, I refuse to leave the car."
"No, not you," Allison shakes her head, pulling out her phone, "I think I might know someone else…"
Lydia sighs, sounding exasperated. Her gaze wonders and she lets her head drop onto her arm, eyeing something over Allison's shoulder, "It's a shame," Lydia muses, "He's hot. Like, really hot."
Allison looks up, following her gaze to where the twin alphas are by a bookshelf. "His face looks kind of like a squashed puppy," Allison wrinkles her nose, "If that is what you're into…"
"I think maybe it's the bad boy thing," Lydia sighs, as if admitting a terrible truth, "Jackson. That thing with Peter. Even when Stiles was assisting on a murder spree he was pretty hot."
"What." It's not even a question. Allison has started mimicking Derek's monotone statements - what has the world come to?
"Come on," Lydia rolls her eyes, "Don't tell me he's not who you're texting now."
Allison slides her phone out of sight.
Lydia's lips curl in just the hint of a smirk, "I'm going to save this disaster," she says, spotting Danny flirting with one of them. Maybe they remind the pair of Jackson, Allison thinks, considering had things been left unchecked, Lydia and Danny would have split a pair of identical twins between them. Given his ego, Jackson would probably be gratified to know it took two guys to replace him. "Whatever you do, Allison, don't get yourself hurt."
"It's okay," the huntress grins, "I know how to use a gun."
Derek's loft is in the warehouse district, a large building built over a parking garage.
"Derek doesn't have to worry about angry tenants," Isaac says as he leads Scott and Stiles up there, "He owns the whole building." Malia trails a bit behind them, feeling nervous. It feels like she's invading, venturing out onto another wolf's territory except…
She's a coyote.
She's not even a wolf. She's a coyote. Like, what is even up with that?
She's never really considered the difference. Before she just was. A coyote, who was a girl, who preferred to live as an animal…
Malia knows the others don't understand it. That they can't even conceive why she sometimes sits at home in her empty room, the scent of her sister and mother all but faded and considers going back… Her dad barely knows her; she's the only coyote in a pack full of wolves…
"You okay?" Stiles turns around, as if sensing her distress.
She smiles up at him, "Fine," she says, and she's telling the truth. She's a human. Nobody can stay a coyote forever.
They head up the stairs, ignoring the lift that sits nearby, "I wouldn't trust anything Derek owns with my life," Stiles comments, dryly, even as Scott heaves the door open.
"I thought we should knock?" Malia queries. She doesn't understand human social conventions.
"Usually," Stiles says, "Yes, knock. But this is Derek."
Derek in question is sitting by a table. The loft is large and bare. A couch is shoved in one corner. A table is near a large window looking out over the city, and in one corner a spiral staircase leads upstairs somewhere. He slams his book closed and stands up, back straightening. Stiles ignores him, marching past and dumping his bag on the table, beginning to tug out large blueprints and data schematics of the building.
"What is that?" Derek peers over his shoulder.
"That?" Stiles unrolls a piece of paper that stubbornly tries to roll itself up again. Malia helpfully grabs a corner as Stiles points out something, fumbling for a pen," That is how they got in."
"How who got in?"
"The bank," Scott says, leaning over as Stiles begins to circle happily with red ink, "It was robbed a few months back. They shut it down afterwards."
Stiles peers up, nodding in agreement, "They got in through a rooftop air conditioning vent. It leads into the walls of the vault, through here. They dropped someone down, he spent twelve hours drilling through a solid brick wall and then siphoned the cash back up to his buddies on the roof. Boom," he throws the pen down, "If Malia and Isaac are right-"
"-which we are," Isaac said.
"-then that would be how we get to Boyd."
Derek moved over, "Can we get in there?" he asks.
"Barely," Stiles shrugs, "They also patched up the wall, so you'd have to drill through. Diamond bit…"
"Forget the drill. I can punch through it."
Stiles pauses, turning to blink at Derek, "Or we could do that," he says, as if he forgets sometimes that he is a super strong werewolf.
"That…" a new voice drifts into the conversation, "Is a terrible plan."
Stiles' face loses its smile, and Scott subtly moves. Not for the door, or for the new guy, but between Stiles and the new guy, standing on the stairs. Everyone is suddenly nervous; Malia can smell it in the air. Isaac grits his teeth and Derek sighs, his shoulders slumping visibly. The guy heading down the stairs is familiar although she's never met him properly, because following Stiles around while still trying to remember how to use her words doesn't count as meeting and-
"Why is he here?" Isaac hisses to Scott, then turns to Derek, "You know nobody trusts him, right?"
"Why not?" Malia never quite got that part of the story.
"He's a werewolf," Isaac shares, "He used to be an alpha, but he killed people, so we killed him, he has a serious fetish for his own cleavage, and was probably the one who started the whole 'werewolves were leather' thing."
Derek looks mildly uncomfortable in his leather jacket, "Just… trust me, okay?" Derek pleads. Isaac blinks, dubiously, "Trust… Scott?" Derek offers instead.
"I trust you," Isaac argues, weakly, "I still don't like him."
Stiles snorts, "Nobody likes him," there is the hint of a snarl in his voice.
On the stairs, Peter still stands looking mildly amused. Peter Hale. Derek's uncle. Stiles' old alpha. Peter the undead. His chest is puffed out slightly, as if to accentuate the V-neck shirt he is wearing, "You do know, that while coming back from the dead has left my abilities somewhat impaired, the hearing still works. So I hope you're comfortable saying whatever it is that you're feeling straight to my face."
Derek shrugs. "We don't like you."
"Can I kill him?" Stiles asks dryly. There is no hint of a joke in his voice and Malia shoots him a glance that tells him she promises to help him should he need it.
"Why do I get the impression that nobody likes me?"
"Because nobody does like you."
"Seriously? I've been a model citizen these past few months. I never slash tires with my claws for fun anymore, and I haven't murdered any cashiers for being too slow when ringing me up…"
"Are you here to help or not?" Scott snaps.
Peter Hale smirks. It reminds Malia of the stories - of the big, cartoonish, clichéd wolf in the fairy-tales - Oh Grandma, how big your teeth are - "Why so hostile, Scott? Here I thought we were finally getting along."
Derek studiously ignores his - uncle? Malia isn't sure. Peter could be an older brother even; he only looks about ten years older than Derek. Maybe more, maybe a bit less, it's kind of hard to tell. He's old enough to be her father. "We know where they are," he says, "Malia and Isaac tracked the alphas to an abandoned bank."
"It got shut down from a robbery," Isaac inputs, "Nobody noticed us sneaking up to it until we were actually inside."
"Did you hear anything?" Peter asks, "Anything at all when you got Erica out?"
Malia exchanges a lost glance with Isaac. She remembers running and some more running and- "They were talking about the full moon," Isaac recalls, "About being out of control. That was about when they were dragging Erica out and we… we had to do something. I'm just glad Malia was there, if I was alone…" he left it hanging, ominous and worried.
Scott worries at his lip with his teeth, "If Boyd is locked in there during a full moon… he doesn't have control, does he? He'll turn his claws on himself."
"That doesn't make sense," Stiles frowns, "It's been four moons already and he and Erica haven't ripped each other to shreds yet. And why wait? Why take them in the first place?"
"To get to me," Derek says.
"So what… they want to recruit you or something?"
"Or something," Derek exchanges a heavy glance with Peter.
The older man looks distinctively unimpressed.
"Seriously, Derek? I'm sure Boyd is a sweet kid, but he really worth all this?"
"Even if you don't care about Boyd…" a female voice drifts down the spiral stair case, "Then what about your sister?"
"Talia is dead," Peter scoffs, but Derek frowns up as everyone's attention turns to where a blonde girl Malia recognises as Erica is limping down the spiral staircase.
"Cora?" he frowns, "Cora is dead."
"No, she isn't. She's alive. For now."
"Who is Cora?"
Derek looks pained. It makes him look slightly constipated, Erica thinks as she settles on the bottom step. Isaac moves to hover over her shoulder, and she shoots him a grateful smile.
"Cora…" Peter begins stalking around the table like the predator he is, earning him a flash of blue eyes from Stiles. Was Stiles an actual wolf, Erica thinks, his hackles would be raised. "Cora's my neice. Derek and Laura's younger sister. About your age, actually," he stops next to Scott.
"Didn't she die in the fire?" Stiles steps around Scott, but ultimately fails when Scott moves to keep Peter and his former beta seperated. Stiles doesn't seem bothered, peering over Scott's shoulder. He's taller than Scott anyway, and still manages to meet Peter's gaze.
Peter turns to Derek, "The night of fire I don't remember very well," he says, acid in his voice, "Maybe Derek could fill us in."
"Or maybe," Derek says, tense for some reason Erica can't identify, "Maybe Cora can tell us herself. When we rescue her."
"If she's still alive," Stiles points out, helpful.
"She will be," Scott says, ever the positive one.
Erica makes her intentions clear, looking up towards her alpha, "I want to come," she says, leaving no room for argument.
Derek barely even considers her, "You can't come," he says, "You're still recovering."
"But Boyd and Cora…"
"You can't come!"
"Says who? You weren't the one who was trapped in that vault!"
Derek flinches. Scott turns to her, "Erica, we don't want you hurt. If there are alphas there, you'll just…"
"Get in the way?" Stiles offers up. He's blunt, he always it, but at least he's honest.
"You'll be more use here," Derek says, finding the right words to make her sigh, backing down with a nod. "I'm going," Derek decides, "Scott's coming…"
"Don't look at me!" Nearby Peter holds up his hands, "I'm not up to fighting speed yet, and honestly, Derek, with one alpha and a bunch of teenage betas, only two of them even in your pack, your odds aren't looking good."
"We can't let them all die. What about me?" Isaac frowns.
"Look, we can't all go," Scott says, "There won't be enough space for all of us and I don't want you all there with the alphas."
"And me?" Stiles asks.
"You can stay here."
"With him?" Stiles jabs his thumb in the direction of Peter, "Seriously? I don't think that's a good idea - do you remember what happened the last time I got left with him?"
"He's got a point," Erica says, glancing uncomfortably in the direction of where Peter is lurking, also looking mildly offended.
"Actually…" Stiles straightens, holding up his phone, "I have somewhere to be," he pauses, glancing around uncomfortably.
Erica fixes him with a glare, "I thought you were going to help us get Boyd out," her tone is accusatory.
"Look, if you want to play Catwoman, I'll be your Batman, but right now? I've got to help someone else," Stiles snaps back, quickly becoming defensive. Erica frowns, catching sight of the name on the message.
"Is that Allison's number?"
The phone vanishes into Stiles' pocket so quickly she can't confirm it, but Stiles' reaction does, "What? No… I don't know…" he gives up, "Yes, it's Allison. She has something she wants to look into regarding the alphas. I said I'd go along."
"Now?" Derek says.
"Why are you complaining?" Stiles growls.
Peter raises a hand, and then, ignoring his nephew's glare, offers his opinion, "Actually, that might be a good idea. If Stiles and Allison find the alphas, they might distract them enough to let us rescue Boyd."
"And Cora," Erica adds.
"Yes…" Peter and Derek both look like they don't know what to think about that. Neither does Erica - she thought all the Hale had died in the fire. Then she and Boyd get thrown in a bank vault only for another werewolf to join them a few weeks later with golden eyes and the name 'Hale'.
"I'll ring," Stiles says, heading for the door. Erica watches him go. The door barely closes than Scott rounds on Peter.
He is stopped from speaking only when Peter holds up one hand, head cocked on one side. Erica listens, waiting for the jeep. "Okay," Peter says eventually as the car engine fades, "He shouldn't be able to hear you now."
"Shut up," Scott snaps, flushing with anger, "Stay away from him, okay? I don't want you in Stiles' head."
Peter laughs. "I barely got inside his head. I just released what was already there."
Erica thinks that's what Scott is so afraid of.
"There are so many things I could be doing with my time that are more useful than this."
"You offered to come," Allison lowers her binoculars as a car rolls down the street, "You can stay in the car, if you want."
"Just leave me a weapon, okay? And preferably not a wooden bow."
Allison glances out the window again, "There are birds on the roof," she says, "I think they're nesting."
"In August?"
"Feeding? I don't know, but I think it means the alphas are gone. They know we know they're here - maybe they moved."
"You can tell all that from a pair of birds?"
"Or maybe it's nothing," Allison sighs, "I just don't know."
"Pareidolia," Lydia hums, "Seeing patterns that aren't there. It's a subset of apophenia."
"I love how clever you are," Stiles says, appearing by the car and opening the door. He slides into the back seat without a sound. His jeep which he had pulled up in seconds before, is parked across the street, "I didn't mean it like that!" he hisses, when Lydia shoots him a look. She doesn't appreciate Stiles flirting with her. Even if it is unintentional on his part.
"So…" she asks, glancing casually over her shoulder, "Did they even ask where we were?"
"Derek assumed you were still pissed off at him."
"Let it go on record that I don't like this idea. How you two even cooked it up..."
Allison grabs a duffel bag that chunks ominously, "Wolves fight too messily for my liking."
Lydia casts a disparaging glance at Stiles, who just grins, eyes flaring blue. She turns back to where Allison is sliding bullets into a gun, "Going in armed? Scott won't like this, you know."
"What Scott doesn't know," Allison says, "won't hurt him."
"And to think," Lydia hums, "It's only the second day of the term."
Stiles leans forwards, his head appearing between the seats and his voice eager, "Do I get a gun?"
Allison doesn't even look at him; she just passes a baseball bat over her shoulder from her duffel bag of weapons. Some people keep a spare torch in their car. Allison keeps weapons, "You get the bat, Stiles."
"I don't like waiting around like this," Erica complains to Isaac. "Do you think Boyd and Cora will be okay?"
The loft is dark. Peter is lounging on a couch, and Erica and Isaac linger by the table. Isaac can hear the heartbeat of a resting Braeden upstairs, but beyond that it is completely silent.
"I think the others will try as hard as they can," Malia says somewhere from beneath a pile of school text books. She's getting better at some subjects, Isaac knows. He's had to help her study, along with Lydia, Stiles, Allison and, well, actually, that's it. Scott's been too busy trying to improve his own grades than try to tutor a werecoyote who missed seven years of school.
"Is anybody going to tell me who she is?" Peter asks, looking mildly interested in the girl for a moment.
"She's Stiles' coyote." If anything Peter's interest perks up. It's unhealthy, Isaac thinks.
"She's not Stiles' anything."
"Actually, that's kind of accurate," Malia somehow speaks around three highlighters in her mouth, "Wait, no, that isn't right," she bends over her books again, scribbling something out with red ink.
"Doesn't she have a home?" Erica asks out of the side of her mouth to Isaac.
"I'm told it's awkward," he shrugs back, "Her dad's kind of a dick. Wanted to put her in a mental institute."
"That was also my fault," Malia pipes up, "I told him I was a coyote."
Isaac pulls a face. He can kind of sympathise, especially considering he kind of lives with Derek now. Has been living with Derek. For the past six months. He has Mrs McCall to thank for that, helping him to deal with his old house, selling it off, moving all the furniture out - Derek tried, he really did, but it was Mrs McCall who helped finalise his emancipation details.
He looks at Erica and wonders what her parents think. They probably still think she's dead. Run away: that had been the last story he heard circulating.
He wonders if she's ever going to tell them otherwise.
"Ugh," Erica shies away from the window, "The moon makes me itch."
"Really? It's not even full!" Isaac is reminded that Erica can't control it as well as him, but even then, the moon is still a day away from full.
She moans softly, her head in her hands. Peter squints with one eye while Malia's head appears from the pile of books, "It's giving me a headache," Erica murmurs, "Like it's pulsing…"
Peter is suddenly right there, in Isaac's face, "When was your last full moon?"
Erica squints at him, "What?"
"Your last full moon? Proper one, when you were outside…"
"Back in… March?" she looks like she's struggling to remember. Peter however seems desperate. There is an urgency as he turns to the table behind them, grabbing at the blueprints.
"What are the walls made out of?"
"Walls?"
"Of the bank?"
"They're in here," Malia points to a thick wad of paper, "About half-way through-"
Peter is already grabbing for it, leafing through it, "Hecatalite," he announces after a minute or two of frantic page turning and skim reading. He says it like it holds all the answers and like it makes sense when it really, really doesn't.
"Is that something I should know?" Malia looks alarmed.
"It scatters the moonlight," Peter says, glancing up at Erica, "The reason it hurts so much is because you haven't felt the full moon in months. It's like… like a drug addict going cold turkey and then relapsing and trying to wean them off it."
"So basically - really bad news?"
"Get Scott and Derek on the phone. And then we better find Derek's chains," Peter glances at Erica, "You're going to need them."
Scott's phone rings - loud and blaring and - dammit, why didn't he silence the thing? He answers, seeing Isaac's name, "What is it?" he hisses, "Now isn't the best time…" in front of them is the vault. Derek is clearing away rubble and dust and climbing through and-
"You need to get out," Isaac says, "The walls of the vault are made out of a mineral called hecatolite, which scatters moonlight. Cora and Boyd are going to be something called moon - was it moonstruck? Moondumb?"
There is the sound of footsteps and suddenly it is Peter's voice on the phone, "Boyd and Cora haven't felt the full moon in months," he says, "They're moon-starved. Like gladiators in the Roman colosseum."
"What is it with you and the metaphors?"
"They used to starve the lions for three days, making them more vicious, more out of control," Peter continues with the analogy just to spite Isaac, Scott is sure, but that's when the words finally begin to hit home and- "Deucalion has kept them from shifting for four full moons, diminishing their tolerance to it. They'll be stronger-"
"More vicious!" Isaac adds.
"More savage, more bloodthirsty, they're the lions, Scott. They're the starved lions and you and Derek just stepped into the colosseum."
"Get out of there!" Isaac adds, "Are you even listening…?"
"Uh.…" Scott looks up, meeting Derek's gaze, "I don't think that's going to be a problem."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the vault is empty," Scott says, looking around at the empty walls, the space with nothing in it, just the fading scent of wolves, "They aren't here."
"Why aren't we telling Scott?" Stiles asks Allison as they sneak through the creepy bank. It's already gathering dust, cracks are beginning to show in the building and, "Wow," Stiles says, "There is a really high number of creepy abandoned buildings in this town."
"I heard there was a mental hospital ten miles outside Beacon Hills," Allison whispers back, "Let's just be glad we aren't breaking into that place."
"You didn't answer my question," Stiles notes. He's always so observant, Allison thinks. "Why didn't you tell Scott you were doing this?"
"The same reason you didn't tell him. He's our friend, but he didn't tell us about Gerard." Allison's tone is grim and Stiles' gaze reflects her own stark realisation, "I need some space from him."
"Me too," Stiles is agreeing and Allison blinks at him, because it's not like Stiles and Scott have been dating, "Not like that," he sighs, "And things have been good. Like, better than ever since Peter…" he stops. It's still a sensitive subject. Even now, "We're finally working together," he says, "Let's not wreck that. Not yet."
Allison nods. Getting into the bank had been easy. Stiles had snapped the chains like they were made out of paper, and they had slipped inside. Now he keeps turning his head this way and that, nose wrinkling, "I don't think they're in here…" he says, "I can't…" he shakes his head, "The walls are made out of something - my senses keep bouncing around. Like echoes in a cave."
"Give me your phone."
"Why?"
"I don't have werewolf vision and my phone doesn't have a light."
She wields his phone like a flashlight. She used to own a flashlight, she recalls, but she had broken it trying to bludgeon a kanima. Jackson still hasn't bought her a new one.
They had entered through the large lobby area on the ground floor. There are two large staircases leading up and up and-
"If I was an alpha werewolf," Allison asks herself out loud, "Where would I hide prisoners?"
Stiles opens his mouth to reply when he stiffens, spinning around to something behind them. "Someone's here," he says, voice barely a whisper and he reaches out, grabbing at her arm, "Someone, I don't know who they…" he pauses, "Wolf."
Allison lurches to the side, jolting Stiles along with her as she reaches for a nearby door. There is a scramble as they slide inside, Stiles almost knocking over a shelf of cleaning supplies with an errant flail and Allison-
She drops the phone. It falls with a crack and both of them freeze, Allison's ears straining for sound-
There is a steady clip clip clipping of something, like heels, except less regular. Voices are speaking as well, and Allison blinks through the dark to see Stiles, inches from her. His eyes are amber, but there is just a spark of blue that in the dark makes them look almost purple. He looks nervous. Terrified. She can see him shaking slightly, nostrils flaring with scents she can't smell and-
Scents. They can still smell them. Allison inches backwards, unscrewing a bottle of ammonia and knocking it over. The thick scent of the cleaning fluid already permeates the cupboard, even to her human nose. Now it overwhelms them, and poor Stiles makes a choking noise, hand moving to cover his mouth.
"Sorry," she mouths, watching the puddle spread over to the door. The footsteps outside pause and-
"Don't kid yourself, Marin," someone purrs. British. Male. The tap of something - a stick, no, a cane, Allison realises. This is Deucalion. He is right here, right there… "This isn't the first time you've gotten your hands dirty…"
Stiles' hand closes around her arm, painfully tight and she forces herself not to move.
"They're kids. Are they really a threat?"
"They're kids at the moment. But you know the legends, Marin. You know what this place is. I just count us lucky to be here to watch a legend unfold."
The sounds are fading. They're leaving, and Allison slumps slightly. Stiles is frowning, mouthing the name, "Marin?" he asks, "Marin?"
"Rare name," Allison whispers, crouching down to scoop up Stiles' phone which, had it been working after the drop she will never know, because now it is coated in a thin layer of ammonia. The screen doesn't turn on, "I think I broke your phone," she admits, handing it back to Stiles guiltily. "Again. Why do I always break your phone…?"
Stiles isn't listening. He's still mouthing the name, "Marin Morrell," he says, as if that explains everything, "Deaton's sister. Half-sister. She works at the school as a guidance councillor!"
"My French teacher?"
"I don't know," he looks lost, reaching out to try the door. He wrinkles his nose, "Ugh," he says, "I can't smell anything anymore."
"Sorry," Allison steps out into the corridor, breathing in untainted air. Stiles stumbles out after her, and she turns around and-
"Allison? Stiles?"
She jumps. Stiles flails, yelping slightly although he'll deny it afterwards, spinning towards where they almost walked straight into Scott and Derek who are staring at them with puzzlement.
"What were you doing in the storage closet?" Scott gapes at them, "Wait, what are you doing here? Oh my god, you snuck over here without us and…" he pauses, "…why do you have a bat?"
Stiles blinks, holding out his bat and trying to nonchalantly swing it onto his shoulder but only succeeds in almost braining himself in the head, "I was sick of getting blood on my claws," he says.
"Hang on-" Scott stares, "Is that my mom's bat?"
"Maybe?" Stiles shuffles nervously, "She gave it to me for my birthday. At least… I think she did, she wasn't exactly clear but she said I might as well have it and since none of you either play baseball I thought-"
Derek steps around Scott, "I thought you were busy," he glances between the pair, interrupting Stiles.
"Yeah, we came over here. You two were taking too long," Allison shrugs.
Scott just sort of looks between the pair before deciding he is obviously better off not complaining or worrying about the two. They can look after themselves, after all.
"Did you find them?" Allison asks, finally noticing what is missing. It's just Derek and Scott. No Boyd, nobody else…
"They aren't here," Scott says, looking around wildly, "There is nothing here; I can smell them but…"
"They moved them," Derek says, through gritted teeth, "They knew we were coming and they moved them."
Allison feels frustration welling up inside her, and she spins around, wanting to punch something. She stops, her eyes alighting on Stiles who is examining something on the ground. She peers over his shoulder, "What is it?"
Stiles straightens, "Mountain ash," he says with a frown, "The wolves can't have used this…"
"Look at the claw marks," she crouches down, trailing her fingers over where marks that match her fingers are scarred into the ground, "Something ran past this way."
Stiles turns, angling his body to match the claw marks. His back is to the vault, his face to the open air, "I don't think they moved them," he says, "I think they let them out."
"You're telling me that two feral werewolves are running around Beacon Hills with tomorrow being the full moon?"
Stiles meets her gaze, and the same thought flashes through both their minds, "Lydia!"
They spill out onto the street, Scott hesitating for a moment while Stiles and Allison move like arrows to where Allison's Toyota is parked. Derek lifts his head to the sky, obviously scenting and Scott turns to look at him.
"I can barely trace it," Derek says through gritted teeth, "If they came this way they were moving fast and-"
A door slams. Allison steps back and Stiles looks up, face emotionless. "Lydia is gone," he says, as if Scott hadn't guessed.
"She's not answering her phone," Allison shakes her hair over her shoulders, "This isn't good…"
"Where did she go?" Scott asks.
"Maybe she saw the wolves, maybe the alphas spotted her…" Derek suggests.
"Maybe…" Stiles stops short, and he doesn't finish what he was going to say, "I'm going to drive around, see if I can pick up her scent. We can't leave her out here with two feral wolves on the prowl."
"You look for Lydia. We'll handle the others," Scott says, and Stiles blinks gratefully. "Go!" he says, and his friend turns away.
"I'll come with you," Allison says, moving after him, "Don't tell my dad!" Allison shouts over her shoulder before jogging after Stiles.
Derek blinks, looks angry. More than angry, there are levels of frustration, annoyance… Scott's run out of synonyms, but Derek looks like Scott feels. Like they were so close and they let them slip through their fingers. "So what now?" Scott asks.
"I don't know!" Derek snaps, shouting it out to the empty street, "I don't…"
"I do," Scott says, and idea forming in his head, "You're not going to like it."
Derek's expression grows disgruntled and Scott hasn't even said anything.
"Well?"
"Well? I'm going to tell her dad."
Lydia blinks. Slowly. Calmly. She moves forwards, one slow step at a time.
It feels like she's swimming. Like she's running in a dream, while in reality her legs are twisted and tangled in her sheets.
She comes back to herself in increments. Slowly. First her sight, blinking in the dim street lamp above her. It flicks on with a ping as she stands there. Around her the light is soft, late afternoon. It's gentle and definitely not what she remembers it being.
Then she feels her muscles. They ache, like she's just run a marathon. Her hands tremble when she holds them out in front of her and she shivers slightly because-
She doesn't know where she is. She casts her mind back, trying, desperately reaching for the memories…
She had been with Stiles and Allison she recalls. By the bank. The moon almost full in the sky above her and then-
Above her the moon is round, like a gleaming eye gazing down at her. It is round and full and Lydia's missed time. Almost a full day. She's lost time and she's terrified, because she remembers what happened the last time that occurred, she rubs at her hand, trying to rid herself of the blood and wolfsbane that clings to them and-
She recognised where she is. Looking around her, Lydia remembers coming here to cheer Jackson on during swimming practise when the school pool was closed. It's outdoors, and just to confirm she steps around the corner, spotting the moonlight reflecting on the still water, illuminating a dark shape lying there.
Oh god, Lydia thinks, moving forwards, "Oh my God," she takes another step, because she has to know. Her hands are clean, pale and spotless. There is no dirt or blood but there is a body and, "Please don't be dead," she whispers, "Please don't be dead, please don't be dead…" maybe if she says it enough times she can make it real, she can make the body she reaches for and turns over alive again or- "Oh my god," she slumps back, because her prayers have been answered. It's not a dead body.
It's a mannequin. One of the ones lifeguards use for practise, "Are you kidding me?" she says to the moon, straightening, preparing to head back to find somebody to pick her up, she must have her phone…
She turns around and there is a man sitting in the lifeguard's chair. His form is slumped and blood pools on the ground around him.
There is no question about it - he is dead. Very, very dead.
Power surges through her like a tingle of lightning and a rush of wind. Her hands feel icy. In fact her whole body feels cold, like death, and before she really thinks about what she is doing, Lydia opens her mouth and screams.
It's been a day spent in constant worry. Looking back, how they managed school Stiles will never know, only that they had no trail of anything. No Lydia, no Boyd, no Cora, no Alpha Pack. And now the full moon…
The full moon is rising. It will reach its peak, its maximum point of fullness at around seven. That is just a couple of hours away still, but Stiles can feel it already.
"You sure you're going to be okay?"
Malia has her eyes closed and is breathing in huge, deep, calming breathes. "Is she Lamaze breathing?" Isaac asks with a squint, and Stiles glares at him.
"I'm fine," the coyote's eyes flicker open, "I'll be fine," she assures Stiles, "I just… I hate full moons."
"You sure Derek's okay with us using his loft?" Stiles asks Isaac.
The beta shrugs, "Not sure. He sort of… grunted. With a nod. I think it meant yes but you can never tell with Derek." The gold eyed wolf is attending to Erica, who looks like she's going through a killer migraine.
"Will you be okay?" Stiles feels the need to ask Isaac. Especially since the lacrosse season is over and they don't share the bench anymore, not that in reality either of them should be on the bench. They're both werewolves now - the peak of health and fitness and lacrosse skills.
"I'll be fine," Erica is the one to answer. It sounds like she's speaking through gritted teeth, "Just… go find Boyd," her eyes flicker open, and they're already glowing gold, "Please," she begs, "Find Boyd and Cora. Make sure they don't hurt anybody."
"Go," Isaac nods, "I'll look after them."
"Find Lydia!" Malia shouts after him, as Stiles heads for the stairs. He's not going to trust the lift in this loft, especially considering it's Derek's. The alpha has somehow managed to cram all his furniture into one room, and even then it's not exactly a hospitable space.
"Ready?" Allison asks as he slides into the passenger seat of her car.
Stiles sighs, shoulders rising and falling, "I don't know where to start. We've already driven around the whole town. Twice."
"Where are Derek and Scott?"
"They said they picked up a trail in the woods, but Lydia… she wouldn't go to the woods."
"She has before," Allison points out. What she doesn't say is 'when she was possessed by Peter' but it's there anyway.
"We'll go to her house, try from there again. Otherwise we'll drive past her lake house." It's a good plan, and following Stiles' suggestion Allison shifts the car into gear.
As she does so, Stiles pauses, senses loud and clear and picking everything up and…
"Wait-" he tells her, "Hang on, I… I hear her."
"What?" The car jolts and then stops, "Where? How?"
It's distance but it is definitely there. And it is definitely Lydia, "She's screaming. Drive, Allison, drive!"
This, Scott thinks while running as fast as he can through the woods, is not going to work.
Derek obviously appears to agree because he throws himself over a large tree trunk. Scott follows, somersaulting over it and landing, the ground sliding a little beneath his feet as he skids to a stop, then straightens, turning to Derek, "You lost them!" the alpha says, sounding irritated.
"I kind of had to," Scott defends himself, "Boyd was about to maul a pair of little kids."
Casting his gaze around, neither wolf can see any sign of their missing friends, "They're sticking together," Derek says, "I think we should still together too."
"Makes sense," Scott agrees, "They're strong and fast - too much for one person to handle alone. Now will you try my idea?"
"I don't like it," Derek says, making a humping noise, "and I don't think it's going to work."
"What's the harm in trying?" Scott asks, trying to sound positive.
Derek looks unimpressed, "Do you really want me to answer that?"
Allison's Toyota pulls up at the swimming pool car park in a screaming of brakes. Stiles is out of the car before it even stops, racing towards where he can how hear Lydia's heartbeat, hear her frantic breathing, the way her nails tap at her skin, her hair rustling-
"Stiles!" she jumps when he appears, and then relaxes moments later, "I never thought I'd be so happy to see you," she says, and for a moment Stiles feels a bit put out.
"Are you okay?" he asks, and that's when he picks up the smell.
Allison rounds the corner, only to almost walk straight into Stiles coming the other way. He shoves past her, gagging slightly and trying to smell something other than the blood, the death, the blood-
"I'll never know how he managed to murder people," Lydia says, numbly. Allison blinks, mouth opening slightly.
"Is that-?"
"A dead body?" Lydia answers, "Yes. How did you guys find me? I didn't even know where I was until ten minutes ago!"
"Stiles heard you screaming," Allison says.
"Like a lunatic," Lydia laughs, eyes rolling to the moon above her, "I… oh god, I don't remember what happened. I don't…"
"We were looking for you," Stiles cautiously moves back towards the girl, face still slightly scrunched up. "We left you in the car yesterday and then when we got back you were gone."
Lydia swallows, looking nervous. She looks like she knows what they're thinking, "Well here I am," she says, "And that's a dead body."
Allison pulls out her phone, "I'm calling the police," she says, stepping sideways as the call connects to speak to the operator. Stiles moves closer to Lydia.
She's pale and trembling slightly. He pulls off his hoodie, not really feeling the cold and offers it to her. She pulls a face, but quietly accepts it, wrapping it around herself, "I would have called 911," she says, somewhat diminished but her tone is still strong, "I just didn't have a phone."
Stiles holds it up, "Uh, yeah, you left in Allison's car."
Lydia takes it back. Her hands are like ice to Stiles' wolf warm skin.
"You were going to call the police before you called us?" Stiles asks, trying to lighten the mood.
"You mean I'm supposed to call you first the next time I find a dead body?"
"Are you planning on a next time?" Stiles asks, rubbing at his arms, "Because this is beginning to feel like the frickin' shining over here. If two little twin girls come out of the woods and start asking me to play with them forever and ever, I'm not gonna be surprised."
"You have a morbid sense of humour," Lydia says, "And, I don't intend to find more bodies but this stuff… it just keeps happening with me." For a moment a sliver of worry breaks through her façade of calm, "What if it's like with Peter?" she asks, looking Stiles in the eye, "You know what that's like, he was in your head as well."
And Stiles does. He really, really does to the point where even after Peter's death he still wasn't capable of making sensible decisions. Not that death mattered to Lydia. Peter managed to roofie them all from the grave through Lydia and that's really slightly terrifying. "I hated it when I found out you resurrected him," he admits, "But then I figured it kind of made us even."
Lydia's laugh is weak, "I didn't do it out of revenge," she says, "Even if it was that bite that… that started this whole thing."
"Maybe…" Stiles' brain whirls in a maelstrom of ideas and thoughts, "You're immune, that's what we decided in the end, wasn't it? That you were immune. But what if that's not the case. What if you're not a werewolf… because you're something else entirely?"
"Like?"
"I don't know yet," he says, "Can I- can I borrow your phone? I need to call Scott."
"Where is he?"
"He's hunting down Cora and Boyd with Derek," Stiles answers, peering past her to the body, "I thought maybe this might be a wolf murder but it - it smells wrong."
"Still should let them know," Lydia shrugs, conceding her phone to him.
Stiles grins, already having typed in Scott's number. His friend picks up almost immediately, "Lydia? Oh my god, where are you?"
"What? No, not Lydia," Stiles blinks, "Stiles. I found Lydia, she says 'hi'," he holds out the phone to Lydia who just shoots him a look, "Uh, Scott, we've got a body over here, slashed up pretty bad with a lot of blood. Like…" Stiles pauses, trying to gauge how much of the scent is in the air, "At least two pints," he says, "Which in case you didn't know is a lot."
"You think it was Boyd or Cora?" Scott asks over the phone, "That's not- They were across town in the woods just a few minutes ago! How did they get across town so fast?"
"Who else is going around town ripping throats out?"
"Can you get a little closer, make sure it was them? Get a scent or something?"
"All I can smell is blood!" he shouts down the phone, before rolling his eyes, "I'll… fine…" Stiles pulls a face, and Lydia actually physically steps backwards when he even makes a gesture towards the body. With a sigh, Stiles steps forwards, trying not to scent the air too much.
The guy looks like a lifeguard. And there is definitely a lot of blood. It drips down his body, down his chest and arms, already dry on cold, dead fingers, a silver purity band around one of them. Around his throat there is a single, fine bruised red line.
Not three or four, finger-spaced claw marks. One fine mark like that of a knife or a single index finger.
Stiles cautiously scents the air. He almost throws up as the scent of blood hits him, but there is something more. Something deeper, earthier beneath that, like the air before a thunderstorm, the scent photocopiers give off…
Ozone, he thinks, it smells like ozone and lightning.
The same scent that was in Heather's basement after she went missing.
The Sheriff rubs at his forehead. He can already feel a headache coming on. It's been slowly progressing throughout the day, and it began ever since Stiles had sheepishly appeared before him this morning, shifting his weight from foot to foot with nerves and opening his mouth to explain how they lost two feral werewolves who were moon drunk and - oh, Lydia's gone on another bender, you know, like that one time she accidentally resurrected that psychotic alpha who I killed people with?
The girl is shaking. Tara wraps a blanket around her shoulder, speaking gently to her. There is no sign of her girlfriend - Emily - just some smudged footprints.
For a moment the Sheriff peers through the trees, wondering if Scott's still out there in the dark, or if he and Derek have already gone, racing after the two moon mad wolves.
At least, he thinks, they can explain away the sighting of two full shifted werewolves with the fact that the girl - Caitlin - was high on MDMA.
His phone rings. It's not his policy to answer personal calls while on shift, but the screen says 'Allison', and the last he'd heard, Allison had been looking for Lydia with Stiles.
"Allison?" he asks, answering it and pausing to wonder why he actually had Allison Argent's number programmed into his phone. Minutes later he's turning to Tara with a sigh, wondering if he still has those aspirin in his patrol car.
It's going to be a long night, the Sheriff thinks.
"It has to be the one with the eggs," Chris Argent sighs, leaning down to scoop up the brown paper bag and throw it in the trunk. It's not like it matters if any more break, they're probably already cracked.
He has his back to the parking lot and he's spent the whole summer in France, specifically not hunting, but the instincts aren't something he can just lose. A sound, a single footstep behind him creeping up in the dark and-
He whirls around, and he's really thankful it's McCall and not some harmless old lady he's about to give an early heart attack too. Scott looks startled, but doesn't run. Doesn't flinch or look like he's about to put up a fight. Just stands there, smiling weakly, "Uh… hi?"
Chris feels like he really should have argued harder with Allison when she suggested coming back to Beacon Hills.
"First of all, why would I care about anyone related to Derek? And second, I don't know this kid Boyd. I don't even know his last name." Chris shakes his head, and Scott thinks that this was a bad idea. He wonders how pissed off Allison will be if he bribes her to ask her father for him. Argent can't say no to his own daughter, can he?
"Boyd is his last name," Scott says. That's good, right? Humanize the werewolf for the werewolf hunter… with guns - why does he even carry a gun to go shopping? What is he expecting? The roast chickens to rise up in a zombie apocalypse?
The gun is still pointed at him. "What's his first name?" Chris is frowning.
"Vernon. And… just curious - is there a reason the gun is still pointed at me?"
"There's probably still some part of me that wants to shoot you."
Scott has to admit he appreciates the honesty, "We need your help," he lays it all out, "We want to catch them, stop them hurting anyone, but we don't want to have to resort to killing them!"
The hunter before him looks like he chokes just a little bit, "Scott, I'm a hunter. Kill things is what I do."
"Not anymore. Allison says you have a new code."
Chris narrows his eyes. Scott had just pulled out a low blow, but it hit. It definitely hit. "Where did you last see them?"
The full moon rages in the sky like the burning ball of bright rock that it is. Isaac grits his teeth and tries to ignore it beaming down on him. He loves it at times, the strength and power the bite gave him, but being controlled by a lump of stone in the sky?
Not cool.
Erica is practically sobbing, curled up in a ball nearby. Her mood swings regularly and Isaac doesn't venture closer because she's likely to lash out and the chains are worn enough as it is. Malia's coping better, but that's just because Isaac is beginning to have a skewed sense of the word 'better'.
His phone rings. Malia's head jerks up, her eyes that terrifying neon blue that both Stiles and Peter have. It makes Isaac's hair stand on ends, because wolves, proper wolves, don't have blue eyes. Wolves, real wolves, have gold eyes, with a few varying into browns and greens. Blue is a colour introduced from inbreeding with dogs.
Blue shouldn't belong on a wolf, not a proper wolf, but somehow the three wolves Isaac knows with blue eyes are all the more vicious for it.
He grabs his phone, squinting at the number, "Uh, Allison?" he has no idea why Allison would be phoning him, it's not like they spoke a lot last year and while they do appear to be getting on more, their only tenuous connection is through Scott.
"No, this is Stiles," he sounds annoyed. Isaac probably would be too if he had to borrow Allison's phone, "Where are you, dude?"
"Derek's loft," Isaac answers, "Why?"
"Scott needs help wrangling Boyd and Cora - can you come down and lend a hand?"
"Help? Uh… just because your only issue with the full moon is super senses, doesn't mean everybody has super control! I'm with Erica and Ma- Malia no! No biting!" He yanks his hand away from where the girl seems to be resorting to her more primal instincts. Isaac just hopes she doesn't go full coyote, if she even can. He remembers the terror she had been, Stiles dragging around this fur ball of vengeance. That's not even starting on how difficult it was to turn her back…
"I thought she was getting better at that," Stiles hums over the phone,.
"She'd be better if you were here," Isaac spits out. Malia appears to be able to hear Stiles' voice and whatever practise at control they have going from their previous full moons, she appears to be implementing it because while her eyes stay blue, her claws recede a bit and she looks a bit more sane.
"I'm not her baby sitter," Stiles snaps, "Where's Peter? Can't he help?"
"I'm not their baby-sitter either!" Isaac considers how desperate Stiles must be to ask for Peter's help, "And I don't know what happened to Peter, he ran off and I didn't ask - don't tell Derek but his uncle is creepy."
"I tell him all the time."
"Look, I don't know what I'm meant to be doing but - no, Malia, don't eat that!" Isaac snatches one of Malia's text books away from her.
"But I don't like math!" she whines, looking a bit more in control. Next to her Erica thrashes a bit, chains creaking and-
They're beginning to snap, Isaac realises, and he is so not cut out for this. Stiles is enquiring over the phone what is happening, the chains creak again-
A gun pumps and the girl - woman - with long dark hair and a bandage wrapped around her throat, levels a shotgun at Erica, "Don't worry," Braeden says; "It's filled with salt. Harmless, but it will pack a hell of a punch."
"Salt?"
Braeden shoots him a look, "Don't even ask."
Isaac doesn't, and on the floor Malia blinks, looking slightly cowed. She's still chewing on the end of a highlighter, but for the most part her pulse is steady and when Isaac glances at her she nods, "Hey," Isaac asks the mercenary, "Do you mind watching Erica for a bit?"
"Sure. Just please tell me this place has a kitchen somewhere."
Isaac obediently points to a door where there is indeed a tiny kitchen, and then lifts his phone to his ear, "Stiles? You still there? I think Malia and I might be able to help you out after all."
"How are you tracking them?" Chris asks, and he pulls his car up at the woods. Scott and Derek are already there, and Isaac and Malia linger nervously, although the vehicle they came here in is nowhere to be seen.
Scott checks his phone, but there are no messages. He hopes that means the pair haven't run into trouble.
"By print," Scott answers Chris' question, "At least we're trying to but it's not easy."
"It's not easy for somebody trained," Chris shrugs, "Even harder for people who aren't. Plus any prints here are long gone."
"Are you sure?" Isaac squints at the ground, "This large shape here could be Boyd and this smaller one…"
"-is your own," Chris shuts down any and all of their ideas like he's slamming the door in their faces; "You…" he pauses at Malia, but continues seconds later, "You four are spending time and energy resisting the moon while these two have given in to it. That makes them more dangerous, stronger, faster, and more powerful than you who are all holding yourself back."
"So what do we do now?" Derek sounds impatient. Chris turns to the back of his car where there is a duffel bag similar to Allison's. "Please tell me you have some ideas."
Scott turns to Derek, "We'll catch them," he assures the alpha, "We've got real help now and…"
"What are we? Raw liver?" Isaac curls his lip, and then lets out a yelp that is echoed by every other supernatural being there, "What is that?"
Chris actually looks a little bit sheepish, "Sorry," he says, clicking the silver thing in his hand off, "This is an emitter. It emits high pitched frequencies that only wolves can hear."
"No kidding," Scott rubs at one ear, "What's that going to do?"
"Besides deafen us," Malia adds.
Argent pulls several of the silver emitters from his bag, "You wanted to catch them, right? Well with the help of these, that's what we're going to do."
Scott doesn't get it. How are the high pitched painful noise things going to help? But Derek seems to have worked it out, "Oh," he says, "You're going to corral them."
Scott's brain clicks into understanding, "We're going to trap them," he says.
"That's what I just said."
"No," he shakes his head, "Trap them. Lock them up. Drive them somewhere and keep them there - except there is one issue. Where?"
Isaac and Malia exchange a glance and then a shrug, "How about the basement?" the blonde asks, "It should be empty at this time of night."
"The basement?"
"The school."
Argent shrugs. Derek looks mildly hopeful as Chris chucks them each an emitter.
This could just work, Scott thinks. It could just work.
"I thought you told your dad you were taking me home," Lydia hums, "Instead we stop to drop off a werewolf and werecoyote in the middle of the woods and now we are…"
"Setting traps," Allison says, "We're making sure they don't get out of the woods - according to Derek it was hard enough getting them in here. We don't want them getting into the middle of town - imagine the havoc they could cause."
"I'm trying not to."
"And the reason we're not with Scott is-"
"Because my dad is there," Allison pulls a face, "And one of the conditions about us coming back to Beacon Hills was that we gave up hunting."
"So you're saying your dad doesn't know about Deucalion?" Stiles drops down from a bank, shaking his head like a wet dog, "I thought that was what you spent your time in France doing."
"It's what I spent my time doing," Allison straightens, "Not that my dad knows that…"
Lydia rolls her eyes to the sky, "Oh great," she whispers, and Stiles hears her, huffing in amusement. "Where are we going now?" Lydia calls as Allison begins to head back to the road.
With a grin the hunter gestures at where Stiles has his hands pressed over his ears, "My dad's using the emitters to herd them."
"Emitters?"
"They're really, really high pitched and loud," the blue-eyed werewolf says through gritted teeth, "Any of you lot have headphones?"
"That didn't answer my question!" Lydia shouts after Allison, "Where are we going now?"
Stiles moves forwards, hands still pressed over his ears, "The same place Boyd and Cora will be going. Away from the noise."
"Which is where?"
He laughs, "Where else? The school."
A howl. Feet pounding on the ground. A clink of metal against claw as two humans with wolf running through their veins throw themselves up and over the chain link fence that separates the football field from the rest of the school.
They pause, scenting the air. Their growls rip through the night and they start moving. Predators. Hunters. Monsters.
With a screech of brakes Chris swerves his large SUV in the way of their path. They skitter back, changing course. That's the plan, Isaac thinks. Herd them. Woods to school. Chris to Derek to Scott to basement.
It should be easy, right?
There is a howl and growl in the distance. Chris slams his car door closed but Isaac is already racing forwards, heading after them. He almost runs into Scott coming the other way.
"Where are they?" Scott asks with a frown, "I thought they were coming but then they changed direction. Did you…?"
"No," Isaac shakes his head, "What about Derek?"
In reply, Derek appears, looking visibly frustrated, "They missed the school," he says, "They went over the top. They missed it entirely."
"No," Scott whispers, "No, they can't have…"
"They're gone," Malia skids up next to Chris, her eyes flashing blue. Her teeth are just a little bit fanged, but she appears to be in control. "I saw them race over towards the road but I couldn't catch up-"
"Show me," Derek moves over to her.
"I'll go with Chris," Scott says, "Isaac, can you circle around the school and check they're not still hanging around?"
He nods once and takes off. The earth falls away under his feet and Isaac never used to like running before the bite, but now he thinks it's freeing. It's easy, and he's almost looking forwards to the cross-country course this season.
There is a sound that sets him runner faster. Isaac's getting good at running away from things so it makes a difference to run towards the sound. He skids around the corner, spotting the buses and a dark shape standing on them. In the distance, he hears the snarls first before spotting Cora. Her face is twisted and wolfish, her fangs bared. A car flashes headlights and Isaac vaguely recognises Stiles' jeep. It's not Stiles in though, which means-
There is a whistling of wind and Cora lets out a snarl of pain. Footsteps echo as the person on the bus moves, launching another arrow that sinks into the female werewolf.
"Stop!" Isaac moves forwards, "Allison, stop!" He reaches Cora, the wolf no longer snarling. She's startlingly still, two arrows in her right shoulder. He leans over her, checking for a pulse.
The door to Stiles' jeep slams closed as Lydia climbs out, "It's okay!" she shouts. Allison leaps off the bus with a thump and Isaac wonders how she managed that without breaking her ankle.
"It's fine," Allison says, jogging up, "It's laced with a sedative - it should knock her out."
He relaxes, "Did you have to shoot her?"
Allison rolls her eyes, "Like I could get close enough to stab her with a needle," she says, "And my dad has the sniper rifle so I couldn't tranq her that way…" she pauses, "Is she okay?"
Beneath his fingers there is a pulse. Weak, and fluttering, but definitely there. He nods.
Allison looks relieved, and she offers him a small smile, holding her bow out as she steps around him, "I'll look for Boyd," she calls, "Take her somewhere, make sure she doesn't wolf out again."
Isaac wants to argue, but Cora is making small snarling noises in front of him. He doesn't want to risk losing her again, so he nods in agreement.
He just hopes that Erica is more under control than when he left her.
Scott's heart races in time to his blood pulsing in his ears and the moon beating in his head. But he's okay. He's under control.
For now.
He skids to a halt, casting his gaze around wildly but there is no visible sight of either feral wolf.
"I don't see them!" he tells Argent as the older man catches up to him, "They can't have gotten far…"
"Do you see that?" Chris squints at something. Scott follows his gaze, but it's not out and across to the distance where there is nothing but trees and shadows. Instead it is up and to the night sky where a light fades in and out of sight. Scott's eyes focus, lighting up gold as he observes the insect,
"The firefly?" he asks, voice tilting into a question. What's so special, after all, about a firefly?
"I know that," Chris sounds exasperated, "It's just…" he pauses, sounding puzzled. Like there is a conundrum being put in front of him and he can't solve it.
"What?" Scott casts another glance up at the firefly, drifting lazily above them. The two little kids had been catching fireflies, he remembers. He's never done it and he wonders why.
"Californian fireflies don't bio-luminesce," Chris says, and Scott blinks, his gaze turning back to the hunter, "It shouldn't be glowing," Argent adds.
And - oh - Scott thinks. Maybe that's why he and Stiles never ran out into the woods with glass jars as kids. "Do you think it means something?" he asks, finally realising where the older man is coming from, "Like the animals, the birds…"
He's cut off by a howl in the distance. Like a dog, Scott's head swivels towards the sound.
"That's Boyd!" he says, excitedly, "Let's go!"
He takes off running towards the front of the school, Chris Argent hot on his heels.
Allison gets Cora. Stiles? Stiles is left with Boyd. The larger werewolf barrels towards the town and without really thinking too much about it, Stiles tackles him, knocking him to the ground.
He had underestimated the larger wolf's size and strength. Boyd had a pack and he was under the influence of the moon. It leaves Stiles dazed and confused. Stiles barely manages to stand when something crashes into him; throwing him to the side.
Boyd sounds murderous. A growl wells up in his throat and Stiles blinks, pushing himself up to defend himself when-
Boyd pauses. His head tilts to one side as if listening and then he takes off, vanishing from Stiles' view.
Slumping back, Stiles allows his eyes to close. He can't do this on his own, he realises. Not this time. Allison and Isaac are around the corner with Cora. Scott and Chris are further off - Stiles counts all their heart beats: one, two, three, four, five. Six, seven: Malia and Derek. Eight, nine: Boyd and…
Stiles freezes, ice rushing through his veins. Lydia's the other side of the car park with Allison but then…
Who is that with Boyd?
Clawing himself upright, Stiles spins around, looking wildly for where the beta had gone. His heart beat echoes one two three four in Stiles' head and he moves forwards, trying to work out who the second heart beat belongs to.
She is standing by her car. Her keys are in hand and they chink slightly as she fumbles for the right one around the file of folders and bag she is carrying. Stiles can't even remember her name, he just vaguely recognises her as his new English teacher. Scott likes her; apparently she'd been the only teacher to show concern over his grades rather than straight out disapproval.
Well if Stiles didn't do anything soon, then they'd have to get another new English teacher.
However mid-punch, Stiles recalls exactly why it is a bad idea to get into a fight with another, stronger wolf without backup. Boyd knocks him back as easily as he had the first time, fangs bared. Over by her car, the teacher looks up, taking in the sight with a gasp and a scream.
"Run!" someone shouts who definitely isn't Stiles. Derek hurtles across the car park, Malia in his footsteps. Stiles feels a modicum of relief, seconds before Boyd throws him aside like a rag doll. For a moment he flies threw the air, and seconds later he crashes down on a car bonnet, feeling the metal bend beneath him. He rolls off, feeling like something has broken.
"Stiles!" Malia changes course straight for him, leaving the alpha to head for his beta.
His beta who is still intent of ripping out the throat of their new English teacher whose name Stiles still can't remember.
The clash between the beta and alpha is violent. Maybe had Boyd been under control he would have backed off, but as it is, Derek is just an obstacle to get past. Boyd lashes out with a snarl, yellow gaze intent on getting past.
Stiles isn't sure how it happens. He can only pay so much attention to the fight in the distance along with Malia, the teacher who is in her own car, slamming the door shut and the other members of their pack around the school. There is a shattering of glass as one of the wolves crashes into the car window. Then there is a sharp crack and the sharp smell of blood and-
It goes eerily quiet. The teacher - Blake, Stiles chooses now of all times to remember - she's still in the car, shaking. The one window is smashed in, and Derek stands by the broken pieces, staring in horror at Boyd.
Stiles allows Malia to help him stand, his senses reaching out, counting heartbeats all the time in his head…
One two three four Isaac Cora Lydia Allison five six seven Scott Argent Malia eight nine ten Derek the teacher his own, pounding in his head…
Stiles knows even before he's finished counting.
There's a heartbeat missing.
Isaac doesn't get very far, carting around an unconscious werewolf. It's not like she's heavy - he's a werewolf too after all - but he's not exactly intending to carry her all the way to Derek's loft. He ditches her in the back of Stiles' jeep and Lydia shoots him a disgusted look, sliding out with a "Like I'm going to stay here and watch her."
Isaac would have stayed. He would have waited for her to wake up - she had, after all, been with Erica. She's also kind of hot. That helps.
In the distance the sun rises over the trees, and he turns to call over his shoulder to the girls, "Allison!" he shouts, "The sun's coming up!" He realises what that means seconds later as the shift begins to recede from the girl - Cora - in front of him.
That's when a howl fills the air, full of pain and sorrow and…
"Isaac! Isaac, come back! I'm not watching the werewolf! Isaac!" Lydia shouts after him, but he's already gone. He hears Allison reassuring her, but it's not reassuring when the huntress runs after him, heading around to the front of the school, towards the sign, the front steps…
He finds his steps slowing. Stiles and Malia are huddled together and Scott is trying to talk to their English teacher whose car sits with a broken window and-
Argent looms behind Derek, the alpha werewolf standing over a body, staring at his hands with complete and utter abject horror.
"Oh my god," Allison's hand comes up to cover her mouth, "oh my-"
"Boyd?" Isaac moves forwards in a daze, "Boyd? Derek, what…" he stops, metres away from his… he searches for a word. Friend? Not really? Pack mate? Yeah, that… that works. It doesn't sound like enough, not really, but Isaac can feel Derek's sorrow mirror his own in claw marks across his heart because Boyd…
Boyd is dead.
"I had no choice," Derek says. He won't meet Isaac's gaze, won't look up beyond his own hands stained red, "I… I didn't have a choice…"
Boyd lies so, so still. His neck is twisted at an angle too far to be normal, and there is the indent of claws in his throat. Wolves can heal but they… they can't heal from that.
"You killed him," Isaac whispers, horror-struck, "You killed…"
Derek just sits there numbly, as if he doesn't know what to say.
"It happened too quickly," Malia whispers from where she and Stiles crouch. The wolf has healing gashes across his chest and the coyote still has the indentations of her own claw marks in her palms, "Boyd lunged for Miss Blake. Derek threw him away and…"
"I'm sorry," Derek says, numbly.
Even Argent is looking like he's remorseful, like he regrets it when Isaac knows…
He's seen what hunters do and they don't feel regret.
Derek stands slowly, as if feeling the weight of his deeds shoving him down into the earth. Scott steps forwards as if to help but Derek shrugs him off.
"Why couldn't you hold him down?" Isaac whispers, "The sun… just another half hour and…"
"You don't think I TRIED?" Derek snaps with a flare of anger and an aggressive step forwards, "You think I wanted this?"
"Derek…" Isaac begins, but Derek doesn't even let him finish, he latches onto a nearby piece of broken glass and throws…
Isaac ducks. His hands fly up to cover his head and it's instinct. It's all instinct, by now. He stiffens, not daring to look behind him…
"I…" Derek sounds muffled, like he's backing away, "I need to go…"
"Dude, that was-" Stiles stops, mid-sentence and moves towards Isaac, who glances over his shoulder, gaze fixed on Derek. Stiles pauses, as if he genuinely doesn't know what to say. Scott does though.
"Are you okay?"
Isaac doesn't know. His pack-mate… screw it, his friend is there, dead and Derek is leaving and kicking him out all at the same time and…
"No," he says, honestly, "No, I'm not fu-" he cuts himself off, "I'm going to… I'm going to check on Cora. And Erica. Yeah, I'm gonna… go…"
He turns around and walks away, because he can't take it. This is what the alpha pack wanted, he thinks.
Well they got it.
"And the hunter becomes the hunted," Peter appears from nowhere, whispering softly. "I can't believe a few high tech dog whistles actually worked."
"I didn't see you offering a hand," Lydia snaps at him, glaring with all the ferocity of a lioness. Peter actually steps back. Allison plays with her bow string.
"Personally I'm trying to cut down on futile endeavours," he sneers, glancing over at Cora, "I hear my niece is okay. I'm afraid the same can't be said for Boyd."
Lydia exchanges a heavy glance with Allison, "What do you want?" she asks, not interested in anything Peter has to say. Not really.
He just smiles, serenely, "You and I, we had a deal, Lydia. I just want to know when I can uphold my end of the bargain: I don't like to be in debt."
Lydia considers Peter for a moment. He's right. He still needs to tell her about her immunity and what it means. He needs to tell her what he knows.
But not now. Now Isaac is limping back around the corner followed by Stiles. Now Cora stirs in the backseat about to wake up to find out Boyd is dead.
Now isn't the time.
"I'll find you," Lydia tells him, "Where do you make your little wolf den?"
He blinks at her, "Wolf den?"
"Yeah," she curls her lip, "Big bad werewolf - where do you live?" Her tone is bordering on a sneer, but Lydia Martin is too perfect to ever sneer at someone. Instead it's a purr, powerful and dangerous. Not a housecat - a lioness.
Peter matches it with all the ferocity of a wolf. "In an underground network of caves hidden deep in the woods."
Then Stiles goes and ruins it, pausing by the driver's door, "Whoa," he blinks, "Really?"
"No, you idiot: I have an apartment downtown," Peter scoffs, "There is an old Hale vault hidden underneath the school, though."
Lydia misses the wry grin of Stiles', instead choosing to scoff, "Yeah, right," she says, turning and flaunting in a way none other than Lydia Martin can flaunt.
"I'll see you around."
"I hope not."
It's a fucking mess.
They leave Scott, Malia, Derek and Argent at the school. Stiles drops Isaac and Cora off at the loft. He drops Allison at home, and is about to do the same for Lydia who also somehow managed to fit into his jeep, when she reaches out a hand and stops him. "No," she says, "the hospital."
He doesn't really question it at this point. Least of all when Lydia shows him the voice mail later from Melissa, "You really need to get a new phone," Lydia comments, "She thought this was your new number or something."
"You sure you want to come?" Stiles says as they head towards the desk where Melissa is bending over a clipboard in the last hour or so of her night shift, "You don't want to get some sleep before school tomorrow?"
"Sleep is for losers," Lydia huffs, stalking straight past him over to where Melissa blinks at them.
"Oh, good, you're here." She pauses to blink at Lydia, "You both want to see?" she asks with a heavy sigh, "Well don't say I didn't warn you," she tells Lydia, "If either of you tell anyone I showed you this, I swear to God I will kill you painfully and slowly."
"Noted," Stiles drawls.
"I don't understand," Lydia slips behind Melissa into the morgue, "We've already seen the body. In fact - I found the body."
"So how did he die?" Scott's mother asks. Lydia wrinkles her nose and glances at Stiles.
"Bloodily," he says.
Melissa nods, as if that's the whole reason she's brought them here. She carefully draws back the white sheet, and gestures to the throat. Lydia leans closer and Stiles tries not to look.
"What is that?" he asks.
"Ligature mark," Lydia says before Melissa can, "He was strangled? But the blood…"
"Head wound," the nurse tilts the head.
"Is that brain matter?" Stiles feels queasy. The girls ignore him, "Well that's definitely not very werewolf-y," he adds, "You thinking serial killer?"
The nurse shakes her head, "He was hit hard enough in the head to kill him. Really hard. That's what caused the blood along with the throat wound.."
"Then why strangle him?" Lydia asks, "Why strangle him and hit him in the head and cut his throat. Surely one would have worked."
Melissa draws back the sheet, "Someone wanted this poor kid dead," she says sombrely, "And he wasn't the only one."
Stiles turns to where he's been trying not to look at the second body. Because he can smell her scent and he'd been hoping it had been in his head. But under the scent of death and blood and hospital is something familiar.
"The M.E. said this one wasn't just strangled. Whoever did it used a garrotte, which is a stick that you put through the rope, and you just kind of keep twisting, and… Stiles?" Lydia and Melissa are looking at him, and it's only then that Stiles realises he's crying.
He's going to kill the alpha pack, he thinks, if they did this.
But what kind of werewolf uses a garrotte?
"Heather," he says, throat thick, "Her name is Heather. She… I was at her party and…" he stops, something occurring to him. He glances at the other body, already covered up again and-
"Uh oh," Lydia says, "I know that look."
"Have there been any other bodies?" Stiles asks, and for some reason he glances at Lydia as if she would know. She meets his gaze and her expression is bleak, but confused. Melissa is shaking her head. "Anybody missing?" he pressed for information.
"Uh…" Melissa falters, "Two girls," she says, "One they brought in for a tox screen but the other, her girlfriend, Emily, just disappeared."
"In the woods?" Stiles confirms.
"What are you thinking?" Lydia asks, voice worried, "Stiles…"
He meets her gaze again, amber eyes meeting green, "I think I know what's happening."
He leaves Argent and Derek in the hospital. He doesn't want to stay any longer - he doesn't think he can bare it. Scott feels tiredness and exhaustion tugging at his limbs, and he tries not to think about the school work he has yet to do.
It's barely been a week and he already is beginning to drown with everything that is going on. He doesn't think he can keep this up, not if this… if this is the cost.
He spots his mom, and seconds later realises that Lydia and Stiles are with her. "I thought you went home?" he says to Lydia, but she's staring past him into one of the hospital rooms. Stiles is talking to a girl sitting in a hospital bed. Lydia makes a shushing motion and Scott pauses to listen because… the girl's voice is shaking. "They're gonna find her, right?" The worst is when she tags onto the end, "Aren't they?" She seems diminished. Broken down and dumped in the hospital bed for doctors to fix.
"Her girlfriend is missing," Melissa whispers in his ear, looking slightly confused as Stiles slips back out, greeting Scott with a thin, humourless smile.
"You okay?" Stiles asks him, "How's Derek?"
Scott pulls a face, "Not good. We took Boyd's body to the morgue. Called his grandma…" he stops, falling silent.
"I thought werewolves could heal from worse," Stiles says to Scott, "Remember that time Peter clawed out Derek's insides and Derek still managed to crawl away and drive his car?" Melissa looks alarmed but Lydia just nods in agreement.
Scott shakes his head, "He wasn't that badly injured," he says, "And you didn't see Boyd…"
"Derek looked dead," Lydia reminds him. Scott winces.
Snapped neck, Scott recalls. Burn scars, sure, internal injuries, if you're strong, sure, but a snapped neck?
There's no coming back from that.
It is Lydia who turns to Stiles, raising one eyebrow and jerking her head back to the room behind her, "So what was that about" she asks, "Why were you asking about her girlfriend? How did you know that it was going to be her first time?"
"What?" Scott questions, but Lydia shushes him again.
Stiles bites his lip, "the guy had a purity ring," he explains, "and Heather… she asked me… her and I were going to…" Lydia's expression clears and so he stops talking, "All three of them, they were all virgins," he says, "They'll find Emily, but it… it will be the same."
"I thought this was a random killing?" Scott frowns, "Are you saying it was the same person?"
"But what does it mean?" Lydia asks, "Why do that? Is it a serial killer?"
"A serial killer going after virgins?" Stiles laughs, "No these… these are human sacrifices."
