Notes: This chapter beta'd by Poicephalus, who is a perfect human being.

Chapter Three: Heaven Help You

"Stiles, wake up."

Lydia is standing over his bed, fully dressed. Her hair is perfect, her makeup is perfect, and if Stiles hadn't grown up with the woman he'd be pretty sure his partner was built in a top-secret government factory somewhere.

He groans and pulls the covers over his head, rolling over onto his stomach. Five minutes later, he peeks out from under the duvet. Lydia's still standing there, tapping away at her phone. "I'm just going to stand here until you get up, Stiles."

"Jesus fuck, okay." Stiles shoves the covers off and sits up. "What time is it?" he mumbles, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. It's like they're trying to escape from his head.

"Almost six."

"... I hate you."

Lydia waves her phone at him. "I just got a call from dispatch. There's been some kind of animal attack at the school."

It takes a few seconds for the words to sink into Stiles' sleep-muddled brain. "... Okay. Give me a couple of minutes and we'll head over."

Lydia steps through the door between their rooms, then pokes her head back in. "You should really try the Uberman sleep schedule, Stiles. You'd get more work done."

"I'll pass, Lydia, thank you, now get out."

ʘ

"Animal attack" is an understatement.

The site of the attack is a yellow school bus parked out behind Beacon Hills High. The bus windows are splattered with a frankly ludicrous amount of blood, the seats are clawed up (one was even torn loose from its mooring and thrown) and the back door has almost been ripped from its hinges.

The victim is alive. Barely.

The janitor came across the scene first and called it in, and Lydia's taking his statement now. Stiles is examining the bus when Sheriff Stilinski approaches.

"This part of yours?" the sheriff says.

The bus' back door looks like a half-chewed pig's ear, only a bit less slimy. "I think we can assume that for now, yeah," Stiles says. "However, any assistance processing the scene would be greatly appreciated, Sheriff."

Sheriff Stilinski snorts. "That your way of saying you want my boys to handle the clean-up, son?"

"That obvious, huh?"

Stiles spots Scott at the edge of the parking lot. "Hold down the fort here, would you?" he says to the sheriff. "I'll be right back."

"Is Allison okay?" Scott says as soon as Stiles is in range.

"I have no idea," Stiles replies absently. "What are you doing out here? You should be in class."

Scott shakes his head. "I can't. I have to be sure..." he pauses, and Stiles turns around. The paramedics are wheeling a gurney into the ambulance, with their victim strapped to it: Garrison Myers, 53 years old, bus driver. Scott's obviously confused. "That's not Allison."

"No, it's not," Stiles says carefully. "What made you think it was?"

The bell rings. Scott grimaces. "Can we talk later? Lunch?"

"Yeah, sure." Stiles grabs Scott's bag as the kid turns away. "What's this about, Scott?"

Scott looks between the bus, the ambulance, and Stiles. "I think maybe I did this."

ʘ

Several minutes after the lunch bell, Scott meets Stiles on the bleachers next to the lacrosse field. Stiles hands him a sandwich he grabbed from the deli with the papier-mâché Augustus of Prima Porta replica out front. He remembers how shitty the cafeteria food is at this school.

"How's the bus driver?" Scott says, eagerly unwrapping the sandwich. From the looks of it, the possibility he tried to kill someone hasn't ruined his appetite.

"Stable, for now," Stiles says. "Scott, what makes you think you attacked this guy?"

"I had this dream." Scott puts the sandwich down and starts picking at his nails. "About Allison."

Oh, here we go. "And?"

"We were in the bus, we were kissing, and then I lost control and I..."

"You what? Ate her?"

"I don't know!" Scott snaps. "That's when I woke up. Or whatever. It was the same bus, Stiles."

"Stop right there," Stiles says. "Scott, I've known you for eight years. I would know if you're a killer, and you're not. If you can't trust yourself, at least trust me."

"But what if it's not me? I'm a..."

"Werewolf."

"Shh!"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Scott, there's nobody here. We'd know if someone were eavesdropping, between your wolfy senses and my trained observational—"

"Agent Martin sneaks up on you all the time," Scott points out.

"Lydia doesn't count. Listen, if you're worried about losing it and going all 'WOLF SMASH' on people, maybe you should cancel your date with Allison on Friday."

Scott chews his lower lip and nods. After a few seconds, he says, "Maybe I should ask Derek for advice."

Stiles slaps him upside the head.

ʘ

The Beacon Hills Animal Clinic is a small operation run by a very serene veterinarian named Deaton. It's even got one of those little bells over the front door, which Lydia sets off as she enters the clinic.

"I'm in the back," comes a voice from the door beyond the main desk.

"Dr. Deaton?" Lydia says as she steps through the doorway. Deaton is putting away a new shipment of supplies along with his assistant. "Hello, Scott."

"Agent Martin!" Scott yelps, and almost drops the box he's holding. "What are you doing here?"

"Department business." Lydia shows Deaton her badge. "Doctor, I'm Special Agent Lydia Martin. I was wondering if you had a few minutes to look at something for me."

"Of course," Deaton says. "What is it?"

Lydia hands him the file under her arm. "I'm sure you've already heard about the animal attack at the school this morning. I was hoping to get your opinion on the victim's injuries."

Deaton flips the file open. "I'll have a look, but I'm not sure I'll be much help. I mostly treat cats and dogs."

"I'd be grateful for any insight you could offer, Doctor," Lydia says with a practiced smile. "You take a few minutes with that. I can keep myself entertained."

Deaton wanders back into the reception area, reading. Lydia turns to Scott. "So Stiles tells me you're finally dating, Scott."

"Uh, yeah, sort of," Scott says.

"It must be difficult."

"I... guess? What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know," Lydia says, examining her nails, "finding things to do together with a curfew in place. Kind of limits your options, doesn't it?"

Scott's expression is not unlike that of a household pet caught raiding the garbage. "Yeah, sure. I mean, well... yeah."

"This is an interesting case you've got here, Agent Martin," Deaton says, re-entering the room.

"How so?" Lydia asks, turning on her heel to face the doctor. Scott exhales loudly and goes back to shelving.

Deaton closes the file and hands it back to Lydia. "Most of the time with attacks like this, the victim would have been bitten at least once. Here, he's just been clawed. No bite marks whatsoever."

"Does that mean you can't identify the attacker?" Lydia asks.

"I can't pin down for sure what the animal was, but from the claw marks, I'd be inclined to say these injuries were caused by a mountain lion."

"But we found wolf hairs on the body," Lydia says.

There's a crash from behind Lydia. "What?" Scott clears his throat. "I mean, I think I read somewhere that there aren't any wolves in California."

Deaton shrugs. "I don't know what to tell you, Agent Martin. Either your victim owns a wolf fur rug and got mauled by a cougar, or your attacker is a wolf with an identity crisis."

"I see." Lydia tucks the file under her arm. "Thank you for your time, Doctor. Scott, I'll be seeing you."

"Yeah," Scott croaks. "I mean. Bye, Agent Martin."

ʘ

While stable, Garrison Myers hasn't been lucid enough to answer questions yet. By noon the next day, Stiles has taken to hanging around the hospital, waiting for news. The nurses hate him now.

He's read every pamphlet they've got in the waiting area and steadfastly ignores the "No Cell Phones, Please" signs so he can surf the Internet on his phone. He's been trapped in a TVTropes vortex for God knows how long when an alarm goes off in Garrison Myers' room.

Stiles follows at the nurses' heels and bursts into the room. Scott's standing at the edge of the bed. Myers has Scott's sleeve in a death grip, and he's screaming. Stiles wrests Scott's arm out of Myers' grasp and ushers the kid out while the nurses do their jobs.

"What the hell was that? Why are you here?"

Scott still looks a little shaken. "I came by to ask Mom for the car, and I wanted to see..."

"Why do you need your mom's car?" Stiles narrows his eyes at Scott. "Are you and Allison still going out tomorrow? I thought you canceled on her."

"I tried, but then Jackson invited himself and if I don't go then it'll just be him and Allison."

Stiles waits for a second for Scott to continue, but he doesn't. "Scott, is that seriously the end of that story? Who cares if Jackson and Allison hang out?"

Scott looks at Stiles like he's an idiot, then huffs and walks away.

One of the nurses taps Stiles on the elbow. "We had to sedate Mr. Myers," she says. "You should get some rest, Agent Stilinski. You won't be getting anything from him today."

Stiles sighs. "Can you call me if—"

"Of course," the nurse says, ushering him out the door.

ʘ

"Please tell me you've at least considered the possibility," Lydia says as she walks into Stiles' hotel room, arms full of files and Chinese take-out.

Stiles gets up to help her with the bags. "The possibility of what?"

Lydia dumps everything on Stiles' bed and turns to him, crossing her arms. "That Scott McCall may have actually attacked someone."

"Lydia—"

"No. You listen. I know you're fond of the family, but we have no idea what the psychological effects of Scott's condition are." Her voice softens, slightly. "We've ruled out every wild animal in the state. We know the attacker is a werewolf. And Scott's hurt people before."

"He smacked a few kids on the lacrosse field. He's never actually mauled anyone." Stiles starts digging take-out containers out of the plastic bags on his bed and placing them on the table by the window.

"Okay, thought experiment. Theoretically, if Garrison Myers wakes up tomorrow and points the finger at Scott McCall, what do we do?"

Stiles pauses and takes a deep breath, staring out the window. "... We arrest him. Legally, the attack could be considered some kind of psychotic episode. I don't think he'd be responsible for his actions, but that's ultimately for the courts to decide. And he's a minor, so..." He trails off.

Lydia settles in one of the chairs by the window. "And if Scott doesn't come quietly?"

"Lydia—"

"Stiles." Lydia gives him that Clockwork Orange under-the-eyebrows glare. Stiles sits across from her and avoids looking at her face, not that it helps. He can feel her contempt.

"I guess we tranquilize him." He thinks for a moment. "Would tranquilizers even work on him? I guess we should look into things that can incapacitate werewolves."

"I'll do some digging," Lydia says idly, like they're not talking about shooting Stiles' pseudo-little brother full of propiomazine hydrochloride. "One more thing. Have you considered sending for a replacement? You're a little too close to this case, Stiles."

Stiles sighs and reaches for the sweet and sour pork. "I thought about it, yeah. Thing is, the local police are being so cooperative here because they know us. They trust us. Bringing in a different team at this point would cause more complications than this case can afford." He grabs a fork and starts shoveling food into his mouth. "Besides, somebody needs to keep an eye on Scott."

Lydia gives an unladylike snort.

Stiles raises his eyebrows at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you even know where he is right now?"

Fuck. Stiles reaches for his phone and calls Scott. After the third ring and no answer, he gets up and starts to pace.

The call goes to voicemail, and Stiles hangs up and calls again. Still no answer.

Lydia's glaring at him again. "Don't tell me you lost the teenage attempted murder suspect werewolf."

"Not lost. Temporarily misplaced." Stiles grabs his laptop off the side table. Scott's phone is ringing, which means it's still on. Stiles brings up the service provider's website and guesses at Scott's password (cringing as he does so).

Lydia looks over his shoulder. "Is that legal?"

"I won't try to use it in court if you won't." Stiles traces the GPS chip in Scott's phone and stares at his computer, waiting for it to explain. "What's he doing at the impound lot?"

"You mean the impound lot where we're keeping the mangled school bus?"

"... Oh, shit." Stiles slams the laptop shut and heads out the door. "I'll be right back."

"I'm eating all the shrimp!" Lydia yells after him.

ʘ

When Stiles pulls up to the impound lot, he can see Scott's bike sitting by the gate. There's someone moving around inside the bus.

Stiles steps out of the jeep. The lock on the gate is still intact, so Scott must have climbed over the fence. Stiles isn't feeling very charitable right now. Leaning back into the car, he presses on the horn, once.

Even from here, he can hear Scott scream in fright.

Scott pokes his head out of the bus' mangled back door, and Stiles waves him over. Once Scott's in range, Stiles says, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"It's... kind of a long story," Scott says.

"Is this the kind of long story that means I don't get to charge you with evidence tampering?"

Scott stops just on the other side of the fence from Stiles. "Okay, well, I went over to Derek's—don't look at me like that—and he said that if I came back here and used my senses I'd be able to see what really happened, so I did, and..."

Stiles crosses his arms. "And?" The words "tranquilizer gun" briefly float through his mind.

"I didn't attack the bus driver," Scott says quickly, picking up on Stiles' apprehension. "I was trying to save him. I think Derek was there—"

"Are you sure?"

"It was another werewolf," Scott says. "He was trying to kill the bus driver."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Stiles says, then shakes his head. "Whatever, I'm not having the rest of this conversation through a fence. Be over here, now."

Scott scrambles up the fence with surprising ease and drops down on the other side. Right, werewolf powers. "What doesn't make any sense?" he says as soon as his feet hit dirt.

"Why would Derek tell you to come here and relive an event he was already there for? If he's not worried about keeping secrets, why wouldn't he tell you as soon as you asked?"

"Stiles, you're missing the point here."

Stiles sighs. "Okay, what's the point here?"

"I can go out with Allison tomorrow!"

Stiles can feel the headache coming on.

ʘ

The nurses chase Stiles out of the building when he walks into the hospital the next morning. That afternoon, he sneaks in via the loading docks and bribes Melissa with gelato to keep her coworkers away from him.

This time, Stiles also brought his copy of The Last Words of Notable People. He's up to Douglas Fairbanks ("I've never felt better.") when he sees a familiar leather jacket go by.

"Mr. Hale!"

Derek stops, but doesn't turn around. Stiles considers the direction Derek came from and makes a guess. "Is Meyers a friend of yours, Mr. Hale?"

Stiles can see Derek's shoulders move under the jacket. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You just came out of his room. He's not a very good conversationalist at the moment. You should try again later."

Derek turns around, slowly. Stiles closes the book and stands, leaving it on his seat. "What do you want, Agent Stilinski?" Derek says carefully.

Stiles looks around to make sure nobody's listening in at the moment. "We know Mr. Meyers' attacker was a werewolf, and the list of werewolves in the area is pretty short." Stiles steps closer. "I'm going to ask you this once: did you try to kill Garrison Myers?"

Derek's jaw clenches. "No."

"Did you kill Laura Hale?"

"No."

"Who did?"

Derek lunges forward. Stiles takes an involuntary step back. "You're afraid of me," Derek growls. "Every time I see you, I can smell it on you. Why don't you act like it?"

Stiles blinks. "Is that a trick question?"

They stand like that for a few seconds, then Derek turns and walks away.

Stiles picks up the book again and sits back down, wondering when this became his life.

ʘ

Lydia has been tailing Scott since he left the school.

After class let out, Scott went straight home. After a few hours he left again and met up with Allison and another boy, Jackson, at the bowling alley. Lydia parked herself by the bar. That was a half hour ago. She's in civvies, and judging by how much Allison and Scott have been staring at each other, she won't be noticed any time soon.

Jackson sits next to her at the bar. He orders a soda, then looks her up and down. "Agent Martin?"

"Off-duty," Lydia says, taking a sip of her drink.

Jackson looks over at Scott and Allison, then back at her. "Yeah, I don't think so."

Lydia shrugs and decides to ignore the kid until he goes away. He's cute, in a "could play James Dean in a TV movie" kind of way, but he's also sixteen and she's working.

Jackson, however, is not content to be ignored. "So what is it, some kind of super soldier thing?"

Lydia raises an eyebrow at him. "Pardon?"

"McCall," Jackson says, jerking his head in Scott's direction. "At first I thought it was steroids, but now I'm thinking it's something... weirder. Same day he's kicking ass out of nowhere on the lacrosse field, two feds from a department nobody's ever heard of show up in town..." He trails off and looks at Lydia expectantly.

"Hmm," Lydia says.

"Tell me," Jackson says. He looks like he's trying to intimidate her. "What's so interesting about Scott McCall?"

Lydia smiles. "It's Jackson, right? Jackson Whittemore?" When he nods, she says, "Do your parents know you're out after curfew, Jackson?"

Jackson grabs his soda and leaves.

ʘ

It's another hour before Scott walks Allison back to her door. There's even a kiss goodnight, which is kind of sickeningly adorable. Lydia leans up against the side of the car she borrowed from the police department, and Scott spots her as he walks away from Allison's house.

"What are you doing here?" he hisses at her from across the road.

Lydia gives him a little wave and doesn't answer.

Scott crosses the street. "Are you following me?"

"Yes," Lydia says.

"Why are you following me?"

Lydia rolls her eyes. "Why do you think, Scott?"

Scott sputters for a second, and Lydia's phone rings. She answers it, holding up a finger to silence Scott. "Hello, Stiles. Scott says 'hi.'"

"So he saw you, then?" Stiles says.

"Eventually. How's Mr. Meyers?"

"Not good. He went into cardiac arrest ten minutes ago." She can hear his sigh of frustration down the line. "Garrison Myers is dead."

"What?" Scott growls. His voice is low, and his eyes are glowing yellow.

Lydia edges away from him. "Stiles, I think we may have a situation here."

But Scott isn't paying any attention to her. With a low snarl, he darts away down the street.

"Lydia?" Stiles says. "What's going on?"

"I think he just shifted and ran away," Lydia replies, getting into the car.

"Yeah, he does that. I think I know where he's going, though."

ʘ

Stiles pulls up in front of the Hale house and immediately notices the door's been kicked in. He can hear crashing and other noises coming from inside the house, like two animals are fighting.

Well. Not quite animals.

Stiles checks to make sure his gun is loaded and gets out of the jeep.

There's two werewolves fighting in the living room when Stiles steps through the front door. Derek's got Scott by the neck and is slamming his head against the floor, repeatedly. Stiles draws his gun.

"Drop him, Mr. Hale," he barks.

Derek freezes and looks up. He's fully shifted: fangs, pointed ears, weird brow ridge, blazing blue eyes and all. Stiles hasn't got his finger on the trigger yet, but he's seriously considering it.

"Let him go," Stiles says. "I don't know if this thing can even hurt you, but I'm willing to find out."

With a dismissive sniff, Derek releases Scott's neck and steps back. He rolls his shoulders like he's working a kink out of them, and his face returns to normal. The noises are... not pleasant.

"This is all his fault!" Scott gasps, dragging himself to his feet. "He killed the driver!"

"No, I didn't," Derek says evenly. He looks at Stiles. "I told you. I didn't kill Meyers, and I didn't kill Laura."

"You ruined my life!" Scott howls.

"I didn't bite you," Derek says.

"What?"

"There's another werewolf," Stiles says. He lowers the gun. "That's it, isn't it? There's a third werewolf in Beacon Hills. The one who bit Scott and killed Garrison Myers."

Derek watches Stiles for a moment, like he's trying to decide how much to tell him. "It's called an Alpha."

Scott and Derek as werewolves don't look like Laura Hale had as a werewolf. She'd been much furrier. Among other things. Stiles holsters the gun. "So the Alphas are the big furry monsters, then?" Derek nods. "Your sister, Laura. She was an Alpha too, wasn't she?"

Derek nods again. "She came here looking for him. Now I'm trying to find him." He looks at Scott. "He bit you, so now you're part of his pack. He needs you.

"And you can lead me right to him."