we aren't who we used to be

by Eclipse Wing

Stiles and Scott were both bitten that night in the woods. But now his and Scott's friendship is in ruins. Derek is an alpha with a new pack, Gerard is in town and there is a new killer on the loose. Peter may be dead but everyone needs to learn to live with the consequences of their choices. s2 AU

1. Part 1

This is a sequel to my AU for s1 'we are the choices we make'. You don't have to read that to understand this, but it does help. If you haven't read that story, your background to this is Stiles and Scott were both bitten, shit happens, Lydia finds out early, and Allison and Jackson find out a bit later, Stiles joins up with Peter and helps him on his revenge spree, but everything still ends up the same. Peter burns, Derek is now the alpha, Lydia and Jackson are both bitten, Kate 'dies' and Stiles tells the Sheriff the truth about what happened.

And messed up the story's spacing, so sorry if there are sudden scene jumps anywhere. I tried to correct them all but I may have missed some, or it may delete them when I upload them.

Enjoy!

---

we aren't who we used to be

part 1/?

Stiles and Scott were both bitten that night in the woods. But now his and Scott's friendship is in ruins. Derek is an alpha with a new pack, Gerard is in town and there is a new killer on the loose.

Peter may be dead but everyone needs to learn to live with the consequences of their choices.

[or: Stiles has learnt to cope with the fallout from his decisions, but this time it's not him making the mistakes.]

---

The soil is still slightly damp from the rain, and it furrows easily beneath his scrambling claws. He thrashes, leaves flying through the air as he searches for something to hold onto.

"Don't. Move." A weight sinks onto his arms, and he stills, throat pulsing and neck bared in a submissive pose. A warm breath pants over him, growling softly.

"Don't," he begs, pulling away from the shape, "Please, don't…" he presses himself back to the ground, putting as much distance between them as possible.

"Don't?" Scott laughs from where he pins Stiles to the ground. His hands curl into claws, burying into Stiles' wrists like manacles. "Stiles." Scott whispers, voice soothing, "We're brothers. We bleed together, remember?"

Scott's claws rip out of Stiles' wrists, only to curl instead into Stiles' stomach. Stiles knocks his head against the soft ground, a hoarse cry ripping its way out of his throat. His eyes flash down to where the fingers are buried, spotting the red that seeps through his shirt.

"Not like this."

"But we're pack." Stiles looks up at Peter, at the eyes burning red as the man begins to transform, face twisting, "I burn, you burn too." Teeth are elongating into canines and the one side of his face is melted, twisted and scarred.

His vision blurs and Stiles winces from the heat, struggling free but he's pinned and trapped and he can't breathe and…

That's how Stiles wakes up, still struggling. He's caught in his bed covers, and they've wrapped around him, keeping his arms pinned against him. He tugs them free, breath rushing back into him as he relaxes back because he's safe.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

His eyes close, but he can still feel the pinpricks of claws buried in his wrists and the heat of the flames as Peter burns.

"Is it still loud?"

---

His father leans in the doorway, arms crossed. His brows are furrowed with concern and confusion, as he tries to understand. The Sheriff's gaze is fixed on where he is curled up, knees to his chest and staring at some lifeless point that only he can see.

The Sheriff sighs.

"It's always loud," Stiles' voice is hoarse. He took the sigh as a prompt to answer, but when his dad doesn't reply immediately his eyes dart up to look at the man. The worry in his eyes gives him the incentive he needs to uncoil, arms pushing himself up. "Are you okay?"

His dad steps backwards and Stiles freezes. One hand comes up placating, "It's just a lot to take in. Werewolves, alphas, hunters…" he fixes his gaze on his son, "I'm concerned about you. Have you seen the others since…?" his sentence trails off. He's either unsure on the details, or unwilling to stir up bad memories.

"Since I burnt to death again?" someone says. Stiles stiffens, and doesn't turn his head to look at the shadow cast from the man sitting on his desk. He's bowed over a book, flicking through the pages idly and looking bored.

The Sheriff doesn't even glance at him.

"No." Stiles answers the question, pushing himself into a sitting position. He angles his body towards his father, feet dangling off the bed. He turns his head so he doesn't have to see the shadow by his desk. "They've been… calls and texts but I… I turned my phone off."

His dad sighs, "Stop moping. Please. And go to school."

"Aren't you…?" Stiles tilts his head, "I killed people, dad."

"For the love of god stop saying that," his dad winces, "Do you want me to have to arrest you? Look," he takes a deep breath, then steps into the room. It looks like it physically pains him, but he crosses over and sits down on Stiles' bed. Stiles turns to face him, then ducks his eyes nervously. "Stiles." His dad says quietly.

He looks up.

"We've pinned it all on Kate," the Sheriff says quietly, "All of it. Including your kidnapping. It helps that they found traces of your blood beneath the Hale house."

"But Peter and I…?"

"But Peter is dead," the Sheriff says firmly, he grasps Stiles' hand, and Stiles can feel the connection, the solid anchor and around him the world is fuzzy and pleasant. "Peter killed those people, Stiles. Not you. Peter."

Stiles can't talk. There's a lump in his throat.

"Go to school, Stiles. Talk to Scott." His dad looks earnest, "Talk to Lydia. Talk to Allison. Talk to them all."

"I don't know," Stiles huffs quietly, "Allison may stab me again."

His dad pats him on the shoulder. He doesn't say anything, but his support is there. Stiles knows his dad isn't happy about any of what occurs. Nobody would be. But his dad accepts what he did, and to some extent has forgiven him.

Stiles doesn't think he deserves it. If he's being honest he doesn't want it, but at this point he'll take anything he can get.

Because his dad stands, hand leaving Stiles' skin and the world rushes back in, every sound and smell screaming in his ears.

"Go to school," his dad whispers in the doorway before vanishing into the maelstrom of noise. With a sigh Stiles shoves the bed covers back, gaze skimming over the room for his school stuff.

"I guess you'll be needing these again, then." The figure perched on his desk drawls; fingers tapping on a pair of headphones where they sit perched on his computer. Stiles stares at them, but doesn't look at the man.

He's not even real. He can't be real. It's all in Stiles' head and it's just a testament to how messed up he is.

Because Peter Hale is dead.

That, at least, is one good thing that came out of everything.

---

The dress hangs straight and black in the darkness of her locker. It makes her stomach churn a little; because she knows that wearing it is going to be a lie. Black should suggest mourning.

And while Allison is just a little bit sad that she is never going to see her almost-sister again, the main emotion she is feeling should not be relief.

"Nice dress," someone says, eyeing it up and down. He has the sort of look that might suggest that he's imagining her in it.

"Nice camera," she waves at the expensive looking thing hanging around his neck. He looks happy, and so she takes that as a win, turning back to her locker.

Voices drift over and she pauses, hand out. "Not her sister," someone whispers, "Her aunt. The one who murdered all those people."

Her outstretched hand clenches into a fist. Kate had murdered people, true, but stupidly enough not the ones those people are thinking of.

Another girl leans over, "You mean the crazy bitch who killed all those people?" she says in disbelief.

"Yeah, the fire, all those animal attacks… it was her aunt."

It's always going to be like this now, Allison thinks. Everyone is going to hear her name and think of her aunt. They'll think she's the same, because she has the same blood running through their veins.

But she's not the same.

Allison protects people.

"Are you kidding? I sit next to her in English."

"Find a new seat," the first girl whispers, scoffing in disgust.

A locker slams closed and Allison flinches. Angry words ring out.

But they're not directed to her.

"Are you really as stupid as you look? Do you really think that just because she knew Kate, that she's anything like her? I met Kate. She's like everyone else at first glance. Did you think Allison had anything to do with those murders? You think she even knew about them?"

Allison spins around, and then stares. Because it's Stiles. It's Stiles standing there, glaring at the two gossiping girls who are regarding him with open mouths.

She hasn't seen Stiles since he limped off on Friday night, battered and still dripping black blood from where her blades had been stabbed into his arms.

Now he stands in front of her. It's the middle of the week, and Scott had attempted to visit Stiles, only to be turned away from a sad eyed Sheriff.

"He knows." Scott had told her, "Stiles told his dad. The Sheriff knows."

"Didn't you spend the weekend in the trunk of a car?" one of the girls narrows her eyes at Stiles. "Wasn't it her aunt that kidnapped you?" the girl's eyes glance between Stiles and Allison and back.

"Do you really have nothing better to do than gossip and spread rumours?" Stiles sneers, stepping forwards.

The girl laughs, "Did you know it was her aunt?" she asks, "Did you tell the police or did you keep quiet?"

"How about you shut up?!" Stiles takes another step forwards, and there is just enough of a snarl in his voice for Allison to move to intercept him. She grabs onto his upper arm without thinking, tugging him backwards.

"Stiles, don't. Stiles - leave it alone…"

He yanks his arm out of her grip, other hand flying to hold onto the place she had grabbed him. He meets her gaze, eyes wide. He looks both terrified and assessing, "Don't touch me," he snaps, stumbling backwards slightly.

"Weird," the second girl mutters, slinking away from them. "You guys are weird."

Stiles' shoulders hunch in on themselves, defensively. He ducks his head, beginning to turn away. He's just stepped in and taken the brunt of the anger and gossip from the pupils and that…?

Allison is grateful for it.

"Stiles, wait." She slams her locker closed and Stiles flinches slightly. He's shaking his head, grabbing onto his bag's strap for support and turning away. "Thank you." she blurts out.

He freezes. "Why?" his voice is hoarse, "Why are you thanking me?"

Allison glances in the direction the girls had vanished. "For defending me. You of all people didn't have to."

His face grows cold, "What do you mean 'me of all people'?" he frowns, stepping backwards again away from her, "You know what? Never mind. Just… just… drop it."

He spins away, and Allison shoulders her bag, stepping after him, "Stiles, wait." He doesn't stop, so she just keeps up after him, "I've got to go to a funeral this afternoon with cameras and people watching me and judging me and it just helps to know that at least someone supports me."

Stiles has his head ducked, still walking away.

"This afternoon I have to go and cry for a woman I don't miss. I have to go and put on a farce for my parents."

"And what do you want me to do?" Stiles snaps at her over his shoulder.

"I'm trying to say 'thank you'." Allison speeds up her pace, "Just accept it."

Stiles stops so suddenly, whirling around until he is nose to nose with her. "Are you grateful?" he frowns, "Are you happy that our little deal worked out? That Peter got Kate killed, and then Scott and Derek arrived in time to get Peter killed? Are you going to go to a funeral of a woman you helped kill?"

"Are you happy Peter's dead?" Allison gives up trying to thank Stiles for sticking up for her. She lashes out, "Are you happy now you no longer have to kill anybody or do you miss that?"

Stiles' face twists between several expressions quickly. Emotions flash across his face: shock, hurt, want, pain, anger. His eyes flicker up and he opens his mouth to reply, but something stops him. His head tilts to one side as if he's listening to someone or something, gaze flicking over her shoulder to something.

Allison glances over her shoulder, but the corridor is empty. She turns back, just as the door behind Stiles opens.

"Stiles?"

Stiles is still facing her, so Allison is able to watch the way the blood literally drains out of his face. His shoulders stiffen and his head ducks slightly. It looks unnatural on Stiles. Wrong.

Behind him Scott is standing in the door way to the locker room, eyes wide and fixed on Stiles. There is tension that crackles in the air as Stiles glances slowly and hesitantly over his shoulder to Scott.

"Move it," Jackson shoves his way out of the locker room, breaking the silence. Jackson doesn't even look at Stiles, resolutely marching past the trio. He storms off and startled suddenly into moving, Scott steps backwards into the locker room out of the way.

"Are you back at school?" Scott asks, eagerly, "Dude, why didn't you tell me? Coach was missing you. Your lacrosse shadow - what's his name - he got piled up with paperwork about game strategies and…"

"And I didn't think you'd want me back," Stiles' voice is still rough. It still sounds like he's had claws scrape his throat out. It sounds broken, and Scott swallows, because even though he's been avoiding them, the issues still sit between them unsaid.

"I-" Scott gets cut off again as Danny and another guy push out. Stiles looks like he's going to let them shove him away, use it as an excuse to vanish but then Coach spots him.

"Stilinski! Where the hell have you been? I need you over here! You and Lahey - we're talking winning strategies!"

Stiles is wide-eyed and looks like a startled deer for a second, then he springs back so quickly Allison is surprised he isn't experiencing whiplash. A smile breaks out across his face and he positively bounds forwards towards Coach.

It's fake. But Allison can't tell. If it wasn't for the fact she knows Stiles is a bruised-eyed shaking wreck, she'd actually believe the lie.

"Hey Coach! I'm sorry I was off sick - you know, one of those winter vomiting bugs that you catch from snotty freshmen and has you puking every minute of the day-"

Allison steps forwards, ducking her head to talk to Scott. It's a mere illusion of privacy, especially from Stiles, but at least nobody else will overhear. "Are you okay?" she asks.

Scott is gazing at Stiles with something akin to concern on his face, "Yes," he frowns down at her, "Why wouldn't I be? I mean… I know what happened and all but I… I don't blame him." He shakes his head, "Is he expecting us to turn our backs and ignore him or something?"

She shakes her head, "Is he okay, Scott? Have you guys talked?"

"Not since that night."

"You need to speak to him."

"His dad wouldn't let me see him. He wasn't taking calls or texts and I… I didn't want to push things by using his window."

"You use my window."

"Because your dad will shoot me if I walk through your door."

He stares at her, and she bites her lip, hating the reminder that they shouldn't be here. They can't be together because of what he is and her family. She remembers her dad's gun, pressed to Scott's temple. She remembers her mother snapping open her closet doors, as if she expected to find Scott hiding amongst her shirts or Derek randomly stalking her again.

There are only so many times Allison can sneak a werewolf into her room without getting caught.

And now her parents know what to look for.

"Argent, this is the boys changing rooms." Finstock has finished talking to Stiles and is now frowning at where Allison stands with Scott.

"I'm aware of that," Allison nods at the Coach, and then ignores him and proceeds to turn to where Stiles is fidgeting, hand moving impatiently, "The three of us need to talk about the other night."

Finstock just looks from Scott to Stiles to Allison, back to Stiles, back to Allison and then to Scott again. "I'm not even going to ask," he says, turning his back and walking away to his office, leaving them alone in the locker room. Allison blushes slightly, but focusses her gaze on Stiles.

"No, enough of you guys talking," Stiles steps forwards, "It's my turn, okay? Because first of all what do you want me to do now? Apologise? Say I'm sorry? I'm sorry. I'm sorry you got hurt. But I'm not sorry that Kate is dead. I'm not sorry that Peter killed all those people. Hell I'm not even sure if I'm sorry I killed those people."

He pauses for a moment, eyes darting between them, and then to a third location before flicking back.

"But Peter's dead. Peter's dead and I don't have a pack, anymore. I'm not joining Derek. I'm not… I… I don't want anything to do with any more alphas or packs or anything." His hand slashes across the air violently, "I told my dad. I told him everything. He doesn't believe half of it, and when he does he doesn't know what to think. But I can't…" Stiles shakes his head, "I just can't, anymore, Scott. I can't." He doesn't even specify what he can't. He just stops it there, gaze fixed on Scott.

"For what it's worth," Scott says, quietly. "I forgive you. For joining Peter, for stopping me that night…"

"I ripped you apart." Stiles narrows his eyes at Scott.

"And then Allison stabbed you and left you for dead," Scott sighs, "I think we all did things we regret."

"I'm sorry." Stiles whispers again, but he steps backwards. He's still isolating himself from them, defending himself from whatever they say or do. Allison remembers what it felt like to slide a blade across the beta werewolf's flesh and how easy it was to pin him to the tree, swipes already weakening the moment the wolfsbane entered his system.

Scott shakes his head. "It's not me you need to apologise to." He says, finally, "It's Lydia."

---

"Some moral support this is," Stiles frowns from where he is leaning behind a gravestone. He looks like he wants to make another sarcastic comment but refrains, glancing nervously instead at Scott.

It had been Scott's idea after all, to drag Stiles to the funeral. Scott hasn't seen Stiles since that night, and they haven't really spoken yet about anything important. There's not much to say, Scott thinks. What can he say apart from 'I'm sorry Peter's dead so your senses are out of whack again' or 'I forgive you for clawing up my intestines, especially considering I was trying to stab you with a tranquiliser at the time'?

Scott doesn't say anything, crouched behind his own stone angel and peering around to where Allison is arriving. News crews hound the gates, and the police are there to keep them back, including Stiles' dad.

Stiles' dad. The Sheriff. Who knows about werewolves.

Scott's surprised he didn't answer the door with a gun when Scott showed up. Instead he just shook his head and relayed that Stiles didn't want to see him. It was the same the second time. The third time the elder Stilinski finally stepped outside after Scott insisted the importance of the situation and told him that he knew.

Knew about werewolves. About Derek. About hunters. About Peter.

About the murders.

Scott glances over at where Stiles has his head tilted to one side, frowning slightly as he tries to focus his hearing on what the Argents are saying.

Because Peter's dead now. Peter and Kate are dead and so they can move on and leave everything behind.

"God, that guy is creepy," Stiles frowns at someone who is crouched down with a camera, "He was talking to Allison earlier but I don't know his name. He's one of Jackson's clique."

"You mean Matt?" Scott frowns at the photographer. He can hear the shutter and it's almost continuous, picture after picture after…

Someone steps between them, dark clothing and a balding head. He looks down on Matt, standing straight but there is still something about him that looks crooked. "This looks expensive," he snatches the camera from around Matt's neck, tilting it this way and that.

"Yeah," Matt says, "Nine hundred bucks." He looks nervous, and the older man just appears to enjoy that as he slides out a memory card.

"And how expensive is that?" he asks, seconds before he cracks it in half and tosses it to the floor, before handing the camera back. Scott winces, and the man turns. For a moment Scott is convinced the old man is looking right at him and he falls back, eyes wide. Stiles shoots him a funny look.

"Who the hell is that?"

Stiles stiffens, and Scott decides to not even get involved in this right now. Instead he turns to the new arrival, shrugging from where he has half fallen to the ground. "I have no idea." He tells Lydia, where she crouches low to the ground in hiding, but still is wearing a ridiculously short skirt and heels.

"Gerard," Stiles frowns, not looking at Lydia. "Chris called him Gerard. He's definitely an Argent." Stiles peers around his gravestone at where the old man is talking to Allison. Allison looks nervous, she keeps pushing her hair behind her ear and nodding.

"They could just be here for the funeral." Lydia ducks her head, looking at where the Argent family sit, "Maybe they're the non-hunting side of the family."

Stiles scoffs and Lydia shoots him a glare. Scott just shakes his head, "They're reinforcements," he says, "This can never just end with one person's death, because there's always someone else out for revenge," he glances at Stiles who is pointedly looking away.

Someone clears their throat behind them and Scott and Lydia jump. Stiles startles too, but relaxes quicker when he sees his dad standing there.

"Should I even ask?" the Sheriff looks from Scott to Lydia and then to Stiles.

Stiles shrugs, "I went to school." He says, slightly petulantly. "I even talked to Scott. See?" he points to where Scott is still crouched behind the stone angel with Lydia.

The Sheriff does not look impressed. "I would drag you out of here, but I've been informed two of you are supernaturally inclined. So instead I'm going to look disapprovingly at you and you're going to follow me." He gestures at them to stand up, and after glancing towards where the service is taking place, Scott does so. Stiles follows more reluctantly, shrinking in on himself slightly as the Sheriff begins to move away, the three of them trailing behind him.

"Are you here for the funeral?" Lydia asks, curiously. "Do you know who that guy is?"

"Gerard Agent," The Sheriff follows her gaze, "Chris and Kate's father. And in part: I'm here for the funeral. The other part is that there was a grave desecration last night. This kid saw it. Some kid called Isaac Lahey."

Stiles wrinkles his nose, "Lahey?" he asks, "Number 14 lacrosse?"

"He said he played lacrosse. He had a black eye from it. A quiet kid though and doesn't strike me as the type to get into a fight."

"Isaac doesn't play lacrosse." Scott frowns, "He sits on the bench with Stiles."

"What were you interviewing Isaac about?" Lydia frowns.

"A grave robbery."

"What did they take? Jewellery?"

"No. A liver."

---

"Why is there a liver missing?" Stiles frowns, his hands waving about in their usual dance as they come to a halt outside the Sheriff's car.

"You think I know?" Lydia snaps, because she doesn't have the answers. And there's something about Stiles that just puts her on edge.

"Who the hell would take a liver?" Stiles just keeps talking. He hasn't looked at Lydia once since she appeared to find Scott. She hadn't been expecting Stiles to be there at all, but she remembers the last time she saw him, the way he had all but broken down as the alpha had burned.

"Dude, I don't know." Scott shrugs.

"Do you think it's supernatural?" Stiles asks, "I mean… I didn't get any cravings at all…"

"I just thought about Allison," Scott reflects soppily. "A lot."

"Maybe," Lydia reasons, "Maybe there are some monsters that eat human flesh…"

The Sheriff frowns at them, but then his radio buzzes and he leans forwards to answer it. "I didn't copy that." He frowns.

"4-1-5-Adam."

"Did you say 4-1-5 Adam?" The Sheriff is frowning.

"Disturbance in a car," Stiles tells Scott and Lydia, focussed on his dad with a sudden single mindedness that makes Lydia feel sorry for how much Stiles cares for his one remaining parent.

The radio buzzes again. "They were taking a heart attack victim - D.O.A. But on the way to the hospital, something hit 'em."

"What?" The Sheriff blinks, "Hit the ambulance?"

"Copy that. I'm standing in front of it right now. Something got in the back. There's blood everywhere. And I mean everywhere."

"All right, unit 4, what's your 20?"

"Route 5 and post. I swear, I've never seen anything like this."

"All right, take it easy. I'm on my way."

Scott exchanges a look with Stiles that Lydia doesn't miss. She shakes her head. "No." she tells them both, "No, we are not checking this out. That is final."

"I hate you guys." Lydia slips out of the Sheriff's cruiser, and Scott follows. Stiles clambers out of the passenger door, hanging onto it as he stares to where the ambulance sits.

"Okay, you three have to stay back," Stiles' dad tells them, "I shouldn't have brought you here in the first place…"

"But you need the perspective." Stiles argues, "Because what if this was a werewolf or something."

Stiles' dad closes his eyes, "Just because I've accepted you're a werewolf, doesn't mean I immediately assume each and every crime is supernatural in origin before looking at the most likely normal option. So you three stay back. Scram. When I'll finish I'll give you a lift back."

"That's disgusting," Lydia catches a glimpse of the blood coated ambulance and turns away. Next to her Stiles twitches slightly, but steps backwards, watching as his dad heads forwards towards the scene of the crime. He doesn't take his eyes off his father, watching attentively. "Nothing is going to get him," Lydia says, quietly, "Your dad can look after himself."

Stiles says nothing, which is rare for him. He just glances at her silently.

"Hey… guys… I think I see something." Scott stumbles a few steps off into the woods. Lydia turns, and she catches a glimpse of something running quickly through the trees.

"Scott, don't." She gets out, but Scott's already gone, feet pounding on the ground as he takes off.

Stiles turns, eyes wide, "Oh what now?" he asks in exasperation. He looks torn, glancing between his dad and Scott's vanishing form before with a frustrated growl he takes off after Scott.

Lydia doesn't even hesitate.

She takes off after him.

---

"Well this is great." Lydia slows to a halt next to where Stiles has his eyes closed, trying to locate Scott but his face in scrunched up in a manner that suggests his senses are processing too much information to be able to pinpoint his friend. "You lost him."

Stiles' eyes flash open, flaring blue, "Scott's the one who took off." He snapped.

"And you're a werewolf," Lydia rolls her eyes, "You should be able to keep up with him."

"Why don't you track him then," Stiles scoffs, "If you know what werewolves should be able to do."

Lydia swallows and Stiles' eyes widen. He steps backwards, and Lydia is grateful for the space as she tries not to think about the wound on her wrist.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispers, and she has no idea what he's apologising for. Except she thinks she does.

"Don't." she shakes her head, "It's over. Peter's dead. I set him alight."

Stiles laughs, weakly, "Peter may be dead, but I'm not. Are you going to burn me alive too?" he's overdramatic, Lydia thinks, and then decides to just go for it. She tugs up the sleeve of her jacket, and shows Stiles the bandages.

"I didn't heal," she says, "I haven't turned." Stiles' eyes are fixed on the bite uncomprehending. She spells it out for him. "I'm not a werewolf."

"So what are you then?" Stiles trips his way after Lydia as they wander around the woods looking for Scott. "Peter told me the bite either turns you or kills you."

Lydia just snorts, "Well in case you didn't notice: Peter likes to lie."

"He said it was a disease. Maybe you're immune to it or something?" Stiles frowns, "Maybe your body is strong enough to fight off the virus and not die. Maybe your blood has special antibodies that actually hold the key to a cure."

"Do you want a cure?" Lydia turns, and Stiles unconsciously grabs at her hand to tug her out of the way of a tree she almost walks into. She falls towards him and he catches her, supporting her and she freezes, breath catching in her throat.

Then she pulls away. He sighs, "No," he shakes his head, "I don't know, I mean… Scott does."

"I wasn't asking about Scott," Lydia pauses to look at Stiles, really look at him for the first time since the formal. Since they spent a good portion of that lip-locked, right up until Peter sank his teeth into her wrist and stole her date for the night.

Stiles is pale. There are dark shadows under his eyes and he doesn't look like he's been sleeping. Lydia hasn't sleep well, but at least she knows how to cover it up. As if aware of her gaze Stiles looks up at her, and for a moment she realises just how vulnerable Stiles is.

Then his gaze hardens and he straightens, stepping forwards, "I don't want a cure," he says. Lydia wishes she had turned if only so she would have the werewolf hearing to tell if he's lying or not.

She steps past him, "Do you miss having a pack?" she asks him.

There's a pause as Stiles picks his way over a tree branch after her, "It's easier in a pack. You're stronger."

"Like strength in numbers."

"No, literally faster and stronger."

"Derek's the alpha now. Are you going to join his pack?" Lydia asks, curiously. "Would that make him stronger?"

"I don't want to be in Derek's pack," Stiles chokes out, "Not after he… No. Just no."

Lydia hums, "What about us? Do we count as pack even though we're human?"

"Would you count me as pack?" Stiles' voice twists, "Do you even count me as a friend anymore?"

She sighs, and kicks at a stone sitting on the ground. It rolls away with a clink. "I'm not longer in the mood to make out with you," she points out, because that's true. She doesn't think she could trust Stiles for that. Not to mention Stiles would bring in emotions that she hadn't even known existed towards her. She doesn't need those complications, "But friends? Yeah. We're friends."

"But what-" Stiles pauses, then shouts out suddenly, alarmed, "Wait, Lydia!"

"What?" she asks impatiently, spinning around to him, eyes wide. Stiles isn't staring at her, he's staring past her.

"How the hell did we get here?" he whispers, as if he hasn't even been aware of where he's been walking, "Lydia… this is the Hale House."

She turns around. He's right. The house is as wrecked as ever and now there are extra holes from the fight with the alpha last week. There are also bullet holes everywhere. Lydia finds herself drawn to the place, and her fingers trace the door. It creaks gently open under her touch.

There are footsteps behind her and Stiles stumbles in after her, "Seriously?" he hisses, "This place gives me the creep." He mumbles, "I don't think Scott's here."

Lydia keeps moving. She feels like she's in a trance, muscles moving without her really being aware of it. She steps forwards, turning to the room that is the most destroyed, furniture shattered and the window broken in. There is a mirror and over it trails a deep purple flower.

Wolfsbane.

It creeps down and down to the floor, where the boards looks clawed up and as if they've been rearranged slightly, to accommodate something underneath. Lydia edges around the spot, staring down at it. The smell of earth is strong enough that even her human nose can smell it, but it's mixed with the bitter scent of ash.

She glances up. Stiles still stands in the doorway but his gaze is fixed on the same patch of floor she had been examining. He looks up at her, and their gazes meet. The odd patch of floor sits in the middle of that, and Lydia thinks it's ironic that it separates them, even in death.

Because Lydia knows that underneath the floorboards and wrapped in wolfsbane lies Peter Hale's body.

---

The shape is fast. Whatever it is, it blurs between the trees, and Scott just chases right after it. The thing moves a bit like an animal, spinning and circling around until Scott's no longer sure where he is, just that he's still giving chase.

Whatever he's chasing turns again, and this time Scott predicts the turn, angling himself to cut the shape off. He leaps through the trees and barrels into a warm body that growls and twists away. Scott rolls over, rising to a crouch, and the thing snarls at him.

It's eyes glow yellow and it's face is elongated and teeth bared in a snarl.

"You're a werewolf!" Scott gasps out, feeling his own eyes glow.

It doesn't help. The other creature looks terrified, bolting.

"Wait!" Scott leaps after the werewolf, giving chase again. He's lost Lydia and Stiles, and it's just him against the potentially dangerous werewolf that has wandered into Beacon Hills. The land falls away beneath his feet, sloping down to the river that runs below the outlook. The other werewolf is gaining ground, and so Scott runs faster, runs harder.

It's exhilarating, and strength roars in his veins as he forces himself forwards. Leaves and trees blur by as he speeds up, catching up to the other werewolf.

The soil has given way to rocks and the stranger leaps upwards, sliding slightly and then leaping down. Scott makes to follow, hand finding a claw hold in the river-smooth stone and tugging himself up when there is a yowl of surprise.

Scott pulls himself up, just in time to see the strange wolf's body twist as something yanks him up into the air by his foot. Hands scramble violently, and Scott makes to move forwards, to see what has caught the stranger.

A hand clamps down over his mouth, tugging him backwards. Scott lashes out, but the grip holding him is werewolf strong and his frantic kicking does nothing to stop himself being dragged backwards.

"Shut up and keep quiet." Derek hisses in his ear.

Scott stops struggling, but keeps his gaze fixed on where the other werewolf is hanging in the air, "Let me go," he snaps, "I can help him."

Derek doesn't move, "He's beyond help," he says grimly, "They're already here."

Scott makes one last ditch attempt to break free, but Derek spins him around, slamming him against a tree.

"Quiet." Derek snarls, and Scott finally stills, holding his breath as he hears Chris Argent's voice, echoing through the woods.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Chris demands to where the wolf hangs upside down. The werewolf shakes his head, babbling useless nonsense, "You're not even from here," Chris sneers, "So why are you here?"

"I was looking for the Alpha," the werewolf begs, "I was just looking for the Alpha!" Scott looks at Derek, wondering if this wolf was looking for Derek or for Peter. "I didn't hurt anyone, I swear! I only took from the dead - I haven't killed anyone! Please don't hurt me!"

Then a new voice chimes up and Derek's grip relaxes just enough for Scott to twist and see who it is.

"Gentlemen," Gerard Argent smiles at the other hunters, "Take a look at this rare sight. A lone wolf. What do we call that?"

"An Omega," Chris steps backwards, and the big, scary father of the girl Scott wants to date suddenly looks like a kitten in comparison to where Gerard is still smirking.

"Omegas have no pack. Whether he was kicked out or the last one left of his pack, well… who knows. He might even be alone by his own choice, but it's not a wise decision. Because - as I am about to demonstrate - without a pack Omega's have no strength."

And then he raises the shape in his hand. It's a sword. A broadsword. And Scott feels sick, because he remembers how Peter framed Laura's death as a hunter attack. He remembers seeing her lifeless eyes and waist that just ended.

The sword swings through the air and Scott looks away. He can still hear the sound, the way the bones crack cleanly and the tissue tears. The blade must be sharp, he thinks, so sharp to be able to do that. And the skill it takes to position the blade between the vertebrae means Gerard must have had years of practise.

"You see that?" Derek growls out, "Do you know what that is? That's a declaration of war." Scott watches, sickened as Gerard turns away. Even Chris looks uncomfortable. "Now do you see?" Derek hisses, "Now do you see what they're like?"

"I know what they're like," Scott shoves Derek off him, "Allison isn't like that."

"I'm not talking about Allison," Derek actually rolls his eyes at Scott, "I'm talking about pack. About you and Stiles. I need a pack." His eyes flare up red then die again, as if it was an attempt to remind Scott of his new alpha powers, "I need a pack and you need an alpha."

"I don't need you," Scott snaps, angrily, "I don't want to be in your pack - okay? We got you your alpha power. And Peter's dead."

"And how long do you think you're going to survive on your own, huh?" Derek glares at him. "How long do you think Stiles is going to last before his senses drive him mad?"

In the background the other hunters are dropping the body down. It falls with a wet thump. Gerard isn't even looking at it; he's turned to his son. "Go check the other traps, Christopher," Gerard drawls, "And if there is anything in them you deal with them. Be they wounded and weak, or young and seemingly harmless, be they desperate souls with no idea about what they're getting themselves into they're already dead, understand?"

"We have a code," Chris actually protests, weakly.

"They murdered my daughter," Gerard's eyes are like steel, "What code is there that can bring her back? From now on - these things are just bodies waiting to be cut in half. Because we'll find them. We'll kill them. We kill them all."

---

His alpha is dead.

Stiles now knows where he's buried.

"That's just morbid," his hallucination of Peter drawls, and Stiles just ignores him, instead looking up at Lydia.

"Why are we here?" he asks, voice shaky, "Scott's not here… we should… we should go and check the liver-eating monster hasn't… hasn't eaten him."

"I…" Lydia seems just as lost for words as he is. She skirts the edge of the floor, unwilling to go anywhere near the place the body is buried. She stops next to him, eyes still fixed on that one spot. "Yeah," she says faintly, but makes no effort to move.

Stiles glances back and frowns, stepping closer. He can scent the wolfsbane, and wonders if it goes all the way around the body. He's about to take another step forwards, when Lydia's thin hand closes on his wrist. "Don't." she whispers, eyes wide. Her hand slips off his wrist, and instead she sinks her shaky fingers into Stiles' shirt, stumbling backwards. Stiles goes with her, tearing his gaze from the floor and guiding her out. They drag each other, and both of them just need to get out of there right now, as soon as possible, before one of them does something they'll regret.

"You're right," she says, when the front door bursts open, "This place is creepy."

Stiles shivers, stumbling off the steps, "You're telling me," he doesn't turn back, doesn't even want to know, "Let's… let's just go and find Scott."

"I don't even know how we ended up here."

"I was following you."

"No." Lydia pauses, frowning. "I was following you. Wasn't I?"

"No?" Stiles isn't actually sure and he turns back to Lydia, and as he does so he feels something beneath his foot shift. There is a startled scream and Stiles suddenly feels the ground pulled away from beneath him. He flails, arms scrambling for support but he's hanging in mid-air, the world the wrong way round.

"Stiles!" Lydia steps into view, but she's swinging back and forth, "Wait there. I… you stepped on a tripwire. I'll go figure out how to get it down…"

Stiles' stomach rolls as he swings a bit, "Don't mind me," he coughs out, "I'll just hang around here for a bit." He laughs weakly at his joke. Lydia swings out and back into view. There are dark legs strolling forwards and Stiles blinks, trying to clear the fuzziness from his vision. Lydia has turned around to face the approaching legs.

"Lydia," Chris Argent's disapproving voice sounds out. Stiles finds that tilting his head slightly to one side helps with the sickness slightly. "Stiles," Chris sighs, focussing on where he hangs.

"Mr Argent," he says, still upside down, "Did you change your mind about killing me? Way to give a guy false hope."

"Don't be melodramatic," Lydia scolds, then glances nervously, but still determinedly at Chris. "Are these even legal?" she gestures at Stiles hanging in the trap.

"You know what we're actually looking to catch." Chris sighs, and in the background two other hunters shift nervously. Chris himself looks nervous, and Stiles curls his claws into his palm, judging how quickly he could get free.

"What are you doing here?" Lydia asks.

"I could ask you the same question."

"I asked first."

Chris is stumped by the immature response. So he decides to circumnavigate Lydia, stepping forwards until he's frowning down at Stiles. "I thought you were clever, Stiles. Clever enough to avoid the woods. Especially now."

"Why?" Stiles drawls, "Because your daddy's here? Should I be scared of him?"

"Do you know what a hemicorporectomy is?"

"It's when they…" Stiles and Lydia stop, and Stiles is still attached by his ankle to a tree, but they spoke at the same time.

"When someone is amputated at the waist," Lydia sniffs, and then steps protectively closer to Stiles, "Don't even think about it."

"I won't." Chris straightens up, "But my father? He's already killed one omega tonight, and he won't hesitate to do it again. He's won't be as lenient as I am."

"Yeah?" Stiles moves then, claws out and Chris actually goes for his belt as Stiles lands on his feet, stumbling slightly but the right way up, "Well neither am I." he glances at Lydia, "Come on." He tells her, "Let's go test out the other traps Argent's spread around the woods."

She falls into step behind him, "That one wasn't bad. I'd give it a five out of ten."

"Four. He loses marks because I got out."

Chris watches them go, but neither Stiles nor Lydia look back.

---

The note is crumpled and bent, but Allison holds it tightly in her fist. She's smiling and feels slightly ridiculous walking around grinning like an idiot, but she's just so happy.

Because I love you. That's what the words read, and even though her parents disapprove, even though Scott appears terrified of her grandfather for some reason, they are still managing to make it work.

"Why are you in such a good mood?" Jackson stops off at his locker next to hers. In comparison to her - he is frowning. He looks sour, like he's swallowed a lemon.

"Why are you in such a bad one?" she asks him, spinning around and leaning on her locker watching his brisk movements. Her smile falters somewhat, "What's up? Full moon tonight?"

Jackson growls, but it's completely human. His locker slams closed. "According to Derek I don't have to worry about that." He snaps, "Derek said it didn't work." Jackson grinds out as if it physically pains him. "The bite."

She straightens, glancing up and down the corridor, then back to Jackson. "Derek? When did you see Derek?"

"He found me at school. I… I started having a nosebleed, but I was dripping black blood."

"Derek's stalking you too now?" Allison frowns, "I think being creepy must be in the Hale genetics."

Jackson shrugs, "Asshole said I was with him - part of his pack or whatever. I told him I didn't want to be because he was a rubbish leader."

That's true. Derek is a rubbish leader. When he had been working with them it had been Scott and Lydia making the plans. Now he's an alpha and Allison hasn't seen him since then. That's actually a kind of relief, because she doesn't need another werewolf visiting her through her bedroom window. One is more than enough. "I thought you wanted to be a werewolf," she teases him, "Running in the woods, howling at the moon, snarling and growling and…"

"No." Jackson shakes his head, sneering, "That's what Stilinski and McCall do, okay? Me? I have my own agenda. Had."

"Had?"

"Derek said the bite didn't take. That my body was fighting it," Jacksons sighs, "I don't know. But I guess we'll really see tonight." He lifts up a camera bag. "I borrowed this from Matt."

"That photographer dude?"

"Yeah. He charged me a hundred bucks for it, but that's nothing. It's set for night filming and I? I am going to document history."

Allison wrinkles her nose, "Are you going to film yourself having sex?"

"No." Jackson snaps, "I'm recording history." He repeats, stubbornly.

"Have you spoken to Lydia?"

"We're not dating anymore," Jackson shrugs, "So no."

"She wants to get back together with you."

"Still no."

"She isn't turning."

"Turning?" he frowns, "Into what…?"

"A unicorn," she laughs, "What do you think, dumbass? Lydia hasn't turned either. She doesn't know what went wrong, but she's happy. Do you think Derek is giving defective bites?"

That only makes Jackson more pissed, "Peter bit Lydia," he points out, "I don't know what went wrong," he seems determined, "But I'm going to find out what." He turns away, slinging the camera bag and his own bag onto his shoulder, "Oh, and Allison?"

"Yeah?" she turns back to look at him.

"If you and McCall are planning on keeping your relationship secret then you shouldn't go around looking so in love all the time." He smiles at her, "It's very obvious." He spins around and walks away, and Allison finds herself glaring at his smug walk.

---

"Derek? Derek!"

The kid has taken to the bite as well as can be expected. He's a good start and he'll be loyal, Derek knows that. The kid is loyal to his dad to stick with the abusive asshole for all these years, and now with the healing Isaac might stay for longer.

Well he would. Except his father is dead.

Isaac stares at him with wide eyes, looking like the same lost puppy that Derek pulled out of a grave the other day. There is a dead omega killed by hunters on his territory and Scott and Stiles aren't talking to him.

Well Scott isn't. Stiles on the other hand isn't an issue Derek wants to touch with a ten foot pole because he's still not sure if Stiles is still going to rip his throat out or not. That's not even the least of his problems.

Lydia didn't turn. Neither did Jackson. Derek has no idea what to do with werewolf bites not taking. Isaac's took, so why didn't theirs?

And there are hunters. Hunters with broadswords who are killing on his territory.

"I didn't do it," Isaac tells him, stumbling slightly as he moves towards Derek, "I didn't kill my dad." He's shaking his head and there are tears in his eyes. Because he's telling the truth. He didn't do it.

But something did.

Derek thinks his problems have just gotten a lot worse.

---

Stiles gets changed next to Scott, and the conversation is stilted.

"And then he cut him in half," Scott repeats for about the hundredth time. "With a sword."

"You said," Stiles drawls, tugging on a shoe without undoing the laces. The boot refuses to go on so he has to bend over reluctantly to untie them. The full moon itches under his skin, and every loud noise makes him wince. He should have stayed at home, he thinks, but it wouldn't have made any difference. His dad is working all day, but at least his father will be there for the night when the moon rises.

Stiles will be fine. He spent his first full moon curled up with his father and there had been no maiming. No killing.

The second one he had spent with a serial killing werewolf, but he was trying not to think about that.

"What if I lose control again?" Scott says, "And I go running through the woods? And they catch me?"

"I thought you said you had stuff to chain you down? And weren't you going to be with Allison, anyway?"

Scott sighs mournfully, "If she can get out, yeah. I mean… already it's better than last month. But!" he brightens, standing and hopping from the bench to his locker, "Lydia gave me some stuff in case it got too bad!" he yanks open his locker door and there is a rattle as a chain slides out.

And slides out. And some more.

There are metres of the stuff and Stiles stands, watching as it continues to pour out. Scott looks embarrassed, even more so when the last metre clinks out and Coach stops next to Scott, looking from the chain to Scott and then to Stiles.

And Stiles just can't help himself, "Do you want Allison or me to chain you up this time?" he asks, smile fighting at the corner of his lips.

Coach chokes, turning a funny purple colour, "I don't even want to know," he says and walks off.

"Good idea Coach! Wise idea!" Stiles calls after him.

Scott turns, looking from Stiles to Coach and back, "Dude!" he hisses, wide-eyed. "Dude - now he thinks I'm in some sort of threesome with you and Allison!"

"You what?" Danny freezes, walking past.

"Nothing!" Scott's voice squeaks slightly, "Oh my god, Stiles help me get rid of these. We're giving them back to Lydia!"

"Does Lydia use those with her new boyfriend?"

"Her new boyfriend?"

"Yeah, the broody guy with eyebrows."

"Derek? What?"

"No."

"Oh my god," Scott shoves the chain back into his locker, face bright red, "This is not… we're not… Lydia and Derek aren't…" he pauses, "Are they?"

"No."

Danny laughs, seeming to take joy from their pain.

Stiles turns back to his bag, grabbing his clipboard, especially as he's probably going to spend the practise benched again. He looks up, scanning around to see where Isaac is. He spots the curly haired boy, and for once Isaac smells normal. No bruises or blood or the scent of fear clinging to him.

There's something else though, and Stiles lingers for a moment, staring at the other kid. There are so many other scents permeating the air that it takes him a moment to place Isaac's scent from the others.

He smells like Derek.

Like wolf.

"Hey," Scott is frowning, "What is… is that another?"

"Another what?" Stiles is still staring at Isaac.

"Another werewolf?" Scott is glancing up and down the lockers. "I think… I think there's another werewolf in here."

Yeah, Stiles wants to say, glancing back to where Isaac is getting changed nervously, and he thinks he knows who.

---

"Hey," Stiles drops down next to Isaac on the bench.

"Uh… hey…" Isaac looks up and then down again.

Stiles turns to face him, staring long enough that Isaac gets uncomfortable, looking back up at him. The moment he does Stiles lets his eyes flash blue.

"So when did ya' chat to Derek, huh?" he asks, as Isaac's own eyes flare gold in response. Isaac is gaping at him, he realises. "Because he and I? I want a word with Mr. Alpha." Isaac just looks nervous, ducking his head. "Woah…" Stiles rests one hand on Isaac's arm, but Isaac flinches away, "Nothing bad," Stiles lies.

Isaac is newly turned enough not to notice though.

"I… he didn't tell me about you."

"Didn't he?" Stiles considers that, "Did he tell you anything?"

"A-about the hunters, yeah…"

"Isaac?" Scott stands nearby, gaping at them. He glares at Stiles, "Dude, thanks for telling me. I was seconds away from sniffing the whole lacrosse team."

Stiles wrinkles his nose, "Ugh, don't do that. They all stink. Except Danny. Danny wears Armani. Expensive, but smells nice."

Scott levels him a look, "You sniff the lacrosse team?"

Stiles waves a hand in the air, "Full moon, hello?" he blinks innocently at Scott, "My…" he swallows, "My senses are out of whack again."

"Oh." Scott says, quietly, "I… I forget."

"Yeah," Stiles says. Next to him Isaac shifts uncomfortably.

"You won't… you won't tell anyone? Please… please don't tell anyone." The new werewolf ducks his head, and he's terrified. He's scared and Stiles can't quite work out what is wrong but…

"Stiles," Scott's voice is distant, staring at something, "What's your dad doing here?"

Stiles is surprised he hadn't noticed yet, but considering the whistle Coach is blowing, it shouldn't really be surprising. He looks up, spotting his dad and two deputies. They are strolling across the field towards him.

No.

Not towards him.

Next to him, Isaac shrinks a little bit more into himself.

---

"Derek bit Isaac?" Scott asks again, "But why would he do that?"

Stiles shrugs, "You think I know?" he asks, ducking his head to rub at the back of his neck. The longer hair cut tickles awkwardly, "And he's murdered his father."

"Suspected murder-suspect," Scott corrects, because he's not the sort of person to make assumptions.

Stiles shrugs, "It doesn't make much difference. They can hold him for 24 hours provided they have a witness." Scott's face falls and his friend just nods, "That's right. They can hold him overnight in a holding cell. During the full moon."

He really wants to punch Derek. The alpha had given no hint that he was going to bite a teenager last night. Did Isaac know what he was getting himself into?

"Oh thank god," Lydia stops in front of them, high heels clicking to a halt, "Do you know who our new principal is?"

"We have a new principal?" Scott asks, because he's not sure how that's vaguely relevant to their current problem. That being a potentially homicidal newly turned werewolf being locked up in the Police Station.

"Yes," his heart races as Allison pauses next to them. It's dangerous, being near her, for both him and her. Scott doesn't know how far her family will take their threats but he knows he doesn't want to find out. "My grandfather," Allison shifts uncomfortably.

Stiles is staring with a dazed look at some un-see able point, and that suggests he's trying to hear something in the distance. Judging by the way he keeps wincing, it's not working.

"But what about our old principal?" Scott frowns.

"They said he had a horrible accident." The red-head announces airily.

Allison sighs, "You mean they tortured him into quitting?" she said, sounding disgusted, "God… I…" she shakes her head, and not for the first time Scott really feels for her, for having family that don't trust her and having a legacy she has to live up to.

He remembers the way Allison had dropped her bow from being aimed at Peter's throat and in that split second Peter had lunged. But not at her. At her aunt.

But Scott doesn't want to think about that. Because that - Allison wouldn't do something like that. Not on purpose.

Would she?

"We've got another problem," Stiles' eyes snap into focus, "Jackson."

"What about him?" Lydia's head snaps around to face Stiles, "Stiles?"

Stiles fiddles with the shoulder strap of his bag, "Jackson is talking to my dad. About Isaac."

"Isaac Lahey?"

"Yeah," Stiles nods, "He's a werewolf."

Lydia sighs and Allison gapes, "Derek bit him?"

Scott nods, "But his father's dead. He's a suspect."

"They can't hold him," Allison frowns, "He's a teenager."

"It's the full moon tonight," Stiles scratches again at his wrist, looking uncomfortable, "And Jackson is providing a witness statement so that they can hold Isaac for twenty-four hours. He…" Stiles frowns, "Did you know Isaac was being abused?" he looks at the other three.

Scott feels a stab in his gut. He barely knew Isaac. Not even Stiles who had spent a good portion of the last month sharing bench space with Lahey knew the kid well.

"Wait wait wait crap," Stiles' eyes are widening and Scott looks at where Stiles stumbles backwards. "Principal heading here right now like right now. As in scary hunter Principal who is Allison's grandfather…"

"Oh crap," Allison bursts into movement, and she almost trips into Stiles as the pair begin making a quick getaway down the corridor.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Splitting up," Lydia tells him, airily, "I have advanced math anyway, so I need to go. We're leaving you for dead," she smiles and brushes past him.

Scott looks around, trying to remember what lesson he actually has. There is barely anybody in the corridor. Stiles and Allison are vanishing around one corner to head to what Scott thinks is history, and he turns, beginning to head to biology.

And almost proceeds to walk right into Gerard Argent. "I'm sorry," Scott stutters out an apology, mentally cursing his friends for ditching him.

"Shouldn't you be in class, Mr…"

"McCall." Scott smiles weakly, "And yeah, I was just heading there…" he side-steps around the old man, about to make a quick getaway…

"Hang on," Gerard's face wrinkles, "You're the Scott that was dating my granddaughter."

"Was. Dating." Scott blurts out, "As in… not anymore. We broke up. So we're not seeing. Anything. Of each other."

Gerard laughs. It's a fake thing that makes Scott's spine crawl. "Relax, Scott." He wants to do anything but. He actually feels threatened, like his wolf wants to run and cower. "You look like you're about to crack a cyanide pill with your teeth."

"I'm just worried…" Scott says, and he's telling the truth, "I'm going to be late to class, so if you don't mind…" he backs away as he says this, and Gerard just waves.

"Hurry along now. We wouldn't want your grades to drop any more than they already have." His smile is thin.

Scott spins around and walks away, but he feels Gerard's stare on his back.

The man knows, he thinks. Gerard knows he's a werewolf. Scott doesn't know how but the ancient hunter has to know.

Or maybe he's just being paranoid, he thinks, as he arrives at biology.

But is it really paranoia if they really are out to get you?

---

"Where the hell have you been?" Lydia crosses her arms at where Derek has pulled his car up in the car park outside the school gate. Scott stands behind her, and he looks around, but he thinks there's no chance Stiles is coming along and even less that Allison would risk heading along.

Because on all their phones reads a text message from Derek.

"Well?" Derek asks, "Are you getting in or not?"

Lydia glances around in frustration. "Danny's convinced you're my boyfriend," she reminds Hale, "Just fyi." She enjoys the frustrated look on Derek's face. Scott slips into the backseat behind her.

"I don't like this." He says, "This is his fault. You can't just go around biting teenagers."

"I can if they're willing."

"I could willingly have sex with you right now," Lydia says, "But because my birthday is in one month that's called statutory rape and I could argue in court I didn't give consent."

"What. The Hell?" Derek glances over his shoulder at her, then back to the road, trying to drive, "That's not… the bite is a gift," he argues, "Teenagers are more likely to survive," he grits out, "People older than twenty tend to be killed by the bite." Scott looks pissed, because he never wanted the bite. Both he and Stiles were bitten against their will. Lydia knows how he feels, having it forced upon him.

Stiles should have as well, but she'll let that slide. Stiles wasn't the one who sank his teeth into her after all. She has to keep reminding herself this.

It wasn't Stiles' fault.

But now at least she's getting answers from Derek, so she presses with more questions. "What about me? And Jackson. We haven't turned."

"I have no idea."

Helpful. Not.

"We should be calling a lawyer." Scott argues.

"And tell him what?" Lydia stares at the werewolf, "That we need to rescue a teenager from a holding cell while he's under suspicion of murdering his abusive father because in a few hours the sun is going to go down and he is going to transform into a vicious monster who wants to eat your heart?"

Scott gapes at her.

"Exactly."

"It's worse than that," Derek glances over his shoulder.

"Where are we going anywhere?" Lydia finally decides to ask.

"Isaac's house," Derek says, turning into a housing estate. It's near where Jackson lives, Lydia realises. Isaac actually lives right across the street and yet she doesn't think she's ever realised that before.

Scott is out the car first, looking at the house, "If Isaac didn't kill his father," he says, as Derek proceeds to rescue a key from under a flowerpot and unlock the door, "Then who did?" Scott's finally asking the right questions, but once again Derek has no answer. Instead he just leads them in and opens a door, gesturing to the dark shadows that linger there.

"The basement." Scott stares down it.

"Go down there. See why I bit him. Why I trust him."

"I am not going down there," Lydia peers into the basement. "What's down there anyway?" she gets a horrible feeling from the place, and there is a scratchy noise in her ears as if someone is whispering to her.

"Motive," Derek seems to be back to giving single word answers and grunts. Lydia glares at him, but Scott's already venturing down the stairs. Lydia sighs and hating herself, she follows.

It looks just like a normal basement. It's dark and Lydia doesn't have werewolf eyesight, bite on her wrist be damned, so when Scott crouches down to the floor Lydia follows. "What is it?"

Scott is tracing something with his fingers and Lydia leans forwards, her own hands reaching out. There are fine white lines scratched in the cement flooring. She spreads her fingers, heart thumping. Scott's already standing, moving past her and heading straight for a large box.

No, she thinks. Not a box. A freezer.

Don't, she wants to tell Scott, don't touch it. Don't look inside, don't look, don't…

He lifts the lid. There are voices that whisper in Lydia's ears, but it's indistinguishable. Scott staring at the nail marks on the lid of the freezer.

The inside of the lid.

Lydia knows suddenly with a horrible certainty why Isaac accepted the bite. She knows but she just can't explain it. The voices churn and she feels sick. Her throat is scratchy and she…

She needs to do something. Needs to let it out.

"Close it," she whispers instead, "Please."

The freezer lid slams closed and so does the urge welling up inside her. She closes her eyes in relief.

"Lydia?" Scott crouches down next to her, "What's wrong?"

She shakes her head, "Nothing," she fakes a smile, "Nothing." Scott's looking at her like he knows it's not nothing, so she braces herself and tells him, "I just… for a moment there I had this urge to scream."

---

Low voices drift through from the study. The door is closed and Allison stands to one side, head tilted as she listens quietly to her grandfather and father conversing.

"I don't care he's a sixteen year old boy," Gerard is saying, "I care whether he is going to turn when the moon reaches its peak once the sun sets tonight." Allison presses one hand over her mouth, because no matter what - Isaac is innocent.

Kate killed innocents, she remembers, but Allison won't. That's the one line she won't cross. She'll be a hunter if that's what her parents want. She'll be the best hunter there is.

But she protects people. She doesn't hunt to hunt, she hunts to save.

And right now the only person in this situation who needs saving is Isaac.

"The next step is eliminating the threat," Gerard says.

Her dad sounds uncomfortable when he points out, "I'm pretty sure genocide doesn't usually work out in the history books."

"The driver's door of Lahey's car was ripped off its hinges," Gerard sounds triumphant, "I think we have our proof right there." There is the sound of something shifting, "What about that other boy?" he asks, and Allison's elbow knocks into the wall. She stiffens, but they didn't hear anything. Gerard keeps talking, "The one with the claw marks in his neck?"

"Jackson," Chris sighs, "He didn't turn," there is a pause, "There aren't any others."

That's a lie. Her dad is protecting the other wolves at least. Stiles and Scott will be safe and they don't even know about Lydia's bite. Not that it really matters, since the bite didn't do anything. Allison wonders if she'll be able to find anything in her family's records, in the many books and documents revolving around hunting.

She wonders what he grandfather has that she hasn't seen yet and her fingers twitch to look through his stuff.

But not now. Later.

Now she has a hunter to put off the trail of Isaac Lahey.

---

"So I've got a question."

Lydia sits next to Derek in the Camaro outside the police station. Derek is staring out and at her words he turns slowly and painstakingly to look at her. "No." he says, "We're not dating."

She rolls her eyes, "Not my question," she huffs, "My question is if you want us to break into the Sherrif's station to recue Issac, then why haven't we called the one person who could actually help us."

Derek remains obstinately silent, so Lydia is forced to say it.

"Stiles." She says, "Why isn't he here?"

"If Scott wants Stiles to help him and Allison try and track the scent of whatever killed Lahey then he's welcome," Derek shrugs, "But I don't want him here."

Lydia leans towards the alpha werewolf, "You don't trust him."

"Do you?"

And yeah - she winces just a little bit at that. Because no, she doesn't trust Stiles. But she likes him and she's willing to give him a second chance. She remembers working side by side with him and trying to find out who the alpha was, and she remembers handing him a Molotov cocktail and wishing him good luck as she sent him out after Scott.

She never saw that boy again.

The guy that returned was a wolf with blue eyes and sharpened fangs and claws buried in the back of his neck. She'd like to think nothing Stiles did was of his own volition, but she knows Peter was just the tip of the iceberg.

And that? That makes her wary.

"So why…" she says, voice faint, "If nobody phoned Stiles… why is he sitting outside the Sheriff's station?"

Derek spins around, because Stiles is perched on the steps outside the station, thumbs dancing over his phone idly as if bored. He's not looking up at them, and Lydia wonders if he even knows they're there. He should, but she's noticed that Stiles has taken to wearing his headphones again.

He's wearing them now.

"Can he hear us?" Lydia whispers.

"No," Derek frowns, "There's music playing. He… I didn't call him. Did Scott…?"

Lydia shrugs.

Derek reaches for the car door and she reaches out a hand in alarm, "Woah! What are you doing?"

"Going to see if he's here to help?"

"And what about Isaac? Are you just going to leave him?" Lydia gapes at the alpha. "We still need to break in. Or we need keys and there is no way I'll be able to get there without getting past the front desk." Derek glares at her, and she blinks, aware that her hand is still on his arm. "I'm going to remove this now," she says, cautiously, and snatches her hand back.

The alpha werewolf shrugs. He's even worse at Scott at plans, "I don't know. Do something. Sneak past. Distract them. I'll be there once I've talked to Stiles."

Lydia pulls a face, "You mean you want me to flirt with them," she sighs, interlocking her fingers and stretching them out in front of her. "Well at least that is something I can do." She glances to the side to see Derek staring at her with a deadpan expression. "What?"

"The deputy on duty is a female."

"So?" she shrugs.

"You're also a female."

"Wow," she whistles, "You're observant. Your point?" she asks again, and then decides she's had enough of this and opens the car door. She's everybody's type, and if she can't charm a female deputy long enough to steal keys and allow Derek to sneak in to rescue Isaac well…

She's good at managing the impossible.

---

Stiles is sitting, perched on some steps outside the police station. He glances at his phone, at the time. His dad should be meeting him soon, once he's picked up their food. Stiles just hopes there isn't any meat on it and his dad behaved and got a vegetarian pizza.

His feet are spread and his elbows rest on his knees, hands clenched together. His head is ducked slightly, and the music pounding in his ears drowns out the sound if only for a moment.

It's for that reason he doesn't hear Derek's approach until there is a shadow looming over him and he snaps his head up, seeing the alpha werewolf for the first time since Friday night.

"Derek." He doesn't move, except to slide his headphones down around his neck and let his muscles tense, in preparation for…

For anything. Fight or flight or action… he's not sure.

The alpha doesn't bother with a greeting. "What are you doing here? Did Scott phone you?"

"Scott?" Stiles frowns, wondering why Scott would phone him, then he remembers Isaac. He wonders if he was meant to be doing something, but another glance at his phone tells him that no - he's not had any texts or calls.

Scott hadn't called him.

"No," he glances back up with a sneer at Derek, "I'm waiting for my dad. I take it you're here for Isaac, though?"

Derek stares at Stiles, and the beta has no idea what the alpha is thinking.

"Please at least tell me you have a plan," he says, "Or Scott, or somebody."

"Yes," Derek grunts, "No. Not a good one." He narrows his eyes. "I'm getting him from the station. Lydia's helping." Stiles finds his gaze drifting past Derek, spotting the Camaro. Lydia isn't sitting inside, so she must be already in the station. He angles his head, listening for the familiar tones but Derek steps forwards, and Stiles' senses flare back in full, concentration lost. "You know I need at least three betas to make a pack."

It's casual, the way he says it, but there is weight behind it.

Stiles' pulse skips a beat. "No." he curls his lip, wanting to move away, but at the same time he wants to stand his ground. "Not interested," he drawls.

"Will you at least consider it?" Derek snaps, hand reaching out to grab Stiles' wrist. Stiles pulls away so Derek's hand closes over thin air. "Stiles. Being in my pack will help the senses. You know what being in a pack is like."

Stiles snorts and glances back at Derek, "Yeah." He says, "I do. Then you took that away."

"Peter was a monster…"

"He was still my alpha," Stiles spits out, finally giving up and standing up. He's a step above Derek so he steps down to the same level. The alpha squares his shoulder but Stiles doesn't falter, stopping about an inch from Derek's leather jacket, "What's to stop me ripping those pretty red eyes out of your head and claiming the alpha power for my own? Huh?" he's only an inch shorter than Derek, and his eyes flash that blue Derek is probably more used to seeing in his own gaze.

"If you wanted that you would have killed Peter yourself," Derek says, grimly.

Stiles stiffens, because that thought had barely occurred to him. He'd never really considered killing Peter. He didn't want the strength or power. If he was making terrible decisions as a beta, then imagine what his decisions as an alpha would be like? "I don't want to be in your pack." Stiles says, voice grim, "And if you ask me again god help me I'll rip those pretty red eyes out of your head." He sidesteps around Derek's form, then stalks forwards, his shoulder knocking against the alpha's, sending Derek stumbling slightly. He can feel Derek's glare on his back.

"I know what colour your eyes are!" Derek calls after him, "I know what it means!"

Stiles just laughs and doesn't stop, "Well yeah." He drawls over his shoulder, "You would, wouldn't you?"

---

"What took you so long?" Scott asks as Allison steps into the dark Lahey house. She's holding her bow by her side and looks unusually windswept.

"Hmm?" she hums, "Oh, nothing." She grins, sheepishly, "Just… my family sent out a hunter to deal with Isaac."

"To the police station?" Scott moves forwards in alarm. Allison stops him, one hand resting on his arm.

She meets his gaze, "It's okay. I slowed him down." Scott feels his jaw drop open, "I hit the tyres of his car, okay?" she says, defensively, "And then when he got out…" she chews on one lip, and it's cute but Scott's anxious to hear what she's going to say.

"And what?" he prompts.

"I shot him." She shrugs, "In the leg." She adds on, and Scott sighs, because Allison's priorities may be in a different place, but when it comes down to it, she can be just as ruthless as Stiles. "Come on," she gets straight to work, "Will you be okay for the moon, because I've got chains in my car."

"I'm better now that you're here," Scott admits, and it's true. It's like everything has stabilised around the fixed point that is Allison. He can breathe again and as clichéd as it sounds, she's his inhaler.

She shoots him a nervous smile, "So how do you want to do this? Can you catch Lahey's scent and trace that? Do you want to start here or where he was killed?"

"Here," Scott decides, "That way I can tell which is Isaac, which is his dad and which is the attacker." He looks around. "I think it's maybe another omega. But there were no organs taken from the body at all…"

"We'll find out," Allison says confidently, "So do you need to smell his laundry or something?" Allison winces, and Scott pauses, because he genuinely hadn't thought of that. Allison laughs, "I'll find a laundry basket," she says, placing her bow down carefully on the ground and skipping to her feet.

Scott just trails after her.

---

Everything was going fine.

At least Stiles thinks so, because he's wandered far enough away that he can't hear anything going on in the station. Scott doesn't trust him enough to call him in on this, and to be honest Stiles can't blame him. So he'll do what is best for all and step away from this.

He perches on a wall, leg kicking against the brick. He should be able to see his dad arriving this way, and catch him hopefully before he spots Derek or Lydia smuggling Isaac out of the station.

He doesn't see his dad. Instead he glances up at the sound of footsteps and sees a man dressed in deputy uniform stumble along the sidewalk. The guy slinks out of the shadows, bleeding. There is still the shaft of an arrow in his leg that smells of Allison, and Stiles knows from experience that Allison is a good shot. He also knows straight away the guy is not a cop. He knows every cop in the station and this guy?

He smells of wolfsbane and gunpowder and Stiles doesn't know him.

Stiles makes the decision quickly. Before he's even really aware of it he's standing, movements fluid. The moon beats through him but there is a sudden clarity to everything as he slips down the street, heading straight towards the hunter. He has to keep the hunter away from Derek, Lydia and Isaac.

The hunter doesn't notice the wolf slinking out of the shadows until Stiles is standing right in front of him under the pool of light from the street lamp. And by that time Stiles has swung his fist with enough force that would be only a tap to a werewolf, but to a human?

The guy falls and it's easy. It's so, so easy.

The wolf crouches over the body and listens to the heart beat. The guy is still breathing.

Stiles should stand up and leave the guy lying there. He should turn around and walk away.

"He might come after you again, though." Peter stands right behind him, "He's a hunter. That's what they do."

A panicked thought rushes through him. The guy might have seen him.

Would he guess Stiles was a wolf? Would he know Stiles was the Sheriff's son?

"There's only one way to be certain."

Stiles clenches his eyes closed, trying to ignore the voice.

"There is only one way to ensure he won't come after you again. Won't come after Scott."

"Shut up." Stiles snaps, glancing up. There is nobody there. Of course. He's talking to a hallucination after all.

He makes his decision, reaching forwards and grabbing the guy by the scruff of his jacket and dragging him up. Because despite everything his hallucination is right.

He needs to be certain.

They need to be safe.

---

Scott leaves the Lahey's laundry hamper with his nose wrinkled in disgust. He can survive the scents of his family and friends, but this? This is pushing it.

"I've got the scent," Scott says, as he bounds down the stairs. Allison sits perched at the bottom and she stands up, flash light flickering in his eyes and he blinks, blinded.

"Sorry," she says, sheepishly, "Your eyes flare in the light, did you know?" she playfully flicks the light over his face again, blinding him. Scott mock growls at her and she grins, doing it again when the flashlight dies on her.

Scott snorts as he moves towards where a pool of light spills into the kitchen. "Serves you right," he snorts, as Allison follows behind, bashing the torch on her hand to try and get it to work.

"I could have sworn I put new batteries in it last week," she has her head ducked as she walks towards Scott, peering down at the torch; "I should probably get a spare pair. Or a new torch."

"Luckily I don't need a torch," Scott says, peering down at his phone to see if they've rescued Isaac yet, "I have werewolf vision."

"Well good for…" Allison stops talking abruptly, and Scott glances over his shoulder to see she's clamped a hand over her mouth. Without her voice or wet breaths there is another sound in the background, the click and rustle of scales and claws.

Allison meets his gaze in a desperate, wide-eyed look and Scott slowly turns, looking behind her.

The thing snarls. Scott barely gets an impression of a humanoid figure and yellow reptilian eyes before it moves, dropping to all fours and leaping forwards. Scott is seconds away from lunging for it, but Allison is faster, spinning around and using her torch like a bludgeon, knocking the thing back.

It screeches, hands splayed out and showing five long claws, something like water dripping off them. It looks like a lizard, Scott thinks, as he moves forwards, Allison grabbing a knife from a nearby rack and spinning it around, sliding into place behind him.

"Come on!" she shouts out, and for a moment she sounds like Kate.

But the lizard-thing doesn't want a fight. It leaps backwards, clinging to the wall as easily as it had the floor and scampering away so quickly even Scott can barely follow it. The thing jumps from wall to ceiling and then down and out into the passage, barrelling towards the door so fast that when it finally gets out, Scott's surprised it doesn't take the door off its hinges.

"What the hell was that?" Allison gapes, knife still in her hand as she steps forwards, staring down towards the wide open front door.

"I don't know."

Allison looks at Scott, and she's got a knife in one hand and her torch in the other, and the bulb is broken into glass slivers from where she hit out at the lizard-thing. "Yeah," she says, "I should probably buy a new torch," she decides, looking back up to where Scott is still staring out of the door where a long tail whisked out of sight into the darkness only seconds before.

He doesn't think they need to go to look for what killed Isaac's dad.

He thinks they found it right here.

---

Stiles can't let the hunter go. The guy has seen his face; he'd report it to Gerard, to the others. He clenches his fist, and his claws dig into his palm. The moon burns in the sky and he feels drunk.

At least, he thinks being drunk would feel like this, but he was bitten before he could ever really find out.

He can't get drunk now.

He wonders what his dad is doing. He should be hanging out with his father and watching stupid movies like they'd planned with veggie pizza and not here in the woods with a good for nothing hunter tied to a tree.

Stiles just wishes he'd bothered to use a gag as the hunter spits out at him. "They'll put you down." The hunter sneers, "Gerard will shoot an arrow through your throat."

Stiles just laughs, crouching in front of the hunter, "What would you do if I said that Chris already had the chance to put a bullet through my skull and he chose not to?"

The hunter falters, "You're lying."

"Am I?" Stiles stands and spins, glancing at the moon and then into the forest. He hadn't thought this through. He hadn't thought it through at all.

In the shadows of his head Peter's voice is dark. "You know what you have to do."

He turns around, looking at where the hunter glares right back. The wind tickles the nape of his neck and it almost feels like someone standing right behind him. Stiles turns away again, eyes closed.

He can't do this. He can't. He should phone Chris or something equally responsible, get the lead hunter to take his attack dog away. But there's still that risk…

"There's only one way to know for certain."

His eyes flash open, but there is nothing but gloomy forest in front of him.

"You're a monster," the guy sneers, behind him, and Stiles steels himself, making a decision without even realising it.

"Yeah," he says, spinning around and stepping back to the guy. He drops into a crouch, hands clasped together and he ducks his head slightly, but when he looks up his eyes are glowing blue. "Yeah, I guess I am," he says with a shrug, "But at least I wasn't about to murder a sixteen year old kid."

The guy flinches back, his head hitting against the rough bark of the tree behind him. "No, no…" he blusters, but it's too late.

Stiles has made his decision. Now he's just considering the best way to do this. He needs it to look like an accident. Or he needs to hide the body really well.

"There's time," Peter shrugs from the corners of his mind, "Plenty of time. You just need to avoid the other hunters at moon high."

That almost decides it for him, Stiles thinks, as his claws lengthen.

---

Her wrists burn and her limbs are beginning to cramp. Allison glares at a particular mouldy spot on the wall, hating this house with a desperate vengeance. The floor creaks as her dad stalks around her, the twisted voice on the phone still talking as she tries to process this.

Her dad's just kidnapped her.

At least, Allison thinks, she'd had the chance to drop Scott off at his house before getting gas. It would have been even worse had her dad or his accomplice had found the werewolf with her. She shivers, the chills from the burnt out house getting to her. She'd been planning to curl up at home with her family books, looking to see what that creature might be, but instead she was here.

In her hand the arrow she shot the hunter with is clenched.

"We can't find him," Chris says from where he stands so close behind her Allison can feel his breath on her neck. "He's gone."

There is nothing but a trail of blood and one of her arrows. Allison wonders if that creature got to him, or if it was something else. Her dad seems to think it was Derek.

"Isaac is missing." He says.

"You were going to kill him." Allison spits.

"And if I meet him on another full moon I will."

"You didn't kill Scott or Stiles."

And Chris Argent moves so she can see him, see his face twist until he looks almost pained. He crouches down in front of his daughter. "They're exceptions. They're pushing my limit and I don't have room for any more special cases. The code states I should put a bullet through Stiles' head as it is, but I haven't."

Allison laughs; "Am I meant to be grateful?" she asks, "That you haven't yet shot a sixteen year old boy?" she glares at her father's harsh blue eyes. "Next thing I know you'll be locking him up and electrocuting him."

Chris frowns, "I don't do that."

"Kate did," Allison spits, because she can. Because that secret had remained between her and Stiles, but if she needs to use it to keep Stiles breathing she will. "Kate locked him up and tortured him for three days." She watches the expression she is beginning to realise is regret flash across her father's face. It appears every time she mentions Kate.

"I didn't know…" Chris says.

"I did," she tries to slip free from the rope tied around her wrists, "I was the one who got him out."

Chris straightens, "That's why it's the woman, not the men in our family who make the decisions," he sighs, "Men are too bloodthirsty, too quick to war, so in our family we place the final decisions - the hard ones - with the woman. Our sons are trained to be soldiers. Our daughters, to be leaders."

"Kate wasn't much of a leader," Allison's fingers are numb, and she thinks she's almost dropped the arrow, but she can still feel the sharp point digging into her hand.

"You're not Kate," Chris says, "So prove it. Your training starts now."

And then he turns around and walks out, leaving her tied up and chilled in the wreck of the Hale House.

---

Stiles vomits.

God - he'd forgotten how much he hated blood. He doubles over, still retching. He really, really hates blood. He has no idea what Peter did to him, what he had been thinking when he clawed up Harris or those other guys, but this?

It's disgusting. Stiles feels sick even though he's no longer heaving up his lunch.

He's not made to be a killer, he thinks, as he wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve. But he'll do what he has to.

Stiles knows those six words are the first step down a road of good intentions, but he's already so far down that cobbled path that he doesn't think he can turn back now.

He gets home later, evidence destroyed. He's the son of a cop after all, and he knows how to clean up after himself. He walks home, because he'd been meaning to catch a lift from his dad and obviously that plan failed. He hopes his dad just ate all the pizza and went to bed.

It's too much to hope for. His dad is waiting for him when he steps in through the front door and his face is creased with worry. Stiles lingers and his dad just gestures to a seat.

"I'm not going to ask where you were," the Sheriff sighs, and he looks tired. Stiles swallows, nervously.

"What are you going to ask about then?" he asks.

His dad stares at the ground for a while, probably examining some questionable stain in their carpet, before eventually looking up and asking straight out. "So what can you tell me about Isaac Lahey?"

---

"Congrats!"

Allison stops, rubbing at her wrists as she eyes up the young hunter. "For what?" she asks, "It took me two and…" she peers at the timer on his phone, "Two and a half hours." She stalks past him, heading to her car, snatching her keys out of his hand as she does so.

"Took me three when I did it."

Allison doesn't turn, just pauses, letting herself smile. She can be a little proud then, she thinks. Even if she's never going to be the hunter her dad wants, she can be the hunter she wants to be.

A protector.

---

"Why didn't you phone me about Isaac?" Stiles hisses to him, dropping into a seat next to him as they get changed for gym. "Derek went creeper wolf on me at the station."

"What were you doing at the station?" Scott looks up from where he is tying his shoelaces.

Stiles jerks his head in a typically-Stiles movement, "Oh, you know. My dad, he's the Sheriff, you might have met him; he works there." Scott doesn't appreciate the sarcasm and his face says as much. "Okay, okay, I was meeting my dad. Then Derek shows up and then this hunter shows up with an arrow in his leg and I had to deal with him and who knows how Lydia and Derek pulled off rescuing Isaac, I don't want to see Derek and any conversations with Lydia usually end up withering like a cactus in a desert."

Scott ignores the bad metaphor and stands, turning to stuff his clothes back into his back, glancing at Stiles, "Ever considered that's why I didn't phone you?" he asks, "And… what do you mean you 'had to deal' with the hunter?" he frowns. For just a moment Stiles' expression flashes through several emotions, and Scott freezes. "Stiles." He says, "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Stiles argues, but Scott knows he's lying, "Nothing he didn't deserve," Stiles repeats, and that? That isn't a lie.

"There's a hunter missing," Scott relays what Allison had said to him. That there had been a hunter monitoring her training and that this morning it turns out he'd never checked in and Allison had been the last person to see him. "Did you… god Stiles what did you do?" Stiles turns away and Scott reaches out, one hand on Stiles' shoulder to pull him back. His friend shifts away from the touch. "Did you kill him?" Scott asks warily, hoping that by jumping to the worst conclusion he'll be wrong. Stiles probably got the guy arrested or something, or stranded the guy in one of those werewolf traps in the woods…

But then Stiles shrugs, "Maybe," he says, nonchalantly. Scott's eyes flash gold in alarm and Stiles glares at him, "What of it?"

"You don't just… you killed… We're not killers!"

"Oh, right. The 'we're predators not killers' spiel?" Stiles snorts, "That's what you're going with?" Scott steps forwards angrily, crowding Stiles' space. Stiles steps backwards, and he actually looks nervous, ducking his head, "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Stiles says, and he looks up at Scott, "I didn't… I didn't mean to."

"How do you 'not mean' to kill someone?"

"I don't…" Stiles' face twists and his head snaps around, "Shut up." He growls out.

"What?" Scott blinks, because Stiles isn't talking to him. His friend's gaze is fixed on something but when Scott turns his head there is nothing there.

"Nothing," Stiles shakes his head, "Look, I'm not going to kill any more hunters, okay? Allison can shoot them to her heart's content and I won't lay a claw on them. And next time I'll let Isaac die from wolfsbane. He's Derek's problem now anyway."

"Wait wait… Isaac?" Scott freezes, "I… the hunter was up in the woods. By the Hale House."

Stiles blinks, "No." he says, "The hunter Allison shot in the leg? The one they sent to kill Isaac? I… that guy. By the police station."

"But a hunter died in the woods," Scott says, "That… you didn't kill the one in the woods. So that means… something else did."

Stiles shifts his weight, "The lizard-thing you and Allison saw?" he seems curious, and Scott looks up, seconds away from sharing everything with his friend, but then Stiles keeps talking, voice twisted and bitter, even as his gaze goes distant, "The one you didn't tell me about? The one I had to overhear you talking about with Lydia this morning?"

"Dude," Scott says, "You can't complain about my secret keeping when you… Stiles… you can't just go around killing people. You… does your dad know?"

Stiles flinches, "Don't talk about my dad," he says, and his eyes flare blue. Even after all this time the colour is just as unnatural as ever.

"Why not?" Scott asks, "Huh? Did you tell him you killed people?"

Stiles snarls slightly and grabs Scott by the sleeve, tugging him down towards a quieter part of the locker room, "Tell the whole school, why don't you?" he snaps. "They can't pin it on me. There's no evidence."

"Just as well," Scott glares, "What if there was? God - Stiles they'd lock you up. They'd ship you off somewhere. They'd arrest you!"

Stiles looks uncomfortable but he shakes it off, pressing forwards so he's inches away from Scott, "The only way anybody finds out is if someone tells," his voice is low, "And if you want to tell - go ahead. I won't stop you. But I could just as easily let slip to Chris that you're still seeing Allison. I could just as easily tell Gerard you're a wolf. I could even tell Melissa what you turn into on a full moon…"

Scott punches him. He thinks Stiles was probably goading him on purpose, but he couldn't help it. "Shut up." He says, "I'm not going to say anything." He glances up, aware that a few people have noticed their alteration, "You know I'm not, Stiles, I'm better than that. So are you. You don't have to do this. Not anymore. That's not you."

"But what if it is?" Stiles asks, glancing up, rubbing at his jaw. Scott wants to punch him again, but he knows the mark won't last, "What if that is me? What if that's just the person I am now?"

"Well you need to make up your mind about that, don't you?" Scott says, and then he turns away. He can't take any more. He can't stand there and try to build back broken bridges. Stiles is burning them down as quickly as he makes them, and he's so, so tired of it now.

He turns away, ignoring the sympathetic eyes of almost everyone in the locker room. People know that StilesandScott, ScottandStiles, they've always been a package deal and to see the pair not on good terms is practically an impossibility.

Scott ignores them all. He doesn't turn around to look at Stiles, and he tries not to think of his -not-quite-friend.

He's got more important things to worry about.

---

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Lydia steps back in alarm, away from Jackson's angry face, "What the hell is wrong with you?" she asks, wrinkling her nose at him, "The full moon was yesterday. In case you didn't realise, the opportunity for you to freak out and go on a blood angry rage was then."

Jackson growls - actually growls - and slams his fist against her locker. Lydia flinches as the echoes reverberate in her ear.

"Are you insane?" she snaps, moving away from him, but Jackson reaches out, grabbing her arm. Lydia stills, body stiffening before she yanks her arm out of Jackson's grip.

"Show it to me!" Jackson demands, "Show me your bite!"

"What?"

"Nothing happened! Not to me and not to you. It… it's like you're immune!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Lydia hisses, angry suddenly, "Is this about the full moon? What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Jackson hisses, "That's the problem!"

Lydia shrugs, crossing her arms and refusing to think about how that a defensive move, "Maybe you just don't remember," she says, airily, "Scott woke up in the woods naked once."

"I'm not McCall!" Jackson looks disgusted, "And I filmed myself. All night long."

"You what?"

"It wasn't a sex tape!" Jackson almost shouts that to the whole corridor and Lydia just raises her eyebrows. Jackson lowers her voice, ducking his head slightly, "Nothing happened to me," he repeats again, "It's - It's you. Whatever it is - Blood, saliva - Whatever soul - killing substance is running through your veins, you did this to me. You're immune and you spread it to me. You ruined it for me. You ruined everything!"

"Well I'm sorry," Lydia glares at him, "I'm sorry that you couldn't be a big bad killer werewolf," she's trying to hide the hurt and failing. Her voice trembles, "I'm sorry, except I'm really not," she says, "Because I guess Stiles is right and you really don't deserve it. The bite is a gift." The words aren't hers but she says it anyway, "And it's not one you deserve."

She spins around, leaving him fuming in the corridor.

---

Stiles drops the pair of knives on the table during lunch. They're at least in a brown paper bag, but it probably looks more suspicious than anything else. Stiles can see at least Coach eyeing up the pair warily, but Stiles doesn't really want to know what goes through Coach's mind so he clears his throat, attention flickering to where Allison is looking up at him, expectantly.

He slides the bag towards her, "I believe these are yours," he says, and she cautiously takes the packet, opening it, ducking her head. Her hair cascades over her shoulder as she peers inside.

Her face clears when she sees what it is, "Oh!" she exclaims, straightening suddenly, "Are you serious? You bring these back to me in the middle of school?"

"Well there's not exactly a time to meet between avoiding your parents who want to kill me and Scott and I still aren't exactly on the best of terms and really, when else am I expected to do it? It's not like we're friends, not really, and I just thought you'd need them. What with the killer lizard and everything." Stiles shrugs weakly, giving up standing and sliding into a seat opposite Allison.

"Thanks." She says, sliding the bag between two of her school books.

"Least I could do after you rescued me from torture by your psycho aunt. And then you shot arrows at me. And then you stabbed me. And buried these knives in my arm and pinned me to a tree for half an hour." He winces, "Fun times."

"No, really," Allison swallows, "Thanks. And they're actually Chinese Ring Daggers. But… you know… knives works fine."

"Oh, wow, I'll be sure to remember that next time you're about to stab me." Stiles nods, and nothing he says stops the way Allison is looking at him.

"She pities you." He jerks his hands away from where Peter is suddenly sitting next to him, chewing on a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. Allison is still staring at him with that sad expression.

"I told my dad," she blurts out, suddenly, "I told my dad about what Kate did to you."

Stiles feels his blood run cold, because he's been trying to pretend that between his nightmares of Peter and the feeling of blood drying on his claws, the next topic isn't Kate Argent's leer as she runs volts of electricity through him.

"Scott doesn't know, does he?" Allison asks, and this is quickly straying into territory Stiles doesn't want to talk about.

He shakes his head, glancing around. "He doesn't need to know," he says, spotting Scott, and Scott isn't listening, isn't even aware that Stiles and Allison are sitting together.

"You killed that hunter," Allison says, "The one they sent to kill Isaac. I… he'd probably be more willing to understand why if you just told him about Kate."

"I can't," Stiles hisses, "I won't. I… that had nothing to do with it."

Allison's face crumples, "I won't tell anyone else," she says, leaning forwards, "I promise, okay? For whatever reason you're keeping it a secret - because you don't want people to pity you, or to even have a fraction of a chance of understanding why you do half the things you do, I don't know - but I promise I won't say anything. But you don't kill anybody else. I… I know why you killed the others. Why you let Peter kill Kate. I…" she swallows, "I even know why you killed this hunter. But it has to stop."

"I didn't mean to," Stiles blurts out, and dammit, he didn't meant to say that. "I didn't," he argues again, when Allison looks sceptical, "I just meant to knock him out, but then I… I didn't know what to do with him. He… he would have talked. Told Gerard… I just…" a sudden silence echoes in his ears and it's sudden enough to make him stop, head turning, "What the hell…?" he frowns around, hearing footsteps approaching.

Allison leans forwards, until her hair brushes over where his fists are clenched on the table, "Hey," she says with a frown, "Isn't that the girl who fell off the climbing wall?" Allison frowns.

"Erica," Stiles' voice is almost a low growl, "She's been bitten."

The blonde strolls in like she's on a catwalk, a simple white t-shirt, leather skirt and jacket and dark make-up on around her eyes. She radiates confidence, and every boy is staring at her. Every girl too, and over where Scott and Lydia sit, Stiles hears Lydia remark, "What - the holy hell - is that?"

"This isn't good," Allison breathes out slowly.

Stiles shakes his head, grabbing his bag, "No," he says, "Not good at all," and he stands, making his getaway while everyone else is still staring at Erica. She's leaning forwards, crunching on an apple and sliding the piece around her mouth as she licks her lips.

He stalks straight past, not even looking at her. He can feel her gaze on him as he goes, but he doesn't care.

He doesn't want anything to do with Derek's little pack of misfits.

---

"So," Allison watches Scott unlock the ice rink door and switch on the lights for her, "You've never skated before?" she asks, sceptically, "Is this like 'I'm a great bowler' and you turned out to be really bad?"

"I wasn't that bad."

"You weren't that good."

Scott pulls a face, "In case you've forgotten, I am a creature of the night," he ties up his laces as Allison slips her foot into the one skate, "I am a terrifying moon-howling honest to god werewolf with super-speed, enhanced reflexes, strength, super-senses and amazing good looks and so ice-skating?" he steps out onto the ice, grinning like a happy puppy, "Shouldn't be a probl-" he turns to her, and as he does his feet just fly out from under him.

There is a crash and Allison winces, raising her eyebrows, "Naturally." She says, fighting a laugh, "Wow. You're really good."

"Uh… maybe I could use a few pointers," Scott's voice drifts from the icy floor.

---

It's cold, and Lydia curls up slightly, tugging her jumper a little bit more over her to cover her exposed shoulder. Her fingers meet thin air and she blinks, sleepily.

It takes her a while to remember what she had been doing. She had been…

She had been…

She thinks she had been doing homework, but she frowns, struggling to think. She can't remember. She can't…

She sits up, goose bumps prickling on her skin as she shivers, the soil under her fingers cold and damp and…

And she has no idea where she is.

Around her the trees are dark and looming, casting shadows with spindling fingers that reach out towards her. Lydia's sitting on the hard ground, the cold seeping up through her bones and she shivers, wrapping her arms around herself. She's in the middle of the woods.

And what did she do? Did she sleepwalk or something?

But all she feels is fear, because how can you be sleepwalking if you don't even remember falling asleep?

She stands, and her feet are bare and she's just wearing a thin dress. It's icy cold, but at least, Lydia reflects, she's not naked.

She still has no idea how she got here though.

"This is private property," someone says, and for one stupid moment Lydia thinks it's Derek. But the voice is too smooth, purring almost as she turns, spotting the figure that slips dramatically out of the shadows.

"I'm sorry," she says, eyeing up the boy. It's hard to tell his age, and he could be anywhere from her age to in his twenties. His eyes are a pale sparkling blue as he smiles at her.

"You look lost," he says, head tilting to one side, "Do you need any help? My house is just over there." He points through the trees, but Lydia doesn't turn to look. She doesn't trust random strangers, she's not stupid.

The bandaged unhealed bite mark on her arm tingles slightly and she pressed one hand to it. The boy's calm blue eyes notice and he looks concerned, "I'm fine," Lydia lies before he can say anything, "I was just taking a walk. With my dog. She ran off and like an idiot I ran after her," she laughs, gesturing to the forest, "And now I'm a bit lost, but I'm sure I'll be fine, thank you."

The boy huffs a weak laugh, then bends over, picking something off the ground, "Here," he says, and Lydia catches sight of a flash of pink, "I think you dropped this." He holds it out, and Lydia relaxes slightly, because that's her phone.

That's her phone and that's her lifeline and she grabs onto it gladly.

"Thank you," she looks up, preparing to charm the guy into leaving her alone and in peace, but when she blinks up all that surrounds her is an empty forest.

---

"So if Stiles killed the one hunter that was going after Isaac…" Scott frowns as Allison practically drags him along the ice. All Scott has to do it stay upright which is easier said than done. "-Then that other hunter is still missing. Do you think that lizard-thing took it?"

"We really need a better name than 'lizard-thing'," Allison sighs, "I'll look through my family books. See if there is anything there. And maybe you should ask your boss," Allison brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, frowning as she leans forwards, skating gently "He seems to know about werewolves and stuff, right?"

Scott sighs and cautiously lets go her hand, since he seems to be staying upright. He propels himself forwards, arms outspread, "I tried that," he bemoans, as he wobbles forwards; "Every time I bring it up he distracts me with a raise." He perks up slightly, "I earn three more dollars now though!"

"Watch out!" Allison says, a moment too late as Scott face-plants into the ice rink wall. She flinches, hand over her mouth as she drifts over to him. "Are you okay? You look like you hit your head that time." She leans over him, watching as Scott blinks, looking dazed, "How many fingers am I holding up?" she asks, then her shoulders slump, "I feel like Coach Finstock," she sighs.

"Coach never bothers to ask," Scott's pupils dilate in and out.

"I think we…" Allison drags Scott to his feet, "…should get you off the ice. Okay, Bambi?"

"Got it," Scott moans, and despite werewolf healing that still looks like it hurt.

They are in the photo booth when Scott's phone rings, looking through the photos to try and find one where the flash doesn't flare in Scott's eyes.

"This one looks okay," Allison snatches it out of Scott's fingers as he fumbles around for his phone.

"Lydia?" he says as he picks it up, "Hey, are you okay- what? I… yeah, sure." Allison stares in concern as Scott stands, shoving her gently towards the exit of the rink. "We'll be there, okay? Don't… don't go anywhere."

"What is it?" Allison asks, "Scott, what's wrong?"

"It's Lydia," Scott says, "She woke up in the woods and doesn't know how she got there."

"Is this like with Stiles?" Allison struggles to keep up as she follows behind the werewolf who is walking quickly towards his mother's car, "Is she turning now?" Scott looks confused and unsure and he doesn't answer. Allison wonders why it is that their dates are always interrupted by one of their friends sleepwalking into the woods on a dark and cold night.

---

"Oh thank god," Lydia stands, looking so, so small, with her arms wrapped around herself as Allison climbs out of Scott's car with a blanket. Lydia accepts it with a small smile.

Scott approaches her from the front, "What happened?" he asks, "How did you get here?"

Lydia shudders and Allison wraps one arm around her best friend's shoulder, "I'm fine," she says, pulling the blanket tighter around her, "This boy found my phone for me so I could call you guys. He crept off into shadows like a creeper, but didn't do anything."

"That's not what I was asking," Scott lays a hand on one of Lydia's own, thumb rubbing circulation back into the skin gently, "What happened?"

"That's the thing," Lydia whispers sadly, "I don't know. I just woke up in the woods, and I don't know how I got there. One minute I could have sworn I was at home doing homework, the next I was in the woods." She tugs her hand away from Scott's and presses it down to her side, "I'm not a werewolf," she says, quietly, "It hasn't healed."

Scott exchanges a worried look with Allison, "Peter's the one who bit you," he says, cautiously, "But Stiles was there. Maybe he knows what went wrong?" He opens the back door, because standing outside in the cold isn't going to do anything. He slips into the driver's seat and turns around to look at Allison and Lydia, curled up in the back. "You two should talk."

"Like you 'talked'?"

"Lydia," Allison tilts her head to one side and it sounds like she's preparing a ranting explanation about why Lydia should trust Stiles again. The red head cuts it off before it begins, rolling her eyes.

"Okay," she says, "I'll talk to him. Happy?"

"The problem," Allison looks towards Scott, "Is that Stiles isn't really talking to any of us. Not really."

"He's just being an asshole," Lydia sniffs, "I'm used to it with Jackson. I'll find him and we'll try to clear the air with some of the many issues. But…" she meets Scott's gaze then, eyes a stony green, "But I'm not making things better between you two. You need to do that yourself."

"My dad wants me to watch Stiles," Allison sighs, "I'm still worried they might shoot him. We should keep an eye on him." Scott's jaw clenches, because he's not Stiles' guard dog. He's not the guy who has to make sure Stiles does what he is told.

His friend doesn't trust him enough anymore, and Scott doesn't really trust him, considering that every time he turns his back Stiles ends up doing something terrible. Peter may be dead but Stiles?

Scott doesn't think he's seen Stiles since his friend watched him walk off into a dark school with nothing more than a Molotov cocktail in hand.

He's Stiles' friend, but there are some things even he can't do.

---

"Hey," Scott says as Lydia sits next to him at lunch. She seems lately to be the only one keeping him company. He doesn't know where Stiles is - the other werewolf isn't even in the cafeteria, and so he doubts Lydia's been able to talk to him yet. Allison sits behind him, close enough to hear his conversation and offer a few words, but not close enough to be seen as sitting next to him. "Lydia - have you seen Boyd today?"

"Who?" Lydia raises one perfect eyebrow.

"Boyd," Scott gestures at the empty table, "I need to give him back the key to the rink from our date last night."

Lydia glances up at the empty space, and then back to Scott, the pair realising it at the same time. "Oh no," Lydia says, "No."

"Do you think Derek…?" Allison asks behind them, leaning back slightly.

"I'll head to the ice-rink," Scott says, "He works there after school. If not I'll head to his house. Are you…?"

"I can't," Allison's voice sounds broken, "My mom's expecting me after school."

"Maybe we should just let Derek take care of them," Lydia says, then rolls her eyes, "I didn't mean it like that. But they're his responsibility, so shouldn't we just let them be? It's their choice. It's not like he's forcing them…" her voice sounds strained. "You let Jackson get the bite, remember?"

"And a fat lot of good that was," Scott's face twists, because Jackson didn't even fucking transform, "And that was then. This is now. When there is something killing people, there are hunters; quite literally, working at our school, and this is my responsibility."

Lydia levels an unimpressed look at him, but it is the way Allison shifts in her seat behind that makes it feel less like the weight of responsibility lies on his shoulders. His girlfriend gathers up her books to her chest, "You're a good person," she whispers, "But be careful, okay, Scott? You realise what is happening, right? My grandfather coming here, Derek turning Erica and Isaac, it's - It's like battle lines are being drawn."

"I know."

"I don't want you to be caught in the crossfire," she whispers, then stands and leaves, Scott struggling not to turn around and face her. He meets Lydia's gaze.

"Go rescue Boyd," she shrugs, "Or whatever heroic act you're planning."

"What are you going to do?" Scott asks.

She presses her lips together, "I've been told I need to talk to one Stiles Stilinski." The grimace on her face can hardly be called a smile, "Which would be easier to do if I could find him."

---

"I don't approve of you skipping school," his dad says, not even looking up from where he sorts through folders. Stiles is sitting slumped in the corner of the room, fingers tapping on the arm of the chair. "Not because of some petty argument with Scott."

"It's not that," Stiles shrugs, "I just didn't feel like going in today."

His dad sighs and heaves a collection of folders onto a rapidly growing pile on the floor. He has the expression on his face that suggests he's about to start lecturing. Stiles sits up, leaning forwards to change the direction of the conversation, "What's that?" he asks, gesturing towards the pile of folders.

"Don't think that's going to distract me," the Sheriff grimaces, "I've raised you, remember? I know all your tricks."

"Come on," Stiles bemoans, "I'm acing all my classes. Even Chemistry now that Harris is gone." Dead, he thinks, but oh well. He was a terrible teacher, Stiles muses, and tries not to remember the way Harris' blood had looked splattered across the floor. "Danny was also kind enough to e-mail me some catch-up work." He says, gesturing at his bag, "Which I even brought with me to do."

"Then why aren't you doing it?"

"I'm taking a break," Stiles says, seemingly chirpily, "To see why you are arranging folders across your floor?"

The Sheriff gestures at the pile, "Strange animal attacks," he says, "I'm taking another look at them."

Stiles leans forwards so suddenly he's surprised he isn't dizzy, "Are you looking through all your old cases to see if they're werewolf related?" he asks, frowning, "Dad… you can't begin to second guess yourself."

"But…" the Sheriff grits his teeth, "If I knew then what I know now…" he sighs, looking up at Stiles, "There was this girl the night your mother died," he says, and the conversation has changed so fast it almost gives Stiles whiplash. "In a pile-up across the highway. She was trapped in the car and going to die and she… I held her hand while we waited for the paramedics."

"Dad…" Stiles whispers.

"She told me," the Sheriff perseveres, "She told me that if I wanted to be with her, to go now. And I knew… I just knew she was talking about your mother." His eyes are so, so tired when he meets Stiles' gaze, "I just didn't believe." His voice is broken and Stiles stands, taking a step forwards, grabbing onto his father's hand. His dad clenches it tightly, and continues, "She died just after the paramedics got her out. And later I got to the hospital and you… you were sitting there… all alone in the waiting room… and…"

Stiles doesn't want to hear any more. He's heard enough. He steps forwards and wraps his dad in a hug, feeling tears prick at his eyes.

"I didn't believe." His dad whispers, "I didn't believe. But now?" he pulls back slightly, blinking watery eyes at Stiles, "Now, I can try and at least do something."

"Okay," Stiles nods, because at this stage he'd let his dad do anything he wants to, except maybe eat his way through fatty carbohydrates. "Okay, so… do you have somewhere to start?"

"Yeah," his dad nods, reaching over towards his desk, "There was this car crash…" he pauses to clear his throat, "This car crash seven years ago - the mother and younger daughter died but the older daughter's body was never found. The other two were mauled by what was thought to be coyotes but now…" he holds out the file for Stiles to see.

There is a calendar inside dating when the bodies were found and when the accident took place. The latter is circled and Stiles stared at the little full circle in the box, "It was a full moon," he realises, "So you're thinking a werewolf got her or something?"

"Or something," his dad shrugs, "That's what we're going to find out."

"What is this girl's name?"

"Malia Tate."

---

His dad thinks that if Stiles catches a scent from the Tate house, then he'll be able to find a body. Stiles has his phone out, trying to work out where in the preserve the Tate residence even is. If he can't find a scent then his dad is going to visit the traumatised father tomorrow for some leads.

It feels good to be doing something. To be helping. He types out the address into his phone, pausing outside the police station to wait for it to load, piggybacking off the station's free Wi-Fi.

The task has his senses all super focussed, and so it takes a bit longer than it should to realise someone is approaching him. He's not sure if Erica was trying to creep up on him or not, but she doesn't manage it, his gaze meeting hers when she's still half-way across the parking lot.

"Stiles," she smiles, coyly. She's dressed in another leather jacket, and is wearing what may be the lowest cut top Stiles has seen outside a club. "I'm sorry - we didn't get a chance to talk to other day."

He sighs, realising he's going to have to deal with her now. He slips his phone into his pocket and slouches back onto one foot, eyeing her up, "Erica. You look good. In fact the word 'sensational' comes to mind." He grins at her, casual and easy-going.

Erica laughs. "I am now," she purrs, and Stiles knows she's going for seductive, and his throat bobs uncomfortably.

"So Derek's resorted to seduction to gain pack members?" Peter's appearance is enough to kill any reaction Stiles' body would have had to a beautiful girl stalk up to him, "With betas currently including broken orphans and sick girls? He must be really desperate."

Erica's expression shuts down suddenly and Stiles realises suddenly that he said that out loud. Peter's words had become his own and he had spat them out at the beta. His gaze slides over her shoulder but there is nothing there as usual. "You know," Erica says, a snarl to her voice, "I never knew what I looked like during a seizure until someone took a video of me once and put it online?" her voice is bitter and Stiles can smell the humiliation pouring off her, "It happened during class," she continued, "I started seizing at my desk and everyone was saying how they should put something in my mouth until some genius reads the card on my key ring which tells him not to 'cause it could break my teeth."

"That's terrible." Stiles says, and that's completely true. "Did you tell this sob story to Derek too or did you just look that pathetic and desperate?"

Erica's fuming. Her claws are out and she steps until she's well inside Stiles' personal space bubble, "Do you know what happens next?" she continues, and Stiles doesn't answer. He has a feeling she's going to tell him. "I piss myself. And they start laughing. You know, the only good thing about seizures was that I never remembered them. Until some brilliant jerkoff - had to go and put cameras in everybody's phone."

"You need three betas to make a pack," Stiles says, "But you're going to have to find someone else. Despite your beautiful, moving tale, my answer is still 'no'."

"The bite took that away," she snaps, "It made me strong. Made me powerful."

"Well you know what they say. The bite is a gift." Peter's words taste like ash on his tongue.

"Derek didn't send me," Erica admits, "He told us to stay away from you, but I don't see why. You're not dangerous. You're not even a threat."

"Maybe you should listen to Derek," Stiles steps away from Erica, sidestepping around her, "But tell him that he can stay away from me lest I rip out his throat." He moves past her, making to leave, but she reaches out, grabbing his arm and yanking him back. Stiles stumbles.

"Don't you see? This is an opportunity," Erica breathes, "You know I used to have the worst crush in the world on you. Yeah, you, Stiles. And you never once even noticed me. But now you're noticing me. Now you want to do nothing but notice me, don't you?"

Stiles has had enough. He doesn't need Derek's baby betas crawling all over him, he doesn't need Scott and his stupid morals and he certainly doesn't need this. He reaches out, grabbing Erica's wrist and twisting. He turns them around, spinning them so that Erica slams against the wall of the police station, her breath rushing out of her in surprise.

"Maybe next time you should listen to Derek," Stiles advises, letting his eyes flare blue. Erica actually looks nervous as he leans forwards, keeping her pinned the wall with his weight, one hand holding her there while his other brushes a lock of hair out of her face, "And you know what? Maybe I'll give him my message in person." And then he grabs onto Erica's head, slamming it back into the brick wall. She goes limp; eyes rolling up in his head and Stiles lets her drop, sighing.

He really needs to stop knocking people out.

---

It's easy for Scott to knock Isaac aside and then to turn back to Boyd, to persuade him not to get the bite. Nobody should want the bite. Because with the bite comes pain and horror. With the bite comes hunters and full moons chained up in a basement. With the bite comes the loss of control and the world screaming in your ears.

"If you're looking for friends you can do a lot better than Derek," he says, "But this?" he gestures at himself, "What I am? You don't want."

"Isaac wanted it. Erica wanted it." Boyd says, not moving from the ice plough, "And look at them now."

"Yeah, look at them," Scott spins around, hearing Stiles' voice. His friend is stepping in from the entrance and - Scott had wondered where Erica had gotten to. "These two are basically a bunch of glorified guard dogs," he throws Erica down onto the ice next to Isaac, the pair groaning weakly. "By the way, Derek? Sending your beta after me - not appreciated."

Stiles steps after Erica onto the ice and Scott steps towards his friend, only to freeze when Stiles glares at him. "Don't."

Derek moves forwards in front of his betas, eyes flashing red, as he looks warily at Stiles, "I didn't send her. But since we're all here, why don't we have a little discussion about killing hunters on my territory."

"Your territory?" Stiles scoffs, "Says who, dude?"

Derek twists his neck and blinks, eyes flaring red and staying that way as he bares his fangs. "I'm the alpha now."

"Yeah, you wish," Stiles lunges. Scott has no idea what is running through his friend's mind. Isaac and Erica are pushing themselves up and Scott snarls at them to stay down.

Derek knocks Stiles' fist blow to one side, claws swiping across Stiles' chest. Stiles' face twists into alarm as Derek steps forwards him, the beta stumbling back. Scott moves across the ice to help his friend, but Stiles ducks away from Derek. "Don't, Scott." He bites out, and then glances back at Derek, "This isn't exactly a fair fight." He growls at Derek.

Derek shrugs, "You started it."

"No," Stiles snaps, "I think it was you who started it when you ripped out Peter's throat." And he lashes out again. Again Derek bats aside the claws, his own hand wrapping around Stiles' wrist. Stiles snarls, and twists his wrist, trying to twist Derek around, but Derek barely flinches. Stiles' eyes widen and Scott freezes.

Derek grins, "Not so powerful now, are you?" he asks, "Not without a pack." Then he punches Stiles in the stomach, winding the blue-eyed wolf. Stepping forwards, Derek grabs onto Stiles, and twists, sending the other wolf flying. Stiles lands heavily and Scott swears he hears one shoulder click ominously as he lands, a huddle of clothing and flesh on the ice. "You act like you've still got Peter watching your back," Derek stalks forwards, sounding disbelieving, "Like you've still got an alpha. But Peter? Peter's dead. And you're alone. You're weak. You're omega."

He stops, as Stiles struggles to get back up, spitting out blood and glaring upwards, his eyes flashing blue weakly and then dying back to amber.

"Get away from him!" Scott has finally had enough and he leaps forwards, knocking Derek away. Derek snarls and catches one of Scott's flailing arms, claws digging into Scott's side as he throws Scott backwards. Scott lands next to Stiles, heavily. He groans, trying to struggle back upright. "If we're omegas," Scott chokes out, "Then at least we'll be omegas together."

Derek just laughs, "Really, Scott? Just you and your friend, who, by the way, once tried to kill you, your girlfriend, your co-captain and your resident genius?"

Scott glances to where Stiles is staring at him. His friend looks shocked, pained (but that might be more from the claw slashes across his chest. He looks open and vulnerable in way Scott hasn't seen for a long time.

Then with a flicker it's gone. "I don't need you to protect me," he snaps at Scott, shoving himself weakly to his feet. "And I don't need a pack."

There are footsteps and Scott looks around, to see Boyd heading towards Derek. Isaac and Erica are helping each other to their feet. "Don't," Scott pleads at Boyd, wincing as he does. Derek's claws had cut him too. "You don't want to be like them." Scott begs.

"You're right," Boyd shrugs, and then raises his top, revealing an ugly red open wound. "I wanna be like you."

Stiles sneers, "No," he moves to the side of Scott's vision, "No, you really, really don't." he stares sadly at Boyd, then turns away, "But it's your choice. Me? I'm done. I'm out. I've had enough."

Boyd takes another step towards Derek and Scott knows there is nothing he can do now. Boyd had been bitten. He's in Derek's pack.

And Stiles?

"See you around, Scotty," Stiles is limping quietly away, because when it comes down to it he's already pushed Stiles away. Stiles had burnt the bridges to the ground but Scott's also given up rebuilding their shattered remains.

Derek vanishes out of the door with his three new betas and Stiles pauses where he stands, looking like he might turn for a moment.

Scott knows he won't. Just like that night he stalked off after Peter's death, Stiles isn't going to look over his shoulder to see Scott standing there.

He's still got Lydia and Allison and Jackson even to some extent.

But there is still something missing.