No one knew where Erica and Boyd were. Reason number one why, despite the Jackson being a giant scaly lizard situation being resolved, everything was still not okay. Derek said they'd planned on leaving, but they'd been caught by the Argents. Chris said he'd let them go, but where were they now? Sure, they could've just left, but…that didn't seem right. Gerard was presumably dead, so Jackson was no longer being controlled by him, so what was the danger? Sure, the Argents were still in town, but they followed the code—Chris has made that very clear when he chose the Pack over his own family. And it was really bugging Stiles, not knowing. It felt wrong, off.

So that's how he ended up on the Hale doorstep, braving the chance of seeing Peter in order to see Derek. He'd tried talking to Scott, but for the most part he was entirely focused on getting Allison back. His whole "I can wait" deal had ended after approximately two days. A week later, it was what all his efforts were on. As he pulled up to the Hale house, he saw Isaac on the porch, which was…looking more torn up than usual. Or…whoa, were they reconstructing? Sure enough, as he walked up he saw Isaac was ripping boards from the porch.

Isaac glanced up and…holy hell, could he at least use tools? Just because he had super strength didn't mean he should just use his bare hands to tear apart buildings. "Hey, Stiles."

"Hey…Isaac. Remodeling?"

Isaac smirked a little. "Yeah. Peter's idea. He thought Derek not having already tried to fix the place up was ridiculous."

Stiles glanced at the space where the door used to be. "No door? Was that Peter's idea, too?"

Isaac shifted his gaze to the ground briefly. "Uh…we're getting a new one."

"Obviously," Stiles said, picking up on the fact that—yet another—truth was being hidden from him, but not verbally acknowledging yet. He'd ask Derek. Isaac probably couldn't disobey the alpha and no doubt the lying wasn't Isaac's own idea.

"So is Derek here?"

"He went in to town to get some food," Isaac explained. "Peter wants to get the electricity going by tonight. He's gone, too, wanted to get a working fridge at least."

"Wow, so you guys are really getting stuff done."

"Yeah."

There was a pause in conversation.

"Do you know when Derek will be back?" Stiles asked.

Isaac shrugged. "Pretty soon, probably." He tapped his fingers twice in succession on his jeans. "Do you need to talk to him then?"

"Uh…yeah, I guess. I…yeah."

Isaac nodded. Awkward situation was awkward. "Is it about Erica and Boyd?" he burst out unexpectedly.

"No. Er…well, yeah." Stiles sighed. "I mean, I know that Derek thinks they left to join another pack and Scott thinks they're fine, too, not that he's that concerned about it at the moment, but I just…something's off."

"I agree," Isaac said, surprising Stiles. "After what happened, they wouldn't just leave. And we're not being hunted anymore, not by the Argents, so there's really no reason for them to still have left."

Not by the Argents. Stiles hadn't missed how he'd added on that bit. "Exactly! God, I'm glad someone else thinks so."

Isaac turned his head slightly, reminding Stiles of Scott when he was listening with his wolfy-senses. "Derek's here," Isaac said, and a few seconds later Stiles heard the sound of a car approaching. When it came into view and pulled to a stop in front of the house, Stiles saw Derek's shoulders tense at seeing him. It was great to feel so appreciated.

"What do you want?" Derek asked as he grabbed a couple bags from the backseat.

Even more appreciated. "What, I can't just stop by and say hello to my werewolf buddies?"

Derek gave him one of those looks, but Stiles ignored it. Instead, he tried, "Is not having a door a new werewolf fad or something?"

"Stiles, if you're just here to be irritating, leave."

"How are you still such a sour wolf? God. Fine, I came because I think something's wrong with Erica and Boyd."

"We've been over this," Derek growled as he walked into the house, Stiles following into what might've once been a kitchen. Derek began putting things that needed to be cold from the grocery bags into a cooler filled with ice, for lack of a current fridge. Clever.

"Yeah, I know, but seriously. What's going on? Why is Peter hanging around and why aren't you concerned about the fact that two members of your pack are totally MIA and what are you not telling me? And don't look at me like that, I know you are, you've done it enough for me to be able to recognize. You can either tell me or I'll find out on my own."

Derek walked back out to the car and Stiles went behind him. "I won't leave until I get some answers," he persisted.

Derek thrust a 24-pack of Pepsi at him to carry in and grabbed the other two himself. They walked by Isaac on their way back in, who was still working on the porch. "You want to know where Erica and Boyd are?" Derek asked. "I have no idea. I wish I knew, but I don't."

Stiles was speechless for a moment, shocked that it had been that easy to get Derek to admit it to him. "Oh…kay. So at least we're on the same page there. But what do you know?"

Derek set the packs of soda on the floor and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger before speaking. "I know there is another pack."

"What?" Stiles may or may not have dropped his pack of soda, earning a glare from Derek.

"Erica and Boyd thought they heard another pack. I tried to tell them it probably wasn't—and it wasn't—but they didn't want to stick around. I told them not to run, but... It was a trap, obviously."

"The Argents used a recording," Stiles said, somewhat to himself.

Derek gave him an angry stare for interrupting. "Sorry," he mumbled in a sarcastic apology.

"Peter," Derek said pointedly, "Is hanging around because we need numbers. The other pack that's here isn't small and it's not weak."

"Okay…and…"

Derek gave a final sigh of resignation. "It's an alpha pack."

"What?!" Stiles squeaked, which, really? Squeaking? Damn it.

Derek cringed slightly. Oops. Sensitive wolf ears.

"How is that even possible? I mean, Alpha's have their pack, they don't…can they even do that? Isn't there some werewolf law that makes that not possible? Or like—"

"Stiles."

"—how many are there? Oh god, there's probably ten times as many of them as there is us—you guys—"

"Stiles."

"What?"

"Calm down."

"Calm down? How am I supposed to calm down? There's a massive pack of Alphas for god's sake. You didn't kill me, Scott didn't kill me, Jackson, didn't kill me, but I can't escape death again. I am going to die—"

"Stiles. Stop being a girl."

"Hey! You know, both Allison and Lydia are girls and they're pretty badass."

Derek rolled his eyes.

"Okay, okay. What are you gonna do?"

"We're working on it."

"We?"

"Peter and me and Isaac."

"Uhh…what about Scott? Jackson?" Stiles new better than to suggest Allison, and Lydia had been through enough.

"Jackson's new and still adjusting and Scott won't join."

"Do they even know?"

Derek huffed and the huff and puff and blow your house down line came unbidden into Stiles' mind.

"Seriously? Derek, Alpha pack. They need to know."

"Okay, then tell them."

"But I can't—I mean—I don't even know anything about it—"

"You research everything else."

"Dude, why can't you just tell me?"

"Why did you come here, Stiles? You already knew Erica and Boyd were missing."

"I thought you might know—"

"Know where they went? Who took them? Most likely the Alphas. Where they took them? I have no idea."

"Okay, okay. Jeez. Can't you find them by scent?"

"And do what? Rescue them? There are at least fifteen, maybe twenty of them. I've got Peter, Isaac, and Jackson if he can even be included yet."

"You've got Scott, too."

Derek laughed humorlessly. "Right. Scott."

"Okay, well, maybe he's not in your pack, like, officially, but…I'm sure he'd help."

"He's made it very clear he has no interest."

"I can talk to him."

Derek's eyes flashed red. "Screw Scott."

"Dude! Hey! Chill out! Should I leave? I can leave."

"Do whatever you want," Derek said icily.

Stiles shrugged. "Fine." He grabbed a can of soda and opened it before going back outside. Isaac's company was a bit more pleasant. He pointedly ignored the daggers he could feel Derek shooting at his back.

Isaac paused just long enough to glance up. "Derek's…having a tough time," he said, because of course he'd been listening in.

"I couldn't tell."

Isaac tossed a board over the railing into the yard. "He's worried about them, too, you know."

Stiles shook his head, not denying it, but not wanting to hear it either.

They were quiet a while, Isaac working and Stiles drinking thoughtfully. "So why the lack of door?" he eventually asked.

"The Alphas marked it," Isaac explained openly enough now.

"Marked it? Like…"

Isaac actually laughed and, wow, was that a precious sound. "No, they didn't piss on it, Stiles. They left their symbol on it."

"Ahhhh. I see. Well, I don't, but. What does it look like?"

Isaac ripped up another board and extracted his claws. Stiles hopped up to watch as he carved a simple series of sharp angles with a triangle in the middle. "It's kind of like a triskelion," Isaac said, "but harsher." He turned it more towards Stiles.

"Huh." Stiles committed the image to memory, planning on researching it when he got home.

Isaac scratched over it. "Are you just gonna hang around here?"

Stiles shrugged. "It's not like I've got anything else do to. Is that a problem?"

"No, no," Isaac said quickly. "It's just, Peter's going to show up eventually, and I know you don't really like him."

"Why would I?"

"Well…I know he might be a bit twisted, but his entire family was burned to death and he almost was and he really was only killing people who helped kill him. His family."

"Tell that to Lydia," Stiles said quietly. In the past week, he'd felt his emotions towards her gradually shift. Seeing her and Jackson and…and how happy they were…he knew that she'd never feel that way about him. And maybe he never really had about her. Either way, he just wanted to protect her now. Like a sister. And Peter had nearly killed her.

"Okay, that was uncalled for, but he didn't kill her."

"He tried to bite me."

"He offered, it what I heard."

Stiles folded his arms across his chest stubbornly. "You can think whatever you want of him. I don't like him. In fact, I kind of hate him, and I don't think I'll be stopping any time soon."

Isaac backed down. "I respect that." He tilted his head slightly away. "And if you want to avoid him, you might want to leave now."

He huffed out a sigh. He didn't really want to go home to an empty house where he'd be left with nothing but his thoughts. "Just because I hate him doesn't mean I can't tolerate him."

"If you say so," Isaac said before going back to work.

Dean's careful. After Purgatory, after Cas had been so broken, and then shoved back together so forcibly…Cas' sanity was unstable. But unstable Cas was better than crazy Cas, and Dean wasn't about to shatter that.

Every once in a while, he'd catch Sam watching the two of them. Sometimes they'd be curled up on the bed together, Cas' head tucked beneath Dean's chin, his wings—even though Dean couldn't see them here like in Purgatory, because supernatural beings could only hide so much of themselves down there—wrapped protectively around Dean. And Sam would come in from another room or get back from a bar or a late night food run, and he'd watch them. Or there were the times he and Cas would be sitting on the couch, TV on but neither of them really watching it, and they'd just sit together in silence. Then there were the times when they wouldn't even be looking at each other. When Cas would actually use a door—or even when he didn't—and Dean wouldn't even have to look to know it was him. Or they'd be making supper or something—because Cas, apparently, liked to cook. It gave him something to do with his hands, served as a distraction, a mind occupier—and they wouldn't even be looking at each other as they passed two eggs, or exchanged knives, or washed dishes afterward. And Sam would sit quietly at the table, observing, not saying anything. Dean knew his brother worried, and he knew that watching them, seeing the way they worked together, liked they'd known each other for several lifetimes, gave him comfort. To know that his brother hadn't been alone in Purgatory—and that Cas hadn't either, for that matter—gave him some sort of relief, or peace.

When they were hunting, it was even more apparent. They would fight in sync, protecting each other's weak spots without even having to think about it, completing each other's movements. There were times when Dean used to worry he wasn't spending enough time with Sam, but Sam assured him—on multiple occasions—that he and Cas had been through a lot—like, monster land, a lot—and it was fine. And Dean kind of loved him for that, because even though he and Sam were still a couple of codependent Achilles' heels, Dean couldn't just forgot everything he and Cas had been through—in and out of Purgatory.

Dean remembered how, after Bobby died, it had seemed like they were completely alone, with no one but each other. But they hadn't been. There were still other humans, other people on Earth who wanted to do good. In Purgatory, there were only monsters that wanted to rip your throat out. Over and over and over and over. Sure, there was the small handful that wasn't dead set on ripping and tearing and shredding, but they would never help. He had literally had no one but Cas, and vice versa. It had kind of put things in perspective.

Dean heard the hotel room door open and there was that brief moment of tension where his hand moved to wake Cas, who was asleep with on the floor with his back against the couch, but of course Cas was already awake having sensed the change in Dean, before he remembered it was just Sam. His brother came into the room, a bag with some obscure fast food joint logo on it.

"Supper," he announced.

Cas wasn't cooking tonight because they'd just wrapped up with a nest of vamps all he really wanted to do was rest. Yeah, he was still an angel and maybe he wasn't supposed to sleep and maybe Dean shouldn't let him, but, like he'd said, mental status: unstable. If Cas wanted to sleep, Dean would let him sleep. Not to mention, Cas seemed to have lost all his angel mojo aside from the flight aspect. Of course, he was awake now.

Instead of moving to the table, Sam joined them on the couch, taking a seat next to Dean after he moved over and Cas sat down. Sam reached for the remote, turned the TV on, and kicked his feet up.

"There's been a dozen bloody killings—so called animals attacks—in the past week all around the same spot in California. Could be our thing," Sam said, as he took out his food and passed the bag to Dean, who in turn took out Cas' food and gave it to him first before getting his own.

"We'll go check it out in a few days," he said, because his angel was tired and still didn't exactly like fighting and they'd literally just finished killing almost a dozen vampires a matter of hours ago.

Sam nodded in understanding. "I think I'm gonna go out for a drink later. Don't wait up for me." And Sam wasn't being rude by not inviting them, he just knew that after a hunt Cas wouldn't want to go anywhere and Dean wouldn't want to leave Cas.

"Don't forget we're checking out tomorrow," Dean reminded.

"I won't."

After they were finished eating and Sam had left, Cas fell asleep with his head on Dean's lap and, yeah, Dean ran his hands through Cas' hair because Cas could be a bit of a cat sometimes.

Everything was fine at first. But then again, everything was always fine before it wasn't. Cas started stirring, minute amounts. But Dean knew what followed and he also knew he couldn't wake him. It was times like these when he wished he'd demand Cas not sleep—because he knew if he said not to, Cas would listen. The shaking came next. Uncontrollable shivering, a cold that went deeper than bones. It was Purgatory cold. The outside temperature could be freezing or a hundred degrees, it didn't matter. Dean remembered what if felt like—like your very essence was a hundred degrees below zero, all the time. At first, he'd thought Cas couldn't feel it when they were there, but then it became apparent that he'd just been doing a fantastic job of hiding it. And now his brave little angel couldn't seem to forget it.

He pulled Cas closer and tightened his arms around him, he mumbled whatever came into his head, remembering Cas having once said his voice was comforting. This time it was what was beneath the Impala's hood. He rambled about how the different parts worked together, how he knew if something was wrong with his Baby.

Then came the horrible, broken whimpers. Dean had seen Cas cry once: two days after they arrived back on Earth. And that had honestly been one of the most horrific experiences of his life. Seeing an angel cry wasn't right. And, even though Cas never full on cried during his nightmares, the whimpering was enough to make Dean wish he could wrap Cas up so tightly that he'd just melt into him and he could protect his friend from everything.

After an eternity of minutes or hours or who knows, Cas finally woke. He didn't open his eyes, but Dean knew, because he stilled and grew quiet again. His fingers were digging into Dean's arms and he loosened them but didn't let go.

They sat for another indistinguishable amount of time before Dean picked Cas up and carried him over to the bed. He left him there while he went to get two glasses of water. Cas was sitting up when he got back, fingers holding the edge of his sleeves to cover most of his hands, and knees pulled up to his chest. He'd stopped apologizing about the nightmares long ago, unfortunately after Dean had snapped at him to quit. Then, of course, Dean had apologized a million times for snapping at Cas, but he still didn't apologize after that.

He took one glass silently from Dean and Dean sat beside him on the bed after grabbing the extra blankets off the floor. They carried six, in addition to the two Sam and Dean had used for nights spent in the Impala in the winter, for Cas alone. Dean didn't know if it was an angel-slash-bird thing or if it was something to do with remembering the cold, but either way, he liked sleeping amongst heaps of blankets, so the Winchesters let him. Of course, carrying around that many extra blankets cut down on their wardrobe. (Cas insisted he didn't care that he only had two pairs of jeans, two shirts, and a pair of plaid pajama pants, and he was an angel, so why should he, really?) And his trench coat was in the Impala's trunk, along with Dean's amulet which he'd found out Sam had been holding onto all this time. Leave it to Dean's brother to make him feel like a total ass after getting back from Purgatory.

"Are you okay with going out to California?" he asked Cas as he arranged the blankets around them.

Cas took a small sip of water before speaking. "I'll go wherever you go."

Dean held in a sigh and continued adjusting the blankets. Some days were like this, where Cas would fall back into the obedient-soldier-mindset Dean hated, but he did his best to tolerate them and not be too harsh. Cas'd probably be better tomorrow.

"Would you rather stay here?" Dean asked him.

"I like it here." And Dean knew they weren't talking about Nebraska vs. California now. They had moved to a bigger spectrum.

"Alright, buddy," Dean said gently, taking the glass of water from Cas and placing it beside his on the nightstand because, once, he'd made the mistake of leaving a drink in Cas' hand when he was like this and when he'd woke up the next morning, he found Cas still awake, in the same position, still holding the glass.

Once again—unstable.

Dean didn't bother with the lights. Cas curled up against his side.

"Wake me up in the morning," Dean said, and even though Cas didn't respond, Dean knew he'd heard him.

Okay, so Stiles Stilinski wasn't Peter Hale's biggest fan and he may or may not have let that show, contrary to his statement of being able to tolerate Derek's uncle. And, okay, he'd thrown that unopened can of Pepsi at the back of his head, but he'd been asking for it, and it wasn't like he didn't catch it anyway, what with his stupid super werewolf senses. Stiles didn't think about the fact that he'd noticed Derek growl after Peter made a comment about the time he'd offered Stiles the bite and it was a snarky comment, but Stiles couldn't remember it, but he knew it was the final straw before he'd thrown the soda.

So, yeah, Stiles left and went back home.

And then he researched Alpha packs.

Given, there wasn't a lot on the subject, but he'd found a little. For example, they were a lot more dangerous than your average wolf pack. Thanks, internet. Thanks. Actually, the only really valuable piece of information it gave him, was that they showed up whenever there was a new Alpha. Which led Stiles to wonder, had they been here since Peter killed Laura? Anyhow, their main purpose upon arrival was getting the new Alpha to join their pack. And—damn you, Google—they would go to extreme lengths to get what they wanted. What was "extreme lengths" for an Alpha pack? Threaten to wax that extra hair that grew in when they wolfed out? Or would that being doing a favor?

Stiles really wanted to know more, but he didn't want to have to see Peter again and Derek had probably already convinced himself he'd said too much to Stiles and Isaac most likely didn't know much more than Stiles.

Stiles shut his laptop and plopped down on his bed. He blamed Peter for all this. If Peter hadn't killed Laura, then Derek wouldn't have had to kill Peter, and none of this crap would've ever had to happen. If he could erase one person's existence in this world, it would be Peter's. Or maybe Kate Argent's. She was kind of a bitch. Okay, if he could erase two—

"Stiles!" his Dad called from somewhere that wasn't his room. "You home?"

"Yeah, Dad! In my room!" he shouted through the closed door.

A few seconds later, his dad knocked and Stiles opened the door. "What is it?" he asked upon seeing his dad's expression.

"I don't want you staying out late for a while, alright?"

"Why? What happened?"

"Those so called animal attacks that were supposedly over? It looks like they're not."

Damn Alphas. Stiles was willing to bet his jeep it was them. Well, maybe not his jeep, but…

"Who died?" And that sounded a little more morbid than what he'd been going for.

"Three people at the gas station. Two employees and one customer. Slaughtered, like the ones before."

Stiles wondered if Derek knew about the murders yet.

"Okay, Dad. I won't stay out late." Except he probably would.

His dad announced he was going to shower and hit the hay, and Stiles figured he might as well, too. The internet wasn't giving him anything on packs of Alphas, and it was too late to go anywhere—not to mention his dad had just told him not to be out late. So Stiles peeled off his clothes and changed into a t-shirt and some pajama pants. As he made his way over to shut his window (and, okay, a werewolf could just jump through it, but maybe they didn't want to make a ruckus) he glanced out and saw Derek looking up from the ground. And—what? Derek?

He didn't run away when Stiles saw him, instead stared directly at him. Why was he creeping on Stiles now? He thought they'd moved past that awkward stage after Derek had become Alpha. Apparently not. At least this time he wasn't in Stiles' room. Though, Stiles almost wished he was at the moment, because he kind of really wanted to have a nice little chat with the guy about "extreme lengths" and see if he knew about the murders yet and why was he still standing there? Stiles figured he had some time before his dad got out of the shower, so he left his window open and went down to the front door to talk to Derek, but when he walked around to the side of the house, Derek wasn't there. Okay, cool. Just leave when actually using words became a possibility.

Stiles went back inside and up to his room and—holy crap!

"What the hell—"

Derek brought a harsh finger to his lips and Stiles lowered his voice.

"As I was saying, what the hell? I went out to talk to you."

"And I came in to talk to you," Derek said gruffly.

And Stiles was not going to get into some petty argument with a werewolf. He sighed. "Okay, what? Did you hear about the murders tonight?"

Derek nodded. "But not much. I wanted to know if your dad knew anything about it."

"He just got back from there, and he's pretty tired. He didn't say much to me about it, other than it was a complete bloodbath. Was it the Alphas?"

Derek frowned at him.

"What?"

"Don't go out until this gets figured out."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, Dad. It's not like they couldn't get in if they wanted to kill me."

"Well, if they don't see you, maybe they won't think to kill you, idiot," Derek said, shoving Stiles back against the wall.

"Alright, alright! God, calm down."

Derek let him go and backed away towards the window. "Just don't do anything stupid."

"Everything I do is stupid," Stiles said with a smile.

Derek gave him an "I'm serious" look and left through the window, which didn't make much sense because he was a wolf, not a bird, but whatever.

Sleep didn't come as easily as he thought it would, so Stiles texted Scott, quickly filling him in on the murders and saying to be careful, then texted Lydia and told her to tell Jackson about it in case he didn't know already. He didn't even bother telling Scott to tell Allison—it was apparently impossible for him to know anything and keep it from Allison. Even when they were broken up, for god's sake. He was certain enough that Derek would have told Isaac that he didn't take the time to text him, too, except then he did, because he absolutely could not fall asleep no matter how many freakin' werewolves he counted. Isaac answered fastest, despite getting the message last, saying,

Derek told me. Be careful.

And seriously? Why did everyone think he was going to do something stupid? Allison said her dad had heard about it and was looking into it.

He didn't get an answer from Scott, and all Lydia said was, Great.

Stiles didn't mention the Alpha pack.

For the next week, Stiles kept tabs on his dad's police radio whenever possible. Two more killings occurred in Beacon Hills alone, and in surrounding towns he found out the total murder count added up to a dozen or so. Which was kind of a lot, because, hello, this wasn't San Francisco.

On Saturday, he got a text from Derek saying for everyone to go to his house that afternoon. Everyone probably meant he'd sent it to their whole dysfunctional little family (because, yes, even if they hated each other half—or more than half—of the time, they were still just like an extremely dysfunctional family in his own mind. Emphasis on extremely dysfunctional.)

Stiles made a point of being a few minutes late, just so he was guaranteed someone else would be there besides him in case Derek wasn't there right away for some reason and Peter was. Which was probably really stupid because Isaac basically lived there now, so why would Stiles have ended up alone with Peter? But being safe couldn't hurt anything.

Allison, Lydia, Jackson, and Isaac were all there when he showed up. He was a little surprised to see Allison, but then he caught Lydia having some sort of intense stare-down with someone on the other side of the room. When he saw it was Derek, he quickly put the pieces together, realizing Lydia had probably invited Allison which was pretty awesome of her considering everything that had been kept from her for so long.

Derek finally rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen. "Did Scott say he wasn't coming?" he asked without turning around.

Everyone (except Derek) turned to look expectantly at Stiles. "What? Why me?"

"Because you're his best friend," Jackson said in that irritating better-than-you voice.

"Well, I haven't heard from him," Stiles said, crossing his arms and plopping down on the—holy hell there was a couch!

Lydia looked at him like he should be doing something.

"What?"

"Call him or something!" she said obviously.

"We can just start without him and catch him up if he decides to get his werewolf ass over here."

Derek appeared to glare at him.

"God, okay! I'll call him." He reluctantly got his phone out and dialed Scott's number. Perhaps several past events had led him to not enjoying calling Scott. Mostly because a) he never answered, and b) when he did answer, he hung up before Stiles could say anything. I.e. Derek, swimming pool, Jack-ima.

"What is it."

Wonders never cease.

"Dude, where are you?" Stiles asked.

"At home, trying to sleep, why?"

"Because you're supposed to be at Derek's, moron."

"What?"

Stiles sighed in annoyance. "Check your texts. Actually, no, just get over here. Everyone's waiting on you."

He ended the call before Scott could say anything back. Ha. How did that feel? "He should be here shortly."

Twenty minutes later, Scott (asshole) showed up. And before him, Peter arrived. Hence (asshole). Leaving him with Peter. Well…he had two other people and two other werewolves

He mumbled an empty apology when he came through the door. Stiles wondered if maybe something had gone down between him and Allison. Usually all his efforts were focused on getting her back, but now he sat in a chair as far away as possible from her. Super weird.

"Now that everyone's here," Derek said none too subtly. "There's something all of you should know." Stiles swore he paused for dramatic effect. "There's another pack in town."

"Oh my god, they killed those people, didn't they?" Allison guessed.

Derek nodded. "And they're not just your average wolf pack." He paused again, but Peter jumped in after rolling his eyes.

"They're an Alpha pack. Well over a dozen, but definitely not two dozen.

"Why are they here?" Lydia asked.

"Because Derek became Alpha," Peter said.

"They originally came after Peter was Alpha," Derek clarified. "They just…took their time. When they finally arrived, I'd already become the new Alpha."

"So…what?" Jackson asked. "They didn't just come to welcome you to the club."

"No," Derek said. "They're always looking to enlarge their pack."

Stiles gaped. "You mean—they came for you?"

"Maybe. But"—he looked at the rest of the group—"they're the ones that took Boyd and Erica. I think maybe they want to convince them to kill me. Getting them to join their pack will probably be easier."

"This is so screwed up," Stiles muttered, running his hands over his buzz cut.

"Scott, you've been awfully quiet," Peter observed.

"This crap never ends," he said, sounding more like an emo teenager than he probably intended to.

"Welcome to life," Peter said. "Deal with it, Scott."

But Scott was seriously acting like a child right now, and he marched out the door without another word. Isaac was shifting uncomfortably in his seat, glancing at Derek, then the door and…oh my god, he's leaving, too. Stiles noticed Derek made no attempt to stop him though. Yay, free will.

Allison cleared her throat. "So what are we going to do?" Maybe eager wasn't the right word, but she was definitely ready to redeem herself.

"I believe they have Erica and Boyd and…" Derek cast such a brief glance at Stiles that if he blinked he would've missed it, "…we have to try to get them back."

"Okay, then," Lydia said, sitting up a little straighter. "How do we do that?"

"I want to make sure everyone knows what this means—an Alpha pack is ten times worse than your standard pack, and they're numbers are far greater than ours."

"Up to two dozen, you said." Lydia flicked her hair over her shoulder. "I'm in."

Jackson turned his head to her and opened his mouth to say something, but Lydia ended it with, "Shut up, Jackson."

He turned back to Derek. "I'll help, too," he said resignedly.

"And of course I'll do everything I can," Allison said.

"I'm all for getting the pups back," he said with a grin.

"Great," Peter said. "So that's an Alpha, two werewolves, one hunter, and two humans. Against twenty Alphas. Great odds."

"We can still ask Scott and Isaac," Derek said. Stiles didn't mention anything about the other days' Screw Scott comment.

"I could ask my dad," Allison offered. "If everyone's okay with that."

Derek's brow furrowed. "I'll think about it and let you know. If anyone gets a chance to talk to Scott, do. In the mean time, be careful. The full moon's coming up."

"Speaking of," Lydia said. "I was wondering if Jackson could stay here. For the full moon. We don't know how he'll react yet, and just to be safe, we thought it would be best for him to be here with you."

Derek nodded. "Of course. Bring him over."

"And I want to stay, too."

This took Derek by surprise. "You…that's not a good idea."

"Isn't it? Allison was Scott's anchor. I helped Jackson."

Peter chuckled to himself. "Remember, Derek. Never underestimate the power of human love."

Derek whipped his head around to glare at his uncle before giving in. "Fine. Everyone can leave now."

Sunday came and went, and Monday it was back to school. There was only about a month left, but every day seemed longer than the last. Stiles tried to talk to Scott about helping out with getting Erica and Boyd back, but he never got a straight answer. He gave up and asked him if he wanted to come over after school, but Scott said he was going to hang out with Isaac. Like, okay, where did that come from?

"Oh. Okay, cool. I'll…see you tomorrow then."

As he left to get to his jeep, Lydia waved at him from across the parking lot. He gave an answering wave and she gestured for him to come over. He did so without complaint, because, hey, this was Lydia, and even if he wasn't harboring a crazy crush on her, he still thought she was awesome and they were almost sort of friends now.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I was wondering if you knew what's going on between Scott and Allison."

"You noticed it, too?"

Lydia nodded. "Usually he's pining after her."

"I know. I wish I knew, but he hasn't said anything to me."

"Allison hasn't been the most sharing either." She glanced over Stiles' shoulder and he turned to see Jackson approaching. "I'll see you later, Stiles," she said. "Let me know if you hear anything."

He gave her a friendly smile. "Sure thing, Lyd." He walked back across the parking lot to his jeep.

Oh.

Oh god.

He'd just called her Lyd.

He, Stiles Stilinski, had just spoken to her, Lydia Martin, using a nickname.

Was that legal? Was that considered rude? Did she even like nicknames?

Why was he freaking out?

In his pocket, his phone buzzed. It was from Lydia. Should I start calling you Jar?

He let out a sigh of relief. Good. She thought it was funny. Or at least she wasn't pissed.

As he got out of his jeep once he was home, he glanced over his shoulder in time to see a black classic car speed by. He only noticed because Beacon Hills didn't get a lot of well-maintained old cars. He let out a low whistle and turned to go inside.