Nothing too exciting going on here but I hope you guys like it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf.
Erica woke up slowly. When she was fully awake she attempted to take stock of her surroundings.
"Easy," says Deaton, "You still heal faster than a human but you have to take it easy."
Erica gives a stiff nod and rasps out, "The clinic?"
"Yeah," says Scott. He is standing next to her, and she can see some bandages and op-site on his arms and peeking out from under his clothes.
"The alpha?" she asks after he's given her some water through a straw.
"Gone," he says. He shrugs. "We couldn't really fight him, the three of us. But we have a better idea of how he moves now."
"What about the teacher?" she asks.
"Spilt before we knew what was happening. The others are tracking him now."
Derek appears in the doorway and Erica gives him a little smile. "We match." she says.
Like the two of them he has bandages and plasters all over him. His chest hitches awkwardly letting her know he has bruised or broken ribs as well.
"All of them are gone after the teacher?" she asks.
"No replies," Derek. "Stiles and Boyd had to go home. Scott, you should go too. You're supposed to be spending the night at Stiles'."
Scott slumped but nodded. He bent and kissed Erica on the forehead. "See you tomorrow." He slips past Derek, their bodies sliding in sync that tells Erica the muscles haven't forgotten the recent fight just yet; still attuned to the other person.
Derek plops down on a little bench in the room and says to Erica, "Get some rest." She quirks a smile at him and demands his phone instead.
Stiles, Lydia, Allsion were all having an epic skype powwow during which they were strategically breaking down the fight with alpha. Scott was sleepily mumbling suggestions and trying to do the biology homework he had completely forgotten until Stiles had asked him about it.
Jackson eventually joined the call and then later Isaac did by climbing into Jackson's window (and nearly giving Jackson a heart attack, he was supposed to have gone home). He announced they'd lost the trail, then proceeded to fall asleep on Jackson's cushy rug.
"We could ambush him, come out from the gray roads," said Stiles.
"What's to stop him from going back in?" asked Lydia, "It didn't work so well to keep him here last time."
"But we can't fight him there," said Stiles, "There's very little place to retreat."
"There's miles of retreat," said Allison, "but we don't know how to use them so well."
"We need to fix that," sad Jackson, "When there not some psycho in it."
"Is he always in it though?" asked Lydia.
The others blink.
"You think he might have a den outside?"
"Why not?" asked Lydia.
They considered. Why not indeed?
"Trying to find out will probably be a waste of time anyways," Allison said.
"For us," Stiles said suddenly. "But the hunters will have resources we don't"
"Derek will kill you," Scott pointed out from where he was labeling a plant cell.
"I'll go with you," Jackson said.
"No," said Lydia, Allison and Scott.
Stiles grinned and nodded. "It's a date."
Scott opened his mouth to protest but yawned so loudly he was obliged to rest his head on his book to recover.
"Seriously," he said from between the pages after a moment, "Don't go. Victoria may have been nice to you once but don't bet she will be again."
"Seconded," said Allison primly.
Stiles thought about it and then said to Jackson, "How do you feel about baking brownies?"
"I get to lick the bowl," Jackson replies and the call cuts off.
Scott carefully writes the title under his drawing, underlines it and tossed the book and various stationary over to his bag from the bed.
"G'night," he mumbles and sleds of the bed in eel-like fashion and crawls over to the sleeping bag and falls asleep on top of it.
Stiles debates waking him up again to get him inside it and then decide that it was too much trouble. He too collapses into his bed and falls asleep.
The Sherriff comes home to find Jackson and Stiles in the kitchen apparently baking brownies and making a pie. The Sherriff blinks because Jackson Whitmore is in his kitchen baking brownies and making a pie. Both boys have clearly never done either activity, reading out loud from instructions on a sheet but the brownies that come out of the oven look great and the pie looks delicious.
"Great," Stiles announces when he sees him.
"Can you delver these to someone for us dad?" he asks.
The Sherriff blinks. These aren't' for them? Visions of sneaking brownies while Stiles is away dissolve.
"Who?" he asks.
"A Victoria Fleche," he says.
"Who is that?" asked the Sheriff.
"This lady," said Stiles waving a spoon, "I was driving past her house and I smelled her cookies. So I stopped and begged her for some." The Sheriff feels a strong urge to facepalm like a cartoon character.
"So, I'm baking the brownies for her a repayment," Stiles explains. The Sherriff gives a patented sigh.
"And why do I have to deliver these?" he asks, "You have a jeep."
"Had a jeep," said Stiles, "It's been commandeered by the next-door neighbor for a smoking hot date. And Jackson and I have a group econ project we have to do and the person who we're meeting by, lives on the opposite part of town."
The Sherriff sighs and gestures for them to hand him the tray that they're preparing. Stiles writes something on a sticky note and slaps it onto the top of the foil covering the tray.
"Thanks dad," he says, "You're a lifesaver."
For some reason this makes Whitmore crack up and then he and stiles are dumping everything into the dishwasher, grabbing bags and flying out the house to ride away in Jackson's extremely expensive porche.
Ten minutes later the Sherriff is standing outside the house that Stiles had texted him directions to, feeling really silly. The door swings open in response to his knock and a man, a little younger than he is opens the door.
"Mr. Fleche?" he asks.
"Yes," says the man, frowning politely.
"My son apparently begged some cookies from your wife and has sent back some brownies in return," he said awkwardly.
The man frowns even more and then his face clears. "Stiles," he says.
"Yes," said the Sherriff. "I'm so sorry that he bothered your wife."
"Oh," the man laughs, "No problem. She didn't mind." he takes the tray from the Sherriff. "Tell Stiles thanks." And with that he moves backs into the doorway and the Sheriff reaches in and pulls the door closed.
"Thanks," he hears Fleche say from inside and then the Sherriff sighs and heads to his car. At least that wasn't' so very awkward.
"Victoria," Chris calls as heads to the kitchen. She comes down the stairs.
"What?" she asks.
"Stiles sent brownies," he said.
One of her eyebrows raise elegantly and she comes to inspect the foil covered tray. After a moment, she reaches out and plucks the sticky note from the foil and turns it over. She reads the note there in silence and then hands it to Chris.
Chris reads it and shrugs.
"We guessed as much," he said, "It's not a bad idea, just…he mayn't be staying where a normal person might."
"Usually they don't. But it's not a bad idea," she agrees and then lifts the foil off the tray. The heady scent of brownies fill the air. Chris reaches over and plucks one up and takes a bite.
"This isn't bad either," he concedes after a moment.