Disclaimer: I don't own MTV's Teen Wolf or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: This story is meant to fit into the canon events of season 4 until just before the end of 4x12, "Smoke and Mirrors" where it goes very AU. The premise is that Scott and co. escaped Kate in Mexico and return to Beacon Hills without the showdown we saw in the final episode where Kate is 'defeated.' In this au Derek still 'evolves', but Chris doesn't go with the Calaveras to track down Kate, but rather returns with the whole pack to Beacon Hills. – This is a Bobby Finstock/Chris Argent fic, with minor references to: Stiles/Derek & Lydia/Parrish here and there.
Warnings: Spoilers for seasons three and four and one or two vague illusions to things that have happened in season five. *Contains: sexual content, blood, guts, gore, canon appropriate violence, references to using alcohol as a coping mechanism in both past and present tenses.
Regress to my mean (and kiss me pretty)
Chapter One
He woke up to the sound of his phone buzzing off his bedside table. The idea not really computing as he fumbled blindly, nearly upsetting his watch and the glass of water before his hand closed around one of the metal-cool edges and reeled it in by the cord. Not realizing he hadn't opened his eyes until the brightness of the screen hazed like the surface of the sun across his closed lids.
No. He told himself firmly, cracking a lid experimentally when the phone buzzed again - insistent – and promptly hating himself for it. He'd only been asleep for what, five hours? He didn't care what was going on, after the backlog of paperwork he'd just weeded through, he didn't deserve this shit.
Ugh.
He mashed his face deeper into the pillows, heavy with the siren call of sweet, sweet oblivion when the phone buzzed again. Then again. Ratting across the pitted-rough of the wooden table as he ground his teeth in frustration. The numbers on his clock bled a blurry red as he lifted his head, jerking himself up and over with a groan. Cursing when the phone popped off the charger and clattered onto the floor. Nearly blinding himself again when he fumbled with the lock screen and swiped.
"Beacon Hills Search and Rescue - Priority 1 Alert: Notice for all volunteers to assemble at 4:30am at Predator Ridge. Missing person's case: 2 year old Allie Henson. Believed to be abducted from home after a break and enter while parents were out of town. Babysitter in intensive care, unresponsive. Was able to give a brief description of assailants to Emergency services on scene. Victim sustained serious defensive and offensive wounds attempting to fight off assailants. Child was alive at the time of assault, believed to be-"
He closed his eyes. Holding back a sigh as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, toes digging into the carpet as he yawned hugely - jaw cracking. Mind slowly ramping up as he tried to remember where he'd put his gear. Wondering if he'd actually gotten around to getting a fresh set of batteries for his headlamp. He'd been a part of Beacon Hills volunteer Search & Rescue since he'd been old enough to shoot a flare gun. His mother had lived for it. Dragging him along with her to each and every one, even if it was just to set up the first aid station or pour the coffee.
'This is how a community works, Bobby. Everyone pulls together for each other. Like one big family. There is nothing you can't do when you have the support of a community behind you. And what do families do? They protect each other. Every one of us has a responsibility to look out for one another. If you support your community. They will support you.'
His phone buzzed again, this time with a picture. Showing a little girl with spazzy red hair, a gap-toothed smile and dimples fat enough you could lose your finger in. He sighed, feeling something settle in the center of his chest as he ran a hand through his hair.
Dammit.
It was going to be a long day.
He was adjusting the straps of his backpack, separated from the thinly milling crush when Argent and the Sheriff found him.
"Alright there, Finstock?" Chris asked, handing him a steaming cup of coffee he guzzled down gratefully. Eying his yawn as the man adjusted the straps of his hunting rifle. Sending the Sheriff a look he wasn't quite sure how to quantify when one of the deputies – Parrish something – called for everyone's attention.
"Just fine," he grunted, clearing his throat. Nearly scalding himself as he took another pointed sip of what he was certain was probably the most profoundly awful cup coffee he'd ever tasted in his entire life. "Late night is all, paperwork is a killer."
"Don't I know it," the Sheriff returned, smiling sympathetically. Looking back over his shoulder where a huddle of kids were bunching up – collars up and cold in the dawn chill. He followed the man's gaze, pleased to see a good turn out from his classes. Catching sight of Scott, Kira, Stiles, Lydia, Liam, Malia – and weirdly, the Hale kid who was talking closely to Scott and Stiles for some reason.
"Seems like we've been doing this a lot recently," he finally blurted, carefully not mentioning that some of the most recent actually involved the Sherriff's own son and some teenage psycho who'd somehow wormed his way into the starting line of his team.
"True," Argent replied, fastening his marker ties to the front of his belt, easily accessible for when they set out. "But this time, from what the Sheriff tells me, it's pretty cut and dry. It was a normal B & E kidnapping. The girl's parents are on a red eye back to town. They think, if she's lucky, the teenager that was babysitting might pull through. The kid has been missing for just under five hours. They found the kidnapper's car in this lot, one of them dead behind the wheel. Gunshot to the back of the head. Probably never even saw it coming. Looks like the other one took off into the woods on foot."
"For once there's no sign that this is anything more than some asshole wanting to start fresh. Maybe make a couple thousand selling her to some family that wants a cute kid but doesn't want to go through all that adoption hassle," the Sheriff agreed. "Money always talks."
"I didn't know the others weren't," he returned slowly, eying the two of them strangely now. Getting the distinct impression that there was something going on he wasn't privy to as the men exchanged looks again. It was Beacon Hills after all.
He was still waiting for an answer when Parrish's whistle blew, summoning the Sheriff to the front of the crowd to get them all up to speed and into groups. He let himself get caught up in the tide, half aware that Argent was still standing beside him as the group came together – condensing and quietly loud.
It was time to get to work.
He was paired up with Argent and Deputy Parrish. And while he quickly started feeling like the odd one out, he found himself falling into his usual head space without much difficultly. All three of them knew what they were doing, which gave him space to focus on his surroundings.
He marked his trail as he went, blue ribbon tied to the occasional trunk or branch to indicate not only his trail and way back, but if one of the others wandered this way, they'd know that his grid was already searched and they could move on to the next.
It didn't take long for them to eventually wander out of sight of each other, but he could still hear them. Parrish's quiet footfalls, light and almost bird-like as they skirted over bone-dry twigs and mouldering undergrowth. And Argent's heavier ones, mature and sure. Able to pick out the click-click-clink of the man's jacket zipper as it hitched against the stock of his rifle.
It was almost too loud, actually.
Weirdly loud.
Overwhelming and-
He closed his eyes, fists clenching at his sides as he strangled the ribbon in his palm.
Focus.
Focus.
He sucked in a shaky inhale and almost choked on it. Overwhelmed by a sudden smell. Baby powder. Wet cotton. Crusted salt. Expelled shot. Only just barely able to hear the muted little whimper that aired up from the damp moss and dew-wet leaves as his head snapped up. Eyes narrowing as he wheeled east, marking ribbon fluttering free and forgotten from his hand.
Holy shit.
He knew where she was.
He was off running before his mind even processed the shift.
He found her in a shelled out hollow, wrapped up in an undershirt, a thin blanket and a pair of neon pink booties. There was a bloody smear on her forehead that wasn't hers, but otherwise she looked fine. Completely unimpressed with life of course, but lighting up like the fourth of July when he scrambled up the bank and into view.
Oh, thank god.
He let go of a relieved huff of air, tasting her unhappy tears on the breeze as she smiled up at him, red-hair thin and haloed-messy on her head. Chubby hands wind-milling, gap-toothed and babbling to be held as the sounds of the forest pressed in around them. But he found he barely cared, too busy making sure she was unharmed. Tickling her sides just to hear her murmur nonsense up at him as he lifted the back of her shirt and tested her joints. Breathing a sigh of relief that felt like it came all the way from his boots as he finally started to relax.
She was fine.
Parrish and Argent would have heard her by now, they had been so close. In fact, he could hardly believe he'd beaten them to it. He cocked his head, half-listening. Expecting to hear them approaching, Parrish talking into his radio. Only there was nothing. He couldn't hear them at all.
Maybe they'd wandered off in the wrong direction?
"Hey sweetheart," he cooed, lifting her gingerly. Tucking her close to his chest as he shrugged out of his backpack and pulled out a thermal blanket. Wrapping her up as he checked her over again. Pleased to see that despite being tired, hungry, and host to a full diaper issue that was really really…pungent, she seemed no worse for wear. "Whatcha doing out here, huh? We've been looking all over for you."
"How the hell did you get all the way out here anyway?" he muttered, talking more for her than anything as she looked up at him, grubby hands patting curiously at his face as he gave her a bit of water to sip. "You're a sausage link with arms. Or, more like five sausage links stuffed together. I don't care how grown up you think you are, you definitely didn't walk all the way out here by yourself. Save that rebellious milestone for your parents to enjoy in your teenage years. Believe me, it will come along soon enough. They will be utterly thrilled."
He looked carefully around the hollow, noting the shoe impressions that carried on behind the fallen log and out of sight, indicating that the kidnapper had probably ditched little miss ginger when she became more trouble than she was worth. Leaving her here for them to find. Probably hoping the search would give them time to get the hell out of Beacon Hills before the DNA and bloodwork found at the house could ID them.
"Alright, whatever, you're safe now, chicken little," he told her, hoisting her high up in the crook of his arm as the thermal blanket glinted a warm metallic in the weak morning light. "Let's get you home, huh?"
"Quack," she replied firmly, sleepily. Because apparently chickens quacked now. Pudgy hands curling around his collar as he swung his backpack on and fumbled with his phone. Unsurprised by the lack of a signal, he merely ignored the blinking bars and instead took a couple of snap-shots of the area. Making sure to get more than a few good ones of the foot prints leading off deeper into the brush before he pocketed it again. Figuring the Sheriff would need them for the investigation.
"Pooh!" she squealed delightedly, apparently host to some epiphany he wasn't privy to. Watery blue eyes widening happily as she patted his face. "Bear-bear!"
He raised an eyebrow before he figured he'd just go with it. Rolling his eyes as she smeared dirt all over his chin. Suddenly smelling half a dozen things he was pretty sure he'd never been able to pick out before as somewhere close by, a stick cracked.
Finally!
"Sure, I'm Winnie the Pooh. I can deal with that. Lucky for you I am a mature adult who has extremely high self-esteem, young lady. But be careful with labels when you grow up, kid. People are easily offended, you know."
He turned around when another stick cracked, high on relief and that honest sort of pleasure that comes from seeing a particularly good happy ending coming together. Expecting to see Argent and Parrish hustling down the trail.
"Hey! I found-"
Only there was no one there.
He blinked, looking around him. Realizing for the first time that not only was he alone, but that he didn't even recognize where he was. There was no trail. No markers. No sign that anyone other than him, the baby and the footprints had been in the area for years. He straightened, looking around wildly before his eyes dropped down to the markers still attached to his belt.
Aw, crap.
The baby burbled, curious and drooling against his neck as he turned in a slow circle, trying to make out his own set of tracks as he strained to hear some sign of the others. He could have sworn Argent had been less a couple of yards away only a few minutes ago. Only now nothing looked familiar at all.
He checked his watch reflexively, shocked and swallowing hard.
Two hours?
Well, this was just perfect.
He sighed, dropping his head into his chin. Half wondering if he waited long enough someone would save him from his own stupidity. How had he managed not to mark his trail? That was a rookie mistake. One he'd never actually made, if he was being honest. Having gone through more than few lectures of trainers sharing horror stories about people forgetting to mark their trail. Forcing a pause in the search for the actual victim just to find the one green behind the ears idiot who couldn't remember to tie around a tree to mark where he'd gone. Hell, he didn't even remember how he'd gotten from where he'd picked up her scent to where he was now.
He cocked his head, mentally checking himself.
Picked up her scent?
What was he? High?
Christ.
He edged out of the hollow, eyes to the sod as he followed his own tracks backwards. Pant legs skimming through wet ferns as he muttered nonsense to the girl in his arms. Too distracted by the way the tracks seemed to space out every now and again – almost like he'd been running - to realize she'd fallen firmly asleep against his shoulder. Dirty little hands still fisted tight in his collar as his heartbeat lulled her down.
He wasn't sure why, pride maybe, but he waited until he found the trail before he covered the girl's ears and blew his whistle. Able to pick out the nearby sounds of more than a few search parties already converged and close before he looked down at the girl in his arms and personally thanked whatever deity was responsible for helping him find her.
Because the way he figured it, with all the things that had to go right for this to happen today, he had to be the luckiest sonofabitch in all of Beacon Hills. Or maybe she was. Honestly, he had no idea how things like this worked themselves out. All he knew was that he was tired, dirty, but most of all, grateful.
"Chicken little needs a diaper change!" he called, marching out of the treeline as the Sheriff led them out of the woods. "Maybe like five actually," he amended. Getting another whiff as the girl giggled. Clearly enjoying the attention as the people ringed around them flashed smiles and relieved laughter like it was going out of style.
"I am pretty sure the contents are actually a Hazmat issue," he muttered. Only shutting his mouth about it when a taxi screeched into the parking lot and a set of tearful parents that looked no more than kids themselves came sprinting across the parking lot towards them.
Oh boy.
And if he'd been less busy fending off the overly enthusiastic clutches of mother, father and baby, he might have noticed the odd grouping watching closely from the sidelines. Confusion and softened interest chief across their features as the Sheriff, Argent, Parrish, Scott, Stiles, Derek and Lydia all talked in hushed tones. Eyes darting from him to the treeline behind them as the hive of Police, EMS and gawkers flowed and condensed around them like a water over rock. Smooth, stream-lined and with the air of people who'd faced similar odds before and had barely scraped out the winner.
If he'd been less busy, he might have wondered about that.
A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This story will have 40 chapters and will update once a week, so please stay tuned.