Control Only Works When You Let Go

Derek gives the Sheriff Werewolf lessons. It has unintended outcomes.

Between meeting Gerard Argent yesterday, and meeting Tom Lahey this morning, Noah now truly believed that he needed whatever help mastering his werewolf woo-woo he could get.

A body had been dug up at the Beacon Hills Cemetery out in Northgate, and the body had been desecrated by something that smelled an awful lot like a werewolf (not Scott or Derek, thank Christ!). The smell of strange (invading!) werewolf, combined with the constant itchy feeling from his vest, and Noah was already a bit short-tempered.

But what was truly making it hard for Noah to keep his claws in was the arrogant assholery of Mr. Tom Lahey. And the shiner his son was sporting.

Of course, there was a chance—a small one—that the boy's injury was the result of his own clumsiness, as they'd claimed. However, Noah could smell the boy's old blood on both of them.

"You were working this morning?" Gus asked. He didn't look at Mr. Lahey, didn't address the older man in any way.

Didn't matter. Once again, the father answered for the kid.

"Like he does until he leaves for school. Which he needs to do in about twenty minutes if he's not going to be late." The man's arms were crossed and the sneer on his face was deep. The words were right, but the tone…

The sheriff took another breath and lifted his belt to resettle it into a slightly more comfortable position. "Did you notice anything around the grave? Movements? Footprints? Anything to indicate a direction?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't see anything. Just the dirt flung all over." Isaac kept his head and eyes down, and his father puffed up in triumph.

And the sheriff wanted to punch him in his stupid little glasses.

"How'd you get that black eye, Isaac?" Noah kept his voice mild, and he made sure he didn't look at the father directly, but he definitely noticed the laser glare Mr. Lahey directed at his son.

Isaac must've felt it too, because his shoulder hunched a little more and his breath hitched. His hands, buried deep in his pockets, tightened into fights. "School." He almost shrugged.

Gus, who'd obviously been thinking the same thing as the sheriff, asked, "School fight?"

"Nah. Lacrosse." Isaac jerked his shoulder in another near-shrug. The movement was a little stiff, but he wasn't hiding any serious injuries. He did, however, give his dad a quick look. The fear was plain to see, as was the kid's reluctance to turn in his father.

Time to change the subject…

"Lacrosse? You play for Beacon Hills?" he asked. After a quick look at his father, Isaac nodded.

"My son plays for the team," Noah continued. "Well, I mean, he… He's on the team. He doesn't play. Not yet anyway. It's a long term plan."

"I've seen Stiles," Isaac confirmed, barely managing to not steal another look at his disapproving father. "He's not bad when he can stay focused."

"Yeah," the sheriff confirmed ruefully. "That sounds like him."

"I actually have a morning practice to get to," Isaac said hopefully.

Gus nodded, but the sheriff said, "Just one more question. You guys get many grave robberies here?" Gus lifted his notepad.

Isaac looked at his father before answering. "A few. Usually they just take stuff like jewelry."

"I checked our files, and nothing looks like it's missing," said Lahey senior.

When both Noah and Gus stared at him, Mr. Lahey got in another sneer. "We keep a list of all valuable items buried with bodies for just this situation," Mr. Lahey said. "Usually those are what the little assholes take. We even have insurance for it. Sick fucks," he muttered.

Couldn't argue that one, the sheriff decided. He asked a different question. "What did this one take?"

Isaac gave his dad another look as if needed confirmation. Lahey senior, noticed the look, and gave his boy a sneer.

"What was taken?" Gus repeated.

Isaac swallowed. "Her liver."

-o0o-

"That was gruesome," Gus said as he drove them away from the cemetery.

The sheriff agreed. Though he'd seen worse when he'd been deployed, this grave desecration had been more disturbing.

"It's because a person did it," Gus said, reading Noah's thoughts.

"A werewolf," he corrected, and suddenly knew why he was so bothered by the crime. Would that be him? In five years? In ten? Will he be so far from his humanity as to think nothing of ripping apart a months-old corpse and eating it? Is that what he had to look forward to?

Gus made a rude noise. "I don't think being a werewolf has anything to do with it. Either the perp is crazy—and anybody can be crazy—or …" Gus' voice trailed off.

"He's probably crazy," the sheriff finished.

"Is it a he?" Gus asked with a quick look.

The sheriff thought back to the impressions he'd picked up from around the grave. The smell—dirt, chemicals and cadaver. The victim had been female, but her body had been treated at the funeral home so she'd smelled like the chemicals they used. The dirt had smelled... Like dirt. So why did he think the perp was male?

Dammit. He needed more practice.

"Pretty sure."

"The other option is that he was just really, really hungry," Gus said with a teasing smirk. "I've seen you eat since it happened. I keep waiting for you to get fat in front of my eyes." Noah laughed mockingly, but it was true. He could put away an extra-large pizza all by himself and still feel hungry.

"You know Stiles still insists on feeding me salad and fake bacon bits?" he complained with an exaggerated frown. "I'm a badass werewolf, and I'm not allowed bacon with my egg white omelet."

Gus chuckled. "You could be mother-fucking Superman and that boy would still give you a hard time about your cholesterol. He loves you, man."

Noah looked out his side window, but he didn't miss Gus looking at him sideways. "Things better between you now?"

They were better but they were also different and that meant they were more tentative with each other. Before Noah could respond, his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the number. He let out a breath of relief. It wasn't the school, but a guy he'd served with who'd also gone into law enforcement.

"Hey, Sergeant Johnson. How's the toes?"

Jamal Johnson had had a thing about looking after your feet in the field. He'd had two uncles come back from Vietnam with some kind of bacterial fungus and it had traumatized the man. Didn't matter that Vietnam was jungle and Iran was desert, Johnson had pestered all the guys to keep their feet clean and dry. He was a good man.

"You gotta get new material, Stinky.

"I would if you came over more often."

That was countered with an invitation to visit Jamal in his home town. They both sighed in resignation, too understaffed to make time for long-distance friends. "Anyway, I'm calling because I heard about that thing at your office."

That thing.

It's just as well the sheriff knew Jamal wasn't an asshole, or he'd've been tempted to hang up.

"Did you lose anyone?" his friend asked.

"Came close, but no," Noah said with genuine thankfulness. "So far my only losses have been from people wanting out."

"Not surprising," Jamal said. "Cops aren't supposed to be the vulnerable ones. But that's kind of why I'm calling. I've got a young guy, vet. I'll be sorry to lose him, but he feels like moving west. I think he'll fit in pretty good in La-La Land."

Noah's attention sharpened. "We're too far north to be La-La. What's the kid's name?"

"Jordan Parrish," Jamal replied. "I'll send you his file and you can let me know if you're interested."

The sheriff was definitely interested. It wouldn't bring them up to full strength, but it was still a shift he could spend at home, having a no-stress, decompress, day off with beer. God, he wanted one of those.

"Send it to me," he said. "I'll make sure it goes on the top of the pile."

-o0o-

Derek had survived the meeting with Kate's defense lawyers—as in three of them—tag teaming him just like they did on TV. They'd asked him about his captivity, about Laura's death, Peter's attack, Kate's statement. They'd asked about his sexual history with Kate, with anyone. His relationship with his uncle, with his sister, with the rest of his dead family.

The session had left him feeling slimy and young, and so unprepared. He almost preferred the reporters. Their questions were invasive, but they were also generally irrelevant.

They'd asked him what he felt now that the remaining members of his family were dead.

"Awful," he'd said, and then he'd shut his mouth.

If he'd spent more time looking into the victims of the 'animal attacks', instead of trying to convince McCall to join him, he might have figured out they were all connected to the fire that had decimated his family. With that, he maybe could've figured out that Peter, his uncle-brother, had killed them all.

He would've known that Peter was crazy with grief and he could've, maybe, ambushed him and taken the alpha power for himself. Then omegas would've been drawn to him. He could've built his own pack, a new Hale pack, and he would've been safe and not so alone.

His instincts wouldn't be nagging at him to go to the sheriff, to sit in the park across from his office, and hope for the chance to beg for the alpha's acceptance. Considering the sheriff was a made werewolf and a packless alpha, the incessant pull to be close to the man was annoying.

Derek should've had some protection from wanting acceptance by an alpha that wasn't Laura and could never replace her, but he didn't. Even now, halfway across the county and surrounded by the memories of his family, Derek knew exactly where Sheriff Stilinski was. He could just start walking, following that pull, and he'd go right up to him.

One of Stilinski's deputies had come up to Derek after his meeting with Kate's lawyers and had asked what it was like to work with werewolves? Because, apparently, Stilinski had told his deputies about his "change in circumstances," and gave them all a chance to leave the sheriff's department.

Because the man was obviously an idiot.

Derek didn't want to feel drawn to the sheriff, but the man needed a frigging keeper and Derek's wolf obviously thought that it should be him. He had even offered Stilinski "wolf" lessons. They were meeting on Saturday so he could give the sheriff pointers.

Hours and hours with the alpha going through Werewolf 101…

Derek would've bashed his head against the parking meter, but he'd had enough of people looking at him today.

-o0o-

Allison decided school still sucked.

It had been two weeks, but the kids still stared and gossiped and giggled. The teachers frowned in fear or pity, but they were just as curious as the students.

"So how was the new counsellor?" Stiles asked once they'd gathered for lunch in the north cafeteria.

That was something else that sucked. She'd been told to use her free period to see Ms. Morell, "to help her deal with the trauma of Kate's arrest". As if she could tell a high school shrink-wannabe the truth!

"It went okay," Allison said. "She seemed nice."

"Huh." Stiles looked thoughtful.

"You thinking of going?"

He shrugged. "I dream about it sometimes. It's not fun."

He'd been at the station, Allison suddenly remembered. "You saw the attack."

"Yeah," Stiles said with another shrug. "I also saw him die, so… There's that."

"Can we talk about something that isn't crazy people?" Lydia asked with a roll of her eyes.

"I dunno, Lydia," Scott said, expression earnest and serious. "We're teenagers. A lot of people think we're crazy by default."

Lydia gave a delicate snort. "Hormones. They make everyone crazy." She leaned toward Allison, a satisfied smile making her seem a little cat-like. "Speaking of hormones, Aiden without his shirt is even better than I'd imagined."

"When did you see him with his shirt off?" was Stiles' question. "You haven't slept with him, have you?" was Allison's.

Stiles, Lydia ignored, but she raised an eyebrow at Allison. "You sound very judgmental about my sex life."

"I, I'm not... It's not about you having sex," Allison backtracked. "I just don't... He's..." She stopped. Tried again to figure out what it was about the twins that bothered her so. It was something about the way they moved so tightly around each other; how they were always close to each other. She could totally see them dog-piling at night and not even realizing that it was inappropriate at their age.

"When did you see him with his shirt off?"

Lydia finally turned to Stiles. "Really not any of your business."

Stiles looked crushed, but if he hadn't figured out Lydia wasn't ever saying yes to him…

"Don't you think they're a little strange?" Scott asked. "Like, closer than normal brothers?"

"How would you know? You don't have brothers," Lydia pointed out.

"I got Stiles," Scott fired back and his best friend perked back up. "Thanks, Scott." "No problem, bro."

While they fist-bumped in the background, Allison organized her objections. "It doesn't bother you that they never seem to do anything without the other?"

Lydia's smile widened. "They probably don't do one thing together."

"Or that they stare at Scott and Stiles whenever they're in the same room?"

Lydia glanced over the two boys. "That could be Ethan. But he's going after Danny, so I can't fault his taste."

"Danny's hot," Stiles said.

Scott agreed. "Everybody likes Danny."

Allison sighed. It was possible, but she still didn't believe it. Unfortunately, she really didn't have any basis for her antagonism, just her hind brain screeching at her the way it did when her grandfather was in the room. "I'm sorry, Lyds. They give me the creeps."

"I agree with Allison," Scott said. "I think they're dangerous."

Lydia smirked. "Dangerous can be fun."

Scott suddenly looked bigger, fiercer. "And sometimes dangerous is deadly. Have you forgotten that night we were trapped in the school? Was that fun?"

Lydia was finally looking at them fully. "Are you kidding me? You're comparing two teenage boys to some kind of wild... whatever?" She waved her hand, dismissing both the danger and the memory.

"Lydia, come on," Allison pleaded. "How many times have we heard about something awful happening and thought 'how could they have not known'? At least wait a couple weeks before approaching Aiden again. See how he behaves—if he gets possessive or weird."

"Yeah," Scott backed her up. Then ruined it. "Besides, if you want to make Jackson nuts, you should go out with Stiles again."

Stiles jumped back into the conversation with a "Huh? What?" Allison elbowed Scott in the side. Hard.

Lydia just rolled her eyes, and rose from her chair. "This has nothing to do with Jackson." Allison's reapplied elbow encouraged Scott to keep his mouth shut this time, and Lydia smiled. "Later."

Allison waited until Lydia had driven away before turning on Scott. "How could you say that?"

Scott looked bewildered. "Say what?"

"That stuff about making Jackson jealous," she explained.

"But isn't that what she's trying to do?"

"Well, yeah," Allison admitted. "But you can't just point that out to her. Now she'll date Aiden just to prove that it's not true."

"But it is true," Scott defended himself.

"That's not the point!"

"Just give it up, Scott," Stiles advised. "Lydia's going to go for him no matter what argument you use."

"We could tell her that they're werewolves."

Allison shook her head. "Nooo. How does that make sense?"

"She hardly seems like she'd be into it," Scott argued. "Plus then we could tell her that they're probably here to kill the sheriff."

Stiles dropped his pudding. "What?"

"We don't know that," Allison said to comfort Stiles.

Scott gave Stiles an apologetic glance. "We kind of do."

"We do?" Stiles asked, voice rising as he started to panic.

"I talked to Derek about them," Scott said gently. "He said they're part of this 'Alpha Pack' that's moved into town. He said that wherever they go, bad things happen to the local pack."

"Dad doesn't have a pack."

"He has me," Scott said. "If you're my bro, dude, then he's kind of family."

Stiles smiled at him, practically glowing.

"Will you be enough?" Allison asked.

Scott looked sad but determined. "Probably not."

-o0o-

It was Saturday. A day off.

Was he at home on the couch with a beer? No. Instead, the sheriff stood in Henry Tate's pecan grove under the trees and felt like an idiot.

"I feel like an idiot."

"I don't know how to explain it any better," Derek apologized. He'd been tense since they started, and had only drawn himself tighter as the sheriff failed to grasp the nature of 'territorial awareness'.

"I told you to use the Jedi mind trick explanation," Stiles huffed from the sidelines. His son had insisted on joining them in the outdoors since Scott was spending the day with Allison. He'd been making lots of suggestions, but he hadn't made it any easier for the sheriff to understand.

It didn't help that Derek flinched slightly at Stiles' remark, as if he were expecting pain or rejection. It made the sheriff claws itch.

It also made his voice softer when he replied. "This is absolutely not your fault. I am trained to look for evidence—material proof of tangible crimes. All this... feel the Force stuff is a little hard to wrap my head around."

Noah had always been physically demonstrative. He had no problem hugging his son or Scott whenever they seemed to need it. He would, and did, comfort victims and witnesses to whatever extent they (and regulations) would allow. He had no problem reaching out to Derek now, and giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He even left his hand there when it seemed like the younger man leaned into it.

"You're doing OK." Derek gave him a small smile. "Your control's better than mine would be if I'd just become the alpha."

"You're doing better than Scott did," Stiles poked in. "Learning control, I mean. Not the psychic awareness stuff—I don't think he's even tried that stuff." He frowned then shook himself. "Anyway, you'll get it, just probably not… today?" Stiles trailed off, maybe realizing that he had been less than encouraging. "I could throw rocks at you?"

Derek rolled his eyes.

With a final pat, the sheriff let go of Derek's shoulder. "This is more than just keeping my claws in. Weaponry I understand. Aura's and psychic power?" He blew out an exasperated breath.

"Don't think of it as psychic," Derek offered. "It's a kind of focus. Like people who do Tai Chi, or endurance races. They're just there, but also not."

The sheriff's brow lifted. "Like target shooting. That I can do."

"Oh, yeah," Stiles crowed. "Dad's a great shot. Took first place at a competition for California police, back when he was a deputy. Beat out some guy from the L.A. SWAT team even..."

The sheriff took a breath before he dropped onto a crouch. He put one hand on the ground and went still. Around him, Derek froze and Stiles' babble died off.

Noah raised a handful of dirt and let it dribble through his fingers. He concentrated on the feel, the smell. How the breeze changed the direction of its fall. He listened as it landed on the ground then widened his focus, so he could hear the leaves rustling at the top of the trees and figure out the breeze's direction and velocity. It was like being a sniper again, but he was aware of so much more than he had been then. He could feel the difference between the decaying leaves and leaked motor oil mixed in with the dirt. He could smell a bird's nest—abandoned now, but one that was used year after year. He could smell the underground warrens of field mice and rabbits, urine and markings of the fox and coyotes that hunted them. A whole world revealed to his newly-enhanced senses.

It was overwhelming.

He took a few quick breaths through his mouth—the old techniques coming back to him.

Once he was settled into the increased input, he opened his eyes. He watched the ground maybe 100 yards in front of them, but he didn't focus on it. In his peripheral vision, dim sunlight pushed through the leaf cover and made the dirt glow.

It wasn't the only thing glowing.

Three energy signatures hit him. Derek, who, unsurprisingly, had an electric field Stilinski could practically feel against his skin. Stiles' field was a surprise. It was thin, but it flared at odd intervals which could be a result of his ADD.

However, there was a third spot, bright with energy similar to Derek's. Whatever was making it, its location was somewhere to the northeast, on the edge of the Tate's land, in the rough woods too steep for cultivating.

Hiding, Noah thought. Why was it hiding?

The sheriff didn't think before loping off to investigate. He ignored Stiles' protest, because he needed to know what creature was in his territory.

He was aware that Derek followed, pacing him easily on his left, and the idea of having the born werewolf by his side near was comfortable. Right.

It didn't take long for them to leave the grove for uncultivated forest. They had to slow down some on the uneven ground, but the trail remained bright and obvious to the sheriff. They clambered through a wide gully. A thicket of blackberry brambles blocked the path. It was an easy jump to clear it.

Strangely, the sheriff's awareness of the woods didn't bleed away as they ran. Instead, he was very aware of the denseness of the energy that saturated this part of the wood. It wasn't natural. (Although the sheriff's concept of natural vs not natural had changed considerably since meeting Derek Hale: Natural-Born Werewolf.)

There was some deep energy underlying everything, but atop that, there were fainter energy signatures. He recognized Derek's and Scott's. A couple spiky paths reminded him of Stiles, (though again, Noah wasn't sure why his son would be emitting supernatural energy). There was also a distant, unfamiliar track, hinting of desperation and fear. He would have to come back to that one.

For now, he already had a scent to follow. It wasn't a bear, or a raccoon, or badger. Neither was the... the energy source (for lack of a less esoteric term) a werewolf.

"It's not a werewolf," he said aloud, and Derek jumped.

"I don't know," Derek replied. "I can't tell."

Derek couldn't feel it. If he couldn't feel it, why was he following Noah?

"Yeah," the sheriff answered, not even puffing. "It's not the same you or Scott, but it's not completely different either."

It wasn't until they came across the car that the sheriff understood.

"What happened here?" Derek's question pulled the sheriff from his focused state. And kicked him into old regret.

"Accident," Stilinski replied shortly. "The car left the road and landed here. By the time it was found, mother and one child were dead. The second daughter was missing. Presumed dragged off by an animal." But had it been just a normal animal?

"How long ago was the accident?" Derek asked.

"Seven years." Noah had been a deputy when it happened, just starting his run for sheriff. He was ashamed that he'd worried, (just a little) that his failure to find Malia's body would be bad for his election chances.

"What were their names?"

The sheriff's eyebrows went up at the question. "Tate. Evelyn, Malia and Lynsey Tate," he answered peaceably enough. "Malia is the one who went missing."

Derek stood for a moment, frowning, before shaking his head. "I don't remember my parents talking about any Tates. They weren't pack, and they weren't invaders."

"And not were-anything else?" Stilinski asked.

Derek shook his head. "Not back then, at least."

The sheriff tapped his belt while he thought. If Evelyn Tate had been attacked by a feral were-creature, it could've caused her to swerve off the road.

The previous sheriff, Sheriff Dowd, had rejected the possibility that the family had been attacked while driving, but maybe… Now that Noah knew werewolves and other ghosty-goblin types were real… Maybe it wasn't so far-fetched after all.

The Tate's car had careened down the side of the ravine, rolling at least once, until it came to rest on its roof. Malia Tate's door had come off. She'd might've been thrown out, which was why she hadn't died in the car like her mother and sister. However, the 11-year-old had been alone and vulnerable, and she'd disappeared from the crash scene without leaving a trace.

The sheriff's department had searched along the road and deeper into the woods, but they had found nothing. Two months later, Sheriff Dowd had added her to National Center for Missing & Exploited Children database, but the sheriff had assumed her dead after the first week. Killed by the elements or by any of the predators that lived in the preserve. That was what they'd told Henry Tate. It was what Noah had written in the official report.

Now, however…

If the car had been attacked by a were, it was possible it had tracked Malia down and bitten her. She could've survived the accident and maybe the last seven years as well. This was exactly the cold case he'd asked Gus Trejo to look into.

"How do I find her?"

Derek stared at him. "I don't know," he said. "The same way you found the car?"

Remembering he was more than human now, Noah drew a full breath in through his nose.

He nearly gagged. The area was saturated with pain and loneliness. Using his wolfy powers was out—no way was he getting beyond scents and feelings that strong. That was frustrating, because easy tracking was supposed to be one of the perks of being a werewolf.

With a huff, the sheriff set his disappointment aside. He rested his hands on his hips, automatically keeping them high enough to rest on the police belt he wasn't wearing.

This was a case, he decided. No different from any other missing person. First, look for clues in the last place the person was known to have been. In other words, the car that had contained her family. The sheriff climbed down into the gully. Once at the bottom he crawled around and over the disintegrating vehicle, grateful, once more, that his knees didn't click and lock like they had last month.

Outside the vehicle, there were no obvious signs of recent activity. The sheriff shifted his attention to the car itself.

There were gouges in the paint—symmetrical slashes as would be made by a clawed hand. There were a couple bullet holes in the side paneling, proving that someone had found the abandoned vehicle and used it for target practice. Or, he pointed out to himself, someone had shot at the car on the road, and that's what caused the crash. He'd have to check the original report, but he was pretty sure he hadn't seen any bullet holes at the time.

Finally, he stuck his head inside. The upholstery was rotting and half gone, and there were leaves decomposing in small piles in the corners. A doll was wedged in the corner of the back seat, one-eyed and dirty. It didn't look like it was home to any small animals.

He pulled out. "If you were a field mouse or a raccoon, wouldn't you think this was a good place for a den?"

Derek's eyebrows went up. "No. It stinks of coyote." The sheriff waited for more. There wasn't any.

"Right," he said. He ignored Derek's little smirk. God knew the boy didn't have much to be amused by right now. Instead, Noah popped his head back in the car. This time he picked up the doll. It was the only thing of personal significance in the vehicle. It could've been left by exploring kids anytime since the accident, but Stilinski didn't think so. This had belonged to Lynsey or Malia Tate.

"Sheriff?" Derek's voice was calm, but it demanded a response.

The sheriff climbed out of the wreck, bringing the doll with him. "Yeah?" he asked. Derek jerked his chin toward the other side of the ravine.

A large, tawny coyote stood facing them. It had its feet spread and its teeth bared. If they'd been closer, or if he'd still been ultra-focused, Stilinski was sure he would hear it growling. Only when it saw the doll he carried, did its growl become easily audible. He squeezed the doll, and the coyote barked.

Why would a coyote react to a doll?

"Malia?" the sheriff asked. The coyote flinched. "Malia," he repeated but as a statement. "I'm Sheriff Stilinski of Beacon County. This is Derek Hale. We're werewolves, but we're not here to hurt you." The coyote barked, short and sharp.

"I don't think she believes you," Derek commented.

The sheriff ignored him. "You are Malia Tate," he stated firmly, reinforcing her humanity. "And your father has been missing you for seven years."

He hadn't even finished speaking before the coyote burst into a frenzy of barking and growling.

"At least she still understands human speech."

"Not helpful," he muttered. Derek shrugged.

"Malia," the sheriff repeated her name. "I need you to switch back to your human form, Malia. That way we can talk." More growling. Rejection. Defiance.

"Malia—" She didn't let him say anymore before barking and snarling. Her paws tore up the ground

The sheriff felt his skin heat in frustration. Here was this scrawny little coyote, threatening him, ignoring his commands. In his territory.

"She's gonna attack," Derek warned.

That was completely unacceptable. He was only trying to help.

He felt the change. Claws extended from his fingers. His teeth elongated. He knew his eyes would be red, and that was okay. In fact, it was all good. It would help him bring this pesky coyote under control. He didn't bother with her name—this was no longer a negotiation—instead, he opened his mouth. And roared.

-o0o-

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Derek could feel the change that the sheriff was demanding. It was meant for the coyote, but Derek could feel it forcing out his claws and his teeth. Stilinski wasn't his alpha, and yet he wanted to submit. He wanted to drop to the ground, and whine for forgiveness. Anything, to make the alpha happy.

He's not my alpha, Derek reminded himself. He dug his claws into his palms and stayed human!

The command was so loud…

It would be so simple to obey…

It would be easy…

Derek swayed with the force of his desire to do as the sheriff demanded…

Then the noise was gone.

He stumbled, catching himself before he fell into the ravine. 'Thank god,' he thought, breathing deep to bring his wolf back under control. Once that was done, he looked up, across the ravine. The scraggly coyote had been replaced by an equally scraggly girl. She was sixteen or so, and completely naked. She lifted her hand and stared at it before looking at the sheriff.

She looked lost, Derek realized. Lost and scared and bewildered.

"Malia. You're safe." Sheriff Stilinski's voice was clear, but gentle. "We're not going to hurt you. It's been seven years, and it's time for you to come home."

The girl, Malia, whimpered. It was a pup's whine, and it hurt to hear it. This hadbeen him after the fire.

"You're going to be fine, Malia," the sheriff crooned. "We need to get you checked out, but then you can go home. You don't need to be afraid."

She shivered. "Are you cold, Malia?" the sheriff asked. "I suppose you would be if you've lived the last seven years with a fur coat. We'll get you some clothes. They're like fur, but not attached."

Derek stared at the sheriff in disapproval. Wearing clothes—with its irritating textures and seams—was nothing like wearing fur. Lying to your beta was a bad way to start a pack.

Not that Malia was Stilinski's beta, of course. Plus, she was a coyote. Still, she was going to need someone...

"I'm going to come to you." The sheriff took a couple slow steps. "I'll give you my jacket. It'll be nice and warm—if a little short." A couple steps more. "It's not a complete as fur, but it's all I've got until we get back to my patrol car."

Malia reared back. Whether in fright or anger, Derek couldn't tell.

The sheriff saw her reaction. "Yes, we are going in a car. No, you are not going to freak out. You'll be perfectly safe." He paused. "And even if there is an accident, none of us are exactly human. We'll survive."

He'd reached Malia by then. She looked up at him like a baby bird waiting for food from its mama. The sheriff removed his jacket and carefully wrapped her up. He stuffed her arms through the holes, and gently examined her hands for any damage. All the while he kept up a steady stream of explanations—what he was doing, why he was touching her, what they would do next. All of it in an unflappable tone that said that she could do this, because they would be doing this.

A memory rose in Derek. Of his mother, speaking the same way, moving with that same slow patience. His sister would've grown to be the same. She'd shown flashes of that same gentle steel when dealing with him and his issues. Derek nearly choked at the want he felt. They'd been his family, his alphas, and he wanted them back.

There was scrabbling in the bushes, and Derek heard a familiar heartbeat. Stiles stumbled into the ravine, wheezing like an old hand-pump. "What'd I miss?" he panted. "Who's that?"

"If you give me the keys, I'll bring your cruiser up." Once he had the keys, Derek didn't wait for Stilinski's reply. Instead, he let himself half-shift and left them all behind.

Anything to get away.

-o0o-

Allison knew she should stop complaining to Scott about Gerard, but her grandfather was really weird, and her parents were really stressed, and school sucked, and everything was just generally awful, except Scott.

He sat with her on the uncomfortable, grungy bench in front of City Hall and let her talk. He didn't say 'you're being ridiculous', or 'it'll be alright' or anything stupid like that. He just listened. And held her hand. And asked, "What can I do to help?"

"Unless you can get Gerard out of my house, you can't do anything."

"I can give you a hug?" he said. "I know the patented Stilinski technique, guaranteed to make you feel better."

"Stiles taught you how to hug?" She laughed, but she also leaned into him for that hug.

"The sheriff did," Scott said softly. "After my dad left."

"He's a good person, huh?" she asked, cocooned nicely against Scott's chest.

"He tries to be," Scott replied.

His firm response made Allison more determined than ever to stop Gerard's from ruining the sheriff's career. Maybe telling Scott everything had been a good idea. He would tell Stiles, Stiles would warn the sheriff, and the sheriff would be able to fight back. No one would have to know that she had planned it.

Suddenly, Scott flinched, a quick, all-over tightening of his muscles that nearly cracked her ribs. It always surprised her how strong he was.

"Scott?" She pulled back, needing to see his face. His face was pinched. His teeth clenched. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he said. It was her turn to frown. "At least, it'll pass."

"What's wrong?" But even as she asked, she could see the tension leave his face. "What happened?"

He rolled his head around, stretching his neck. Then he wiggled his jaw to get rid of the tension there. "I don't know. It was like a spike ran up my spine and then tugged."

Allison's shoulders slumped in understanding. "Those are awful," she responded sympathetically. "I always expect it to happen again."

"Yeah," Scott smiled. "It's gone now, but..." He shrugged.

Allison gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. It was a little scratchy, like he needed to shave, but it felt kinda nice, too. "You know what makes me feel better after one of those attacks?" Scott shook his head.

"Snuggling on the couch with ice cream and a bad movie." She grabbed his hand and tugged him off the bench. "Your mom's at work, right? We can go to your place."

Scott, the big doofus, just smiled and let himself be tugged.

-o0o-

Once they'd found Malia, the rest of day was a lost cause.

Between Child Protection Services, medical examinations, and the paperwork needed to remove her from the missing children's registry, the sheriff had barely enough time to think let alone 'expand his awareness'.

Still, as a first effort it had gone well, he guessed. Well enough that he'd found Malia Tate. A lost kid who'd blamed herself for the deaths of her mother and sister because she'd shifted for the first time in the back of their car. It felt good to have done good with his new abilities. In fact, it felt great.

Derek had taken off as soon as he could, promising to give his statement later, but Stiles had stuck around the hospital.

Surprisingly—or unsurprisingly, considering how often he'd done it now—Stiles had been the one to reassure Malia about being a were and learning to control her shift. The girl had actually looked better by the end of Stiles' ramble, maybe even seemed slightly amused. The sheriff had a feeling she'd be OK in the long run. Well, to a Beacon Hills level of OK.

Stiles had ruined it once Astiago showed up to be the female escorting officer. His son had taken him aside, and warned him about feral coyotes, and the bad blood between them and wolves in the wild, and high-freaking-blood pressure!

"Just go home, Stiles," he'd said with clenched teeth. There would be no discussions of shifts, or claws or fur in front of the nice lady with the clipboard. Ms. Abrenath had brought Malia better clothes and some feminine supplies. Then she'd shooed the sheriff away with a promise to update him on Monday.

He'd dropped Stiles off at home then gone back to the station to fill in the forms and reports. When he got there, it was as if some of the people were surprised that he'd bothered to do the decent thing now that he was a werewolf. He'd weathered the awkward congratulations until he felt like sprouting claws just to get them all to shut up.

Then Astiago had returned from escorting Malia to her father. She'd been excited and impressed by the rescue, adding her congratulations to everyone else's, but with less insult and more genuineness. When he accepted her 'way to go', the spark had been back in her eyes. It gave him hope that she wouldn't request a transfer after all.

Since he was here anyways, he took some time to look over the applications that had made it past Tara and Wanda. One, Victoria Romero, was the daughter of Jesus Romero who'd retired in 2006, and the info on Jordan Parrish looked good, so Noah told Wanda to arrange those interviews. The others looked okay, but Noah would be calling their previous supervisors to make sure.

If he was going to be calling around anyway, maybe he'd reach out to some of the other sheriffs who'd contacted him since Peter's attack. They could catch up on the newest gossip, and he could feel them out about possible transfers. Maybe, like Jamal, they had people with itchy feet.