Action scenes aren't really my specialty (I'm sort of like Stiles himself that way, heh) so here's hoping that this chapter came out okay! It, um, went some unexpected places, really . . .


Chapter Seven

Sheriff Stilinski doesn't say it outright, but seems to be more comfortable with the idea of the pack staying at the house, rather than going back to Derek's apartment. Nobody has any particular argument, since they stay at the Stilinski house frequently. Neither Scott's mother nor Erica's parents are thrilled about the fact that they haven't been home in a week, so they split up again the following day. Erica and Lydia go back to Erica's house to do some chores, or at least for Erica to do them, and help her mother bake a pie for the neighborhood picnic. Allison, Scott, and Isaac go back to Scott's house so they can be thoroughly, lovingly lectured on why all this werewolf business needs to stop. Stiles just hangs out at his own house while Derek and his father have manly discussions about baseball and Derek helps his dad with a cabinet he's attempting to build.

Everyone comes back around the dinner hour, because they always do. They're staying up late watching a movie when Stiles gets a text. It has a set of GPS coordinates and the words '11:30 pm bring your pack no weapons if any1 shows up armed especially that Argent bitch I'll fail you for not being able to control your pack'

Feeling rather miffed, Stiles texts back, 'Who is this?'

Immediately, he receives the reply, 'its Kali u dumb shit'.

He considers saying something witty about how he should have guessed from the grammar, but decides it would go over her head. Instead he just texts back with 'Just checking. We'll be there.'

The others are watching him play with his phone, and when he's done texting, he says, "Yeah, 11:30. Looks like it's somewhere out in the woods." He plugs it into the GPS and says, "Not too far from the Hale house. At least we know where we're going."

"Why are all these trials at night?" Scott asks. "I have to freakin' work tomorrow."

"Cry me a river," Stiles says, feeling grumpy. His father is working, so nobody else is home. They finish the movie around half past ten and head out to their respective cars. "No weapons?" Stiles says.

Allison huffs and removes the crossbow strapped to her thigh.

"That's the only one?" Stiles presses.

"Yeah," she says. She sticks her tongue out at him. "I don't want to get you in trouble."

"What about you?" Derek asks, his voice stiff and angry, which is the way it usually gets when he's masking anxiety.

"I'm clean," Stiles says, with a sigh. He'd feel a hell of a lot better with some kind of weapon, but doesn't dare challenge Kali on it specifically.

They take Stiles' jeep and Allison's car, which can handle the dirt roads better than Derek's little sports car. They park on the side of a forest road as close as they can get to the GPS coordinates, which is still a good mile away, and walk the rest of the way. The forest is dark and silent. The moon is up, but the canopy of trees prevents it from shedding much light. Stiles has a few flashlights that he brought, though, so it's not too bad.

"Okay, here's the spot," Stiles says, looking around. It doesn't seem to be anything remarkable at all. It's not even really a clearing. There are plenty of trees, mostly evergreens. None of the alphas are there. He pulls out his phone and glances at the time. It's 11:23. "We're a little early, so I guess we should just chill out and wait."

"My favorite activity," Isaac says, leaning against a tree. Stiles sighs and glances at his phone. It only has one bar.

They stand around in silence for a little while, and then Erica mentions something funny that happened at the picnic that day, when her father was grumbling over noisy children. Scott tells a story about someone who had come into the clinic that day, a hulking biker in full leathers carrying a tiny gray kitten he had found by the side of the road.

Stiles watches the minutes tick by. It's 11:30, then 11:35, then 11:45. "Jesus," he mutters, irritated with having to wait. He thinks about calling Kali, changes his mind, and tries Justin. It takes three tries for the call to go through. Then he says, "Hey, is the point of this to see how long we're willing to sit around in the forest and wait for your late asses?"

There's a moment of hesitation, and Justin's voice is obviously confused as he says, "Uh, what are you talking about?"

Stiles freezes. He looks around at his pack, all standing around in a loose circle in the middle of the forest, unarmed and vulnerable. He crams his phone back into his pocket and says, "Guys, we have to go, now."

Normally they might have asked why, or what was going on, but Stiles being the alpha gives him an edge where that's concerned. Those who are sitting down immediately get to their feet, and Erica hops down from the tree branch she's climbed onto. Stiles turns to start jogging back towards their cars, and that's when the gunshots start.

It's complete and utter chaos for the first ten seconds, and then they're over a small rise and Stiles has his back pressed against a tree, keeping it between himself and the hunters. "Everybody okay?" he shouts, trying not to panic, because he can feel that at least some of them are not okay.

"Me and Allison are fine," Scott calls back.

"I'm hit," Isaac says, his voice strained.

"Me too." Lydia sounds thin and thready. "Got me in the leg."

"Okay here," Erica calls out, and Derek does the same.

Stiles hears a gruesome crack as Lydia jerks her leg back into place. She makes a tiny little whimper. "Bullet went straight through," she says. "Give me a minute and I'll be on my feet."

"Isaac?" Stiles shouts.

"I'm with him," Derek says. "He's gut shot. We'll need to get the bullet out."

"Wolfsbane?" Stiles feels the panic rising in his throat.

"No," Derek says, and he can breathe again. "We need cover."

Stiles opens his mouth to reply, but then there's another spate of gunfire. He holds his knees to his chest and tries not to freak out. He can hear his breath whistling in his throat. Finally, all is silent. "Son of a bitch," he whispers. "The Hale house isn't far. Can we make it?"

"Not pinned down like this," Derek says. "We'll be sitting ducks."

Stiles knows that he's right. The moon is higher now, shedding more light. The snipers could be in trees for all he knows, just sitting there waiting to pick them off. He can't really tell what direction the gunfire was coming from. As soon as they start to move, they'll be easy targets, even running. He knows from Allison's training that they practice with fast-moving targets. He wracks his brain for some sort of solution, distracted by some damned owl hooting not far away.

"Wait, wait," Allison says, her voice low and breathy. "I know that noise. That's a hunter call."

"They have a bird language or something?" Scott asks, keeping his own voice quiet so the hunters won't hear.

"Yeah. Yeah." Allison is quiet for a minute. The owl call comes again. "It means, uhm . . . that one is 'disperse and surround'."

"They're going to try to get ahead of us," Lydia says.

"Which means they're moving right now," Stiles adds, and Allison responds in the affirmative. "Lydia, how's your leg?"

"Seems okay," she replies.

"Okay then." Stiles keeps his voice very quiet, knowing the wolves will hear him, and not wanting the hunters to catch on to their plan. "Derek, you lead; you know the woods best. The rest of us will cover each other in pairs. Scott with Allison, Lydia with Isaac, and Erica with me. Clear?" He gets a chorus of affirmatives. "Go."

Derek takes off like a shot. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lydia's half-shifted face as she scoops up Isaac and helps him. Isaac's got pain tolerance much higher than the average wolf or human; he's strained but moving on his own. Stiles finds Erica and grabs her hand so they won't be separated, and the two of them run for it. He and Allison can't be quite as fast as the wolves, but they're not slowpokes, either.

There's more gunfire. In front of him, he sees Allison stumble and fall, but quickly scramble back to her feet. There's a high-pitched whistling noise and sudden, sharp pain in his ear. He nearly falls, but Erica gives his arm a yank, wrenches him around, and keeps him on his feet. Splinters of trees spray in his face as a bullet impacts in a tree not far from him, but they're all okay, they're all still running. Without a firm place to take a shot from, and forced to give chase, the hunters can't aim as well. He can vaguely see Derek in the distance, and then the Hale house looms up in front of them.

Derek runs up the stairs and busts through the door without even bothering to open it, and the others bolt in after him. He slams what's left of the door behind him, and they gather in what used to be the living room, all of them panting for breath. Derek's nostrils flare and he snarls, rounding on Stiles. "You're hurt."

"Just my ear," Stiles says, but when he lifts his hand to the side of his head, it comes away covered in blood. "Shit."

"I'm hit, too," Allison says, her voice thin and taut with pain. Scott turns and grabs her as she starts to sink to the floor. Blood is starting to pool around one of her feet. "Holy shit," she says, and gives a hysterical giggle. "I think I got shot in the ass."

As it turns out, a bullet grazed her hip, where she fortunately had just enough padding that it didn't break the bone. She's got a gash almost four inches long and half an inch deep. Stiles is amazed she was able to keep running, but he knows that adrenaline can do amazing things, and finding shelter would have taken precedence over everything else. He takes a moment to be thoroughly glad it happened the way it did, because if Scott had realized she was wounded before they had taken cover, he would have gone after whoever did it. But now, out of the firefight, his training as a medic is overriding the more primal instincts. He's got Allison out of her pants and has stripped his shirt over his head to make a compress to try to stop the bleeding.

Stiles realizes that it might be a good idea if he does something similar. He pulls off his own shirt and presses it against the side of his head. Derek has helped Isaac to the floor, but he's got his eyes on Stiles. There's silence outside for a long minute, and then another gunshot. Stiles can see the hole the bullet made in the front door.

"We can wait, you know!" It's Vivien's voice, high and tense with excitement and bloodlust. "There's nowhere you can go, you filthy animals!"

"She's right," Erica whispers. "They'll surround the house."

"Yeah, but they don't dare come in," Stiles murmurs. "It's a Mexican standoff."

"So what do we do?" Scott asks, sounding panicked. "Allison needs an ambulance."

"Then we call a God damned ambulance," Stiles says. "What else would a group of teenagers in the woods do when some crazies start shooting at them? Call the fucking police." He takes out his phone, considers, and shakes his head. "Lydia, you call 911," he says. "Play it up. This is going to play at their court case, and I want it to sound good."

Lydia blinks at him, then gets what he means. She nods and takes out her phone, jabbing at the buttons. A moment later, she starts to speak, her voice high and hysterical. "Oh, oh my God, please send help, someone's shooting at us – "

She has it on speaker, so they can all hear the operator say, "Miss, calm down and tell me where you are."

"I, I don't know," Lydia sobs. "My friends, we were out in the woods fooling around and these people just started shooting at us, I don't even know who they are – can't you use my GPS or something, oh God, I don't wanna die – "

"Okay, miss, I'm pulling that information up now." The operator sounds determinedly calm. "Is anyone hurt?"

"Yes," Lydia says. "Yes, two, two of my friends have been shot, my, one says he's okay, it just clipped him, but Allison can't walk, I think it got her leg and she's bleeding everywhere – "

"Okay, hon," the operator says. "We've got an ambulance en route along with police. Can you describe to me where you are?"

"It's this old abandoned house, we just saw it while we were running . . ." There's a burst of gunfire and Lydia lets out a very convincing scream. Erica screams too, and Isaac lets out a surprised cry that's really only half faked. "Oh my God, they're still out there, they're still shooting – "

Stiles tunes her out. There are other things he needs to be doing. He dials his own phone and his father picks up a minute later. "I'm busy, Stiles, I – "

"Let me guess," Stiles says, "you're on your way to a shooting?"

There's a pregnant pause, and then Sheriff Stilinski groans. "Don't tell me – "

"It's not my fault," Stiles says, "but yeah. The hunters ambushed us. We're okay, mostly, a little light damage, definitely gonna need an ambulance or two. But Isaac's gut-shot and in a minute I'm going to have to deal with that – "

"Isaac's been shot?" Stilinski interrupts. Although he would never play favorites amongst the pack, he has a soft spot for Isaac.

"Dad, he's a werewolf, he'll be fine," Stiles says. "Allison's hurt, too. Listen, I want these bastards. Turn your lights and sirens off. If you come up blazing, they'll run before you can catch them."

"Jesus," Stilinski mutters. "How long can you hold out?"

"We're holed up in the Hale house," Stiles says. "I don't know if they'll come in after us. I wouldn't want to be here more than another fifteen minutes unless we really have to be. We can take care of ourselves if they try to get in, but if any of the hunters get hurt, they'll try to claim we started it, and then we'll have God damned hunters around all the time."

"Okay. I have to call for some backup, but I'll be there as soon as I can. How many are there?"

Stiles thinks about it. At least two of the hunters are probably still watching the alpha pack, wherever they are, and there are only five total. "I guess two or three."

"No, there's five," Derek says. "There were gunshots coming from five distinct places, from five distinct guns."

"All five of them are here?" Stiles asks. That puts things in a different light. Why would the hunters have done that? Unless . . . he curses. "Unless they knew we were all going to be here, completely unarmed, mother of fuck, I am going to make Kali pay for this."

"Stiles, I have to go," Sheriff Stilinski says. "You hold tight. I'll be there soon."

"Okay." Stiles tucks his phone away. Lydia is still on with the 911 operator, though she's calmed down her hysterics and is now putting on a 'brave face', obviously thinking of how impressed a jury will be with this terrified teenaged girl who is nonetheless obeying instructions from the operator about putting pressure on a wound and keeping her injured friend from going into shock. Allison's hyperventilating a little, but she seems okay, so Stiles turns his attention to Isaac.

"We have to get the bullet out before the paramedics get here," Derek says. "Scott?"

"I'm busy," Scott snaps at him, from where he's tending to Allison.

"Scott, I'm okay," Allison says. "You go see to Isaac."

Scott hesitates, but then Lydia takes the bloodied shirt out of his hands and presses it against Allison's wound, so he nods and jogs over. Isaac is lying on his back on the charred floor. Derek has stripped his shirt off and is pressing it against the wound to try to slow the bleeding. It's obvious that Isaac's in a great deal of pain, and he snaps and snarls when Scott approaches. Derek waves Stiles over. "Keep him calm," he says.

Stiles isn't sure how that'll work, but he nods and takes Isaac's hand in his own, leaning over into his field of view. Erica crouches down beside him and takes Stiles' shirt so she can continue to apply pressure to his bleeding ear, freeing Stiles' hands up for Isaac's care. "Hey, Isaac, how ya doin'?" he asks, and Isaac focuses on him. He nods a little. His grip on Stiles' hand is so tight that it's painful, and Stiles hastily transfers it to Derek's before Isaac can break his fingers. "Scott's just going to fish that bullet out, I won't lie, it's gonna hurt like a son of a bitch, but just hang in there, okay?" Stiles says. Isaac nods again and Scott's claws are out, digging into Isaac's abdomen. Isaac howls, his spine bowing as he thrashes to escape. Stiles grabs him by the chin and makes Isaac look at him. "You are going to be fine," he states firmly. "You just stay with me, okay? Stay with me, Isaac. You can do this. And when we get out of here, I'm going to find the guy who did this to you and I'm going to put his ass through a meat grinder. When I'm done with him, he'll wish he had never heard of Beacon Hills."

Isaac makes a whining, shuddering sound, and then Scott says, "I got it," and pulls his hand free, clutching a bullet, his fingers dripping blood and most likely less pleasant substances. Isaac gasps in relief and sags back against the floor. Stiles rubs a hand through his hair and continues to keep him calm until the wound is starting to heal.

From outside, they hear Vivien call, "How long are you going to hide in there? Come out and fight! It's five against seven, those are damned decent odds, right?"

Derek looks at the door and snarls. Stiles shakes his head and frowns. "Don't," he says. "Even if we could do it without casualties, which we can't, it'll only make things worse if we start knocking off hunters, and you know it. It'll be our word against theirs. They can always claim that we started it."

With a low growl, Derek subsides. Isaac is looking a little glassy-eyed, but overall better. Allison's teeth are clenched against the pain, and Lydia's up to her elbows in the other girl's blood, but she's still conscious and coherent. Scott is alternating between her and Isaac, making sure they're both comfortable and neither of them are going into shock. Erica's still holding the compress against Stiles' ear. Stiles finally looks at Derek long enough to notice the red splotches on his shirt, and the sizable hole in the left shoulder. "Were you hit?" he asks.

"Bullet went right through," Derek says tersely. "Already healed."

"Son of a bitch," Stiles growls, but he supposes that it stands to reason. The hunters would have to have good aim to be considered any good at their trade. He gets to his feet, grabbing his shirt from Erica, and goes over to the window. "You're doing this wrong!" he shouts back to Vivien. "You're supposed to say that you'll huff, and you'll puff, and you'll blow our house down! Only, wait. Which one of us are the wolves again? I keep losing track of all the different people trying to friggin' kill me!"

Erica lets out a snigger. Scott rolls his eyes at Stiles.

There's another round of gunfire. Stiles starts to wonder how many bullets they brought. They're being more sparing of their ammunition now, using just enough to keep them pinned. Stiles wonders what their game plan is. Are they going to circle around? Try to sneak someone into the house? Try to burn the whole damned place down again? If he even smells smoke, Derek will lose it.

After a lengthy period of silence, Stiles is considering another taunt. He wants to know where the hunters are, and if he can get them to respond, that will at least tell him something. But then, all of a sudden, he hears his father's voice on a megaphone. "This is the police! We have you surrounded. Put your weapons down and come out with your hands on your head!"

"Booyah!" Stiles starts singing 'Flight of the Valkyries'. "That's my dad, assholes!"

There isn't any gunfire, which doesn't surprise him. In situations like this, hunters would probably prefer to beat feet than shoot at law enforcement. Gerard was a special kind of crazy when he went after the sheriff; most hunters wouldn't dare. He sits tight, and then his dad, no longer on the megaphone, shouts from the porch. "Stiles, are you in there?"

"Yeah, we're here, Dad," Stiles says, and a few moments later they're being swarmed by paramedics. Isaac and Derek have both fully healed, and their shirts have been 'reappropriated' for additional compresses, so nobody will notice that they're wearing torn, blood-stained clothing but not injured. When Lydia was shot in the leg, her clothes weren't damaged, since she was wearing a short skirt. The blood on her shoes could be anybody's.

Sheriff Stilinski focuses on the bloody side of Stiles' head like a hawk. "You didn't tell me you were hurt," he says.

"'Tis but a flesh wound," Stiles says, in his best Monty Python voice. His father is seriously unamused, so he adds, "No, really, it just clipped my ear of all places."

"Better your ear than your ass," Erica says, as the paramedics get Allison loaded onto a stretcher. Scott is telling them about her injury in a rapid, professional tone.

"True," Stiles says. "What happened out there?"

"Well, nobody came out with their hands up," Stilinski says, "but we got three of them on the way out. All men."

Stiles makes a face. It doesn't surprise him that Vivien managed to sneak away. "Take their phones," he says. "They may have pictures of us on them."

Stilinski nods. He focuses on the others and says, "The rest of you are okay?" The question is mostly directed at Isaac, though they're all included.

Isaac nods. "I'm okay, Papa Stilinski, sir."

"Good." Sheriff Stilinski reaches out and gives Isaac's shoulder a squeeze, then pulls Stiles into a rough hug. "You. Go with the paramedics. They'll need to document your injuries at the hospital even if it's not serious." Stiles nods. "I'll see you at the station later."

"Don't start the party without me," Stiles says.

Stilinski arches his eyebrows at his son. "I'll see what I can do."


Once Stiles is in the ambulance on his way to the hospital, and the adrenaline starts to wear off, he realizes his head hurts like a son of a bitch. His ankle hurts, too, and when he mentions this to the paramedic, they take a look. "Pretty badly swollen," he says, giving it a gentle squeeze that knocks all the air out of Stiles' lungs. "I don't think it's broken, though. Did you fall?"

Stiles thinks back to their mad flight through the woods and decides it probably happened when the bullet clipped him. The force of it had spun him in one direction, and Erica had pulled him in the other. He tells the paramedic this, and he nods and makes a little note. All of them are crammed into the two ambulances, because they've been told that they will all be thoroughly checked for injuries just in case. So Stiles is riding with Derek, Erica, and Isaac, while Scott, Allison, and Lydia are in the other.

Scott calls his mother on the way to the hospital, so she's prepared to receive them. Stiles has to go get his ankle x-rayed. Derek insists on going with him. The orderlies give him odd looks, but most of the people there know Stiles, both through Melissa and through his own misadventures the winter before, so they put up with it. The others all get checked out while Allison is carted off to have her wound cleaned and stitched up. Scott stays with her.

As it turns out, the paramedic was correct. Stiles' ankle is badly sprained, but not broken. They wrap it up and give him some painkillers and crutches. His ear receives three stitches. Half of his earlobe is gone, and he finds this strangely distressing. "Will it grow back?" he asks the doctor, who gives him a funny look. "Well, I hope I never wanted to get my ear pierced," Stiles grumbles.

He's being wheeled back out into the waiting room with Derek in tow when they nearly run face-first into Chris Argent, who looks pissed as hell. Stiles hastily says, "Derek can get me back out to the lobby, Jenny," and the orderly smiles and says okay, relinquishing his wheelchair to the other man.

"What happened?" Chris snaps, as soon as Jenny's gone. "What did those animals do to my daughter, you little – "

"Mr. Argent," Stiles tries to interrupt.

" – I'm not going to just sit on my thumbs while you're involving my daughter in this bullshit, I don't care what you think about her being in your pack, I don't appreciate being woken up at one o'clock in the morning because my daughter's in the emergency room – "

"It's not – "

"And I don't care what you think about it or what happens to your stupid 'trial', I'm going to have these alphas with their heads on pikes – "

Derek is starting to growl, and Stiles hefts himself out of the chair and gets in Chris' face to shut him up. "Do you know why your daughter is here?"

"Because you and your – "

"No!" Stiles practically shouts. "She is here because she has been shot. With a bullet. Fired from a gun."

The color drains from Chris' face. He says, carefully, "What?"

"The group of us were just hanging out in the forest minding our own business when the little gang of hunters staying at your house ambushed us," Stiles says. "We didn't do anything to them and they opened fire, all five of them. Nearly everyone in my pack was hurt tonight, so let me tell you, Mr. Argent, however unhappy you are about your daughter being hurt, I can promise you that I am at least that unhappy too."

Chris' jaw is clenched, and there's that little tic that Stiles sees when the other man is furious but doesn't want to show it. "I see," he finally says.

"So if you're quite done yelling at me for something that's not even remotely my fault," Stiles says, "you go see to your daughter, and I'll go see to my pack, and in an hour or so, I'll meet you at the police station, where three of Vivien's men are in custody, and we will deal with the shit together. Okay?"

There's a pause. Then Chris nods. "Okay," he says, and starts walking again.

Stiles thumps back into the chair. Derek pushes him out into the waiting room. Erica, Isaac, and Lydia are all there already. They've each been checked out and proclaimed uninjured. Erica's parents and Lydia's mother are there as well, because the hospital called them. They sit and wait for a little while before Scott comes out, looking exhausted. "How's Allison?" six voices immediately clamor.

"She's okay," Scott says. "They're all done with her stitches. They're just going to keep her overnight, they said, but they don't anticipate any complications."

"Okay." Stiles rises to his feet and hefts his crutches. He looks around at his pack. Lydia and Isaac are both obviously tired, probably because of the healing they had to do. He gestures to them and says, "Why don't you two stay here and keep Scott and Allison company, while the rest of us go back to the station and talk to my dad?"

This is quickly agreed upon. Erica's parents reluctantly agree to go home, since they've already talked to Sheriff Stilinski and been assured that the perpetrators are in custody. Stiles doesn't know what Erica told them, and he doesn't ask. He just turns to Scott and says quietly, "Make sure nobody talks to the police until I've had a chance to nail everything down with my father. In theory, nobody will come to question you guys without his say-so anyway, but . . ."

Scott nods and says he'll make sure Allison knows. They give each other a brief bro-hug before Stiles hobbles out to his car. His father had had a couple of the officers pick it up and drive it to the hospital for him. They'll have to go get Allison's car later. Derek drives, since Stiles can't use his right leg. Erica has to help him into the backseat with her. He grumbles about this, but allows it. "So what do you mean about getting things 'nailed down' with your dad?" Erica asks.

Stiles grins at her. "I'm going to bury these sons of bitches," he says.

"Yeah, we know that," Erica says, laughing. "But can you be a little more specific?"

"Well, the reason I don't want anyone talking to the cops is just because I want to make sure we have our facts straight, and that when we take 'werewolves' out of the equation, we all replace it with the same things," Stiles says, "but while I was waiting for my x-ray, my dad texted me the info on the three guys they arrested. Two of them are the ones who were in the car outside my house the other day."

"Okay," Erica says, sounding a little blank. "Great. So what?"

"Let me tell you a couple stories," Stiles says, "and you can decide which one you like best. In the first story, a group of guys hunting deer get confused. It's late, they're tired, they accidentally shoot some kids. That's the story the defense attorneys will tell. In the second story, a group of guys decide that it's more fun to hunt humans than deer, and shoot at some kids for sport. That's the story that we've got currently."

"And we like the second," Erica says.

"We like the second," Stiles says, "but we love the third. Because the third story is the one in which a guy or couple of guys maliciously stalk some attractive teenaged girls, then attack them in the woods and try to kill them and their friends."

Erica and Derek are both silent for a few seconds. Stiles can see Derek's eyes in the rearview mirror, the surprise and admiration. Erica's mouth is slightly open. "Holy shit," she says.

"So this guy, he's staying with Allison's family. Her mom's cousin and a few friends of hers. Just in town for a visit. The guy comes off as a bit of a creeper. He makes her a little uncomfortable. She tries to stay away from him. So she sleeps at a friend's house for a couple nights. Then the next thing she knows, he's taking photos of her while he's sunbathing. Her friend – that's me in this little narrative – goes over to their car and politely asks them to get lost. They don't. Fast forward a couple of days, Allison and her friends are hanging out, as teenagers often do, and this guy and his pals track them down in the forest and start shooting. That's the story we're going to tell. And that is going to get these guys in way more trouble."

"You're vicious," Erica says, her eyes gleaming gold. "I love it," she adds, and leans over to give him a kiss.

It's meant to be a quick, friendly kiss. That lasts about half of a second before hormones get involved and suddenly Erica's in his lap and he's pressed against the door of the Jeep. Stiles makes a muffled little noise against her mouth and all thoughts of logic and rationality are completely swept away by the fact that a girl is in his lap and she smells really good. It's a messy, fumbling sort of kiss, open-mouthed and almost panicky in its intensity, and their hands are pretty much everywhere at once.

The car comes to a halt and Stiles feels something, some nebulous emotion that he can't even identify, from Derek. It's a streak of terror, bitter jealousy, murderous rage, and painful inadequacy. Stiles breaks away from Erica and both of them have to gasp for breath. "Uh," he says, before she can swoop in again. He sees her face flush.

"Wow, I got, uhm, I think I got a little carried away there," she says.

"Yeah, no, it's okay," he says. "It's a thing. Hormones. After you nearly die. There's a term for it. Short version: nearly getting killed can make people really freakin' horny."

"Oh," she says, and awkwardly crawls back into her seat. The car starts rolling again. Stiles wonders if there had been a stop sign or a red light or if Derek had just brought the car to a halt before he could crash into something.

They're only a few minutes away from the station, and he knows that he needs to be focused now. That's going to be hard enough with his hormones hammering away at every inch of his body, let alone Derek's sudden distress at this new development. Justin was right; they're going to have to have a conversation about this, and sooner rather than later, but now isn't the time for it.

He takes a few deep breaths as Derek pulls into a parking space. He's thinking about this the wrong way. It's not about being calm. Calm implies placidity, and that's not how he needs to be. He's going on the attack. It's an attack with words rather than claws, but an attack nonetheless. And that, that is something he can focus on right now.

Derek puts the Jeep in park with a motion that's almost violent, and then he's out of the car and heading into the station before anyone can say anything. Stiles curses and tries to catch up with him, but the crutches are a major hindrance. He doesn't dare broach the subject or even touch him right now, so he gives up trying to close the distance. Everyone is too volatile, himself included.

Sheriff Stilinski is on the phone when Stiles comes into his office. "Okay . . . yes, okay. Thank you, Your Honor. Sorry again to bother you so late. Uh huh. Good night." He hangs up the phone.

"What's up?" Stiles asks.

"Had to wake up Judge McPherson about bail hearings," Stilinski says, muffling a yawn. "How are the others? What's with the crutches?"

"Everyone's fine. They're keeping Allison overnight just to be on the safe side. Apparently I sprained my ankle at some point and didn't notice until I'd already walked on it enough to turn it into a really badly sprained ankle. Where do things stand here?"

"You haven't missed much yet," Stilinski says. "Those three are all loudly shouting about lawyers, so I haven't even bothered interrogating them yet to see what kind of bullshit story they concoct." He holds up a phone in an evidence bag. "Good call. Some very flattering shots of the girls in their swimsuits the other day."

Despite the humor in his voice, Stiles can hear the hard underlying note to it which means that his father is just as angry as he is. So he explains his plan, about making them sound like systematic stalkers rather than an isolated incident. He's afraid that his father won't approve of this bending of the truth, but from the look on his face, he's all for it. Which he supposes is fair. His father is fiercely protective when the occasion calls for it, and just because the wolves have healed doesn't mean that they weren't hurt.

"That's good," he says, when Stiles finishes his explanation. "Hell, that'll up this from assault to first-degree attempted murder, if we can swing it right . . ."

"I have faith," Stiles says solemnly, "but we'll need corroboration from Chris Argent about the guy's behavior in the house."

Sheriff Stilinski looks at the phone in its evidence bag and says, "You leave that to me."