It's by the tenth version of "Stronger than You" that Derek finally snaps.

The track is empty, minus the two of us, and the streetlights are still on despite the slowly rising sun. Derek had the good sense to not wear jeans like he did during his workout yesterday, weirdo that he is. Instead, he wears sweatpants and a plain t-shirt.

"Change the playlist," he growls, and when I glance over at him, his eyes are flashing that pretty anime blue. He slows to a stop and I pull up ahead, turning to face him and walk backwards.

"Problema?"

"This is the tenth time we've listened to this song!"

"This is actually the first time we've listened to this song. We have thirteen versions left after this," I tell him, bouncing on my toes in an attempt to keep up the movement.

He glares, but it's hard to take him seriously with his hair plastered to his forehead. It's a very boyish look. Sonya would be very disappointed that I'm not instagramming it for her.

"Change the playlist."

I roll my eyes and pull my phone out of my pocket. "You're such a whiny baby." I glance up at him. He looks at me, arms crossed and brow raised expectantly. His face is flushed a bit from the run, and I can only imagine how mine looks in comparison. "How okay are you with cheesy eighties montage songs?" I ask. He makes no attempt to hide how little he thinks of my music choice. "You can't intrude on a girl's morning run and demand a change in music. It's rude."

"Please change the playlist."

"That 'please' sounded like it hurt. You hurt, Der?" I ask as I start a new playlist, this time the music better suited for a run. I shove my phone in my pocket and turn on my heels. "Come on, Hale. I plan on surviving the zombie apocalypse, and one of the main rules of Zombieland is cardio."

"Zombie apocalypse?" he drawls, easily keeping pace with me, and it's times like these I hate his whole werewolf advantage.

"Yup. Now shut up and stop messing with my funky flow."

The lights have flicked off by the time I decide it's about time to stop or risk losing a lung. "Oh my god, why do I do this to myself?" I gasp, tugging at my sweatshirt to try and peel it off my skin. "It just makes me gross and too hot and puts me in respiratory distress," I go on, wiping my face with my arm before pulling off my sweatshirt, having to hold my shirt down under it. "Some bullshit."

I turn to face Derek. His face is flushed red, which wow, you'd think his asshole werewolf powers would have kept that from happening.

"So you hear about Sheriff Stilinski getting hurt last night?" I ask, snatching my water bottle off the bleachers. He clears his throat as I pop the cap open with my teeth and take a drink. "Fuckin' some asshole backed into him with their car because everyone was panicking about some fuckin' mountain lion decided to crash the conference." I take a breath to reel in my anger and hold the bottle out to Derek. He takes it with a frown.

"There was a mountain lion at the school last night?"

"S'what Stiles texted me last night. He also ended up calling at, like, the middle of my Steven Universe binge ranting about what a horrible person Scott is." I pause, make sure he isn't in the middle of a drink before going on. "Argent shot it, apparently. Stiles thinks they're gonna pin all the recent murders on it." I shake my head before dropping it in my hands. Derek doesn't say anything as I collect myself and finally pick up my head. "So. Any near death experiences lately?"

He keeps his face blank, so I know what's about to come out of his mouth is gonna be bad. "Unless you count Kate Argent breaking into my house and trying to shoot me."

My jaw drops, and some stupid, desperate part of me wants him to shoot up some jazz hands and shout "Kidding!"

He doesn't.

The idea of Derek dead in the middle of the woods somewhere, alone…

I drop my face into my knees and do my best to stomp down the absolute feral rage that bubbles in my stomach. My hands shake, and I keep my jaw clenched shut, not trusting any words that might slip out if I open my mouth.

"I shouldn't have told you that," Derek says quietly, voice strained.

"Hija de su pinche puta madre!" I shout, throwing my sweater down. "La voy a matar!"

"Ares-"

"Quiere morir," I go on, pulling my keys out of my pocket. "That's the only logical reasoning for her actions."

"Ares, what are you doing?" Derek grabs my arm when I march to my car. I look at him, trying to convey how stupid I find his question.

"Did you not just hear me?" I demand, yanking my arm free. "La. Voy. A. Matar."

"You can't just go and kill her," he says, jumping in front of me and placing his hands on my shoulders. I throw my arms up in disbelief.

"Are you fucking kidding me?! She tried to kill you!"

"And she will kill you if you just show up, you absolute…" he flounders for a word. "Look, I got out alive."

"This time!" I snap, shoving him back. "What if she does it again, huh? What if the next bullet hits your head instead of your arm? Did you maybe think about that?"

He clenches his jaw. "I doubt Scott would care much."

My fist connects before I realize it's been thrown. He stumbles back, hand raising to the red mark quickly forming on his jaw. "What about me, pinche pendejo?!" He stares at me in shock. "I fuckin' care, you asshole! How long until you get that through your thick skull?!" The pain in my hand makes itself known, and if my eyes water, I blame it on that. "Fuckin' burro cabezon," I mutter, wiping at my eyes with my not hurt hand. "You have some problematic ideas about yourself, and I swear to god, next time you talk shit on yourself, I'm gonna kill you myself," I snap, trying to shake the pain from my hand. He doesn't speak, so I huff in annoyance and turn on my heels, snatching my forgotten sweatshirt up off the ground. "I appreciate you, Derek Hale, and you better remember that."

"You have a funny way of showing it," he says finally, not looking at me. I sit back down on bleachers and glare at him.

"Tough love, asshole." I look down at my hand, my knuckles already going purple. "Jesus Christ, that was a shit punch." I flex my hand and hiss. "I bet you aren't even hurt anymore, with your asshole werewolf powers."

He looks down at me before rolling his eyes and dropping next to me. "Give me your hand."

I narrow my eyes at him. "You gonna break it like you did Scott's?" I snap before I can stop myself. Hurt flashes in his eyes and I feel my stomach sink. "Shit, I didn't mean that," I say quietly, ducking my head.

"I know," he says. "Part of the asshole werewolf powers." He glances up at me, brows raised. I make a face, but hold my hand out anyway. He takes it in his own, carefully, and not a second later, the pain eases.

"Dude, what the hell?" I look down and immediately try to yank my hand away. "What the hell-why does your arm look like death again?!" I exclaim, staring at the black veins going up Derek's hand and forearm.

"It's fine," he says, not letting go of my hand.

"It is not okay! What are you doing?!"

"Taking the pain," he says simply, as if remarking on the weather. "We can't take the actual wound away, but we can take away the pain."

It takes a second for me to realize that means that he's hurting instead of me. This stupid self-sacrificing asshole.

"Well I don't want you to take my pain!" I snap, trying to pull my hand out of his careful grip. "It's mine!"

He arches a brow. "Ares, let me do this."

I glare at him.

"Asshole," I mutter, dropping my head on his shoulder. He tenses for a split second, and I wonder if I did the wrong thing before he relaxes again. He's gross and sweaty, but then again, so am I. What a sight we would be.

"You've mentioned."

We sit in silence for a moment before I speak. "I still think I should go kill that bitch," I say sourly.

"I appreciate that you're willing to defend my honor," he says dryly, "but I'd rather you didn't give her an excuse to hurt you."

I prop my chin on his shoulder. "Derek Hale, you appreciate me?" He glances down at me, the beginnings of a smile playing at his lips, but he doesn't say anything. "You totally appreciate me."

I pause, thinking. Kate Argent found Derek at home. The Argents know he's there, and Crazy Kate doesn't seem against murder in cold blood. "Der, I don't think you should stay at home anymore," I say carefully.

He glances down at me, expression closed off. "What?"

"I just…What's stopping her from coming back? What's stopping any of them from just showing up again?" He doesn't say anything, just stares out to the track. "Just think about going somewhere safer, okay?" I drop a hand on his arm, the one with the black veins. "Please?"

He looks down at me, expression softening. "I'll think about it."

I smile, pat his arm. "Good."

"I brought milk and cookies!"

Sheriff Stilinski looks down at the small covered plate in one of my hands and the half gallon in the other, then glances out into the hall to make sure no double crossing deputies are around.

"Stiles can't know," he says, stepping back and letting me in. I step in and follow him in, kicking the door shut behind me.

"Oh, I know," I say quickly, setting the plate and milk down on his desk carefully as he grabs two mugs from the shelf by his desk. "But I don't think anyone other than Pauly saw me sneak you these, and I already bribed him with promise of homemade tortillas for next week." I drop in the chair on the opposite side of his desk and pull my legs up to cross them.

"Tortillas?" Sheriff Stilinski looks up hopefully.

"You got hit by a Camry, not a semi." I uncover the cookies as he pours the milk. "Should you even be working right now?" I ask, glancing up at him. He levels me with a look and I bring up my hands in defense. "Just can't imagine Stiles being okay with it."

He sighs and shakes his head. "He's about as far from okay as he can get. Kid worries too much."

I lean back and rest my hands on the arm rests. "You got hit by a car."

"I'm fine, Ares."

"I saw a limp."

"Get your eyes checked, kid," he says dryly, snatching a cookie before I can take the plate away. "I'm fine."

"Si dices," I say uncertainly.

"I do dee-seh," he says, absolutely butchering the word like the middle aged white man that he is. "And I appreciate your concern."

I grab a mug of milk and bring it up in a toast. "All part of my devious plan to become favorite Mexican kid." Stilinski snorts, shaking his head. We fall into a comfortable silence. It's great, until I end up slamming my bruised knuckle on the desk when reaching for a second cookie.

"Hijo de-" I suck in a breath through my teeth and cradle my hand to my chest. "God, that hurt."

The Sheriff arches a brow. "Over-reaction much?"

I look up at him blankly. "Yes." I drop my hand onto my lap, out of his view. "Over-reaction." He narrows his eyes suspiciously.

"What happened to your hand?"

"Nothing you can criminalize," I say quickly before pausing. "Wait, no…"

"Ares." I duck my head because, damn, he's got the best dad-glare I've ever seen. "Show me your hand."

I drop my shoulders. "It's fine," I say, holding up my hand. "It's hardly even colored." And that's the truth. You can barely see the bruise.

"Christ, kid, who'd you lay out?" he demands, and oh. Looky there, he's activated Dad Mode. Expert Level, of course, considering who his son is.

"Derek Hale," I answer truthfully, keeping my voice light. His expression immediately darkens. "It was an accident though," I add the lie quickly. "Well, kinda. I was going for a light bro punch because he was being a loser, but he moved and I kinda ended up-" I mime a punch- "the bleachers with too much momentum and not enough time to pull back. It was very embarrassing."

He looks like he wants to call bullshit, but in the end doesn't. "Bleachers?"

"He started going running with me in the mornings," I say, trying to keep the relief that he didn't push the subject out of my voice. "I told him my theory of the minimum wage serial killer, so he's like my new bodyguard." I roll my eyes. "He worries. It's cute."

Stilinski's face goes blank and I realize just what I said. "Cute. Derek Hale."

I look up at him with wide eyes. "I didn't say that."

"The same Derek Hale my son and your cousin sent to jail."

"I didn't say… you're saying it like…" I shove the plate of cookies in front of him. "Please stop this conversation."

He looks like he wants nothing more than to stop the conversation, but because he's cursed to be a responsible adult, he doesn't. "He's kinda old for you…"

"Oh my god, stop." I drop my face in my hands.

"I just worry."

"Well, don't," I say more sharply than I mean. He arches a brow and I duck my head.

"Look, you're Melissa's to worry about, which means you're mine to worry about too," he says before going on carefully. "And I know it isn't something you're too used to, but you're gonna have to deal, kid, because that's how it is in these small towns."

I cross my arms and slide down in the chair, glaring at the desk. "Alicia and Aaron worried sometimes," I argue weakly.

"Siblings aren't the same as parents." I glance up at him. "I want you to be careful, Ares," he says, and he sounds so tired suddenly. "Something's going on in Beacon Hills right now, something I don't understand, and I don't want you getting hurt out here." I drop my gaze, hoping he doesn't catch the guilt. "All I know right now is that this all started around the time Derek Hale and Argent came back into town, and even if I don't have proof that it's connected to all this, I don't want to take any chances." He pauses. "Do you think you can trust Derek Hale?"

"Yes."

He nods once. "Well I don't, not yet, so you're gonna have a paranoid old man looking over your shoulder for a while."

"You're not that old," I say, trying to lighten the conversation. He offers a small smile.

"Tell that to my leg."

"Ha! I knew you were hurt, you old liar!" I exclaim, pointing an accusing finger at his nose.

He shakes his head. "Get back to work, Ares," he says, pushing the plate towards me. "And get rid of these before Stiles finds out."

Because Scott is grounded, I also have to suffer. Which is why I find myself sitting on the bleachers below Allison Argent and the toxic red headed girl that Stiles is in love with waiting for Scott's practice to just end already so we can go get groceries for Melissa.

"How long does this usually last?" I demand, leaning back and resting my elbows back on the bench above me, where Allison's feet rest. She pouts a bit, her brow furrowing in thought.

"You have another ten minutes, and then they usually shower," Toxic says sharply. I figure that since she just saw a rage monster serial killer, I'd let her have her salt for now.

"God." I drop my head back and groan. "And you're here by choice?"

Allison nods eagerly. "With Scott grounded, I don't get to see him as much outside of school."

"Oh my god, that's adorable," I say, picking up my head. "Why didn't you get grounded too?" I ask, picking my legs up so I can turn to talk the girls without craning my neck like the little girl on The Exorcist. I cross my legs and prop my elbow on the bench above me, resing my chin in my hand. Allison ducks her head, her cheeks flushing pink. "Oh, shit, no, I don't mean it mean or anything," I add quickly. "Just curious, is all."

Toxic rolls her eyes. "Well, for starters, she isn't failing all her classes."

There's only so much I can let slide, and the kid is reaching her limit. I blink at her, trying my best to keep my tone neutral. "Right."

I must not have mastered it like Derek though, because Toxic leans back a bit in alarm.

"Lydia," Allison scowls, having not caught it and wow. She must be as pure and perfect as Scott says she is. "It was my birthday, and since we got there in time for the conferences, I managed to get back on my parents' good side." She pauses, smiling shyly. "Your ringtone on Scott's phone worked, by the way."

"Yeah!" I exclaim, holding a fist up for her. She laughs and reaches down and bumps it with her own, Lydia watching in contempt. Allison's pendant swings as she straightens back up, catching my attention. "Oh, that looks cool," I say, nodding to it. Her hand automatically reaches for it, smile spreading across her face.

"Oh, thanks. My aunt gave it to me for my birthday," she says, leaning forward again so I can see.

"Your aunt."

She doesn't notice the sharp tone I use.

"My aunt Kate," she confirms, holding the pendant out a bit. I lean in to examine it. It's irregularly shaped, with a weird looking dog in the middle. "She said it has something to do with our family history."

"Family history?" I look up at her and she leans back. "Anything fun?" I bring my hands to my cheeks and widen my eyes. "Anything scandalous?"

She laughs. "Not that I know of," she says.

I crinkle my nose. "That's boring," I decide. "I bet you can find all sorts of interesting stuff if you looked hard enough. Horse robbers in the west, first generation immigrants, aristocrats way back when in Europe." Serial killing wolf hunters.

"Oh, look, the boys are finally done," Lydia says flatly, standing. "Interesting as this conversation is…" She doesn't even bother to finish as she walks down the stands to the stream of freshly showered boys coming from the locker room. Allison jumps up and all but runs to where Scott is walking alone. Stiles makes a point to walk far enough away to where they can't talk, but close enough to where Scott can see he's pissed. I roll my eyes and carefully pull myself up, trying to not fall.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles asks as I meet him on the field. I throw my arm over his shoulder and run my hand over his still damp head.

"You still wanting to murder Scott?"

"That obvious?" He makes a face, but doesn't pull away.

"Delgados see all," I say ominously, bringing my hand up and wiggling my fingers. Stiles snorts. "Scott gets the stupid from the McCall part of the family tree."

"That's believable. Seriously though, why're you here?"

I sigh melodramatically and drop my head on his shoulder. "Melissa wants groceries and told me to take Scott so he doesn't do anything stupid." I look around to see said little cousin locked in an intimate embrace with Allison. "Like give her grandchildren."

Stiles smirks. "Better go separate them then," he says, ducking out from under my arm. "I don't think I can handle becoming an uncle just yet."

"You wouldn't be the one living with the kid," I call over my shoulder as he walks away. "Remember your seatbelt! Don't pick up any sketchy hitchhikers!" He looks back at me, face flushed red as some of the other boys notice our exchange. I turn and find Scott and Allison, still not moving from their The Notebook reenactment. "Yo, Scottifer, we're leaving!" I call out, walking up to them. "Stop trying to make me a tia and let's go!"

Scott's face goes a deep red and I can see Allison ask him something. He just shakes his head and gives her a quick kiss before leaving her side and rushing up to me.

"Did you really have to yell that out?" he demands as we head to the parking lot. I lock my arm with his and roll my eyes.

"Got your attention," I say lightly.

"Do you think…" Scott trails off, glancing back at where Allison is still with Lydia and the boy that looks like a Chad. "Do you think maybe you can let me go to Allison's later?" I level him with a look. "Just for a little bit!" he adds quickly.

For a little bit, my ass. I heard that from Warren too many times and wasted many an hour waiting for his booty calls to end.

"You're grounded," I remind him.

"And you're the best big cousin in the whole wide world," he says sweetly, eyes wide and puppy like. You can almost hear the crack in my resolve.

"We'll see," I say, looking away. I catch his smile out the corner of my eye though. Little shit.

And there you have Ares' reaction to Kate Argent, without actually meeting her yet.

As always, welcome to those that are new to the party, and thanks for fave/following/reviewing. Shameless promotion: I set up a tumblr, and it's pretty empty right now, but there's a link on my profile if anyone interested. Feel feel to drop an ask or submit anything or whatever it is people do with these things ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This A/N is getting kinda long, but one last thing: lunalight01 and anyone maybe wondering, the plan is for this to end up Derek/Ares, and it will. The thing about Ares, though, is that she is so utterly oblivious to these types of things. So yeah.

Anywho, you're all the best. 3

Translations

1. Hija de su pinche puta madre - female equivalent to "Son of a fucking bitch"
2. La voy a matar - I'm going to kill her
3. Quiere morir - (S)he wants to die