Title: The Final Pack

Author: Sparkle Itamashii / Kedreeva

Notes: Humankind is fighting its way back from near extinction against the superatural beings that fed upon the remaining humans in the aftermath of the 2012 apocalypse. On the front lines, Stiles' best friend gets bitten by a werewolf and Stiles must strike a bargain with wolves in order to save him.

Chapter Seven

The sun was peeking over the horizon by the time they reached the ruins, turning the sky a haze of pink and gold. Allison hesitated at the edge of the clearing, looking out over the remains of the old house. Most of what they could see was scorched, cracked, broken, the main portion of the house collapsed to a skeleton of its former self. Far to the right, part of the house was preserved by the huge, rotting oak that had fallen into it at some point in the distant past. Foliage had finally begun to reclaim the base of the house, climbing over the trunk of the tree to get at the rich nutrients it provided, but even that amount of life was made of boney sticks in the cold of January.

Jane moved past her, not having to ask if this was the place. Allison couldn't bring herself to follow. She had visited here a few times over the past couple of years, but she hadn't worked up the courage to investigate. She hadn't been able to touch any of it. Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself and watched as Jane walked along the edge of the house, trailing her fingers softly over the rain-rotted wood.

Longing pulled at her, sharp and painful. She missed Scott.

With nothing left to discuss about Jackson, the group sat quietly in Allison's hospital room, grasping for anything to say next. Nothing seemed appropriate after such a heavy conversation and so Scott perched beside Allison on the bed and Lydia sat on the counter across from them with her lips pursed. She watched Stiles wheel himself around the room on the little examination stool as he tried to feel less guilty for not having said something about Jackson's plan earlier.

"I put in for our team to cover exploration of the new settlement area," Lydia supplied at last. Stiles crashed into the cupboards near her, forgetting to stick his feet out to catch himself. "For next month."

"Did Victoria have anything to say about that?" Stiles asked, glancing to Scott, who seemed just as surprised. They'd been planning on applying after they survived the full moon in a couple days.

Lydia smiled. "She said she was surprised Scott would want to take that sort of initiative so soon after the baby. She was really snooty about it. I reminded her that you're the squad lead now, Stiles."

"And?" he prompted. He and Victoria Argent had gotten along when he first arrived to camp, but his steadfast friendship with Scott had put them at odds. She seemed to think no one was good enough to be dating her daughter. Scott and Allison's marriage a year ago hadn't help her views much.

Shrugging, Lydia leaned back on her hands and kicked her feet a little. "She was impressed. She seemed-"

The sound of a gunshot in the street cut her short and drew their attention to the windows. Stiles was on his feet in an instant, Scott a step in front of him as they moved to see. Raucous cheering and shouting filtered through the glass and the boys exchanged worried looks. The camp knew better than that. It was well after dark and there was no telling what sort of supernaturals would be drawn in by loud noises and activity.

Scott made the decision first. "We have to go see."

"It looks like they're dragging someone," Stiles said, nose to the window. "You think someone got bit again?"

"They didn't drag Raul in," Lydia told them.

"They wouldn't make this much noise for a human," Scott mumbled, peering over Stiles' shoulder to get a better look. His eyesight was probably better, so Stiles dropped out of his way.

"You think they caught a super?" Lydia asked, leaning over without getting off the counter. Her knuckles were white where they grasped the edges. She dealt with paperwork, not supernatural creatures.

The group exchanged glances. There was only one supernatural being that had been hanging around the camp long enough to establish a presence, long enough to be caught. Stiles gave a little shrug and turned to Scott. "We'll go check it out. You should stay with Allison."

"Excuse me," Allison shot back at him, offended. "I can take care of myself. Go."

Scott raised his eyebrows at Stiles and Lydia hopped down from the counter. "We're not getting any younger," she quipped, moving past them.

At the hospital exit Scott paused, head cocked to one side. The gesture had bewildered the group at first, making Scott seem perpetually confused. Now they knew he was listening to something they couldn't hear and so they slowed, waiting. Lydia, not having spent as much time around Scott as Stiles had, looked toward the crowd. Stiles, however, turned his attention solely to his best friend.

"Rawson's squad," Scott reported. "You were right; they caught a Super." He met Stiles' gaze. "They're saying it's an alpha."

Gooseflesh rose on Stiles' arms, but he ignored it. "It's not Derek," he said firmly. Derek had no reason to be this close to camp and he certainly wouldn't have let himself get caught. "It can't- It's probably Peter. They still think Peter is an alpha."

"Probably," Scott agreed, though he didn't look entirely convinced. His eyes took on the distant quality that said he was listening elsewhere again. "Jing and Devon got hurt, but they're alive. They're saying he..." His brow crinkled and he looked to Stiles. "They're saying the alpha surrendered?"

"That doesn't make any sense!" Stiles exclaimed. "Peter wouldn't- what? What is it?" he demanded, because Scott's face had drained of color and he was staring in horror at Stiles.

"He told them," Scott breathed, barely audible over the noise of the gathering crowd. Stiles' stomach swooped sickeningly. "He told them about the bite."

Peter's been taken by BHC hunters. We were so close we could hear the skirmish, enough that we knew Peter wasn't fighting them. He wanted to be caught. When we got there, his scent was swarmed with human stench. Boyd followed it to the border fence, but there were too many people for him to get close. None of us can fathom why he let himself be caught, but it can't be good. They'll kill him, if they haven't already.

I don't know what to do now.

We should leave. I know that. Boyd's finished scavenging for parts for his damn cart, and he's got the meat already hung in it, ready to go. Erica has reminded me twice today that Nevada is nice this time of year. Even Laura says it is looking grim if we stay much longer. We should dump the turnwolf by the camp, grab our stuff, and leave.

We should. I know.

Peter's as good as dead. So is Jackson if we abandon him.

It's best if we leave. We'll be safer.

There's a few hours until dawn. I'll sort it out then.

Candle lanterns lit the normally dark hospital halls as Stiles padded through them. After making sure that Lydia would take Scott someplace safe, someplace where the camp wouldn't find him for at least a few hours, Stiles had stationed himself so he could observe the hospital. He was glad they'd gotten out when they did; the only secure places were in the locked wards in the basement of the hospital. The group had headed straight for the building, and would have run over the top of the group. They might have found Scott.

It was a while, longer than he would have liked, before the crowd died down and wandered away from the building. Stiles passed the time naming those who exited until he was sure there were only a few left within before he moved. He had to get down to see Peter alone and he knew there was only a small window before that would be nearly impossible.

He rounded the last corner cautiously, knowing that there would be at least one guard standing duty. He also knew that whoever it was would be impromptu, someone who had volunteered, and that once Gerard found out there was a captive Super in the camp, he would ensure there were scheduled guards. He'd come down himself before long and Stiles had to be gone by then. He couldn't draw that sort of attention to Scott or the rest of the group.

"Stiles?" called a voice from the end of the hall. Stiles relaxed, recognizing the speaker.

"Loren," Stiles greeted, a little too loudly. He waved to the scout as he walked toward that end of the hall. "Should have known you'd volunteer to watch over the thing. You sure you're safe to be around it alone?"

Scowling, Loren banged on the door once with the butt of his rifle. "I'm not gonna shoot it," he spat at Stiles. "No matter who it killed, Gerard would have my skin if I did."

Stiles swallowed the guilt that jumped into his throat. Loren was on the hunting side of Raul's scouting team. They'd been good friends, if Stiles recalled, but that didn't change what he had to do now. "Yeah," he agreed. "Gerard's busy having Rawson's skin for bringing it into camp in the first place. You can bet he's going to be in a foul mood by the time he gets down here."

Loren eyed Stiles skeptically. "He send you down to check up on it?"

"Guard duty," Stiles corrected, patting his sidearm. "Full silver clip. He'll be down shortly. You might want to be scarce by then."

It was a lie. Of course it was a lie, and a part of him knew that he was burning bridges and that he was going to have a difficult time explaining his actions when this was over. But it would be over. Scott would be safe. Lydia would be safe. He would make sure of it, no matter what he had to do, including lying to other camp denizens like Loren.

Fortunately for Stiles, he was trustworthy enough to be believed when he needed it. Standing up from where he'd been sitting on the floor, Loren shook his head. "How'd you land that lucky shift?"

Stiles shrugged, patting Loren's shoulder as he passed. "Being friends with Scott, who won't leave Allison. Have a good night, man."

"You too," Loren called over his shoulder. Stiles watched as he disappeared around the corner, listened tensely to the sound of his footsteps until he couldn't hear them anymore. Then he waited another few heartbeats before he peeked over the edge of the window built into the room's door.

Inside, Peter sat against the wall on the far side of the bed, his head tipped back and one knee drawn up close. His eyes were closed but the slight tip of his head told Stiles that he'd been listening to the conversation. Stiles reached down and laid his hand on the doorknob. He wondered, as he turned it, if Peter had been able to hear the beat of his heart increase when he'd said he had a full clip of silver bullets. He wondered if Peter would attack him if he went inside to talk.

The door swung open without a sound.

"Stiles," Peter greeted, without opening his eyes. A grin that sent shivers down Stiles' spine crept onto his lips. "How nice of you to join me." When his eyes opened, they were the golden color most betas wore. "You certainly haven't come to guard me."

"Scott says you told them," Stiles informed him, ignoring the observation. "That you bit him. Is that true?"

Peter hummed low in his throat and closed his eyes, tipping his head back once more. "I didn't give your precious friend away," he murmured. "I told them I'd bitten someone, before the scout."

"Raul," Stiles snapped, surprised at how his throat closed. He hadn't been that close to Raul, but it needled him that Peter had tricked the camp into killing one of their own unnecessarily. "His name was Raul, and they killed him."

"It wasn't my bullet, human," Peter told him, without skipping a beat. "That team attacked me first."

"You smeared my friends over half a mile of forest," Stiles retorted, far more calmly than he felt.

"Only after they were dead," Peter told him, like it was perfectly reasonable. "But you're not here to argue semantics, I assume."

"You killed six people this month, Peter. I was friends with three of them." Stiles shook his head, rolling his eyes as he looked away from the werewolf. "But no, I'm not here to argue semantics. I came to find out what you told them, because I need to make a plan. If you didn't tell them who you bit, they're going to search everyone, and that means they're going to find Scott. It's all going to have been for nothing."

Peter rolled his eyes. "You're being a little dramatic, aren't you?" he suggested. "I told your little Neanderthal friends that I would only tell Gerard who I bit. They won't test everyone, your friend will be perfectly safe."

"Perfectly safe?" Stiles echoed, nearly choking on the words. "Perfectly safe, Peter? You think you're just going to tell Gerard who it was, and magically Scott's going to be safe? He's going to test everyone anyway because if one person got through his security, there may be others."

Snorting, Peter stretched out a little, scooting toward the edge of the bed. Stiles held his ground in the doorway. "I don't intend to let Gerard leave my presence alive. He won't come after your friend."

"Gerard will kill you," Stiles told him, less sharply than he had hoped. He was feeling a little dizzy at how easily they were throwing around the taking of lives right now. "If he even bothers to come here himself, which he probably won't."

"He'll come," Peter told him, tone darkening. "He killed my family, a long time ago, and he may kill me now, but I will ensure he doesn't survive it. As long as that happens-"

"What the hell, Peter! Don't you even care?" Stiles interrupted, incredulous. "You're locked up in the belly of a camp full of hostiles waiting for a slim chance to avenge a family that won't even be able to tell, when you've already got a perfectly good family out in the woods desperately searching for you!" Stiles lowered his voice, reminding himself that they didn't have a lot of time before someone was bound to come down on actual orders from Gerard. "All they want is for you to come home safely. Shouldn't that matter?"

When he fell to silence, he found Peter was just staring at him, brows up and mouth opened slightly without anything to say. Peter's eyes dropped a little and Stiles could see his attention turning inward as he touched the raw wounds Stiles had undoubtedly opened. For a moment Stiles let him, because he needed Peter to be with him on this, because he was already formulating a plan but it would never work without Peter's cooperation.

"If it was me, I could never leave my dad like that," Stiles told him softly. "They need you, man. This revenge shit? It doesn't lead anywhere good. It's not going to bring your family back... but it will make you one more person that Derek and Laura have to lose. They don't deserve that."

For an instant, Peter's gaze met his, but then it slid sideways and Stiles recognized the look. He leaned back, straining to hear any sign of the approaching life that had Peter's attention. Faintly, from a long ways away, he could hear the tapping of boots on linoleum.

"Why are you here, Stiles?" Peter asked, focused on him once more. Stiles didn't like that look.

"I can get you out," Stiles told him. The offer left a bad taste on his tongue. He didn't want to let Peter out; he could still smell the copper tang of blood from the people Peter had killed. But he wasn't about to let Scott get caught and killed, either, and he hadn't been lying when he said Derek and Laura didn't deserve to lose more family. "But I need to know that you'll leave, if I do. I need to know you'll go with Derek, and that you'll all just go."

The footsteps were getting louder now. Stiles could feel his heartbeat singing beneath his skin, making him a little dizzy. Much longer and he would be caught. He backed up a pace, back through the doorway, and laid his hand on the edge of the door. Peter was just staring at him, bewildered, and Stiles could practically see him trying to puzzle out why Stiles would ever make such an offer.

"What's in it for you?" Peter asked him, so softly Stiles almost didn't hear.

"Saving my family," Stiles told him. It was the truth, the plain truth. Scott may not have been blood, but he may as well have been family. There was nothing Stiles wouldn't do for him, right up to death do us part. "Like you should be. This is your second chance, Peter. Are you going to waste it on Gerard?"

Then the footsteps were too close, and Stiles had to let the door click shut the moment before the person rounded the corner. He pressed his nose to the glass and glared in at Peter, not sure if he was more angry that they'd been interrupted or that he didn't have an answer.

"Stiles?"

Relaxing a little, he turned to face the semi-familiar voice. "Charles!" he greeted with as little strain on the happiness in his voice as possible. "They send you down to watch it?"

"Yeah," Charles said slowly. "They said Loren would be down here."

Stiles suppressed the urge to curse, and waved a hand. "He was, but I said I could handle it. I wanted a good look at the thing that killed Raul and the others."

At that, Charles nodded, visibly relaxing as well. "Nasty one, isn't it?"

"Surprised it's staying put, honestly," Stiles said, throwing a look over his shoulder in through the glass, knowing Peter could hear every word. "I figured it'd make a run for it, try to make an escape, eh?" he continued, banging a hand on the door as if he were taunting the werewolf.

"I will," filtered Peter's voice from inside. Clearly he was speaking up, to be heard through the thick door.

Stiles smiled at Charles as if he'd proved a point, but he could feel the knot in his gut relaxing. Clapping Charles on the shoulder, he wished him luck and tipped an imaginary hat at him as he walked backward toward the exit. Peter would behave until Stiles returned, and he was sure now that the wolf would come with him. All that was left was to convince everyone else to do too many crazy things on the off chance that they wouldn't all get themselves killed.

"Why didn't you just let him out then?" Morrell inquired. She hated to interrupt him while he was on a roll, but it was important. "Before the guard, before Charles showed up? You could have just walked out with him, or moved him and told Charles he got out."

"And do what with him?" Stiles asked, tipping his head and furrowing his brow.

"He could have hidden someplace in the camp, couldn't he?" she inquired. "Even another room in the hospital, until it was safe. It seems like that would have been easier for you. Safer."

"Not really," Stiles countered, shaking his head. "Even if a camp-wide search wasn't called, it wouldn't have taken much for them to figure out I was the last one to see him. I didn't have a scratch on me. The way it went, I was vetted when Charlie came by. They'd seen me guard him and leave. It was reliable."

"It was a deception," Morrell said. Stiles shrugged, looking away from her.

"It was a precaution," he admitted. "It's not like I had a solid plan or anything. I had a lot of maybes and not a lot of hope and they were going to test everyone in camp if no one came forward, whether Peter was captive or not, if we didn't turn someone over to them." Stiles' shoulders rolled in a shrug. "Besides, he couldn't have made it out cleanly then."

"Cleanly?" She glanced down at the papers on the table between them. She knew they both had read them. She knew she wasn't telling him anything new. "The report says no one died. That sounds pretty clean."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed. "Because we waited. If I'd let him out, he might have made it out of the hospital, or maybe to a different part of it. But the camp was on high alert. If he'd bolted, they'd have caught him before he made the gates, and he'd have had to fight. It would have been a bloodbath." His gaze dropped to his cuffed hands, picking at his thumbnail. "We'd lost enough people to the whole mess. I did my best to make sure no one else got hurt."

"They did get hurt, though," she reminded him softly. "You did, too."

Stiles didn't respond. Even as she watched, his eyes lost focus and she could practically see him reliving the night. She waited, as patiently as possible, watching him fight through the memory, watching until she could see he was coming back to her. There had been one time, just once in their interactions, that she had attempted to move him out of a trance to continue. She still sported the bruise around her wrist from where he had latched on, unseeing.

She never mentioned it to him afterward.

"Stiles?" she asked softly when his head jerked up a little. His focus turned to her, acute and steady. "How did you get Peter out? There were guards, and the report says you were alone."

"I wasn't." Stiles sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I told Lydia I would take her out to Jackson, remember? And Lydia was... Lydia was a force of nature. If you tell her you're going to do something, you'd better damn well do it."

Judging by the exasperated noise Stiles made, Morrell assumed her confusion was evident. She tried to wave it aside with one hand before he could go on. "So she helped you get Peter out."

"No," Stiles said, shaking his head. Morrell's confusion deepened, and Stiles leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table top. "I mean, she wasn't there, you know? We left camp and she never really came back. Everything went sideways."

"I cannot believe we are doing this right now," Stiles muttered. The forest was still around them, unnaturally silent in the way that said there were definitely predators. Stiles just hoped they were hiding because of him and Lydia rather than something nastier. They hadn't been able to grab equipment before leaving, not without getting caught.

"It was your idea," Lydia reminded him from a few paces behind him. He could practically hear the miserable notes in her tone. She was a bookie, not a hunter, not a scout. It was rare for her to be in the wilderness at all, especially this far out, and Stiles couldn't help but wonder if she was regretting her request.

"Actually, Lydia," he argued, stressing her name like a bad word. "It was your husband's idea. He wanted to come out and get bit."

"You kept Scott alive,' she countered, climbing over a fallen tree. She accepted his steadying hand from the other side.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Should I have let him die? Maybe brought him back to be killed?" he asked. He knew the answer, and he knew he was being cranky. It was cold and he wanted to just wake up and have all of this have been a horrible nightmare.

"No," Lydia huffed. "It's just- Hey. Is that the house?"

Up ahead of them the house stood nestled in the barren clearing. Stiles hadn't really been looking at it the first time he'd visited. It was intimidating in the dark, the collapsed portion off to the right, the porch overhang dark and foreboding. It almost looked like the entrance to a cave. There were no lights on inside, though a small light flickered on the front porch, illuminating the figure sitting on the steps, watching them.

Though it was dark, Stiles recognized her. "Laura!" he called out, halting Lydia with an outstretched hand. "We come in peace!"

"I know," Laura called, soft and easy. She clambered to her feet. "Derek's been expecting you."

"Oh, expecting us," Lydia repeated, pitched only for Stiles' benefit despite that Laura probably heard anyway. "He was expecting us, Stiles." It sounded a lot like she blamed him for this.

He just gave her an exhausted glare and moved his hand around to her back, splaying it between her shoulder blades. "Just go," he muttered, pushing her forward gently. "Before they change their minds."

Without further comment, they trudged after Laura into the house. She used the candle she carried to light two more candles and passed them off to Stiles and Lydia. They were lumpy and obviously hand made, probably by the wolves themselves. He tried not to think about them harvesting the wax needed, or about them sitting around forming them into little candles together. It was too... domestic.

Barely halfway through the house, they heard a low groan and Lydia was on the move past Laura without even asking permission. Thankfully Laura didn't stop her, though she did turn a look to Stiles that was caught somewhere between impressed and annoyed. Stiles merely gave her a shrug, because there was literally no way he was going to get between Lydia and Jackson; he'd rather face the werewolves.

"You idiot," filtered back to them from where Lydia disappeared, and Laura nodded Stiles forward with rolled eyes. Before he could get around her, however, he felt a gentle tug on the edge of his coat. When he turned, Derek was standing there, looking past him to the room where Lydia was laying into Jackson about how stupid she thought he'd been. He didn't look particularly eager to get between them either.

"Can we talk?" Derek asked, sounding hesitant.

"We caught Peter and they're holding him alive," Stiles blurted before he could think about it. Both Derek and Laura seemed startled, exchanging a wide-eyed glance. "I- I can get him out."

A sigh puffed out of Derek as he ran a hand through his hair and then pressed the heel of his hand to his temple as if warning off a headache. "What?" he finally bit out, like maybe Stiles had just spoken too quickly and Derek hadn't understood.

"Well, we didn't catch him," Stiles clarified. "Not my group. The camp though, a hunter team brought him in tonight. Alive. And I think I can get him out."

"Derek..." Laura said softly, but Derek was staring hard at Stiles, who knew his heartbeat must be hammering; he was feeling a little light headed. He hoped Derek wouldn't take it to mean he was lying.

"How long do they- are they planning on holding him?" Derek asked, ignoring whatever Laura had been trying to tell him.

Stiles swallowed, though he was shaking a little. Everything depended on this conversation. "Maybe a day. Gerard won't let him live long, but Peter bought some time. He told the team that caught him that he'd bitten someone in camp, and the full moon's coming. They'll test everyone. They'll find Scott."

"I assume you're here as more than just a news reporter," Derek guessed. "Get to the point."

"Peter wants out," Stiles told him. He didn't miss the flicker of desire that widened Derek's pupils. Peter may not have been the most stable creature, but he was family, and Stiles knew the feeling. "I can get him out, but I may need help. And I... I may have a request."

"A request?" Derek asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Or a demand..."

"A request," Stiles affirmed, motioning with one hand. "You don't have to say yes."

"And if I say no?" Derek inquired, too politely as he crossed his arms. Stiles didn't like the confrontational tone; it made him want to be confrontational back, and he couldn't afford that right now. "Are you going to let them have my uncle?"

That drew Stiles up short. Of course he had meant to use this as a bargaining chip, and he'd assumed that Derek would agree on principal. He assumed Derek would be willing to grant a request, if it meant freeing Peter and escaping. But now that Derek had said it aloud, Stiles found he didn't want to force Derek into a corner over this. He didn't want to force Derek to agree with him.

As true as that was, however, he desperately needed Derek to agree. If he didn't, Stiles and his group - all of his friends - were as good as dead. There was a chance they would just be exiled, those of them that were still human, but Scott and Jackson wouldn't pass that test. Scott and Jackson would take silver bullets to the chest or head, and Stiles would spend the rest of his life blaming himself.

However, if he forced Derek, there was a good chance the wolf would resent it. There was a good chance that whatever bargain they struck would be null as soon as Peter was back with him. He'd already backpedaled on an agreement with Stiles once, when he'd felt no obligation to Stiles. If he outright resented Stiles, there was no telling what he would do.

"No," he said at last, heaving a sigh. It was probably stupid, agreeing to let Peter out without a bargain. Stupid, but right. Scott would have been proud of him; maybe Scott's heroism was rubbing off. "I'll help you anyway."

At that, Derek straightened up, unfolding his arms a little. It was clear he hadn't expected that and wasn't sure what to say in response. "Okay."

Stiles hadn't realized how tense he'd been until he relaxed at being granted audience for his idea. "Take them with you."

Derek's nose scrunched. "Scott and Jackson?"

"No," Stiles said quickly, mirroring Derek's look of confusion. He brushed away the idea with a wave of his hand. "If this all works like I think it will, Scott will be fine. But Jackson won't be. Look, they have to catch someone, right? It's going to be Scott or Jackson, and if Jackson's plan works, he's going to get caught anyway. Everyone knows about Lydia's... condition."

"So you want me to take a newly turned werewolf and his human mate with us when we try to make an escape with a camp of angry hunters on our tails?" Derek clarified.

"Okay," Stiles conceded, squinting a little as he hunched his shoulders. "It sounds way less sane when you say it like that."

"That's because it's insane," Derek told him, leaning forward just a little to drive home the point.

"It's not!" Stiles protested, reaching for Derek's arm when he began to turn to leave. Derek shot him a glare and Stiles snapped his hand back like he'd been burned, wondering when he'd gotten comfortable enough to think that had been a good idea. These were still supers, still deadly creatures. "I mean, it's a little crazy, but it's totally possible, right?"

Sighing, Derek looked away from Stiles. "They won't agree to it, even if I do," Derek told him. "They won't want to give up camp life."

"Do you want to maybe ask before you decide that for them?" Stiles inquired, regretting the sarcasm when he saw Derek's jaw clench.

When Derek didn't answer, Stiles shimmied around him and headed for the door to the bedroom where Jackson was being kept. It was Isaac's room, the same place Scott had been kept, but Isaac was nowhere in sight this time. Jackson was sitting on the edge of the bed, Lydia beside him, pressed shoulder to shoulder with him. They both looked up when Stiles entered. It was weird to see Jackson attempt a smile that wasn't predatory or smug; Stiles hoped he never had to see Jackson trying on gratitude again, it was really awkward.

"We're never going to get past the gate when we go back," Lydia said, instead of greeting him.

"I know," Stiles agreed. Jackson wouldn't meet his eyes. "But I have an idea, if you want to hear it."

"You want us to run away with the wolves," Jackson mumbled. Stiles shot him a confused look; Scott's hearing hadn't gotten that good that fast. When Jackson caught his expression, he rolled his eyes. "You weren't exactly quiet."

Stiles tried not to look too guilty as he turned his attention to Lydia. "Everyone knows you can't conceive, Lydia. If this works, and you get pregnant... they'll start asking why. They'll figure it out. And Jackson won't be safe, and you won't be safe, and your kid won't be safe."

"We don't even know if it will work," Lydia pointed out softly.

"Even if it doesn't... Gerard is going to be testing everyone. You know that." He hated having to press the issue with her, but they were running out of time. Even if they left right now, they'd barely make camp by dawn. "Maybe he'll catch Scott first. Maybe not. Maybe he won't stop once he finds one person that didn't come forward. Or we can call the shots."

She swallowed, squeezing Jackson's hand. He glanced sideways at her and smiled, though it was the sort of heartsick, terrified smile of someone contemplating their own demise. "We don't really have a choice, do we?"

"Not really," she agreed, leaning over to press her forehead against his. She closed her eyes. "Will they even take us?"

Stiles turned to look at Derek, who had joined him in the doorway. Derek was watching the couple with brows drawn in and when he realized he was the one being asked, he gave a half-hearted shrug of surrender. "If you're really willing to give up your old life and follow us, we'll take you."

"If nothing else, they can get you to a town where no one knows you," Stiles suggested. "There's got to be other settlements out there, right?"

"There are," Derek agreed. "Some take in newcomers permanently. Some have rules about how long travelers can stay. We can take you to one that's safe."

"See?" Stiles told them, though even he could hear how strained his voice was. He probably wasn't fooling either of them. "Derek and his pack will take care of you, Scott will be safe. Everyone lives-"

"I swear to god if you say happily ever after, I will tell them you are the werewolf," Jackson snipped, though it was without real venom. Lydia whacked him on the shoulder.

"Don't be like that," she reprimanded. "Stiles is right. This is the safest way for everyone." Then she looked to Stiles, eyes bright in a way that suggested she might have been about to cry. "I assume you mean to have Jackson admit he's the one Peter bit?"

"What?" Jackson said at the same time as Stiles said: "Yeah."

"Why?" Jackson asked, glaring at Stiles now.

"Because, dude," Stiles reasoned. "Because if you're the one that Peter bit, they don't have to test everyone. If they know who it is, if you come forward, then Scott doesn't get tested, and he gets to stay here with Allison."

Though Jackson groaned, he agreed. "Whatever, I guess it doesn't matter. If you get me killed, Stilinski, I'm coming back for you."

"You're not going to get killed," Stiles told him, rolling his eyes. "Come on. We've got to make it back before they start breakfast. You know they'll put wolfsbane in the morning drinks if they still don't know."

Lydia and Jackson clambered to their feet as Stiles backed out of the doorway around Derek. He could feel the wolf watching him, felt like he was being studied, but he ignored it. They had a lot to get done and not a lot of time in which to do it. He began to move for the exit, Derek trailing behind him and Lydia and Jackson behind Derek. Laura met them at the door, drawing it open, and Stiles let Lydia and Jackson pass him in favor of hanging back to say goodbye.

"Thank you," he said to Derek, hoping he could convey all the gratitude he felt in just those words. "If it counts for anything, I'm sorry everything got so messed up for you." He hesitated, mouth going dry. "I'm probably not going to get a chance to say goodbye again."

"Probably not," Derek agreed.

"So, you know..." Stiles resisted the urge to rub his palms on his pants to dry them. "A lot of crappy stuff's happened because of your pack."

"Goodbye, Stiles," Derek told him firmly, clearly holding back from rolling his eyes.

"That's not what I meant," Stiles told him quickly, scrubbing a hand through his hair and hoping he didn't look as miserable as he felt just then. "I don't regret it," he said in a rush, before he lost the nerve. "I don't regret meeting you. Any of you."

That seemed to give Derek pause. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm glad we didn't kill each other, too."

"Okay." Stiles nodded, as if the issue had been settled, and turned to go.

"Stiles?" He reached out, laying a hand on Stiles' shoulder.

He turned back, met Derek's eyes. "Yeah?"

"If you let him out, you're going to get in trouble." Stiles wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a question or not, so he just waited. "They might hurt you."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed. "But only if I get caught."

"They could kill you, Stiles. They've killed people for less." If Stiles didn't know better, he would have said Derek was concerned for him.

He smiled. "So, I won't get caught," he concluded, shrugging off Derek's hand. He didn't know what to do with the strange, intense look Derek gave him at that, the air too charged between them for him to crack a joke about it. "Just... be at the East entrance of the camp at dawn, okay? And be ready to run."

There wasn't anything else to say. He could feel Derek's eyes on him as he stepped off the porch and crossed the clearing to catch up to Lydia and Jackson. He spent the entire walk back convincing himself he didn't regret just walking away.

"Allison?" Jane called, turning back from halfway around the house. She was nearly to the portion that was taller than her, now. "You said they drugged them. Did they use darts?"

"Bullets," Allison replied, raising her voice over the gaping stillness of the forest. "Back then we didn't have the resources for darts."

"Powdered wolfsbane tips?" Jane patted at the edge of the house with the flat of her palm, no longer looking at Allison. Her palm came away filthy with soot.

"Yes," Allison confirmed. "My father's design. It will kill a wolf even if it doesn't hit the head or heart."

Though she was too far away to hear, Allison knew the small 'hm' noise Jane made. She'd made it every time Allison said something that got filed away into the vault of the woman's mind rather than discussed. It was irritating, to say the least, but Allison let it go. Jane disappeared around the corner of the house and when Allison heard her shifting things around, she finally found the courage to get a little closer. The house was completely unstable and shifting anything could cause further collapse.

"What are you doing?" Allison asked when she reached the corner. She peered around it, keeping as much distance between herself and the house as was possible while still finding her charge.

Glancing up, Jane smiled. "Just looking."

"That doesn't look like just looking," Allison told her straight-faced. "In fact it looks an awful lot like you're trying to find a way into the basement."

"Hm," Jane murmured, that same annoying noise accompanied by a pleasant smile that said she didn't disagree. "I suppose it does."

Allison rolled her eyes. "It's not safe. The whole structure is compromised."

For a moment, Jane just crouched where she was, staring into the abyss of the basement through the small opening she had found between some of the branches of the fallen tree. If they'd had a flashlight, Allison knew that they might be able to see a little deeper, see the wreckage of the house collapsed a couple yards beyond the hole. She knew what else they would see, and she had no desire to see it.

Then Jane was getting to her feet, squinting a little in thought, and she took a step away from the house. "Where are they buried?"

By the sympathetic look Jane gave her, Allison knew she hadn't been fast enough to hide her pained expression. "They weren't," she mumbled, heart twisting up in her chest. "Kate just burned the house down around them and left them to rot."

A small amount of satisfaction curled in Allison's chest at the sick look on Jane's face. Kate didn't deserve anything less.

"Why?" Jane breathed, though it slipped out of her in a way that said she hadn't meant to say it aloud.

There wasn't really an answer, so Allison just shrugged. "Because they were monsters, to her. They were animals- worse than animals I guess, because they preyed on humans. Or she thought they did, anyway." Allison's voice had gone hoarse over the lump in her throat. It had been so long since she'd talked about any of this. It still felt raw. She still felt damaged. "The pack never got a burial because the camp only buries fallen humans."

For once, Jane didn't make a sound. She just observed Allison for a moment, and then she was reaching out, laying a warm palm on her cold shoulder. Despite that Allison expected to hear some form of apology, Jane didn't give one. It was comforting; there was only one person Allison wanted an apology from, and that was no longer possible.

Wiping at her eyes, stinging with tears now, Allison forced a smile. "We should get back," she said, instead of acknowledging the moment. "They'll notice if we're gone much longer."

Jane nodded and motioned for Allison to lead the way. Wrapping her coat a little tighter around herself, Allison began to move for the edge of the clearing, toward home. Leaves crackled and crunched beneath her feet and after a moment she realized it was only her feet, and she turned back.

Behind her, Jane stood at the edge of the house, staring up at it with a thoughtful look on her face. Allison wondered what Jane saw, without the layers upon layers of history Allison couldn't forget. She wondered what the burned out shell could tell someone whose world hadn't come close to ending with the blaze. She wondered what the house looked like to someone who couldn't see the ghosts.

Then Jane turned, catching her eye, and the moment evaporated as she began to head Allison's way. When she reached Allison's side, she smiled, and they headed down the path home together.