A.N.: Thank you for the reviews, keep them coming! Sorry I haven't updated in a while; it's dissertation/thesis year for me, and I've had assignments up the wazoo.

The Judgement of Actaeon

10

"What in the hell…was that?" Sheriff Stilinski stared.

"Not a mountain-lion," Derek murmured, watching the trail of fire fade as the Alpha disappeared into the very woods Derek had only an hour ago crawled to heal himself. Resentment curled in his stomach as his claws sharpened in the pockets of his jacket, that he couldn't follow that trail.

The memory of his back injury still lingered, as did all of the memories of his injuries, but he had been healing and conscious in time to pick up Olive's phone-call. Leaving the Alpha inside, when he'd had this perfect opportunity, had cost him a lot; but Olive had asked.

Derek didn't trust anybody: but he'd watched Olive grow up, taught her how to swim and throw a baseball so hard it hurt even his hand. He trusted her to be smart, to wrangle those two idiots whenever they got into trouble, and he trusted that she always trusted her instincts.

Even if nothing had come of contacting the Alpha, or of making any headway into proving his identity, one thing had come out of Derek's part in this failed experiment: Sheriff Stilinski had warmed to Derek.

Suspected for the murder of his own sister, and released without real evidence or plausible motive, Derek had now helped the Sheriff's son get out of a life-threatening situation when someone had lied to the cops and said kids would be prank-calling about the high-school, when a handful of kids had been in very real danger. Not a danger the cops entirely understood, but a glimpse of the burning Alpha had made the cops' jaws drop and caused heartbeats to falter.

They had arrived at the school to find the fire-alarms ringing, windows smashed, the hood of Stiles' Jeep peeled open like a can of tuna, something roaring like an unholy demon in the worst kind of pain imaginable, five scared but relieved pale faces gazing out from an upper-storey window, hands pattering against the glass to draw their attention. Then the Alpha had reared up onto the roof, aflame, trailing a stench of chemicals, its entire right-side burning, guns had fired, and the Sheriff had run into the school headfirst with only one thought; his son.

Derek had pulled him back, knowing there weren't but reminding him there could be others; the cops had gone in ahead of the Sheriff, ambulances called in because Dr Deaton, the veterinarian Derek had almost killed, had roused from unconsciousness, lying in a heap on the ground behind Derek's car, the farthest he'd managed to move before the Alpha had attacked Derek.

It didn't take long for the cops to secure the school: Derek went inside with the Sheriff, true to his word to Olive to watch his back, the kind, stern man kind of growing on him, utterly different from his hyperactive idiot kid, but with the same heart. While he'd been healing, the kids had been running, the Alpha, demolishing something in practically every wing of the high-school Derek himself had graduated from; his baseball trophy was still in the lobby.

The roar of the Alpha as it had crashed into the woods, burning, fleeing; the lights of the fire-trucks and the sirens of the police-cruisers out front; the cops swarming the school with their guns drawn; the kids came tumbling out of the Chemistry Lab classroom shaky but relieved, crying, ready to wet themselves, but okay.

The partially-demolished school was worse off than the kids who came stumbling out of the building, ready for blankets from the EMT first-responders while they were given a check to see none of them had sustained any injuries.

They were all questioned; the giant animal stalking first Scott and Stiles into the school; something ripping the battery out of Stiles' Jeep; the janitor being killed while Stiles and Scott hid in the boys' locker-room; Allison receiving a text that had lured her there, Lydia and Jackson following when they'd noticed Stiles' Jeep; Olive having the smarts to pull the fire-alarms to alert the fire-department despite the police having been told there would be 'prank-calls'; Lydia mixing a Molotov cocktail in the Chemistry Lab.

Simmering over the lost opportunity to follow the Alpha, frowning over the stench of burning chemicals and flesh and hair, glaring at Stiles and Scott to make sure they didn't say anything, glowering at Dr Deaton to make sure he didn't say anything, it was a while before Derek noticed. He watched Stiles tell his dad everything he knew, and then…they hugged: It couldn't be clearer that Sheriff Stilinski really loved his son; and Stiles knew the danger his father would be in if he came head to head with the Alpha and loved his father just as much in return. He watched the Sheriff's deputies take statements from the other kids: Lydia telling how she'd made the Molotov cocktail, surprisingly impressing Derek; Jackson was as much of a jackass as he always was, worse because he had been scared, and feeling weak and afraid made him go on the offensive. Allison Argent was pouting and simmering with resentment over being vulnerable and being shouted at by Scott, whom she pouted at and gave an injured look, setting her jaw and brushing him off, giving the sheriff's deputies short, rude answers.

The EMT tending to Dr Deaton, Stiles clutching onto a bright yellow plastic box like it was a lifebelt, Scott gazing wistfully after Allison as she strutted away from everyone, arms folded over her chest, her jaw working, eyes cold, Lydia was talking very quickly on the phone to her mother, Jackson was shouting at one of the deputies, and Derek realised… Olive wasn't there.

"Where's Olive?" he murmured, checking faces, searching the backseats of police-cruisers for blanketed teenage-girls. "Olive?" he called. "Stiles—where's Olive?" Derek asked, striding up to the pale teenager, clinging to that yellow plastic box that had Olive's scent all over it. Stiles did a double-take at Derek, eyes popping; he glanced around, his expression falling as his eyes widening.

"She's not…here?" Stiles stammered, staring around, from Jackson scowling as he waited by his Porsche, Lydia's mother throwing herself out of the driver's seat of the car before she had even put the parking-brake on, Allison standing over by herself, attention-seeking as she alienated everyone. Olive wasn't there. Derek glanced around, dread filling him.

"She… She took the Molotov cocktail," Stiles murmured, glancing back at the school as horror seemed to dawn on him.

"Olive… Olive's here too?" Sheriff Stilinski asked, his eyes widening, and his hand went to his gun holstered at his hip, even as he checked the faces of everyone around them. Derek scanned every face, checked every scent; he and the sheriff ran into the school at the same moment. His own concern for Olive was heightened by the Sheriff's affection for her; as they ran the length of the corridors, calling Olive's name, Derek scenting the air, he could tell just how much the sheriff had bonded with orphaned pretty Olive.

The scent of blood came thick in his mouth as they careened through a set of double-doors, and they saw the devastation the Alpha had wrought on several corridors that encircled a courtyard; two of the enormous sheet-glass windows had been shattered, the frames splintered and wrecked; the floor was dented, and a stretch of metal lockers had been squashed and bent out of shape.

"Olive!" the Sheriff called, but scenting the air, Derek glanced to the left, into the courtyard.

"Sheriff," he said quietly, and jogged down to the broken windows, climbing out into the courtyard.

In a quickly-drying pool of her own blood was Olive, curled up like a baby, blood drying on her cheek and neck from her ears; her hand was covered in blood, and her phone was flashing in her back-pocket, Stiles' attempt to contact her; her curls were more defined because blood had gotten onto them, wetting them, but Derek couldn't see the injury because she was tucked up. There was no way to stop the Sheriff from calling the paramedics in now; Olive could moderate the speed at which she healed, but only when she was conscious, and whatever injury she had sustained to her ears had already healed.

"Olive," Derek said quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder, gently trying to shake her. Her heartbeat was faltering, and as he knelt down beside Olive, the Sheriff breathed, "Oh my god…" His expression said a lot; as Derek carefully lifted Olive out of the pool of her own blood, she moaned softly, but didn't wake. "Wait—!"

"It'll take too long for the paramedics to get to her," Derek said plainly, lifting Olive into his arms; inhaling, the scent of blood hit him like a freight train; glancing down, he saw the rips in Olive's top.

Her stomach was a bloody mess of tattered skin and sinew, blood, even bone visible from her hip, and as he carried her, Derek could see her organs knitting themselves back together, healing. The worst part behind her, she roused slightly when Derek accidentally jostled her, pain-drenched eyes sliding over him, unfocused.

"You're alright," Derek said softly. Cold and distant as he was, as much of a bastard as he was, he wasn't heartless. Not completely; and seeing Olive like this, anger and worry simmered low in his stomach.

A tiny pain-filled moan issued from Olive as he jostled her again, not wanting to lose his grip on her, and her head lolled against his shoulder, a sigh of relief and pain and exhaustion issuing from her lips before her body relaxed in his arms, passing out completely. It took him perhaps a minute to get her outside; the Sheriff was pale and worried as the paramedics wheeled a gurney over. As their friend was carried out, bleeding and broken, Lydia burst into tears, Jackson's jaw worked and his eyes glazed over as he hugged an arm around his girlfriend, as Mrs Martin covered her mouth with her hands, eyes sparkling, and Stiles' lower-lip trembled, eyes sparkling with tears as he hugged that stupid plastic box like a lifebelt.

"It got her," the Sheriff said, pale and worried; Stiles darted forward, as did Lydia, and Lydia gasped, horrified, when Derek laid Olive on the gurney. There was a collective gasp of horror as Olive's stomach was revealed, the tattered cotton of her t-shirt, the lacerated skin, that tiny peek of shining white bone; she had begun to heal, but not being a werewolf, it would take longer. "She's lost a lot of blood."

The paramedic shot a lot of technical jargon at their partner, who got busy inside the ambulance; Derek glanced down at the blood on his arms and hands, felt it soaking his t-shirt; and then he saw that Allison's family had come to collect her. Hard Chris Argent with his gun concealed in his pocket, pouting Allison who was demanding answers from anyone—"what happened to her; what did that? how did it get away?"—and a dark-haired woman Derek could only assume was Allison's mother. They had the same bone-structure, though the mother's was softer, and she was taller and had a fuller figure, was gentler.

While Chris Argent glared at Derek challengingly, the woman with him didn't even look at Derek; she gazed after Olive as she was wheeled into the ambulance, concern washing over her.

"Allison, get in the car," Chris Argent ordered his daughter, as Derek glowered back at him, his eyes never moving from Derek's face. "When we get home we're going to have a serious discussion about what being grounded means. And maybe you can explain to me why one of your school-friends looks like she's been attacked by Freddy Krueger."

"I hope the others are okay," Mrs Argent said gently. "Allison—the car. Now!"

"Sorry, uh—Mr Hale?" Sheriff Stilinski said, catching Derek's attention, and Derek broke eye-contact with Chris Argent only to frown at the sheriff. "I don't know how well you know Olive, but I know she's got no family in Beacon Hills. Do you know if she has any family at all?"

"Not anymore," Derek said quietly, gaze sliding over to Chris Argent. "She doesn't have anyone." The sheriff sighed, running a hand over his face tiredly. What had started as an easy shift for him had turned into another nightmare; only compounded by the fact his son had been involved.

"You don't know if she has any legal-guardian, or anything?" the Sheriff asked.

"She's emancipated," Derek said quietly, glancing down at his hands as they smeared with blood. She hadn't wanted to go into foster-care; her mother had put aside a monthly allowance for Olive in the event of her death, and without Ruby to share it with, Olive was more than okay financially until she turned eighteen.

"Dad," Stiles appeared, still clutching that box, pale and panicked and upset. "Is she going to be okay?" His eyes slid over Derek, who gave a slight nod.

"I don't know, son," the Sheriff sighed heavily. "They'll take Olive to the hospital; we just have to be patient. Stiles, I need to know what happened. Why was Olive by herself?"

"I told you—Olive took the Molotov cocktail," Stiles said; Derek tensed when Chris Argent approached with his wife, wrapped up in a soft grey cardigan-sweater, watching the ambulance worriedly as she rubbed her arm.

"Sheriff," he nodded. "I'm sorry—I'd like to know what my daughter was up to tonight. What happened?"

"I'm just trying to figure that out," the Sheriff sighed, glancing up at Chris Argent. "Stiles?"

Stiles sighed heavily, glancing for a second at Derek, who kept his eye on Chris Argent despite the other man's seeming casual interest in talking to the Sheriff. "I told you—" Stiles sighed. "When we got trapped in the school by that thing, Olive thought it was a good idea to get her First Aid kit out of her locker." He shook the yellow box in his arms, and Derek had to hide a tiny smile; that sounded like just the sort of thing she'd do. "When Jackson and Lydia and Allison arrived, that thing dropped out of the ceiling, attacking us, and we ran for it, into the cafeteria. Allison started shouting and asking inane questions, and that's when Olive called Derek." Derek nodded.

"She said they were trapped in the school; she didn't know by what," he said, glancing covertly at Chris Argent, who was watching him carefully.

"That's when Lydia tried the police," Stiles said, giving his dad a reproving look. "Dispatch hung up on her. Said they'd had a tip there would be prank-calls. So Allison starts panicking and crying because Scott shouted at her, and Olive snaps at her to shut up, Allison made some snarky comment about Olive not doing anything to help either, which wasn't true at all, she was thinking—so Olive smashed all the fire-alarms she could reach as we ran upstairs. If the police weren't gonna listen, we'd get the fire-department here… That's when we got to the Chem. Lab, and Lydia figured out how to make a Molotov cocktail."

"Hang on a second—a sixteen-year-old girl knew how to make a Molotov cocktail?" Mrs Argent interjected, stunned.

"Lydia Martin has a 5.0 GPA," Stiles said, almost defensively. "She hasn't had her IQ tested yet but she's gonna win a Nobel Prize one day, I know it."

"So what happened next, how come you guys split up?" the Sheriff prompted.

"Well, the door to the fire-escape was in the Chem. Lab, but it had a deadbolt, so Scott volunteered to go and find the janitor in the locker-rooms, for his keys," Stiles said solemnly. Glancing reprovingly at Mr Argent, he added, "Then Allison starts crying again that Scott could die, whatever, making an embarrassment out of herself, begging Scott not to go, so Olive loses patience—I think Allison must be some kinda kryptonite, because I've never seen her get so annoyed so quickly before—and takes the Molotov cocktail from Scott, and she goes out to find the keys. All by herself."

"Brave girl," Mrs Argent said, glancing at the ambulance as it drove off speedily.

"Yeah. And if your daughter had been braver, Olive wouldn't be in that ambulance with a stomach cut up like spaghetti," Stiles scowled. He glanced at his dad. "After she left, all we could hear was the fire-alarms, until we heard that thing roar."

"And that's when we got here," Sheriff Stilinski sighed, writing something on his notepad. "Came over the roof just there, still burning. Olive had good aim."

"You should see her throw a baseball," Derek said quietly, smiling internally; he'd taught her how to play baseball, his favourite sport in the world, and if she threw a baseball to you, your hand would sting for a week.

"I'm just glad she stopped Jackson before he handed Lydia the wrong bottle of chemicals," Stiles sighed, his cheeks hollow. Gazing after the ambulance, Derek turned to the Sheriff.

"I'm gonna go the hospital, if we're done here," he said.

"Yeah, I've got your statement," Sheriff Stilinski sighed. He offered his hand; Derek indicated the blood on his, and the Sheriff glanced at him, his expression very earnest. "Thanks for coming to the station, convincing us the kids were in danger." Derek nodded; he turned on his heel, dug his keys out of his pocket, and slung himself into the driver's seat of his car.

In his rear-view mirror, he saw Scott jogging over to the Argents' SUV, Stiles trailing him still clutching that yellow box.

"Well, we survived, dude," Stiles said miserably. The image of Olive lying on that gurney, torn up and bloody, would haunt him for a long time. Worse, because he'd felt so guilty about letting her go by herself, knowing he couldn't have done anything to help even if he had gone with her, angry at Allison for pulling a strop and pulling on Scott's heartstrings, guilting him into staying while Olive had voiced what he and everyone else had probably been thinking; that Allison was the most useless and annoying girl to have with you in a crisis, a true doe-eyed, pale-skinned helpless damsel in distress. "We outlasted the Alpha. Olive even got a few shots in, thanks to Lydia."

"When we were in the Chemistry room, it walked right by us," Scott said, tense. "You don't think that it heard us, you don't think that it knew exactly where we were?"

"Well then how come we're still alive?" Stiles asked.

"It wants me in its pack," Scott said angrily. Stiles frowned.

"I guess Olive figured that out," he said softly, gazing at Scott. "That roar the Alpha gave—you started to change."

"Yeah," Scott sighed heavily, glancing over at the Argents' SUV.

"But then it changed; the roar became a howl; that's when Olive must've hit it with the Molotov cocktail," Stiles said, realisation dawning. "She knew the Alpha could force you to change by howling, so she threw the firebomb to stop him—because you were in the room with us… He wanted you to kill all of us."

"He wants me to get rid of my old pack," Scott said softly. Stiles sighed heavily.

"You mean me and Olive," he said quietly, clutching Olive's First Aid box. He'd given Lydia the dried dates out of the box to give her some natural sugar to calm her nerves; Jackson had eaten the Clif bar to have something else to think about; Allison had taken a Band Aid for a tiny cut on her finger.

"You, Olive…Allison. Jackson, Lydia," Scott sighed. "And he wants me to do it. And that's not even the worst part."

"How in holy hell is that not the worst part, Scott?!" Stiles exclaimed.

"Because when he started to make me shift…I almost wanted to do it," Scott said repentantly, not quite meeting Stiles' eye. "I wanted to kill you…all of you."

"Allison brought you back," Stiles said quietly, after a minute. Remembering how Scott had fallen to the floor, grunting and crying in pain, Allison had gripped hold of him, talking to him; her voice, her scent, her touch…they must have been the only thing that had stopped Scott from following the Alpha's orders.

"Allison…and maybe Olive," Scott said, sighing. "If she hadn't thrown that firebomb…the Alpha might've finished making its call. I might've actually turned."

"But you didn't," Stiles reminded him. "You didn't kill anyone…Olive will heal… We'll spend thousands on therapy-bills, but all we have to do now is figure out what the hell happened to Jackson in there."

"Yeah, what was that?" Scott frowned.

"I don't know, but it looked like something had punctured his neck," Stiles shrugged. "He responded to the Alpha's call as well…"

"You don't think…when he and Lydia were at the video-store…?"

"Well, won't do any good asking him," Stiles sighed, glancing after Jackson, whose parents had just arrived in yet another flashy sports-car, anxious about their son, probably ready to sue the pelt off of the Alpha's back. Scott glanced around, watching Allison strut around her parents' SUV, waiting for them to finish talking to the Sheriff and his deputies.

"Allison!" he called, jogging over, and Stiles followed his best-friend, biting his lip. The Alpha wanted to kill off Scott's friends so he'd have nobody but the Alpha left. And someone had to have sent Allison that text… "Are you okay?"

"My parents will take me home as soon as they've finished talking to the sheriff," Allison said curtly, avoiding looking at Scott.

"That's not what he asked," Stiles said, frowning softly at Allison.

"You need anything from me?" Scott asked tentatively, gazing at his girlfriend's profile. "You want me to go with you?"

"No," Allison said coldly. "I don't."

"Okay," Scott said slowly, glancing at Stiles, who shrugged, but didn't like her rude tone. He'd noticed that; whenever she felt vulnerable, Allison would become incredibly cold and rude. While Olive had been trying to keep a good head on her shoulders and keep everyone rational and alive, figuring out that the fire-department would have to come and respond when the alarms were set off even if the police-department had already been told there would be prank-calls when they'd called for help, Allison had been crying and hysterical and had pouted sulkily when Scott had bitten her head off for asking yet another inane question when they had already said they didn't have any answers.

"And I also don't know what happened to you in there," Allison said, glancing at Scott. "I don't know what you were thinking. Maybe you weren't, but… Right now I don't—I don't feel like I can trust you."

"Allison, I can explain—" Scott blurted, eyes widening in alarm.

"I don't care," Allison said coolly.

"Just wait, don't say anything else!" Scott begged. "Please just don't say anything else—" As Allison opened her mouth, Stiles knew how Olive had felt seconds before snapping at Allison inside and smashing those fire-alarms. Something had snapped.

"Um, if I can just interject right here," he said coolly, glaring at Allison. "Olive's on the way to the hospital after being disembowelled, because you didn't want Scott to go out alone to get those keys, and right now all you can say is that you don't trust Scott?" Allison opened her mouth, eyelashes fluttering, looking taken-aback, but Stiles wouldn't let those pouting lips suck him in; he also wasn't finished: "You got what you wanted, Scott didn't go out and risk his neck, but right now our best-friend is on the way to the hospital and I don't know if she's gonna make it, so thanks. You've really given me a refreshing perspective on your personality." Allison opened her mouth, eyelashes fluttering, stunned. Stiles glanced at his best-friend.

"Stiles' dad is gonna give me a ride home, I have to make sure my mom isn't freaking out—I'm gonna get a new phone—tomorrow morning!—" Scott stammered.

"Scott!" Allison said softly.

"I'm gonna get a new phone, and I'll give you a call."

"Don't," Allison whispered.

"What?"

"Don't call," Allison said hoarsely. "Just… Please don't call me." Another flare-up of anger had Stiles scowling.

"Scott, come on, you're better off without that selfish brat," he said coolly, frowning at Allison as her eyes glittered, Scott standing there stunned.

"Stiles!" Scott said warningly.

"No!" Stiles gritted his teeth. "See this is why I was mad at you this week, because you do anything she asks, and you ignore everything else. Meanwhile my dad's getting hurt, Olive could be dying right now, and all she can say," Stiles exclaimed indignantly, getting more and more upset the more he spoke, because he was right; Olive could be dying right now, "is she doesn't trust you? Because we didn't answer her questions because we don't know the effing answers?!" he shouted at Allison. Glancing at Scott, he exclaimed angrily, "She shouldn't have even been at the school. And you can't say no to her; she's the reason Olive is hurt."

"Stiles, come on," Scott said softly, glancing from him to Allison, who had that wounded victim pouting look again.

"No!" Stiles blurted again, as Scott took him by the upper-arm and moved him away from Allison. "She didn't want you to go, and you didn't stop Olive from leaving like you should've," Stiles continued. "She bats those eyelashes and you just drop everything. D'you really think your mom deserved you skipping school—forget the fact you're almost flunking most of your classes already and it's October and it was the same day as parent-teacher conferences—you disappeared without even calling her or answering my texts. How would I have explained that to your mom, huh, if something had happened?"

Scott frowned. "You never said you had a problem with my relationship with Allison." Stiles stared, taken aback by the fact that that was all Scott could take from his tirade.

"I didn't. But now that I know how self-destructive and irresponsible she makes you, yeah, I have a problem with it, especially since she couldn't even be bothered to even ask if Olive was gonna be okay," Stiles said, shouting back at Allison, who blanched. "Why does she get to play the victim card, huh? What gives her the right to pout and bitch? There's not a scratch on her, why does everyone have to take care of her?"

"Stiles," Scott said gently.

"Olive's been turned into a kitty-climber and that thing ripped the battery out my Jeep and all you can do is pout like you're the victim," Stiles scowled at Allison.

"That thing could've killed me too," she blurted, eyes glittery with tears. "You asked me to come here."

"We didn't send you that text, Allison!" Stiles shouted incredulously. "How many times do we have to tell you that?"

"Then who did send it?" Allison hissed icily.

"How the hell should we know?" Stiles shouted back. "Do I have AT&T or Verizon stamped on my forehead? We were a bit busy to send any texts, okay, running for our lives, avoiding flying batteries and mauled janitors!"

"Well, I'll save you the trouble next time and just ignore your texts," Allison said coolly.

"You mean like you did the day my dad ended up in the E.R.," Stiles said, glancing at Scott. "It's funny, how people end up in the E.R. when you and Scott are involved, it's funny!"

"Stiles," Scott said again.

"I repeat; you're getting irresponsible when you're around her and it's everyone else who suffers because of it," Stiles scowled. He hadn't been angry before; he'd been thrilled that they had escaped with their heads on their shoulders, heart in his throat for Olive but knowing she had healed perfectly from Derek breaking her nose the other night. But again, he got the feeling this was how Olive had felt before adopting the Sigourney Weaver mentality in the situation—she was the only survivor in Alien, after all—and telling Allison off for being completely useless and only perpetuating the danger of the situation by making everyone annoyed and forcing them to take care of her.

He sighed heavily, fiddling with the now-useless keys to his Jeep in his pocket, still clutching Olive's First Aid box. Suddenly tired, he sighed, shaking his head, "You know what, I'm gonna go to the hospital. Olive doesn't have anyone else, and…she's not gonna wake up there alone." Sending Allison a cold look, he said, "If you can be bothered, some flowers might be a nice show of appreciation for trying to take on that thing so you and your boyfriend could escape…" Glancing at Scott, he said, gesticulating, "Except I have to go beg a ride from my dad because that thing played Operation with the engine of my Jeep."

Ignoring Allison's parents as they hurried to shepherd their crying daughter into their big shiny SUV, Stiles paused only to ask Lydia whether she was okay before her mom drove her home. Coming up beside his dad, he sighed softly, "D'you mind giving me a ride to the hospital?"

"Olive's probably only just got into the E.R., kid," his dad sighed, "there's probably nothing you can do yet. It might be a while before she wakes up."

"I just… I just don't want her to wake up…alone," Stiles said quietly, and his dad gripped his shoulder comfortingly.

"They'll take care of her, Stiles," he said warmly. "Scott's mom's working the E.R. tonight; she'll make sure Olive's taken care of."

"But she doesn't have anybody," Stiles said, upset.

"Derek Hale already drove over to the hospital, following the ambulance," his dad said. "And you kids could probably do with something hot to drink and bed."

"But Dad—"

"Stiles… I know she's your best-friend," his dad said softly, looking every bit as concerned and scared for Olive as Stiles felt. "But crowding the nurses at the E.R. won't help any, and I've still gotta figure out what went on here. And how much damage there is… Though you might wanna write Olive a real nice Get Well card while you're off school tomorrow and Friday."

"What?" Stiles glanced up, blinking quickly, and his dad winked.

"Gonna have to close up the school to repair the damages," he said, shrugging. "And there's the missing janitor, too." He sighed, giving Stiles a sombre look. "We have to find his body."

"Right," Stiles mumbled. The school had to be closed… Olive would laugh that they'd done a service to their fellow students in a Weasley-twins sort of way. And then she'd be bummed she'd be in the hospital to miss out on leisure time. Something she didn't really have. Stiles didn't know what it was like to live alone; to cook and clean and do laundry, to do her homework without help, to fit in studying in between gymnastics training and her part-time job at the little bookstore, as well as go to school, and find time to hang out with him and Scott, and to always be kind to people and mild-mannered, patient. He didn't know how she went home to a silent, empty house every night, ate her dinner alone and had to remind herself to lock the front-door because there was nobody else in the house to protect her.

It was no wonder she wasn't scared of anything: She couldn't afford to be.

When he finally got to the E.R., bone-tired and, just as his dad had suggested, ready to fall into bed and stay there for a week, Stiles found Olive in a private little room, wearing one of those scratchy paper gowns, a blanket tucked over her legs, hooked up to her forearm while something was clipped on her finger and one of those funny tubes was taped under her nose, and the soft beep…beep…beep of the heartbeat monitor was the only noise; Derek sat in a chair in the half-darkness of the room, one hand propping his head up, his eyes closed, his expression solemn, one hand curled loosely over Olive's where it was tucked beside her on the bed.

Derek chuffed in his sleep like a dog, starting and sniffing the air as he awoke from a doze, and Stiles waved slightly as he entered the room.

"Thought your dad would've taken you home," Derek said in a murmur. Stiles swallowed and stepped closer to the bed, gazing at Olive. She looked so pale…and young. Sometimes he forgot; she was so mellow, so mature and kind and…and adult… He forgot that she was sixteen years old. But now she looked every bit her age, young and vulnerable, the blood she had lost telling in her ashen complexion.

"He just…let me come check that she'll be okay," Stiles said, staring down at Olive. "Has she… Is she okay?"

"She hasn't woken yet," Derek said quietly, turning those pale grey eyes on Olive's face concernedly.

"Does she need anything?" Stiles asked tremulously. He couldn't see any sign of her injuries; she had been washed of the blood that had soaked her when Derek carried her out of the school; her own blood. And in that paper gown, her injury was covered up, not even the hint of a bandage showing.

"I… I don't know," Derek said quietly, gazing at her young, incredibly pretty face. "I don't know what you bring people in the hospital." He flicked a glance up at Stiles. "My family never had much cause for them."

"Yeah, I guess not," Stiles sighed. He was familiar with hospitals; his mother had slowly died in this very one. And he knew that after one single meal from the hospital cafeteria, people were sick of the food; he knew they hated the scratchy, backless paper gowns; he knew that the blank walls, generic artwork and the smell got to people, that it wasn't the most encouraging environment to inspire spiritual and physical wellness. "She'll want clothes. Her pyjamas. She loves pyjamas. And her toothbrush. And a few books. Oh, and…"

He frowned, glancing around, and spotted the drawer of the bedside-cabinet. Tugging it open, he found the clothes Olive had arrived in, her dark, subtle designer jeans that fit her so well, and her touch-screen HTC cell-phone. It was the same phone Spencer had in Pretty Little Liars; Stiles liked watching it because the girls were gorgeous, and he appreciated Emily's taste in girls; he thought Maya looked suspiciously like Ms Morrell, his guidance-counsellor.

"What're you doing?" Derek asked, frowning, as Stiles tapped the pass-code to unlock Olive's phone, and Stiles walked around the end of the bed to perch on the side, so he and Derek could both see the screen.

"Olive showed me and my dad this App her friend invented," Stiles said, going through the phone applications. "She can remotely turn an alarm on in her cabin that's connected to a tiny camera; if someone goes in without entering the code on her phone to disarm it, the camera will record the intruder and her phone will call straight to the police-dispatch line."

"Smart friend," Derek said simply, raising his eyebrows.

"Yep," Stiles said. "So I can activate the alarm while Olive's here, just in case. She'd be devastated if someone burgled her while she's stuck here."

It was all he could do for Olive at the moment; but he knew she would indeed be utterly devastated if she came home and all her treasures had been stolen. Some of them were worth only a few hundred bucks to someone else, but to her they were priceless.

"So, um… I'll come back tomorrow," Stiles said, placing Olive's phone back in the drawer.

"I'm staying here," Derek said, eyeing Olive carefully. "I didn't like the impression I got from Argent when he saw me with her." Stiles stilled, glancing at Derek.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Argent knows there was a second Beta out in the woods when Scott got shot," Derek said, glancing up at Stiles. "They just don't know who. Argent knows Olive knows me enough to have my cell-number… Hunters have a way of putting two and two together and getting five."

Stiles gazed at Derek. "You care about her," he said wonderingly. He didn't know Derek, not by any stretch of the imagination: he knew Derek scared him; that they shouldn't trust him because he was a stranger who hadn't yet earned their trust; but he also knew that Olive was probably the only person alive who could set her ringtone for Derek to 'You Sexy Thing' by Hot Chocolate and get away with it. Her photo-ID for his calls was a picture of him shirtless, doing pull-ups in his abandoned, burned-out house. Again, Stiles didn't know how Olive got away with it; he guessed she must've taken the photo when he had been distracted, and that he didn't actually know about that ringtone…

"I've known her since she was born," Derek said quietly, gazing at Olive, and something flickered across his face that Stiles couldn't name, his eyes scanning Olive's face and seeming to wince with regret and pain and sorrow, and the tiniest flash of humour. Stiles glanced from Olive to Derek, clearing his throat softly.

"Did you know her family?" he asked quietly. Derek paused, something passing across his face, and he blinked several times before glancing up at Stiles.

"You should get home," he said softly. "Rest. You and Scott had a lucky escape."

"Yeah, don't I know it," Stiles sighed, glancing at Olive. "Well, I'll…I'll be back in the morning. We could…take shifts watching her, if you're worried about the Argents." Derek nodded. Reaching out to gently touch Olive's hand, Stiles cleared his throat and made his way to the hall, pinching his eyes. As Stiles left, Derek could hear him ask Mrs McCall what he could do, what Olive would need, and he sat and watched Olive, gently holding her hand.

He'd known her since she was born; he could remember her being no bigger than a scrawny little baby-bird, green-eyed with already-pretty fingers and that lovely nose. He could remember her visiting every Thanksgiving, pink-cheeked as they played the Hale-version of Capture-the-Flag; and every summer, out on the lake, camping in the woods over the weekend, taking turns scaring the hell out of each other. He could remember her being part of those memories, memories that felt incredibly like a rusty knife to the heart whenever he thought about them… They were now the only two left, from those blissful, laughter-drenched summers and rich, frenzied Thanksgiving dinners. The only two left from two sprawling families, tragedy after tragedy turning them into the two loneliest of people.

His isolation wasn't something Derek would ever wish on anyone; part of it was his choice, but another part of it was hugely down to what had happened to his family. And he would never wish his life on another; let alone a sixteen-year-old girl who would wake up in a hospital, alone and scared.

Derek had known Dianne, Olive's mother; she would have been incredibly proud of the woman Olive was becoming, because she was also incredibly like Dianne, as much as she reflected Moses' influence on her upbringing…as much as Olive showed inexplicable similarities to the father she had never known, Gabriel…Derek's friend, long before Olive had been born. Derek smiled to himself, watching Olive sleep. Gabriel would have thought his little girl absolutely fantastic. Her sense of humour, her love of fun; her dedication to her friends. And her selflessness. Her bravery; that came down to being forced to grow up early. But her kindness, her patience, they were also very much Gabriel's.

Gabriel would have loved his baby daughter. Derek reached out and gently brushed a naturally curly lock of hair from Olive's face. She was every part her father in looks. He'd heard people who'd known Gabriel talk about Olive, as if she was a female reincarnation of the father who'd never seen her born.

Because of what had happened in her life, Olive was very much her own person, she had to be, she couldn't rely on others; but she was also very much her father, undoubtedly raised by Dianne, but showed her stepfather's quiet, determined strength and mellow, compassionate personality. One of several Alphas Derek had met over the course of his life, Moses stuck out; he'd been incredibly wise, selfless and had had the same sense of humour as Olive. He'd also been the kind of Alpha that Laura had wanted to be. Laura would expect Derek to emulate Moses as much as their own, excellent father, but they had led different lives…they'd never found their sisters butchered, used to lure him back to Beacon Hills… They'd never been the reason their entire family had been locked in a basement and burned alive. Glancing at Olive again, Derek licked his lips and returned to gently holding her hand.

Olive had been there, unable to help as her family had been burned alive in a place they had been entitled to feel safe.

Derek had unknowingly helped Hunters track down and murder his entire family.

Olive's guilt was that she had been unable to get her family out of that blaze; Derek's was that he had caused it.

They were the last two of two sprawling, very happy families, neither of which had ever broken the unspoken laws Hunters executed werewolves for violating.

The woman who had decimated both their families was here in Beacon Hills once more.

If she showed up in the hospital where Olive was, Derek would rip her throat out.

Before Olive had the opportunity to.

A.N.: Who wouldn't love to smack Allison in the mouth after Night School?!