Stiles keeps a promise he never voiced and pulls up to Lydia's house on his way to Peter's apartment.

Natalie Martin opens the door. Stiles smiles - strained - as she frowns at him, suspicious - before Lydia appears from elsewhere in the house and pushes past her mother.

"We're going to visit Danny," Lydia says. Mrs. Martin - is it still Mrs, or have they divorced already? Lydia's told him they're planning on it, but that was a few weeks ago - relaxes, slightly, and nods.

"I'll be back for dinner," Lydia says and leads the way to Stiles' jeep. Stiles offers her mother a small, half-hearted wave goodbye before he hurries over to the vehicle and hops into the driver's seat. Once they're out of her mother's sight, Lydia starts talking and Stiles pushes the car to just under the speed limit.

"We will visit Danny first," Lydia says, and Stiles nods. "It's been over a week," Stiles agrees, "He should have something by now."

Lydia nods, and that's that part of this conversation over with. She turns, looks at Stiles, and as they pull up to the lights, Stiles glances at her, uneasy. "What?" He asks, and she tilts her head, assessing.

"You should gel your hair," She says, and Stiles relaxes immediately. "Uh," He starts, "Well, I was going to, but, you know," He shrugged. "I couldn't be bothered?" He offered.

Lydia pursed her lips. "As payment for the TV you never gave me," She says, and there's a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Stiles winces, "I'll get you some. Please refrain from leaving the house without touching it if you plan on seeing me."

Stiles shrugs, and that's that.

"Anyway," Lydia says, "Peter."

Stiles winces, and sobers nods solemnly. "I will slap him when we see him," Lydia says, frankly - so matter of fact it was as if she'd been talking about the weather. "But, however," She purses her lips again, unhappy but allowing, "You may do most of the talking for this visit."

"Right," Stiles says, "Because you want to see how he acts?" Stiles asks.

Lydia smiles, small, sharp, but genuine. "Exactly," she says.

Stiles nods. That's that.

It's the day after Derek ordered Isaac to find Isaac and Boyd - it's almost dawn, so he gets up, dressed, and leaves the loft; acts as ordered.

It's not - he's not exactly happy with the arrangement; he thinks he would be if he liked his Alpha. He doesn't, not really, not if he's honest with himself.

Regardless - Isaac runs to Scott's place and knocks on the door. Scott opens it; Melissa's at work, early shift, Isaac stays at Scott's enough to know this - and smiles at him.

"Isaac," He greets, stands aside and lets him in. Isaac inclines his head but doesn't follow through with that. Scott frowns and Isaac winces, minutely, but Scott's a werewolf and he can see that - damn it - so Scott softens, the way he does, in that way he does it, and Isaac relaxes.

"Derek wanted to know if you've seen Boyd or Erica," Isaac says, "I wanted to tell you I'm going to be gone for a while."

Scott nods, slow, processing. "Are they missing?"

"In a way," Isaac says. "They ran, but uh - Derek scented them on Stiles, so, well," Isaac shrugged. "He's wondering why they hadn't left by that point, and how Stiles had been around them for long enough that he smelled vaguely of them."

Scott nods - less slow. Understanding. "Alright," Scott says, "Well - if you're leaving, at least have breakfast," Scott asks of him.

Isaac can't really say no to food, so he goes into Scott's home and into his kitchen. Scott gestures for him to get himself some food and disappears upstairs, so Isaac sets about making himself something to eat. He hesitates but gets Scott the cereal he knows he likes, too.

"You didn't have to do that," Scott says, "But thanks," And Scott smiles at him when he takes the cereal, and Isaac shrugs and eats his omelet.

"Do you want me to help find them?" Scott asks. "No," Isaac says, "No, it's fine. They can't have gotten far, it's only been -" Well, about a month, but still. "They can't have gotten far," Isaac repeats, lamely.

"Alright," Scott says, easily. Isaac nods, finishes his food. "Here," Scott says, gets up and grabs a water bottle from the fridge. "For the journey," He says, and Isaac takes it. It appears Scott had gone upstairs for something more than just getting dressed - he tosses Isaac the bag he'd brought down, and Isaac catches it.

Oh, right. Isaac had left the bag he uses for school (and everything else... it's his only bag) when he'd stayed here last.

"Thanks," Isaac says, because he knows it's got some food - nothing exactly healthy, but stuff that lasts - some clothes and some drinks in it, and he'll need that.

"No problem," Scott says, and to him, it really isn't. Isaac's never really known anyone like Scott - someone who'll do something good, something nice, just because that's the right thing to do.

Isaac shrugs, nods to Scott, then leaves the house. "Bye," He says, belatedly, after he shuts the door behind himself. Scott can hear that, so it's no issue, and Isaac takes off, attempts to find Boyd's or Erica's scent, or even both of them.

The Tribunal is stubborn. It's almost mid-July, Allison will need to be back in beacon for August, but they still haven't budged on anything.

Well. They've budged slightly on Kate. She'll get a posthumous stripping of her hunter's license and all the people who worked with her will be suspended for five weeks, with mandatory psychological evaluations and mandatory training in how to actually act as a hunter, but that's - well, that's the only semi-decent thing. They still want the remaining Hales - Peter and Derek - dead, they still want someone else as Matriarch, they still want all that shit.

Allison can't let that happen. Neither can her dad, really. He'd be stripped of his hunting license the minute someone else got put in power, they both know it.

"We've got nothing else we can tell them," Allison says.

"We've got one thing," He says. "There aren't any remaining main-bloodline Argents aside from you, Allison," He sighs. "And they're - very set on having that." Her dad pauses, sighs. "And there's something else."

"What?" Allison asks. "That zipped file," He says, "On the USB stick your aunt gave you?"

Allison nods. She'd told him about it once all this blew over - he'd had a look through, and deemed it safe enough for her to keep a hold of. "What about it?" Allison asks.

"The password," He says, "Gévaudan."

Allison nods, frowning. "I read about that," She said. "The first Argent - the Maid of Gévaudan."

"That was in the diaries, right?" He asks, and she nods. The USB didn't just contain the bestiary - there was an entire rundown of the history of the Argents and a lot of diaries by various family members stored on it. Allison figured it was in case the physical copies were destroyed, there would be a seriously ridiculous amount of digital copies that could be made physical to replace them.

"She married an Argent, and started the whole hunting business we're known for," Allison says. "Obviously, given the time period, some stuff's been lost. There's a statue of her in Auvers," Allison adds.

"Have a look," Her dad asks of her - instructs her, really, but there you go. "And tell me if something looks... familiar."

Allison frowns at her dad, but nods and moves over to her laptop. She plugs in the USB, powers it up and opens the zip file. She puts in the password, French letter é and all, and reads the titles of each of the files within.

"Pictures," She says.

"Not quite," Chris inclines his head, looks at the files over her shoulder. "Open one."

Allison does, then frowns at the drawings and paintings held within.

"The Beast," She reads. It looks a lot different from what the internet has told her. "Sebastien... Valet."

"Marie-Jeanne's brother," Chris says, heavily.

"Oh." Allison blinks. That tidbit wasn't mentioned in the overview. Glancing quickly at the other files, the subfolders, Allison could see that there were a few more diaries hidden within this encrypted zip file than she'd thought at first glance. "Right," Allison pauses. She's not really sure what to say about that.

"Have a look at the others," Her dad says, and he leaves her to it.

Allison pauses and opens the folder labeled Marie-Jeanne Argent (Nee Valet)

Allison opens the only file held within.

The resemblance is uncanny, really. She sucks in a short, sharp, surprised breath, and stares.

'Marie-Jeanne', by an artist named 'Louis'; this appears to be his only known painting - perhaps an old friend?

Allison - a recent photograph, from an Argent family photoshoot*. Resemblance uncanny - unnatural. doppelgänger?

*staged to get this photo, for easier comparison.

Derek sees Scott approach the Loft from the window. It's two days after he sent Isaac away, the day after he scoured the whole town for some sign that his betas were still here.

There wasn't one. Derek couldn't worry, because they'd chosen to leave, they'd decided to abandon the pack, but they're teenagers. They aren't cut out for running around America trying to find somewhere, trying to find another pack that will accept them. Laura hadn't managed to start her own pack or find any territory whatsoever. How were two alpha-less betas supposed to fare any better?

Derek sighed, and leaned forward, hands clasped together. He waited, and Scott came into the loft not a minute later.

"Isaac said Boyd and Erica ran," Scott says. "Do you need any help finding them?" He asks.

Because he's Scott. Derek grimaces, then sighs, shakes his head. "No," he says, flatly. "No. Just - go home, Scott."

Scott frowns at him. Derek looks away and closes his eyes, briefly, before sighing again.

"Alright," Scott says.

Derek... doesn't really know what to do with Scott. He's an omega with no signs of going feral, he's surprisingly good at going through with a plan without anyone being aware of it, and he's just -

Strange. Derek has never really known anyone much like Scott... aside from Talia. Scott's a lot like her, like Derek's dead mother, and that's really rather weird. So Derek doesn't think about it much.

Being the way she was got her killed, in the end. Derek tried his best with Scott, he did, but the kid doesn't know what he's doing. Derek doesn't know what he's doing, either, but he's trying, at least, at least he's trying a little.

Not really. Derek's not tried much at all since Gerard died. Or whatever happened to the old man.

"So..." Scott walks over, stands at a distance but still, he moves nearer. "Isaac said you smelled the two of them on Stiles, right?" Scott asked. Rhetorical, Derek thinks - or hopes, really. He doesn't answer, regardless. "Right," Scott mutters, nods, and continues - "Where do you think he might have come across them for long enough that, y'know..." Scott shrugged. "You could smell them on him?"

"A few hours," Derek says, tone still flat. "Why?"

"I could smell someone else," Scott said. He looked a little angry, which was something of a surprise because Derek's never really seen him truly angry. "I just - wanted confirmation."

"What are you talking about?" Derek asks.

"Stiles was gone for a few hours," Scott said. "He disappeared after the game. When I saw him next, I could smell something familiar, something not good, but everything went down so quickly." Scott sighed, and now he just looked disappointed.

In who, Derek doesn't know. Himself, maybe.

"Stiles said he got attacked by some guys on the other team," Scott says. "I think he lied."

"You think he lied?" Derek asks.

Scott smiles, wry. "Stiles is a lot better at it than people give him credit for," Scott says. "He made sure to tell me during the whole mess, so his heartbeat was raised regardless. And he's got ADHD and Anxiety, and -" Scott shrugged, helpless. "His heartbeat isn't exactly a good lie detection thing on a normal day," Scott finished.

"Why are you telling me this?" Derek asks. "Because," Scott answers, "You've been a werewolf a lot longer than I have. I wanted to know if there were better methods than listening to someone's heartbeat to tell if they're lying to you."

"Why?" Derek asks.

"Because I want to help," Scott says, and it always comes to that, doesn't it? Scott's a good person at heart, so far as Derek can tell. But he's a teenager, too, and they don't always think things through.

Derek definitely didn't.

"I don't know of any," Derek says. "But you can always try and read a person's mood from their chemo signals. Generally, if people are lying, they smell guilty, or anxious."

Scott laughs, lightly, humorless, and Derek pauses because that's not the kind of laugh he'd've ever thought Scott would produce.

"That's not gonna help," Scott says. "He smells like that all the time."

Derek blinks, once, at Scott, who shrugs. "It's the first thing I recognized," Scott says. "Because when someone I cared about lied to me, they smelled like Stiles."

Well, that's just sad. Derek sighs and rubs at his forehead. "In what way?" Derek asks. "Bitter," Scott says. "I dunno. Guilt smells bitter. Anxiety smells like - lemons, I guess. Sour."

Derek nods. "Alright," He says. "I can't really help you any, then."

Scott nods. He looks like that was what he expected. That actually hurts, a little, and since when did Derek care what random teenagers thought him capable of?

"You might as well, go, Scott," Derek says. He can hear Peter's car pull up, and he doesn't want them in the same room. Not yet.

Scott nods, and he leaves. Peter comes up a few minutes later, and Derek can see Scott bike his way down the road.

"He smelt upset," Peter comments, as he enters. "What did you say to the boy, Derek?"

Peter tenses when he smells Lydia's distinctive perfume alongside Stiles' general scent and forces himself to relax before he opens the door. This is the girl he used to bring himself back to life - her most likely reaction isn't going to be pleasant, for him, Peter knows.

Peter opens the door, to the two teens standing outside it. Stiles pushes past, into the apartment proper, and Lydia stares Peter down.

Peter does the same in return, but he's the first to give because Peter needs to at least seem contrite. He is, really, minutely. Perhaps that helps, perhaps it doesn't. The girl will never know, regardless.

"You." She says.

"Me," Peter sighs.

Lydia purses her lips. Peter stands to one side, and she wanders into his place. "This almost doesn't look like a serial killer lives here," She says, easily. "Surprising."

Lydia turns to him and glowers. "I'm a banshee," She says, and Peter had known she was something, how could she not be - and, really, banshee makes the most sense. Considering that she'd been able to bring him back to life in one piece (the piece he'd been before he died, at least, if not the whole he'd been before the fire) the girl had to have some form of connection to death.

"Indeed," Peter says. "And you wish me to tell you about them?"

"All the bestiary says is how to kill and what the creature seeks," Lydia says. "I need more than that. What we can do. What I can do. And since you're the reason for all this mess, you might as well try and help me fix it."

"The price for coming back to life," Peter says, "Is something I am willing to pay. What do you require?"

"Books," Lydia says. "Resources."

"Then check the shelves," Peter gestures, indicating the bookshelves all around the room. "There will be something, undoubtedly."

Lydia nods, short, and moves over to the nearest one. She scours the spines, flips through a few, and settles into finding something.

"Peter," Stiles says, and he's looking through that book Peter had told him not to look through again. That was the whole point of telling him not to do that, of course, so really, Stiles was just doing what Peter had wanted in the first place.

Good.

"Yes?" Peter asks, amused.

"So, a spark," Stiles says, "I guess that's what I have."

"Am," Peter corrects. "That is what you are, yes."

Stiles nods, slowly, turns a page. "Alright then," And the boy falls silent.

Peter smirks, mentally, and moves into his kitchen, leaves them to it. This is all more than he'd expected, if truthful - but it most definitely works in his favor. His plans will be much easier if he can keep an eye on the weaker links.

And besides - the Alpha pack are less likely to look for two humans here than at their homes, and Peter rather needs them not dead.

It's the end of July. August is near, and so is their return to High School - as juniors, now, but still, it's not exactly something Stiles is looking forward to. Summer's almost over - Stiles knows some things he didn't know before, of course, but he doesn't know much more. These few months seemed like more at the beginning of summer, but now he's out of time.

He's got an email from Lydia sending him some things she'd found about banshees and sparks, and he sends her some things he'd found about magic non-sparks and non-druids can do, and she returns with thanks and a message that Allison's back, and that Scott's looking for him.

Stiles has been, to put it lightly, avoiding ever so slightly. He has no plans to talk about what Scott wants to talk about, at all, and also Allison sent Stiles an email which he promptly permanently deleted, that Scott really does not need to know about.

Stiles,

Gerard's dead. Scott doesn't know. I need to be the one to tell him because he needs to know, but... I need to be the one to tell him.

please, just keep this secret for now,

Allison.

(I figured you needed to know. After what he did.)

Stiles rubbed at the back of his head and sighed. Maybe Scott would be pacified with a call, but Stiles is going to need to talk to him during school and quite frankly, he's his best friend. Stiles doesn't really want to not be talking to him.

So, when Stiles hears Scott open his window, Stiles doesn't act like he needs to be somewhere else.

"Hey, dude," Stiles says, and Scott smiles, slightly, but he's got that serious-face, and Stiles sighs.

"Not a friendly chat and Xbox session today, then?" Stiles asks, and Scott shrugs then sits on Stiles' bed. "Sorry, dude," Scott says. "But..."

"No, I get it," Stiles said. "What's up, man?"

Scott shrugs. "So, uh." He starts. "You lied to me."

"I've lied to a lot of people about a lot of things," Stiles says, dryly, doesn't deny it. "Maybe be a bit more specific?"

Scott looks at him, flatly. "You weren't attacked by any of the people from the other team, Stiles. I'm a werewolf, I can smell these things," He says, lightly, and Stiles shrugs. "Sue me," Stiles says, then adds, tone light, humored, "Didn't want to explain that I got beat up by a geriatric."

Scott nods, like that was what he'd expected, and Stiles sighs, spins on his desk chair. "Seriously, dude, that's old news," Stiles says, "We don't need to linger, okay?"

"Gerard hurt you," Scott says, and Stiles grimaces, flails a hand in annoyance. "Mildly," Stiles says. "He hurt Boyd and Erica more."

"Maybe," Scott says. "I don't know, but Stiles, they can heal. Your face..." He said, shrugging, helpless, and Stiles rolls his eyes, all bravado. "Yeah, my face," He agrees, "Not the best on a good day, but damn." He sighs, dramatic. "Bruises really don't help."

Scott looks at him, flatly, but Stiles is spinning on his chair so he doesn't really see it properly, which is good, because it would - as it tends to do - make him feel worse than he already does about everything.

"Look, Scotty," Stiles says, "There's no need to worry, alright? I'm fine, dude, and I've been fine the whole summer. Good, even, which is nice."

Scott looks at him, assessing, but Stiles spins his chair deliberately too fast for Scott to get a good look at his face.

But he's a werewolf, and Scott doesn't need a good look at his face any longer. Which is why Stiles is debating buying the most god-awful cologne in history just to dissuade anyone from trying the whole scenting thing.

Except that would dissuade anyone from coming near him at all, so maybe not.

Scott shrugs, again, half-hearted. "Alright," He says. "If you say so. But - if you need to, dude, you know I'm here to talk to."

"I know," Stiles lets himself say, "Dude, duh. I am too, for you. But like, nothing's the matter right now, and that's all water under the bridge, so like, we're good, and that's that." Stiles shrugged.

"Now you're talking in metaphors," Scott grins, and Stiles snorts. "Let's get out of cliche-land while we have the chance and play some Halo, please," Stiles says, stands, and Scott nods, smiling.

Stiles returns the smile, nods, and they go downstairs. Whoo. Crisis averted. Tomorrow, Stiles is picking up his prescribed medication, tomorrow, Stiles is going to make sure he's done all that he needs to have done, and tomorrow, he's going to worry about going back to high school as a junior and what supernatural shit might decide to go down to make their lives miserable, again, but for now - Stiles can relax, and that's nice. It's a nice thing.

It's not going to last, he knows, but nice things never do.

Notes:

Images on the AO3 version. We're all caught up on that front, now, too, sorry about the wait; I've been writing more on there as of late. Anyway, the fic is now on Hiatus until further notice. I've got a lot of other projects I'm writing atm, and tbh they're ones I have more inspiration for right now. That doesn't mean I'm never going to continue this, obviously not, but as it stands - just leave this in your followed stories, so you know when it's back in action again :).