"Come on, Scott, pick up the phone. Just pick up the phone, Scott. This is a life or death mission, so I know you're paying attention, so I know you're going to pick—Goddamnit! Scott, pick up. Pick up now. We've got like fifty feet of ash left, and we're out. Okay? So you got to get your wolf ass down here and help us because I don't know what we're doing. And I'm just standing out here and I—We're hearing gunfire and werewolves and I'm—I'm standing here like a frickin' idiot with a handful of magic fairy dust. Okay?"

I took a deep breath, letting my head fall back against the wall of the warehouse and closing my eyes. I could hear Stiles kicking the ground in frustration. We'd been outside for a few minutes now, calling everyone from Scott to Deaton. With all our luck so far, as well as the ongoing gunfight, we probably should have guessed that no one was going to pick up. But it didn't stop us from trying. What other choice did we have?

Stiles walked closer to where I was sitting, leaning his back on the wall somewhere above me. "You know, I'm starting to get really painful flashbacks of the last time Scott didn't pick up his phone."

I smiled ruefully, letting my eyes flutter open so I could look up at him. "You mean the day I finally bullied you into telling me the truth and letting me in on everything? Cause I consider that the basis of our relationship."

"Yeah, well it was also the day my dad got hit by a car. Overall, a pretty crappy memory."

"You're right." I grabbed his hand, helping myself up to my feet and refusing to let go once I was upright. "Which is why we're going to get out of this the same way we got through that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Screw everyone else. As usual, you and I are gonna figure this out on our own."

He let out a dry bark of laughter at my smirk, but shook his head. "Well unless you were reading up on the intricate uses of mountain ash with Erica, I don't know how we're gonna do that." He dropped my hand, picking up the discarded garbage bag and pouring out the contents again. He stared down at his hand for a few seconds, then scrunched his nose. "Yeah, I got nothing."

"Well, Deaton said it was about believing, right? So maybe it's like Bethsaida."

"I'm sorry?"

"Bethsaida, the feeding of the multitudes. It's a Bible story. Jesus fed thousands of people with like five loaves of bread and a couple of fish."

"So…you want me…to be Jesus? Sadie, I can't even pass chemistry, let alone perform miracles!"

"I'm not asking you to perform—…"

"Yeah, you are! Do you see this?" he asked, holding out his hand and practically shoving the ash in my face.

"I think it looks like there's more than there was before."

He gave me a pointed look and jabbed a finger at the pavement. "It's not going to cover this, okay? It doesn't matter what I believe. Those are just the facts."

"Then stop thinking with the facts." I begged. I looked around the parking lot in desperation before grabbing his shoulders and forcing him toward a dark car not too far away. "Look at that! See? What does that say?"

"What? The—The bumper sticker? I-Imagination is more important than knowledge…Albert Einstein…"

"Exactly." I pulled him around to face me again, taking a step closer and laying my hands on his shoulders. "I'm not asking you to give me a miracle. I'm asking you to take a second to put the facts aside and imagine this working. I'm asking you to believe that a little bit goes a long way. I'm asking you to be the guy who convinced me that werewolves existed even though I thought I knew for a fact that they couldn't possibly be real. Who figured it out before anyone else, with almost no proof! You are always that person. You are the one who—who completely defies the facts. You can do this, Stiles. If anyone I know can do this, it's you."

He stared at me for a few seconds before his eyes dropped back to the ground. "Well, uh…thanks for the vote of confidence, but I'm not exactly feeling sparky at the moment…"

"You don't have to feel it. You have to be it. And I know you are."

I pursed my lips, moving my hands to his cheeks. His eyes flicked up to mine, but quickly fluttered shut when I pulled him into a soft kiss. It was slow, nothing heated or complicated. Just a reassuring pressure that still managed to take my breath away. I was reluctant to pull back, leaving my forehead pressed to his. I let my hands slide down to his neck, then drift to his hands. My left gently closed over his fist, pulling his arm out to the side over the rest of the mountain ash.

"Ready?"

I felt his sigh as a brush of air against my face, and he nodded. His fingers adjusted under mine until a small trail of ash was slipping through his grip. I pulled him with me as I started walking backwards, my steps slow but sure. I tried to focus on the image I had in my head—the circle of mountain ash completed and undisturbed, Jackson alive and captured, my friends safe and breathing. I would push any remaining shred of doubt out of my head. After everything we'd survived through, how could I not believe it? We would be alright if I just focused on that picture in my head. But after barely a few seconds, Stiles's hand was shifting in mine again. His fingers stretched out, bare palm resting against mine, and we stopped walking. The mountain ash was gone.

In an instant, I felt all of the zapped out of me. The air seemed to thicken and push me into the ground, and I could hear Stiles's spirit breaking as he hissed in his next broken breath. His fingers closed around my hand in a desperate grip, his eyes closed while mine dropped to the ground. I paused, but Stiles didn't seem to notice.

"God, I'm sorry, Sadie."

"Stiles…"

"No. This is my fault. This is all my fault. I can't…"

"Stiles, look!"

His grip on my hand fell slack as he followed my gaze. The mountain ash in his hand hadn't been enough to cover the fifty foot gap on the pavement. That hadn't changed. We'd only moved about ten feet. But somehow, there didn't seem to be any gap on the pavement. In our desperation, the rest of the mountain ash seemed to have come to meet us. Maybe a little bit didn't go a long way. But the ash made damn sure that a little bit was enough.

"Oh—Oh my God," Stiles choked out. His head whipped back and forth, looking for the blank space that no longer existed. "I—We—Yes! Holy shit! Yes!"

He pumped his fists into the air, jumping around in excitement, and I couldn't find it in me to do anything but watch him and laugh. This was the person Stiles was supposed to be—the giddy idiot who saved the say against all odds. I knew it was only for a moment. I wasn't sure what was bothering him, but I doubted that this victory would fix it. Still, it was a relief to see that smile again. At least something could go right.

The sound of my laughter caught his attention, and he whirled toward me. He was positively beaming as he thrust a finger at me. "You! You are incredible! You are a genius!"

Before I could reply, Stiles was running toward me, tackling me in a hug that had me half thrown over his shoulder. I squeaked a bit as he spun me around, which only made him laugh harder. He wobbled a bit, but managed to keep me mostly upright as he walked around. He dropped me none-too-gently on the trunk of a nearby car, a mischievous look in his eye that I barely got appreciate before the car alarm went off underneath me. We both screamed in surprise, and I quickly dissolved into giggles as Stiles jumped and fell over himself. He grabbed my hand, helping me down from the car and yanking me along as we fled the scene.

We ran until the car alarm was a soft sound in the distance, only slowing down to a walk after we rounded the final corner and the Jeep was in sight. Stiles threw one his arms around me, and I rested my head on his shoulder as we walked in silence. I wanted to stay like that forever, but the occasional gunshot and the knowledge that everyone inside the building was still in danger roiled in my stomach. We weren't done yet.

"What do we do now?" I asked, lifting my head.

Stiles reversely tightened his grip on me, even as he pulled out his phone. "I text Scott the all clear. He and the pack go after Jackson, maybe try and talk to him. Otherwise, they keep an eye on the crowd for anyone who's looking for the kanima or trying to finish the job. Find both killers, save the day, and you and I sit outside waiting for it all to be over."

I looked over at him as he messaged Scott, his solemn face illuminated by the light from his phone. "I know that voice, and I know you don't think you're useless after you just saved the day back there."

"We locked our friends in a death circle with a killer lizard and a supernatural maniac. I'd hardly call that saving."

"Stiles, what you just did is gonna narrow our suspects from the hundreds of people in there down to one. That's incredible."

His arm fell from my shoulders and he stuffed his hands in his pockets, avoiding my gaze. "Nah. That wasn't me. That was all you, Sade."

I looped my arm through his, tugging him to my side and ducking to look at him as best as I could. "We did it together. All I did was remind you what you can do, who you are. And I always will. I think it's my duty as your girlfriend to remind you how awesome you are."

"I guess," he sighed, and a smile flickered over his face.

I hesitated for a moment, biting my lip to keep my silence. But the longer I looked at him, with not just an expression of sadness, but one of acceptance, resignation to deal with whatever was bothering him without complaint, even if it was killing him, the more it killed me to stay quiet. I thought back to the previous night, fighting with my mother until I felt like my heart was going to collapse. And then Stiles had called. He'd instantly known something was wrong, and instantly known what to say to take the pain away. He always knew hot to make me feel better, and the prospect of standing by and watching Stiles hide how upset he was without saying anything was actually painful.

"Okay, I promise this is the last time I'm gonna say anything," I said quickly. Stiles looked over at me with a raised eyebrow and I winced. Too late to go back now. "I know you don't want to talk about whatever's bothering you, and I understand that. But I don't want you to need to feel like you have to hide it, or pretend that nothing's wrong. And I want to make sure that you know that I'm always willing to listen to you, whether you want to gush to me about the video game you just bought, or because everything in life feels like it's falling apart and you don't know how to put it back together. When you're upset, it makes me upset. And that's not to say that you're not allowed to be upset, because you are. Anything and everything you're feeling is totally valid, and they're your emotions. I just want you to know that I want to help with that in literally any way that I can. Because I don't want to watch you struggling while I'm here. I don't what you to think that you're alone. And I also don't want you to hate me for rambling about your problems when you said you didn't want to talk about them, so I'm gonna stop talking now. But…yeah. I care about you, and I wanted to make sure that you know that. I'm always here."

Stiles stared at me, his mouth slightly agape as he took in my words. He opened it once or twice, taking a breath and trying to say something without successfully producing a response. Finally, he gave up. I trailed behind him as he trudged over to the Jeep, pressing his back to the trunk and letting his chin rest on his chest. I leaned next to him and reluctantly tried to prepare for what was sure to be an awkward silence.

"My dad got fired." I looked over at him in shock, but he was still staring at a fixed point on the ground. "The murders aren't stopping, and apparently having your useless, law-breaking son show up at a bunch of crime scenes, steal government property, and get a restraining order filed against him isn't good for the public image."

"They said that?"

"Loosely."

"Stiles…"

"Nah, you—you can't talk me out of this one, Sade." He lifted his head, meeting my gaze with eyes so broken I nearly stopped breathing. "This is my fault. My dad lost his job because of me."

"Stiles, I'm so sorry. You know I am, but…you're saving lives."

"Are we? Cause from where I'm standing, we're getting our asses handed to us. Repeatedly. And everything we've done isn't making it better. If anything, we're making things worse. We keep talking like we're the only people who can stop this, but we're just a bunch of stupid teenagers. What if we can't?"

"Well…maybe you're right..."

The thought made me nauseous, but I knew that it was true. We'd all thought it at some point. When Lydia got attacked, when Chris had come after Scott, when the mechanic had been killed, when Jackson escaped. We were so beyond what we know and what we could handle. But at the same time, I couldn't stomach the idea of not doing anything either. What if the police went after Jackson without knowing what he was? Wouldn't that have more casualties? What if we told them and, assuming they somehow believed us, they killed him like the Argents wanted to? What would they want to do to Scott? To Derek and his pack? They'd be locked up or killed for a problem that they hadn't started. For a problem they were risking their lives to solve. Those were the nightmares that kept me up at night. I had to believe that what we were doing would protect the people I cared about. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to sleep at all.

Stiles seemed to guess my train of thought, because he sighed. "I know that what we're doing is important or…whatever. I'm just sick of us spending all our time trying to save strangers while our lives are falling apart."

"Kind of sucks being Batman, doesn't it?"

He looked over at me again, the shadow of amusement quickly swallowed up by his hopelessness. "I'm ruining my dad's life and I can't tell him why. He's too tired to even fight with me about it. Scott and Allison are sneaking around to keep him from being executed. Lydia's out of her mind and you, you're just—you're so good at hiding how sad you are about all of this. But everything you've been through—the attack and—and fighting with you mom, that's all my fault. That's all because of me."

"None of that is because of you, Stiles."

"Oh really? Cause last time I checked, I was the one who dragged you into this!"

"Excuse me?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. "You didn't drag me anywhere! This was my choice. I asked you to tell me."

"And I shouldn't have. You didn't know what you were asking for. You didn't know how crazy and dangerous—…"

"Don't. Don't you dare tell me I didn't know this was going to be dangerous. You think I didn't know this was dangerous when Peter was killing people in town? When he attacked me and my friends and threw me into a car?"

"Sadie, I just meant that…"

"No, Stiles. I'm my own person, and I make my own choices. This was my choice about my life. I made you tell me because I wanted to protect my friends. I wanted to do something good, something that actually mattered for once. You do not get to blame yourself for that!"

We were standing facing each other now, Stiles still slouched against the Jeep while I struggled to control my breathing. The guilt already welling up in my throat was making it difficult. What the hell was I doing? I'd gone from telling Stiles that I would always listen to him to screaming that he was wrong. He was probably the most vulnerable I'd ever seen him and I'd completely lost my mind. My first impulse was to hug him until he believed I was sorry, but another part held me back, already filling my head with whispers about how I shouldn't be forgiven for making him look and feel so small, and he wouldn't want to be near me anyway. That part wanted to run and hide so I wouldn't have to face him. But even that part of me was checked in turn by reality. Until Jackson was caught, we couldn't go anywhere. I had nowhere to go, nothing to do but continue burrowing in the hole I was digging myself into.

I wrung my hands in front of my, stopping myself from reaching out to him. "Do…Do you ever regret telling me?"

I didn't get an answer. It was a stupid question, anyway. He'd literally just aid that he shouldn't have told me. Obviously he regretted it, and I probably wasn't making him feel any better about it at the moment. It didn't deserve an answer. Still, I cleared my throat again.

"Because I don't. I never have. Not once."

Stiles shook his head a fraction. I watched him for a minute, thinking about whether or not it would be better for me to sit in my van with my mouth closed for the rest of the night. But then he spoke up, his voice hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in several hours rather than a few minutes. "How can you not hate all of this? This…sucks…"

"I hate that it happened like this, I guess. I hate that all these people have died, and I hate watching my friends in pain. But if it was a choice between this and not knowing? Standing by while Peter and Jackson and whoever killed people and ruined my friends' lives when I didn't even know I could help? I would choose this. Every time." I tried to sound as confident as I could, but Stiles still refused to look up. Grasping at straws, I took another hesitant step forward. "Stiles, if you want to blame someone, blame Peter. What I told you that day was true. He attacked my friends, Jackson was determined to figure out what was going on with Scott, and there's no way I wouldn't have gotten involved. If you hadn't told me, I would have kept looking for answers on my own, and I probably would have gotten them when Peter sliced my throat for getting in the way."

"Don't say that."

"It's true! Stiles, you telling me what was already out there prepared me for what was coming. Being with you is the reason I'm alive right now. All of us are alive. And I know it may not feel like it, but we're saving people. Someday your dad is gonna know that, and he's gonna be so, so proud. God, he is going to be so proud of you for going through hell to protect people. You are amazing, Stiles, and we are going to be okay. I promise we'll make this okay, because your dad loves you, and I love you, and I am not going to give up until you're okay."

"What?"

Stiles had finally lifted his head to look at me. It took a few seconds for the words to finally process.

I love you.

If I'm being honest, I'd always kind of hated when most teenagers got caught up in "I love you's." I think it's probably because of the way my mom raised me. Whenever we were watching something on TV that had romance in it—which is just about everything, let's be real—she was sure to feed the cynic in me. "I just don't want you to get your hopes up that this is how it happens." "If a boy ever says something like that to you, he's lying." "No boy is ever gonna do this for you, you know that, right?" It was never too serious, and she was sure to encourage the optimist and romantic in me too. But she wanted to make sure I always knew how to be realistic. She didn't want to watch me get my heart broken waiting for the perfect guy. No one was perfect. Life was long and filled with new experiences and hundreds of people. Those people changed, and finding the person you might spend the rest of your life with when you were so young was statistically unlikely. In the grand scheme of things, teenagers didn't have any real experience. They could care and feel—lack of experience didn't make that any less legitimate—but being so certain and headstrong about the love of their life just wasn't realistic.

Of course, I wasn't going to shit on love for everyone else. When Scott had declared that he was in love with Allison after knowing her for a few weeks, I'd been happy for them. I knew how important she was to him, and that he would do just about anything to keep her happy and safe. She was his anchor, without question, and gave him a reason to be human. And I knew what Scott was to Allison. She'd talked a lot about how she couldn't seem to breathe when he was around, but she spent every moment they spent apart waiting to see him again. I mean, her family had issued him direct death threats and they were still looking for a way to stay together—still planning on dating through college and wherever else they ended up. And I could see that. I'd really meant it when I told Allison that I couldn't picture lives for them without each other. I didn't want to. But I could never really figure out if that was because I was a teenager who didn't know anything else, or because Scott and Allison were really the soul mates I wanted them to be.

And now here I was having the same debate with myself about my feelings for Stiles. He wasn't perfect. I knew that. But at the same time, there wasn't a flaw in him that I could bring myself to hate. He was so much more than anything I'd ever hoped I'd be allowed to have. Someone who made me laugh and smile, who made me nervous and giggly. Someone who almost instantly knew when I was upset, and how to treat me to make me feel better. Someone who made bad jokes and appreciated mine. Someone who bought me flowers for no reason and practiced speeches so that he could say something insanely sweet and thoughtful without stumbling over his words. Someone that I honestly couldn't imagine my life without anymore. I couldn't be positive how long that feeling would last. Hell, I couldn't be sure how long I would last with the life we were living. But did that mean I couldn't love him now?

And why should I define my feelings for Stiles by comparing them to normal teenagers? Stiles and I were definitely not living normal teenage lives, and we didn't have a normal relationship. How many girls could say that their boyfriend had saved their life? That they had saved theirs? Who else could say that they spent half their time with their boyfriend plotting to take down murderous creatures of the night? Keeping secrets from everyone else to protect their lives? How many girls knew their boyfriend was one of the only people on Earth who would be able to understand her nightmares? Who had the same ones?

I looked back at Stiles, very aware of the way I was suddenly trembling. I looked at him and tried to figure out why I'd said those words without even thinking about it. I thought about the day he told me the truth about Beacon Hills. I thought about the night we'd been trapped in the school. I thought about my revelation last Halloween. I thought about dancing with him at formal. I thought about seeing him waiting for me during our stay in the hospital. I thought about throwing myself between him and Isaac's attack on the full moon. I thought about the night he'd almost drowned after the kanima's attack. I thought about the night I'd been so mad at him for keeping me from Lydia, and I'd ended up laughing with him on his couch. And then I thought that it might not be that surprising after all.

"I love you, Stiles. I'm in love with you."

I wasn't really aware of how much time had passed until my lungs began to burn. I'd stopped breathing the moment the words were out, and Stiles still hadn't moved. I was almost positive that not a single muscle in this face had even twitched. He just stood there staring at me, while I fidgeted enough for the both of us under his gaze. It was only a few more seconds until I felt the bile rising in my throat, and I prayed that for once the stinging in my eyes might not lead to tears. My brain shot into fast forward so quickly it made me dizzy, and suddenly I was spinning on the spot, turning my back on Stiles as I tried to keep myself from hyperventilating.

"I…am so sorry. Oh my God, I'm sorry. This—This is so not the time for this conversation! I mean, for me to say something like that—you were talking about your dad! Someone could be dying right now, and you were talking about your dad and then I was yelling at you! Fucking—! And I'm still making this all about me! Just please forget that I said that. I'm so—…"

Stiles was kissing me before I could get the last word out. It stopped the apology, but didn't do much to help my dizziness. The ground seemed to tilt under my feet as he wrapped one arm around my waist, and if my brain had been working well enough to be thinking anything it probably would have been that his arm was the only think keeping me standing. As it was, I couldn't process a single thought until Stiles pulled back, both of us short of breath.

"Sorry," he said, his voice thick. "You just, uh…you surprised me…"

"…I'm pretty sure that's standard…"

"No, I mean—I guess I just always figured I would say it first."

"…First…?" I was still having a hard time processing his smile, especially with one of his thumbs running along my jaw.

"I love you, Sadie. Or, uh…I love you, too."

I don't think I've ever appreciated the word "too" as much as I did in that moment. In an instant, everything in my body seemed to ease to a comfortably slow pace. No more racing brain. No more erratic breathing. No more dizziness or near cardiac arrest. Stiles loved me, and for the moment, I couldn't care less about anything else.

We grinned at each other for a few seconds before I broke the silence. "So…what exactly are we supposed to do now?"

"Uh…I don't know." He pouted in confusion, making me giggle until his eyebrows shot up with an idea. "I could kiss you again?"

"Works for me."

I had to swallow my laughter as Stiles pulled me toward him, catching my lips and moving both his hands to my neck. He started slow, not even moving for a moment or two. But after a few more seconds I was already digging my nails into his shirt for support. I had always imagined the kisses of an "I love you" confession to be sweet and heartfelt. While Stiles was certainly putting his heart into it, he wasn't exactly being gentle. I stumbled blindly as he pushed me back, and jumped against him when my back collided with the Jeep. Once I was effectively pinned there, he let his hands drift down my body, over my shredded T-shirt and past my newly ripped jeans. He ran his fingers over my thighs and I shivered, making Stiles pull back for a moment.

"You okay?" I tried to breath some sort of affirmative answer before I yanked him back against me. The message must have gotten across, because he smiled against my lips and returned to drawing small circles on my bare legs. I slid my arms around his neck and his lips strayed over my cheek to my jaw. I sighed again, and his hands splayed wide over my skin, almost shaking. "God, I love you."

"I love you, t—…"

Stiles didn't care about the last word as much as I did. He pushed me against the Jeep with new vigor, and I instinctively arched my back, pressing my chest into his as my nails looked for an anchor on the back of his head. I felt his hands fumbling over my legs, but didn't even process what he was trying to do until he broke the kiss to hook his hands under my knees. It took us a couple of tries to get in sync, but I was finally able to jump up and wrap my legs around his hips. I could feel my back bruising as I fell roughly against the Jeep, but Stiles kept a firm grip on my thighs, keeping me up even though I was barely a few inches higher than I would have been standing. It wasn't all that comfortable, but once Stiles moved his mouth back to my neck that hardly mattered. He pulled at the skin on the column of my throat, and I bit my lip as I braced myself for the task of staying quiet while he left bruises on my neck. But he didn't commit to the one spot. His lips kept moving down my throat, over to my shoulders, over my collarbone, and soon exploring the smooth expanse just over my chest. I gasped a bit in surprise—a gasp that pressed my chest up and egged him on. His nose easily pushed aside the shredded collar of my T-shirt, but he hesitated to do anything else. Warm, nervous breath washed over my skin, and with his hands grabbing my legs, his hips pressing into mine, it was suddenly impossible to keep my silence.

"Stiles…"

It was clearly his name, but it felt like more of a sound, filled with more apprehension and desperation than I'd care to admit. Whatever it was, it was enough to push him back into action. His hands tightened on my legs, and he pressed his lips against the swell of breast just over my bra.

I would apologize later for the scratches and dents I must have left in his scalp, but with my feet off the ground, the only support I had was my back sliding against the Jeep and my grip on Stiles. My ankles were crossed tightly behind him, keeping him pressed against me as he pinned me to the car with his hips. I raked my nails over his hair as he kissed a path over my chest, following along the edge of my bra with little trouble thanks to the slit Erica had left in my shirt. He seemed unfazed by my shaky breath, until he cautiously flicked his tongue out against the center of my chest. I gasped, and felt his breath of laughter against the wet skin. I narrowed my eyes—mentally at least, since my real eyelids seemed to be stuck in a permanent flutter. With a spike of determination, I grappled for some ledge on the Jeep, settling for a door handle and the lip of the window, and bucked my hips against him. My grip on the car was essential, as Stiles seemed to stop functioning for a second and I slipped down a good three or four inches. He scrambled to catch me before I could fall, his hands grabbing my ass to support my weight and hurriedly flattening both of us against the Jeep. We both made the same sort of choked sound before looking at each other, barely an inch away. I'd fallen enough that I was shorter than him, my body crunched into an awkward ball as I stared up into his face. His eyebrows raised a fraction and I grinned. I hadn't exactly pictured this outcome, but I'd certainly gotten a reaction.

I squeaked a bit as my phone went off in my pocket, which was currently pinned uncomfortably between us. Stiles let out a shaky sigh, hands trembling a bit as he helped me onto my feet so I could pull the phone out, and planted a hand on the Jeep next to my head. I frowned at the screen but accepted the call. "Isaac? What's wrong?"

At first I couldn't hear anything but the music blasting inside, but Isaac was yelling just loud enough to make himself audible over the bass. "We need you inside!"

"What? Why?"

"The Argents are here."

"That would explain a lot, actually," I said, thinking back to the gunfire with bitter understanding. Scott had mentioned this afternoon that Allison had spoken to her father, but hadn't said how much she had told him. Judging by the state of things, it must have been more than Scott had thought. Ultimately, it probably shouldn't have been too surprising that they'd shown up.

"Look, Scott was saying something about running into Allison, and now he's gone and Derek and Boyd aren't answering their phones. They're trying to hold off the hunters, but…"

"Wait, did you say Allison was here?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Like with Matt? Like on her date with Matt here?"

"How the hell should I know, Sadie? I've been a little too busy fighting a freaking dinosaur to check up on your friends."

I glared at the asphalt at his answer, but reluctantly pushed down my tirade on what I was going to do to Matt for inadvertently putting her in harm's way. "You found Jackson?"

"Yeah, we've got him. Not really sure what were supposed to do with him, but we've got him. So you might want to get inside before I stop ignoring the urge to kill him while he's out."

"We're on our way. Try and keep your distance. I'm serious, Isaac," I added when I heard him huff. "We don't know how long the ketamine will work. I don't want you to kill him, but I don't want him waking up and hurting you and Erica either."

"Why are you guys suddenly so concerned about us?"

"Hey. I've always been concerned about you, Isaac. You know that."

He paused long enough that I knew he must have been thinking about it, but any memories of our friendship before the bite, before his father died, were quickly brushed aside. "We can handle ourselves. Now get in here before I kill the lizard."

The line went dead. I sighed as I tucked my phone away, pinching the bridge of my nose and leaning my head against Stiles's arm. "Allison and Matt are on their date inside, and it sounds like the rest of the Argents showed up to the party too. Which is probably why Scott, Derek and Boyd are still M.I.A."

"Which means Allison told her family who the kanima is," Stiles groaned. "Damn it."

I couldn't think of a reassuring response to that. The Argents knowing about Jackson was about to make the whole situation a lot more difficult. Not only did we have to protect everyone on our vague semblance of a hit list from Jackson, but we also had to protect Jackson from the hunters. That was going to be pretty difficult considering that the principal could call him out of class to have him chopped in half at a moment's notice. The only threat we'd taken off the board was Derek's pack, and that was only temporary.

"We should go," I said, and Stiles gave me a grim smile.

"Yeah. Just let me get my ticket." He grabbed my waist and pulled me off the car, probably holding me closer than he really needed to for access to the Jeep.

I rolled my eyes and pushed away from him so I could grab my things from the van. Even knowing that just about every aspect of our plan had gone wrong, I felt better than I had before. I was worried, of course, but it didn't feel like a vacuum pressure was tearing me apart from the inside anymore. It was just a few knots of tension—the pit of my stomach, the back of my head—troublesome, but bearable.

Stiles slipped his hand into mine as we walked around toward the front of the warehouse, and the knots loosened a little more. Maybe we would be okay after all.

It wasn't long before I started feeling the music as a vibration in my chest. By the time they'd collected our tickets and we actually entered the building, the bass was loud enough to knock the wind out of me. I held tight to Stiles's hand, staring at the wall of people in front of me. How were we supposed to find Isaac and Erica in all of this?

"Don't suppose he mentioned where they're locking him up, right?" Stiles asked, looking sourly over the crowd.

"That would be a no." I pursed my lips and pulled out my phone to text Isaac, but Stiles grabbed my shoulder.

"Actually, I got a better idea. Ahem…Isaac! Erica! Uh… Don't really know where we're going!"

I raised an eyebrow as he looked around, clearly waiting for a response. "What are you doing?"

"Yelling at them. They've got superhearing, right? They can come get us."

"Stiles, I can barely hear you over the music. I'd be surprised if they weren't practically shutting down because their hearing is so sensitive."

"Yeah, well Scott could sense Allison."

"…That's Scott and Allison. Not you and Isaac."

He seemed to think about it for a moment, and shrugged. "Fair enough. It was worth a shot. Come on. I doubt they're keeping him in the middle of the mosh pit. They've gotta be in one of these side rooms."

Stiles towed me around the edges of the room, occasionally stopping to pry open a door along the wall. We found a lot of boxes and stereo equipment, and walked in on more semi-dressed couples than I'd budgeted to see in a lifetime, but no kanima or werewolves. It felt sort of weird to be disappointed about that.

I yanked open the next door without bothering to knock, already getting annoyed by our lack of progress. I yelped as a pair of yellow eyes and fangs sprang forward, but there was no way to hear it over the music. Stiles pushed his way in front of me with a glare. "Woah! Chill out! It's just us."

Isaac rolled his shoulders and stepped back, his teeth receding as he hurried us into the room. "Sorry, Sadie. And, not sorry, Stiles."

"Cute," he grumbled.

Erica cocked an eyebrow at me, glancing over my tattered shirt. I'd tried to straighten it out before we came inside, but evidently that wasn't enough to completely hide from werewolves exactly what Stiles and I had been doing outside. She rolled her eyes at me, the "you two disgust me" very clear, but her grudging smirk still visible. The outfit she created had certainly done its job.

I pretended not to catch the look of approval and turned to examine the rest of the room. It was a pretty small space, corrugated steel lining the walls with floor lamps whose light reflected in the folds. Sitting in a chair against the not-so-far wall was Jackson, his eyes closed and arms hanging lankly at his sides. Even unconscious, he didn't look much like the boy I met last summer. As someone who had walked in on him and Lydia on a handful of mornings, I knew the careless, innocent Jackson that emerged when he slept. That wasn't this Jackson. This Jackson's body was still wracked with tension when he wasn't awake. He was so visibly powerful, muscles wound up and his jaw set. I wondered for a moment if that was the kanima unwilling to loosen its grip on him, or Jackson unable to relax with everything he knew in the back of his mind.

"He okay?" Stiles asked, nodding shortly towards the body in the corner.

Isaac shrugged, walking in front of all of us with a determined swagger. "Let's find out." He flicked out his fingers, claws appearing over his nails, ready to sink deep into Jackson's leg.

"Isaac, no—…!"

But Jackson's hand was already around Isaac's wrist squeezing and twisting until the crack of bones was audible from across the room. Isaac screamed, his legs buckling underneath him, and I ran forward to grab his shoulder. My minimal strength didn't do much to free him, but I was able to help him up after he painfully ripped his arm away. He clutched his injured hand to his chest, and I pushed him into the far corner with a mild glare.

"What did I tell you about keeping your distance?"

"O-Okay," Stiles said shakily, eyeing Jackson's now-still form. "Okay, everyone listens to Sadie! No one does anything like that again, okay?"

Erica quickly nodded, looking downright terrified, and Isaac groaned in pain again. "I thought the ketamine was supposed to put him out!"

"Yeah, well apparently this is all we're going to get. So let's just hope that whoever's controlling him just decided to show up tonight."

"I'm here."

We all turned very, very slowly. Jackson was still sitting motionless in his chair, but his eyes had suddenly opened into slits. It was almost disorienting to see Jackson's real green eyes staring at us instead of the kanima's yellow ones. It was moments like this when I didn't want to think of him as the kanima. Not when he looked like this. I'd seen him upset, sure—downright murderous—but I'd never seen him this…dead. This wasn't Jackson. Right now, this was just a hollow shell for whoever was controlling him. A tool for murder, and a tool for contacting us.

"I'm right here with you."

Stiles took a hesitant step forward, but I snatched his arm in horror. He looked back at me, much calmer than I expected him to be. "It's okay."

"No! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Being Batman."

My grip fell slack just long enough for him to slip away. He took a few more steps toward Jackson, ignoring the protests I hadn't even been able to get out of my mouth. He squatted down in front of the chair, out of arm's reach but still too close to really be safe. If the ketamine wore off, or if Jackson was just faking…

"Jackson?" Stiles asked softly. "Is that you?"

"Us. We're all here."

Stiles glanced at us over his shoulder, and I felt my stomach momentarily drop. None of the kanima mythologies we'd read had said anything about multiple masters. If Jackson turned out to be a toy being passed around by a bunch blossoming serial killers, I had a feeling I'd be ready to throw the towel in. Forget what I'd said outside.

"Are you the one killing people?" Stiles asked, and I was just a little comforted by his firm use of the word "one."

"We're the one killing murderers."

"So all the people you killed so far—…"

"Deserved it."

"See, we got a little rule book that says you only go after murderers."

"Anything can break if enough pressure is applied."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked, stepping up behind Stiles and crossing my arms over my chest. "You just tried to tell us that all the people you killed were murderers. So supposedly you're not breaking the rules."

Jackson's eyes shot up to mine. I could see the yellow seeping into his irises, and I had to fight not to back down. "Not yet."

"Okay, let's—let's calm down," Stiles said, one of his arms out to keep me behind him. "We believe you, alright? So the people you're killing are all murderers then?"

"All," he replied, still staring at me. "Each. Every. One."

"Fine. Who did they murder?"

"Me."

Well. That couldn't be good.

"Wait, what?" Stiles asked. "What do you mean?"

"They murdered me. They murdered me!"

Jackson's eyes were rapidly becoming yellow again, his entire body shaking from secondhand rage from his master or masters, wherever they were. The scales were slowly fading into view on his skin and his hands, while still at his sides, were already turning into claws. I grabbed Stiles by the collar and yanked him to his feet, dragging him back while my eyes stayed trained on the kanima's emergence.

"Okay, alright," Stiles said, stumbling slightly. "The man needs ketamine. Come on."

"We don't have anymore," Isaac said, and I caught him hold the empty bottle up out of the corner of my eye.

"You used the whole bottle?" Stiles asked in exasperation.

"And if he hadn't, we'd probably already be dead," I snapped. "Instead we're gonna die now. Door. Go."

Stiles might have argued if Jackson hadn't chosen that moment to let out a chilling screech, long teeth poking out of his rapidly mutating head. Instead, he grabbed Erica and I grabbed him, Isaac tripping frantically behind us as we tumbled out the door. He slammed it shut and we piled against it, Stiles's arms spread out over all of us to keep us to the wall. "Okay, find something to move in front of the door."

There was another screech before the wall beside us seemed to explode, bits of metal flying every direction. The kanima leapt out and disappeared into the shadows in the blink of an eye. The plan had officially crashed and burned.

"Shit," Stiles hissed, pulling his arms back and starting to pace in front of us. "Shit, shit, shit! Not good. Oh shit. So not good."

"Okay, do you want to stop cursing and tell us something we don't know?" Erica asked. The words were sharp, but her voice was too hysterical for the question to deliver the desired reaction.

"I don't know," I sighed, knotting my fingers in my hair. "Jackson's probably halfway to his target at this point, and if a fight breaks out we pretty much reveal the supernatural world to half the population. And kill the other half." Stiles and I looked at each other and nodded, each reaching for our phone. "I'll call Derek."

"I'll call Scott. You two, see if you can track Jackson down. If we can't stop him, we can at least minimize the damage."

Isaac and Erica didn't question the order. They hurried across the room in the direction Jackson had fled, eyes flashing gold as they tried to lock onto his sense. In a minute, they were gone.

Stiles grabbed my hand and started pulling me back the way we'd come, already holding his phone to his ear. I tapped on my speed dial, anxiously biting my lip as I listened to the ringing. Thankfully, I didn't have to listen to it for long. The beep cut off halfway through the tone, letting way to the sound of gunfire. Then I didn't feel so thankful the phone wasn't ringing.

"Derek? Derek! Answer me!"

"Hold on!" he growled.

I heard another particularly loud gunshot. I yelped, and nearly fell over as I tried to stop walking with Stiles still pulling at my hand. He shot me a concerned look, but didn't let me stop moving.

Derek roared on the other end of the line and there were a few more crashes. After several seconds of annoyingly vague heavy breathing, his voice returned to the line. "I'm a little busy getting shot at. What's wrong?"

"Everything? Ketamine apparently isn't the thing for restraining kanimas."

"What? Sadie, get—get out! Get of there now!"

"I know, we're going. I'm parked in the back at the loading dock."

"I'll meet you there. Run faster."

He hung up on me after that, but I couldn't exactly blame him. Mr. Argent and his hunters were probably still on his tail. Staying on the line was probably only increasing his chances of getting shot, and who knew what kind of ammo the Argents were using trying to take down the kanima.

I opened a new message, typing in Allison's name and trusting Stiles to keep me from falling on my face.

"If you're still here with Matt, you need to get out. Your dad's still outside and Jackson's on the loose. Text me when you're safe."

Stiles and I had to take a few guesses running through the building, trying to find our way to the backdoor rather than the front. It took us a few minutes, but even once we'd run safely over the mountain ash line, Stiles still hadn't been able to get in touch with Scott. I'd hoped that maybe he was fighting with Derek and Boyd, but the way Derek was running made me think he was alone. I felt like he probably would have mentioned it if one of the other werewolves had gotten hurt, but it didn't stop me from being worried. If the hunters hadn't gotten their hands on him, who had?

Derek confirmed my suspicions a minute later when he came hurtling around the corner. He barely slowed down as he approached us, running over and grabbing me by the shoulders as he stopped short. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm fine, Derek. It's fine."

"Well, not really," Stiles offered from behind me. "We lost Jackson inside. I'm fine, by the way, thanks for asking."

Derek glared at him over my shoulder, but didn't get a chance to yell at him. His head snapped up a moment before Isaac and Erica came running out of the loading dock. They didn't say anything, but judging by their expressions, they didn't have any good news. They started to walk dutifully toward their Alpha, but jolted to a stop after just a few steps. Isaac looked down in confusion, then knelt and tried to touch the black powder that was forming a barrier at his feet. But he couldn't.

He glanced up at Erica, looking worried, but Stiles burst into laughter. "Oh my God, it works! We did something! We did a thing!"

"Yes, Stiles, we did a thing. And Jackson's still free. Shush."

"Right, sorry."

"Scott?" Everyone turned sharply to Derek, who was suddenly standing up straight as a rod. He stared into the distance, just as Scott had earlier before he went running off without explanation. He looked equally alarmed, and his hands went from digging painfully into my shoulders to clenching into fists at his side. "Break it!"

"What? No!"

"Why?"

"Just break it! He's dying!"

"Woah," Stiles said, indignation evaporating into concern. "How do you know that?"

I knelt down without question, instinctually swiping my hands through the air over the ash and breaking the line. I could almost feel the barrier fall down, like a gust of wind that hit me in the chest. I wondered briefly if I might be able to close the line again after Derek was inside, but something in me knew that it wouldn't matter. The kanima and his master had most likely already completed their mission for the night. And now they'd be gone.

Derek was running inside a fraction of a second later, yelling orders over his shoulder. "Isaac, call Boyd! He has the car!"

"But, if Scott...!" Isaac protested.

"Go!"

Something in Derek's voice made Isaac and Erica recoil, both bowing their heads as their alpha disappeared into the building. The forced submission didn't last long though. Isaac let out a wild scream, whirling around to punch a nearby dumpster, and leaving a considerable dent in the metal with his fist. Stiles and I both jumped a bit, but Erica stepped forward and grabbed his hand. His breathing gradually steadied, and after a few seconds he gave a dry laugh. "Well, that was fun. So much for saving lives."

"Did Jackson...?"

"She's dead," Erica said, casting me a dark look. "We could smell all the blood the moment we walked in."

I forced my brain to shut down before I could process the words "all the blood." It was the final stamp on our failure for the night. The Argents knew about Jackson. No one knew who was controlling him. The girl we had set out to protect had still been killed. The kanima had gotten away. And now Scott was dying somewhere inside. And there was nothing we could do about it. On the whole, we hadn't accomplished much of anything.

Erica excused herself to call Boyd, her hands shaking on her phone as she walked away. Isaac sighed, taking a seat on the ground and letting his legs hang over the edge of the loading dock. "You realize that Jackson's out, right? Like, for good? I doubt we'll be able to pull something like this off again. If you can call this 'pulling it off.'"

"I couldn't let Scott die," I said as firmly as I could. "I just...we can't do this without him."

"Yeah. I'm starting to see that."

His soft tone made me look up, but Erica was already walking back over to us. "Boyd's waiting out front. Derek told him to take us back to the train car. We've got to go." She stared at him expectantly, but the boy didn't move. He sat in his seat, absent-mindedly cracking his knuckles and staring into space. It didn't look like he planned on leaving anytime soon.

"I'll let you know when they get back," I assured him. "They'll be fine. Both of them."

The look Isaac sent me was doubtful, but he relented. He stood up and brushed himself off, and then gave Stiles and I a stiff nod. He and Erica walked away without a goodbye, but it felt appropriate. What did you say to someone after a night like this?

I turned to Stiles when they were gone, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my face in his shoulder. "They will be okay, right? They'll..."

"Yeah. They'll be okay."

He hugged me just tight enough that I could feel him trying to convince himself. I leaned back for a moment, and we each put on the best brave face we could. It didn't do much good. I knew Stiles's expression was most likely reflected in my own, right down to the eyes filled with visions of Scott's bloodied body, mangled by the kanima or riddled with bullet holes the Argents had left behind. I closed my eyes and his my thoughts and face in Stiles's neck again. I didn't want to see it anymore.

But the Scott that Derek carried out of the building didn't look bloody or mangled. I was almost relieved, until I noticed the sheen of sweat on his half-transformed brow. His claws lolled around as the alpha rushed over to us, not looking any less panicked than he had when he left. If anything he was even worse for wear.

"What the hell happened?" Stiles demanded the moment the boys were in sight. "What's wrong?"

"Wolfsbane," Derek bit out, half-snarl and half-cough. "She was vaporizing it. The bitch was murdering him! No code! Nothing!"

"Derek! Derek, stop," I said, grabbing his shoulder. His head snapped up to glower at me, and I was almost certain that if he hadn't been holding Scott he might have thrown me across the parking lot in his rage. "Who was trying to murder him?"

"Victoria."

"Wait, Victoria as in Victoria Argent?" Stiles asked frantically. "Victoria Argent as in Allison's mother?"

"Yes, that Victoria," Derek spat. "I—I had to fight her off. She's gone. I don't know how long she had him, but he doesn't have long."

"W-Well can't we just do what we did last time?" he suggested. "We get some wolfsbane, we burn out the infection…"

"I was shot, Stiles. That was—That was one open wound. Scott's been breathing this for God knows how long. This… I don't know how to fix this…" Derek swallowed thickly, looking down at Scott with more emotion than I'd ever seen him show in a group. He felt guilty, obviously—that seemed to be a permanent part of his character, taking responsibility for others' misfortunes—but he was also scared. That probably should have scared me. Instead, it kicked my brain into high gear.

"Maybe you don't. But we know someone who does."

"We do?" Stiles asked, as they both turned to look at me sharply. Stiles remained confused, but Derek's face quickly fell to realization.

"Deaton."

"Oh great, psycho vet?"

"He helped us today, didn't he?" I asked, making Stiles scoff.

"Helped? What did anything help to fix tonight?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

Stiles looked at me sourly, but deflated. We were on the clock, and if the veteran werewolf didn't know what to do, Deaton was the closest we were getting to an expert.

"I can't get him there like this," Derek groaned, hoisting him up a little higher with difficulty. "I'm still healing from the fight with…"

"Take the van," I said, already walking around to start it for him. "Stiles can drive me home."

"You want me to race to save Scott's life in a minivan?"

"At least she's not stick-shift."

Derek didn't question me. I climbed into the back seat, pulling the sliding door open and helping him lie Scott down. He groaned as we moved him, and while my heart clenched for causing him pain, it was good to know he was still alive.

I backed up, ready to hop out the car, but a hand shot out and caught my wrist. Scott's claws grazed dangerously over my skin, his eyes fluttering open and closed. "D-Don't…"

"Scott? Don't what?" I wasn't surprised to hear my voice in hysterics. My free hand laid itself over Scott's grip on me, giving it a frightened squeeze. "Derek's taking you to Deaton. We don't know…"

"Don't tell…Allison…"

"Are you serious?" Stiles asked. He'd run around the van the moment Scott had shown signs of life, and now stood incredulously at my shoulder. "Scott, her mom is trying to kill you. Like murder you. That sounds like something she should probably know about."

"You can't… I have to…"

I slid my wrist out of his hand and grabbed it with both of mine. "Okay. Don't die, and we won't tell Allison."

Scott's lips twitched up, though it immediately turned into a grimace of pain. "Fair."

I dropped his hand and pushed his hair back off his forehead. The bulky muscles of his brow were already returning to normal, though I wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a terrible symptom. I stepped back and slammed the door shut, nodding curtly to Derek in the driver's seat. There was a screech as the van jerked into reverse, missing the dumpster by a matter of inches. Then it peeled out of the parking lot, leaving us in silence and darkness.

I reached back and grabbed Stiles's hand, not bothering to check the worried look on his face. He weaved his fingers between mine, releasing his anxiety in his grip so I wouldn't be able to hear it in his voice. "Come on. I'll drive you home."

We didn't speak the whole way to my house. I'm pretty sure we were both too afraid that voicing the possible consequences of the night would make them real. I know I was. I also knew that I wasn't strong enough to keep my emotions out of my voice like Stiles did. I didn't have that much control. He was worried enough as it was. He didn't need to be worrying about consoling me too.

Stiles pulled up to the curb, momentarily letting go of my hand so he could park. He glanced past me at the dark house and gave me a grim smile. "What you are gonna tell your mom happened to the van?"

"I hadn't really thought about it. Probably that Allison's date crashed and burned, and I stayed behind to create a distraction while she escaped."

"Wish that were true," he snorted, making me smile.

"I don't know if I'll have to say anything, though. Hopefully Mom's asleep and Derek will have the car back before sunrise."

"Yeah, or he'll steal it and keep it for his happy wolf pack family."

"Well then, you'll have to help me hotwire the Camaro." He grinned at the suggestion, but it wasn't strong enough to reach his eyes. I bit my lip, holding his hand again and rubbing my thumb over the skin. "Scott's going to be okay. I know you don't really trust them, and I get that. But they won't let anything happen to him. Everyone knows how important Scott is. And I promise that I will call you the moment I hear from Derek. I'm not going to sleep until I'm positive Scott's alive."

"Thank you." Stiles nodded, his smile a little more genuine. "I don't want us to become one of those couples that says 'I love you' like two hundred times a day until it doesn't mean anything, but… I love you, Sadie."

I smiled, enjoying the butterflies I got in my stomach as I kissed his knuckles. "I know."

His jaw dropped comically, and he turned to stare at me in horror. "Did you just Princess Leia me?"

"Maybe…"

"Oh no. That's it. Get out. Statement revoked. You don't get to say 'I love you' first and steal my Star Wars joke. You're banished, Bennet."

"Okay! I'm sorry, I'm going," I laughed. I climbed half out of the Jeep and paused, turning back with a hopeful grin. "Can I have a kiss before I go?"

Stiles rolled his eyes and pulled me back into the car. "God, you're so needy."

I pressed my lips to his, taking the gentle, heartfelt kiss I'd been expecting before. I nudged Stiles with my nose, pulling back just enough to breathe and resting my forehead against his. "Love you, Nerfherder."

"Don't push it, Princess."

A/N: I've been so anxious to post this chapter. I'm so glad this is up and I'm so excited for you guys to read it. Things are about to start getting really crazy.

As a general side note, updates on my stories are going to be slow. I'm back in school now, and also beginning to prep for my thesis project. I'm very excited for it, but it means a lot of research and planning this semester, and a lot of writing next semester. I'll try and keep writing these, and I'll let you know how it goes.

Thank you all so much for reading. You make it worthwhile.

-Brittney