It wasn't so much waking up as it was jolting back to reality.

He remembered Lydia's vacant stare. He remembered the tunnel and the pipes. He remembered the room and his head feeling as though it burst open with pain. He remembered the freak playing Zeus with his bolts of lightning. He remembered Theo and a wicked set of claws. He remembered Scott barely fighting back—

Shit! Scott!

Stiles tried to push himself upright but found his left arm filled with pins and needles—a familiar 'waking up' sensation as the kanima's venom wore off. His right felt weak, a strange, warm sensation lying heavy across his chest and shoulder.

Theo. Claws. Stiles groaned, peering down at himself.

"If I turn into some kind of were…something because of this I'm kicking somebody's ass, I'm so serious," he muttered, closing his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he breathed through the discomfort.

Rolling awkwardly to his left to maneuver into a seated position, Stiles registered that after a hit like the one Theo had delivered, he should be a lot worse shape than just feeling weak and sore. Blinking in the dim light of the flickering, yellowed bulbs, he saw that his flannel shirt was unbuttoned, his shredded T-shirt falling away as he sat up. Some kind of material—wait, was that a shirt?—was pressed against the inside of his shoulder and tied in place.

It wasn't until that moment Stiles registered the warm body curled near him.

"Scott?" Stiles called weakly, his fingers ghosting over the bandage he now realized was his friend's shirt.

Scott lay facing away from him, sprawled oddly, as though he'd toppled there. Black streaked his ribs and the part of his bare back that Stiles could see, his tattoo almost gray in comparison. Even in this dim light Stiles could tell Scott was shivering.

Which, odd. Because, hello…werewolf.

"Hey, Scott."

Receiving no reply, Stiles reached over and carefully rolled his friend to his back, drawing his chin up sharply at the sight of the red and black blood-soaked gauze bandage that covered a space the size of a grown-man's hand on Scott's chest.

"Oh, dude," Stiles whispered, finally registering why it was his own wounds weren't on fire. Scott had pulled his pain away, but it had clearly done a number on him. "Hey, Scotty, man. Need you to wake up, okay?"

Stiles shook him gently but saw no reaction save the steady shivering. Frowning, Stiles leaned forward and carefully pulled the saturated bandage away from Scott's chest, gasping as the gouges and puncture wounds became visible.

"What the hell?"

No way had that just happened. Stiles clearly missed something.

He dug his cell phone from his back pocket, then cursed when he saw the crushed glass front, the dark face of the phone mocking him. Grabbing the jacket Scott had apparently decided to use as a pillow for Stiles, he patted the pockets until he found Scott's phone. It was intact, but had no bars.

"Well, that's just…typical."

Scott was bad off and Stiles staring in confused horror at the wounds on his chest wasn't helping him get any better. Awkwardly covering Scott's chest and shoulders with his jacket, he tried to warm his friend up a bit and stave off the worrisome shivering, but quickly realized he wasn't going to combat the chills if Scott stayed lying shirtless on the cold cement floor.

"C'mere, buddy," Stiles muttered, pulled Scott toward him.

Scooting backwards, Stiles slumped against the wall and, mainly using his left arm as his right was completely uncooperative, hoisted Scott up so that his friend's back rested on Stiles' front. Covering Scott once more with his jacket, Stiles tried to find a clear path through his ricocheting thoughts.

Scott wasn't healing; something was clearly wrong, but what? Deaton had said pain triggered the healing process, but there was no way he was hurting Scott further at this point. Last time he saw Scott this bad, Alison had resorted to stitching him up on the floor of a rest stop bathroom.

"Scott, listen to me, okay?" Stiles licked his lips nervously. "I don't have a spare needle and thread on me, so I need you to just, uh…y'know, just decide to heal. Or whatever. Okay?"

Scott lay heavy against him. Stiles could feel soft puffs of breath against the arm he braced across Scott's chest. At least he had that slight reassurance.

"Listen, Theo and his minions are still out there, man. And I can't do this without you. I need you to wolf out on me, Scotty, okay?" He swallowed and immediately course-corrected. "Well, not on me, exactly. But on my behalf."

Dropping his head back against the wall, Stiles closed his eyes. "C'mon, man. I'm a little out of my depth here."

Since the nogitsune, something had shifted in the part Stiles' brain that kept him feeling like a human pinball machine. He'd stopped taking his Adderall, finding the restlessness that had both driven him and interfered with him most of his life was pacified. Calmed. As if the wicked fox spirit had burned through years of anxious energy in just a few weeks.

But there were times when he still couldn't find the candle of thought to guide him and floundered in quiet, internal panic until he was rescued by someone who, unfailingly, knew the path to reason. This time, however, his rescuer was pale and bleeding and unconscious and every one of those facts was so sideways, Stiles felt multiple threads unraveling inside him.

His fingers began to tingle, his throat was dry, his heartbeat slammed against the base of his throat. He'd had enough of them to recognize the beginning of a panic attack. His breath stuttered and his vision blurred.

Without consciously registering the motion, Stiles reached up and began to run his fingers through Scott's dark hair—tangled with dried sweat and blood—finding solace in the repetition. After a few minutes, he felt his breath begin to even out, the crash of his heartbeat slowing down to match the rhythm he felt beneath his protective arm.

"What's going on with us, Scotty?" he practically whispered, his voice a low rumble against the top of Scott's head. "How did we let him get between us like this?"

"Stiles?"

He felt the word more than heard it. Scott's voice trembled from his chest, a vibration of sound against Stiles' arm.

"Hey," he replied, as though Scott waking up wounded in his arms was the most natural thing in the world.

"Are you…petting me?"

Stiles stilled, then closed his eyes and relaxed against the wall, feeling Scott sink back with him. Own it, Stilinski. The act had calmed him down. He refused to be embarrassed when he'd successfully avoided a panic attack.

"Let's face it," he said, chin resting gently on the top of Scott's head. "That is hardly the worst thing you've caught me doing."

Scott started to pull away but Stiles felt him instantly still, his entire body going rigid as a low hiss slipped between his lips.

"Easy," Stiles instinctively cautioned.

He could feel Scott's blood soaking through the denim jacket; he wasn't all that excited about staying in this room, but Scott bleeding out during an escape attempt was much less appealing.

"Before you say you're fine, let me just say I've seen the claw marks."

Scott said nothing for several minutes. He was quiet so long that Stiles tipped his head to see if he was still awake. In the dim light, Stiles could see his friend's profile, his eyes the shade just before black, lashes moving with a slow blink.

"What happened to you, Scott?" Stiles demanded, still looking at his friend's profile. "Where were you when Theo went after my dad?"

"School," Scott replied. "Trying to…stop Liam."

He made no further effort to move away and his shivering seemed to ease. Stiles decided to see both as good signs. Above them, one of the flickering yellowed bulbs finally gave up and went dark with a quiet pop. The remaining bulb seemed to shine a cone of light directly down on them, turning the rest of the room pitch.

On the other side of the metal door, Stiles heard what sounded like a series of muted explosions, the cement floor and wall of the room shuddering as though a brief earthquake had rocked the hospital. Scott turned his head slightly; Stiles felt the strange coolness of his friend's normally over-heated skin against his unbandaged shoulder.

It took him a moment to register that Scott was actually listening to something.

"Theo's out there, isn't he?" Stiles asked, knowing the answer.

Scott nodded.

"And his minions?"

"There's more," Scott replied. Stiles frowned at the breathy slur of his words. "Six."

"What the hell? Did he pour water on them or something?"

Stiles felt Scott's slight chuff of laughter. "S'long as he doesn't feed 'em after midnight."

It felt good to share a private joke with Scott again—so much so that Stiles almost forgot that he'd been angry as hell at the guy not more than an hour before.

Almost.

"Did Liam do this to you?" Stiles asked, taking advantage of Scott's lethargy to get some honest answers.

Scott nodded. "And Theo."

Stiles' shoulder twinged, a surprising flash of pain surging briefly through the cuts Theo had left behind.

"What did Theo mean when…," Stiles frowned, tightening his hold on his friend, "when he said you should have stayed dead?"

Something banged against the outside wall and Scott flinched. There was no way they were getting out of this room and through Theo and his minion chimera with Scott as wrecked as he was. He needed time to heal; Stiles simply had to wait it out. He'd gotten pretty good at that particular skill of late.

"He killed me."

Stiles had known—didn't take a genius to crack the chimera's code—but knowing the truth and hearing it spoken were two very different things. Stiles tried to keep his breath even, but knew that Scott could hear his heartbeat.

"But…just for like a second, right?"

Scott shook his head slowly, his hair rustling against Stiles' flannel shirt.

"Theo, uh…," Stiles licked his lips nervously, "he told me that I could help you…or save my dad. And I, uh…I chose my dad." The guilt burned through his gut like acid.

Scott shifted again, turning himself so that he still leaned against Stiles, but could look up at his friend's face. Stiles pulled his legs to the side so that his shoulder was between Scott's bare skin and the cement wall, his friend slumped sideways against him.

"You made the right choice, Stiles," Scott said, his voice clear, tone serious. "You don't owe me anything."

Stiles jerked his eyes over, staring at Scott in surprise. "What? What does that even mean?"

"'s my fault," Scott said, his eyes weighted with responsibility and exhaustion. "All of this. I trusted him."

Stiles felt guilt eat away a little more of his gut, working a greedy path up to his heart. He'd accused Scott of this very sin and yet to hear Scott speak it out loud reminded Stiles that Scott wasn't the only one to fall into Theo's web of lies. In one way or another, they'd all trusted him. They'd all wanted to see the regular kid and not the true monster that lay in wait within.

"Yeah, well. I trusted him, too. A little," Stiles shrugged, then winced as the motion pulled at his wound. "At least when I wolf out I can kick his as in real time."

Scott actually smiled slightly at that. "You aren't going to wolf out."

"You don't know that," Stiles lifted a brow and looked over at his friend. "Next full moon, I could be totally wolf-y."

"He scratched you."

"Peter turned Kate Argent into a freaking purple werejaguar with a scratch," Stiles argued.

"Theo isn't a real werewolf," Scott reminded him. "He's a chimera."

Stiles pushed his lips out. "Right," he bounced his head once in a nod. "I'm almost disappointed. Coulda been legitimately part of the pack."

At that, Scott lifted his head from where it rested against Stiles, his eyes flashing a soft crimson.

"You are part of the pack, Stiles."

"Well, yeah, but not really," Stiles argued. "I mean, I'm not, like, pack pack."

Scott pushed himself completely away from Stiles, sitting up taller, his jacket falling free and landing in a heap in his lap. The red in his eyes had once more faded to dark brown, but the expression was deadly serious.

"There is no pack without you," Scott replied. "You need to believe that. You're…you're my anchor."

Stiles couldn't tear his eyes away from the wounds on Scott's chest. "Thought you were your own anchor."

"Not always," Scott replied tiredly, coughing a bit, the sound a wet slap against the air between them. He slumped against the wall, his bare shoulder resting against Stiles, and was quiet for a moment, then, "'m sorry I wasn't there for your dad. Shoulda protected him from Theo."

Stiles was still working on a way to say yeah, you should have and it's not your fault at the same time when Scott continued, "I broke us."

Dropping his head back against the wall, Stiles sighed. "We're not broken, man. We just…got a little off course."

"Shoulda listened to you…'bout Donovan."

"Yes. Yes you should've," Stiles nodded. "But…maybe I should've trusted you with the whole truth."

More bangs outside startled Scott into a flinch which was quickly followed by a low groan. Stiles turned at that, wanting to do something to alleviate his friend's pain. He picked up Scott's jacket.

"Put this back on," he said. "At least it'll keep you a little warmer."

Scott nodded weakly and tipped away from the wall, reaching for the sleeve. Between the two of them, they got his jacket back on, though it did very little to shield the garish wounds on Scott's chest. The activity exhausted the already spent werewolf and Scott coughed again, this time a worrisome black wetness staining his lips.

"Okay, so that's not good," Stiles murmured, frowning at the sight of the black blood on his friend's lips.

Without bothering to wipe it away, Scott slumped sideways again, his cheek resting against Stiles' shoulder.

"Why aren't you healing, Scott?"

Scott was quiet, his breath hitching loudly in the cloistered room. "I wouldn't turn Hayden," he started finally, his voice soft enough Stiles found himself leaning closer so as not to miss a word. "Liam thought I betrayed him. Thought I wanted to just let her die."

"The bite could've killed her just as easily," Stiles pointed out.

Scott nodded. "The super moon was too…. Liam didn't have enough control. All the pain and anger…he just let it take over. Made him stronger. So strong…," Scott's voice tapered slightly.

"Yeah, but…, dude. You're an Alpha. Liam's Alpha. You could have put him in the ground."

"I didn't want to hurt him. I just wanted to stop him. I couldn't hurt him."

And there was Scott McCall in a nutshell. Save every one you can. Stiles turned so that he could wrap his good arm around his friend's shoulders pulling Scott closer.

"So, where does Theo fit in?"

"Mason…," Scott took a slow, shuddering breath and Stiles frowned, feeling the tremor slip through Scott's whole frame. "He came in and told Liam that Hayden…died. And then Theo was just…there. Wanted my power, but…he couldn't take it."

"Yeah, I saw that," Stiles nodded, thinking of Scott's red eyes. "But he took something, didn't he? That's why you're not healing?"

Scott nodded, but didn't say anything else. His breath sounded thin, raspy. Stiles recalled the years before the bite when he carried an extra inhaler to back up his friend, when breathing that sounded like this would be cause for serious panic.

"Do you have your inhaler?" Stiles asked, knowing the truth, but needing to ask.

"No. Theo…poisoned it. Wolfsbane."

"Son of a bitch," Stiles growled.

He didn't care what kind of a person it made him, he wanted that asshole dead. Between a wolfsbane-weakened system and gouge marks on his chest that no-doubt punctured his lungs, it was a wonder Scott was breathing at all.

"How'd you…I mean, did Mason bring you back?"

Scott shook his head. "My mom."

Stiles felt his mouth tick up in a small smile. Of course. Because Melissa McCall was a badass force of energy that not even the supernatural world could touch.

They sat for a moment. The single bulb above them flickered with the muted crashes they could still hear once in a while from the other side of the wall. Scott made an odd, choked sound—like a bitten off gasp of fear—and wrapped an arm around his middle, pressing closer to Stiles.

"Stiles…pull your legs out of the dark."

It was such an odd statement, Stiles blinked, looking down at Scott. "Do what now?"

"The shadows," Scott whispered. "They're growing. They're…just pull your legs up."

Stiles tented his knees so that his whole body was inside the cone of light. "That better?"

Scott relaxed a bit and nodded. "The wolf is waiting in the shadows," he whispered.

Stiles pulled his arm free and turned a bit to the side so that he could stare at Scott.

"You realize you're talking like a crazy person right now…right?"

Scott was blinking slowly, his face pale in the dim light, and Stiles could see a darkening of his veins around his mouth and eyes. The black blood on his lips had collected at the corner of his mouth.

"'s okay," Scott murmured.

Stiles tilted his head. "Not really," he replied, drawing the words out.

There had to be something more he could do besides sit and wait for rescue or for his best friend—who looked like he was dying before his eyes—to somehow manage to heal before he bled out. Using the wall for support, Stiles clambered to his feet.

"Stiles!" Scott called out, blinking rapidly and looking around a bit wildly the moment Stiles stepped away.

"Right here," Stiles touched the top of Scott's head. "I'm not going anywhere, man. Just gotta find something to help save our asses."

"'Kay," Scott nodded beneath his hand. "Wait. You hear that?"

"What?"

"Voices…. Sounds like…voices."

"You mean with my super-special human ears? Nope. Sure don't."

Scott's brow was creased, his eyes closed as he tilted his head, listening for whatever voices had caught his attention.

"Is it Theo?"

"Yeah, but…someone else. Almost sounds like—"

"Who?" Stiles allowed himself to hope for one brief, bright moment that reinforcements had arrived, but when Scott shook his head, then helplessly blinked up at him with pain-filled eyes, Stiles patted him on the head again. "It's okay, Scotty. We'll get ourselves out of here somehow."

Their phones were either dead or useless. A small army of chimera monsters were outside the door. And Scott was fading fast. Stiles began to move from shelf to shelf, picking up boxes and bottles and using the flashlight on Scott's phone to read the labels. He could hear Scott's breathing behind him, making him disturbingly nostalgic for a time when asthma had been his friend's biggest worry.

"I didn't kill Donovan on purpose," Stiles began, not looking at Scott as he talked. His shoulder and chest were starting to burn from the exertion, and he held his arm close to his side. "He…I don't know…. Attacked me. Bit my shoulder like he was going to eat me or something."

As he made his way around the room, finding nothing but expired cleaning products, he told Scott about the fight in the library, the mad scramble up the scaffolding, the pin, the way Donovan hung suspended from the metal spearing him mid-center as the light left his eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Scott asked softly, looking oddly small and alone in the circle of light as Stiles stood across the room, cloaked in shadow.

"I don't know, man, you're always just…," he waved a hand loosely toward his friend, as though indicating his whole self. "You don't kill. You always find another way. And I guess I didn't want you to look at me…exactly like you did when you found out."

"I know the difference, Stiles." His voice sounded both strong and fragile at once—conviction wrapped around the hollowness of pain.

"What do you mean?"

"I know what self-defense is."

Stiles sighed, shutting off Scott's phone and throwing the empty box in his hand into the corner. "There's nothing here. I mean, if I could channel Deaton or something, maybe I—"

"Stiles!" Scott's call was urgent. Stiles looked up and over. "Come out of the shadows."

The wolf is waiting in the shadows.

Stiles moved closer, watching Scott visibly relax when he stepped into the light.

"What happened to you, Scotty?" Stiles asked softly, crouching down next to him again.

He wasn't able to stifle a gasp of pain as his shoulder flared hot with the movement. He could feel blood seeping through the field dressing Scott had managed to put on his wound. Sinking down fully to his rear, legs crossed in front of him as he faced Scott, Stiles closed his eyes, trying to rein in the nauseating spin of pain that swept over him.

Suddenly, he was aware of two immediate things: Scott's ice-cold fingers were wrapped around his wrist and his pain was quickly abating. He opened his eyes to see dark veins slip like eager snakes up Scott's hand and disappearing beneath the sleeve of his jacket.

Stiles jerked his hand away. "What the hell—! Are you crazy?"

"You were hurting," Scott explained.

"Dude, you're…you can't take more right now," Stiles protested, feeling emotion wrap fingers around his throat and flex as he took in the mess of black blood on Scott's chest, the growing bruises of pain on his face. "Scott…I'm afraid you're…. You look like you're literally dying, man. Like right here in front of me."

Scott closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. Stiles pulled his wounded arm close to his chest and rotated so that he was against the wall once more, his good arm around his friend's shoulders. Pulling that little bit of pain from Stiles had sent Scott shivering once more and Stiles held him tight.

"'s okay," Scott finally said. "Maybe it's…the best thing for everyone."

Stiles frowned. "We've talked about this. I didn't step into a pool of gasoline for just anyone, Scott."

"Not what I mean," Scott shook his head. "This…all of this. Lydia being a banshee, Alison dying, the nogitsune finding you…it's all happening because of me."

"Explain that one to me," Stiles demanded. "Like I'm five."

"I coulda just…joined Derek's pack. When I got bit. I coulda just…walked away…from all of this."

Scott's shivering increased and Stiles could hear a small whimper at the back of his friend's voice—a decidedly canine-sounding whimper. It wasn't just Scott's body that was wounded, Stiles realized. The wolf within him was damaged. And since his healing properties came from the wolf…it was that part of him that Stiles needed to figure out how to heal.

But…how the hell did he heal a wolf?

"Walked away from us, you mean," Stiles clarified, trying to follow Scott's logic. "You think you should have left us? And that would've kept us safe?"

Scott nodded.

"Scotty, we were never safe. The Hales were already here. Peter was running around all crazy Alpha werewolf, remember?"

Speaking of Hales…what had Derek said about a werewolf's strength? Why Peter attacked Scott in the first place…. Why Derek needed Isaac and Boyd and Erica….

"Just w-wanted…wanted m'life," Scott muttered, his breathing slightly more labored between each word. "Wanted to…to be a good friend…'n son. Never wanted the bite."

"Still not seeing how all this is because of you," Stiles argued, his brain alive with memory. "It took all three of us—you, me, and Alison—to set off the nemeton when we saved our parents, remember? We all turned on the…the beacon thing that brought the crazies out of the woodwork."

Something had been taken from Scott when he died and came back…something vital, something necessary, something that left him flinching away from shadows and feeling a distinct lack of worth.

"'f I had just left, just joined up with Derek and left," Scott protested, "our parents wouldn't've been in danger. You wouldn't've been in danger. No danger…no signal. No Dread Doctors. No chimeras."

"And no Scott." When he received no reply to that one, Stiles continued. "While we're dishing out blame for all of the supernatural insanity, how about why you got bit in the first place, huh? I was the one who wanted to go looking for a dead body. You didn't even want to be there. So, really…it's all my fault."

"No." Scott pulled his head up, but wasn't strong enough to shift away from the support of Stiles' body. "No, Stiles. You…you're what keeps everyone…human. You're the…glue."

Stiles looked down, not sure how he felt about Scott's odd praise. "Except for when I'm being controlled by a wicked fox spirit, you mean."

"You are the one…one bright thing in all of these…these shadows, Stiles." Scott's voice had started to fade a bit and he allowed his head to rest on Stiles' shoulder once more. "So many things I shoulda done differently…so many people I…shouldn't've trusted. I screwed us all up…'n I lost my pack."

Holy shit. Of course!

The pack. They were disjointed, unconnected, broken. And without their strength, without their bond, Scott was slipping back into the shadows.

He was dying right before Stiles' eyes.

"Scott, just listen to me, okay?" Stiles felt tears burn his eyes, thinking about Scott calling him an anchor. "You trusting people…that's what makes you…well, you. You see the good in people! It's what draws us all to you. Makes us trust you."

Scott coughed weakly and Stiles closed his eyes against the sound.

"You aren't a True Alpha because you won the werewolf lottery, man. It's who you are. Don't doubt that now, Scott. Okay? The fact that you believe in people, man, it's a gift. It's not a flaw."

"Tried…."

Stiles leaned closer, holding Scott tightly. "Tried? Tried what, Scotty?"

"Tried to keep them safe."

"You have, Scott. You gotta see that—you saved everyone. You've saved all of us."

Scott didn't reply and Stiles felt him growing heavier. He tried to use both arms to push Scott upright once more, but the pain in his wounded shoulder flared hot and bright and for a brief moment, all he saw was white. After several heartbeats of breathing slowly, the pain tapered a bit, but the tears burning his eyes built and fell, scoring his dirt-streaked cheeks.

"You wouldn't let the nogitsune take me. Not even after I hurt you—and I hurt you so bad, Scott. I'm not going to forget that, like…ever. You wouldn't let me disappear. You found me and pulled me back and…you never gave up on me."

He sniffed, tightening his hold on Scott, unable to see his friend's face. He knew by the way Scott slumped fully against him, the way his body shivered, that his friend was fading fast. He didn't know if he was aware enough to listen, but there was a piece of Scott that always heard Stiles.

"And I know I got on you about Theo, but…I was scared. Okay? We've made it through so much together and I could feel everything getting ready to change. I don't want to do this whole living thing without my best friend, okay? I just…don't want you to leave me behind."

Unable to stand the silence, Stiles turned, pulling slightly away from Scott, and eased his friend down so that he lay on his side, back propped up against the wall. Grasping Scott's jaw in his stronger left hand, Stiles shook him slightly.

"Scott. Scotty! C'mon, man, don't do this. Please."

Scott's eyes were closed, the black blood staining his lips turning his skin unnaturally pale. Stiles could feel his heartbeat beneath the fingers at his throat, but his breath was thin and raspy, his eyes moving rapidly behind his closed lids. If Stiles didn't find a way to get the pack back together, they were going to lose their Alpha forever, and not even the magic of Melissa McCall was going to be enough to bring him back this time.

Dragging the back of his hand across his dirt-and-blood streaked face, Stiles pulled his tears in, taking a slow, shuddering breath.

"I gotta go out there, Scotty," he said quietly. "I can't just…wait in here and watch you die. You're my brother, dammit. I was mad at you for not trusting me, but…I should have trusted you, too. And I do, Scott." He leaned forward and gripped Scott's cool, limp hand with his own. "I trust you, okay? And I need you, man. So, I'm gonna go out there and get your—our pack. And I need you to be here when I get back. Okay?"

Licking his lips nervously, Stiles released Scott's hand and climbed to his feet. He made his way over to the door, pressing his back against the wall and using his legs to push the shelf away from the door. It was then that he realized the only reason Theo hadn't pushed his way into that room was because he hadn't wanted to.

If Stiles could move the shelf away from its blockade of the door, Theo could have come in after them at any point. He took a breath, and glanced back to where Scott lay wounded and alone in the remaining circle of light, then pulled at the twisted metal door, hoping that Theo and his minions had managed to blow themselves up or had wandered away somewhere.

"God, I know you've got that whole mysterious ways thing going for you," Stiles whispered, "but it would be really swell if you'd point your hand at our side of the field…just once."

He yanked the door toward him and exhaled harshly when the motion flared heat in his cuts. Standing on the other side of the door was a blond kid with glowing yellow eyes and twin balls of fire churning in the palm of each hand. He grinned at Stiles, his mouth aglow with flame.

Stiles glanced upwards. "I take it that's a no?"

A hand darted forward, grabbing Stiles by the edge of his shirt, and hauled him out into the steam-filled hallway.