"Do werewolves get drunk?" Stiles asks from where he lounges in the loveseat, and I just know I'm going to have a bad night. He cranes his head back and looks at Scott backwards. I make a point not to look at him, instead keeping my eyes on the TV, where Moana and Maui are in the middle of a let's-learn-to-sail! montage. Scott, however, tilts his head to the side in thought.

"I mean. I don't know why not?" He looks at Stiles. "Science experiment?"

Stiles flails as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. "Science experiment!" he agrees enthusiastically. I chose this time to remind them of my presence.

"And just what do you think you're going to be doing?" I demand, putting the movie on pause as they start to stand. Stiles looks at me incredulously.

"Did you not just hear us? Science experiment, Ares; we're gonna see if Scott can get drunk."

I inhale. Exhale. Breathe, Ares, breathe. "You realize you're going back to school tomorrow, don't you?"

"It'll be fine," Scott says, drawing out that last word in a very Stiles fashion. It's alarming.

"Come on, don't you want to see what happens when you feed a werewolf Honey Jack?" Stiles asks, pulling on his shoes. "Look, think of it as some stress relief," he goes on. "You're all sorts of tense-" And I don't like how he says that word- "since Wednesday. If Friday night was anything to go off of."

I look at him and blink. Slowly. He leans back as I answer. "Surely it has nothing to do with being chased down by a mind controlled teenage werewolf," I tell him, and Scott winces. I ignore it, because these are things that need to be said. "The same teenaged werewolf you want to get drunk. The night before the full moon. When he's already being moody as hell."

Stiles goes still for a full second - new record! - before looking up at Scott, who rolls his head back in an exaggerated eyeroll. "I mean. When she puts it that way…"

"I don't see what the problem is," Scott mutters, crossing his arms and al but pouting. "I have my anchor now."

"Yeah, you apparently had it Wednesday too, but look how that turned out," I snap, and it comes out much harsher than I mean it to. Scott scowls, and Stiles is obviously uncomfortable as a a tension settles in the room.

"What, so now that I'm a werewolf I'm not allowed to have fun anymore?" he demands, and I roll my head back in frustration.

"Sabes que no estoy hablando de eso."

"Really? Because that's what it feels like."

"Come on, Ares, you can come with," Stiles offers, no doubt trying to defuse the situation. "You need to let loose."

I groan and consider my options. These idiots are probably going to go do whatever the hell they want whether I approve or not. And there's no telling qué pendajadas they'll be getting into without adult supervision.

"Look," Stiles says in a stage whisper, drawing me out of my contemplation. "Look, you can see her will breaking."

I snatch my water bottle from the coffee table and throw it at him. He curls into a ball, laughing, and it bounces off his side. "Fine!" I snap at them and Scott throws his hands up in victory, the spoiled brat. "I'll freaking babysit your stupid werewolf ass." I point my finger at his nose and he struggles to keep a straight face. "But I'm taking my taser, and if you so much as growl-"

"Okay, okay," he says, raising his hands in a placating manner. Stiles jumps up and grins down at me as he bounces on his heels impatiently.

"So. You're driving right?"

I fall back into the sofa and cover my face with my hands, whining. A hand pats my head, Scott most likely. "You're my favorite," he sings, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me up and into a tight hug. I roll my eyes and let my hands fall. Melissa, who is thankfully at work and won't be back until late, is going to crucify me if she finds out about this. Why do I let myself be dragged into these things.

"You're a freaking brat." He releases me and I look up at them. "Where are you getting the alcohol?" They exchange looks before looking back down at me.

Before I came to California, I gave Alicia thirty dollars and she gave me her ID. It's been tucked away in my wallet ever since. "I know you don't drink as much, but you never know," she had said. Yeah, you never know when our stupid little cousin and his idiot best friend want to experiment with lycanthropy and alcohol. I'm gonna lose my freaking job. Both of my jobs. The Sheriff and Deaton are gonna be so disappointed, I can already see his face.

"Okay, one bottle of Honey Jack," Stiles says, reaching out from the back of the Turtle and shoving a handful of bills into my face. He drops them in my lap and I crinkle my nose in disgust as I grab them and straighten them out.

"That's it?" I ask. "Because I don't want to have to stop somewhere else because you forgot something." The somewhere else being the liquor store Sheriff Stilinski visits. We made a point to come to the one Stiles is pretty sure his dad doesn't buy from, because the last thing we need is to accidentally run into him.

Stiles thinks my question over before looking to Scott, who doesn't spare so much as a glance up from his phone. "Maybe something stronger, you know, to really get past those werewolf powers-"

"One bottle of Honey Jack," I say loudly, opening the door and getting out. "I'll be right back."

The bell above the door rings as I walk in, and the man behind the counter gives a rehearsed greeting. The Jack isn't at all hard to locate among the many bottles lining the shelves. When I return to the front to check out, the small arrangement of water packs catches my eye. They're smaller packs, only twelve count, and it takes me all of two seconds before I grab one off the top. The last thing I need is Stiles and Scott hung over as hell tomorrow for school.

Because apparently I'm the type of person that gets high schoolers drunk.

I set my goods in on the counter and do my best to look five years older than my actual nineteen years when the clerk asks for ID. He gives it a glance, arching a brow at the state.

"Texas?"

"Visiting family," I answer, and wonder if maybe I should have contoured my nose before coming. Alicia and I look enough alike that I never had issues using her card before, but the paranoia never really goes away.

The clerk shrugs, accepting it, and I'm back on my way.

"Why did you get water?" Stiles asks, twisting in his seat to watch me stash the pack away in the back.

"Because I don't know your tolerance level and I don't want you getting sick," I answer, handing him the bottle and shutting the back before moving around to the front. "Okay," I say, pulling on my seat belt. "Where do the kids do their drinking in this town?"

Scott looks up from his phone for the first time in ten minutes and answers before Stiles has a chance. "Can we go by Allison's?"

"Dude, you invited her?" Stiles demands, betrayal in his voice. I can't blame him. I'm already risking too much with just these two losers. There's no telling what kind of dead I'm gonna end up if Allison's parents, you know, the scary hunters, find out I got their kid drunk.

"I didn't mean to!" He looks to me. "She said she needed away from her family, and it just kinda happened. She's sneaking out." He looks down at his phone. "She's already waiting for us."

I grip the wheel and close my eyes. Freaking. Brat. "Remind me how to get there," I say through gritted teeth, because I like Allison, as much as I don't like her family, and I'm not going to leave her stranded when she already when through the trouble of sneaking out. And it might be my fault anyway, what with my Rapunzel comment yesterday.

Stiles groans and throws himself back into the seat, crossing his arms sullenly.

We don't actually stop in front of her house, but rather at the end of her street. Because she's sensible and doesn't want to get caught. I can relate. The poor girl is waiting under a street lamp when we pull up, and Scott doesn't wait for me to come to a complete stop before throwing open the door and jumping out to meet her. Stiles takes the time get out and pull forward the seat for Romeo and Juliet to clamber into the back.

"Hey, Stiles, Ares," Allison greets, smiling brightly. I look back at her and give a salute. Her nose is red from the cold, but her eyes are bright with excitement. "Thanks so much for getting me." She pauses. "Hey, and I'm sorry Kate was being so weird yesterday," she says. "I'm not sure what that was all about."

My smile falters. I... I am so gonna be killed by werewolf hunters. Werewolf hunters that already think I might be a werewolf. But I smile back at her because I'm supposed to be the adult and being the adult means suppressing your problems and emotions for the benefit of the children.

"No problem, honey bunch," I say despite there being a big problem. I turn to Scott to give him a look. "No sobrinos," I order, and even in the dark I can see him go red. "Alright, where we heading?"

"Oh, um, actually," Allison speaks up hesitantly from the back. "Could we get Lydia?"

Stiles entire being just lights up. "Absolutely we can!" He points up ahead. "Turn left here," he says, because apparently his creepy crush borders on stalking and he knows where she lives. I look at him slowly, and he embraces his inner Scott with the puppy dog eyes he's displaying. Ares, please, he mouths and I wonder how hard I have to bash my head into the wheel to deploy the airbag.

Bright side, though, Lydia doesn't live too far from Allison. She's waiting three doors down from the address Allison and Stiles give, and she's got a half full bottle in her hands. Stiles hops out and pulls the front seat forward for her. She eyes the Turtle in distaste before stepping forward.

"Lydia, hey, you're looking gre-"

"Question," I say, cutting Stiles off before he can finish his cringy greeting. "What's the bottle?"

"Tequila," she answers curtly as she settles into the back next to Allison. I turn in my seat to get a better look at it, and arch a brow at the brand. "What?" she demands. "My mom won't notice it missing."

"Mine would," I say under my breath. Then, louder. "Where am I going?"

"Jackson lives on twelfth," Lydia says, and Stiles and I both groan, but for different reasons.

"There's no more room in here!" I say, gesturing to full back seat. Lydia looks at Scott and Allison, tilting her head to the side.

"Allison will have to sit in Scott's lap," she says matter of factly.

I don't cry, but it's a close thing.

There's something of a park by the Preserve. It's got a picnic area, and a metal trash can Stiles immediately set alight, and a big ass rock in the middle of the clearing - which is all rock? Like what even is this? - that I parked my ass on to keep an eye out for all the drunk babies I somehow found myself responsible for.

"Don't finish it all, Stilinski!" Jackson snaps, snatching the bottle of Jack from Stiles' hands. Stiles, in turn, squawks in indignation.

"Be nice," I call out, glancing up from my phone and giving both the boys an eye. Not far from them, Lydia and Allison are sitting cross legged on the ground, talking and giggling as Lydia braids Allison's hair. Scott lies on his back, his head pillowed on Allison's legs, and he's looking up at her like she's the moon of his life as she runs her hands through his hair absentmindedly. The bottle of tequila sits forgotten next to them.

It's fucking adorable. I can't. I just. I can't.

"Ares," Stiles whines, stumbling to my rock and falling hard on his butt when he tries to sit. "Ares, he took my honey," he whines, resting his head on my thigh. I arch a brow and look down at him, but he isn't looking, and therefore doesn't remove his head.

"I think he did you a favor," I answer, reaching next to me and grabbing a water from the pack I made Scott carry for me. I hold it out in front of him. He picks up his head and looks at it in drunken confusion.

"What?"

"Drink, you dork."

Lydia bursts into a fit of giggles so intense, she squeaks when she tries to breathe. I'm not sure if she's laughing at something Allison said or at what I said, in which case, this girl really needs to sober up some.

"Lydia, mi amor, drink some water," I call out. She waves her hand in acknowledgement before wiping at her eyes. I shake my head and notice out of the corner of my eye how Jackon slides up next to me, with a bit more control than Stiles did, and plops on the other side of me. He doesn't speak, and seems content to just sit, watching Lydia and Allison.

I sigh in resignation and send a text off to Derek.

I did a stupid
(A)
To be expected
(D)
RUDE
(A)

"How are you related to McCall?" Jackson blurts, and when I look down at him, he's looking at me with squinted eyes, like he's trying to unlock the secrets of the universe. I only just manage to keep my laughter in.

"We're cousins," I tell him. "His mom is my dad's sister."

He rolls his eyes, and it's so exaggerated I'm worried those pretty blue eyes will go flying out. "No, not like that. Like. How." He says it with such emphasis I almost feel bad I don't know what this drunk child is talking about. "How is that," he gestures to Scott, who has picked up his head and is actively glaring at Jackson, "and you," he pats my calf, "the same? He's such a loser."

"You're a loser, Jackson," Stiles snaps, and raises a fist to Scott, who raises his own, laughing as he drops his head back down on Allison's lap.

"Shut up, Stilinski," Jackson shoots back, and I pat both their heads.

"No fighting."

Jackson scowls as Stiles sticks his tongue out at him. "No, but," Jackson goes on, looking up at me. "You're… You're…" He pauses, gathering his thoughts. "You're hot."

I choke on air, Stiles chokes on his water, and Scott sits up so fast he almost hits Allison in the face. "Did you just call my cousin hot?" Scott demands, scandalized. "Jackson, what the hell?!"

"Shut up, McCall, I wasn't talking to you!"

"No fighting," I repeat, struggling to hold in my laughter. Stiles wheezes next to me, and I pat his back. "Jackson, that's very nice of you to say, but no. No." He scowls, and it occurs to me that he probably isn't used to hearing that. "Dude, you're like twelve!"

"I'm sixteen!"

Allison throws her hands up. "I'm seventeen!" she proclaims, not to be left out of this sharing of information. Lydia claps in excitement.

Oh my god these babies. I drop my face in my hands. "Talk to me in two years," I tell him. "When you're sober."

His expression darkens. Except instead of looking intimidating, he looks like a five year old throwing a tantrum. He snatches the bottle of Jack from where he set it down and wobbles away from my rock, sitting by himself, sulking.

"It's okay, Jackson," Stiles calls. "Ares doesn't like anyone." He looks up at me with wide Bambi eyes. If Bambi got his hands - hoofs? - on alcohol. "Right?"

"Right." And it's a lie, a horrible horrible lie that even Sonya can't help me with. But Stiles doesn't have to know that. I pat his head, and an idea - horrible idea because I am a horrible person - forms. I pull up snapchat and hold it up, swiping through the filters until I find the deer one that changes your voice. "Stiles!" He looks up, and grins up at the camera as I hold it so that both of us are on the screen, with added antlers and ears and adorable faces. I press record. "Say hi to Derek!"

"You suck!" Stiles says instead, and I almost drop the phone laughing.

"Derek has a snapchat?" Scott asks, and I shrug as I save the video onto my phone and pull up my messages.

"Probably not, so we're going this the old school way." I look up at Scott as I press send - for dramatic effect. "Messages." I don't have to wait long for an answer.

Derek (1 new message)
What. in the Hell.
(D)

I snort and look at Scott, who has sat up and taken the Tequila offered to him by Allison. He takes a swig, and I note how it doesn't seem to affect him?

"How you feeling, Scotty?" I ask, and he gives a thumbs up.

"Not feeling anything, actually."

"Ares!" Stiles exclaims, slapping my leg. "Ares, write that down! It's not science if you don't write it down!"

"Stop hitting." Instead of writing it down, I turn back to my phone.

Do werewolves get drunk? Asking for science.
(A)
What have you done?
(D)
That's a broad accusation and I'm going to need you to narrow it down some.
(A)
Ares.
(D)
Stiles and Scott wanted to know if werewolves can get drunk. They ambushed me. I couldn't just let them go alone.
Which is why I am currently babysitting 4 drunk teenagers and 1 not drunk werewolf boy.
(A)
You. You realize tomorrow is the full moon
(D)
I know this. I am aware. I do not need reminders.
(A)
Are you drinking too?
Who's driving
(D)
I am not drinking, I'm acting DD
I'm prob gonna cut them off here in a bit. I'll let you know if I need a last minute rescue from them
(A)

Stiles is humming under his breath, tapping my leg to the beat of "You're Welcome." I look down at him and can't help but smile. "You comfy there, bud?" I ask, and he nods. Then shakes his head.

"Jacks!" he exclaims, pushing himself up, and I grab his arm to steady him. "Jacks, gimme my honey!"

"Piss off, Stilinski."

"Be nice," I call, copying and pasting Derek's response of You wouldn't need a last minute rescue if you didn't go and try to get a werewolf drunk, but with every other word or so capitalized. Because I am nothing if not trash.

"Look at these little bitches gettin' their drink on."

My head snaps up in time to see one of the two men who have absolutely no reason being so close to the boys reach down and tug the bottle out of Jackson's grasp. They tower over the boys, and Stiles takes an unsteady step back as Jackson gets to his feet. Lydia and Allison look on with wide, scared eyes, and Scott stands, placing himself in front of the girls.

Shitshitshit. I jump to my feet and rush forward.

"That's mine!" Jackson, full of that good ole liquid courage, lunges for the bottle, but the man, who is wearing a backwards snapback and has a joint? tucked behind his ear, steps to the side. I only just get to Jackson's side in time to grab his arm and pull him back. Behind me, Scott and Stiles hiss my name in unison, and I feel Stiles grab my arm and try to tug me away.

"What's that, little man?" Snapback demands.

"I think he wants a drink," the other guy says, smirking.

"He does not want a drink," I say in a rush, pulling Jackson back and holding a placating hand up to the two assholes that had to come and ruin the fun. "He is done drinking, so if you could back off, that would be fantastic."

Snapback scoffs, looking back at his friend before turning his attention back to me. "And who the fuck are you, bitch?"

I draw back, cocking my head to the side. It's one thing for Sonya or Warren to call me a bitch because I stole their clothes. It's a completely different thing for this fucker to actually call me a bitch. "I'm the one who will be calling the Sheriff if you don't back the fuck off right now. Bitch."

Snapback rolls his head back. "Oh, girl gots some steel-" I hold my phone up, and he stops short.

"Speed dial number two," I tell him, showing him the screen and that I only have to push call. "Test me." His mouth twists in a snarl and one of the girls lets out a cry when he takes a step forward, hand lifting, likely to snatch my phone away. Before he can make it too far, I can feel a presence behind me. The warmth of a body close to my back. Tense and ready to spring.

"Don't," Scott growls, low and mean and from deep in his throat. "Touch her." The men step away in alarm, and shit, his eyes are definitely gold right now. I don't even have to look to know.

"We're going," I say, stepping back and pulling a resistant Scott with me. "We're going." He lets me move him, and the men only stand and watch as we make our retreat. "Girls, let's go." They scramble to their feet, each rushing to their respective boyfriend. Scott has lost the glow in his eyes, but he glares murderously at the two men as he lets Allison tug him away.

Lydia pulls at Jackson, but he jerks away from her and stares at Scott, eyes wide and oh. Oh Jesus Christo, please do not let this boy have seen.

"Jackson, fucking move or I'll move you." I shove at his shoulder, snapping him out of his daze. He looks at me, then at Scott, then finally lets Lydia pull him away. I look back, and the men are watching in contempt, likely cursing us for bruising their masculinity.

"Have a nice fucking night," I throw over my shoulder. Snapback bares his teeth.

Getting everyone home was a chore.

"We are never doing that again," I snap at Scott, who reclaimed the front seat after we dropped Stiles home. We had to swing by the house first so Scott could get the jeep, and then I had to wait outside for fifteen minutes while Scott made sure he actually got to bed.

"Like, seriously, did you have to growl at them?" I demand. Scott scowls, glaring out the window.

"They were going to hurt you."

"They were not going to hurt-"

"They were, Ares," he insists. I glance at him, and he looks so earnest I kinda have to believe him. Which sucks, because I just almost got murdered in front of a bunch of drunk kids. And I think that yeah, panic really is my constant state of being, because I feel absolutely nothing.

"We can't tell Derek that happened," I say finally.

Scott nods. "He'll kill me for almost letting you die."

I make a face. "More like he'll kill me for letting you out the night before the full moon."

The look he gives me is borderline scathing. "Really?" He shakes his head. "You're an idiot," he mutters, and it's very You know nothing, Jon Snow.

And we're back to the show's plot! Let's see how long it lasts.

As always, shout out to reviewers, new followers/favs, and those of you who have been here forever. New folks, welcome to the club, feel free to drop a review. Guys who have been here for a hot minute - holy crap, my dudes.

Also, yes, FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff, Ares is hella ace.

translations:
Sabes que no estoy hablando de eso - you know I'm not talking about that
qué pendajadas - what bullshit