Hiya! Anyone still out there reading this?!theres a POV change around mid chapter, sorry if thats confusing. As always, read & review!

PS: sorry that the formatting is shit on this. I'm doing it on my phone and it doesn't save the format when I upload the chapter, which is irritating.

TWELVE

I hated working out.

Loathed it entirely.

But I had been riding a wave of motivation for too long without anywhere to release it. So here I was, at the only gym in Beacon Hills. And I fucking hated it. I understood the concept. I understood why it was important. But God, it was awful.

My legs screamed for me to stop as I sprinted the last quarter mile on the treadmill. My chest heaved and my abs groaned with each step. But I finished.

Two miles was nothing to brag about. Especially when it took almost 30 minutes to complete. But when the dashboard showed that little 2.0mi, I felt like crying. Not from exhaustion, but from pride.

Okay, maybe exhaustion too.

I had never been athletic, not in the slightest sense of the word. But after my conversation with Stilinski and my last… interaction… with Derek, I felt undeniably strong. And there was some new strange desire to become even stronger. It was that feeling, that small, short lived rush of power that had driven me to the dirty, over crowded gym in the first place.

Two miles may have been nothing, but it felt like a huge stride towards getting back my control. And so even though my legs shook as I walked out the door and across the parking lot, a held a stupid, endorphine-doped smile on my face. This must be the famed Runner's High. Not as good as weed, but I'd take it.

As I slipped my aching body behind the wheel I was a bit shocked to realize that my headphones were still blaring inside my ears. When did I become so relaxed? When did I become so unaware?

The past year and a half had molded me into a well oiled machine when it came to situational awareness. I'd be able to tell you exactly how many people were in the parking lot. How many steps it would take to get to the driver's side door. My keys would be secured between my fingers and my ears would be tuned in to every movement or whisper within a mile radius. So the fact that I had walked right through the exit, music playing, keys stuffed deep into my gym bag was...terrifying. It was that comfort, that sense of false safety that got me into trouble back in New Jersey.

With a silent promise to do better, I pulled out of the crowded lot.

The worst part of moving from place to place without a steady job for so long, was the fact that I had to drive a shitty car. Maybe that was a bit harsh. It's not like she wasn't reliable, and she had yet to break down on me. How many nights had she been my transport and my shelter? How many times had I started her in the middle of the night to flee? I should be thankful that I have a car at all. Even if she is a 2002, with a horrid paint job and a static radio.

In the right parts of town, the music from 106.3FM came in crystal clear. I was driving through one of those spots when I heard the broadcaster's dedication. In the same moment, I slammed the brake pedal down, almost putting my foot through the floor of the car. The vehicle came to a halt in the middle of the (thankfully) empty street.

A few months ago I had gotten used to hearing the alarming reports of a murder on the loose. It would have been scarier had I not known the truth about the alleged "murderer", Derek Hale. However, this time the broadcaster's words caused my heart to plummet into my stomach, like a rock sinking in the sea.

Though a bit crackled and muffled on some words, I heard him perfectly when he read off the song dedication.

"This next one goes out to the only woman I've ever loved. See you soon, Bug."

*

Just go home, and try to relax. Sheriff Stilinski's voice said through the phone.

"I can't do… I need to…" My words were sharp and breathless. I had pulled over to the curb and punched in the number to the Beacon Hills Sheriff Station moments after hearing Dylan's song dedication. I hadn't left the radio on long enough to know what song he had chosen, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted. What if the song could give me some type of hint as to what he was planning? Or where he was hiding.

I let out a frustrated groan and pounded my pointer against the "End" button. I could hear Stilinski saying my name just before the line went dead.

There was no longer any doubt that Dylan knew where I was, or at least the town I was living in. How much longer before he found my address? How much longer before he showed up at the house? Or the school? Memories of what had happened the last time he showed up started flashing through my mind. Images of the dark parking lot, the feeling of sharp gravel underneath me leaving imprints on my exposed skin. His body on top of mine, crushing my chest. His fingers, pressed against my throat, choking out any scream that tried to surface.

I squeezed my eyes closed, willing this reality to go away. In that moment, I would have given anything to go back to my childhood. I would have been elated to open my eyes as my 5 year old self. A spunky child who was excited to know a baby was growing in mommy's belly. A kid who waited for daddy to get home from work and play lego's with her. A little girl who's life was uncomplicated and whole.

That girl, that life, was gone.

It was hard to believe that those memories were even mine.

The ear piercing ring of my cell coaxed me from my own mind and back into the shitshow that was presently my life. I slid the screen to the right and pressed it to my ear, ready to accept Stiliniski's reprimand for hanging up on him.

But it was Scott's voice that rang through the device.

"What are you doing?" his voice was ragged and pained, and was followed by a deep cough. He sounded far away, almost muffled, like he had pocket dialed me by mistake. But something in my gut told me this wasn't a mistake. I turned the volume all the way up and pressed the phone closer to my ear. Another voice, one I couldn't place rang through, much clearer than my brothers.

"Isn't it obvious?" This person was female, that much was easy for me to guess. Something about it sounded familiar, and in the back of my brain, I felt like I knew this mysterious person. "I'm killing you."

Any thought of Dylan that still lingered in my mind vanished when I heard her speak those words. My car was suddenly hurtling down the road at breakneck speed. I knew that Scott and his friends had been going to a concert. Some secret rave with flashing lights, alcohol and hard drugs. Not that I expected Scott and Stiles to partake in the last bit.

I also knew exactly where it was. The old factory had been a notorious score spot for me back in high school. Ran out of weed? No problem, just meet Kevin at the old warehouse. It was the perfect location for illegal fun. No cops cared to venture out that way, it was big enough to hide in and old enough to be disregarded as inhabitable. Perfect place for a rave.

The phone sat on my lap, soft thuds of background music coming through the speaker. That's what gave away the location, the quick, upbeat sound of dance music. Whoever this woman was, she was killing my brother, in the middle of a fucking rave. I didn't dare turn my phone off. What if she spoke again and gave a clue to her identity?

Scott must have dialed my number discreetly, hoping that I'd catch on to the danger he was in. Why me? I have no idea. Maybe he'd meant to call Derek, a more likely hero. Whatever the reason, I didn't care. I was going to find him.

My foot pressed down harder, pedal meeting the floor of the car. The little thing was old, but she could move. The whole 10 minute drive (cut down to about 6 minutes with my heavy foot), I kept my ears focused on the phone, begging the woman to speak. Begging Scott to make a sound so I knew he was still alive. I don't even remember having a conscious thought the entire way to the warehouse. My brain's sole concern was listening for signs of life or clues coming through that damn phone.

*

Derek caught a familiar, but out of place, scent in the parking lot.

His head snapped to the right, searching for the source of the scent. Beside him, Stiles, the oblivious doof that he is, continued to cheer his accomplishment. The mountain ash had formed a complete circle around the building, effectively trapping anything supernatural inside its boundaries.

The glint of russet hair is what gave her away. This wasn't a place he expected to see her. She doesn't exactly give off the vibes of an extrovert. But the quick strenuous movement of her body told him that she wasn't here for the party. She was here on a mission. His eyes followed her as she sprinted over their line of ash and into the building. For a moment, he closed his eyes and let his ears focus. The intention was to find her heartbeat, one he knew he could pick out of the crowd. How did he know that, he wasn't really sure. Just like he wasn't sure how he was able to pick up on her scent so effortlessly. It was borderline concerning.

But his ears picked up on another sound.

Scott.

"Break it." He turned to Stiles. Once the circle was broken, he sprinted at unnatural speed, dodging drunk underaged teens and dancers who appeared to be high as a kite. The strobe lights would have made it difficult for someone like Chelsea to navigate the crowd. But for Derrek, it was nothing. He moved seamlessly between dancing bodies, each step bringing him closer to Scott's strained breathing.

He followed the sound into a small outcove of a room, far enough away from the crowd that no one would find it. As soon as he stepped into the dark room, he realized something was wrong. It wasn't just Scott's nearly limp body, but the effect the air was having on Derrek's own functionality. His muscles suddenly strained to keep him upright as he ran towards the Beta.

"Scott!" a voice rang out in the distance, but Derrek's ear weren't as focused as they should have been. He couldn't even control his breathing, let alone his hearing.

As he tried to focus his vision on Scott, he became aware of another body throwing its weight into him, knocking him off balance. Something pierced his back and he let out and anguished howl. Instinctually, his arm flew up to cover his face from whatever attack may come next. Luckily for him, the action blocked a silver blade from ripping into his jaw. Instead, it bit into his forearm, scorching the taunt skin.

"Scott!" he heard the voice again, and this time, he saw the small body that it belonged to. Red hair flashed past his vision as he fought off the other assailant. His vision filled with the image of Victoria Argent's face, both strikingly beautiful and evil all at the same time. Though Derek was larger, he knew she wouldn't be an easy opponent. If he was being honest, she scared him. All of the Argent women did. He felt more confident going up against Chris, who was more...predictable. His wife on the other hand, was a wild card. He had no inclination how or when she would attack, leaving him defenseless.

From the other side of the room, he heard a faint crash, but he forced his attention back to Victoria. Her next move was a stupid one, bringing her too close to him, bringing her body within his reach. With his muscles weakened, he used his only weapon… his teeth. When her body was close enough, he used all of his might to force her against the wall and let his fangs sink into the flesh of her shoulder.

She fell back against the wall, a rough breath escaping her throat. But Derek didn't give her any time to recover. He shoved her to the floor and turned to run knowing full well that fighting her, even injured, was an idiotic idea.

His eyes fell on Chelsea, who was kneeling over her brother's seemingly lifeless body, shaking his shoulders as if she could wake him up. Beside her sat a shattered object, some type of diffuser he guessed. That's how Victoria was weakening them. Wolfsbane in the air. Genius.

Evil genius.

"Let's go." he ran forward, starting to feel his control and strength come back. Without leaving room for argument, he scooped Scott from the floor and dashed to the door, feeling Chelsea on his heels.

Luckily, the party beyond the room still raged on, not one of the drunk teens the wiser to the attempted murder just took place only feet away. With Scott tossed over his shoulder, Derek knew they could easily slide through the crowd and no one would give them a second thought. Just another passed out highschooler who can't hold their alcohol. That's all Scott would be to them.

"Is he dead?" he heard Chelsea's question just before they reached the crowd. He shook his head slightly. Scott was definitely alive, he could feel his heartbeat against his shoulder where the boy slumped. She must have understood because she remained silent as they navigated their way through the dancing bodies. Feet stepped on his own, backs crashed into his sides, arms flailed all around him as the high schoolers continued their poor excuse for dancing. It was infuriating. He hated crowds to begin with, and this was exactly why.

He felt fingers claw at the back hem of his shirt, but he knew not to swat the hand away. He knew it was her. Instinctually, he listened for her heart and, unsurprisingly, found it thumping far too fast. He thought back to the moment he had grabbed her wrist in the school parking lot. Her reaction to that had been fear based, and she knew him… sort of. He imagined that the bodies colliding with them as they ran through the throng of people had her struggling to breathe. So he let her hold onto his shirt like a lifeline until they were free from the crowd.

Derek moved through the side door, expecting to be greeted by a confused Stiles. But the spaz was nowhere to be found. Without hesitation, he turned and started towards where he had watched Chelsea park earlier. A car could get them to Deaton faster than his still weakened body could. Even at a full sprint, the old rusted car would be quicker.

Chelsea didn't question him. Instead, she scurried in front and hastily unlocked her car door. At this point, she knew better than to call 911, so she didn't even bother to pull her phone from her pocket. Derek could see the worry on her face, scrunched up with her eyebrows as she stared down at her brother in the backseat of her car.

"Get in." he started to nudge the door closed, but she threw her arm out to stop it. He waited for her questions, she always had questions. But she remained silent as she slid herself into the back seat beside the unconscious wolf.

"It may take some time," Deaton finally announced after a meticulous exam on Scott. "But he should be completely fine." Derek felt his muscles relax at the words. Scott would be fine. Victoria Argent on the other hand…

"How long until he wakes up?" Chelsea asked. She had taken up a post by the door, leaning against the solid wood. He wasn't sure if it was for comfort, or if she needed the support of the structure.

"There's no way to know for sure." Deaton let a soft apologetic smile tug at the corner of his lips. "Without knowing how much wolfsbane he ingested and the exact species, it's anyone's guess."

"But he will?" she pushed off the door. "He will wake up." it wasn't a question, and Deaton didn't bother to answer with anything more than a smile and nod. This seemed to satisfy her because Derek watched her shoulders slump forward with exhaustion and her chest finally deflated from the long breath she must have been holding.

"How about some tea?" Deaton offered. "It'll calm the nerves." he must have seen the same tiredness that Derek did because he didn't wait for her reply, he simply walked past her through the door. Chelsea seemed not to notice, her eyes still transfixed on Scott's motionless body. Her fingers drummed against her thigh and he could just catch the slight tremor that constantly pulsed through her body.

"Maybe I should drive you home." Derek said after clearing his throat. He knew she shouldn't be behind the wheel after this. Her head snapped in his direction.

"I'm not leaving him." she sent Derek an incredulous look. "I can't just go home." Something else seemed to register in her mind because her eyes suddenly went wide and her gaze drifted from Derek to the empty space between them.

"What is it?" he asked, his senses allowing him to smell the flare up of fear.

"Nothing." she shook her head and pulled her phone from her pocket, sending a quick text.

"It's something." He pressed. Her eyes flicked up to him, but her lips remained pressed in a tight line. At that moment, Deaton walked back into the room holding two steaming mugs with tea tags hanging over the brim.

"Thank you." she said softly as she took the mug from the doctor. Derek noticed that she didn't put the cup to her lips. She wouldn't drink it. Maybe she was still too nervous? Maybe she didn't trust Deaton? Probably the later. He gave her another calm smile before turning to hand a matching mug to Derek, who nodded his thanks.

"Your heart is racing." Derek commented once Deaton had slipped back out of the room. "And you reek of anxiety." he made it a point to keep his voice disinterested as he sipped at his tea. But his eyes flicked up to catch any reaction she might have. As expected, she was getting angry.

"Hmm." she rubbed at her chin sarcastically. "I wonder if it has anything to do with my little brother nearly being murdered?" her dark eyes rolled. "Why are you even still here?" she folded her arms over her chest. Classically defensive body language, Derek thought, hiding his grin behind the mug. He couldn't pinpoint why, but he liked getting her riled up. He liked the way her voice sounded with some emotion seeped into it.

As a way of answering her question, he cast his gaze over to Scott, who still lay motionless and unconscious on the exam table. Seeing the boy asleep like this made it easier for him to catch the slight similarities between the siblings. Oval shaped face, pronounced nose, dark eyes hidden under a fan of dark eyelashes. The only real differences were Chelsea's hair color and the paleness of her skin.

He let his eyes travel back to the woman in front of him. She was pale, especially for someone with a bit of latina in her blood. Melissa's tanned skin and dark features must have skipped over her daughter.

While he studied her, a pink blush began to tint her cheeks. He saw it start spreading across her chest and neck as well. He realized he had never seen this much of her. Typically she was hidden beneath a sweatshirt or long sleeves with high necks, or that ugly scarf she always used to wear. Suddenly, something clicked in his mind.

She had hidden herself on purpose.

The two times he had seen more than just the skin of her face, in the McCall bathroom and again in Stiles's jeep, her skin hadn't just been pale. It had been plagued with bruises. He remembered peering down at her while she had been covered by nothing more than a bath towel and seeing the deep purple and blue marks along the sides of her neck hinting at something cruel.

"Stop." her voice pulled him back to the moment.

"What?" he blinked.

"Analyzing me, or whatever the fuck you're trying to do." She walked across the room closer to the table where her brother laid. Derek couldn't help but notice that the move put the table between himself and her. Was that on purpose? Was he scaring her? It was a little too easy to do. "He's my brother. Not yours. You can leave."

He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard a bit of jealousy creep into her voice.

"You're right. He's not my blood." Derek stood from the bench and walked towards the table. "But he's my pack."