*Eminem voice* guess who's back~

Laredo, like any other city, has its good parts of town and bad parts. I grew up in a relatively safe neighborhood - everyone knew each other, everyone minded their own business, kids walked to the bus stops together. We knew the places to avoid, had been warned away from the neighborhoods the gangbangers - the real cholos, the ones you don't want to dress up as for halloween, the ones with ties to the narcos down south - claimed as their own. We knew how to be safe. We were sheltered.

I have lived in Laredo, Texas for the entirety of my first 18 years of existence and I had never seen anyone get shot. Leave it to Beacon Fucking Hills to ruin my record.

"Shit."

Scott stumbles and nearly takes me with him. He manages to right himself, and I re-adjust the grip I have on his waist and the arm he has slung over my shoulder.

"Okay, mijo, you're okay," I say, ignoring the way my voice catches in my throat - a mix of panic and exertion taking my breath. He doesn't answer, and his breath is shallow in my ear as his head lolls into my shoulder. A warmth seeps into my jacket where Scott is pressed against my side, and I try not to think about what it means.

My steady mantra of "You're gonna be okay, Scotty, just keep walking" clashes violently with the frantic drumming of "fuckwhatthefuckwhatdoidoyoucan'tdie" that bounces in my head.

I spare a glance around as we pick our way through the preserve, and I beat back the fact that I have no fucking idea where we're going. So long as we keep the Hale house behind us. So long as there isn't anyone with more bullets following.

The waning moon hangs high, still full enough to provide light through the sparse branches above. Dew shines on the grass and leaves, making the ground slick. Scott, who probably couldn't have kept much of a balance even without the dew, stumbles again, and this time he doesn't stop himself.

"Fuck." I land on my knees next to him, hard, and nearly fall to the side as he drops against my side heavily. "Scott, Get up," I urge, giving his arm a shake. He shudders next to me and shakes his head. "Scott, you have to get up!"

"M'sorry," he mumbles, and tips forward.

"Nononono-" I dig my fingers into his side and jerk him back up, and he lets out a whimper in pain. "Get. Up." He looks at me with unfocused eyes, and I have a feeling it's because of how much like Alicia I just sounded. "I can't- I can't fucking carry you, Scott."

"D'n't wanna lie t'you," he says breathlessly, and it sounds like a fucking. Like a death confession. And I did not sign up to listen to my little cousin's death confession alone in the middle of the creepy ass woods like some bullshit barely popular nosleep.

"I don't give a shit about that right now, get the fuck up!" He dips his head in to my shoulder and lets out a whine.

"M'tired, 'res. Can't."

I stare down at him as best I can. Blood - dark and warm and poisoned - spreads across his hoodie. A layer of sweat shines on his face, and bile stains his chin. His eyes are squeezed shut.

He's dying.

I clench my jaw and blink away tears that threaten to spill over. Scott lets out a high pitched whine as I dig my fingers into his side again, tighten my hold on his wrist to keep his arm over my shoulders. I dig my nails into his skin - which, while not actual claws, seems to get the needed effect.

"You can get the fuck up now," I tell him, "Or I'll drag you by your hair." He swallows hard, and the cloudy look in his eyes dissipates, leaving him with a more focused gaze. He nods. "On three," I say. "One. Two. Thr-"

Snap.

Scott's head snaps up, and the movement must be too much for him, because he immediately doubles over. I look up, and there's movement in front of us, a figure moving forward.

The Argents? Or the Alpha?

I keep an arm around Scott, search and fail to find my keys - and with them my pepper spray - in my pockets. My hand shake as I pat around in panic. Where the hell? Did I drop them? God, are they back at the Hale House?

The fallen leaves and twigs rustle loudly as the figure approaches, and I look up.

Alan Deaton walks into the moonlight, holding his hands out in a placating manner. I stare at him for a second, trying to process his appearance. "Wh-why- what are you doing here?" I demand, because Jesus, Derek must have been right about Deaton knowing shit, huh?

"Easy, Ares," he says gently. "I just want to help." He looks next me pointedly, at Scott. "I can help him."

I look next me, and Scott has doubled over, unconscious. "He. He got shot."

"I can fix that," Deaton says, walking quickly without rushing to us.

"We need the bullets," I say, remembering how Derek had needed the bullet Kate had shot him with. Remembering how pale and sickly Derek had gotten, and how much worse than him Scott looks now. "How are we supposed to get them? He needs the bull-"

"Ares." Deaton catches my arm, and when I look up at him, his face is blurred. I wipe at my eyes.

"He can't die."

"I'm not going to let him die," Deaton assures me, pulling Scott into his arms and starting to stand. "You need to trust me."

Trust. It's not like I have much of a choice.

Scott's blood soaked through my jacket, and I'm left with a dark, cold stain on my shirt. Scott lays on the examination table, his ruined shirt discarded, and Deaton hovers over him as he picks out the bullet.

I watch, chewing my thumb nail and trying not to concentrate on how pale Scott is, at how he shakes and how his closed eyes flutter about, as though trapped in a nightmare.

"The worst of it is over," Deaton says, his voice quiet as he sets away the tool he had used to pick out the bullet. I follow his hands as he picks up pliers - the kind he uses to apply bandages and dab away blood - and sets to work at cleaning Scott's torn side.

"The poison?" I ask, my voice only just there.

"The solution I applied will pull it out of his system."

"Okay."

A silence falls back between us, thick and heavy. Deaton works with practiced and professional efficiency, and already it looks as though Scott's wound isn't as bad as it first appeared.

"Ares." I look up at him, blinking away the unfocused haze I found myself falling into. There's concern in his eyes. "Aren't you going to ask why I know what I'm doing?" He offers a brief smile as he says that, a reassurance.

The question catches me off guard, enough to knock me back into the moment. I look at him, and really look at him. He's the same Dr. Deaton I've come in to work for for the past five months, but the all knowing look in his eyes seems almost… backlit with a burden I've never noticed before.

"You're a vet, aren't you? Scotty's just a glorified puppy."

Deaton lets out a startled chuckle, and despite the situation, it's a welcome sound. "A werewolf is hardly a puppy," he says, looking at me, expression searching for my reaction. Because he just went and said werewolf. Out loud.

"How… how long have you known about him?" I ask. His smile takes a sad quality to it.

"I suspected the day after Laura Hale was found." He turns his attention to Scott. "While he can apply a bandage well enough, he couldn't hide the fact that he had patched himself up from me." He pauses, eyeing me. "Speaking of which…"

I tighten my arms around my middle to keep myself from grabbing at the healing scratches on my shoulder.

"You didn't fall running at the track, did you?"

I consider not answering, but I figure this is gonna be one of those answer for an answer kind of conversations. "The Alpha got into Scotty's head. Derek-" I inhale sharply, shoving down the sudden surge of emotions at the mention of Derek. And how I left him. "Derek stopped him before he could actually, you know…" I trail off, and after a second's internal debate, reach up and pull the neck of my shirt to the side, revealing the healing scabs.

Dr. Deaton, for what it's worth, manages to keep his face neutral for the most part. He nods. "It seems I may have misjudged Mr. Hale."

Any other day I would have defended Derek if not for how I found him with Jackson. I drop my hand to hug my middle again. "How do you even know about this stuff?" I ask. He takes his time answering, and I start to think he won't answer at all.

"I've always been a vet," he says. "But I also worked closely with Talia Hale."

"Derek's mom?"

He nods. "Yes. Has he told you about her?"

I shake my head. "Not really. She was the alpha before the fire though, right?"

"Yes. In a way, you can say we were partners when it came to dealing with the more supernaturally inclined problems in town."

I can't help but arch a brow at him. "How the hell do you end up with that job?"

He smiles, as though remembering better times. "That's a long story for a time when we don't have an unconscious werewolf laying on my examination table. Suffice to say, however," he adds before I can argue, "it wasn't supposed to be my job. But it fell to me, and I like to believe I was good at it."

I frown, my brow furrowing as I think this over. "Then why didn't you ever help us?"

He goes still. "I retired from that life, Ares. This life." He shakes his head. "I hoped it wouldn't come to this. Even with the murders, I thought I could sit away and offer advice from afar." Scott stirs on the table, and Deaton goes still. "As we can see," he says quietly, "my selfish actions nearly cost us dearly." He straightens. "Would you grab me that gauze, please?" he asks gesturing to the shelf behind me.

I nod, because what else can I do? After handing it off to him, I chew on my thumb nail, debating asking the question that's been at the root of everything since this mess began. "Dr. Deaton?" I ask, and he hums in acknowledgement. "Do you… do you know who the the Alpha is?"

He looks up at me, and seems to have his own debate on how to answer me. "Not with complete certainty, no," he says. "Though I have reason to believe it is Peter Hale."

My brow furrows in confusion. "Derek's comatose uncle?"

"Becoming the Alpha would have given him the final push to heal himself."

I mull over this information. "Jesus. I don't even know what the guy looks like."

Deaton offers a tight smile. "Hope you won't have to."

"Ares..?"

I jerk out of my doze, the hand holding my head up slipping out from under my cheek. I shake my head, trying to dissipate the feeling of whiplash, and catch sight of Scott standing by the table he spent the night on.

I jump up from the chair Dr. Deaton let me roll into the back room last night, finding myself with an armful of teen werewolf before I can even take a step toward him.

"You're awake, thank god, you're awake," I say, and Scott tucks his head into my shoulder, murmuring what sounds like a rushed mantra of "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I blink away tears that threaten to spill, tightening my hold on Scott, alive and warm and not bleeding anymore.

Despite not wanting to let go, I pull back to get a look at him. Deaton had bandaged him up last night, and aside from the small stain of red on the gauze, you'd have a hard time noticing any other wounds on Scott. "You okay, you feeling alright?"

He nods, wiping at his eyes. "Yeah, mostly. Sore, but I'm okay." His expression falls, and he shakes his head. "I didn't want to lie yesterday, but Derek said it was to protect you, and Peter Hale did something to you-" He stops short when I hold up a hand.

"What do you mean, Peter Hale did something to me?" I demand. "What happened Wednesday night?" Scott runs a hand over his face tiredly and leans back on the table.

"I don't - Ares, I don't even know what all happened. You didn't come to the game, and I got worried. And then Jackson-" he throws out an arm in frustration - "comes to me saying he'll tell the Argents you're a werewolf if he doesn't get the bite by Saturday." I draw back, recalling Jackson's words last night in his attempt to placate Derek.

"I won't tell the Argents she's like you, I promise-"

Idiot, idiot boy.

Scott goes on. "After the game, Peter and Derek showed up. Together. Peter Hale is the Alpha, Ares! But… the only reason Derek was with him was to protect you. Peter did something to you that made Derek go with him."

And just like that the bruises and red eyes make sense. It doesn't make what he was going to do to Jackson - whatever it would have been if I didn't show up - excusable, but it gives a motive, doesn't it?

"I didn't…" I trail off. "I can't remember anything." That's a lie though, isn't it? Scott had called me at work, didn't he? I close my eyes, trying to pry the memory from the stubborn grasp that hides it away from me.

"Nothing at all?" Scott asks hesitantly. "After you left Allison's?"

"Allison's?"

"I asked you to go find the pendant," he prompts. "Since she didn't bring it to school. And she said you went-"

Scott had called. Scott had called and after… "I want to be with you, Ares. You, you impossible human." My breath catches in my throat as the memory comes rushing back. "Oh." My voice shakes, and my eyes prickle with tears. "Oh no." I squeeze my eyes shut, recalling how he had kissed my forehead - soft and gentle and.

And now he's gone. Because I left him.

"Ares…?" Scott prompts, hand resting on my arm. I swallow, shake my head.

"Derek and I made up."

Scott crinkles his nose, a knee-jerk reaction, before realization crosses his face. "He'll be okay," he says in a rush, patting my arm awkwardly. "He's hard to kill, he's like a cockroach," he says, voice light with the insult-compliment combo. "He needs to be okay," Scott goes on. "I still need him if we want to get rid of Peter."

And then Derek would be the Alpha. Scott's expression is determined, and I consider the pros and cons of telling him that if Derek's kills the Alpha, he'll have that power in its stead. Before I can try, he goes on.

"Peter did something to me too," Scott says, rubbing the back of his neck. "He made me… see the Hale Fire. What happened that night. I don't know how," he adds in a rush. "But I think that's why he's killing people. They had something to do with it."

"A video store clerk?"

Scott shakes his head. "I dunno. We'll have to ask Stiles if he can get anything from his dad." He pauses and looks at me. "I should have told you. I just… I didn't want you to get hurt because of me anymore."

"Scott…"

"You're the one that's been saying we shouldn't be doing this alone, and we didn't listen-"

"The text came from your mom's work computer," I blurt, the memory hitting me like a sack of bricks to the gut. I look at Scott, who stares at me in shock. "Stiles said someone named Danny found it." I close my eyes, recalling the betrayal, the rage I had felt that the Alpha - that Peter Hale - had done that. "I didn't want to worry you, so I went alone. I called Derek too late and…" redredred. "I went in alone."

He stares at me. "Peter got you there."

I make a point not to look at my arms. "I should have waited. I should have told you."

Scott's quiet for a moment before speaking. "Guess I'm not the only one who makes dumb decisions. Must be a Delgado thing."

I can't help the small huff of humorless laughter. "Must be. Ay, que primos pendejos," I lament.

There's a quick knock on the open door, and we both look to see Deaton walk in. His expression lights up at the sight of Scott up and kinda sorta about. "It's good to see you well, Scott," he says, moving toward us. "You gave us a scare last night-"

He stops short, looking to the front room. I frown, only just catching the what sounds like the front lock turning before the front bell chimes. Deaton looks at us, giving a brief smile. "Excuse me."

Scott and I exchange looks, and the fact that Scott doesn't seem overly on edge - tense, but not ready to attack - gives me reason to stay calm.

"What are you doing here?" Deaton asks in exasperation as he stops at the door, and there's a huff as footsteps approach.

"Can't I come visit my darling brother?" a familiar voice answers, and I stare at the doorway in shock as Deaton steps back, allowing entry to one Angie the Waitress, Angel of the Lord. She strides in with a sense of authority, and rests her hands on her waist when she sees Scott and I standing by the table. "Oh, what a mess," she huffs, eyeing Scott's bandaged side before turning her gaze to me. "I thought I told you to stay out of trouble."

Scott narrows his eyes at her and rests his hand on my arm, moving in such a way that he could pull me back if need be. I don't stop him.

"Angela," Deaton chides as she walks up to Scott and tries to inspect the bandages, but he pulls away. She gives Scott a warning look and he goes still. She doesn't touch, and when she's content with what she sees, she turns back to Deaton.

"I told you this would happen, didn't I?" she tells him, voice steeped with annoyance. "Again and again I tell you these kids are going to get themselves killed, but you never listen. You listen to Marin more than you listen to me. What am I to you? Modern Cassandra?"

"I listened to you this time," Deaton says, sparing us a glance as I try to put context to this conversation. How the hell does my favorite waitress know my boss?

"'This time,' he says," she mutters. "And what about next time? Will you heed me then too, or are we going to have to deal with this again?"

"Angie-"

She holds up a hand, cutting him off, and surprisingly, he stays quiet. She looks at me, really looks at me, and her eyes fall on the blood stain on my shirt. "Did you get hurt?"

"It's not. It's not mine." She nods, accepting the answer. "What a mess, what a mess," she repeats, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry," I cut in, trying to wrap my head around her appearance and what she had just said to Deaton. "What's going on?" They turn to me, arching matching brows at me. "How is this-" I wave a hand at them - "a thing?"

Scott gives me a look. "Do you know her?" he asks quietly. I nod.

"She's the waitress at the diner Derek and I go to."

Angie exchanges a look with Deaton. "You didn't tell her yet?"

"I was a bit preoccupied," Deaton bit back. Angie rolls her eyes. "Ares, Scott, this is Angela Deaton. Angie," he corrects at the look she gives him. "You know her from the diner, I believe. She's my sister."

"You have a sister?" Scott asks in surprise.

"Two sisters, actually," Dr. Deaton answers pleasantly.

"I'm the older sister," Angie specifies. "And you, idiot children, have gotten yourself mixed up with a whole world of trouble." I draw back in offense, because I don't need a reminder of the shit I'm caught up in, and she goes on without missing a beat. "I knew it the night you came into the diner with the Hale boy-" she stops short, narrowing her eyes and looking around. "That idiot, he actually stayed," she mutters before shaking her head. "Nevermind that." She looks to me. "We're getting out of here."

I blink in surprise. "Uh, what?" Scott makes a noise in the back of his throat, stepping up in front of me. Angie arches a brow, expression impressed.

"None of that now, pup," she chides. "I'm here to help." She pauses, looking past Scott at me. "Your boy needs you," she says quietly, and I know she doesn't mean Scott. "And I can help you get to him back."

Derek.

My breath catches in my throat, and Scott looks at me in confusion. Deaton steps up, resting a hand on Scott's shoulder. He looks at both of us as he speaks. "You can trust her. My sister, though a bit more… crass in nature," he looks back at her, eyes teasing, and she makes a face at him, "will take care of Ares."

"I don't need taking care of."

"Girl, you have blood on your shirt. You're coming with me."

I look at Scott. He seems unsure, and I'm not about to leave him if he doesn't want me to. After a second's hesitation, he nods. "If - if you wanna go," he says, looking to me.

"I don't think I have a choice."

"You don't," Angie says, holding an arm out to me. "Come on now, we've a lot to discuss and do, and not much time to do it in."

Before I can go to her, the front bell chimes, and Scott's hand shoots out, catching my arm and pulling me back. I look at him, and his eyes are wide in fear. Neither Deaton seem to notice.

"You left the door open behind you," Dr. Deaton tells Angie, and she shrugs. He rolls his eyes, brushing past her. "I'm sorry but we're-" Deaton's voice falters, only just, and he hesitates at the door's entry. "Closed," he finishes, his tone more guarded. Angie, sensing the sudden tension, snaps her head to see her brother step out into the lobby.

"Hi there, I'm here to pick up" a voice answers, a painfully familiar voice, and Angie's eyes narrow. Scott's breathing quickens, and when Angie gestures for him to move back, he doesn't hesitate to pull me after him to hide against the back wall.

I look to Scott in alarm, and he mouths Alpha. I look up to see Angie watching the doorway, poised to rush out if necessary, but unwilling to leave us alone just yet.

"I'm not sure I remember you dropping off," Deaton says, and his voice is still polite, though tense. He knows exactly who he's talking to.

"Oh, these wandered in on their own," the man says pleasantly, and Scott pulls me down to sit next to him on the floor. His grip on my arm is near bruising, but considering I hold onto his arm just as tightly, it's something I won't complain about.

"Even if they did, I'm afraid I can't help you," Deaton replies. "We're closed."

"Oh, I think you can make an exception this one time. Don't you?"

"I'm sorry, that's not going to be possible. Maybe you can come back during regular hours."

There's a pause. "You have something of mine," the man says, his tone shifting from polite to sinister. "I'm here to collect them."

"Like I said," Deaton says, and any formality he had earlier has been replaced with a dark tone. "We're closed."

The voice answers, but this time is too low for me to catch. I look to Scott, and it's obvious to see that he's listening closely, brow quirking at what he heard.

A crash, wood splintering apart. I squeeze my eyes shut at the sudden sound, and Scott pulls me closer to him, wrapping his arms around me despite the threat not being at us. Deaton's voice rings out, once more, perfectly clear and unhurt.

"Let me be as clear as possible. We. Are. Closed."

The man doesn't answer, and footsteps are heard moving towards the door. There's a pause, and Scott goes tense before whispering in panic, "Allison!"

I look at him, pulling out of his hold to drop back in relief when the bell chimes, signaling the Alpha's retreat. Deaton walks in, brushing off the front of his shirt, and Angie crosses her arms, giving him a once over.

"You handled that well, brother."

He smiles tightly. "I half expected you to assist me. I know your history with him."

Angie gives a smile, almost feral in nature. "I'll have my turn soon enough." She turns her attention to me, ignoring a shell-shocked Scott. "You ready to get out of here?"

mer crismas y'all te quiero mucho be safe out there