A/N - So that took a while. Sorry. I got some Writer's Block: could not figure out how I wanted that final scene to go. I was going to work on it this past weekend while I was house-sitting, and my plan was to spent all day Saturday writing, but then my depression was like nope you're going to lie in bed and watch Netflix all day so... I guess this chapter turned out alright.

Chapter Fourteen

Senior Party

"We made some new friends," Dean says at the same time as Sam looks at Lydia and says, "A banshee?"

Lydia flicks a piece of hair over her shoulder with a perfectly painted finger. "Did we forget to mention that in all the other confusion? I'm a banshee, as in, I see dead people, though it's more like I sense dead people. That's how I found the first body."

"Okay, banshee, got it," Sam says. "Is there anything else we need to know?"

Allison raises her hand. "Just that my dad is a hunter and has tried to kill most everyone in this room at least once."

"Well, we know that feeling, so we're all in the same boat now." Sam laughs.

"I'm sorry, who exactly is this?" Derek asks, still staring at Cas with a mixture of suspicion and, well, more suspicion. "He doesn't smell like anything, and he makes my spine tingle."

Cas makes Dean's spine tingle, too, though probably for a different reason. "This is Cas," he says as if that explains everything.

"Castiel. Angel of the Lord," Cas says.

"As in God?" Derek asks, an eyebrow raised. "Yeah, right."

Cas does that thing that Dean loves. He dims all the lights so that it's really noticeable when he starts to glow, the massive shadows of his wings splashed across the wall as his eyes light up. Dean tries to pretend that it doesn't turn him on as the lights go back to normal.

"Holy fuck!" Stiles yelps. His eyes are wide, and he and the other Pack members are all visibly leaning away from Cas.

"Please never do that again," Scott says.

Cas locks eyes with Derek who still hasn't stopped staring, and they just kind of freeze like that, neither one moving a muscle. The Pack stops, too, so they can watch what's going on, and the whole room is still like a picture for ten minutes. Sam finally leans over and whispers in Dean's ear, "What's going on?"

Dean shrugs.

Stiles finally takes control and snaps his fingers in front of Derek's face. Derek jumps and pops back into himself, blinking. "What the hell, man?" Stiles demands.

Derek shrugs. "I wanted to see who could go without blinking the longest."

"Oh my god, I hate you."

They disperse after that. Allison isn't about to head back to her house, so she and Isaac go to spend the night at Scott's place, and Stiles and Lydia head out, too, Derek nodding when Dean asks him if Cas can stay here. Then he slides out of the living room along with Erica and Boyd, giving Cas one last look. Dean leads Cas upstairs to the room he shares with Sam, and by the time they reach the door, Sam has disappeared without a sound.

"So, uh, this is our room." Dean suddenly wishes he had bothered to pick up. There are clothes and books and more than a few weapons strewn everywhere.

"I can see that," Cas says. Dean can't tell if he's being sarcastic or serious.

Dean's phone dings with a text from Sam. I'm not sharing my bed, and I'm not sleeping on the floor.

Sleep on the couch, Dean replies, the idea of sleeping in the same bed as Cas making him turn red.

I'm too tall.

Dean sends him the middle finger emoji.

He turns back to Cas who is just standing in the center of the room, watching him with unblinking eyes. "You can share this bed with me, if you want."

"I don't sleep," Cas reminds him.

"Oh, right, duh, sorry." He tries to play it off, but it still feels a little like a rejection.

"Dean, I have to ask," Cas forgets about that little thing called personal space and moves in until he's standing right beside Dean, so close Dean can feel the heat radiating off him. "Why are you staying in the same house as a bunch of werewolves? Normally, you're a shoot first person."

Dean shrugs. "We didn't know. And they're really cool and don't eat hearts. Did you know there are, like, different breeds of werewolves?"

"You trust them?"

"I do," Dean says, surprising himself.

"And you don't trust anyone." Cas pauses for so long that Dean thinks he's done talking. "So if you trust them, that's good enough for me."

"Thanks, Cas. I'm glad you're here."

"I always come when you call, Dean. Though it took me a very long time to get here, and the energy in this town is very disconcerting. Everything just feels off."

Dean's face literally bursts into flames.

He gets ready for bed – Sam's still not back – and climbs under the covers, wiggling around until he gets comfortable. He reaches for the switch on the lamp then notices that Cas is still standing in the middle of the floor, staring down at him. "Are you just going to stand there all night?"

"Go to sleep. I'll watch over you." Cas nods at him, face just as serious as ever.

Dean rolls his eyes and scoffs. "Oh my God, just take your trench coat off and get in here, you noob."

Cas slides his arms out of the tan coat, folds it up, and sets it on a chair, then tries to lie down on top of the covers. "No," Dean says and pushes Cas off again so he can pull the comforter back. He pats the mattress. Cas gets into bed and lets Dean drag the blanket back up. Then he just kind of lies there, stiff as a board, staring up at the ceiling.

"You're so fucking lame," Dean sighs, but he scooches in close to Cas's side anyways.

"Dean, get over here now. It's an emergency." Stiles' voice is panicked and urgent when it comes through the speakers of Dean's phone, and Dean bolts upright in bed.

"Stiles? What's wrong?"

"I need you to get over to my house right now." Stiles hangs up.

Dean throws the covers off and leaps out of bed, yanking jeans and a shirt on. Sam is sprawled out, dead to the world, in the other bed. "Cas, get up, I need you to take me somewhere."

"I don't sleep," Cas says again.

"Just get up."

Looking completely unrumpled, Cas stands and finds his trench coat. He grabs Dean's shoulder just as Dean finishes putting on a plaid shirt, sticking his gun through his belt, and then they're standing in front of Stiles' house. Dean draws his weapon as he runs up the steps, bursting through the front door. "Stiles?" he yells.

"Upstairs. Hurry!"

He races to Stiles' room and slams the door open, gun up and ready to shoot. But there's no threat. There's just Stiles standing in the midst of about a thousand piles of clothes, pulling at his hair as he paces in between them, avoiding the red strings that run across the walls and over to the desk, connecting photos and newspaper articles together. "What's going on?" Dean demands. "Is there something I need to shoot? A…clothes monster?"

"Derek asked me out to lunch, and I don't have anything to wear! Nothing!" Stiles kicks a pile of clothes over.

Dean slowly lowers his gun. "So there's no monster?"

"Monster? Monster? Of course there's a monster! It's called my lack of clothing!" Stiles yells.

Cas appears in the doorway. He doesn't say anything, but Dean can feel his presence. He can always feel Cas's presence.

"Dude, calm down." Dean laughs as Stiles digs through another pile, throwing everything in different directions, and a shirt hits Cas in the face. "This is nothing to worry about."

Stiles seizes the lapels of Dean's shirt and tries to shake him, but Dean is a little too muscle-bound for it to work. "Nothing to worry about? Nothing to worry about? Don't tell me it's nothing to worry about when you probably just rolled out of bed and somehow still manage to look that fucking good!"

"I don't understand the problem," Cas says to Dean. "I thought dates were happy human affairs?"

"Usually." Dean glances at Cas over his shoulder. "But first dates can be anxiety provoking." He moves into the mountain range of clothing and pokes through a few piles. "Here. Wear this." He hands Stiles a green V-neck, a black blazer, and a pair of skinny jeans. "Casual but still hot."

"You're a savior." Stiles strips his shirt off, and Dean sees the scar across his midsection. He's been through just as much as Dean or Sam.

Dean flops down onto the only patch of open space on the bed, tucking his hands behind his head. "So a date with Derek, huh? That's exciting."

He's never seen someone turn so red. "Yeah, uh, yes. He asked me out. Yesterday."

"About damn time."

The doorbell rings, and Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin. "Oh shit. Oh shit." He hurriedly throws the clothes on, hyperventilating. "Okay, okay, I need my phone and keys, and shit, did I brush my teeth, I don't remember, oh fuck." He starts pacing in circles. "I should get some gum or a breath mint, oh God, why did I agree to this, I'm going to mess everything up."

Dean jumps off the bed and catches Stiles' arms, jerking his frantic pacing to a stop so he can stare Stiles in the eyes. "Dude, calm down. It's going to be awesome, I promise. Now go answer the door before Derek starts to think you're standing him up." He gives Stiles a push towards the hallway.

"Right, yes." Stiles grins widely and wipes his hands off on his pants. "Thanks, Dean. I'll see you tonight."

He disappears down the stairs, and Dean hears him open the door, greet Derek in a higher pitched voice than usual, then leave the house, the Camaro purring as it drives away.

"We did good work here," Derek says to Cas, grinning.

"You helped a man pick out an outfit," Cas says.

"All in the name of gay love. Come on, let's go back to the Pack house."

Cas nods, head cocked to the side as he looks at Dean. The flat yet potent stare makes a shiver go down Dean's spine. Cas's hand drops onto his shoulder. Then the world blinks black. When it comes back, they're standing in the middle of a busy, bustling street, the cars driving towards them honking in annoyance. Dean grabs Cas's arm and drags him onto the sidewalk where people dressed in old fashioned suits and dresses flow around them. Dean stares.

"Cas, where the hell are we?"

Stiles sits in the Camaro with his feet planted on the floor and his eyes latched on his hands. Derek focuses on driving, occasionally glancing over at him, but Stiles has forgotten how to interact like a normal human being.

"So I thought we could to go Reilly's Pizza?" Derek says finally.

Stiles jumps. "What? Uh, yeah. Reilly's sounds good. I'm always down for pizza."

"Alright then." Derek smiles, and that cracks the case of tension that's been surrounding Stiles since he woke up that morning. He grins back and pops his shoes up onto the dash. Derek rolls his eyes. "You're the worst."

They arrive at Reilly's Pizza. The restaurant is a small, locally owned joint, the outside of which just looks like a regular old house but for the wooden sign that reads Reilly's – light blue paneling and white window frames, even a small, blue-hatted gnome in the lawn. Derek parks on the street, and they both step out of the car. Stiles stares at Derek, just a little bit flabbergasted. The sun catches on Derek's face in just the right way to throw his cheekbones into sharp relief beneath his black stubble, his hair sticking up in the front. He's wearing his favorite black jacket – the one he was wearing when he and Stiles met – dark jeans, and a dark shirt.

Derek notices Stiles staring and quirks an eyebrow up. "See something you like?"

Mortified, Stiles trips over his own foot. He catches his balance, face on fire. A slow clapping sounds fills the air, and Stiles looks up to find Derek grinning. "Shoot me now," he groans.

"Come on, let's go inside before you break something."

Derek slings an arm around Stiles' shoulders and leads him towards the restaurant door. Stiles freezes at the sudden contact, but he likes the way the weight of Derek's arm feels so he doesn't make any move to dislodge it. They enter the quiet restaurant, stepping onto the red and white tiled floor. A row of matching red booths stretches out on one wall, and tables dot the center of the room. A waitress all in black stands behind a small reception desk, and she smiles at them.

"Table for two?" Derek requests.

"Sure, follow me." She leads them to a booth near the back of the restaurant, setting two menus down. "My name is Jane. I'll be taking care of you today. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Coke, please," Stiles says.

"Just water, thanks," Derek adds.

Stiles slides the little box of sugar packets towards him and starts sorting them; they're incredibly jumbled. He focuses on this so he doesn't have to look at Derek, though he can feel Derek's intense gaze boring into him, completely calm. "Planning on having coffee?" Derek asks.

Stiles jumps. "What? Oh, no. These packets are all messed up. They needed to be sorted." He pushes the container away from him. "Sorry. I guess I'm just nervous. And you're just sitting there like the coolest cucumber ever. How are you so calm?"

"Calm?" Derek laughs. "I'm a giant ball of nerves right now."

"Well, you don't look it."

Jane returns with their drinks and sets the glasses down in front of them. "Are you ready to order?" she asks.

Stiles realizes he hasn't even looked at the menu yet. "Can we get a medium Chicago-style pizza with sausage and red peppers?" Derek says, and Jane nods as she writes the order down.

"You know my favorite pizza," Stiles says to Derek.

"Of course I do." Stiles turns very red. "And you wanted to know how I look so calm? Years of practice."

"Well, it's good to know I won't be mastering that skill any time soon," Stiles says wryly.

Derek laughs, his eyes twinkling. "Don't worry. You've got enough other skills to make up for it."

Stiles didn't think it was possible to turn such a violent shade of red. "So why now? Why'd you decide to," he hesitates, "ask me out now what with all the crazy stuff that's been going on?"

"In truth, I should've asked you out ages ago."

Stiles chokes on a sip of Coke. "What?"

"I mean, I kind of hated you when we first met." Derek winks at Stiles over his water glass. "You did get me arrested. And stabbed. More than once."

"Yeah, sorry about that." Stiles rubs at the back of his head.

"But I guess something changed, though I can't put my finger on what, exactly. But you still annoy the hell out of me sometimes."

"Yeah, well, you annoy me, too, Mr. I'm Too Cool for All This."

Derek leans forward so he can rest his chin on his fist and wink at Stiles, eyes smoldering. "I am too cool for all this."

"I will punch you. And just so you know, if you had asked me out sooner, I would've said yes." Stiles thinks he's going to melt into a pool of embarrassment as he says this, and he looks away from Derek.

"Damn, I should've asked sooner."

Their pizza arrives, piping hot and delicious smelling. Stiles' stomach growls, and he eagerly dishes himself up a slice. "I'm so excited for this." He lifts it to his mouth before it has a chance to cool and, of course, burns his tongue and chokes. "Hot, hot, hot." He drops the slice back to the plate and chugs a painful swallow of Coke. "It's hot," he tells Derek.

"I can see that."

"But not as hot as you." Oh God, Dean is rubbing off on him.

He finally makes Derek choke and breaks that cool façade. Derek coughs, spluttering, and puts his water glass down. Proud of himself, Stiles tries the pizza again and finds it's cool enough to chew, and he digs in. It's delicious, as always.

After that, things smooth out, and it's just like they're hanging out on any other day. Stiles throws back his head and laughs, and Derek's small smile is enough to light up the room in Stiles' opinion. When they finish, Derek insists on paying – his death glare silences any protest before Stiles can open his mouth – and then they leave the restaurant. Stiles loops his arm through Derek's as they go.

When they get to the Camaro, Derek catches Stiles hand before he can head around to the passenger seat, pulling him close. Derek's mouth is on his before Stiles can ask what's going on. Stiles' knees go weak, and he's pretty sure his soul has left his body. Heat radiates off Derek, and his stubble tickles Stiles' cheeks as he slides his hands around Derek's waist and tugs him a little closer.

He hears a loud whistle and breaks away from Derek to see Scott slowly cruising by on his bike. "Yeah, get it, Stiles!" he yells.

"I will kill you!" Stiles shouts back and feels the low rumble of Derek's laughter under his hands.

Scott cackles in amusement and zips away.

"I will kill him," Stiles repeats, rolling his eyes and shaking his head at Derek, earning a laugh.

Stiles climbs into the passenger seat, glowing. He went on a date and made out with Derek Hale – the hottest guy in Beacon Hills, nay, the whole damn world – so if the empusa rips his throat out tonight, he can die happy.

Lydia shows up at the Pack house around noon and walks right in without knocking, her heels clicking on the porch. She's come to talk to Sam, and she finds him sitting in the living room with one of those leather bound, archaic books. He looks up at the sound of her heels, smiling at her. "Lydia, hey, what's up?"

"Is anyone else around?" she asks, feeling tense and hoping he won't notice.

He shakes his head. "Nope, it's just me."

"Cool, cool." She nods a couple of times and perches abruptly on an armchair. "I wanted to talk to you."

He closes the book and sets it on the coffee table, sitting up so he can give her his full attention. He nods for her to continue. "The people you've killed…" she begins, jumping right in, and immediately, she sees him tense, sees his face close up. She presses on. "Why did they have to die?"

He stares at her a long time, so long Lydia thinks he won't answer. "Because there wasn't any other way. Because they were going to kill me or my brother or someone else. Because they were monsters who cared only about themselves and didn't care how many people they had to kill to get what they wanted."

"Have you ever killed anyone innocent?"

Again, that stare, those eyes boring into her, calculating but also so, so sad. "Yes." The word is heavy. "Accidents happen. And sometimes, we were wrong about the monster's identity." Sam doesn't elaborate any further, and Lydia gets the feeling that if she presses, she'll receive nothing.

"How many?" she asks instead. He raises an eyebrow. "How many have you killed? Do you know the number?" It's important to her that he does.

"I do," Sam says.

"How many?" she asks again, unsure whether or not she wants to know the answer.

Sam shakes his head, looking away from her. "That number is mine to bear and no one else's." His eyes are shadowed as he says this, and the banshee inside Lydia wakes up, showing her the weight of all those deaths upon him. She doesn't ask for a more specific answer. Instead, she smiles gently.

"Thank you for telling me the truth," she says. "How about you and I get coffee sometime?"

"What?" Sam asks, startled by the sudden shift in conversation.

"You. Me. Coffee. Date." Lydia smiles, eyes smoldering, and casually tucks her hair behind her ear. In truth, she does so to cover up her sudden nerves.

"No," Sam says quietly.

A shock goes through Lydia, her fingers stilling in her hair as her heart tries to take a running leap off a cliff. No one's ever said no to her before, but that's not what really has her shocked; she actually, really likes Sam, and she thought he liked her back. "What?" she says.

"I can't go out with you. Please don't take this the wrong way, because I do really like you, and if I were anyone else, I'd go out with you in a heartbeat, but I can't. The people I care about always end up dead or worse. I won't risk that happening to you."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know that. So could they. I don't know how many times Dean has died to protect me. He sold his soul and went to Hell to bring me back to life. I can't keep letting that happen."

"So you're just going to shut everyone out?" Lydia asks. That seems like an incredibly stupid idea. She tells him so, and he laughs bitterly.

"It's better than watching everyone around me die."

She throws her hands into the air in exasperation. "I'm a banshee. I sense death. I think I'd be able to sense my death coming and avoid it."

"It's not a chance I'm willing to take." Sam shakes his head, running a hand through his long hair. That strange, off-task part of her mind wonders if he's ever tried to braid it and if he'll let her do so.

"But I am!" She lunges to her feet, a flash of anger coursing through her.

"No." Sam stands – slower than she had – and gathers his book. "I'm sorry, Lydia, but that's the last I'm going to say about this. My answer is no." He leaves her in the living room, and she hears him walk up the stairs. Lydia wonders if she should go after him, but she heard the tone of his voice. He's not going to budge on this. At least, not right away.

Minus Dean and Cas, Stiles and Derek are the last to arrive at the Pack house for their final planning session before that night's party. They come in inauspiciously – not holding hands, not even walking that closely together, but the instant Scott sees them, he starts singing at the top of his lungs. "Derek and Stiles sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

Stiles yelps and lunges at him, and they go over the back of the couch Scott's sitting on, hitting the floor in a tangle of limbs as Scott cackles.

"Were you guys on a date?" Erica demands with a gasp.

Cora laughs and takes up Scott's song. "First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage!" The rest of the Pack bursts into peals of laughter.

"You'll all live to regret this, mark my words," Derek promises, his eyes glowing red briefly, and all the werewolves gulp.

Stiles lets Scott up with one last punch, and Scott grins cheekily as he stands. He tousles Stiles' hair. "I'm happy for you."

Stiles goes very red.

The Pack collects itself – though only marginally because they're almost always on the verge of cracking up at some joke or the other – and sits itself down. Stiles steals Scott's spot by Allison, and Scott stands beside Derek in front of the TV, a position of equal power. "Sam, where are Dean and Cas?" he asks.

Sam shrugs. "I haven't seen them since last night. They were gone when I woke up."

"I saw them this morning," Stiles pipes up. "They were at my house.

"But the Impala is out front," Boyd says, looking towards the window where the corner of the Impala's roof can be seen.

"Cas must've teleported them, but why the hell aren't they back? Dean knew we were meeting at this time." Sam pulls his phone out and calls Dean's number. Scott hears it go to voicemail without ringing once. Sam curses and tries Cas's phone but the same thing happens. He looks up at Scott and Derek, shaking his head.

"Since you, Cora, and I can't get into the party as we aren't students, we'll go check Stiles' house out before we go to make the perimeter," Derek says, and Sam nods in thanks.

After that, they formulate the rest of the plan, Scott leading the discussion for the most part with occasional interjections by Derek. Then they get ready to move. Scott frowns when he sees Sam pull Derek, Cora, Allison, and Boyd to the side, sees him hand them all slim stakes, sees those stakes disappear up shirt sleeves. He grits his teeth, and Derek looks over at him, eyes hard and unapologetic. They're going to have to talk later, but Scott knows now is not the time.

They leave the Pack house, splitting up into their various cars, and Scott slings a leg over his bike, putting his helmet on. He leads the little caravan through town and into the woods. The senior party is at an old, abandoned silo about fifteen minutes outside of Beacon Hills. The road leaves the trees and crests a steep hill, revealing the field of golden wheat that stretches out across the valley and the rickety, rusted silo in the center. The tower – rust red with panels missing in places – rises up into the air, and Scott can already see colored lights spilling out of the empty spaces, and a whole fleet of cars is parked in the wheat.

He coasts down the hill and comes to a stop at the edge of the makeshift parking lot, Lydia's Prius, Allison's red car, and Stiles' battered Jeep pulling up beside him. The pounding sound of dance music replaces the rumble of engines when all the vehicles shut off. The Pack, minus the non-high school members (Stiles is pretty sure he'll be able to get in), heads towards the open silo door.

The boy manning the door – a kid in Scott's history class – looks like he's already had about four drinks. "Hey, dudes, wassssup?" he yells and socks Scott in the shoulder. "Head on in! It's a par-tay!"

The Pack files past him, and they split up into smaller groups. Scott heads off deeper into the party with Stiles and Allison. It seems like most of the senior class has already arrived and are grinding against each other, arms in the air, as the music pulses through the circular tower, a breeze sifting through the missing panels. A series of staircases and metal walkways line the walls, climbing towards the towering ceiling, and Scott pushes through the crowd to the base of one of those staircases.

He jogs up, Stiles and Allison right behind him, winding higher and higher until he reaches a narrow walkway that stretches over to the opposite wall. Scott and the others keep to a crouch as they cross the catwalk, though he isn't worried about anyone noticing them, and they stop in the middle, staying low. Allison passes him the moon sage, Stiles the Dyer's root, and Scott takes the powdered kemwood out of his own pocket. He also pulls out a glass bottle and some twine. The three ingredients get combined in the jar, and then he lights the whole thing on fire, tying the twine around the end and hanging it upside down from the catwalk so the smoke can drift down onto the partiers.

Scott, Allison, and Stiles head back down to the ground and prepare more of the jars, holding them so that the smoke wafts out as they circulate throughout the party. Through the crowd, Scott can see the rest of the Pack doing the same thing. He wishes he could just relax and dance, enjoy this final moment of his senior year, but of course, there's work to be done and a town to save, and he hopes Derek and the others are in position. If they do discover the empusa, they're going to need all the help they can get. Especially if she gets out of the silo.

Scott glances down at his jar and the little wisps of smoke curling out. It doesn't seem like very much at all. Maybe it's very potent or the empusa is incredibly sensitive.

A half hour later, Scott passes a tall, slender girl with black hair that cascades down her shoulders, her pale face curled into a smile. He's zoned out a little bit, which he knows is terrible, but the scent of all these bodies and the alcohol along with the lights and pulsing music is more than a little distracting. Allison catches his hand before he can move on to the next cluster of dancers, pulling him back. He looks at her with an eyebrow raised.

"Look," she says and nods towards the girl they just passed.

She sneezes violently, practically lifting off her feet, and as Scott watches, a red rash spreads up her neck, and she itches at it furiously. "Text the others," Scott says to Stiles, and Stiles opens up the Pack group chat on his phone, fingers flying as he takes a sneaky photo of the girl. She rubs her nose and begins to push through the crowd towards the door, and Scott, Allison, and Stiles trail after her as Stiles keeps the Pack updated. Scott can see the others moving in the same direction.

"Isaac says that's Elena, a girl in his math class," Stiles whispers to Scott and Allison.

Elena leaves the silo and walks off towards the wheat, still sneezing, and Scott pauses before the wide doors. Once the rest of the Pack has gathered, they drift outside, trying to look like they've just stepped out for a breath of fresh air. Scott hands his jar of smoke to Stiles then heads over to the girl. "Hey, you're Elena, right?" he says, smiling disarmingly.

She eyes him suspiciously. "Why?"

"I'm friends with Isaac." He gestures behind him. "I thought I'd introduce myself."

She opens her mouth to say something but sneezes instead, and then, narrow-eyed, she leans forward and sniffs him, sneezing again. Her eyes flash red, like a cat's rather than a wolf's. "What is that?" she hisses. Her features change, turning sharp and feline, eyes huge and glowing. Scott feels heat rise up in his eyes in response. "Fucking werewolves." Her hand slams into his chest, long claws ripping his skin, and he flies back, hearing the Pack scatter as he crashes into the wheat.

Scott scrambles upright just in time to see Boyd disappearing into the field on the opposite side of the path. Stiles pops up above him and seizes his arm, dragging him upright. "Come on, get up. Allison's gone back to the car to get her bow, and the others are giving chase."

The wounds on his chest have healed, and he and Stiles take off after Boyd and the others. The wheat whips around him, slashing at his arms and face, and he follows the trail of burnt cinnamon and metal and broken stalks. He doesn't howl, not with the party so close; he just runs after his Pack, and he catches up to them in a circle of flattened wheat. Elena has shifted into her full empusa form. Her brass leg glints in the sun, poking out from under her short dress, and her furry, goat leg snaps up to kick Erica in the chest. She flies off into the field. Sam, Derek, and Cora aren't here yet.

"Stop, we just want to talk!" Scott yells, rushing forward.

Elena hisses at him, cat eyes flashing, a forked tongue flickering out from beneath her teeth.

Derek crashes through the wheat, closely followed by Cora and Sam whose gun is drawn – Dean and Cas aren't with them – and Derek immediately leaps at Elena, already fully shifted, but Elena bats him away like he's made of air. Sam fires once, twice, but the bullets glance off Elena's skin. The Pack tries to circle around her, and Scott can see that there's no way they're going to get her to calm down enough to talk. But maybe they can contain her.

The Pack tightens the circle, and Elena hisses at them, spinning to try to keep them all in sight. Cora and Boyd both have those stakes in their hands, the ones Sam handed out, and when Elena sees them, her eyes flash. Then she lunges at Lydia, clawed fingers outstretched, and Sam fires again as Isaac tries to tackle her, but when his arms go around her waist, she doesn't even stumble, and they crash into Lydia. Isaac is forced to let go of Elena to try and protect Lydia from the flailing claws, and in the confusion of limbs, Elena is able to roll away and take off into the wheat.

Derek follows, arms pumping, and Scott drops to his knees beside Lydia at the same time as Sam. "Are you okay?"

Lydia pushes Isaac off. "I'm fine." She takes Sam's hand and lets him help her up.

"She's gone." Derek appears in the clearing again, grimacing. "Disappeared into the wheat."

Sam curses, and the mutual feeling sweeps through the Pack. "At least we know who the empusa is now," Allison says, trying to be optimistic. She showed up with her bow too late to fire any arrows.

The scent of burnt cinnamon and metal is everywhere but so is the dusty smell of wheat, and Scott can't figure out where the freshest trail goes. The Pack searches the field until the party ends, but they come up empty, and then, dejected and covered in a fine golden powder that makes Stiles sneeze, they head back to the parking lot.

Stiles leans up against his Jeep. "What did you find?" he asks Derek, Cora, and Sam.

"Not much." Sam sounds frustrated, and he shoves his gun through the back of his belt. "At lot of your stuff was knocked over like a big wind blew through, but other than that," he shakes his head, "no sign of them."

"And their phones still aren't working?" Allison asks.

Another shake of the head. "I'm sure they're fine," Sam says, trying to sound like he's convinced of that. "Dean and Cas can take care of themselves."

"What are those stakes?" Scott demands. He doesn't mean to jump on them like this, but the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. He's looking at Sam as he says this.

"They're olive branches. The only way to kill the empusa is with a stake made from an olive branch and tipped with her own blood."

"The Greek olive tree you had Crowley get" Scott says, remembering the scene at the hospital.

"Dr. Crowley?" Lydia asks.

"He's a demon. I'll explain later." Red flashes through Scott's irises as he turns his attention back to Sam. "I said we're not going to kill her!"

"They were just a precaution," Sam says in his overly calming voice.

"And why did you shoot at her?" Scott stalks right up to Sam, but he has to tip his head all the way back to look into the other man's face, so he doesn't feel terribly intimidating.

"She was attacking us," Sam answers bluntly. "And they didn't even hurt her."

Scott is very aware that the rest of the Pack is watching this exchange. He's also aware that Sam is not Pack, and he has to treat this situation differently than if he were arguing with one of his wolves. "That's not the point. The point is that we want to help her."

"You're idealistic," Sam says.

"Okay, we are not having this argument again," Derek cuts in, literally stepping between them. He pushes Scott back a step.

Scott stays quiet. He supposes the middle of a wheat field with a bunch of humans streaming by isn't the best place to have this argument, but he's not going to let it drop. He and Sam will have this conversation again. He sees in Sam's eyes that he, too, knows this isn't over.

A/N - I realized halfway through that final scene that California probably does not have wheat fields and abandoned silos - that seems like a mostly Midwest thing - but by then I was too far into the scene and too lazy to change it.

Thank you all for your lovely comments - I love hearing from you, and it means a lot to me that you enjoy this story so much!