March 25, 2013: Wow. I did not intend to take so long between chapters when I decided to post this as a WIP. I beg derailment into the phenomenon of Being Human. Sorry about that. -.-;;; Anyway, Chapter 3 finally has things starting to come together for our Teen Wolf gang and a glimmer of hope begins to shine in the darkness. (And if that wasn't hokey enough for you, just ask - I'm sure I can do better. ^_~)

Again, assuming that most of you have made your way here via Teen Wolf, if you're interested in a quick, less than three minute crash course in the 4400 canon... check out this video: "eirenical . tumblr post / 40257860963 / the-4400-season-2-premiere-ad-its-for-the". It's the season 2 promo, but it serves as a wonderful summary for the entire show. ^_^ Enjoy!


Chapter 3
by Renee-chan

Allison was not happy. She hadn't been happy in a long time, in what seemed like forever, but today... today it had been worse. For a moment, just a brief moment, she'd thought that something in her life was getting back on track. She and Lydia had talked, really talked, for the first time in months. They'd laughed, they'd smiled, they'd had a real conversation. And for just that one moment, Allison had felt special again, wanted again... normal, again. It could have stopped there. If they'd never seen each other again, never spoken to each other again, if today had been all they'd ever have, then Allison would have been content with it, would have been OK with letting the rest of it go. But it hadn't stopped there - at laughter and joy and innocent teenaged fun.

No. Of course, it hadn't stopped there. An Argent could never be a normal teenager. She couldn't have the things that a normal teenager had - like friendships. She couldn't have the one thing she wanted most. Her family had seen to that.

Her family. Allison's lip curled as she stalked up the walkway to her house and pushed open the door. Her family. Her Aunt Kate was dead, her mother was dead, her grandfather as good as and good riddance to him. Allison barely had any family left. It was only she and her father, now. There was no one else in their broken remnant of what had been a wonderful life.

And her father? An Argent man will always defer to the matriarch of the family. And, like it or not, Allison was it for them, now. Her father was only her father to a point. Beyond that point? He was a soldier, like any other, and she his commander. It was easier that way, if unfair... to both of them. He tried, sometimes, tried to take that responsibility back off of her shoulders, but it was easier for her like this. It was easier to be a general than a teenager. A general didn't need friends, didn't need to listen to her weaker emotions. A general got the job done.

Allison's father was in the dining room when she walked through the door, papers spread out on the table. She didn't know what he was working on, didn't care, either, as long as it kept him occupied for a time. She needed to be alone, needed to excise the festering wound her meeting with Lydia had left. Her father looked up as Allison breezed past him, but at the look on her face, he held back, didn't say a word. That was good. Today, Allison wanted nothing more than to lose herself in the song of her bowstring, to forget that she'd ever had a life outside of this war. Because the reminder of this afternoon, of what could have been, was too painful.

She stepped out into the backyard to her targets, the only real friends she had, anymore. They sat silent, waiting for her to give them purpose, always there when she needed them, no questions asked... always ready to bear the wounds she could not. She raised her bow, notched an arrow... and let it fly.

Raise the bow. Notch the arrow. Hit the target.

Paint a human face on the target in your mind.

Raise the bow. Notch the arrow. Hit the target.

Let the arrow be your answer to the pain.

Raise the bow. Notch the arrow. Hit the target.

It was better that way.

Raise the bow. Notch the arrow. Hit the target.

It wasn't until the sun had begun to set, wasn't until the air took on an edge of chill, that Allison felt ready to lower her shaking arms, to put down her bow. She was exhausted and no closer to exorcizing the pain that had brought her out here than she had been when she first blew through the door.

A soft voice interrupted her thoughts, brought her attention to the man now standing behind her. Her father said, "I can make dinner, if you've worked up an appetite... or we can talk first, if you like."

As far as Allison was concerned, she'd done enough talking. She'd done enough laughing. She'd done enough of everything. She collected her arrows, unstrung her bow and moved to push past her father into the house. This time, however, he didn't let her go so easily, caught her in his arms and pulled her stiffened frame close. He said, "I know you think you have to be the perfect soldier, Allison. I know you think you don't have the right to need the things a person needs. But, I am still your father and that isn't going to change. I wish you would tell me what's bothering you."

"I..." Allison's voice cracked and to her shame, one fat tear rolled down her cheek. It was soon joined by another... and another. Between the tears, she managed to get it out, the thorn that had driven her out here as soon as she'd gotten home, "She didn't really want to be with me. She didn't want to be friends. She just... she just wanted to pump me for information." Her father's arms tightening around her gave her the strength to say more, "I almost didn't figure it out. Lydia's good, Dad. She's always been good. But in the end... in the end, I knew. She doesn't care about me. None of them care about me. They don't trust me. They don't trust any of us."

Her father shook his head as he puzzled out Allison's words. Finally he said softly, "They were fishing for information about Gerard, again?"

Allison nodded frantically against his chest, finally said, "They think... I think that they think he's the one who took Stiles."

Her father's answer was swift and to the point, "He wouldn't have. He wouldn't. Even before- even before."

Allison let a hysteria-tinged laugh be her answer, "Dad... I know you loved him - he's your father and I don't blame you for that - but I'm not sure you ever really knew him. He did take Stiles. Not this time, but the first time. That night he went missing - earlier... he took him as a warning to Scott to back off." Allison straightened, eased out of her father's embrace and folded her arms across her chest. "He hurt him, too. He told me, bragged about it, even. I think... I think that if things had gone differently that night, he might have done worse than he did. He never got the chance, thank G-d, but this... how can I ever convince them that he had nothing to do with this? That he couldn't have had anything to do with it? How on Earth can I get them to trust me enough to accept my word and back off?"

Her father sighed, "I don't know, Allison. I guess we'll just have to hope that Stiles will turn up someday, that someone will find him... because I have a feeling that they'll only believe Gerard wasn't involved if they hear it straight from Stiles."

He didn't have to tell her how unlikely that was. He didn't have to say that they were long past the window of opportunity of tracking down Stiles' kidnapper - two years past. He didn't have to say that the odds of finding Stiles alive by now were slim to none... and slim was in the process of packing his bags and heading out the door - if he hadn't already snuck past them and gone. She already knew.

Softly, hesitating, Allison's father offered, "We could go. Move away from here. There are plenty of other towns in which we'd be welcome, sweetheart. We don't have to stay."

She shook her head. There were reasons to leave, all right, reasons aplenty... but Allison was no quitter. They'd built a life for themselves here - a good life, a stable life... a life free of their never-ending war, and Allison wouldn't tear her father away from that life unless she had no choice. Her mother would want that, would want him to have this second chance to be happy. Allison had time, had options, far more than he did. And she was tired of running. So, she pulled out her best smile and tightened her arm around her father's waist, "I don't suppose any of those papers on the table had to do with dinner, did they?"

Her father smiled as he squeezed her back, dropped a gentle kiss on top of her head, "I thought we might go out, tonight. Just you and me. There's a new French place that opened up down on Main Street that looks promising..."

Allison's smile widened, her laughter in response feeling almost real, "Just so long as you don't try to feed me snails, again, I'm game to try."

Her father laughed along with her, then treated her to a diatribe of decent length on the virtues of escargot that lasted all the way through the house, out to the car and halfway to the restaurant. And for just a moment, it felt like things had gone back to normal. Allison fought off a chill. She didn't trust normal - not anymore - but for her father's sake... for tonight, she would try.


Derek sank slowly down into the den couch and allowed his eyes to slide closed. He should have known. He should have remembered that the more twisted and convoluted a plan, the more likely it was that it would fail. Lydia had certainly spoken to Allison. That much had gone according to plan. But that was when it all broke down. Allison had caught on to her, had reacted badly, clammed up and refused to speak another word. Worse than that, though, was how Lydia had described the look on her face when they'd finished speaking.

Heartbroken.

Like the rest of them, Allison Argent had had a very difficult time readjusting these last two years. Unlike the rest of them, she'd had to do it with no one but her father for support. None of them had considered how she would feel if she found out the purpose for this contact. None of them had considered that underneath her tough exterior, she was in just as much pain as the rest of them, and was possibly even more lonely. None of them had thought, at all. And now, they'd alienated their only accessible route for inside information on the Argents, they'd alienated an ally and worse... they'd hurt a friend. It was unacceptable.

Scott had been all for going after her, attacking her in her home, forcing her to tell them where Gerard was keeping Stiles. Derek had restrained him from doing anything so foolish... barely. He'd retreated up the stairs, snarled away all offers of company and spent the last hour taking out his rage on a punching bag. The rhythmic thumps of Scott's fists - bare, not even taped, from the sounds they made impacting the leather - had become almost soothing. As long as Scott was taking out his anger on a punching bag, he wasn't elsewhere taking it out on a human being.

So, when another sound interrupted that steady thumping, the resulting silence was deafening... and worrying. A heartbeat later, when the actual sound which had interrupted Scott's workout finally penetrating Derek's stress-numbed brain, though, he almost couldn't process it. He listened for it to come again, ears straining against the silence, and when it did... he didn't believe it. Derek launched himself off the couch, took the stairs two at a time to get up to Scott's room, then froze in the doorway.

For a moment, just a moment, it was like stepping back in time. Gone was the angry tension that usually swirled around Scott like a second aura. Gone was the flashing red in his eyes that never seemed to fade completely. Gone was his alpha confidence. In its place was fear, doubt... uncertainty. For a moment, he looked just as young as he had when Peter had first bitten him. His face was drained of color and his hand was shaking around the object in his hand - the object that had emitted the noise... his cell phone.

Derek took another step into the room, afraid to talk, afraid to breathe, afraid to announce his presence in any way... but desperately needing to know. He said, "Scott... was that... I thought I heard...?"

Wordlessly, Scott handed the phone over and turned away, hands clenched in his hair, bloody knuckles almost white from the tension. Derek looked down at the phone in his hand, the phone which had moments ago been trilling out the Batman theme - Stiles' special text ring that Scott had never had the heart to change - and his own face drained of color, as well.

-DUDE. You are NOT going to believe what just happened to me. I know you and Allison are probably busy, uh... "making up," but... call me?-

"What... Scott, what the hell is this?" was the best Derek could manage in response to what he'd read.

Scott shook his head, dropped his arms to wrap around himself and started up a low, keening cry. Derek stepped closer, drawn in by the sound of a packmate in pain. He wasn't the only one. Peter found his way up from downstairs, Jackson and Lydia trailing behind him. Scott's quiet keening started to ramp up in volume, became a whimpering cry, then a full-throated howl of grief. Isaac and Erica were out patrolling the woods, but Derek figured it wouldn't be long before they realized that that howl couldn't mean anything good and joined them to find out what. And that was the question, wasn't it?

Giving the men around her a disgusted look for their inaction, Lydia stepped up and pulled Scott's tense form into her arms. Seconds later, that desperate lonely howling shifted to become very human sobs as Scott pulled Lydia close and hid his head in her neck. Wordlessly, Derek passed the phone around to the others so they could read the screen. Jackson was the one who voiced the question on everyone's mind, "What the hell does this mean?"

Peter sighed from the doorway, "There's only one way to find out."

Derek met his Uncle's eyes, grim knowledge in his own, "We have to talk to the Sheriff."

"We have to talk to the Sheriff," Peter echoed. Then he snorted and rolled his eyes, "And given dear Scott's track record with those conversations, won't that be fun?"

In the end, it was decided that Derek and Lydia would go with Scott to the precinct for moral support - and for protection. They were not going to leave Scott to face Stiles' father alone, not when this new evidence was so volatile. The possibilities were too numerous for what this could mean. It could be as simple as an old text having been hung up in the system finally being delivered... two years too late. It could be Stiles' kidnapper finally deciding to use his victim's phone to mess around with their heads for fun.

...it could be Stiles. But, why wait two years to contact them if that were true?

Either way, there were things they needed to know before deciding how to respond to that message and the Sheriff was the only one stood a chance of giving them those answers.


"You've got a lot of nerve showing up here, McCall. A lot of fucking nerve."

Scott had been expecting the Sheriff to roar at them, to yell and scream, maybe even froth at the mouth a little. Scott would have. That much anger... Scott wouldn't have been able to keep it contained. So, the harsh, biting whisper of rage that the sheriff was uttering was that much more terrifying. He fought not to fall into the same pattern he did whenever he encountered Stiles' father, forced himself to stay upright, not to hunch over and take this new form of beating, forced himself to answer back. Stiles would want that, would want his father to know...

"I got a text today... from Stiles' phone number. I couldn't... Sheriff Stilinski, I couldn't just keep that to myself," Scott said, words tumbling over each other as he struggled to get them out, to meet the Sheriff's eyes as he did it.

The Sheriff half-raised out of his desk chair, eyes boring holes into Scott's as he said slowly and deliberately, "What. Did. You. Say?"

Scott winced, tried to explain himself further, then finally gave up and handed over his phone, let the Sheriff read the text for himself. He watched as the older man slowly folded back into his seat, cradling the phone with its precious message in his hands like it were a newborn child. To Scott's horror, a single tear slipped unheeded down the Sheriff's cheek, then another... and another. He didn't make a sound, seemed, in fact, completely unaware that he was crying. Eventually he grated out, "If you were looking for revenge, McCall... you couldn't have planned it better if you tried. You want me to back off? Fine. You want me to apologize? I'm sorry. You want to hurt me?" His voice trailed off into quiet bitterness, "...you've got that, too. Now, get the fuck out of my office."

Scott gaped at him for a moment, the pain all but rolling off the man finally helping Scott push away the shame that had been paralyzing him around his best friend's father for the last two years. He stepped forward, slapped his hands on the desk and growled out, "You think this is a trick? Of all the... damn it! Of all the things I could do to try to even things between us, you think I'd chose this?"

Scott lurched forward over the desk, grabbed the sheriff by his shoulders and shook him once, hard, "Why do you think I've put up with your abuse for the last two years, huh?" At the older man's silence, Scott shook him again, "You're all I have left of him! You're all I have left of him and you were in pain and there was nothing I could do. I could have stopped you at any time, but letting you beat the crap out of me was the only thing I had to offer that might make you feel better. This," Scott grabbed the phone back out of the sheriff's hands unlocked it and turned it back to him, "This is not about revenge, Sheriff. This is... fuck, I don't know what this is. Maybe... maybe this means nothing. Maybe it's what you said - a cruel trick that someone's playing on us. But, maybe, just maybe, it's actually what it looks like. Maybe it's Stiles reaching out to us to let us know he's OK. Maybe we can find him."

Scott handed the phone back over and let go, straightened back up. His voice took on a gentler tone, pleading, "But I can't do it without you. I need your help. If... if it might get Stiles back... isn't that worth letting a few bygones be bygones? Isn't that worth trying to work with each other?"

Sheriff Stilinski pulled the phone closer, read that text, again... and again... and again. The different emotions that played across his face gave Scott barely a clue as to what he might be thinking or what conclusion he was reaching, but he held his peace. Finally, the sheriff cleared his throat and offered, "I never had his cell phone service turned off. I... I kept paying the bill, every month, thought that maybe someday he'd find a way to use it to let me know where he is." He looked up, then, an almost desperate hope warring with the long-seated despair in his eyes, "Scott... can I trust this? Can I trust you?"

Scott swallowed once, finally said, "You can trust that I love your son. You can trust that I want him back - that I need him back. You can trust that I will do anything and everything I can to bring him home." He met the sheriff's gaze, then, his own turning dark, almost sinister as he said, "Use me, Sheriff. Use me however you need to... just get him back."

Sheriff Stilinski put one hand on his desk, pushed himself up out of his seat, then raised that hand to Scott. As Scott took it, gave it one firm shake, the sheriff said, "That's a deal, Scott. Whatever it takes... we'll get him back. And G-d help anyone who gets in the way."

Everyone in the room was so focused on the drama being enacted between Scott and the sheriff that they completely missed Deputy Warren waving at them from the other side of the glass. What they didn't miss - what they couldn't miss - was when a minute later, the phone in the sheriff's hand and the phone on his desk started shrieking out their ringtones. The sheriff instinctively hit the answer button without even checking the caller ID, while Lydia lunged for the phone on his desk.

After the initial scurry to answer the phones died down, and both were able to make sense of who was on the other end, the sheriff passed Scott's phone back to him with a gruff, "It's your mother," and Lydia arched an eyebrow and asked the sheriff why on Earth Christ Argent would be calling him. Neither deigned to answer and silence fell as they turned their attention to the two people on the other ends of the line.

Many tense moments later, both Scott and the sheriff's faces drained of any remaining color they had left and they both lunged for the TV remote. Scott snarled at the hand in his way and to his utter shock, the sheriff snarled right back. Derek winced, started rubbing at his temples and muttering that this had been a terrible idea. Lydia patted him on the shoulder, winced in sympathy. Finally Scott threw up his hands and let the Sheriff have his remote to turn on the TV.

A moment later it became painfully obvious why the two men had reacted so strongly. The news... this news was staggering. Life changing.

The news had apparently been broadcasting information about a meteor which had shifted its course just enough to be an impact risk to the Earth. They'd ignored it, too wrapped up in their own problems to give it much thought. Besides, scientists were alarmists. They predicted these things all the time and nothing ever came of them. Only this meteor... it was no meteor. Apparently it had slowed, changed course again, and came to a stop near Mt. Rainier in Washington. And what had come from that meteor... There were hundreds of people - maybe even thousands - on that beach. But the reason for those phone calls, the reason for the sudden panic... Jesus Fucking H. Christ.

Scott stepped forward, a pained whimper catching in his throat, hand reaching out to touch the screen, to trace the outline of one, single figure. He was upright, he was flailing around trying not to knock into the people around him and failing miserably... and he was wearing the same clothes and the same pattern of bruises he'd been when they'd last seen him two years ago. There was no mistaking who was standing on that beach...

Stiles.