Just breathe just breathe just-

"Faster?" Scott yelled, his high pitch giving away the game of how just completely out of our depth we were.

He revved the engine experimentally, and I squeezed my eyes shut so tightly, I could see stars.

"Much faster!" Stiles shouted from the passenger seat, holding onto the door for dear life.

Scott floored Derek's car and we were thrown back in our seats, heads slammed against the leather from the force.

"God, why couldn't we ride bikes?" I moaned under my breath. My fingers had the door handle in a death grip and my fringe was plastered to my forehead with sweat.

I was calm. I could absolutely sit in the back seat whilst Scott pretended he was the main character in a Fast & Furious film. This had absolutely been such a good idea.

I was absolutely going to pretend I was at a late-night mass with Gran the next time they invited me on a night-time outing.

The windows were cracked open to avoid me spiralling completely and the wind was creating a frenzied vortex within the car. My hair was whipping back and forth which ironically, was actually adding to my anxiety.

Scott veered around a corner suddenly and I let out a small shriek, as we were slammed against the doors.

"How you doing back there, Win?" Stiles called over his shoulder.

"Oh, you know," I shouted over the wind. "Living the dream!" I tightened my grip on the door handle until my knuckles were white.

I would not throw up I would not throw up

"Hey Scott, I don't think you're really grasping the concept of a car chase here!" Stiles said, his urgency causing me to finally open my eyes.

Stiles had his head turned to watch the car behind us, over his shoulder.

"If I go faster, I'll kill us!" Scott hissed.

My eyes widened and I felt the sandwich I had for lunch, threatening to make a reappearance. Stiles locked eyes with me just as I thought I might truly pass out.

"Well, if you don't go faster, they'll kill us!"

"Can we stop talking about dying, for the love of god!" I cried out.

"Wait-" Stiles said incredulously. "They're gone!"

My head shot round like a woman possessed, my lungs finally filling with air as I got a god given glimpse at the empty road behind us.

"He's right." I added in disbelief. "They've actually disappeared."

My relief was staggering as Scott finally eased up slightly on the throttle and the car slowed to a gentle cruise. Stiles turned his little radio on, whilst Scott shot worried looks over his shoulder.

"All units, suspect is on foot heading into the iron works."

"Oh no, no, no," I muttered, cradling my face in my hands.

Without warning, Scott silently yanked the wheel, and we were once again, plastered to the side of the car as he pulled a lawless U-turn and hit the gas.

As soon as the iron works were in sight, we were greeted by a flurry of what sounded suspiciously like bullets. The adrenaline of knowing that Derek was in there and up against a bloody machine gun was enough to completely side-line my car related fear.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and scooted forwards in my seat, feeling helpless strapped in. We passed through the entrance and the car began to bounce along a set of tracks. Bright, white lights flashed up ahead.

"Floor it Scott!" I shouted over the heavy gunfire.

Scott, ever receptive to orders, slammed his foot on the gas and Stiles unbuckled too. We shot into the middle of the warehouse and came to a screaming stop, desperately seeking out Derek. I spotted him ducked down behind a crate. He looked how I felt.

"Get in!" Scott barked through the open window.

Stiles crawled into the back seat and ended up half in my lap with his haste. Scott leant across the seats and threw open the passenger door for Derek.

As Stiles scrambled to get upright, I found the source of the barrage of bullets. There was a leather clad, machine gun wielding, hunter perched on a piece of scaffolding, with the perfect bird's eye view of the iron works. I watched him reload with terrifying agility, his hands moving at lightning pace. The hunter was laser focussed on Derek's direction, with the same primal, predatory gaze I'd seen in Kate.

Eerily like Kate actually.

Time ran out on my little mental detour as the final magazine clicked into place, just as Derek chose to dart for the relative safety of the car.

"Fuck!" I hissed through gritted teeth, launching myself across the backseat and into Stiles' lap to reach the window. "No, you bloody don't," I muttered, waiting with my heart in my mouth for Derek to clear the distance before immediately building up a shield around the car.

The hail of bullets unleashed by the hunter, powered towards us in a deadly flurry. I threw the shield up just in time to stop them cold, a few feet short of their target. His face dropped in confusion.

"Drive!" Derek snarled, barely having time to slam the car door behind him before Scott hit the gas.

I thanked God for small mercies, namely Derek's douchebag window tint to at least provide us with a little anonymity. It was bad enough that Kate knew my face, let alone every hunter in town.

Stiles wrapped his arms around my waist reflexively to prevent me from slamming into the door, as Scott took a corner like a bloody mad man, leaving a trail of dust and screeching tires behind us. Stiles had tried to move over when I suddenly sprawled myself across him, to his credit, but had only managed an inch or two, leaving me mostly in his lap. As the reality of our precarious situation dawned on me, I opted to remain deadly still, focussing really hard on pretending to still be protecting the car.

With the Iron Works quickly fading from view, Scott took a side road and gradually reduced our speed. I took this as an opportunity to wordlessly slide off of Stiles and back into my own seat.

We went over a bump in the road and Stiles' arm shot out to steady me, reminding me to buckle my seatbelt again. I glanced up at him and took in his decidedly pink cheeks and avoidant gaze. I bit my lip and stared down into my own lap, a small smile on my face.

"So," I deflected jovially. "What happened to laying low?"

Derek's furious panting had only just subsided, and he finally relaxed somewhat into his seat.

"Damn it!" Derek growled. "I had him!"

Somewhat relaxed.

Stiles launched forwards between the two front seats. "Him, who? The Alpha?"

"Yes! He was right in front of me, and the freaking police showed up."

"Pesky bastards," I muttered, just as Stiles argued back.

"Hey, they're just doing their jobs-"

Both Derek and I silenced him with very differently loaded looks, and he sat back in his seat, suitably chastened.

"Yeah, thanks to someone who decided to make me the most wanted fugitive in the entire state," Derek bit out venomously.

"We tried to tell him," I said helpfully.

"Can we seriously get past that?" Scott beseeched. "I made a dumbass mistake, I get it-"

"All right," I eased, scooting forwards to claim the spot between Scott and Derek's headrests. "Enough- how did you find him?"

Derek glanced back at me and then shook his head angrily, his mouth tightened into a harsh line.

"Are you serious?" I asked incredulously. His silence felt like a slap in the face. "We just saved your ungrateful little arse. Can you just bloody trust us for once?"

"Yeah, all of us!" Stiles added, leaning forward as well.

Derek and I silenced him with another shared look.

"Or not," he acquiesced, sitting back. "I'll just be back here."

I shuffled back and crossed my arms, meeting Derek in his silent stalemate. I glared at him intently in the rear-view mirror for almost a minute until he gave in.

Derek huffed. "Look, the last time I spoke to my sister, she was close to figuring something out." His harsh tone softened a little as he leaned into his explanation. "She found two things. The first, was a guy named Harris."

Harris.

"Our chemistry teacher?" Stiles and I exclaimed, both launching forward at the same time and knocking heads dramatically.

"Oh fuck!" I moaned, clutching my forehead.

"Goddamn," Stiles grunted, massaging his cheekbone.

Somewhere deep down, I ironically remembered once speculating whether Stiles' cheekbones were sharp enough to cut glass. How fortunate that I was able to test my theory. I begrudgingly moved my hand away from my face and was almost disappointed not to see any blood on my palm.

Well, I had certainly been wrong before.

"You two are fucking idiots," Derek jeered. Big talk from the man in the front seat.

I rolled my eyes and leaned forward, putting a hand to Stiles' chest to push him back into his seat gently.

"Why Mr Harris?" I asked.

Derek clenched his jaw briefly and then sighed. "I don't know yet."

"What's the second?" Scott asked.

Derek shifted in his seat, and I heard the distinct crinkle of paper. He presented us with a picture, something hand drawn, with an easily recognisable wolf in the middle of it.

My eyes narrowed in concentration, I noted that I had definitely seen it somewhere before, but for the life of me couldn't remember where.

"What?" Derek said suddenly, causing me to tear my eyes away from the strangely familiar insignia. "You know what this is?"

It took me a second to realise that he was asking Scott and I glanced up at him in surprise.

It dawned on me just where I'd seen it when Scott spoke.

"I've seen it on a necklace," he admitted, his knuckles white on the wheel.

Of course.

Allison's necklace, I finished silently.


"Winona!" Lydia exclaimed, ambushing me at my locker in what was looking increasingly like an annoying routine, with Allison in tow.

I cringed at her exuberant tone and continued digging around for books.

"So loud, so early," I groaned. I finally found my history textbook and slammed my locker shut.

Lydia looked me up and down with a critical eye.

"Now that you're friends with us, we should take you shopping," she chirped. "It's high time you lose the whole 'the morticians dressed me this morning' look."

I gasped mockingly and allowed Lydia to once again link us up for the walk to class. Interestingly, when Lydia attempted to place herself centre-stage in the middle of us, Allison pointedly moved to my other side instead. Lydia pursed her lips but hooked her arm in mine without comment.

Curiouser and curiouser.

"You know," I said coyly. "We're much meaner to gingers in England. You should count yourself lucky I'm not spreading propaganda about your lack of soul."

Allison snorted as we weaved in and out of the crowds, displaying the first real hint of amusement since her break up.

"Who's to say it would be propaganda?" Lydia replied with a sly wink.

I howled with laughter, constantly but always pleasantly surprised that Lydia was the real deal. She might have been a little shallow- okay more than a little. But in the quiet moments, when she thought no one was looking, Lydia was painfully authentic.

Stiles cut in front of us suddenly, looking more than a little panicked. He was in his classic flannel and t-shirt with an ironic slogan outfit combo, his backpack slung casually over his shoulder. I wondered what Lydia thought of his outfit.

As soon as his eyes fell on me, his face relaxed a little. It seemed to take him a second to realise that I was arm in arm with Allison and Lydia.

"Winona!" he exclaimed as we approached, and I cringed for the second time in five minutes.

Always so lively, these bloody Californians.

Stiles grabbed my shoulder and steered me out of my little group.

"Excuse us ladies," he said to the other very bemused looking girls. "We're in need of a bit of British snark."

I snorted and allowed myself to be led away.

"I didn't know you three were friends," Stiles remarked casually, his hands still on my shoulders.

I shrugged. "Apparently trauma bonds people."

I felt Stiles' gaze on me, but he didn't say anything more. He steered me through the throngs of students to an anxious Scott, who was practically vibrating further down the hall.

I supposed I should count myself lucky that the two boys had forgiven me so easily. Out of the pair, Stiles had put up the biggest fight, I think maybe to preserve a bit of pride after the voicemail.

We never did get to talking about it- not that I thought we would. It was one of those things better left unsaid.

The Sheriff had convinced me to stay for a slice of pizza the other night, unashamedly ecstatic that Stiles had a girl in the house. Or knew a girl at all. They were lovely together, all in-jokes and rolled eyes. They shared a warmth I thought I would probably never feel again.

The kind between a parent and child.

But it was so nice just to watch. After the successful dinner/apology, the Jeep had been outside my house the next morning before school, as if nothing had ever happened. Stiles handed me a travel mug filled with coffee and I felt like the Grinch, finally accepting Christmas into his heart.

"Okay," I said, coming to a stop. My hands on my hips in fake annoyance. "Why have I been dragged over here?"

I noticed Scott's sweaty temples. His darting eyes. "Oh God, is this about Allison?"

Stiles sucked his teeth. "Kinda," he answered vaguely.

I eyed Scott suspiciously, watching him fidget nervously with his hands.

"Jacksonknowsaboutme!" he blurted out, the sentence tumbling out of his mouth, unbidden.

I blinked at him. "Knows what?"

Scott swallowed and braced an arm against the lockers for support. The other was tracking paths through his curls, like an anxious tick.

"Knows what I am. That I'm a-"

"-werewolf," Stiles finished for him.

My stomach hit the floor, along with my will to live.

Shit. Shit.

I pushed my fringe off my forehead and exhaled heavily, half tempted to join Scott with an arm against the locker.

Oh, what the hell- I braced myself too.

This wasn't good. Looked like I'd been right when I joked that Scott's lycanthropy seemed to be the worst kept secret in all of bloody Beacon Hills.

My mind raced, fast-forwarding through a dozen possibilities and outcomes. I'd known there was something off about Jackson. Something not quite right.

I needed to start trusting my gut a little faster.

I thought back to being locked in the chemistry lab with him. How he'd fallen to his knees when the Alpha called- recognised the magic like I had.

The scratches on the back of his neck.

"Shit," I muttered out loud. I shook my head, a grimace on my lips. "He doesn't know half of what he thinks he knows."

"He seemed pretty freaking sure when he was blackmailing me into biting him," Scott grunted. His brown eyes flashed angrily. "He used Allison as bait."

It wasn't a surprise, but it still sunk like a rock in the pit of my stomach. The idea of dragging Allison into something she had managed to avoid up until this point, just for a chance at revenge made me feel ill.

"What did he say exactly?" I pressed.

Scott scrunched his face up and furrowed his brow. "He said… 'I know what you are McCall'."

"That's it?" I said, frowning. "I know what you are?"

"Something about whether it was a bite or scratch, he wanted it," Scott answered. "Then he threatened Allison."

The bell rang and students began to move around us. We set off silently down the hall as a three, taking care not to lose each other in the crowds.

I felt like I was on the verge of a light bulb moment- I just couldn't quite reach it. Everything Scott had just said made total sense, but I couldn't figure out how it all connected.

Jackson knew about Scott. Jackson wanted the bite.

He didn't know everything- he couldn't seem to bring himself to say 'werewolf', which should be telling me something. He knew enough to want what Scott had, which meant that he must have seen Scott's powers in action at some point. Had enough visual evidence to convince himself of the pros.

But he'd shown a particular interest in Allison recently which I couldn't discount. If he thought for just a minute that Scott was a werewolf, he might have put together who Allison's family were. I mean, to anyone who knew a little French, her surname wasn't exactly subtle.

But I couldn't understand why. Why he would get close to Allison, knowing who she was. Was it just to piss off Scott? Was it to keep himself safe?

That felt like a mystery for another day.

The scratches- that was where my answer lay. There were three werewolves in Beacon Hills that I knew of who could have given him that wound. Scott, who I was sure would have mentioned it by now. Losing his mind and attacking the most popular boy in school would certainly have been a memorable moment.

That left the Alpha, who Jackson had been unlucky enough to have multiple run ins with so far. Again, I felt like I would have heard by now if the richest boy in town had been personally attacked by the 'mountain lion'.

And then there was one.

"Derek," I muttered, thinking out loud. "Derek scratched Jackson."

"Derek?" Scott repeated with a frown. "Why would Derek do that?"

"Yeah," Stiles added, thoughtfully. "isn't he usually smarter than that?"

I chewed on my bottom lip, fighting the urge to swap it out for my thumbnail.

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "But I know how we can get Jackson to back off."

Stiles quirked an eyebrow. "And how are we going to do that? Is there a werewolf groupie deterrent?"

I chuckled. "Nope. We're going to do a bit of old-fashioned bullying."


Sunlight filtered uneasily through grimy windows, catching little dust particles in its rays.

The disused outhouse I'd discovered a few days ago, whilst on the hunt for somewhere to smoke, had a distinctly dream-like quality to it. You stepped over the abandoned threshold and time seemed to stop entirely.

"Are you sure no one uses these?" Derek asked a little while later, stood in the middle of what had once been a bathroom.

I gestured vaguely at the ivy-covered walls and bold lack of toilet cubicle doors.

"I think we're safe," I answered with a barely concealed eye roll. I stood up from my crouched position, where I had been depositing copious amounts of jewellery into my backpack and stretched.

"Thank you for coming during lunch," I said, aiming for sincerity. I pulled my jacket off and dropped it on top of my bag.

Derek did the same. "Don't mention it," he shrugged, his broad shoulders rolling with the motion. "I was in the area."

I bit back a smirk, remembering Stiles' comment about there being nothing around for miles. It looked like I wasn't the only one recently suffering from Dr Seuss like heart enlargement. I spied the brown leather bracelet on his wrist and caught mine with my fingers absentmindedly.

Linked.

I had in a way, linked us all together. Lydia, Allison, and Scott had all taken theirs with minimal complaints (all from Lydia obviously) and with surprisingly few questions asked.

Scott was the only one who got the truth, but it hadn't mattered anyway. The second he saw Stiles', he'd proffered his wrist without comment.

That's why his was purple. The colour of spirit.

Aether, quintessence.

The bridge between the body and soul.

Allison's leather bracelet was green, for earth. Lydia's yellow for air. I hadn't had it in mind to give out specific colours, only that the connection would be stronger for me if all the elements were represented. I really hadn't meant to do it so literally but every time my fingers clasped around the soft leather, I just knew which one I had to gift.

I certainly wasn't planning to read into Stiles' blue one. Definitely not.

As I stroked the red leather between my forefinger and thumb, I felt the hum of magic under my very skin. We were linked by choice, each one given willingly and accepted gracefully.

Not quite a pack, but… definitely something.

"I wasn't expecting you to want to start this little project of yours so quickly," Derek remarked.

I dropped my arm to my side and rolled my shoulders in preparation.

"The timeline changed," I replied vaguely.

I was grateful for his help, but the little bastard had scratched Jackson. Whatever he had said or done, had just made our lives infinitely more difficult. It would only do to give him a taste of his own medicine and keep him in the dark for a little while.

"So, what exactly are you wanting me to do here?" he asked, his gaze penetrating, as if he'd sensed that I was holding something back.

"Attack me," I answered. "I just need someone to practise offensive magic on, who won't cark it halfway through."

"So, I'm just a crash test dummy?"

"Well, you've got the dummy part down," I grinned.

Derek rolled his eyes but readied himself, anyway, slipping into a defensive stance.

It was only now that I was really looking at him, facing off against each other like a bull and a matador, that I truly got a sense of how formidable he was. Not because of the magic or his enhanced abilities- but due to the sheer bloody size of him.

Derek was fucking huge. Even squeezed into the walk way of an old bathroom.

My eyes lingered in particular on his very large and very scary hands.

"Just, uh… no teeth or claws, yeah? I already suffer once a month, there's no need to make it worse."

Derek barked out a laugh, catching us both off guard. Despite my mounting anxiety, I still had to stifle a smile, not wanting to make him self-conscious about letting the mask slip, ever so slightly.

"No teeth or claws," he assured me, his stubbled cheeks a little pink.

I took a steadying breath and reminded myself that I was doing this for the good of the people. I was a fucking hero, and I was absolutely not going to be viciously mauled in a school toilet. I regretted not telling Scott and Stiles where I was, just a little.

I stepped forward and flexed my hands, curling and uncurling my fingers into little fists.

"Okay," I said nervously. "Come at me, big boy."

Derek's face shifted in a matter of seconds, the boyish charm of his pink cheeks, lost to a supernatural nightmare. His soft blue eyes hardened to a startling shade of ice and his face filled in all the natural human dips and curves.

He snarled, showcasing an impressive set of fanged canines. Now those could cut glass.

My breath died abruptly in my throat as he strode towards me, his long legs eating up the distance between us faster than I could form a thought. He cut a terrifying figure in the low light.

He said no teeth or claws, I told myself in an attempt at reassurance. So at least I won't be a werewolf if I fuck this up.

Just dead, my lizard brain added helpfully.

I brought my hands down to my sides and clenched them into fists. My jagged nails cut into my palms and the pain gave me back some control.

I mirrored the same defensive stance that Derek had slid into earlier, my feet slightly apart and my knees bent, in the hope that would help my boots grip to the old tiles.

My first thought- instinct, was always fire. Always to destroy first and ask questions later. My little display in the forest had taught me that that there was actually a rather gaping flaw in that plan, and it was that I couldn't fucking sustain it.

I needed subtlety, elegance- nuance.

I flicked my wrist and threw up an invisible obstruction, about ankle height, right in Derek's path. It tripped him up immediately but instead of sprawling on the unforgiving ground, Derek caught himself quickly.

Goddamn wolf senses.

I rocked onto my back foot as Derek sped up, in a vain attempt to put space between us.

And for my next trick…

Derek was upon me in seconds, his large hand beelining straight for my throat. I ducked and he re-routed, attempting to crush me into a confined space. With my heart thumping furiously in my ears, I allowed myself to be pushed against the sinks, until our bodies were almost touching. I then placed my hands on his chest and shoved, using air to buoy my strength.

My breath seemed to leave my body with the force.

Derek skid backwards with a grunt, his shoes squeaking along the slippery tiles. My chest was heaving, my head already dizzy from the move.

I gripped the sinks behind me for balance as Derek strode towards me again, barely leaving me any time at all. I pushed off from the row of sinks and met him in the middle, striking him in the side of the head with as much strength and power as I could throw behind it.

The pain was instant, and it was nothing short of agonising.

"Oh my god!" I screamed, clutching my fingers, and dropping like a sack of flour.

"I didn't even touch you!" Derek exclaimed, dazedly. "You hit me!"

"I think my fingers are broken!" I sobbed, cradling my throbbing hand.

Derek seemed to have blinked away the worst of the almost concussion I had given him and dropped to a knee next to me.

"Let me see," he ordered, holding his hand out.

I offered him my broken hand to analyse, sucking in a pained breath as he gently held my wrist. He turned my hand over a few times and then growled.

"They're not even fucking fractured!" he hissed at me. I snatched my hand back and held it to my chest defensively.

"I definitely heard them crack!" I insisted petulantly, ignoring the easing of pain with every word.

"That was probably my freaking skull, brat," Derek bit out, shifting onto the floor with me with a resigned sigh.

I frowned and stuck my bottom lip out, feeling every bit a brat. With my good hand, I held it out and summoned my bag, dragging it across the floor to meet us. In the front pocket, I pulled out a sandwich bag full of bourbons.

"Bourbon?" I asked, offering Derek the bag.

"Bourbon?" he repeated, scrunching his nose, and woefully mispronouncing the biscuit.

"No, b-o-u-r-b-o-n," I repeated slowly. I took one from the bag and bit into it, allowing the crunch and the sugar to bring me back to life a bit.

I had thrown exactly two moves against Derek, and I still couldn't catch my breath. I wanted to fistfight Maggs for downplaying this bloody 'failsafe' whilst also being dimly aware that she actually hadn't. Nor had she expected me to see her direct orders as a challenge, but we all had our flaws.

With a suspicious side-along glance at me, Derek finally dug his hand into the bag and extracted a biscuit of his own. He bit into it, and I watched with narrowed eyes as his body relaxed against the toilet stall.

"Why does everyone always think I just casually have poisonous biscuits about my person?" I wondered aloud, as Derek finished his first and reached for another.

"It's less so the fear of poison and more the act of just having a bag of biscuits on you," he replied.

"Well, they'd get crushed if I didn't have the bag."

We ate in silence for a minute or so and my breathing gradually returned to normal levels. When I felt like I could once again take a breath without it bubbling up in my throat, Derek spoke.

"So, little brat- what have we learned today?"

I refused to bite back at my unwelcome nickname and instead reflected on the session.

"Werewolf heads are harder than they look?"

"Werewolf heads are harder than they look," Derek repeated with a smirk.