Panic surged through Stiles' body as he looked back at the bed in the room his father and Melissa shared. They hadn't come back. The league were coming for him, and his father and Melissa hadn't come back from the pack meeting.

Turning on his heel, Stiles raced back out of the room, heading for the bedroom that Jackson had been staying in. He pushed the door open, not even bothering to knock. Even if he did walk in on something he'd rather not see Stiles couldn't care, Nyssa's words echoing in his head.

Jackson's room was just as deserted as the Sherriff and Melissa's room, although Stiles wasn't completely surprised. Jackson would probably have woken up when he'd heard Stiles running around the house and would have gotten up to investigate what was wrong, or to insult Stiles for disturbing his rest.

Stiles pulled out his phone again, trying to ignore how his fingers shook as he flicked through the contacts he had gathered until he found the entry for his dad. He hit the dial button and lifted the phone to his ear. Maybe something had come up, and they'd stayed later…or maybe they'd fallen asleep and thought that Stiles would already be asleep.

.

Maybe this was somebody's idea for revenge for all the times Stiles had stayed out late and worried his dad before the Sherriff found out the truth about the supernatural.

His father's phone, however went straight to voicemail, and so did Melissa's Scott's phone just rang out. Stiles tried calling everyone in Beacon Hills whose phone number had had….Derek, Jackson, Lydia, Kira, Liam, Parrish, and even Chris Argent

Nobody answered.

As he tried contacting his friends, Stiles was already getting ready. He threw on some clothes, securing his knife back against his leg. There was a part of him that was screaming at him to go into this more heavily armed, but Stiles wanted to be cautious. He didn't want to blow his cover just in case this was all some twisted idea of a practical joke…although he couldn't really imagine Jackson going along with it if it was some sort of prank. Stiles knew that he and Jackson hadn't always gotten along with each other, but Jackson knew, or at least had some idea of what Stiles had been through with the league, and his former classmate knew how the league were not something to joke about.

The other reason Stiles decided to only carry his knife was the fact that all of the rest of his things were still safely concealed in the back of Jackson's car, which he had taken with him to Derek's house for the pack meeting. They'd agreed that it was too dangerous to risk bringing the weapons into the house, especially with Stiles' father being law enforcement. There were some things that Stiles' father would ignore, but a small arsenal of weaponry from an unknown place of origin in his son's possession. Yeah, that was going to raise some questions. Questions Stiles would rather not having to answer.

Stiles was in the kitchen before he knew it, heading towards the front door, before he stopped, looking at the hallway table, the bowl of keys sitting innocently on it. Melissa and Jackson had both taken their cars, and even with his level of training it would take a long time for Stiles to run to Derek's house.

His hands shaking, Stiles reached into the bowl, bypassing the keys to his father's cruiser, before his fingers closed around the shape of the keys to his Jeep, still familiar after so many years away from his beloved car. Heaving a sigh, Stiles scribbled a short note on a scrap of paper and left it on the kitchen bench, just like he and his dad had used to do back in their old house, before everything had turned to hell.

Dad,

Gone to Derek's looking for you. Call me if you find this. Do not leave the house. Be alert.

Stiles

Stiles dropped the pen beside the scrap of paper and ran back towards the front door, letting himself out into the crisp early morning air. He locked the door behind him, and then ran to the side of the house, using the remote on the Jeep's keys to open the garage door. The door creaked as it slowly opened, and Stiles fidgeted, mentally trying to will the door to open faster.

Finally the garage door shuddered to a halt and Stiles strode into the garage, beside the Jeep. He easily slid the key into the lock and jiggled it just the right way to unlock it. If the situation hadn't been so serious Stiles would have laughed. He still remembered all of Roscoe's little idiosyncrasies.

Still, as Stiles opened the car door and climbed into the driver's seat, he felt as if he was sixteen years old again...young, inexperienced, scared as hell, his anxiety causing his heart to race within his chest. Stiles gripped the steering wheel with one hand, while he reached to slide the key into the Jeep's ignition.

Roscoe purred into life, with none of the stuttering that Stiles was used to. Stiles blinked, remembering how his father had said how Derek had done a lot of work on the car, having the time and the money to do everything the Jeep needed to run in peak condition.

Stiles made a mental note that, if he ever saw Derek alive again, he would thank him profusely, in as many different ways that Stiles could think of. It wasn't the time for that, however. Stiles turned on the headlights and lightly revved the engine before accelerating driving out of the garage and heading out into the night.

Despite how many years had passed it was easy for Stiles to navigate his way through the streets of Beacon Hills, even thought it was pitch black outside. He'd lost track of how many hours he'd spent driving around the town at night with Scott or someone else from the pack, following some lead, or heading to check out a crime scene.

Unable to stop himself, Stiles glanced over at the empty seat beside him, feeling loneliness wash over him. Even if nothing had happened to the pack, and Stiles had overreacted about the situation, he was still an outsider as far as the pack was concerned…having gone through things…done things…that Scott and the others wouldn't ever come close to imagining.

He was an outsider as far as Oliver and his friends were concerned. None of them knew what Stiles did about the supernatural. They hadn't run with a pack, they hadn't been held back and made to feel weak and inferior just because they were human.

The one who had experienced the closest life experiences to Stiles was Jackson. They'd both been possessed, Jackson by the Kanima, Stiles himself by the Nogitsune. They'd both had their free will and autonomy taken away from them. They'd both hidden their past from those around them, training in the use of weapons to a level that would probably rival Allison's, although the pack remained oblivious to the fact.

With the league in town, who knew how long that cover would last? Not long, in Stiles' opinion.

Stiles was dragged from his thoughts by the ringing of his phone, and he immediately pulled over, pulling the device from his pocket and answering it without even looking at the screen, hoping that it was his dad or Scott, or even Jackson.

"Hello?"

"Stiles, it's Oliver. Sara called me and said what was going on. Are you ok?"

"Oliver…I'm fine. I'm going looking for my dad and Jackson and the rest."

"Be careful, don't go into something you're not ready for," Oliver pointed out, "It's the league, you know, even more than I do, what they're capable of."

"Oliver," Stiles began, but his voice caught in his throat, fully aware of how hopeless the situation was shaping up to be. Stiles knew that he wasn't the best of fighters. Yes, he was good, but the teams that Ra's had sent to Beacon Hills were all made up of members of the league who were both older and far better and more experienced fighters. These were men and women who had trained for this since early childhood.

Stiles knew his chances of managing to defeat them, on his own, were slim to none, but then he thought of the pack, of his father, all of them so relieved to have him back at home, to have him back from the dead.

He wasn't going to give up on them, no matter what.

"Stiles, the minute the storm clears I'll be on my way. It's a four hour flight from here to the air strip just outside Beacon Hills. Just hang on and I'll get there with Sara and Diggle and we can help you."

"Thanks Oliver," Stiles replied, although he had a gut feeling that the storm over Starling City wouldn't break in time.

"I want you to keep me up to date, Stiles," Oliver ordered sternly, and Stiles nodded, exhaling as he drove through the streets of Beacon Hills.

"I'll let you know if anything new comes up," Stiles promised.

"I mean it," Oliver replied, and the minute I can I'll start heading towards you and Roy. I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you stay safe."

"Oliver…it's the league…let's be realistic…Jackson…my family and friends…they're probably already either dead or being horribly tortured, and I'm about to walk into a massacre."

'No," Oliver snapped down the phone, "Ra's wouldn't have kept you alive for all these years without a reason. You haven't done anything to warrant everyone you know being killed. He's not about to risk losing what loyalty you have towards him just because you went home. Did you ever get told you weren't to go back to Beacon Hills?"

"No," Stiles admitted.

"See, it's probably some test. Besides, Sara likes Roy, and Nyssa loves Sara, and Ra's would be stupid to think that hurting Roy…Jackson would make him and Nyssa closer."

Stiles swallowed and nodded, although he knew that Oliver couldn't see him.

"Bye Oliver, I'll speak to you as soon as I know more."

"OK," Oliver replied, "Bye Stiles."

Oliver hung up and Stiles dropped his phone back down on the passenger's front seat, paying attention to the road in front of him.

Since his arrival in Beacon Hills he'd learned that, when his father and Melissa had moved in together, Derek had moved back into his loft, and it was there that Stiles was going. He was grateful, at least, that the loft was closer than Derek's family's house in the woods, so it didn't take as long for Stiles to reach his destination.

Stiles parked his Jeep outside the building, immediately spotting Melissa's car, along with Scott's and a few others that might have belonged to Lydia, Liam, Chris or Parish.

The pack were still here, that much was obvious, or they had gone somewhere else on foot, for some reason. Stiles' eyes narrowed and he drew his knife, holding it tightly in his right hand as he crept into the building, constantly scanning his surroundings for any sign of danger as he climbed the stairs towards Derek's loft.

Finally he reached the last landing and he stopped, eyeing the door to Derek's apartment wearily. The door was wide open, although he could see that there were some lights on inside. Stiles tightened his grip on the knife and inched forward, his footsteps silent on the floor as he approached the doorway.

Stiles stepped into the room, his knife raised, his senses fully alert as the scanned the room, the stairs…all of it.

There was nobody there, and the room was in a mess. The couch had been flipped and Stiles could see the tears in the leather from a set of claws. The coffee table was crushed, as if something heavy, like a body, had been dropped on it, and some of the panes of glass in the large window had been broken. Stiles stepped forward, and startled when he felt his foot nudge something. He looked down, immediately spotting the shotgun bullet casing on the floor beside the toes of his shoes.

It could be one of Chris', Stiles forced himself to think as he crouched down and picked up the casing, sniffing it gingerly. He could smell a decidedly woodsy smell, like being out in the trees after rain, with a faint flowery scent added. Stiles recognized the combined smell instantly from his days studying poisons within the league.

Wolfsbane.

Stiles put the shell casing down, trying to slow down his breathing. It could still have been Chris, although it was unlikely that Chris would bring a shotgun loaded with wolfsbane bullets to an ordinary pack meeting. While it was true that Stiles knew that wolfsbane bullets were not a common weapon within the league, Nyssa had told him that Alnnukhbat Alssayadin min Khariq were coming after him too, and being the branch of the league that specialised in dealing with the supernatural, it was highly likely that they would use wolfsbane bullets.

"Dad?" Stiles called out softly as he walked a little further into the apartment, taking in the destruction. He felt his gut clench as he walked around the couch and saw a puddle of dark blood on the ground. It wasn't a life threatening amount of blood, which was something, but it a sign that somebody had been injured, and Stiles was willing to bet, just from the colour of the blood, that it had been a werewolf that was dosed with wolfsbane.

"Derek?" Stiles called, looking around a bit more, trying not to think about the blood and how, chances were Scott, Derek, Jackson, or Liam were injured. Instead Stiles continued to search the loft, finding no signs of any of the pack, just more signs of violence…overturned furniture, broken glass, bullet casings and splashes of blood, both human and werewolf.

Swallowing nervously, feeling his breathing hitch slightly, as if he was edging closer and close to a panic attack, Stiles walked back to Derek kitchen and braced himself against the bench, feeling the cool stone beneath his fingertips. He bowed his head and focused on his breathing, fighting his urge to panic. He could fix this, he had years of training, all he had to do was stay calm.

It took longer than Stiles would like to admit, but finally he managed to get his breathing back under control, and he straightened his back, his eyes immediately falling on the knife that had been driven into the wood of Derek's overhead cupboards, pinning an envelope into place.

Frowning Stiles reached up and yanked the knife free, tossing it back onto the bench with a loud clatter with one hand, while he snatched the envelope as it started to fall. His eyes immediately recognized the Arabic letters that spelled out his name within the league, scrawled across the face of the envelope, although realistically who else would the message contained within be meant for.

If Stiles had still been his younger, impetuous teenaged self, he would have just ripped the envelope open then and there, but he was older now, wiser, to an extent. He'd learned how many different ways he could kill someone with only a paperclip (the answer was surprising) and just how many ways ripping open an envelope that was, in all likelihood, form someone who wished Stiles harm, with no form of protective gear on, could end badly for him. The envelope could contain anything…a poisonous insect, sulfuric acid, any range of different toxins or poisons. He would have to proceed with extreme caution.

Gingerly holding the envelope between his fingers, as if it might explode any moment (although in this case Stiles knew that an exploding letter wasn't the stupidest of ideas), Stiles left the loft, sliding the door shut as he left. The last thing he needed was some concerned citizen calling the police and the situation getting even more screwed up. Luckily Derek's loft was in a isolated part of town, and it was highly unlikely that anyone would be in the area.

At least, that's what Stiles hoped.