i. decision: help

Derek wondered when his job had become to supervise distraught teenagers as he handed Scott a cooled can of Coke. The young werewolf had arrived her in Stiles' jeep but without the Alpha, completely out of breath, showing that he had completely forgotten all of his werewolf instincts and had fallen back on his ingrained human breathing habits. He had rambled something about 'Argents', 'meeting', 'Alpha Pack' and 'ambush' in such a disjointed manner that Derek had feared for the worst until Scott had finally managed to calm down enough to give him the whole story.

That hadn't necessarily assuaged Derek's fears but at least his first theory of an unholy alliance between Argents and Alpha Pack had been laid to rest. Now he needed only to fear for Stiles' life and whatever terrible plan the Alpha Pack had in store for him.

"Do you have anything else?" Lydia asked. "Herbal tea, maybe?" Derek raised his eyebrow at her, hoping to convey how ridiculous that question sounded, especially considering the still somehow empty state of his living quarters.

"You're right, that was a stupid question," Lydia conceded. "But thankfully, I always carry a teabag with me exactly for such cases." She rummaged through her designer bag until she found what she was looking for. "Even you must have hot water at least." Derek nodded. "Then I'll make myself some tea." Throwing her hair over her shoulder she purposefully walked towards Derek's kitchen area, filled a pot she got from the cabinet with water and started to heat it on the stove.

"Why exactly did you call her?" Derek wanted to know from Scott, thankful for Lydia's lack of supernatural hearing. It wasn't that he had anything against the redhead, he just couldn't guess how she was supposed to help.

"Stiles ordered me to tell everybody what happened," Scott just shrugged. "I thought that included Lydia. And then she wanted to know where I was heading, so I told her. And now we're all here." He shrugged again.

Derek suppressed the urge to rub his temple in a fruitless gesture to starve off the stress he was feeling. He hoped that none of the teenagers' parents ever found out where their children spent so much of their free time. Derek didn't want to answer awkward questions or brought in for a tense interview by the sheriff. He had enough on his plate already, thank you very much.

"Do you think Stiles will be alright?" Scott asked, his voice so forlorn and small. Again, Derek was reminded that all of this – mystery, murder, supernatural, kidnapping – was still new to Scott; that he had been thrown into it without forewarning or proper guidance. Not that their whole situation was par for the course to Derek either, but growing up with the supernatural you were at least aware of the possibilities. Derek was looked up for guidance even though being hounded by the Alpha Pack was as new and unexpected for him as it was for Stiles and his friends.

He wasn't supposed to show that, though. He was supposed to be stoic and strong, invulnerable and emotionless. He was supposed to be the wise man guiding the teenagers along, like in some fantasy novel, despite the fact that Derek felt as lost as the boy in front of him, as terrified as the girl in the kitchen who was desperate to not show how affected she was.

"He'll be fine," Derek replied, and it actually came out strong and confident. Thankfully Scott didn't prod further, because Derek doubted that his logical reasoning why the Alpha Pack wouldn't kill Stiles – at least not right now – would have calmed him down.

Slowly, the smell of Lydia's tea began to waft through the air: Dried berries, green tea and other ingredients that made Derek's nose itch. He was used to the smell of tea, though, unlike Scott who began to sneeze several times.

"Just take a few deep breaths," Derek advised him. Scott did as he was told, and the sneezing stopped. Meanwhile, Lydia came back from the kitchen with a steaming mug in her hands and sat down on his couch. Derek didn't even know that he owned any kind of mug. Lydia took a sip of her tea and let out a satisfied exhale.

"Isn't it still hot?" Scott wanted to know.

"It has exactly the right temperature," Lydia countered.

Scott looked at her sceptically. "You just don't want to admit that you burned your tongue." Lydia glared at him but instead of saying anything she demonstratively took another sip form the mug.

Teenagers, Derek scoffed inwardly. "I hope your parents know where you are. I don't want any furious adults clamouring at my door or, even worse, the sheriff."

"My mom still thinks I'm with Stiles," Scott replied. "I told her that there may be a sleepover, so she doesn't expect me before tomorrow."

"My parents are sufficiently distracted as well," Lydia replied. "They think I'm with Allison. She will cover for me." Silence descended upon them, everybody lost in their own thoughts: Derek leaning against one of the supporting steal beams, Lydia sitting on the couch, sipping at her mug and Scott sitting on the carpet, leaning against the couch with his back.

Derek didn't know what the others were thinking about; couldn't really tell from their closed-off posture and their blank expressions. He was hoping that Stiles would come back unscathed. The logical part of his mind told him that the Alpha Pack had no reason to attack their pack, at least not until they had gotten what they were here for. If they had wanted to harm them there had been ample enough opportunities before with much better chances at success. It was difficult, though, to convince the emotional part of him of that, to calm down his fast heartbeat, to stop the fear from churning in his stomach and disperse the unease that clouded his mind.

The wolf within was anxious, stalking back and forth. It was a creature of action, not of thought, and it didn't sit well with it that they were just standing around while another pack member was in danger.

"Can't we do anything?" Scott's question disrupted their thoughts. "It doesn't feel right, sitting around here and doing nothing while Stiles is doing God knows what."

"We don't even know where he is," Lydia pointed out.

"He switched on the tracking on his phone," Scott replied. "I can look up where he's right now."

"And you only mention this now?!" Lydia exclaimed, echoing Derek's thoughts. Scott turned his gaze down, his cheeks turning red in embarrassment and shame.

"It didn't cross my mind until now. I thought you knew that," he mumbled, more directed towards Derek than Lydia. "You spent so much time together these days." He even managed to not make it sound like an accusation. "He told me to switch it on on my phone as well." He pulled out his smartphone and opened the app. Lydia and Derek scrambled behind him to get a better look at the screen.

It took a few seconds and then the blue circle that was Stiles' position appeared on the map.

"That's the Serenity Complex," Lydia pointed out. "Really high-end apartments no one in Beacon Hill can afford so it's mostly rich people from the coast who rent them for their weekend getaways."

"We now know at least where the Alpha Pack is residing," Derek summarised.

"So, should we go and rescue Stiles?" Scott asked, a hopeful tinge to his voice.

"Don't get me wrong, I don't want anything to happen to Stiles, either, but just bursting in could upset an already very delicate situation," Lydia threw in.

"What exactly did these twins say to you, Scott?" Derek asked again. "The exact wording."

"It was something about their esteemed leader – I don't remember his name, something with D – wanting to meet Stiles," Scott replied.

Derek nodded. "There are unspoken rules about this: By calling it a 'meeting' and giving away their pack's Alpha's name the Alpha Pack's Alpha extended his protection towards Stiles for the whole duration of their meeting."

"So what?" Scott huffed. "It doesn't mean anything."

"On the contrary, it does, especially amongst the whole supernatural community, not only werewolves," Derek retorted. "If something happens to a person who's been under the protection of a pack, family, clan or whatever, that has given away their leader's name, the wronged party can use the name to have them cast out and that's not a light threat. No other supernatural being will ever deal with or help a cast out pack."

"Then why hasn't it happened to the Alpha Pack already?" Lydia wanted to know.

"I don't know," Derek admitted. "We only know what you and Stiles unearthed and unfortunately, police reports don't mention if the Alpha Pack followed the laws of hospitality. Besides, no witness, no crime."

"So, it's completely legal for them to murder whole packs?!" Scott exclaimed aghast.

Derek nodded solemnly. "You have to understand, there's no central governing body for the supernatural. There are a few rules so that there's at least a little bit order, but otherwise the only thing that counts is power. Other supernatural races don't care about werewolves as long as our dealings don't spill over into theirs and we do the same in return."

"And what about the other packs in the US?" Scott wanted to know. "I don't believe that none of them care that whole packs get wiped out."

Derek huffed in frustration. "I don't know, alright? The Alpha Pack rose to prominence after…after my family was killed. I don't know why there was no cross-pack alliance to stop them. I don't know why there isn't one now either. I don't even know where the next pack near here is because it's all kept secret. Only my mother knew." Scott let his head hang dejectedly while Derek let out a shaky breath after his rant.

"So, Stiles is at least safe for now," Lydia summarised. "If we can't help him there is there at least anything else we can do here instead of worrying ourselves to death?"

Derek thought about it.

"There is something," he spoke after a few seconds. "I know that my mother had dealings with the veterinarian."

"Doctor Deaton?!" Scott exclaimed. "But he's the nicest and most normal person I know!"

Lydia, meanwhile, seemed intrigued by the possibility. "Then let's find out. I doubt whatever news Stiles will bring will be good, so let's surprise him with something positive instead."

ii. decision: acceleration

The sound of Hale's metal door closing told her that the two werewolves and the girl had left the apartment, so Jennifer let her listening spell fade away until the only thing she could hear was her own breath and the silence of her own apartment. Again, she applauded herself for magically bugging the apartment when she had had the chance during Hale's absence. A few runes etched into the corners of each space and now she could listen in whenever she wanted.

It was always useful to know what the other players at the table were up to, even if they didn't know that there was a game afoot. She was alone – no pack or coven to back her up, so she needed every advantage she could get her hands on.

She let her hand rest on the cabinet she was standing in front of, running her fingers along the random patterns of the wood. It was somehow soothing and helped her think. So, Deucalion had pressured Stilinski into their first meeting all according to his usual modus operandi.

Jennifer knew why; knew what poisoned chalice the Alpha would offer Stilinski: A place in his pack and more power than he could ever imagine. If Stilinski's whole pack died at his hand. If he absorbed all of his betas' power. Just like he had done with Kali.

Stilinski would refuse his offer, of that Jennifer was sure. He was too good, too pure of mind, to even consider it. But that didn't matter to Deucalion; no, in fact he found his thrill in it. He relished in breaking, tainting, perverting all that was good and so he would start his machinations until Stilinski would break and end up exactly where Deucalion wanted him to be.

It had worked with Kali. Her sweet, naïve Kali, who had promised her that she would never fall for Deucalion's promises until the moment she eventually did.

She needed to accelerate her plans, she thought. It didn't matter if Stilinski ended up as member of the Alpha Pack or if another took his power – in the end Deucalion would profit either way and would amass even more might. She couldn't allow that to happen.

If she shortened the time between her sacrifices the power she would receive wouldn't be as much as when she did the ritual properly, but it would still be enough to go against the demon wolf and his followers.

So, one last virgin. It would be that young men she had encountered in the grocery store, wearing a purity ring. So forthcoming of him to announce himself like this.

After two killings – murders, she owed her victims at least that little bit of honesty – there was only a small twinge of guilt at the thought of a third one. She didn't belief that she would still feel any over the fourth…or the fifth.

Jennifer was a monster, after all. It was time to act like it.

iii. decision: classification

The police line was fluttering in the wind while all around the trees' branches whipped back and forth, causing a cascading rustling as background noise for the dozen or so police officers milling around. All of the men and women wore grim expressions, full of seriousness, their lips pressed into thin lines and their gazes hardened. There was no talking but for short orders that they barked at each other as if every word spoken was an unnecessary intrusion that needed to be kept away.

Quite a few meters away, behind the trees, one could make out the outlines of at least seven vehicles; six police cars and one belonging to the coroner's office. He had seen way too much business over the last few weeks for such a small town like Beacon Hills.

The crime scene was unmissable: Spotlights had been put up, even though the sun was still up. The trees were dense, though, throwing every moving shadows on the ground and there was the fear that an important trace may be overlooked due to that. Officers in white protective suits were crouching all around, carefully going over the foliage and bagging whatever they deemed important enough with their tweezers.

None of them worked near the body of the dead girl, though, as if there was an invisible barrier that marked the space where the officers dared not to thread. Soon she would be bagged, too, and put into the bag of the coroner's car, but until then she just laid there underneath the trees.

"What do we know?" John asked Tara, who was standing next to him at the edge of the crime scene, the police line flattering behind them. Outwardly, he looked unfazed and stoic, a façade he had learned to craft very fast after entering the police force, but inwardly there was a maelstrom of emotions cursing through him. Every police officer felt like that, but you couldn't let these emotions rule you. Even if it seemed nigh but impossible, even if rage or grief or disgust were howling inside of you, you needed to have a clear head.

"The victim's Heather Morrigan, the girl that's been reported missing just a few days ago by her parents when they found her room inexplicable empty in the morning," Tara started to drone, another defence mechanism John knew from his time as beat cop. "Donovan and Parker were assigned the case and started asking around and following leads when the station received a call from a jogger a few hours ago. The man found her like this during one of his runs and immediately called us. Donovan took him to the station and is currently taking his statement, but I doubt that he'll have anything for us: He just found her."

"Cause of death?" John asked, though it was an unnecessary question: There was blood everywhere, on the girl's clothes and skin and seeping into the ground, bedewing hundreds of blades of grass.

"As far as we can tell her throat had been cut and she bled out," Tara replied. "But I bet you that the coroner's report will say that she died the same way as the girl before: She drowned on her own blood. Maybe there'll even be mistletoe again."

John sighed. "So, we have a serial killer on our hands then."

"Sir?" There was uncertainty in Tara's voice. "I thought you needed at least three kills for there to be a serial killer."

"Look at this," John spoke and nodded towards the bustling crime scene. "That's the second victim who's been killed in a very specific, obscure way. Do you really think that whoever did this will stop after only two murders?"

Tara shook her head. "No."

"Officially, we can't declare it a serial killing yet," John stated, his lips pressed into a thin line, the only outwardly sign of his displeasure. He hated bureaucracy, especially when it got in the way of his job, of protecting his town. "But I want everyone to treat it that way."

"Understood, sir," Tara replied. "What do you want to tell the public?"

John sighed. It was always a balancing act, weighting between what to tell the public to keep them informed and what to hold back in order to keep them safe and the perpetrator in the dark about their investigation. And no matter how you decided, it always felt like you made the wrong call.

"That we're investigating two deaths that may be connected," he finally replied. "And that we ask of the citizens to stay inside when it gets dark, especially the children." It was practically an admission that there was a serial killer on the loose and that the town was not safe, but it did not explicitly say that.

Tara just nodded. She was about to turn around and go to the other officers, but then she turned back and said: "Whoever did this…we'll get them."

There was determination in her voice. No false bravado like John was used to from young rookies but the steady certainty from someone who knew what they were doing.

"We will," John agreed as his gaze wandered again towards Heather's body. Stiles was the same age as her. "We will."

iv. decision: refusal?

The car stopped in front of the one – and also only – luxurious apartment building in Beacon Hills: The Serenity Complex. Stiles had never been here before, but he should have guessed that the Alpha Pack would take residence here. Only the best of the best for the supposed mightiest werewolf pack in Northern America.

The car ride had been filled with silence and tension. Neither Stiles nor the twins had spoken a single word on their way here. Stiles was sitting on the backseat, Ethan behind on the driver seat and Aiden next to him in order to prevent him from making an escape. Stiles could have probably jumped out of the car with naught but a few scratches – he was a werewolf, after all – but what for? Sooner or later the Alpha Pack would get their meeting and Stiles would rather have it happen now instead of somewhere down the line with a much stricter enforcement. Why delay the inevitable?

After their initial posturing the twins had thankfully left him to his thoughts. There was no jeering, no threats or forced conversation which spoke of intelligence. There was only the tension that hung between them, just waiting to explode. But Stiles kept to himself, kept his more animalistic side under control, which wasn't all that difficult because he instinctively knew that the twins were more powerful than him. He could sense the power that coiled underneath their skin; the power that seemed to grow the closer the two were to each other and abated the more distance there was between them.

No, they could easily overpower him. Stiles had no illusion about that.

"We're here," Ethan announced. They all stepped outside. The twins led him onwards, Ethan in front and Aiden falling behind him. Leaving his back so exposed made Stiles feel uncomfortable, but that was exactly what the twins were going for: To show him who held all the power.

They took the elevator up to the penthouse – of course – and stopped in front of the door with the golden number one.

"He's expecting you," Aiden spoke.

"Don't do anything stupid," Ethan added.

"I don't plan to," Stiles replied. "I can do the math."

Aiden opened the door and Stiles stepped inside. The alpha twin pulled the door shut and then Stiles was alone. Well, not really, because somewhere in here the leader of the Alpha Pack was waiting for him but during that split-second it nearly felt like that.

Stiles was standing in a wide living area that stretched over the whole width of the building. There was a wide window front that cover the whole side of the space and allowed for an uninterrupted view over much of Beacon Hills and the adjacent preserve. There was a fireplace on the right side of the room, unlit, with a seating arrangement of couches and chairs around it and sturdy looking wooden book shelves but that was as far as Stiles took in the room because then he noticed the figure sitting in front of the windows, back towards Stiles.

He reeked of power: Fire, smoke and thunder so heavy that Stiles had to breath through his mouth because with the smell of power came also the smell of wrongness. He didn't know what it was, but it made his toes curl, his eyes water and his throat dry. Something was so utterly wrong, so perverted that the wolf inside Stiles began to howl in desperation. The power didn't belong here, yet it clung to the man as if it couldn't escape.

And there was so much of it! Until now Stiles would have never guessed that power could be this physical as it stretched out around him, but he could feel it weighting on his shoulders. He wanted to take a step back but he just couldn't will his body to move. It was as if he was rooted on the spot.

And all of a sudden, it vanished. The smell, the feeling, disappeared as if a fresh breeze had wafted through the room and cleared it, leaving behind only Stiles and the man sitting in front of the window.

"Ah, Mr. Stilinski." The man – Deucalion, the twins had called him – stood up, only now deigning Stiles worthy of his attention. A power play, to show Stiles the might he possessed that he could turn his back to another Alpha for so long. He turned around, revealing red-streaked empty eyes.

He was blind!

And yet that did nothing to diminish his threat level.

"Please, come and sit down," Deucalion continued, indicating towards the second chair next to his, separated only by a small table on which two cups and a steaming tea pot had been placed.

"I'm so grateful that you followed my invitation," the leader of the Alpha Pack spoke as Stiles took the remaining steps towards the chair. Even though he was blind Stiles had no illusion that the man could track him perfectly.

"Well, I could hardly refuse your offer," Stiles replied, leaving the double meaning hang between them, as he sat down.

Deucalion just smiled at him and sat down, too. "Tea?" he offered.

"I'm not really into tea, to be quite honest," Stiles refused politely.

"Oh, but I insist," Deucalion spoke. "It's a special blend. Imported directly from China. It would be such a tragedy to let it go to waste."

"Well, if you say so," Stiles gave up his resistance. Without hesitation, Deucalion took the tea pot and poured the tea into Stiles' cup, stopping exactly when the cup was nearly full. Not a single drop had spilled. A perfect demonstration that his blindness did nothing to impede him.

The tea did actually taste fine, Stiles had to admit that. Even he as someone whose last time drinking tea he couldn't remember could concede to that. A little bit hot, though, but he managed to not spit it out because of that.

"I'm sure you have heard a lot about us," Deucalion stated.

"I did," Stiles agreed, but didn't expound any further. No need to let the other know the extend of his knowledge. "Which makes me wonder why an illustrious pack such as yours would find itself lost in this quaint little town. There's nothing here, after all."

"Oh, but that is not necessarily true, isn't it?" Deucalion replied, taking a sip from his cup. "You are here after all."

"You certainly know how to charm a man," Stiles laughed. Sarcasm had always been his best and first defence. "But I wouldn't call myself that special."

"Nevertheless, we always take the time to get to know new Alphas that arise in this land," Deucalion continued. "It is not something that happens all the time, after all."

"Do you also always take the time to murder their whole packs?" Stiles shot back, sharper than he had intended.

"I can promise you that I have never laid a single finger on any pack and neither have my pack members," Deucalion replied evenly. Stiles eyes widened in surprise: The man wasn't lying. No accelerated heartbeat or any other signs Derek had told him to watch out for.

Stiles was no fool, though. Believing you were telling the truth and the actual truth were two different pairs of shoes. There were many ways to misdirect and obfuscate.

"Is that so? Then what brings you here to Beacon Hills? Why your rather forceful invitation?"

"It's quite simple actually," Deucalion replied. "We need your help."

Stiles nearly let his teacup slip from his fingers. "My help? What would you need my help for?" The implication hung in the air: Why would the Alpha Pack, consisting of the most fearsome werewolves in the country, need the help of a newly turned werewolf who barely had the basics down. Revealing Deucalion's incompetence without actually pointing at it.

"Ever since a few weeks ago our steps have been shadowed by a dark presence," Deucalion started to explain. "It seems to know where we are heading and follows us accordingly. I think you've come into contact with it already. It has already killed one citizen of this town already."

"You know what it is?" Stiles leaned forward, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. Pictures of the dead girl at the pool flashed in front of his mind.

"Do I know what it is? Indeed. Do I know who it is or even its motivations? No, that remains unclear to me," Deucalion replied. "Do you know what a Darach is?"

Stiles shook his head.

"A Darach is a druid who fell to the dark side," Deucalion explained. "Someone who uses their magical abilities and their connection to nature for their own twisted goals instead of the balance. Corrupted and vile beings with only destruction and hate on their minds."

"Why don't you take care of this Darach yourself?" Stiles wanted to know.

"Because they would see us coming. They have followed our steps for a while now and know us. Of you, though, they know nothing and thusly they will not see you coming."

"And why would I help you?" Stiles demanded to know. "I could just let you duke it out between yourselves and get rid of two problems at once." Deucalion looked at him and despite him being blind Stiles felt as if the Alpha wolf's stare was piercing right through him down to his very soul.

"Because you wouldn't like the collateral damage such a confrontation would bring." He smiled; the smile of a predator, all teeth and no mercy.

"So, what do you say?"