Please, please, please mind the note at the bottom. Mainly note 3

The brilliant thing about track and cross country is that it gets you used to running. Running on uneven ground. The not so brilliant thing about track and cross country is that they don't let you do it in Converse, in the middle of the woods without a trail, and they never seem to think having a bloodthirsty werewolf chasing you is a good idea.

I can't hear Scott behind me, not with the blood pounding in my ears, but he's there. I can feel it. I don't see where I'm going, a result of the combination of vision blurred with tears and the confusion that comes from everything looking the damn same. It feels like a sick parody of my last ill fated run, except now the mantra is fuckfuckfuckyou'regonnadieSHIT

There's a loud snarl somewhere to my left, and I duck under a low hanging branch as I change course. My shoe slips out from under me, and I stumble, my heart leaping to my throat because this is it, this is where he's going to jump.

But I manage to right myself, and he doesn't jump.

He's playing with you. He's going to kill you.

Some desperate part of me clings to the hope that the years of running will give me some sort of advantage, that I'll outrun him, just long enough for Derek to realize what's happened and find us. That I won't end up being another body left to be found by idiot teenagers in the middle of the night.

But the stats have been against me since the start.

I scream as a heavy body crashes into me from behind, knocking my legs out from under me. I land hard, the air rushing out of my lungs and my face slamming into a bed of wet leaves and twigs and hard dirt. I'm left stunned for a second, and the weight shifts enough for me to try and pick myself up.

"Stop!" I scream, try to scream, but it's mangled with a sob. I kick out, and feel it catch something hard, and Scott stumbles back, snarling in annoyance. I take the opportunity to push myself up to my hands and knees, before a hand grabs my leg and drags me back, claws digging through my jeans.

"Nononono!" I scramble for something to hold onto, something to grab, but my fingers slip through the grass and leaves. Clawed hands tangle themselves into the back of my sweatshirt, and I hear tearing fabric as I struggle to break away. He grips my shoulder, and before I can process what's happening, I'm on my back, Scott looming over me. My breath catches in my throat only to be ripped out in a scream as he brings a hand down. Time seems to stop for a split second, and through my tear blurred vision, I catch a glimpse of his eyes.

There's nothing of Scott in them; there is only the wolf. And the wolf knows exactly what he's doing.

I raise an arm to block him, and it deflects his slash enough to miss my throat, but still drags across my collarbone and shoulder. He had put most of his weight into it, and I use it to my advantage, shoving on his shoulder as hard as I can. He tumbles off to the side, and I roll away. In my dash to get away, I notice a large, thick branch on the ground, and I snatch it up as I jump to my feet.

I can't outrun him. But maybe I can beat some sense into him.

I turn, swinging, and the branch catches Scott on the side of the head as he lunges at me. The blow makes my hands shake, and Scott crumples to the ground. For a split second I hope.

"Scott?" I call, and my voice shakes. He moves to stand, and when he turns to face me it is Scott. Stupid puppy Scott looking absolutely horrified at what he had just done.

But it lasts only a second, and he shakes his head. When he looks up his eyes are gold, and there's nothing left of my little cousin in the being in front of me.

"Scott, stop," I beg, stepping back as he moves forward. "Scotty, please-" My foot catches on something - a branch, a root - and he lunges.

He doesn't make it.

A large figure intercepts him, and I watch in horror as they fall away in a tangle of claws and snarls and snapping teeth. It's near impossible to tell who's who, even with the bright moonlight streaming through the trees, and it doesn't last long enough for me to process what's happening.

There's a snap, a bone breaking, and Scott howls in pain.

Derek stands over him, hand wrapped around his arm, and he gives it another squeeze, judging by Scott's second scream of pain. Except this one is human, and there's nothing left of the wolf in his voice.

Derek raises a clawed hand, much like Scott had done to me, and God. God, Derek's going to kill him. Not just scare the shit out of him like he had the guy at the diner. Derek means to kill him. Scotty.

"Derek, don't!" I cry, stumbling as I try to stand, falling back down by the tree I'm half hidden behind. Derek lets out a growl, low and feral. "Derek, please." He glances back, and his eyes are burning bright blue, his face warped.

"He tried to kill you." And he must squeeze Scott's arm, because he lets out a pained whimper.

And I blink, because yes. Scott just tried to kill me. If Derek hadn't appeared… "He-He didn't know," I say. "Der, he didn't… He couldn't-" My voice cracks and I can't hold back the tears that have welled up. "Please."

He does nothing for a second, and then turns back to Scott. He shoves his arm away, and steps back as he writhes on the floor, cradling his broken arm. The tension doesn't leave his body though, and when he turns back to me, his face has smoothed out, no longer animalistic, but there's a barely kept rage in his expression. His eyes flicker.

And despite this, I can only feel relief when he approaches. He stoops down and takes a second to give me a once over, his eyes narrowing at the blood seeping into my sweater as I hold it to the slashes Scott left me with. He makes a sound in his throat and moves back a bit like he means to go back to Scott, and I reach out and grab his jacket.

"Der, please," I beg, and his expression softens as I go on, voice shaking. "I just wanna go home."

He exhales deeply and gives a single nod, scooping me up without a word, careful not to jar my shoulder.

Scott groans and tries to push himself up.

Derek pauses by him, lets him see what he had done, and the terror in Scott's eyes when he looks up at us is almost too much to bare.

"Get your ass to the house," Derek snarls before setting off.

"Ares?" Scott calls as he's left behind. He sounds so heartbroken, and his face is twisted in pain.

I duck my face in Derek's neck, and he holds me closer as I let out a sob.

"I can't be this anymore."

Scott stands at the back door, and he's cradling his arm to his chest. Derek turns away from where he sat me on the kitchen counter and faces him. He found one of Melissa's four fully stocked first aid kits, and has it open next to me. My sweater, ruined and in the way, has been discarded, and I'm left with only my undershirt so Derek could get at the scratches across my shoulder. They're shallow, but long, and are bleeding sluggishly through the bundle of paper towels I have pressed against them

"You can't change what you are," Derek says, and his voice is tight. "Once bitten, there's no going back."

"I almost killed her!" He exclaims, throwing his arm out, and then wincing upon remembering that it's out of commission. "I can't - Jesus, Derek, if I had done that…" His voice cracks, and I have to look away from him. If he had succeeded, mine wouldn't be the only body left in the woods, if Derek's reaction was any indication.

Derek glances back at me, and seems to consider his options before letting out a long suffering sigh.

"The alpha's the one doing this to you," he reminds Scott. "You want to be safe to be around again, you have to get rid of the alpha."

Scott takes a step into the room, and Derek shifts, completely putting himself between me and him. Scotty must notice, his face falling a bit before he speaks. "How- how do I do that?"

"You help me kill it."

I blink up at his back, because what.

"How am I supposed to-"

"It wants you, Scott. It wants you, and you're the only one that can draw it out. You help me find it, and you help me kill it, and it won't control you anymore."

It feels like he's leaving something out, but I'm not really in the right state of mind to worry about that. Scott seems to consider it.

"And I'll be safe then?" he asks cautiously.

"You'll still be a teenaged werewolf, but you won't have a revenge driven monster in your head telling you to kill people," Derek drawls. Scott's quiet for a second. He glances past Derek at me, and for a split second I imagine his eyes flashing gold. But they stay soft brown, and his expression hardens with determination.

"Alright. I'll help."

"Good. Now get out." Derek turns to face me again, and he keeps his face carefully neutral.

Scott hesitates. "Ares…"

"Go, Scott," Derek says, voice hard.

"I'm sorry."

I drop my head into Derek's chest and choke back a sob after he disappears out of the room. Because it's fucked. It's all so fucked. But I've been through a lot of fucked things lately, and I've already had a breakdown in the last seven days, and I'm not interested in having another.

"Are you internalizing?" Derek demands incredulously. I look up and wipe at my face. He's got this look of disbelief. "Jesus, Ares, you can't just-"

"Qué quieres que hago?" I demand. "Que lloro? Que grito como la pinche Llorona?" He stares down at me in surprise, and I can't blame him, because these aren't my words. They're Elisa's. I take a breath and look away. Because he doesn't deserve this. "I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I just… Dios mio, I can't cry anymore, Derek."

He doesn't say anything at first, and I half expect him to argue. Like Alicia had when she finally got me out of Dad's house.

"I'm sorry," he says instead, and my head snaps up to look at him in surprise. He reaches next to me and grabs something from the kit.

"It's okay," I say, watching with dread as he tears open an alcohol pad.

"It's not." He dabs at the scratch closest to my collarbone, and I bite back a hiss at the cold and the pain. "Sorry," he repeats softly, and rests his free hand on the back of my arm, just above my elbow. He continues to clean, but the pain is gone, and that fucker.

I look down, trying to see if there are any black lines in his hand to confirm my suspicions. But he lifts the hand cleaning my shoulder and presses it to my jaw, gently tilting my head to the side.

"You're blocking the light," he says, arching a brow at me. I'd narrow my eyes at him, but it's distracting when he still has his hand there.

"You're a werewolf, you don't need the light." He hums, and only moves his hand when sure I won't move my head back. "You're not subtle," I tell him, letting him go back to work.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

It doesn't take him long to clean the cuts, and he finishes with a smear of antibacterial and a layer of gauze on each.

"Bit much, isn't it?" I ask, trying to watch as he presses a bandage on the last, smallest cut. "They aren't too bad, are they?"

"You might want your aunt to look at it in the morning."

"I'd prefer not to." He gives me a look. "I don't wanna have to lie about what happened." He steps back, and I watch as he starts reorganizing the kit to put it away.

"It might scar," he says carefully, and I can't find it in myself to be bothered.

"My bikini body," I lament dryly, and Derek struggles to keep his expression schooled. "Are you going to stay?" I ask as he closes the kit and moves away to put it back where he found it, and hopefully it'll be awhile before Melissa notices it had been used.

He nods, not looking up at me. "I'm not leaving you here with him alone." The emphasis he puts on "him" is full of contempt.

"It's not his fault-" I start to defend, but stop short at the dark expression that comes over Derek's face.

"It doesn't matter that he didn't mean to do it, Ares," he says. "What matters is that he did it. This is the second time in a week he's tried to do this," he reminds me, and I let out a whine, because he's right. This is the second time, and he got much closer to succeeding this time around. "And I can't promise I'll be there if he tries it again." He says it through gritted teeth, like he hates the thought.

And it occurs to me that he must have been just as terrified earlier.

"You were here this time," I remind him, reaching out and catching his hand. My palms had been skinned up again, but he takes my hand gently, turning it over in his own.

He looks down at me, and there's pain in his eyes.

"I almost wasn't," he says quietly, and squeezes my hand, just barely.

"But you were." Not thinking, I bring up his hand to cradle it to my chest, near my heart. "I'm still alive because of you." I pause, watching how his face smoothes out, how his eyes dart down before meeting my own again. "And I appreciate you, Derek Hale."

He starts to pull away, but seems to change his mind last minute, and instead just moves his hand to my cheek, stepping close as he cups it. No one can blame me for leaning into it, for my hand to follow his and hold on to his wrist.

"I-" He seems to struggle for a moment. "I appreciate you too, Ares Delgado." He pauses - hesitates - before leaning down and my breath catches in my throat. He leans his forehead on mine.

And he has the most beautiful eyes.

"You're… Ares, you're probably the only good thing to come out of Beacon Hills," he says softly, and if I hadn't already told myself I was done crying, there would most definitely be tears.

"You're just saying that because I feed you," I croak, fighting back the lump in my throat, because what. He can't just say that. He huffs, closing his eyes.

"Impossible human," he says, but the corners of his lips quirk up. He opens his eyes and pulls back a bit. His eyes are searching, and he must hear my heart pounding in my chest. Because he's still so close, and despite everything that's happened tonight, I can't help myself from glancing down at his lips and I can't help but wonder.

If my life was a kdrama, I imagine this would be the scene where the world slows. The lights soften, and the camera does that thing where the lights in the background turn into little hearts.

"Ares," he says, voice low and drawing me out of my thoughts. I blink and look up at him, my face flushing when I realize I had been caught. "I meant what I said."

"I'm sure there are better things in Beacon Hills than me," I tell him. "Angie's pretty cool."

He struggles to keep his face straight. "Angie doesn't make me laugh." He pauses, and his expression is so soft. So open. And I come to the realization that maybe I won't need Sonya to help me figure out Derek Hale after all. But this is a conversation for another time. When I'm not recovering from almost being murdered and Derek is less likely to go and murder Scott. He must realize this too, because he sighs, and this time he does pull away, and I stop myself from following.

"I… I washed your clothes, if you don't wanna sleep in this," I tell him, reaching out and tugging at his shirt. It feels like such a shitty transition after what just happened-because something did just happen. Something has shifted. "They're in my room."

He nods.

"Alright." He steps back and, with his hands on my waist, helps me down from the counter.

I move toward the living room, and he catches my wrist. "Hang on," he says, and goes to the back door. I watch in confusion as he turn the lock, and tests its weight. Content that it won't spring open at the first gust of wind, he comes back to me.

"What was that?" I ask as he leads me to the living room, hand at the small of my back. "Scott's probably not gonna try and run off now."

"It's not for Scott," he say, leaving me by the couch as he goes to the front door and check the lock. "It's for in case you sleepwalk."

"I haven't sleepwalked - slept walked? - since I was five, thank you."

He hums.

We have to pass Scott's room to get to mine, and it isn't lost to me how Derek keeps me along the wall, away from the door.

"Is he okay?" I ask quietly. Derek tilts his head, as if listening, and lets out an annoyed growl.

"He's fine."

Derek walks into the room first, and he goes straight for the window. "I'm not going to sleepwalk out the window."

"You might." He checks the lock, and draws the curtains shut. "Better safe than sorry."

"You're being paranoid."

"Maybe."

I cross the room and grab his clothes, which I have folded on my trunk. "Clothes?"

"Thanks." He stands there for a moment as I go to my dresser and pull out a pair of pj pants and a shirt I had stolen from Aaron or Warren. I'm not sure who. I consider, for a brief moment, going to the bathroom to change. But the bathroom is closer to Scott's room, and… I'm not too sure I'm ready for that yet.

Besides. We all changed on the same bus back in highschool for track meets if we had to. And I've seen Derek half naked before. That had been great. Did things to my little Ace heart I didn't think were possible.

"Cute," he says after I've changed, facing away from him. I pull my hair out from my shirt as I turn to face him, confused about what he's referring to. He's in his sleep clothes, standing by the bed.

And he has Hubie in his hands.

Hubie, who I had forgotten to put away the other night.

His expression warps into concern as I freeze, blood draining from my face. Because the last person who held Hubie that wasn't me threatened to throw him out to the dogs.

"I-"

I rush forward, all but vaulting over the bed, and snatch Hubie from Derek's hands. He stares in shock as I jump back away from him, hiding Hubie behind my back.

"Ares-"

I swallow hard. Because Derek wouldn't throw Hubie out. Not if he meant what he said earlier. Even if he didn't, or I misread the whole thing, Derek isn't that kind of asshole. "Sorry, I-" I pull him back out slowly and cradle him to my chest. "My mom gave him to me," I say quietly, and don't reveal how I had to hide him away back home.

Understanding crosses Derek's face. "Sorry," he says. "It just surprised me," he admits. I look up at him, and crinkle my nose.

"It's fine," I assure him. "If it makes you feel better, just know that not even Scott or Stiles have seen him." I hold Hubie up and make him do a little dance, and a smile breaks across Derek's face. "Derek Hale, this is Hubie, and I've had him since I was four and if for some reason you turn traitor and go blab to the deputies about him, I will feed you to the cats at Deaton's."

It surprises a laugh out of him. "I won't go blab," he promises. I regard him for a moment, and, content that he speaks the truth, nod.

"Which side you calling dibs on?" I ask, gesturing to the bed. He looks at it, brows furrowing as he considers the door, and then the window.

"Door," he decides. He moves to the other side, and turning off the light as I crawl under the covers. I considered for a moment to put Hubie away, but decided fuck it. I almost died tonight. I can indulge.

He returns to the bed, and doesn't say anything, or seem surprised when I roll up to him, clutching Hubie to my chest. He turns on his side, facing me.

"You're really close," he says.

"I'm not moving," I tell him. And press closer to him, just to prove my point. He huffs, and it stirs my hair.

"I wasn't asking you to."

OKAY. things to address. 1) Ares' Taser. A couple of you asked about it. Her taser is not attached to her keys, and so she didn't have it. Also, her keys were on the hook after she got to the house, so she didn't have those either when facing Scott. 2) Literally my favorite thing anyone has called Ares here is "fajita." Like, I'm in love with that. ElixWolf and Dark-n-Twisty. Y'all. I love it.

3) needs it's own paragraph. I won't be updating 29 next week. I won't be updating again until around Dec. 15. I really hate to leave you guys like this, but I'm running out of chapters and I won't have time to work on it and honestly if I try, I'll probably die.

Okay, this is getting long.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! It means so much to me! A shout out to new fav/followers! Those of you who binge? Like whoa! My dear long time friends. Constant reviewers and readers. I literally love y'all.

Stay cool my dudes! Good luck on finals to those who have them! I'll be back with you in a month or so!

translations
Qué quieres que hago? - What do you want me to do?
Que lloro? - That I cry?
Que grito como la pinche Llorona? - That I scream like the fucking Llorona