Laura Hale had known from the age of five that she would be an alpha one day. She could feel it in her bones and in her teeth, knew it from the way she bristled and bucked against her mother's orders when she was mad. By all rights her oldest brother Seth should have been the one to take over rule of the pack when Talia Hale finally decided to step down, but Laura had always known in her heart that somehow, some way, it would be her.

She'd carried a lot of guilt for that after his death, for her imagined responsibility in what had happened, and she'd only just begun to deal with it these last three years by getting out of Beacon Hills and getting away, from her home and her pack and all the terrible memories there. Going to college in Southern California, where the political climate was radically different and werewolves were treated just like anyone else had done wonderful things for her confidence, made her stronger and more outspoken and happier, and while being called home, being initiated into the grooming process that would prepare her to be Hale Alpha was bringing up a lot of that old hurt, she felt more prepared than she had just a few short months ago.

A good thing too – she'd need every bit of courage she could summon to fill her mother's shoes one day, and to stand strong beside her until then.

Now this new thing being brought to them by the doe-eyed cutie she'd accused Derek of dating in an attempt to spark some jealousy felt like chance, smelled like change, and just like she'd known that one day she would look in the mirror and see red eyes staring back at her, she knew that this would be her legacy.

So she paid attention.

Asked questions.

Cut in and interrupted her mother without hesitation, because she knew what she was bringing to the table and what she risked by sitting back and keeping silent.

It should have felt wrong, would have, but she could sense her mother holding back, keeping quiet, letting her take a lot of the lead, and it bolstered the confidence in her, made her more sure in her words, in her arguments.

"With all due respect Sheriff," she said, the calm quiet of her tone hiding anxiety, fear, and hope in equal measures, "Are you sure you have the authority to pull this off?"

Across the table, John Stilinski huffed a weary chuckle and scrubbed his hand over his face, a little more aged and uncertain since his son had followed her uncle outside.

"Don't think I haven't thought it," he replied, and his heartbeat was strong and steady underneath.

She admired him.

He'd reacted much better to what his son had brought about than Talia would have, had it been her or Derek or even Nick.

"But to answer your question," he continued, "Yes, I do."

Frowning, he looked her up and down, flicked a glance in Talia's direction before steeling himself.

"When the wars started..." he began carefully, and Laura suppressed a flinch, but she suspected he saw it anyway. "A lot of it was the hunters. I won't deny that there were civilians in Beacon Hills who participated – I can't deny that, as much as I wish I could – but it was led by the Argents."

"We know that Sheriff," Talia said quietly. "We appreciated what you did to help. I appreciated what you did."

John tilted his head just a little, a melancholy look on his face before he nodded, and Laura bit her tongue because she recognized that maybe this part of it was between her mother and Stiles' dad, not Alpha Hale and Sheriff Stilinski. She'd been young during the wars, just a teenager, too young to really understand everything that was happening, but she remembered the kind-hearted deputy who had done his best to stop the bloodbath, who had been the very first one to go charging into the Hale house during that final battle, when fire bombs had set the valley ablaze.

The scent of painful memories tickled in her nose and the Sheriff shifted in his chair, cleared his throat.

"The point is, I don't think we'll have as much resistance as we're expecting," he said, his voice tight. "Beacon Hills is mostly good people, and the treaty..."

"The treaty was something put in place at our request," Talia acknowledged, "With our safety in mind. We're aware that we were the party to push it in the first place Sheriff, more to keep the humans out of the Preserve than the werewolves out of town."

"Understandable, given the circumstances," he murmured. "Don't mistake me Alpha Hale, Miss Hale – we'll certainly have some people who aren't too happy about this, but overall? I don't anticipate any significant problems, especially if we get the Argents on board."

Laura swallowed, felt her body go ice cold as instinct, all her natural reactions told her to run, and she found herself completely incapable of speech as she fought down a tremble.

Maybe she wasn't ready for this.

"That's something I'll have to discuss further with my pack Sheriff," her mother said, and the subtle bite in her tone made Laura shiver.

"I understand, and I assure you that ultimately it will be your decision, but I have to throw my hat in with Stiles on this one. Allison is a good kid, and what she and her father have accomplished in the last few years... it's impressive. She's even changed the family motto. We protect those who cannot protect themselves."

"I'll take your opinion under advisement."

Her mother's tone was cool enough to put ice to shame, but the Sheriff just dropped his eyes, bit down a smile.

"All in all, I should be thanking you," he said. "For what you're willing to do for the Lahey kid. It's more than I can do, and thank god for that, because the kid needs the help."

"Will he take it?" Laura asked, the conversation now safe enough for her to join in again.

"He hasn't so far. But the kid's not stupid. He knows the limitations of the system, knows what could happen if he reported the abuse. Chances are good that nothing would come of Iit and he'd be stuck facing whatever punishment that bastard of a father could come up with for him. Otherwise he'd be placed somewhere, and hell, that might end up being even worse. Why trade a known devil for an unknown one?"

"We are an unknown devil Sheriff," she said, and this time it was her turn to frost the air. "Worse. We're werewolves."

"There are worse things in this world to be," he argued, and shit, yeah, she did respect this man. "And anyway, Scott and Stiles aren't the only ones worried about the kid. He's not as careful about hiding his bruises as he thinks he is. There are people in town who will appreciate what you can do for him."

"If he takes the opportunity," Talia reiterated with a sigh before straightening her shoulders. "Laura will make our offer by the end of the week, if you can accommodate us."

"Of course," he nodded. "The sooner we get this ball rolling the better I should think. Gives me time to deal with Reinbold and the elections. And just between us, I've got bigger issues to deal with."

Laura smirked, opened her mouth to laugh because she did like Stiles, already felt the weak tendrils of a bond forming with him despite their limited interactions, but before she could make a sound the screen door clattered open and the scent of the kid and her Uncle Vin came sweeping down the hallway, followed by a chuffing, playful sort of argument and then they were both stepping back into the dining room and pulling out chairs side by side.

Suspicious of the quiet, Stiles narrowed his eyes, looked around the room and frowned in his father's direction.

"Why do I get the feeling that we're interrupting something?" he asked shrewdly.

"Because you are," the man replied, and Stiles scoffed in his throat, rolled his eyes.

"Great," the kid muttered under his breath, slouching and crossing his arms over his chest. "Not wanted any damn place anymore."

It was quiet, too quiet for the human Sheriff and his deputies, but Laura caught it and so did her mother, eyes flaring red as she scented the air, likely for blood or bruises.

"Where's Peter?" she demanded, turning to her brother.

"Yeah, he ran out of here like someone snapped a mousetrap on his tail," Laura snickered, remembering the way her uncle had cursed under his breath and bolted so fast he almost tipped his chair.

She wasn't sure what had happened but she felt like it was only fair Stiles heard what happened, since he didn't get to see it.

"Probably riding Luca," Calvin said with a shrug, and Laura wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Trying to get him to finish those damned briefs. Worthless little shit would rather spend his time taking swipes at the kid than doing his job."

"What!"

The exclamation by her mother, the Sheriff, and both his deputies was nearly drowned out by the snarl that ripped its way out of Laura's chest. She hadn't been prepared for the strange surge of possessiveness that burned in her chest, that made her want to kill something.

That little fucker, threatening her... her...

Her what?

Talia blinked, flicked a glance at her from the corner of her eye before sending a wave of calm rippling down their pack bond. It settled her, made her feel more in control, and thank god for that because the tips of her claws were biting into her palms and she could feel her eyes burning gold as she fought to stay in her seat.

"It wasn't a big deal," Stiles shrugged, his cheeks pink as he shrugged his shoulders, bounced his knee under the table. "I maybe mouthed off a little – I wasn't..."

"Stiles," the boy's father sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, but her uncle brushed him off.

"He didn't do anything wrong Sheriff," he assured. "Luca was out of line, and you can be sure the problem will be dealt with."

"Jesus," Stiles muttered, slouching in his seat, almost below the edge of the table. "You already broke the guy's wrist – that wasn't enough?"

Once more, Laura felt anger swell up in her throat, felt her beta shift threaten, because if Uncle Vinny had gone so far as to break Luca's wrist he must have deserved a whole lot worse.

"Stiles I apologize," her mother said, for what felt like the millionth time. Laura thought her mother might've apologized more since meeting this kid than she had in Laura's whole life. "It's unacceptable for you to face threat here, and not only because of the... circumstances. Rest assured I'll be dealing with the problem."

"Whatever," Stiles mumbled, and this time Laura could hear the weariness in his voice. "I don't really wanna deal with... all that right now if it's all the same to you. I mean if you guys are done here I'd rather just go home."

"I think we are," the Sheriff said, making the decision for them, and she didn't blame him.

Stiles looked pale and exhausted and he smelled a little like defeat, and it wasn't a good look on him at all. It bit at something inside of her, made her chest feel tight, squeezed at her heart, and prompted her to do something she wasn't sure she was going to do until that moment. So while the rest of them began to stand, make their goodbyes and plans to meet over a meal to discuss the final details, she quietly excused herself and slipped upstairs to her childhood bedroom.

She'd learned to sew when she was young. Knit and embroider too. It was a requirement in her mother's household – a hobby that required patience, attention to detail, delicate handwork – something to teach control to young pups who had difficulty sitting still. Most of the pack dropped their chose activity as they got older, but Laura had stuck with her, even dallied with the idea of becoming a fashion designer before she realized just how much she loved law.

Point was, she was good, pretty good anyway, even if she did say so herself.

What she'd done with Stiles' shredded hoody was pretty clever.

Instead of fixing, trying to undo the damage wrought by her Uncle Peter's claws she'd patched it with white, used thick, black lacing to cross-stitch over the tears. She hadn't attempted to close the gaps, rather, she'd enhanced them, made them even more evident with an effect that looked like surgical stitches, and she could only hope that the gesture wouldn't be seen as a mocking one.

Dropping quickly down the stairs, she found the dining room deserted, strained her ears to follow her mother's progress as she led the group of humans back toward the drive that led out of the Preserve. Letting the screen slam behind her, she shouted Stiles' name, sprinted across the lawn when the kid looked back, waited for her while the rest of the group continued on. By the time she came to a skidding stop in front of him she still didn't know what to say.

"Um, here," she fumbled, shoving the hoodie into his hands, watched with a strange sense of trepidation as he held it up, cocked an eyebrow and fingered her handiwork. "It's just... they're something to be proud of," she said in a rush, all defensiveness that didn't make any sense.

She shouldn't be scared of this guy, he was just a kid! But...

"You survived something," she said. "You survived Uncle Peter. Anybody should be proud of that."

For a moment silence reigned and Laura's cheeks burned with embarrassment, horrified by her own urge to run. Stiles was frowning, staring at her like he was trying to figure her out as his fingers traced over her painstaking stitches, but then his shoulders dropped and all the tension went out of her spine like he'd given her permission to relax.

"Thanks," he said, slipping into the jacket and leaving the sides open over his black t-shirt, hands shoved into his pockets, and Laura actually laughed with relief.

He looked like a little red riding hood standing there, all defiant and mildly irritated, and it was reassuring in all kinds of ways it shouldn't be. Strong, brave, clever – maybe she wouldn't need to worry about this one.

And she did worry.

About Derek, who had always been sensitive and who was so badly broken by what has happened, by the way Kate Argent had taken advantage of him and all the misplaced guilt that came with it.

About Cora, who for so long had been a symbol of their future, their fear.

Even about her Uncle Peter, who was a different person than he used to be, carrying around so much pain and anger that she sometimes wondered how he could stand it.

"My uncle," she said before she could stop herself, the words unplanned and unbidden. "He's not... a bad guy. I know it looks that way and I don't blame you if you kind of hate him right now..."

"I do kind of hate him right now," Stiles said, serious and firm but without too much heat. "No offense, but your uncle is kind of a dick."

Laura barked a laugh, smiled, wide and open and honest and it felt like the first time in a long time.

"Yeah, he is," she admitted, "But he was always one of those guys you kind of liked because he was a dick, you know? Like, he was charming about it and made you laugh and you still knew he cared about you even if it didn't sound like it..."

Laura trailed off, caught up in the rush of memories and warm, aching emotion until Stiles' hesitant, curious question brought her back to the present.

"So what changed?"

She wanted to tell him.

Instead she shook her head.

"It's not my place to say. But would you maybe give him a chance? I know it's a lot to ask but, just try to remember. He's not a bad guy. He's just... dealing with stuff. He'll come around, I promise."

Stiles frowned, bit his lip, then stuck out his hand for a shake.

"Fine. But I'm holding you to that."