Title: My Head is an Animal - Side B
Author: ANTchan
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Rating/Genre: Romance/T
Pairings: Derek Hale/Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski
Summary: As if Peter's reign of terror hadn't ripped apart their worlds enough, now they have a literal army of hunters, a reptilian nightmare, and clashes between Packs to deal with. The secrets just keep getting harder to keep, and the lies just keep piling up between them. And soon they'll all have to learn to work together, or go down in flames.

OR the s2 AU where everyone actually learns to work through their issues.

Side B - While the young, they wait alone

Chapter 4

Before:

Side B, Ch3

Having a roof over his head after over a month is… odd, for Derek. Having a warm place to sleep is odd. Celina and Eliza are odd.

He knew it. He knew it. He should have known. Derek should have…

"I've done everything you asked of me!" Scott hisses to Gerard. Gerard. "I'm part of Derek's pack, I've given you all the information that you wanted, I told you Matt was controlling Jackson-" Derek closes his eyes, holding his breath past the urge to shift. Claws sting against his palms.

"Then leave him to us. Help your friends. Leave Matt and Jackson to me. Deal with your mother. Go!"

This can't be happening - not again. This night was already shit enough with the full moon and Peter - fucking Peter, again - and now this.

Derek shrinks farther back into the shadows as Scott darts past him. The boy doesn't notice him, seemingly too worried about the hunters overrunning the Sheriff's station - or getting caught in the act - to glance his way. Derek watches him, eyes tracing the lines of his form, trying so hard to find the mark of betrayal in the way he moves. But he can't find anything. Did Scott really hate him that much? Or… no, of course.

Allison.

"Or maybe it's just a little bit of history repeating." Kate's words are like a gentle poison in his memories. He feels sick all at once.

But no, it's even worse than history repeating. Because Scott is so naive that he actually sees the Argents for what they are and still believes that any of them won't turn on him the second he isn't useful.

Scott isn't heading for the holding cells, Derek realizes after a moment. He's doubling back towards the front of the building, to wherever he'd left Stiles. He doesn't know that his friend had followed him, dragging himself along the floor. Both of them had left Stiles there, prone and vulnerable, in their haste to chase down the kanima.

Derek returns the way he came. The hallways are quiet now that the hunters have moved on, presumably after Matt and his pet lizard of vengeance. He picks his way over the bodies of deputies and hunters alike, pushing his senses past the scent of blood and death.

Stiles, when Derek reaches him, is attempting to pull himself up the wall on unsteady legs. He's not managing it very well. His face is red from exertion as he tries to push himself higher than a kneeling position, only to unbalance and collapse against the wall. Derek grabs his arm to stop him from crashing all the way to the floor, and flinches at the breathless shriek the boy lets loose.

"Hey, hey," he calls, giving Stiles the slightest shake. "It's me."

The screaming and the ineffectual - weak - flailing stops. "Derek?" Stiles' eyes are wide and glassy, not completely focused on him. He reeks of fear, and when he speaks it sounds like he's fighting to draw breath. "Get… get them. Derek, help- help my dad." It's the closest to begging Derek has ever heard from him, as if Derek might actually tell him to fuck off and leave.

(He should, a tiny, treacherous thought whispers. He should leave them all behind. Say fuck Beacon Hills, gather his Betas and leave this death knell of a town for someplace where people he cares about won't stab him in the back. Because Stiles may not be as naive as Scott is but he's at least three times as calculating, and he might be right with Scott in this too-)

"Shut up," he mutters. He isn't sure who he's saying it to. Instead he drags Stiles to his (useless) feet and props him up against the length of his body. Derek settles a hand on Stiles' hip, ignoring his spluttering, and hauls him the rest of the way into the room.

The Sheriff still lays crumpled on the floor where Matt had left him. The side of his face is turning a nasty shade of purple, the skin scraped and bleeding from the force of the gun. Stiles nearly pitches forward in his haste to get to the man. "Dad," he pleads, his voice tight. Derek saves them all the trouble, and eases Stiles down so he's propped against the wall. He strips off his jacket next, and quickly and carefully shifts Sheriff Stilinski into a safe position on the floor with his head pillowed on the jacket - and, more importantly, where Stiles can see his father without dying of fright. The boy has gone completely silent, watching his father with dark, haunted eyes.

Unsure if he should even try to comfort Stiles, or what the hell he could even say, Derek instead addresses the final racing heartbeat in the room.

Melissa McCall is pressed at the back of the holding cell. Her heartbeat is a terrified thudding in Derek's ears, but her expression is set in a measured glare. She looks defiant - steely - for all the fear pouring off her. It doesn't stop her from flinching when Derek approaches the door. She breaks eye contact as he grabs the bars, gazing at his hands instead as he merely pulls until the lock snaps. There's no point in hiding just how easy the task is for him, not anymore. Not when she's been face-to-face with two shifted werewolves and a kanima.

The door screeches in protest as Derek forces it open, but Melissa doesn't move from her spot at the back of the cell.

It's not until Derek kneels next to Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski that she even twitches. "W-What are you doing?" she demands with a slight waver in her voice.

"Helping," Derek tells her. He grasps Stilinski's arm firmly and lets the pain come to him. He isn't prepared for it to hurt quite as much as it does. Normally, all but the worst pains are a twinge at the very edges of his perception. But now it feels like Peter's claws are still lodged in his arm, ripping everything out of him piece by piece.

"Hey, uh… you okay?" Stiles asks quietly. Derek's suddenly aware that he's gritting his teeth, drawing in shuddering gulps of air, and his face feels clammy in the still air of the room. He lets go of the Sheriff's arm, and forces himself to breathe.

"I'm fine," he lies. And, by the deadpan glare, Stiles doesn't believes him this time.

"You are so not fine, dude. You weren't even fine before the kanima got you. No way you would let that lizard freak sneak up on you like that if you weren't-"

"I'm fine, Stiles!" he snaps.

'Peter's back,' Derek so badly wants to tell him. 'Peter's back and my Betas aren't adjusting and Scott is working with the Argents and I don't know what to do.'

He can't tell Stiles that, though. He can't trust either of them right now.

Ms. McCall finally approaches, her movements deliberate. But it's betrayed by the rapid flutter of her heart. "I didn't think the boy hit him that hard," she begins softly.

"Yeah, well," Stiles sniffs, "Matt's barely passing for human these days." His entire body jumps when her gaze snaps up at his words. Melissa's mouth does a curious twist, her jaw clenching. There's an entire story in the look that's shared between them. And not a happy one, at that. Derek watches it all in silence - the way Ms. McCall's eyes narrow and the way Stiles starts to fidget.

"What happened to you?" she asks the boy at last.

"Uh. Well, the reject Ninja Turtle- kanima. It's called a kanima. Y'know, apparently a lizard revenge monster? Like, seriously, I couldn't make this sh-crap up even at my best. It's got this venom that paralyzes you temporarily? Presumably while it, like, eats your innards or- I'll stop now. It's just uh, I can't move much right now. It's getting better though. I can, like, feel everything. Just can't move too well yet."

Melissa only waits out his rambling with more patience than Derek could ever muster. And when he finally falls into silence, she heaves an almost weary sigh. "Oh, Stiles…"

Something in her tone makes Stiles flinch. And Derek does his best not to notice. The tense silence is broken when Melissa kneels next to them, her focus on the Sheriff. "If he doesn't wake up soon, he'll need a hospital." She gently takes the jacket from under Stilinski's head, hands cupping his face to hold it steady. "Come on, John," she whispers.

"There's an ambulance on its way," Derek says. He can hear multiple sirens blaring from miles off. "And backup's with them."

"How do you-" Melissa shakes her head, looking overwhelmed. "Nevermind. I don't think I want to know."

From the floor, the Sheriff sucks in a sharp breath that makes all of them jump. Stiles lurches from the wall. "Dad!" he calls. At the sound of his voice, Stilinski grimaces and lets out a pained moan.

"Not s'loud, son," he slurs. And Derek may not be human, and may not have to deal with concussions, but he knows that doesn't sound good. Ms. McCall is already leaning forward, the fear vanishing from her expression.

"John," she speaks gently, "I need you to open your eyes for me. Can you tell me where you are?"

The man's eyes open sluggishly, wincing all the while. "At the… At the station. We were… the boys-" And then his eyes go wide. "Stiles!" He jerks as if to sit up, but barely makes it an inch of the ground before all three of them are reaching out to stop him.

"I'm here, I'm okay!" Stiles says in a rush. "Don't get up, okay?"

"And Scott, where's- is he-Mel, is he okay?"

There's a dreadful pause. Ms. McCall is beginning to look panicked again, and Stiles is already stammering his way to a (terrible) lie. So Derek finally opens his mouth. "He's okay, Sheriff. He went to call for help."

He regrets it immediately, because at the first word, John Stilinski's eyes swing towards him, dizzily latching on to the sight of him and the look of confusion and frustration in his gaze makes Derek want to crawl into a hole.

"What," Stilinski says slowly, "are you doing here?" The accusation is thick in his voice, even through the pain-laden slur. And Derek suddenly remembers their last interaction had been a week ago, when the Sheriff had fully intended to arrest him and ended up finding him a place to stay. A roof over his head, a place to sleep - all of it under the the condition that this would never happen again.

"I…" Dread pools in the pit of his stomach; a kind of dread that he hasn't felt in years. It's the dread of a child faced with a disappointed parent. "I heard the gunshots while passing by. Stiles' Jeep was in the parking lot so I… came to help." The lie feels like ash in his mouth.

And John Stilinski doesn't buy it, anymore than Derek would. He can see it on the man's face. The longer he gazes at him, the more Derek has to fight not to squirm.

"Well," John says after a painful moment of silence, "I'm glad you were here." Beside him, Stiles winces, and Derek doesn't have to wonder if Stilinski's world-weary tone is a bad thing.

Melissa makes sure the Sheriff is stable and helps him sit up. The sirens are close enough that everyone can hear them now.

Derek hesitates.

"You'll want to get going, son," the Sheriff says quietly. Not gently, no. If the emotion in his voice could be called kindness, it's a bitter one. "Before they get here."

The denial is caught in Derek's throat. 'It's not me!' he wants so badly to shout. But he's well aware that it's impossible. That his entire life has been so far out of human law that even the truth would never absolve him. "I- thank you, sir," is all he manages to reply.

"Don't," the Sheriff orders. "They took my badge. That's the only reason I'm not arresting you right now, you hear me?"

"Dad-" Stiles hisses urgently.

John points an imperious finger at his son. The gesture sways wide, making the Sheriff's eyes narrow in concentration. "No. I'm grateful he was here, but he and I had an agreement. Right, Derek?"

He swallows, throat suddenly tight. "Yes, sir." But he doesn't apologize.

There's nothing he can say that will go back and make this night any better.

Derek expects Stilinski to show up at the B&B the next morning. He expects to be arrested now that the man has been reinstated as Sheriff. Hell, he expects Celina to inform him that their hospitality has been rescinded after the attack on the station.

But none of that happens. Instead, Derek wakes up from a dead, dreamless sleep to Eliza's knock on his door and to the realization that it feels like every bone in his body is on fire and like he's been cut open and filled with ice at the same time. It's almost noon. He's completely missed breakfast and work and Eliza keeps knocking on his door but it sounds like she's taking a hammer to his skull. He feels even worse than he did last night, as if the adrenaline had been the only thing keeping him from feeling like death itself.

Derek is swiftly declared sick (sick, as if Derek Hale has ever been sick in his life!) and is ushered onto the couch in the parlor to rest and recover from his "cold." He's forbidden from working for the day, left only to lay on the plush sofa and be served soup and semi-flat ginger ale when the nausea hits, in addition to a truly awful homebrew tea that he nearly spits out on the first sip.

"Ah, ah!" Celina tuts at him. She pushes the warm mug back into his hand when he tries to set it on the coffee table. "Drink up. It will have you feeling better in no time. It's an old family recipe, perfected over generations."

"It tastes like death and leaf-water," Derek gripes. "And I'm not sick," he adds under his breath.

If she hears that last statement, she makes no sign of it, only patting him on the arm with a sympathetic hum. "Nothing I can do for the taste, I'm afraid. We still haven't figured out how to sweeten it without ruining the health benefits. Drink it all, though, and I'll give you some sherbet, hmm?"

The entire thing is absolutely absurd. He hasn't had sherbet since he was a child.

He forces himself to drink the entire disgusting concoction, and manages not to grumble into his sherbet reward too much. And maybe he convinces himself that he does feel a little less like death afterward.

This… this is almost worse than being arrested or kicked back out onto the street. Being doted upon when he's done nothing to deserve it... It feels like deception, like Derek is taking advantage of their ignorance.

Which is why it's like the universe is righting itself when Peter arrives.

Derek senses the moment Peter steps onto the property, even in his state. He shoots upright so fast that nausea almost overtakes him. His head swims dangerously, only worsening as the sound of Peter's steady footsteps up the garden path sends terror through his veins. His breathing comes fast and labored. It feels like Peter has stuck a hand into his chest cavity - again - and is squeezing his lungs. The chime of the doorbell has him jolting into movement, scrambling to untangle the blanket from around his legs.

"Young man, don't you even think about getting up off that couch!" Eliza scolds on her way into the foyer. "I'll get the door. You lie back down."

"Don't-" he croaks, but the protest lodges in his throat. The animal terror is telling him to run, because Peter has made sure that fighting isn't an option for him right now. Whatever he'd done to resurrect himself has made Derek weak, even weaker than a Beta. It's made him easy prey. If Derek doesn't run, he's going to die here. But if he runs… if he runs and leaves Eliza and Celina here with Peter, there's no telling what Peter will do.

He's halfway off the couch when Eliza answers the door. Derek has the perfect vantage point to see Peter's carefully charming expression flicker in shock. There's a beat of silence, where no one moves.

And then Eliza places her hand on her hip. "Why, Peter Hale!" she exclaims. "You are the last person I expected to see on my doorstep."

The smile has slid off Peter's face, replaced with an expression that Derek would only call cautious in a way that he hasn't seen since before the fire. Like he's been completely thrown off balance. "...Miss… Wawrzaszek," Peter greets slowly, mouth effortlessly curling around the syllables. He fixes the disarming smile back into place, but there's a new calculation going behind his eyes.

Eliza's head tilts, continuing as if she isn't facing what is surely her death - or Derek's. "Didn't… I hear you had gone missing from Beacon Crossings and presumed dead?"

"Ah. Rumors of my demise were a bit… premature."

"Hm. Well, we can't all be perfect. What can I do for you, Mister Hale?"

His uncle's gaze flickers over Eliza's head, and Derek ducks back out of sight. It's a useless attempt, as if Peter can't hear his heartbeat from a mere ten feet away. He sways to the doorway on unsteady legs, keeping himself out of sight, steeling himself for the inevitable. "I stopped by to speak with my nephew," Peter says sweetly. "He's staying here, correct?"

"Since you're here, I'd say you'd already know the answer to that."

"Yes, well. May I come in?"

"I'm afraid not. Derek is feeling a little under the weather today. Poor boy. He's not up for visitors."

He braves peeking around the doorframe. Eliza has planted herself in the entryway, blocking the towering form of his uncle with all five and a half feet of her. She seems unconcerned with the fact that Peter has a good six inches and at least fifty pounds of muscle on her.

And Celina has appeared in the doorway across from Derek. She catches his eye with a smile that shows a few too many teeth, and leans against the doorjamb to watch the scene unfolding in the foyer.

"If he's sick, all the more reason for me to see him," Peter is saying. His honeyed, cajoling voice makes Derek's skin crawl. "I want to see that he's alright."

"He'll be just fine, I assure you." And this time Eliza's words come out with an edge to them. "I'll tell him you came calling. And once he's up for it, he can come see you. Where can I tell him that you're staying?"

Peter lets out a breath of laughter. "Nice try," he says. "But I'm growing tired of this game. Let me see Derek."

"Aha- no." That… that sounds a little too much like Stiles for Derek to comprehend. "Absolutely not."

The werewolf's eyes narrow dangerously. "You're testing my patience, Elżbieta. I wouldn't call that wise." Derek takes half a step forward, heart in his throat, but stops as Celina raises a hand towards him. There's a smile on her face still, growing in wickedness at Peter's barely veiled threat.

"And you're testing mine," Eliza replies, the sweetness completely gone from her voice now. "And we both know what happens when I've lost my patience, don't we?"

Peter's eyes flash brilliant blue - a blue that Derek has never seen on Peter before this moment. He knew, yes, he knew they would be now that Peter was a Beta. But to see them makes something cold and sick turn over in Derek's chest. The growl that leaves Peter's throat is more animal than human. "If you think I'm scared of-"

"If you aren't at least a little scared, Peter Hale, then you are a fool." Eliza sniffs, utterly nonplussed by the snarling werewolf before her. "Congratulations on your return from death, you utter abomination. Good day." She starts to close the door, only to have Peter slam a hand onto it.

It's as if all of the air has been sucked from the house. There's a pull, like the very house is taking a giant breath. A sound that no human could hear, an indescribable rumble, almost a roar, echoes in Derek's ears an instant before something rushes through the house with enough force to make the windows rattle. And then there's a crack and a crash as Peter is sent flying from the veranda, with all the force of being hit by a truck.

His uncle goes sprawling across the lawn.

"Peter Hale, if you ever set foot on this property again, you will not claw your way out of your grave after we're through with you. Do I make myself clear? Good. Now see yourself off of my lawn, child." She doesn't wait for Peter to pick himself up, and swings the door closed with a final snap. The house is calm again, but somehow… expectant. "Be a dear," Eliza says softly, patting the doorjamb, "and add Peter Hale to the blacklist, won't you darling?"

She's not talking to Celina, Derek realizes. No, not when there's another hum from all around them, one that's much softer, gentler.

And Marcelina Stilinski begins to laugh, loud and sharp and full of utter joy. "Ela, Ela! My sweet fire, moje misiu-"

"Oh, hush, you batty old fool," Eliza huffs, but there's a smile on her face even as she does.

Derek finally remembers how to breathe. "What…" He freezes midway into the hall as they turn to look at them. "What the hell was that? What did you do?"

"Me?" Eliza tilts her head gently. "I did nothing, my boy. The house, however…" She looks the same as she always has, which is even more disturbing given what Derek has just witnessed. His body tenses, ready to bolt at the slightest instant. "They say if you care for the house, it will care for you too," she answers cryptically, patting the doorframe. "Some are more capable than others. Especially with a little push."

That… doesn't answer Derek's question at all. All it does is raise more. "What are you?" At Celina's too-sharp smile, he adds, "Both of you. Are you like Deaton?"

Celina snorts inelegantly. "Like Alan Deaton - an emissary? No, my boy. I acted as one, briefly, for your grandmother when hers passed. A temporary thing until her apprentice was ready. But we are no druids."

Derek swallows, throat suddenly dry. "Witches, then. You're witches."

Eliza shrugs, as if that explains anything, and Celina nods. "Of a sort, yes," Celina agrees. "Now back to the couch with you, yes?" She makes shooing motions at him, corralling him back into the parlor. And Derek, damn him, goes with little protest. He convinces himself that it's because it's horrendously bad form to affront a witch in her home. So he's herded onto the couch again, pillows fussily propped behind him and a blanket tossed over his lap. Eliza and Celina sink into the armchairs opposite the coffee table.

For a moment, no one says a word.

"What did you do to Peter?" Derek asks at last.

Eliza's smile is sweet and somehow… carnivorous. "The house doesn't take kindly to people threatening violence. He was ejected, rather soundly. And now he's been blacklisted. So should he ever come onto the property again… well, he'll sorely regret it." The sweet nonchalance of her tone sends a shiver down Derek's spine that has nothing to do with the fever that's overtaken him.

"So the house, it's… what, haunted?"

Both of them shake their heads quickly. "Oh, no," Eliza explains. "It is better to say… that it's developed its own soul." She taps her lips thoughtfully. "When a house is old and loved, when it sees countless generations come and go, it acquires a special kind of personality. Do you understand? Even those who are mundane can sense it."

His mind immediately supplies the memory of his family's home. How warm and inviting and safe it had felt to him growing up. How he could find memories in every inch of of the house that had been his family's home for decades. "Yes," he agrees softly.

"Those houses are special. And sometimes they're so special that they gain a kind of magic all their own. With the right spell, that magic can be stabilized and directed." Eliza gestures to the house around her. "And the houses can become their own protectors."

As if sensing Derek's growing apprehension, Celina leans across the low table to pat his arm. "You'll be safe here," she promises, and Derek is struck by the utter sincerity in it. Her heartbeat doesn't betray her.

Slowly, his clenched fist uncurls on the arm of the sofa. "Does the Sheriff know?" he questions.

Celina's brows arch. "About us? You? No. This town was peaceful when he was growing up. The Hales kept it well under control. Janek never had the gift, so he was never told. It was never something he had to worry about." She frowns. "Though it certainly seems to be becoming one."

Derek does his best not to flinch - not to look as guilty as he feels. It seems Celina notices anyway, because she offers him a small, understanding smile.

"Claudia was much the same," Eliza adds mournfully. "She showed some potential. I kept waiting for it to manifest but…"

When they don't continue, Derek presses: "And Stiles…?"

Both of them let out soft sounds of acknowledgment. "We've been waiting for him," Eliza says. "He never showed more than a passing inclination before."

"And then he's running off into the night after 'wolves and forming a Pack with Scott McCall like he was made for it." There's a sharp fondness in Celina's smile. "And Deaton tells me he's ashed in a building already."

Derek isn't sure why he's surprised to hear they're in close contact with Deaton. By all rights, he shouldn't be at this point.

"Keep this between us," Eliza requests. "At least until we have a chance to tell him." And Derek agrees to it, because there's not much else he can do.

'If Stiles and Scott can keep secrets,' he thinks bitterly, 'so can I.'

He lets them fuss over him, let's them make sure he's comfortable again, that he's warm and will rest. "You know I'm not sick," he sighs at them.

"No," Eliza admits, "but whatever ritual your uncle used drained you. Even an Alpha needs rest after that. Rest, and a little bit of home remedy."

Derek's stomach rebels at the very idea. "I'm not drinking another of those ever again," he croaks.

"You'll have to with your dinner. It'll fix you right up."

Derek sighs. "What's even in it?"

"You're probably better off not knowing," she soothes, patting his hair and laughing when he glares at her for it. "Get some rest, dear."

After they've gone, leaving him in relative silence, he dozes and doesn't open his eyes again until the air in the room shifts. Derek finds no one in the room. He can hear that Eliza and Celina have gone out back, talking in low murmurs. But…

There's a glass of lemonade on the table next to him.

For a long time Derek just stares at it, unsure if what he's seeing is real. He looks around at the empty room, at the empty house that might not, in fact, be as empty as it appears. And then he carefully picks up the glass and takes a sip. It's tart and sweet, the same lemonade that Celina made two days ago - currently sitting in a pitcher in the refrigerator.

"...Thank you," he says into the silence.

He's definitely not imagining the gentle, lilting sound, almost like laughter, that rises to meet his words.

Melissa McCall is the last person Derek expects to see sitting on the steps of his family's home.

Derek nearly slams on his breaks when he sees her. He's been listening to the unfamiliar heartbeat the whole way up from the main road. But Melissa McCall hadn't even been in the top five of his guesses. He watches her from the safety of the Camaro's tinted windows the entire way up the drive. She doesn't stare back, averting her eyes to her hands as he pulls to a stop.

She's kind enough to wait until Derek gets out of the car. "Flashy car for a werewolf," she observes as he shuts the door. "I thought you guys weren't supposed to draw attention to yourselves."

"Buying flashy cars isn't strictly a werewolf thing," he replies. He nods towards it absently."...It was my sister's. Technically it's still in her name."

"Oh." Melissa clears her throat. There's an awkward, clumsy pause, where Derek tries in vain to figure a stance that won't come off as threatening.

"What can I do for you, Ms. McCall?" he finally asks. The polite words feel wooden on his tongue. He's spent the months since Laura's death finding every possible way to keep people - people who have, nine times out of ten, wanted to kill him - at bay. Interaction that doesn't include snarling, glaring, or outright attacking is beginning to feel… foreign.

Melissa stands, and Derek tries not to let her position on the top step rankle him. She's not a threat. There's no reason for him to feel as disadvantaged as he does in that moment. "I came… to invite you to lunch."

That… yeah, that's not what Derek expects to hear. "What?"

"You," she repeats slowly. "Are invited. To lunch. At my house. Immediately." Her tone brooks no room for argument, but Derek tries anyway.

"I was coming here to look through our old books," is his weak attempt. "About the kanima."

"Mm. Good. You can just put whatever books you find in your car and come over. I have questions, and you're going to answer them."

"I-" His next words are quelled by the sudden fierceness in her glare. "...Y-Yes ma'am."

The glare melts into a sweet smile, edged with steel. "Okay!" she chirps, patting his shoulder as she passes him on the way to her car. She's not afraid to get into his space this time, or is afraid and purposefully doing it to throw him off balance. Whichever it is… it works. "Since you've been sneaking into my son's room, I'm sure you know how to get there?"

What Derek can only call his dignity withers in his chest. "Uh. Yes ma'am."

And that is how Derek finds himself sitting in Melissa McCall's dining room, feeling like a man on the chopping block as she sets down a sandwich in front of him.

It looks delicious. And he is hungry.

He's no less afraid.

"You look like you could use a good meal," Melissa remarks, urging him to eat. "I thought Eliza and Celina were feeding you now."

"They are," he answers hesitantly. "I just haven't been… feeling well since that night at the station."

"Because of the kanima?"

Derek shakes his head. "Something… else happened. Before I came to help." He attempts to ignore her; to pretend this isn't going to be an inquisition. It's difficult when she watches him eat, her own sandwich untouched.

There's a pattern of bruises around her neck that hadn't been there the night of the attack.

Derek sets the sandwich back down. "Are you alright?"

"No," she says, voice tight. "I want answers. I want to know how Scott got… involved in this. What he's involved in."

And then the questions start. And once they do, they don't stop. But Derek would be lying if he said he didn't owe her some kind of explanation. It's more than he gave Scott in the beginning, when Scott actually needed it.

How long have you been a werewolf? Since he was born. Yes, he's always been like this.

Was your family like this? For how long? Yes, most of them. His father had been Bitten, his mother's line known for their strong and abundant 'wolf children. Of he and his siblings, four of the five of them had been born 'wolves. His mother's siblings had all been 'wolves. His cousins - now affiliated with other Packs - are all a mix of 'wolf, shifter, and otherwise gifted humans. As far back as their family history tells them, they have always been 'wolves. And that history goes back a long, long way.

What's an Alpha? A leader of the Pack. The conduit that keeps the Pack together. A more powerful werewolf whose job is to protect their Pack and their territory. They're the one who create Betas through the Bite, who teach young werewolves how to control their shift.

"You're the Alpha," is what Melissa says after hearing that.

"...Yes."

"So you're the one who… bit Scott."

Derek can't help the way he recoils at the, albeit gentle, accusation. "No," he cries out. And then softer: "No, that was Peter."

"Peter as in… Peter Hale? Your comatose uncle?" Ms. McCall's brow furrows, as if she's just now thinking about her words. "I thought you guys healed from almost anything. Can you put a werewolf in coma?"

"Not like Peter's - not from physical wounds. If a werewolf is badly injured, they either heal or… they don't," Derek explains. His appetite has shriveled into nothing now, and he pushes the plate away. "But Peter… losing our Pack, being cut off is worse than any physical pain. It breaks you. Some survivors don't recover. Laura and I, we never thought Peter would."

"But he did."

Derek shrugs helplessly. "He was starting to. His nurse told Laura, and she came to see him. But Peter… all he thought about was revenge, and the power he'd need to do it. So he... he killed Laura, and became the Alpha." His voice cracks over the words, making him grimace. Melissa's eyes widen, whether from the information or his show of emotion, he's not sure. But she doesn't push for more. She just waits him out while he gathers himself. "And then he forced the Bite on Scott. Which is- you don't do that. Even Peter considered it deplorable before all of this. He was so far gone that he didn't even hesitate."

The house falls into silence around them. Melissa averts her eyes to the table. She fidgets with her hands for a while, her expression troubled. "And… you became the Alpha… by killing him." It's not exactly a question.

Derek can't find the strength to look at her anymore. "Peter was never going to stop killing," he intones. "Becoming an Alpha, it changes you. Not always for the better."

"Right. So you killed him, became the Alpha, and the kanima showed up-"

"My fault," Derek blurts, and then clears his throat. "Jackson. He- I gave him the Bite first. And instead he became the kanima. None of us know why."

"And then the hunters showed up."

"Yes."

"Well," Melissa says finally. "It… sounds like you've been through a lot." When he only shrugs, unable to find the words to that, she looks at him with something sad in her eyes. It's uncomfortably close to pity.

His unlikely savior comes dashing in a moment later. The front door slams, accompanied with a shout of "Mom!" and Scott's clumsy teenage form comes skidding into the doorway. He freezes upon seeing the pair of them just… sitting at the table. And Derek can't deny that the apprehension in Scott's eyes stings. "...Derek."

"Scott," he greets hesitantly. And that is definitely his cue to leave. He can't be here with Scott looking at him like that. Not when he knows who Scott's been working with, whose side he's chosen. He stands, nodding to Ms. McCall. "I'll show myself out. Thanks for lunch."

He absolutely doesn't flinch as he brushes past Scott for the door.

Scott doesn't let his mother speak until he's sure Derek is well out of hearing range. He should feel guilty about that. He does feel guilty about that. He feels guilty about a lot of things these days. "Are you okay?" he asks frantically once he's sure Derek can no longer hear them.

His mom frowns at him. "Yeah…"

"He didn't threaten you, did he? Or… or try to convince you to make me join his Pack?"

"What? Scott, honey, no. I invited him."

"Oh." The guilt is back full force. He knows, he knows that Derek wouldn't hurt her. He's not the same kind of Alpha Peter was. Even if Scott worries about Derek's methods sometimes, he's never proven to be like Peter. But even still… the terror of his mother being in harm's way is still fresh in his mind. And Scott can't risk it anymore.

Melissa's words catch up to him.

"You what?"

She crosses her arms over her chest. "I… I asked him to come over. I had to get answers from someone."

Scott cringes. "I'm sorry-"

"No, no it's… it's okay." For the first time in days, his mother steps forward and embraces him. Scott is not ashamed to say that he clings to her just a little bit tighter than usual. She rubs at his back, as if she knows that he's been barely keeping it together for… well, for a long time.

"You know what I said yesterday? About giving that man whatever he wants?" she whispers.

"Yeah…"

She pulls away enough to look him in the eye. "Forget every word I said," she tells him earnestly. "He's going to hurt people, right? Don't give him the satisfaction of rolling over. If you… If you can help someone, Scott, you do it. I know you will."

The tight knot of anxiety that's been sitting in his chest for weeks doesn't quite ease, but it subsides. Something else is drowning it out now - it's the validation he needed. "I know. I… I'm going to do everything I can," he promises. "I'm not going to let him hurt anyone."

He just hopes everything goes to plan.

Next:

Side A, Ch6

Jackson Whittemore is dead. A child is dead, murdered right in front of John and everyone on that field, and no one saw a thing.

End Chapter 4. Walk on, Traveler of Worlds.