"Get down," Allison shouts frantically, pulling at her bow. She swiftly draws back her weapon and aims at the alpha before her. A few years ago, she wouldn't have been able to imagine hunting werewolves alongside her father. Hell, the idea itself was ridiculous. But as she sends an arrow laced with Wolfsbane through Deucalion's thigh, she couldn't feel more alive. Isaac, Aiden and Ethan run out from behind her and charge at the wounded beast before them, shifting as they go. Everyone had been preparing for this battle. Scott and Derek, from their secret places in opposite corners behind their enemy, start barrelling down towards him as well.
Lydia, the bait in this plan, backs away quickly as Deucalion grasps at his leg in agony. Then, as if a sudden realization, his eyes widen and he springs his claws out as the werewolves encircle him. Scott sees the fear in his eyes, a look he's never seen in them before. "Fall back," he orders at his pack as they growl mercilessly. One by one they retract their claws and watch their prey. Scott steps closer to Deucalion. "We're not going to hurt you," he says.
"What?" he replies, confused.
"We're not going to hurt you. But you're defenceless right now, so if you try anything, we will. And we'll do it quick. Why are you back?" he demands.
"I'm healed," he shrugs. "So you've come to pick a fight," Scott infers. Deucalion smirks.
"Well as you can see, we have you pretty outnumbered." He gestures to his pack, as well as his friends way behind him, Allison, Lydia and Stiles. Deucalion opens his mouth to speak but is cut off. "We won't kill you if you help us."
"Why would I be interested in helping you?" Deucalion asks, a grin setting in.
"Because it's your only option," Stiles says, suddenly appearing behind Scott. "There are worse things than you than you can possibly imagine."
"And what might that be?"
"My uncle," Derek answers darkly.
"You mean Peter?" Deucalion laughs. "What's dangerous about him?" He stands to his feet and Isaac stiffens.
Scott steps forward slightly once more. "Everything. Are you going to help?"
"Do I have another option?"
"I could stick another arrow through your forehead, maybe this time I'll wrap it mistletoe," Allison suggests, walking towards the group. Lydia follows and moves to Stiles' side, clutching his hand. He high fives Allison with his free hand and smirks. "Maybe a little mountain ash," she ponders, fingering the bow gently.
"Fine," Deucalion resigns. "But after this is over, I'm exempt. And you and your little freak of a friend can't stalk me. You too," he says, pointing to Scott.
"Deal," Scott says.
"So while you take me to get some antidote for the poison in my leg, care to tell me what's up with this big, bad uncle?"
"He used Lydia to resurrect himself and came back from the dead," Stiles explains as they begin to leave the bank. The same bank Boyd, Erica and Cora were trapped in months ago. "Then he tricked Derek in to giving up his alpha status and took it somehow."
"So what are you," Deucalion asks Lydia, his accent thickening.
"Ms. Blake called me a banshee," she tells him quietly, not making eye contact.
"A banshee? I haven't heard of one being anywhere near here before," he replies.
"What, why?" Stiles asks. "Do you know what it is, what she is?
"Well, I know that typically banshees can foresee death, and when they see it, they scream. Or some might call it wailing, because she's also known as the Wailing Woman," he explains. They pile into their vehicles and call each other on speaker as they ride home. "They can't control it. Whenever someone is murdered, or die in an unnatural way, she wails."
"Okay but Lydia is screaming, THEN finding the bodies," Scott says, confused.
"Well clearly she's something more than just a banshee, but that's the root of her power," Deucalion says.
"Hello," Lydia says from the back seat. "I'm right here guys."
"Tell me, Lydia, do you find normal people that are dead, or just murder victims?" he asks.
She swallows hard. "Murder victims. But I don't mean to, sometimes I don't even realize I'm doing anything until I'm finding them," she says. "But I don't understand, sometimes I scream after. Like when Ms. Blake tried to kill me, I screamed. But when I found the second sacrifice, I screamed after."
"I don't understand," Allison says from the phone. "What would Peter need from a banshee?"
"He's doesn't need her now," Scott says.
"She has some weird, psychotic affinity with the supernatural," Stiles explains.
"Hey!" Lydia complains. "I didn't hear you complaining when I was helping." Scott laughs.
"So you're a banshee that has an otherwise ineffective way of connecting with the supernatural," Deucalion clarifies. She just nods. "So, Scott, you have two alphas, two betas, two hunters, a banshee, an emissary and yourself, a true alpha, in your pack."
"Yeah, but Deaton isn't in the pack," Stiles says. "He's just there." Deucalion smirks. "He didn't mean Deaton," Derek pipes up solemnly.
"Then who?" The cars are quiet for a moment as they take in what they're hearing. "You, Stiles," Scott answers.
"Me?"
"Isaac, we're going to see Deaton," Scott says.
"Okay," Isaac replies. And the two cars make a sharp left as they change course. The rest of the drive is silent.
They all barrel into the vet building and are greeted by his expectant gaze. "So you want to know about emissaries..."
. . .
The room is relatively dark and packed with ten people, each as damaged as the next. Deaton is at the head of the circle. "Emissaries are sort of like mages, do you know what those are?" he asks.
"People who practise magic," Lydia answers.
"Right. But it's more about the natural magics as an emissary, not the spells, wands, and commercialized stories," he explains. "But as an emissary, you have to learn how to wield your strengths in order to help your pack. Stiles, this is your pack. It's also mine until I retire."
"Can packs have two emissaries?" Ethan asks.
"They can, but it'll make the pack a lot stronger, which is why rival packs will try to eliminate them. They're the immediate threat in a battle. It's the risk you take being one."
"But wolves can heal themselves," Aiden adds. "Why aren't they the targets first?"
"Because," Deucalion answers. "There are only so many times a wolf can get slashed before it's down. When you so rudely hurt Ennis, we brought him here. Alpha scratches take longer to heal."
"Then you killed him anyway," Stiles mutters, earning a shrug. "So why am I the emissary?" he asks.
"You're the spark, Stiles," Deaton says. He looks around the group. "Why the sudden interest anyway?"
"We need to take down Peter," Scott explains. "And we're just trying to get a better understanding of our powers. We just found out Lydia's a banshee." Her cheeks flush under everyone's gaze.
"A banshee?" Deaton says, mildly surprised. "That actually makes a lot of sense," he muses turning to his workstation and looking for something.
"Why?" Stiles and Lydia ask in unison.
He turns back with a few phials of liquid. "How many times, Lydia, after you've found bodies, did you call Stiles first? Even when you probably should have called Scott or Aiden or Isaac or any other werewolf?"
She thinks for a moment while he transfers liquids between vials and a test tube mechanically. "Almost every time, actually," she tells him.
He nods. "And how many times have you turned to Lydia about anything remotely supernatural that wasn't werewolf related?" He directs this question towards Stiles.
"A lot," he replies. He exchanges a knowing look with her and turns to Deaton, who's smirking. "Why is this important?"
He pours the combination from the test tube in to four separate clean phials. "A banshee and an emissary is quite possibly the dream combination for a werewolf pack of your kind. It provides you with magic, medicine and knowledge, more than a pack alone could accomplish themselves. Plus," he adds. "You have two hunters on your side, with access to more than their fair share of weaponry. If you can all figure out how to completely control your abilities, you will be deadly." He looks at them individually before looking to Scott. "Lethal."
"So how do we learn to control it?" Lydia asks. "I don't want to wake up to myself screaming again."
"You wake up to yourself screaming?" Deucalion asks, shocked.
"Yes?"
"You're more powerful than you realize."
She steps back in to Aiden a little and looks to Stiles, afraid.
"How do we learn to control it?" Scott asks. "I'm not bringing us all in to face Peter unprepared. I'm not losing more people."
"Words of a true alpha," Deaton smiles. "You want to control it? Practise."
"Wai- that's it? 'Practise'?" Aiden says incredulously.
"Yes."
"Look we need more than that," Derek says, annoyed.
"What do you know about Peter?" Deaton asks.
"Uh, he came back from the dead," Scott says. "He's smart. He's apparently an alpha again. Not much."
"Right. But you need to know everything you can," he says. He starts handing out the phials, handing one to Stiles and Lydia, two to Allison. "What's that saying again?" he asks her.
"Know thy enemy," she whispers.
"Know thy enemy," he repeats.
"What is this?" Stiles asks, inspecting the glass.
"That is your secret weapon," he explains. "It is your protection against the wolves. It doesn't work for long, but it can buy you some time. You inject only five mils of it and if a wolf - with the exception of Scott, since he's the true alpha - scratches you, it'll hurt it temporarily. Unfortunately, you'll be hurt worse than it, but it buys you or the others some time if need be."
"Okay but what's in it?" Stiles demands.
"Mountain ash," Deaton replies. "And liquid silver." He looks at the sceptical gazes being shared around him. "Liquid silver is medicine, guys. People and animals alike benefit from it, it's not going to hurt you. It will help heal them if they're wounded." He turns to the twins. "Now, obviously, you two are alphas separately, but you're stronger together. But I guarantee you he knows you're weak against electricity, so what I suggest you do, is stay apart until you're down to your last moments of strength. Then you combine." He turns to Isaac, Allison and Lydia. "Isaac, you're not the only beta but you ARE the only one who hasn't been an alpha. You need to stick with Allison and Chris, because they are essential, and you can protect each other. Lydia. You're the banshee, which means your screams are shrill and louder than the average person's. But that also means you can scream differently. Every time someone is about to die, you shriek. But every one is different. It's the smallest difference, but it's there. You have to learn to channel it so you can scream when you're confronted with Peter without deafening the rest of them."
She takes a deep breath. "Okay."
"It'll be tricky," he admits. "But your voice is your weapon, and you need to wield it. Now Deucalion and Derek, while I'm aware the last thing you'd want to do is work together, there's a threat bigger than you. And I know you don't want to answer to a seventeen year old boy, he's your best chance at survival." Derek stares at him, determined (though evidently uninterested), and Deucalion rolls his eyes. "You need to back him up throughout the whole thing." He does a once over of the group. "It'll be fine, guys. For now, go sleep. Tomorrow, learn what you can. Stiles, Allison, Lydia, I want you back here. You're still human, so you need to be trained differently. Bring your father, Allison, if you can."
She nods. Scott comes over and puts a hand on Deaton's shoulder. "What about our parents?" he asks,
"Don't worry about them yet. I have a plan. Go, now."
They all file out in silence, Deaton's wisdom hitting them like bricks. "He's like an owl," Stiles mutters. Aiden and Isaac slap the back of his head in unison and cackle as he yelps.
Scott holds the car door as the girls get in the car and stops his best friend. "You're staying with Lydia tonight right?" he whispers.
"Yeah, but we're staying at Allison's. We need to talk to her dad," he replies. "So we're staying over, she already talked to him." He looks at the girls talking in the car, and Scott follows suit. He knew that they were just as capable of keeping themselves safe, but he couldn't help be protective of them, and he could tell Stiles felt the same. "I hope this works, Scott," he says.
"Me too," he says. He waves goodbye as the car drives off, leaving the six of them to squeeze in his car. He could tell they were all a little uneasy.
Here goes nothing.