Smoothly and without hesitation Stiles marched out of his father's study and towards the front door, pausing only to pick up the keys to Jackson's car. He pulled his hood up over his head and walked out the front door, leaving it wide open as he crossed over the front lawn and unlocked Jackson's trunk, lifting up the false bottom to reveal Stiles' weapons and combat gear, kept hidden in the car to prevent any questions about it. Stiles picked it all up, locking the car back up again, before he carried the weapons back into the house, his expression filled with his steely resolve as he walked up the stairs to his bedroom, closing the door before exhaled, looking once at his reflection in the mirror before he changed out of his civilian clothing and into his combat gear, strapping his weapons to his body as he went… countless knives, two handguns with additional ammo, a short sword, and, of course, his bow and quiver of arrows. Stiles checked each of his arrows carefully, satisfied that they would all fly straight, and that his quiver was as full as it possibly could be.

Stiles looked at the mirror again once he had finished changing…and he felt a shock go through him at the change. Despite the resolve on his face, he had looked like a scared teenager…much like he had when Gerard had kidnapped him.

Now…now he looked like a predator…a weapon. It was almost like he was the nogitsune again…only there was one crucial difference this time.

"I'm in control this time," Stiles told himself, the words sending assurance through his body…steadying his nerves and strengthening his resolve. Exhaling, Stiles picked up his domino mask, putting it over his face, before he flicked his hood up, completing his transition into the trained killer that he had become since leaving Beacon Hills.

Picking up the few weapons he hadn't chosen to put on, mainly because wearing his quiver and bow slung over his back would make driving next to impossible, or at the least very uncomfortable, Stiles walked out of his room and down the stairs again, taking a moment to examine the photographs hanging from the walls…Scott's graduation picture, his dad and Melissa's wedding photos…photos of him and his mother…photos of the pack taken at various points of time, both before and after he left.

Stiles committed them all to memory, keeping the pictures…and his memories of the people featured within them, at the front of his mind.

Ever since Scott had been bitten Stiles had developed a keen awareness of the importance of anchors. He'd helped Scott find his, and he'd tried to help coach Isaac with his as well (although Isaac had pretty much figured it out for himself after his first couple of full moons. Now Stiles used his memories of the ones he loved…the ones he was trying to save, to anchor himself, refusing to loose himself in his anger.

Stiles knew that he wasn't Scott…if he had to, he would kill one of the league, or more, but he wasn't planning on going to meet with the league and killing them…mainly because he was significantly outnumbered and it would end with he and his pack all dying.

Stiles' end goal was to get the pack out of the league's clutches, giving them a fighting chance at surviving. He knew that it was highly unlikely that he would survive, but as long as the pack were okay, Stiles couldn't bring himself to care. He knew he should have died back when the Queen's Gambit went down, or even before that when the nogitsune was defeated. He'd lived seven years longer than he thought he would. He'd been able to see his pack again, get some closure with everyone now that the pain of Allison's death wasn't so fresh…it was more than he'd ever expected to get.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Stiles turned and walked back towards his father's study, letting himself back into the room. His gaze lingered briefly on the information he'd arranged on the board, before he crossed over to his father's desk, pulling open the top drawer. From what Nyssa had told him Alnnukhbat Alssayadin min Khariq were a specialised team for the supernatural…and it was likely more than one member was a supernatural creature.

For that reason, Stiles knew that he was probably going to need something a little stronger than he would normally use. Arrows were not very useful for causing lasting damage, and Stiles' knives, and even his short sword, would also be not very effective against a werewolf or something similar, like a wendigo, a kitsune, or some other supernatural creature.

Wolfsbane bullets, however, were pretty effective universally across supernatural creatures, and Stiles smiled grimly as he spotted a couple of gun magazines in the drawer, and pulled them out, inspecting them closely. The magazines were meant for his father's Glock…the same type of gun that Stiles had always carried since joining the league, seeking some sort of connection to his father. Stiles quickly opened up the magazine, and removed a bullet, setting the magazine down and drawing his strongest heaviest knife from it's sheath. He cut to top off the bullet, smiling grimly as he tipped the bullet up and powdered wolfsbane poured out.

"Thank you Chris Argent," Stiles muttered to himself, knowing that Allison's father would have taken steps to ensure that Stiles' father and Jordan Parrish both had easy access to Wolfsbane bullets. Stiles' father had possessed wolfsbane bullets even before Stiles had left for Starling City, and he'd really hoped that he'd upheld the practise. Obviously he had. Stiles drew his two guns, both of which were Glock 22s, the same model his father had carried for Stiles' entire life…and also guns that were combatable with the magazines his father had kept in the drawer. Stiles examined the magazines, before he took out the magazines of his guns, sliding them into his pockets with his other spare ammo, before he replaced the magazines with two of the ones from his father's top drawer, loaded with wolfsbane bullets.

Shuffling through the drawer, Stiles pulled out a lighter, and he quickly put that in his pocket as well. He already knew that one of the werewolves had been shot with a wolfsbane bullet, and the sooner they got it treated the better. He doubted that the type of wolfsbane that was in his father's bullets wwould precisely match the plant that the league used…and he knew that unless it was the same variety of wolfsbane then it would almost certainly do more harm than good. Stiles seriously doubted, however, that the league would have used up their supply of wofsbane packed ammunition, so Stiles would be able to use one of their spare bullets to heal the werewolves that had been shot, if he got the chance.

Hesitating, Stiles reached into his father's top drawer and grabbed another pair of magazines, putting them in a different pocket of his combat pants, so he wouldn't accidently get them confused with his magazines of normal bullets. Satisfied, he pushed the drawer closed and walked back out of his father's study, pulling the door closed as he went, before he walked back towards the front door, keeping his head bowed, guilt over what he'd just done preoccupying his mind. He looked up at the wall of photographs, and his guilt fled. He'd done it to help his pack. If it meant saving their lives and protecting them he would do it one hundred times over.

As he reached the front door, Stiles stopped and looked over his shoulder at the home his father and Melissa had created together.

Stiles' mind flashed back to the day he had left Beacon Hills, in the aftermath of his possession by the Nogitsune. Scott and his dad had practically held him up as they'd guided him out of the house he and his father had shared to the car. Stiles remembered looking back at the home where he'd grown up, where his mother had loved him, before she'd forgotten he'd ever existed…where he'd looked after his dad and tried to make sure that the Sheriff didn't end up in an early grave…the house where he and Scott played, and he had talked, at length, about his feelings for Lydia. It had also been the place that Stiles had realized that he had feelings for Derek, although he'd never spoken about those to anyone, too embarrassed and ashamed, knowing that there was no way in hell a specimen like Derek would ever had felt anything more than frustration and annoyance towards a skinny hyperactive teenager like Stiles.

Stiles remembered the gut feeling he'd had as his dad and Scott had gently led him away from the house…a feeling that he wasn't going to come back. It had proven correct…Stiles hadn't gone back to the old house during his return to Beacon Hills.

Stiles wondered if he would ever return to his father's house again. Over the week he'd stayed there it had proven a place that Stiles might, one day, in different circumstances, have called home. Stiles, however, hadn't ever felt confident enough to do it, not with the League hovering over his head.

Shaking his head, Stiles pulled the door closed, locking it carefully, before he hid the house key beneath a rock in the front garden, right where his father would know to look for it.

Hesitating, Stiles looked towards Jackson's car, knowing that Jackson wouldn't mind Stiles borrowing it to come to the rescue, before he shook his head, heading instead for the closed garage door, the keys to Roscoe…his beloved Jeep, held tightly in his hand. Driving to the pack's rescue in his beloved Jeep…Stiles couldn't help but smile at the imagery as he opened the garage door and approached the driver's side door, pulling it open, and depositing his additional weaponry on the passenger's seat, before he got in himself.

"Just like old times, huh," he told the Jeep, patting the steering wheel lovingly, before he turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator and backed out of the driveway, leaving the Jeep running as he got out to close the roller door again, before driving down the street, the steering wheel gripped tightly in his hands.

Unable to stop himself, Stiles drove down the street where he'd used to live, slowing down as he passed his old house. The windows were brightly lit, the garden looking better maintained than it had since before Stiles' mother had fallen ill, and he could see a young girl's bike, the handlebars decorated with pink streamers, propped up beside the house. Stiles grimly smiled, hoping that the new family living in his old home had a happier life than what he'd experienced. He hoped that the little girl that probably slept in his old bedroom never felt the pain of losing a parent (or if she did it was well into her adulthood) and that her parents would never know what it felt like to lose their other half. He hoped that their lives were untouched by the supernatural, and that they lived out their long lives in blissful ignorance of the terrors Stiles and his friends had endured since the fateful night when Stiles had dragged Scott out looking for Laura Hale's dead body in the woods.

Stiles continued on driving, stopping at intersection to give way to a couple of cars, ducking his head a little to prevent being seen before a sudden thought came to him. If he continued on his current route, going straight ahead, it would take him out to the warehouses where the pack might be held…but if he turned right, it would take him towards Deaton's practice.

Stiles hadn't seen Deaton since his return to Beacon Hills, although he'd been told by both Scott and Melissa that Deaton was still on excellent terms with the pack, and Scott still worked with him. Scott had told him that Deaton knew of Stiles' return, but nothing more on the subject had really been brought up. Stiles guessed that Deaton was just giving them all a bit of a chance to connect. It wasn't as if Deaton and Stiles had ever been particularly close after all.

Still, Stiles quickly shook his head, flicking on his indicator and turning his Jeep to the right, accelerating down the road towards the vet. Relief washed over him as he saw the lights still on within the building, and he swung into the car park, passing a car he assumed was Deaton's, before he parked at the back of the building, where the Jeep would be hidden from sight from any passing vehicles, just in case anyone drove past and recognized it…although when Stiles thought about it, the Jeep being spotted wouldn't be a big deal. Anyone who knew it would just assume that Scott had car issues and was borrowing it, or the Sheriff had taken it out for a drive.

Stiles shut off the engine and got out of the car, locking the doors carefully before he approached the rear door to Deaton's clinic, taking off his mask and shoving it into his pocket, before he lifted his wrist and rapped his knuckles against the door loudly, scanning his surroundings cautiously as he did. It didn't take long for the door to open, revealing Alan Deaton, looking just like Stiles remembered, him…although maybe with a few more grey hairs.

Deaton blinked in surprise, "Stiles?" he offered, stepping out of the way so Stiles could enter the building. Stiles silently crossed over the threshold and waited for the vet to close the door. The moment the door was closed, however, he started to speak.

"Scott told me that he told you I was back."

"Yes…although he didn't give me many details," Deaton nodded.

"That's because I never game him much in the way of details," Stiles replied, scanning the room they were in, assessing the risks, spotting escape routes, and choke points, his senses tingling to the point of being hyperactive.

"What brings you here at this time of night?" Deaton asked, the unspoken 'and why are you dressed like that?' hanging in the air between them.

"I…I screwed up when I came back here. When I was…gone…I got caught up with some people…the wrong sort of people. They've followed me back here, and now they've got the pack…Scott, Dad…Melissa, Derek…Jackson…everyone."

"What?" Deaton exclaimed softly, leaning against the metal table in the middle of the room. Stiles pulled the letter he'd been left and handed it over to Deaton. There was no point in trying to hide what he'd been involved in when he'd been away from Beacon Hills…not at this point. Deaton's eyes widened as he read the letter, before he rested his eyes back on Stiles.

"What…what are you going to do?"

Stiles shrugged, "If I give myself up like they want me to there is no guarantee that they won't turn around and kill the pack anyway…and they would…some of these guys make Gerard Argent look like a cute fluffy bunny…I've even heard rumors that Gerard Argent was once one of them...and that Kate followed in Daddy's footsteps.

"So you're going to try and fight them?" Deaton asked, taking in the weaponry Stiles was carrying.

'If I have to," Stiles replied, heavily, "I'm hoping I can talk my way out of it.

Deaton blinked, "How likely is that?' he queried. Stiles could read the skepticism that was written across the veterinarian's face and, yeah…it was probably there for a good reason. Stiles had never been an optimist…that had always been Scott's job.

"Not very," Stiles acknowledged, "hopefully though it will be enough though, and they won't kill the pack."

"Stiles…" Deaton began, but Stiles shook his head, cutting the older man off.

"I don't expect you to come with me…in fact, I don't want you to. I…I need you to be here ready if someone in the pack needs help. The league know that they're dealing with werewolves, and they're using wolfsbane. I'm pretty sure somebody has already been hit with it when they were captured…there was black blood at Derek's loft. It's been 24 hours, give or take. If they haven't already been treated, and they're still alive, then they're not going to be well."

Deaton nodded, "I keep a supply of various species of wolfsbane, just in case hunters come into town. Do you know what species they're using?"

Stiles nodded and told him, and the other man sighed and moved towards his storeroom.

'I have some…it's not fresh but dried. It will most certainly work though. Chris gave me some when he returned from one of his trips abroad."

"It's native to isolated areas of France,' Stiles agreed, "Don't ask me how the league manages to grow it in the Middle East. I can't think of anywhere that could be more climatically different from France…except maybe Antarctica.

Deaton chuckled, before his expression turned serious, "You said that you hoped you could convince the league to let the pack go…I can't help but notice that you never said anything about yourself."

Stiles felt his back stiffen, and he rolled his shoulders, avoiding Deaton's penetrating gaze, forcibly reminded of Deaton's sister, Ms. Morell…the high School Councillor and later an employee of Eichen house.

"It's because of me that they were taken…to punish me. If I get out that will be awesome but…but if I don't, well…I was supposed to die seven years ago, either when the Gambit went down, or when I was possessed, or…any of the numerous other times I've almost died. Everything that's happened since then has just been a bonus, really.

"You're just going to give yourself up?" Deaton exclaimed. Stiles shook his head.

"No…but if that's what it takes to get the pack out safely, then yes, I will. If I can I'll get a message to Scott telling him to head to you.

Deaton nodded, and Stiles shifted his feet, biting his lip, almost nervously.

"Can…can I have a piece of paper and a pen?" he asked. Deaton went and picked up the items, passing them over to Stiles, who leaned over a table, tapping the pen against the paper thoughtfully for a moment, before he began to write.

'Hi Guys,

If you're reading this then I didn't make it (sorry, I couldn't help but be cliché). Don't blame yourselves for what happened to me. It was my own fault that you guys got dragged into this whole thing. I'm so sorry for everything they did to you. I never meant for any of you to get hurt because of me.

I want you all to know how much I love you all, and how much being back for this past week has meant to me. When I was away it was the thought of you guys that kept me sane…that stopped me from killing myself or letting go of who I really am. You guys were my anchor through it all, and I will always appreciate that.

Dad, I want you to know that I love you more than words can express. I'm so proud of you and how you've gotten through the past seven years. Now you just need to do it again. Stay away from alcohol, fast food and overworking yourself. Listen to Melissa and do as she says. She is a good woman, who loves you, and I am so happy that you guys got together. I think mom would be too. She wouldn't want you to be alone…and I don't want you to be alone either.

Melissa, look after my Dad. I know that you would have already done that without me saying so, but I just needed to write it down. Thank you for accepting me into your home. I know that you didn't always approve of my friendship with Scott…but after mom died you were the closest thing to a mom I had left, and I love you so much for stepping into that role and how much you took care of me back then, and again now. Thank you for looking after my dad when I haven't been around to do it…I know that he'll be okay with you there to support him.

Scotty…I guess this is it. I didn't get to say Goodbye last time…but I don't want to not say Goodbye again. You're going to be fine, dude. You've got a great pack, who follow and support you. They've got your back. Thanks for accepting me back into town, even though you don't know what I've been doing…which you've probably figured by now has been not so nice. You're a great Alpha, Scott, one of the best people I've ever had the privilege of knowing. Having you as a best friend…a brother, has been one of the highlights of my life.

Lydia, When I was younger I could have written essays about how I felt about you…in fact I'm pretty sure I did one summer. You are one of the best friends I've ever had. You supported me through one of the hardest stages of my life, and I will always appreciate that. I am so proud of the person you've become, and I want you to know that I think that nothing will ever hold you back. So don't ever let that happen. Always Keep Fighting, no matter what stands in your way. You are far too smart and strong to do anything different.

Jackson…I bet you didn't think you'd get mentioned in this. I want you to know how much I appreciate what you've been doing in Starling City…being there for Oliver and Sara. They've become like my family, and I want you to tell them thanks for everything they did for me on Lian Yu, and with the League. I will always be grateful and appreciate all of it. As for you…try to stay out of too much trouble. Look after Oliver and Sara for me, and try and stop them from doing things that are stupid. Good Luck.

Derek…I wanted to write to you earlier but I kept procrastinating. I want to say thank you for everything you told me the day after I came back to Beacon Hills. It means so much to me. I misses you so much when I was gone. Every night, when the moon came up, I'd look at it and think of you….wonder what it was you were doing…if you missed me as much as I missed you…whether it made your chest ache to think about you like mine did when I thought about you. Don't blame yourself for me not making it, Derek. I knew that my chances weren't great going into this. By me dying it should give you and the pack a chance to survive. Before I go I want you to know how much I cared about you…even back when you used to slam me into walls. There will always be people around you who care about you, Derek, regardless of what happens, but I'm beginning to understand what I felt for you went a bit beyond that. I'm sorry that I never got to tell you face to face.

One last thing, guys, before I go. Don't do something stupid like try and avenge my death. The league has proven that they can take every single one of you…do not tempt their ire by trying to get back at them. I've accepted my fate. I should have died seven years ago…every second since then has just been a bonus. I go to death with my head held high, knowing that, although I did a lot of bad things when I was alive, at least my death will be for a cause I believe in with all my heart.

Goodbye, for real this time.

Stiles Stilinski.'

"If…if I don't make it back can you give this to the pack?" Stiles asked, sniffing slightly and wiping tears from his eyes with one hand, while he folded the letter with his free hand, passing it over to Deaton, who accepted it solemnly.

"I hope I won't need to."

"So do I," Stiles sighed, "but I didn't want to risk dying without saying goodbye again."

Deaton nodded, tucking the letter into his pocket, "I will look after it for you."

"Good. I need to get going," Stiles glanced at his watch, before he turned and headed for the exit door. Deaton followed him closely.

"Good luck, Stiles." Deaton offered. Stiles hesitated before he gave a final nod, keeping going towards his jeep before his resolve broke further. He pulled himself into the driver's seat and wiped his face, checking for any stray tears. Some of the salty liquid had fallen on his letter, but he'd managed to hold his emotions at bay.

Starting the Jeep's engine Stiles drove out of the car park and headed out of town, pushing his emotions out of the way. Now wasn't the time for feelings. If he was going to stand a chance he was going to have to focus and use all of the training the league had ever given him.