Hey guys! This is the mystery fic I mentioned in 'spirit', so I hope you've been looking forward to it. This was a prompt from a guest in 'purpose', to the effect of: 'Isaac isn't in France on whim. Scott and Mr Argent sent him as an emissary for the packs to the mother-group of hunters- dangerous and near suicidal, yes, but Isaac needed danger, and this could change everything'. I have no idea if this is anything like what you were envisioning (or if you're even reading this), but I hope you enjoy it. Actually I hope everyone enjoys it. Please review if you did, it'll make my day. Usual warnings for me: violence, torture, etc, etc. It's not too bad though. Enjoy, and don't forget to review!

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You're not running.

.

That's what you keep telling yourself. In the cab, at the airport, on the plane. You remind yourself that it was a choice, that Scott sent you on a mission, that Mr Argent is counting on you.

(But that doesn't matter, because he was probably counting on you to keep his daughter safe too.)

.

The mission.

It's crazy. It's dangerous.

In all honesty, you kind of hope it'll get you killed.

.

You may have caught the first plane out of Beacon Hills, but

you

are

not

running.

.

And even if you were, it wouldn't make a difference.

You know better than anyone that you can't outrun your demons.

.

A dark-haired, bright-eyed hunter whose name you still can't speak taught you enough French to get you from the airport to your hotel. Everyone here seems civil, if a little reserved, and you haven't come across any other supernatural creatures.

This should be reassuring, but instead it makes you worried.

And it makes you feel alone.

.

An American werewolf in Paris.

Because this is going to end well.

.

As soon as you unpack, you call Scott like the dutiful little beta you always pretended you weren't. You tell him the flight was fine and the food was fine and the whole goddamn world is freaking fine, and Scott acts like he buys it and you're not sure if that makes you more sad or relieved.

There's a pause just before you hang up, and then.

"Thanks for checking in with me."

There it is. That ever-subtle reminder that at one point, you were set to run. You were going to flee with Erica and Boyd when the hunters were after you, but instead you stayed. You fell in with Scott and his pack and your reward was to watch the love of your life die.

(As an added bonus, she died with another wolf's name on her lips.)

"No problem," you say as you hang up, and you wonder how many times you're going to have to lie to him.

.

Your first day in Paris is uneventful. You know why you're here, of course. You're a delegate. (Or a sacrifice, you think to yourself in the darker hours of the night.). A representative from the True Alpha of Beacon Hills and the hunters who ally with him. You're here to extend an olive branch, to bring a little bit of peace to a world that seems to be rapidly and repeatedly falling apart.

You're here because Scott told you to be, and you're here alone because that's the way it's always been.

.

You wander the streets and drink coffee in a cute little café that seems primarily staffed by models and you even make it to a museum at one point, but then the crowd gets to you and you flee to the nearest open space.

As you sit on a park bench and watch the clouds start to roll in, you think about what the city looked like in your imagination, how it felt when you spent hours talking about where you'd go and what you'd see and which hotels you'd stay at.

It's a one-sided conversation these days, and there's no shared croissants and tender caresses and goofy pictures by the Eiffel Tower.

There's just you, alone on a park bench, waiting for the downpour.

.

On your second day in the city, your contact shows up. She's petite and perky and introduces herself in perfect English, and giggles at your surprised expression.

"I go to school in London," she explains as she takes your hand and leads you down the street. "I just come here for the holidays."

You raise your eyebrows and she repeats it all in French, just for your pleasure. You're not sure, but you think it almost makes you smile.

.

Your contact's name is Louisa, and she's two days older than you. She gets dimples when she smiles and her raven-colored hair catches the sunlight and she trips over her own feet more often than anyone you've ever met.

If you'd met her a year ago, you probably would've loved her.

But all you can think is that the only girl you've ever loved will never get to walk these streets with you.

So each time Louisa smiles, you feel a little smaller inside.

.

It will take time, Louisa explains. She's the representative for her clan – one of the oldest and most respected clans of werewolf hunters. She's meant to spend time with you and make sure you're genuine before she'll let you anywhere near the rest of them.

"They sound like a friendly bunch," you remark over coffee on your third day.

"Friendly, no." Louisa helps herself to a bite of your pastry. "Dedicated, yes." She pauses, looks you up and down, and says, "You know, I think they're really going to like you."

She says it like a compliment, but that's not how it makes you feel.

.

You spend three weeks trailing Louisa around the city. At first it's just hanging out, but then it becomes more serious. By the end of the first week you're in a deserted park and she's demanding that you show her what defensive moves you know. By the end of the second, you're sitting in a corner at yet another café and explaining just exactly why the famed True Alpha would send a beta to do his work. By the end of the third week, you've shifted in front of her just to prove you're who you say you are, and she finally announces that you've ticked all the boxes.

"All except one," she says, tucking her list into her back pocket and moving toward you.

You stiffen, wary rather than scared, although an ambush isn't out of the question. "What's that?" you ask, trying not to let your voice shake.

"I know your attack strategies, your life story, your pack's history," she says, and with each she takes a slow step forward until she's standing right in front of you. "But what I don't know, Isaac Lahey, is how good of a kisser you are."

.

An hour later she scribbles A+ on your palm and with a quick smile she darts out the door.

.

"So what's Louisa like?" Scott asks that night in your usual daily phone call. "Is she still as terrifying as -" Realizing what he's about to say, he quickly changes track. "- as other hunters?"

You pause a moment, looking down at the A+ still scrawled across your palm. "No," you say, "she's actually kinda nice."

.

Over the next week you and Louisa grow closer, and you start to forget about your pack back in California.

You don't think about Lydia, with her razor-sharp wit and her dazzling smile.

You don't think about Kira, with her endearing clumsiness and her warm eyes.

You don't think about Stiles, with his stupid sense of humor and his sharp mind.

You don't think about Derek, with his permanent scowl and his lineage of power.

You don't think about Scott, with his generous heart and his never-ending patience.

You don't think about any of them.

(Except that you do.)

.

In another lifetime, you think you could have loved Louisa.

It's just a little hard to give your heart away when it's buried six feet underground.

.

When you've been there for a month, you're finally ready. Louisa sets up a meeting and before you know it you're standing at the gates of a mansion that seems ten times bigger than your high school.

You pass security and make it to the door, and when you knock you're greeted by an actual, honest-to-goodness butler. He seems mildly disapproving of the fact you don't have a coat for him to take, but you shrug off your jacket and hand him your scarf and it seems to assuage him for now.

Louisa leads you down a long hall, with thick red carpet and walls that are only a shade lighter than blood.

"The meeting room's in here," Louisa says, pointing toward a large door at the end of the hall. "You can go in."

You hesitate when you see she's not coming with you, but then you take the plunge and step inside.

And realize how accurate the word 'plunge' is when you feel the floor give out beneath you and you fall into darkness.

.

You hit the ground hard, and when you find it in yourself to open your eyes you see that you're in a cavernous dungeon, a place that smells like death and metal and blood. You sit up slowly, every muscle protesting, and you realize that this was a trap.

And, just as quickly, you realize there's nothing you can do.

.

Louisa comes back half an hour later, through a door in the corner that you hadn't noticed, and she's not alone. Behind her are two boys, younger than you and Louisa, but with a sadness in their eyes that makes them seem older than their years. But they see you and the sadness turns cold, like a glowing knife dipped in water, and you feel your heart constrict.

"There he is," Louisa says, throwing a careless hand out to indicate you, all but huddled against the wall. You're scared, although you hate to admit it, and even if you shift you're not going to be able to fight your way out. The three people in front of you are highly trained, incredibly skilled werewolf hunters.

And you're just a boy with a broken heart, and, after that fall, probably a few broken bones too.

.

The hunger in their eyes makes you flinch, but there's nowhere you can go. The boys advance on you, each pulling out a small, sharp dagger. You can scent the tang of wolfsbane, and you know that this isn't going to be a mission about peace. Suddenly, it's about survival.

.

"Let's see what he knows," the shorter of the two boys says, eyes glimmering and knife glinting.

.

You don't know anything, but you don't tell them that.

.

You just close your eyes and wait for it to be over.

.

An hour later you're bruised, broken, and bleeding, but you can already feel your body starting to mend itself, stitching itself back together bit by bit. It's a painful process, and all the wolfsbane in your system makes it take twice as long.

You realize that was the point. They didn't give you enough to kill you; they didn't hurt you enough to break you.

The way they're acting, it's like they have all the time in the world.

And you can't help but feel like yours is running out.

.

In the week that follows, you have plenty of time to think. It's just you and your thoughts and the occasional rat that scurries in the shadows, and you sit in a corner with your arms around your knees and you try, try, try not to think.

(It never works.)

.

You think about Louisa. About how she tricked you. How she was playing you from the start. You tell yourself that's why you couldn't love her; subconsciously, you didn't trust her.

You tell yourself that, but you don't quite believe it.

.

You stop pretending not to think about the pack you left behind in Beacon Hills. You would give anything just to be sitting in math class with Lydia, or playing lacrosse with Scott, or training with Derek. You think you could even handle hanging out with Stiles if it meant you'd be out of this godforsaken place.

You think about why Scott and Argent sent you on this mission and not someone else. It's not because you were the strongest or the smartest or the most suitable.

It's because you were the most expendable.

.

You know you're not going to make it out of here alive, but you just wish there was some way you could warn whoever's going to follow in your footsteps.

In the small hours of the morning, you even start to wish that someone had come with you, just so you wouldn't be alone.

.

There's one thing you won't let yourself think about, no matter how bad it gets. You still can't think her name, but her face invades your dreams and you think you can hear her laughter. For the millionth time you remember that you're never going to hear that sound again, that she's never going to look you in the eyes or steal your fries when she thinks you're not looking, that she's never going to say your name again.

You remember, but god you wished you didn't.

.

For a week you bite your tongue, the only thing you can do to stop yourself from screaming. The hunters want to know everything about Scott's pack, but they're not asking like people interested in an alliance – they're asking as hunters. Predators. People who would kill your friends in a single swoop and not think twice before turning the blade on you.

And they want your help to do it.

.

You won't betray your pack.

.

You won't.

.

You won't betray your pack. You can't. You can't do that to them. You can't.

.

You won't.

.

(You do.)

.

Searing pain shoots through you and you crumble, collapsing in on yourself. Make it stop. Make it stop make it stop make it

.

STOP.

.

There's silence, and you open your tired eyes to see all three hunters looking at you in amusement. And you realize that your own body has betrayed you, that your tongue has started to spill the secrets you swore you'd take to the grave.

"Hear that?" Louisa says to her companions. "Little wolf's howling. I told you he would."

"Well," says the taller of the two boys, putting his knife away and giving you an appraising look, "let's see if he can tell us anything useful."

.

You won't.

.

You can't.

.

You try to hold on, but it's too much.

It's too late.

It's over.

.

There's silence again, and then there's a scream. You're curled up on the ground, clutching yourself, trying to make the pain stop, but something cuts across all of that, invading your consciousness. You glance at the hunters. They don't know. They can't hear.

So you stay where you are, listening to the sounds of battle starting up beyond the doors.

.

Finally Louisa turns, curious, the implications not yet registering.

.

She goes pale.

.

"Code blue."

.

The words fall to the floor, and suddenly the door's swinging open and people are pouring in, and at first you don't realize what's happening.

Then Louisa goes down and her companions draw their daggers, and someone's crouching in front of you and you still don't understand.

.

"Come on," says a surprisingly gentle voice, "let's get you out of here."

You feel two people supporting you, almost carrying you to the door. You try to walk but your limbs won't cooperate, and you don't even have the energy to open your eyes.

"Hang in there, Isaac," says another voice, the person to your left. "Stay with me."

You don't.

.

When you wake up, the first thing you feel is almost overwhelming panic. You shoot straight up in bed, breathing hard –

.

Bed.

.

You're in an actual, honest-to-goodness bed. You haven't even seen one in a week. While you're still marvelling over that, you hear someone move beside you, and suddenly you realize you're not alone.

.

You're in your hotel room, but it seems crowded, full of too much life and movement after a month of only you.

Scott is standing by the open window, looking contemplative. Kira stands beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder. Lydia is perched on a wooden chair by your bed, hands clasped, chewing her lip as she watches Scott and Kira. And on the other side of your bed is Stiles, flicking through the bible, and god, you've never been so happy to see him.

"Isaac!" Lydia says suddenly, noticing your activity. "You're awake."

Within a minute everyone in the room is gathered around you, and after a moment both Derek and Mr Argent appear from the kitchen. They're all looking at you with varying degrees of sadness and shock and sympathy.

"So," you say nervously, "what did I miss?"

.

You stay in Paris another two days, just long enough for you to recover. Argent gives you a makeshift cure to the wolfsbane poisoning your bloodstream, and you feel better almost immediately. You can feel your body mending itself, and you lie back quietly in your bed and let it happen.

.

In bits and pieces, the pack tells you what happened. How Scott got worried when you didn't check in. How they waited a couple of days, in case you were undercover or somewhere that you couldn't be disturbed. How they finally couldn't take it and came to track you down.

It took them another couple of days to follow your trail, all the way to the hunters' mansion, which is why you'd been there so long.

They fought their way in, saved you, and barely made it out alive. They'd braced themselves for another battle, thinking the hunters might follow them, but it's been quiet ever since. Scott keeps apologizing for sending you on this mission, as if it's his fault you'd almost died. Even Argent offered you an apology, and it almost made you cry because he's the closest thing you have to a father now.

And the people who seem to have taken over your apartment are the closest thing you have to a family.

.

Finally it's time to go back to the States, and everyone insists on taking care of you. Scott carries your suitcase; Kira keeps opening doors for you; Lydia made you breakfast. It's all heartbreakingly sweet, and although you keep making jokes about it, you wouldn't have it any other way.

.

By the time you get back home, you're so exhausted that you barely have time to greet Mrs McCall, who wraps you up in an almost-suffocating hug and swears to never let you out of her sight, before you stumble upstairs and collapse in your bed.

But somehow, you can't seem to get to sleep. You keep thinking – about Louisa, about the other hunters, about the fact that you nearly died. And about the fact that it was exactly what you'd wanted. But now, you're not so sure. The rush of danger has passed, leaving you dizzy with receding adrenalin, and you think that you're actually glad you made it back alive.

Finally sleep beckons, and you close your eyes, still thinking of your pack and the lengths they'd gone to in order to save you.

And you realize, just as you're on the edge of unconsciousness, that for once in your life, you're not running.

You don't need to.

You're home.

.

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Well, I hope you liked that, and I hope to see you in some of my other stories!