A.N.: Are you sitting comfortably…then I'll begin!

It's an update - I know, you're shocked!

Jekyll and Hyde

11

How To Train Your Werewolf

"Did you two kiss and make up?"

Stiles screamed like a baby elephant and trampled Scott as he danced and skittered backward, trying to flee, his heartbeat pounding a Ramones drumbeat. Scott's eyes narrowed, and aggression scented the air, before he noticed her reclined on Stiles' bed. Considering the helter-skelter disjointed pace of Stiles' brain, Mary had been surprised upon first entering the calming blue bedroom that it was so sparse, so…neat. Minimalist furniture, posters on the walls, but very little stuff. What little there was lying around was tied to his extracurricular activities of trying to help Scott navigate stormy supernatural waters.

"Uh…yeah," Scott said.

"Good," Mary sighed.

"I mean, sort of…"

"You broke into the Sheriff's house? I feel like my dad should give you an award," Stiles said, staring at her, a hand over his heart.

"Stiles said you… Did you know Derek was going to ambush me in the parking-garage?" Scott said quietly, his eyes on Mary.

"He mentioned he was going to start training you," Mary shrugged delicately, idly turning the page of her magazine. The boys' heartbeats returned to normal, Stiles collapsing into his desk-chair, eyeing her warily, as Scott slung his backpack under Stiles' desk.

"I still don't trust him."

"I know."

"You do?" Scott frowned at her. He glanced at his bestie. "Stiles said something about…about chemo-signatures."

"Chemosignals," Mary nodded. "They're tied to your scent. Stronger emotions can give off indicators to other people."

"Like when dogs can tell when you're sad or scared," Scott said softly, almost to himself, and Mary nodded.

"It's not a surprise you don't trust Derek, the signals he's giving off. If we were actually canines, you'd be like…the easily-distracted chocolate Lab puppy. Derek…I don't know, maybe he'd be a dog that's been kidnapped and abused in illegal fighting pits and has somehow escaped, lost. Circumstance has brought out the worst in him, but he's just fighting to survive."

Scott blinked at her, as if he had never thought of it that way.

"What would you be?" Stiles asked thoughtfully.

"A sleek Dobermann, babe, just waiting to be unleashed," Mary said, winking at him, and he blushed. "My point is, Derek doesn't help himself; he's very distrustful, and with good reason, so it's not a surprise he gives off signals that make you wary."

"But you're not wary of him?" Scott said, frowning, as Mary peeled off a segment of orange and leaned over to feed it to Stiles.

"I've met nasty guys, okay, Derek is more Daryl Dixon than Negan," Mary chuckled, shrugging, as she accepted a pretzel from a smiling Stiles, who did a double-take at her Walking Dead reference. "Okay, I know evil when I fight it… Sometimes the people who build the strongest walls have been hurt the worst. There's nothing wrong with a little defence…"

"A little defence?" Stiles blurted. "He's like the Black Gate of Mordor?"

"That's a little mean," Mary said, frowning. "What lurks behind his walls is not pure evil… He's much more like…the Wall between the North and the real North. Y'know: Necessary to protect you sweet summer children from the wildlings and the White Walkers. But it's melting - very slowly."

"Yeah, this is all falling on deaf ears; Scott hasn't watched Walking Dead, his mom won't let him watch Game of Thrones. He's never even seen Star Wars," Stiles said flatly, shaking his head.

"Well, Jon Snow, you'd better write some notes on How To Train Your Direwolf," Mary said, eyes on her magazine as she picked up Stiles' notebook and passed it to him.

"Wait, I'm Jon Snow?" Stiles grinned.

"'You know nothing'," Mary sniggered, and the smile vanished from Stiles' face. She leaned over to lift the stack of DVDs and books from Stiles' dresser - The Wolfman, The Vampire Diaries, Underworld, An American Werewolf in London, Hemlock Grove, Bitten, The Wolf Gift, and others. She smiled and picked up Cycle of the Werewolf. "Well, hey, at least you're turning to Stephen King, not Stephenie Meyer." She caught Stiles' slyly trying to punt a copy of New Moon under his gaming-chair.

"Okay, Miss Louve," Stiles said, sassily. "And what would you suggest for background reading?"

Mary smiled sweetly, opening Stiles' notebook to the list she had written there for him. "Here's a list I made earlier. For the very best in lupine guts, sex, fur and intrigue."

Stiles cleared his throat, and started to read her list:

Sharp Teeth, Toby Barlow

The Wolf's Hour, by Robert R. McCammon

Pride Mates, by Jennifer Ashley

The Werewolf of Paris, by Guy Endore

The Wolfman, by Nicholas Pekearo

High Moor, by Graeme Reynolds

The Last Werewolf, by Glen Duncan

The Hyde Effect, by Steve Vance

Wolf Born, by N Gosney

Revenge of the Wolf, by Wyatt Michael

"I mean, they're pure fantasy, of course, but there are nuggets of truth buried beneath the bull," Mary said.

"Nuggets? Like what?" Stiles asked, grabbing a mechanical pencil, jamming his thumb on the end as he tried to open his notebook to a fresh page, sending the book across the floor, and not realising the pencil was a twisty not a clicker.

"Well, not all werewolves actually can transform into full wolf-form," Mary said, reaching over to pick up the notebook and twist the pencil. "That's…a rare skill. And it's mostly the born werewolves that can do it. Mostly. We're stronger in packs but not all werewolves choose to be part of a pack. Wolfsbane can kill us, it's one of the only sure-fire things that can - but you can treat wolfsbane poisoning."

"Yeah, we saw. And it was awesome!" Stiles laughed, grinning.

"What about silver bullets?" Scott asked, and Mary chuckled softly, biting her lip as she smiled.

"Most legends start with a hint of truth. It was never the bullets that killed werewolves," Mary said softly. "It was the family holding the gun."

"Argent," Stiles said softly. "Silver."

"Oui, mon chiot," Mary smiled jauntily. "Someone's been studying for their French test."

"Yeah, I have to translate a passage from a dumb novel," Stiles sighed, shaking his head. "Hey, so, what else? What's real about real-live hot-blooded American werewolves?"

"You can only be turned by an Alpha's bite," Mary said. "It doesn't have to be a full-moon; you don't have to drink out of the puddle of water inside a werewolf's footprint - or have sex with one, like in that awful Christina Ricci movie - what was it called? - Cursed. I mean, I guess if you're having kinky sex with an Alpha and they get a little carried away… And the human-body can reject the bite."

"What happens then?"

Mary pressed her lips together, glancing at Stiles.

"A body is found, and a lot of questions are left unanswered," she said sadly. "The younger you are, the less likely your body is to reject the bite - there's some kind of psychology behind accepting it, I think…you're young, you're less likely not to believe…"

"Like flying to Neverland," Stiles murmured.

"Yes, Stiles, like flying to Neverland," Mary smiled. "It's amazing what belief can do."

"What about the Hunters - what about your family? They don't know?" Scott frowned.

"No, they don't - and don't you tell Allison, either."

"You want me to lie to her?"

"Yes," Mary said plainly, staring at him. "My parents haven't introduced her to all this, and if I can help avoid her having to be indoctrinated, I will. Besides…I love her, but when it comes to our parents, she's too easily intimidated to hold her tongue. She'll blab, and my waistline will become considerably more slender."

"What do you mean, waistline?"

"The medical term is a 'hemicorporectomy'. Bisecting the body at the waist," Mary sighed. "Even we can't heal from that; it's the way Hunters despatch werewolves. Or any other creature they come across."

"Laura Hale was - "

"Other creature - what the -?"

"One at a time, boys!"

The boys exchanged a look. Scott continued, "Laura Hale…she was found in pieces. But there were bite-marks on her body." Mary frowned.

"Well, the Alpha will have taken her power," she said thoughtfully. "Disposing the body the way a Hunter would've…just leaving her out in the woods, taunting…" She frowned.

"Taunting…?"

"Taunting Derek," Mary frowned. "But why…why draw him here? Unless…they want him, too?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure. They could take Derek's power, I suppose…"

"Wait - Alphas can do that?"

"I've heard they can," Mary said, the horror-stories she had heard of the Alpha-pack fresh in her mind. An Alpha could subsume the power from their Betas, amalgamating it with their own. "I wonder what drew Laura Hale back here…"

"I don't know," Stiles shrugged. "Bet my dad's trying to find out. Her murder-investigation is still ongoing."

"Has he said anything to Derek?"

"Since we got him carted off to the Sheriff's Station as a suspect? No. He's been keeping his distance - my dad actually prefers it that way, most people get right up in his grill about what he's doing - or not doing," Stiles sighed. "People watch too much TV, think things happen in days, not weeks… I can find out why Laura Hale came back to Beacon Hills. Why's it important?"

"Whoever's Alpha now took that power from Laura; I met her, once, back in San Francisco, she was visiting another Alpha. She was strong, and wily. Someone had to get the drop on her to take her power; she wouldn't have given it up easily, that was her family's legacy," Mary said softly. "Born werewolves take that stuff seriously. Power's kept within the bloodline, when possible. I mean - they have a biological advantage, being born what we are. They know the history, the culture… They have the knowledge we Muggle-borns lack. We can learn, we're just not immersed like Purebloods."

"Very nice, I like that Harry Potter analogy," Stiles nodded approvingly. "So - wait, does that make Derek like Draco Malfoy?" He crinkled his nose.

"No!" Mary laughed. "I'm just saying, he probably takes for granted half of what he knows, not realising we wouldn't know it as instinct, because we didn't grow up with it."

"That's how he knows there's a link between me and the Alpha," Scott guessed, frowning. "Wait - do you think they tried to lure Derek to Beacon Hills?"

"I think it's a possibility… Derek told me he came to Beacon Hills looking for his sister, she hadn't checked in with him for a little over a week," Mary said softly. "He found her…"

"He found her in pieces," Stiles said softly, and Mary nodded, catching his eye.

"Derek says I'm the one the Alpha wants," Scott frowned. "Why isn't he trying to get Derek?"

"I'm guessing he - or she - hasn't approached Derek because they're vulnerable in some way."

"How d'you figure that?" Stiles asked.

"They bit Scott when he was alone, lost in the woods, right? Laura Hale was killed in the woods. The video-store clerk was alone in the store. They attacked Kate on her way into town, on a quiet road," Mary said softly. "It's…strategic. These aren't random, senseless killings. They're…"

"Executions," Stiles frowned.

"Yeah. An Alpha takes as much power from their Betas as he or she gives them. Together we're stronger - we run faster, fight more fiercely, heal quicker," Mary said. "There's a lot of symbiosis - and a good Alpha only strengthens the collective, doesn't take advantage of their power. Maybe this new Alpha realises they're not strong enough to handle Derek's rage at him murdering Laura… Losing a pack-mate is like losing a limb; losing your Alpha… That shift in dynamics leaves a vacuum. Right now the Alpha's vulnerable, he has no true Betas; if he's trained well enough, Derek might be strong enough to take him. I'm guessing that's why they've stayed away."

"How come the Alpha hasn't approached you?"

"Mm. Usually I can mask my scent pretty well," Mary said softly. "A wise Alpha will teach their young Betas to conceal their scent, so other predators can't sniff them out."

Scott blinked at her. "Can you teach me how to do that?"

"I can try," Mary grimaced. "Like I said, usually I can hide it pretty well. But I've only been this way for a year; there are still learning-curves for me, too."

"But you can control yourself, even on a full-moon."

"With effort," Mary said. "And I tend to avoid my family or large crowds on those nights, just in case."

"What do you do, on full-moon nights?" Scott asked.

"I…work out. I need to channel the natural aggression. My anchor keeps me human, but I still feel the influence of the full-moon."

"Your anchor?"

"My old Alpha taught everyone a little differently, based on personality and experience, but we all have one. It's the link, the tie, that connects us to our human selves. The core of who we are, our human-nature beneath the wolf," Mary said sadly. "As werewolves - wolves - our emotions are less complicated, you know, we're giving in to the baser instincts of survival, to fight, to feed, to…procreate. To find one another. We're drawn to others of our kind, even if it's only subconsciously; we're not creatures that are meant to live on our own… But human-emotions are complex, they're…confusing. And a lot stronger. They keep us from losing control. Derek's anchor is anger. You've felt it coming off him in waves… Mine…was grief. But I need to find a new anchor; I need to heal… What kept you human on the night of the full-moon?"

"Um. Your dad shooting me with an arrow from a crossbow."

Mary gave him a look. "All he cared about was Allison," Stiles spoke up, with a sigh, rolling his eyes.

"Really? That's all?"

"I just…wanted to be with her, at the party. And when I started to turn…I was just worried about her. Embarrassed I'd run out on her, then…worried Derek gave her a ride home. Worried he'd hurt her, when I scented her in the woods."

"You did?"

"Derek stole her jacket, when he gave Allison a ride home. Hung it from a branch in the woods so I'd follow the scent," Scott admitted, flushing. "I thought he…was gonna hurt her."

"Well, at least Derek's not a dumbass," Mary said, smiling. She remembered him whisper the name Paige under his breath, the look on his face, and wondered if he had known how to handle Scott's first shift through personal experience.

She wondered briefly who had gotten him through his first full-moon. Werewolves reached maturity the same as humans did - awkwardly.

C.S. Lewis had once written, 'Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn'. She and Derek had both learned the brutal way.

She glanced at Scott, frowning slightly; the night of his first shift, Derek had tried to ensure Scott didn't have to learn that same way. Derek had protected Allison, knowing instinctively that Scott would be drawn to her.

"Wait, so is that it, is Allison Scott's anchor?" Stiles asked. "We tried this thing at school…"

"With the duct-tape and the lacrosse-balls?" Mary asked, raising an eyebrow, and Stiles flushed.

"You saw that?"

"I saw that. Almost peed myself I was laughing so hard," Mary laughed. "Isaac always knew you guys were half-cracked."

"Isaac? Isaac Lahey?" Stiles frowned. "What're you doing with him?"

"Tutoring," Mary sighed. "We took a little time out from Chemistry to watch you two idiots."

"Oh, no, we have that test!" Scott cried, grimacing. "I totally forgot."

"Yeah, but, y'know, we totally figured out it's your heartrate we need to control to control the shift," Stiles grinned amiably. "Like the Incredible Hulk."

"Uh-huh. Here I thought you'd identify with golden-boy Captain America, Scott."

"You don't like Captain America?"

"Despite his arms, he's so unbelievably righteous, I never thought I'd choose him over Tony but when push came to shove, and the Civil War started, I surprised myself. I think Steve had been catching up on Harry Potter, because he knows the difference between doing what is right, and doing what is easy," Mary mused. "The inimitable Mr Stark took the easy way out."

"What were we even talking about?" Stiles asked.

"I have no idea."

"Allison."

"It always comes back to her, doesn't it," Stiles shook his head, sighing.

"You know how, when the pitcher's in the ninth inning of a no-hitter, you never say to him, 'Hey, you've got a no-hitter'," Mary said, and Stiles nodded. "It's kind of the same thing with anchors - especially when you're sixteen and in high-school: Don't use one single person as your anchor. It's just dooming things to fail."

"But what if she is my anchor? What if she's how I keep control?"

"Nothing's ever that simple," Mary smiled sadly. "There's no easy-fix, no one single thing to solve all your problems… Believe me, if there was a switch I could flip to sort out some of the crazy that goes along with all this, I would…it would've made surviving a whole lot easier… I guess what we are is so special because we have to work so hard for it… Your anchor isn't Allison: It's…something deeper. It's something tied fundamentally to you. To who you are."

"So, basically you have no idea what Scott's anchor is?" Stiles said grimly.

"Wrong. Basically, I do have a vague idea. I just can't be more specific, because, you know, I don't know you well enough, really; I think Scott's anchor is his drive to protect people," Mary said thoughtfully. "Allison definitely gave him focus on the full-moon, but he didn't suddenly become a decent person when he was bitten. If anything, being turned only intensifies your basic nature. Allison just helped you channel your instincts."

"So…love is his anchor? Scott's like…Harry Potter."

"He's the Chosen One," Mary smirked playfully.

"What does that make me?"

"Romione."

"So Scott's a werewolf and I'm a hermaphroditic combo of wicked-smart brains and jealous cluelessness."

"That's pretty accurate. Except - for the hermaphroditic part," Scott amended.

"And the jealous cluelessness; you're more switched on than most," Mary said, eyeing her magazine, "and I doubt there's a jealous bone in your body." Stiles beamed at her. Mary sprung up from the mattress, startling Stiles. "Anyway, I gotta go; and the two of you have homework."

"Where are you going?"

"I've got a couple hours' work and then dinner with a friend," Mary said.

"Dinner? With, perhaps, a silvery-eyed, very grouchy but broad-shouldered young gentleman caller?"

"Perhaps," Mary smirked at Stiles. "Call it a working dinner."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm adding a little finesse to the puppy-training schedule," Mary smirked, and Scott rolled his eyes. "So, I gotta go pick up some stuff before work, so… Study." She picked up her things, pausing at the door. "Oh - and Stiles…"

"Yeah?"

"I like your room. It's way tidier than his," Mary said, giving Scott a disapproving look, and as she left the room, closing the door behind her, and made her way down the hall to the stairs, she heard Scott mutter, "Did she say my room?"

Three hours later, she checked the street, frowning, and turned into the entrance of one of the high-rises in downtown Beacon Hills, past the fences splashed with the name of a construction company working on outfitting the renovated factory building into studio-apartments. A few of the windows were illuminated like little amber ornaments on a sad old Christmas tree, she noticed quite a few cars parked in the parking garage as she cruised around, looking for a familiar black Mustang. She parked up, lifted a cardboard box out of the trunk of her car, and made her way upstairs.

"Well, hi, Eloise," Mary smirked, the steel door sliding open heavily. "How's the view from the tippy-top floor." An exaggerated eye-roll admitted her into the penthouse. "Don't sass me with your eyebrows, Derek Hale, I brought you dinner."

He lifted his nose delicately. "Indian."

"Okay…wow… I - You know, they say your external life reflects your internal life."

"What self-help book did you read that in?"

"Psychology 101," Mary said, gazing around the enormous, sparse room. "I'm getting like a…Spartan-warrior vibe." She hopped down the stairs, handing over the cardboard box to Derek, who frowned. "Oh, wait!" She snapped her fingers, grinning. "I've seen this episode!"

"Episode?" Derek frowned, staring around the place, perplexed.

"Yeah. Oliver Queen takes over his father's abandoned factory, turning it into his secret lair, where he plots his crime-fighting and carves out washboard abs," Mary grinned.

"You watch too much television," Derek muttered.

"Yeah, well, I've gone cold-turkey. No booze, brawls or boys, I've cut it all out," Mary said, and Derek raised an eyebrow. "Instead I got Netflix. Speaking of…do you have a television?"

"Yes," Derek said impatiently, setting down the box on the industrial coffee-table. Mary glanced around. There was a California-king bed draped in shroud-like dark-navy bedding and a shimmering sapphire sofa; that was it. She strolled over to the sofa.

"Velvet? So there is a little snuggle-pup in there," she teased. She sighed heavily, glancing around the empty place. It wasn't a home. It wasn't anything but a dusty cement box Derek had moved a bed into. She glanced at him. "Christ, what a dump."

"I thought you'd like it."

"I love it," she smiled. "So, I hope you like samosas, because I am not gonna be the only one to eat one. I went to the best place in town, got salmon tikka, biryani, dal, greens and okra, Bombay potatoes and eggplant curry."

"Smells good."

"I'm glad you like Indian. People always go for Chinese but I am a big fan of a curry," Mary smiled. "Um…are we doing this with cutlery or are we just going full authentic with the roti and eat with our hands?"

"I'll get us some plates," Derek said, rolling his eyes again, and made his way to the spiral staircase she hadn't noticed, tucked in the shadows in the far corner.

As miserable as Mary was, she looked around the enormous apartment - could she even call it that? The…loft - and saw what Derek's soul must look like. And it hurt. Whether he had only been here a few weeks and hadn't had the time, or simply didn't have the inclination, it was…worrying, looking around the loft and seeing it so sparse, so unwelcoming. Cold. If his bubbling personality didn't show how much pain he was in, this place screamed it. She shook her head, unpacking the food from the cardboard-box, and her eyes rested on the paperwork on the coffee-table.

Architectural blueprints. And they weren't for the loft. She stifled a smile as footsteps echoed on the spiral staircase, and Derek returned, carrying plates, cutlery and glasses.

"I thought you said cold-turkey," he said, arching an eyebrow accusingly at the six-pack of Coronas. Mary shrugged.

"Hey, it's my wagon, okay: I designed it, I built it, I can make a pit-stop as often as I like when I like, and I'll crawl back to it eventually, but tonight, tonight we share a beer with a curry I've been daydreaming about all afternoon," Mary said, and Derek gave her a look. He had a few very distinctive looks. This was him trying not to roll his eyes so hard he saw his own brains. "Come on, you're not a monk; you don't have to live your life in complete self-deprivation. So, what is all this?" She beamed at Derek as he set the plates out, rustling the blueprints with her fingertips. Derek gave her a look from the corner of his eye, sharing out the food, and cleared his throat.

"Nothing."

"Looks a whole lot like architectural blueprints," Mary smirked.

"What did you wanna talk about?" Derek asked, changing the subject.

"Oh. Right… So, I need you to convince me to adult."

Derek frowned. Mary sighed and tugged her phone out of her pocket, setting it on the coffee-table. She had fully-charged her phone for the first time in weeks, but had yet to actually look at it. To check any of the various forms of communication linked to it.

"Mary, in the short time I've known you, I've learned that it's probably impossible to convince you of anything you don't want to do."

"Well, I am stubborn," Mary agreed. She perked up as he handed her a plate loaded with fragrant food. "You could order me to do it."

"Order you?" A smile made his lips twitch at the corners.

"Yes. Order me," Mary said, and Derek's smile turned real, shaking his head. He glanced from her to the phone.

"Why are you afraid to check your phone?"

"I ain't afraid of nothin', except jellyfish, which is completely rational," Mary blurted indignantly, sharing out a bottle of Corona. Derek pulled a face, picking up her phone, and illuminated the screen.

"There's - "

"Hey!" Mary reached out to snatch the phone away. "Don't!"

"You're afraid! Why?"

"Look - I haven't checked that phone since I left San Francisco - more accurately, was run out of San Francisco," Mary scowled. "Not once. I let it die."

"Okay…"

"So I'm afraid to look at the phone and find there are absolutely no messages or anything for me," Mary grumbled, sighing. "I'm…wondering if the bridges that've been burned can be rebuilt. Maybe some are still standing, I don't know."

"You want to reach out to your friends," Derek said.

"I just don't…want to look like a chump," Mary sighed. "All I have left is my pride. What about you?"

"Me?"

"Your Pack…don't you miss them?"

"They joined the Pack for Laura," Derek muttered.

"You're saying there's not one person on this earth who doesn't miss you?" Mary sighed, shaking her head, and for a moment she was struck dumb with the loneliness, the sadness of it all. She licked her lips, frowning.

"Laura's gone."

"And she's the only person who could ever love you?" She bit her lip, turning to her food, suddenly heartbroken.

"Look at your phone," Derek said, nodding at it, and Mary did.

A.N.: Oh, Derek. Who doesn't love him?