Scott and Lydia called the rest of the Pack while Peter dragged him off to the kitchen for first aid.
"Would you just. Hold. Still." Peter fought to keep Stiles on the barstool while he checked him over.
In turn, Stiles fought as hard as he could to get free. Everything was muted. The loft, Peter's words, the moonlight flooding through the windows – everything felt like a dream. It had to be a dream, because this reality somehow scared him more than the nightmare.
Peter's words echoed in his mind.
"Derek is missing."
With every repetition, an aftershock passed through his body, and his heart clenched painfully in his chest. Again, he struggled against Peter. Again, Peter stopped him.
"Stiles!" the man exclaimed. "Sit down!"
"I'm fine!" he managed to bite out. "Let me go – where the hell is Derek? Let me go, asshole, I'm fine!"
Peter scoffed, "It's nice to see you're just as intolerable when you're injured as you are when you're fully functional."
"Shut up," Stiles said. "I told you, I'm fine."
Peter leveled Stiles with an unimpressed look, and pushed the boy back down onto the stool.
"You have multiple bruises, shallow cuts on the back of your legs, and your body temperature is cold enough that if you weren't shivering, I would be tempted to claim hypothermia. Now sit down, and let me take care of you."
Stiles hadn't noticed the itching pain on his legs until Peter had mentioned it. "No thanks, creep," Stiles replied, but he sat back. "Sorry, but I don't exactly trust you."
"While I may not be the… sanest person in the world," Peter voiced, pulling out a swab and bandages from the first aid kit he'd set on the counter, "I respect Pack. And like it or not, Stiles, you are Pack. For some reason or another."
"I didn't realize we were in the same Pack," Stiles muttered. He tried to ignore the uncomfortable tingling that travelled up his leg when Peter began to clean his wounds. Why couldn't it have been winter, when he could have worn longer pants?
"I was part of Derek's when he was Alpha," Peter explained, wiping the blood from Stiles' calves. "You were as well."
"What?" Stiles asked, surprised.
Stiles hadn't been part of Derek's Pack. Scott's, maybe, if only honorably. He wasn't a werewolf or anything similar. But in Derek's? Definitely not.
"That was my exact reaction when I realized it as well," Peter continued wryly. "But it's true. For some reason, only Derek knows, he accepted you into his Pack."
Stiles winced when Peter applied the antibiotic. It burned almost worse than the reminder that Derek wasn't there, except that it faded almost immediately. "He did it without telling me?"
"Pack isn't exactly rigid and forced, Stiles." Peter sounded like he was explaining the concept to a child, his voice slow as he continued, "It's fluid, like blood."
"That comparison sounds oddly specific," Stiles muttered.
Peter replied, "Blood of the covenant is thicker than water, Stiles. The Pack is our covenant. Derek considered you Pack, and somewhere, deep in your mind, you considered yourself part of it as well. That's all we need to make the bond. Tie the knot, if you would."
"Why does that sound dirty when you say it?"
"When Scott came into his right as Alpha," Peter continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "Derek bound himself to Scott. I followed suit, because it was a better alternative than falling to Omega."
Even so, he didn't sound particularly pleased about the arrangement. Stiles didn't exactly blame him; Scott was still new to the whole Alpha thing, even six months into it. But it was better than leaving Peter to his own devices.
"And we've been Packmates for how long?" Stiles asked. He sounded interested, but in his mind, he was still wrapping his mind around the fact that Derek had accepted him.
"Well, I realized you were part of Derek's Pack around the time you came to me asking about Paige." The way he said the name so casually made something twist inside Stiles' chest, but Peter carried on wrapping bandages around his legs, and said, "But the bond felt strong then, as if you'd been Pack for a while. Almost as strong as Scott's, actually. But really, that makes no sense, because Scott had accepted you as his own sort of Pack before I'd bitten him, and you didn't really meet Derek until… after…"
Peter trailed off, but his eyes widened, as if he'd come across an epiphany. His hands froze where they were at Stiles' calves.
"What? What is it?" Stiles asked from above him, looking down at the man.
Peter's head snapped up. He had that faraway look in his eyes, the one he got when he was deep in thought.
He blinked. "I don't know," he said simply, snapping the bandages with his claws and standing up. He packed up the first aid kit, still speaking. "Make sure to ice those bruises later, and wrap up in a blanket. I have no idea how you're this cold in the summer, of all times, but it probably has to do with your fugue state."
"Peter," Stiles cut in, and the man froze for a moment, "what do you not know? How long we've been Packmates? Or what?"
Peter simply shrugged, falling back into motion. "I don't know," he repeated, a smirk playing at his lips.
"Peter–"
"Oh look, company!" he said suddenly, closing the box with a light snap!
Stiles turned away, to see Danny and Kira enter the loft. They both were in their sleepwear, Danny looking slightly irritated, but Kira looking wide-awake. When she saw Scott, she smiled, and then her eyes fell on Stiles.
"Stiles!" she shouted, crossing the room in leaps. She crashed into him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. For a moment he swayed dangerously on the stool, but she kept them steady.
"Kira," he greeted, slightly suffocating in her embrace.
"Oh my god, we were so worried about you," she breathed in his ear, far louder than a whisper. "We had no idea – I thought the Nogitsune had–"
"Last I checked," a new voice broke in, "I gave that thing back to your parents. Six months ago."
Stiles peeked over Kira's shoulder, and couldn't help the self-satisfactory smirk that stretched across his face.
"There's Mister Golden-Locks-of-Love! I just had a dream thinking about you!"
Isaac frowned, crossing his arms irritably. He was wearing a scarf – not a practical one, a fancy one – and almost as well dressed as Lydia. What was it with those two and their constant fashion choices? It was… Stiles wanted to guess around five in the morning, but he wasn't sure. He fell asleep around three, he knew.
"Please tell me you weren't sleepwalking with me in your dirty thoughts," the kid groaned.
Honestly, as if it were anything less than an honor.
"No," Stiles replied. "I complained about how we should've buried the fly spawn of Hell under the Nemeton, but then you had to go and be reasonable and give it away to Mrs. Yukimura."
"I still don't know what that all was about," Danny cut in, "but I'm pretty sure burying it under the tree that gave it its power wouldn't have helped."
"See, why can't you just be nice like Danny, Stiles?" Isaac added.
Obviously, neither of them appreciated being up at the ass-crack of dawn searching for a lanky human. But Stiles' head was pounding, his legs itched, and he didn't exactly feel like being there either.
He retorted, "Maybe I'd be nicer if I wasn't waking up from nightmares about the Nemeton, Wolf Wonder."
The following silence instantly made him regret his words, as Danny and Isaac both froze like deer in the headlights. Kira finally released Stiles, tension apparent in her stance. Her eyes gazed at him, calculating. In the background, Scott looked up from his phone, as did Lydia, both of their attentions focusing on him. He could feel Peter behind him as well, staring at Stiles as if another bomb had just been set.
Crap.
Crap, crap, crap. He hadn't meant to worry the Pack like this. They didn't need to know; it was just one dream.
"You're dreaming about the Nemeton again?" asked another person, probably the last person Stiles wanted to see, as she entered the loft.
"I – uh…" said Stiles, his voice cracking a little as he tried to think. "Well, that depends – it wasn't like it was the feature presentation, I mean, it was just – there…"
Malia stepped to the front of the group, caution lining her body. She looked every bit like the coyote that was part of her, gently moving Kira away as she stalked towards her prey. Stiles felt a nervous energy bubbling up in his chest, and began to ramble.
"I mean – I didn't see any traces of the Nogitsune. Nope. Possession free. I think – I mean, there wasn't any – well, there was a spirit, I think. I'm a little confused on that part still, cause I just woke up, but no – no demons, just–"
"Stiles," Malia interrupted, her voice quiet as she studied his face. "You're not possessed again, are you?"
Stiles really wanted to be anywhere but here. He wanted to run away, to get something done, all questions regarding his moral and mental sanity ignored.
He really did not want to talk to Malia right now.
"Well – I, um…" he trailed off, mouth hanging open dumbly. Eventually, he just shook his head, ever so slightly.
"I mean," Malia continued, looking over her shoulder for support, "I wasn't really there when you were having nightmares, but I remember the Nogitsune. I remember what it did to Oliver, before he knocked us both out. I heard–"
"No, Malia," Stiles interrupted. Malia wasn't there; she didn't know. Stiles swallowed, shaking his head again. "No, I'm not possessed."
The rest of the Pack, the part that did know what the Nogitsune had done, gazed at him still, worried looks on their faces. He looked past Kira, Isaac, and Danny, to Scott. Their eyes met, and an understanding passed across his friend's face.
Lydia just watched him, a curious look on her face. She looked eerily similar to Peter, in that way, but then she raised her eyebrows, and Stiles remembered where he was.
"Guys," he started, "Where's Derek?"
The effect was immediate. Isaac and Danny both looked away, their eyes avoiding Stiles. Kira turned immediately to Scott, whose face became guilty, just as lost as when Stiles had asked him earlier. He felt Peter move from behind him, the man calling, "I'm going to go put this away," with the first aid kit rattling in his hand as he left.
Lydia's mouth curved up in a smirk, and her gaze flicked to Malia.
The were-coyote just looked confused, and Stiles wanted to bet that she didn't know anything either, but then she opened her mouth.
"No one told you?" she asked, giving a questioning look behind her at Scott. "Derek's missing. I thought you knew."
Stiles blinked. "No, I knew that much. Kind of obvious, at this point. I meant does anyone have any ideas where he might be?"
This only made Malia seem even more confused. She glanced back at the Pack, as did Stiles.
Scott was shaking his head in his definition of subtle, while Kira was suddenly tense, gaze flicking between Malia and Stiles. Lydia's smirk had fallen, but her eyes glittered knowingly at the were-coyote. She nodded, once.
"Lydia…" began Malia, "Lydia said he was somewhere in Mexico, right?"
The Pack all froze, even more than they were before. Considering the fact that they were all part predator, they looked every bit like startled prey.
Stiles was utterly confused, and his gaze fell on Lydia. The girl was the only one who looked just as calm as before, even with the slight frown on her face. She raised her chin, as if in challenge. Stiles narrowed his eyes, feeling something sour bubbling up low in his chest.
"You said you didn't know anything," he said, voice quiet. Anger began to feed into his lungs, and he continued, "You said you and Meredith weren't getting any whispers. No messages, no signs, nothing."
"I never said that," replied Lydia coolly. She leaned against one of the cement pillars, eyes locked on Stiles. "I just said it wasn't an immediate death situation. He's still alive. At least, as far as Meredith knows. I'm confident he's not dead, either. I didn't lie to you, Stiles, if that's what you're mad about. You needed to wake up."
As much as Stiles hated to admit it, she was right. So he swallowed his retort, and leaned back against the countertop.
"Fine," he relented. "So what are we going to do about it? We have a plan, right?"
Scott stepped forward cautiously, as if Stiles were the wild animal that were about to flee.
"Stiles," he stated.
"I mean as you can see, I'm completely fine. Just a little cold and battered, no big deal," he rushed on, trying to remain oblivious. "Let's just go home, I'll get packed, and we'll be off. I'll tell my dad we're going camping, that'll work. It's the middle of summer, so he'll be fine with it. It's not like we'll be gone for long, so–"
"Stiles, you're not going," Scott interrupted. He was staring right at Stiles, and the tone of his voice left no room for arguments.
Stiles liked to argue though.
"What?" he sputtered. Then he laughed. "Scott, this is totally the wrong time to joke. Seriously, have some tact."
"I'm not joking, Stiles. You're staying here."
Stiles stared. "You – you can't be serious," he said. "Guys?"
He looked around at the Pack, but they all purposefully avoided his gaze. Only Scott and Lydia looked at him, and they both had that determined stance that put a sinking feeling in his chest.
"We already have the plan. Isaac, Lydia, and Kira are coming with me. You, Malia, and Danny are staying here," Scott stated. His voice was matter-of-fact, so unlike how it usually was when he attempted to give a game plan.
It was then Stiles knew that he didn't have the full story.
"Scott," he started, "how long has Derek been missing?"
Lydia spoke up, still watching Stiles carefully. "He's been gone a week, since the last Pack meeting. We've known he's in Mexico for three days, now."
Stiles' brain felt like it was short-circuiting. The bomb in his chest wanted to go off, but instead it just fizzed out, and his heart stopped beating. His throat went dry.
Stiles licked his lips, once, and when he spoke, his voice carried with it a dangerous threat.
"Scott. Can I speak to you for a minute?"
Scott hesitated for a moment, and then he nodded. Stiles turned, and stalked for the door that led out onto the balcony.
The summer night air was cooler than most, a gentle breeze washing over the tall buildings this side of Beacon Hills. The half-moon hanging above the town spread a blanket of blue light over the scene, and the quiet rumbles of lone cars on the roads filled the air. Smoke and fire drifted in the wind, the scent of gasoline like ash in Stiles' nose. The world hit his skin, and the quiet peace of pre-dawn fought against the storm raging in his chest.
The moment Scott closed the door, Stiles rounded on him.
"What the hell, man?" he shouted, brandishing a finger out at his friend. "Why didn't you tell me any of this sooner?"
Scott must've been waiting to unleash as well, because he yelled back, "Because I knew you'd react like this!"
"Like what? This?" Stiles asked, incredulous. "I'm only angry because you freaking lied to me!"
"None of us were lying to you, Stiles!"
"But you didn't tell me the truth, either!"
"We never told you, because we didn't think you'd care!"
Stiles fell back. "That," he said, "is definitely a lie. You all were scared to tell me. I saw all of you in there." He brandished a finger at the window. "Why?" he asked again.
"Because if you knew Derek was in trouble, we knew you'd freak out and panic!"
"Why the hell would I panic?" he cried.
"Because that's how Derek acted when you were possessed!" Scott roared, getting in Stiles' face.
Stiles fell silent. "What?" he asked. "Derek didn't panic over me."
Scott looked away, glaring over the skyline of Beacon Hills. "He nearly ripped out Allison's dad's throat, multiple times."
Stiles heard the waver in Scott's voice when he'd mentioned Allison.
He countered, "Well, yeah, if I'd had claws, I'd probably do the same."
"He was really worried about you."
"Yeah, I'd be pretty freaking worried as well if my Pack were in trouble!" Stiles shouted. "I don't know what you're getting at, Scott, but it has nothing to do with the fact that Derek is currently missing!"
"Derek wasn't your Alpha!"
Stiles thought back to the conversation he'd had with Peter, but dismissed it. "Yeah, but we're Packmates, Scott. Derek's part of your Pack. You know that. That's why we're going to find him."
"You're staying here, Stiles."
"Why?" Stiles yelled, spreading his arms out.
"Because you're too worried about this!"
"Of course I'm worried about him, asshole, he's part of our goddamn Pack!" Stiles exploded.
All the rage in his chest burning like a furnace suddenly went out with that last exclamation, leaving Stiles with an empty shell beneath his ribs. He breathed heavily, and could just barely feel the beating of his heart.
"I have a right to be worried about him, Scott," Stiles breathed. "I'm not letting another one of my Packmates get killed. Not again."
Scott was staring at him, guilt and sadness and grim determination reflecting in his eyes.
"Stiles…" he began, but then trailed off, as if he couldn't find the words to say.
Stiles' shoulders slumped. There wasn't really anything to say. He sat down on the cement window ledge in defeat.
"God, Allison was right," he groaned under his breath, burying his face in his hands.
"Allison?" Scott suddenly perked up. "What about Allison?"
Stiles went tense for a moment, but then decided it wasn't worth keeping secrets.
"My dream was about Allison," he explained, raising his head and resting it on the backs of his hands. He peered up at Scott, exhaustion running through his veins. "I mean it was about the Nemeton as well, sort of, but mostly about Allison."
"What, so she was there?"
"Sort of," Stiles murmured. "I think it was her ghost or something. It was like my dreams with the Nogitsune. You know, spirits and things."
Scott let out a breath. He sat down next to Stiles, and they both turned to face the view of the skyline. They were silent for a few moments, both not saying anything, letting the anger pass before Stiles opened the next file to address.
After a few moments, he finally continued.
"She said I was dying."
"What?" Scott's head snapped around faster than even his werewolf reflexes could've excused. Stiles did not envy the whiplash that would've caused a human like himself.
He continued to look straight ahead as he said, "Well, I don't think it's immediate. But she said that my only solution might be to get the Bite."
"What?" Scott repeated, a pitch higher than the first one.
"I'm not really sure," Stiles explained. "I was looking in a mirror, and my eyes were killer-Beta blue " –wow, that sounded like a makeup color name– "and then they turned into Alpha red. Then she shot an arrow at me, and I woke up."
Scott turned to face Stiles fully at that point. "Wait, seriously?"
"Yep," Stiles sounded, popping the 'p'. "She also told me to talk to Deaton."
"Oh," Scott replied, then sat back against the window.
It said something about their lives that he was taking a threat to Stiles' life relatively calmly. Stiles wondered absently if this was how he'd taken the news of Derek. Probably, considering how often the man had left town before the Nogitsune.
But they'd changed that in the past six months. They'd started having weekly Pack meetings – sometimes biweekly – and they often came to Derek's loft and just… hung out. Derek offered the help he could with their homework – he'd gotten his GED in New York – and they all watched movies and played games sometimes. Stiles cooked when he could; he'd learned a few things to keep his dad healthy, and when he didn't, then Kira tried, usually failed, and had Stiles cook for her anyway.
It all felt like… moving on.
Stiles was honestly surprised that he'd been away from Derek's loft the entire week, all things considering. Or, well, it wasn't all that surprising, with him avoiding… Derek…
Scott thankfully broke Stiles' train of thought by asking, "Are you sure she didn't say anything else?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you said in your dream that you got Alpha eyes, or whatever. That's not possible. I mean, unless you were to kill me, or some other Alpha."
"Or if I end up being a True Alpha, like you," Stiles shot back just as easily.
"Yeah, I don't think so," said Scott, lying back against the glass.
Stiles turned on Scott, indignant. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know, I just… I don't think you would be able to be part of my Pack if you were a True Alpha."
"You were once part of Derek's Pack."
"No," said Scott, shaking his head as he looked at Stiles. "I was just working with him to take down Gerard, remember?"
"That's not how Derek took it."
"Yeah, that was kind of the point," Scott reiterated.
"Peter said there was a bond and everything. For both of us. I'm pretty sure we were part of his Pack, dude. Besides, there can be more than one Alpha in a Pack. We've seen that."
Scott snorted. "We also know how well that worked out."
Stiles shrugged. "It seemed to work pretty well, actually. They almost won."
"Until they didn't."
"Because we were better."
"That's right, dude," affirmed Scott. Without looking, they both bumped fists, and continued to watch the horizon.
They worked the way only best friends did, argument already forgotten, or at least put to the back of their minds. After a few more thoughtless moments, however, Scott spoke up again.
"Did she say anything else?"
Stiles thought about it, and decided to leave out the weird confession Allison had given him alongside the death sentence. Not when they were trying to lower the tension.
"Yeah," he finally answered, frowning. "We talked about how death looked good on her, and how the afterlife was the universe's best-kept beauty secret."
Scott laughed, an easy sound from his throat. "Let's not tell Lydia about it. We need her."
Stiles grinned. "Yeah, we really do."
"How did she look?"
Again, Stiles paused, thinking back to his vision of Allison. "She looked good, man. She looked…"
He stopped, thinking back to that dark room in the broken school. He thought about the way Allison had smiled, and laughed. And he thought about the grim determination she held when she'd aimed her bow. The same determination that Scott now brought with him like a charm in his pocket.
"Alive."
Scott breathed out a sigh, and when Stiles looked over, he saw the faint glimmer of tears in his friend's eyes.
"Hey," he said, reaching out for Scott's hand. "We've got this."
Scott took it, and squeezed Stiles' hand in his grip. "Yeah," he replied, swallowing. "Yeah, we do."
They both turned back to the balcony one final time, watching as the sky began to turn pink.
"You're plan kind of sucks, Scott," Stiles finally said, breaking the silence.
Scott's eyebrows rose, just slightly. "How so?" he asked, sounding almost amused.
"You don't have a human. What if there's mountain ash or other supernatural-related traps?"
"We've got Lydia," Scott reminded him.
"So? There are things that we don't know of that can probably stop Banshees. You need a human, and you aren't taking Danny, because as much as we like Danny, he has no idea how to fight or defend himself with the rest of the Pack. He has the least field experience out of all of us."
Now Scott was smiling fully. "That's why we're taking someone with more field experience."
"You mean me, right?"
"No, Stiles, you're not coming."
"Scott, come on–"
Scott held up a hand, a move so sudden that it shocked Stiles into silence. "The rest of the Pack is here," he said simply, standing up and brushing off his pants.
"Oh my god, stop being so dramatic," Stiles grumbled. "You've been watching too many cop shows."
Scott only shook his head, heading for the door.
Stiles followed, and called after him, "Who else is coming? The entire Pack is already… here…"
Stiles stopped where he stood, staring at Ms. McCall and his father.
Quickly, he grabbed Scott's shoulder and hissed, "You called my dad?"
"And my mom," Scott said, nodding. "They're Pack. We promised we'd stop lying to them, remember?"
Stiles' dad stepped forward, arms crossed. "That's right. Now what's this I hear about you going to Mexico?"
"Stiles isn't going," Scott said, at the same time that Stiles replied, "Derek's missing."
The Sheriff cocked a brow and glanced back at Melissa. She nodded to him, crossing her arms. "So we're finally going to find the kid?"
For the second time in the same night, Stiles felt his insides turn to ice. "What?" he asked, staring at his father. His chest felt like a knife was through it, twisting slow torture into his bones. "You knew?"
"Yeah, I did," the man answered. "I figured since you were avoiding talking about Derek in general that you wouldn't want to know."
"What – That, that's bullshit!" Stiles spluttered, starting forward. Scott placed an arm across his chest before he could take more than a couple steps, forcing him back. Stiles let loose a snarl, loud enough that the entire room stared.
Lydia spoke up first. "You've been avoiding Derek, Stiles? Why?" When Stiles looked at her, it looked as if she were smug about something.
Stiles glowered at her. "That doesn't matter right now. You don't have a human going with you."
"You don't have an adult either," Melissa added, eying her son in particular.
"Yeah, what she said," continued Stiles, gesturing loosely at the woman. "You need me."
Lydia folded her arms defiantly. "Or we just need an adult human. Two birds with one stone."
"Who?" Stiles shot back. "Neither of you," he pointed at the parents in turn, "can take an indefinite number of days off work, and Peter–" Stiles paused, and then shook his head "–I don't know why I mentioned Peter. He's not human. Or responsible."
"I resent that," Peter said from where he perched on the staircase.
Melissa looked around suddenly, as if realizing they were missing someone. "Where's Chris? Shouldn't he be here?"
Isaac held up a hand, looking around hesitantly before answering, "Um… Chris said he didn't want to… um… he wasn't available. For this. To find Derek, I mean."
Stiles nodded, glancing at Scott. His friend had the same understanding in his eyes. Chris wouldn't want to help the Pack, no matter how much Scott and Isaac counted him as one of them. It was too painful.
Lydia was still smug, though, when Stiles turned his questioning gaze on her.
"We've already got that covered," she answered, glancing at the Sheriff.
"Oh, right!" the man said, jumping a little. "He should be here by now…"
"Who should be here?" Stiles asked, confused.
As if on cue, hurried footsteps began to echo in the hall, followed by a young man rushing into the room.
"Sorry I'm late, I was trying to get dressed and–"
Deputy Parrish paused in the doorway when the Pack turned their ten pairs of eyes on him.
"Amateur," Lydia sniffed, tapping her heeled boots impatiently.
"Wow," Parrish breathed, a low whistle sounding from his lips. "There are a lot more kids than I was expecting."
Stiles snapped out of his shock, and exclaimed, "What the hell is he doing here?"
"Yeah, what's he doing here?" Malia asked, looking between Stiles and the Deputy, just as confused. Danny and Isaac were surprised as well, if their raised eyebrows were anything to go by.
"I called him here," the Sheriff explained, giving the Deputy a nod. "After Lydia and Scott told me they needed an escort."
"To… Mexico, right?" Parrish clarified, still looking around worriedly. His gaze fell on Peter lurking on the stairs, and he swallowed, before drawing himself up straighter.
Stiles opened his mouth, then closed it, and opened it again to say, "Are you sure he's… qualified to…"
"To take care of a bunch of werewolves on a road trip?" Parrish asked, stepping in. He shrugged, nodding. "Yeah, I think I can handle it."
"What – you – he knows?" Stiles spluttered, looking to Scott.
"I told him," his dad answered. "After the fight with the Oni, in which Parrish was nearly killed, I kind of had to explain what was going on. Scott understands."
Stiles looked around at the Pack, an ugly feeling building in his chest. "Well," he stated dully. "Does anyone else have any secrets they're keeping from me?"
Danny raised a hand. "I'm still dating Ethan," he said, looking around. "I call him once a week. He's in Chicago right now, applying at the Art Institute."
"Well congratulations to Ethan," Stiles snapped.
"Stiles," Scott started, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder, "You can't come. We asked your dad, and he said–"
"Definitely not," the Sheriff interrupted.
Stiles protested, "But Dad–"
"No, Stiles," the man interrupted. "If you won't listen to your Alpha, listen to me. You are not going to Mexico."
"But–"
"You promised me, Stiles."
"And you promised me that we wouldn't lie anymore," Stiles shot back. "Why didn't you tell me about Derek?"
"I tried," the Sheriff answered. "You were avoiding the subject."
Stiles opened his mouth, closed it again, and couldn't find any words to say. Lydia was still looking at him, calculating.
Scott put a hand on his shoulder. "Stiles, stay here. It's not just about Derek. You're sleepwalking again. We can't deal with that in Mexico."
He knew when he'd been beat. Even if he'd been beat three days ago.
"Fine," he relented, taking a breath. "I need to talk to Deaton anyway."
"Why do you need to talk to Deaton?" asked the Sheriff, shifting gears immediately.
"Sleepwalking, Dad. He's the 'expert'." Stiles even put up air-quotes around the word 'expert'.
What? He went all out when he was irritated.
Parrish clapped his hands, drawing the attention of the entire Pack. "Well, this seems like a good setup. When do we leave?"
Lydia straightened, and just her presence alone was enough to end the conversation. With a sweeping eye over the group, her eyes landed on the Sheriff.
He nodded.
Lydia took it, and answered, "Immediately."
A/N: Apologies for the dialogue-driven chapter; I usually have more description, but there wasn't much scene-painting for me to do; you all know what Derek's loft looks like. Besides, I've been watching a lot of NCIS, so I'm a little out of it. Such confusing plot lines… Literally, I am watching it right now, and I am so confused. This man is impersonating Tony? What?
Next Chapter: The Pack meets another companion in Mexico, while Stiles talks to Deaton and avoids his problems.
