If You're Going Through Hell

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has followed/favorited this story recently! I hope you all continue to enjoy the twists and turns that lie ahead. Let me know!

Chapter 27: The Sheriff of This Town

"So, are we going to just ignore the fact that Gerard popped out of nowhere and flashed alpha eyes at us?" Theo asked. The Pack (now consisting of 11 members) had gathered together in the Tate family living room, lumped together on the couch and chairs or settled on the floor. It had taken awhile to get Malia caught up to speed since so much had happened since her untimely death in the real world and the subsequent craziness of the last few days trying to find and revive their lost friends.

"Wait, Gerard did what now?" Malia asked, turning to give a hard glare at the chimera.

"We all saw it," Theo answered, turning to Scott for help.

"Yeah, we did," Scott added, thoughtfully. "I only briefly caught his scent before he disappeared, but it had changed too. He's definitely a werewolf now, and apparently an alpha at that."

"How is that even possible? Why, after all the hatred and murder and mayhem, would Gerard become a werewolf?" Isaac asked, shaking slightly as he did so.

"It's official, the old man has finally lost what little sanity he had remaining," Stiles replied with a nod of his head. "The more important question we have to ask is: what is he planning to do?"

"I agree," Ethan interjected, "He mentioned something about our battle happening soon. Obviously, he's up to something. Again." He sighed in frustration while his brother growled under his breath. The older twin reached over to place a comforting hand on Aiden's shoulder, placating him.

"As much as I hate to say it," Stiles continued, an almost pained expression on his face, "we probably can't keep ignoring all the things going on down here. The pixies, the demons, the Dread Doctors, the demon/druid magic tunnels, Gerard…we're drawing a lot of attention and, while we still have to make finding and resurrecting our friends our top priority, it might not be all that wise to completely disregard everything else. Otherwise, who knows what kind of mess will be left after we are done."

"So, what are you suggesting? That we take them all on, fight every enemy we encounter until we send them all to the next world?" Braeden asked sarcastically from her spot at the table where she was cleaning and inspecting the various weapons she had accumulated.

"I'm good with that plan," Malia said, her eyes glowing blue as she released her claws and growled softly.

"Are we strong enough to do that?" Hayden asked, far more composed and thoughtful.

"We will be, once we get the rest of the pack," Jackson quickly replied.

"But are you sure that's enough? None of these guys are exactly push-overs, and trying to take them all on would be…difficult," Aiden said, leaning forward to look past his brother and stare at the man sitting next to him. Jackson gulped slightly, sinking backwards into the couch.

"This debate is getting us nowhere," Derek snapped, his hands massaging his temples to try and ease the headache that had started to form. The others quieted down instantly, all staring at the older wolf with concern or fear.

"Derek's right," Scott finally said, once the wolf next to him had stopped frowning in pain. "I don't really like the idea of leaving behind a big huge mess. And it could end up coming back to haunt us when we eventually die of old age or whatnot. But we've already started sending our friends and packmates back to life, and we can't give up now or get sidetracked when we only have a limited amount of time. Arguing about it isn't going to solve anything. If Gerard or the Dread Doctors or whoever else shows up and tries to slow us down or stop us, then we'll do what we have to. But otherwise, we need to focus on finding our friends."

"I wonder if my dad is here," Stiles said, staring out the window with a pensive look on his face.

"What?" Scott asked, taken aback by the non sequitur.

"We need to get back to our search," Stiles replied with a shrug, turning to face his friend. "When we first got here, to Limbo Hills, you said that you could smell several of our packmates were here. I was wondering if my dad is one of them."

"I…I don't know," Scott said, now becoming thoughtful himself. "It's possible. I could smell the Pack, but the scent was coming from several directions and mixed with everything else, so I couldn't tell who, specifically, is here. It's worth going to look and see though."

"I think Deaton's around town somewhere too," Malia added. "I caught his scent awhile back, before the Desert Wolf attacked me."

"So, it's settled then, we'll keep looking for our Pack, but we will also fight whatever battles we need to in order to keep this world safe as well. And, we do all of that without sending people to the next world unless we absolutely have to. Agreed?" Scott finished, looking at each of his friends in turn. They all nodded, solemnly. "Good, then let's go."

The Pack filed out of Malia's old house cautiously, all senses trained acutely on the world around them for hints of who was in this version of Beacon Hills. They were still close enough to the school for the werecreatures to be able to hear the distant shouts of the hunters they had encountered earlier, but they were all far enough away to not pose any immediate threat. The group ambled slowly through the deserted streets of this alternate version of the town they once called home, really taking it in for the first time since their arrival. Limbo Beacon Hills was an almost perfect match for the city's real-world counterpart, except for the fact that the residents all seemed to have disappeared. The houses were there, but each one they passed was empty. The streets were there, but they were devoid of any vehicles careening by. It gave an eerie feeling to the already slightly paranoid group of wolves, humans, and hybrids. They huddled close together, eyes darting about furtively for signs of life or danger.

Their path led them from the outskirts of town into one of the once-bustling suburbs near the preserve and past the house Scott had once called home. He stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes alighted upon it, his gaze both longing and terrified. Though it had been more than a year since the real version of the house was burned to the ground, with him almost perishing along with it, it still immediately felt like home, and a large part of him wanted nothing more than to scramble inside and collapse on his bed. Derek caught the expression on Scott's face and instantly understood what the younger man was feeling. Wordlessly, he simply grabbed his friend's arm and tugged, pulling him out of his memories and back along the road. Scott nodded his thanks briefly before shaking his head to clear it and continue forward.

They journeyed on in relative silence, depressed by their surroundings. The more they saw of this town, the less it actually felt like home. Stiles made a comment about the true Beacon Hills being its people far more than its buildings and streets and so on, which the others readily agreed with. They remained cautious as they continued through what was once the more populated parts of town. They could still hear the scurrying and shouting of the hunters. It seemed they had overrun the town and turned it into their base of operations, using the houses closer to the center of the city as their own personal homes. It made werewolf Gerard and the Kanima's appearance here all the more suspect, but, though the group tossed out several theories and ideas, none of them could really figure out what was actually going on.

As they turned down the side street that would lead to the Stilinski house, Scott suddenly shouted, "Look out!" They all raced into a nearby empty house as a large demon flew directly above their heads with a terrifying screech.

"Do you think it saw us?" Isaac asked, peering out of the window cautiously to watch.

"I don't know," Stiles replied from right next to him, also watching out the window. "If it did, it doesn't seem to care enough about us to come down here."

"What if its going to get reinforcements?" Theo asked, peeking around a corner he had chosen to hide in.

"Well, Derek and I managed to kill one demon, just the two of us," Stiles said with a shrug, turning back to the group. "I'm sure that, together, we could handle a few more."

"I'd rather not have to put that theory to the test though," Jackson muttered under his breath, though it was still heard by most of the people present.

"Yeah, I'm with Jackson on this one," Scott said, almost surprised to be uttering those words. "Let's try to avoid fighting a bunch of demons if we can."

"Hmm," Stiles murmured, turning back to the window. "We should be close enough to my house by now, can you smell anything?"

"No," Scott replied, wincing at the downcast expression he received in response. "At least, not the sheriff. I thought I noticed Boyd's scent earlier, when we were closer to town, but it went away almost as soon as I caught it."

"Hmm," was Stiles' only reply once again as he lost himself in thought.

"It's weird though," Ethan interjected, causing a few eyes to turn towards him. "Its not just that I can't smell anyone in Stiles house. It's like the whole entire house doesn't even exist, scent-wise."

"You're right," Aiden added, moving to stand next to his twin. "From here we should at least be able to pick up something from that house, just like we caught McCall's scent when we passed his house. But there's absolutely nothing."

"I don't like this. It feels like a trap, or a set-up," Braeden said, fingers twitching around her holster.

"I have to know," Stiles replied resolutely, thoughtful expression immediately replaced by one of determination. "I can't be this close and not check to see if my dad is here."

"We're with you Stiles," Scott said softly, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. The two shared a look, something passing between the two of them before Stiles nodded.

"Let's go then," he said, leading the way out the door, the rest quickly trailing after him. Stiles practically marched straight to his front door, not bothering to wait or look around. The others called out for him to slow down or be careful, but he ignored them in favor of reaching his destination. He climbed the steps to his porch, stopping before his front door, both indecision and determination written across his face. He stared at it critically, examining the door though he didn't know what for.

"You ok?" Scott asked, having caught up with his best friend and joining him on the porch. Stiles' forehead crinkled slightly in confusion.

"There's something off here. I can't tell what, just…something. I'm not sure we should go in," he replied, tapping the door with a tentative finger.

"But you said it yourself, we can't not check after we've come all this way," Scott said, turning to examine the door himself for clues. The rest of the Pack had gathered with them by this point, all still confused by the house's lack of scent and concerned by Stiles' added pronouncement.

"Alright," Stiles finally said, straightening up and reaching out to turn the doorknob. "But if this doesn't go well, I'm blaming you buddy!" He didn't wait for a reply, instead turning the knob and stepping into the room beyond.

"What the…" someone called out from behind him suddenly.

"Not again!" Stiles shouted, just before the world around them went spiraling out of control.

-o-

"We face a new threat," Tamora Monroe's voice called out, echoing across the town square. The crowd gathered around her makeshift stage grew silent almost instantly, the people hanging on her every word.

"It looks like they're still doing your little healing test," Corey whispered to Nolan with just a touch of bitterness, gesturing with their joined fingers at the identical bandages on the hands of the people nearest them. Nolan grimaced at the sight, shaking his head in frustration.

"I am sorry about that, by the way," he replied quietly, turning towards Corey. "I was stupid, and wrong, and in way over my head, and…"

"Guys, be quiet, I can't hear what Monroe is saying," Mason whispered harshly at the two of them, stepping closer to the crowd and pulling the others with him.

"Sorry," Nolan said, to both Mason and Corey, casting his eyes at the ground and slumping his shoulders. Corey watched the younger teen closely for a moment or two while Mason half-dragged them along the side of a nearby shop.

"We have done great work these last two years," Monroe continued, practically beaming in the spotlight. "Thanks to you, we have successfully driven the supernatural out of Beacon Hills. Our homes, our lives, are safer, because of the hard work and dedication of the human citizens of this great city." Her words were met with thunderous applause and cheers from the hundreds of people gathered around. The only people not clapping were the three boys hidden along the edge of the square.

"Thank you…for apologizing," Corey whispered to the distraught boy next to him. "I'm glad you're on our side now." Nolan perked up at that, a small, tentative smile on his face. Corey gave a quick smile of his own before turning his attention back to the rally in front of them as Monroe gestured for silence once more.

"Yes, yes, we should be proud of what we have managed to accomplish," she half-shouted into her microphone. "But the work is not over. Our band of hunters, those brave men and women who tirelessly fight to defend our freedom, are stretched thin. One of our defensive outposts in the preserve was attacked two days ago, infiltrated by supernatural beings." She paused as a collective gasp echoed through the crowd. Mason and Corey shared a nervous glance with one another before quickly turning their attention back to Monroe.

"The creatures are mocking us, defying us. And I believe they will stop at nothing to destroy our way of life, to take away the safety and security we have worked so hard these past two years to build together." Her words were met with boos and hisses from the crowd, the anger almost palpable.

"We must stand together! We must continue to show these subhuman things that this world does not belong to them. It belongs to us!" Cheers and shouts went up from the crowd, practically deafening as Monroe beamed in triumph, a malicious gleam in her eyes. The three boys could only watch helplessly, taking in the enormity of the situation and the amount of support Monroe had, the sheer number of people who hated and feared them gathered all together.

"We are no longer the helpless, clueless humans these creatures thought we were," Monroe continued once the crowd had settled back down. "We know now. We know what they are. We know how to defeat them, how to defend ourselves against them. We proved to Scott McCall and his pack that we would not cower in the corner while they tried to take our town from us! We proved to Satomi Ito's pack and the Primal Pack that we would not be fooled by them pretending to be peaceful or separate! And we will prove, to whatever else is out there, that this is our city! This is our home! We are not afraid! And we…will…not…back…down!" Monroe shouted over the cheering and applause, the gathered crowd reaching fever pitch. "Who's with me?!"

"We are!" the people shouted, almost as one. Monroe smirked as she took in the praise and adulation being thrown her way for a few minutes before finally gesturing for silence once more.

"We must meet this new threat head on," she said, her voice deadly serious as she spoke into her microphone. "We face a new threat, one we don't yet know much about. But, thankfully, we have allies on our side who know how to handle these threats. We will face this one the same way we have faced the ones that came before it: with strength, with determination, and with human ingenuity. Here to lead us through these tough times is our newly elected sheriff, Julien Argent!"

A blond, handsome young man stepped up to the front of the stage to the cheers and applause of the whole crowd. Nolan, Corey, and Mason stared at one another in horror, mouthing the word "Argent" silently, each too terrified and too surprised to speak out loud.

"Thank you, Mayor Monroe," the young man said with a slight French accent as he took the microphone and directed his attention towards the mass of people surrounding him. "And thank you, people of Beacon Hills, for choosing me to be your new sheriff!" The roar of applause was once again overwhelming, and it took a moment for the people to settle down enough for Sheriff Argent to continue.

"I won't lie to you," the Frenchman said seriously, his gaze steely and penetrating, "This fight will not be easy. My family has hunted werewolves for centuries. Our motto has always been, 'We hunt those who hunt us.' We didn't do it for fame, or fortune, or power. We did it to protect the world around us, to protect those who didn't know about the creatures of the night." He paused, glancing around at the crowd.

"I see now where we went wrong," he continued. "We kept the supernatural world a secret. We helped those creatures remain anonymous, waiting until they took an innocent life or went out of control before intervening. If we had only been more decisive, and more honest with our neighbors, we could have spared so much innocent blood." Julien Argent paused again, his face a mask of regret and pain, the people around him hanging on his every word with bated breath. "That mistake cost my family greatly. My great-uncle Gerard, both of his children, his daughter-in-law, and his granddaughter were all slaughtered by these beasts. My mother, my father, and my grandfather all chose to take their own lives when they were bitten by creatures like the ones you've faced, rather than fail our family or become the very thing they had sworn to protect others from. I have lost so much at the hands of the supernatural world. And I know I am not alone. Many of you have lost loved ones also, victims of their brutal attacks, innocent people who got caught in the crossfire or brave warriors who fought and died to defend this city. We will let these creatures know, whoever they are, whatever they are, that those sacrifices were not in vain!"

Cheers erupted yet again, practically drowning out the sheriff as he continued to speak. "We will stand together! We will fight! We will hunt those who hunt us!" he shouted before the roar of the crowd became too much for even his amplified words to penetrate. The three camouflaged boys alone remained still, watching in horror as a city full of people vowed to fight them until their dying breath.

"This is bad," Mason whispered, eyes wide and mouth hanging open slightly in confusion.

"Really bad," Nolan agreed, pain and confusion etched across his features.

"We're doomed," Corey finished, swallowing nervously before throwing his head back with a sigh and smacking it against the wall behind them. "Just when I thought this couldn't get any worse."

-o-

The eleven pack members were all catapulted forward into the house. The first thing to hit all of the ones with supernatural senses was the smell. The air was stale and musty, as though the doors and windows had been sealed for years. Interlaced with the dust was the overwhelming smell of grief and pain, wafting off of the lone occupant of the house – Sheriff Stilinski.

The second thing they noticed (first in the case of Braeden and Stiles) was that, as soon as they crossed the threshold, none of them had bodies any longer. Each could feel themselves sort of floating in mid-air, but without arms or legs or any other corporeal features to control. They could sense, to a certain degree, the presence of their friends around them, but they could no longer see one another either.

"What just happened?" Isaac tried to ask. Without a body, he had no way of physically saying the words, yet they somehow got across to the rest of the Pack anyway.

"That was weird," Jackson said.

"Where'd my body go!" Theo exclaimed.

"Can anyone hear me?" Aiden asked.

"Argh, I hate this!" Malia shouted.

"Not so loud, we can still hear you just fine," Hayden replied.

"This better not mean I just lost all my guns. Do you know how difficult it is to find those things in this world?" Braeden huffed.

"Is that really all you care about?" Ethan growled in response.

"Enough!" Derek shouted, silencing the rest of them before trying, and failing, to turn to where he thought Scott's consciousness was.

"Stiles, what did you mean, 'not again?'" Scott asked, quietly.

"The doorway was another one of those transformation tunnels," he sighed out in response, "like the one that almost turned us into mice. I felt the magic as soon as I opened the door, but it was too late to prevent it from taking hold."

"Can you undo it, like you did before?" Derek asked, cautiously.

"I don't know," Stiles answered, the tension in his voice practically tangible. "I would need a body to be able to do the spell I did to break it last time."

"What about Ethan?" Aiden interjected.

"What about him?" "What about me?!" Stiles and Ethan said simultaneously.

"You and Noshiko said he was affected by one of these things too, when he was…de-aged. But that didn't need a spell to break it," Aiden replied.

"Connection," Stiles whispered thoughtfully. "Of course! Its stupidly cliché, but it makes sense. Connection, love, can break through these spells, just like our connections broke through the hold the demon magic had on Scott, Brett, Lori, and Jackson!"

"Ok, then can you just go on and break it already?" Malia grumbled.

"I can't," Stiles said, his tone changing from excitement to resignation. "But I think my dad can."

They all turned (as much as they could considering they were nothing but floating consciousnesses) towards the sound of the Sheriff coming from the kitchen. They looked around them for the first time, noticing that the house was not only stale and musty, but incredibly disheveled. Clothing, papers, and old food cartons lay strewn across the floor everywhere. Pictures either hung askew on the walls or lay shattered on the ground below. The place was dimly lit, oppressive, and depressing.

The group soon discovered that, by thinking about it, they could project themselves forward and around the room. They slowly made their way down the hall towards the kitchen, which was an even bigger disaster. Dirty dishes spilled out of the sink, having piled up until it could contain no more. A dried stain in the center of the room appeared to have been there for weeks, ignored. The remains of a chair that had been smashed were strewn about the room. And in the corner, hunched over the dining room table, sat the former sheriff of Beacon Hills, looking like a hollow shell of the man he had once been.

For the longest time he simply sat there as they all floated their way closer towards him. He had lost a substantial amount of weight, his clothes hanging off his thin frame. His hair was a mess and his face looked like it hadn't been shaved in weeks. Deep, dark circles surrounded both eyes, as though he hadn't slept in just as long, while his eyes themselves were red and swollen, the ghost of many fallen tears practically visible. In one hand the Sheriff held an almost empty bottle of whiskey, identical to the countless bottles surrounding him on the table, chairs, and floor. In the other hand he held a framed photograph. They each leaned in closer to see the picture contained the sheriff, his wife, and his son, all three beaming happily for the camera.

"Oh Claudia," the Sheriff cried out, his whole body wracked with sobs. "I miss you so much! You were my everything…my heart, my soul…How am I supposed to go on without you?" His words were next to impossible to discern, his voice laced with more grief than they could bear. His finger shakily traced around her figure in the picture before moving slowly to the image of his son.

"Stiles," he continued, voice as shaky as his hand, "how could you do it? How could you…take your own life…and leave me here…alone?" There was a collective gasp, the various Pack members a mixture of horror and confusion. The Sheriff didn't notice, however, continuing in his ramblings as though absolutely alone in his misery and pain. "We could have managed, kiddo…it would have been hard, but we could have…why did you leave? Why did you abandon me?" He collapsed completely, shoving the photograph away from himself and dropping the bottle of whiskey on the floor as he placed his head in his hands.

"Dad? Dad! I didn't leave you, I'm right here!" Stiles exclaimed, floating down towards his father's form.

"Oh Stiles, I can still hear your voice, come back to haunt me…but I know you're gone!" the Sheriff cried out, his whole body shaking.

"Dad, please, just listen. It's me, It's Stiles. I'm right here, please, just talk to me!" Stiles practically shouted. His father didn't respond at first, continuing to wail as he cried himself out, slowly recovering and drying his most recent bout of tears from his face.

"You gotta get ahold of yourself, Stilinski," the Sheriff said bitterly, rising from his chair on unsteady legs. "Dreaming that your dead son is talking to you. It's no wonder they fired you."

"Dad, you're not dreaming, you're just…confused," Stiles pleaded, keeping his floating consciousness directly in his father's line of sight. The sheriff frowned in confusion, squinting as though trying to make something out before shaking his head again and taking a few steps forward, towards the refrigerator.

"I just need a good drink, is all," Noah mumbled to himself, pulling a can of beer out and opening it, downing half its contents in one gulp.

"Mom would have believed me," Stiles said, unable to mask the hurt and pain in his own voice and echoing a conversation from long ago. The Sheriff whipped around suddenly, staring at the spot where the voice had come from. "Dad?" Stiles queried, tentative, as his father stepped closer.

"You can't be here. You're dead," the older man replied, still shaking his head slightly, as though trying to clear it.

"You're dead too," Stiles answered, the shrug that would have accompanied it almost audible.

"Stiles, are you really here?" the man asked, the fear of the response evident in his tone.

"Yeah dad, of course I'm here…I would never abandon you, you know that. I love you," the younger man said, voice full of an array of emotions. For a long while the Sheriff didn't move, didn't speak, and the Pack around them practically held their breath in suspense.

Finally, Noah took a step forward, shouting one word, "Stiles!" before seemingly wrapping his arms fiercely around thin air. A moment later, however, the body of the sheriff's son faded back into visibility, arms wrapped just as tightly around his father.

"Dad!" Stiles cried out, tears streaming from his eyes as he buried his face in his father's shoulder, the older man mirroring his actions. As father and son hugged one another, ten other bodies slowly faded into visibility around the room as well, each of them breathing a sigh of relief as feeling returned to their limbs. They silently greeted one another, a few tentatively patting Stiles on the back before moving into the living room to give the Stilinski men some privacy for their long-awaited reunion.