Ten minutes later, the Sheriff returned with Allison. She smiled and seated herself on Stiles' bed, and Stiles sat up straighter in order to pull her into a hug.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whispered into her shoulder. If he listened hard enough he could hear her heart thudding gently in her ribcage, a clear sign that she was alive and real. It was all the proof he needed to know that she was there with him, breathing the same air.

"Sorry for what?" she asked as she brushed her fingers through his hair. "I'm the one that should be sorry. We found out something terrifying about Peter, but at your expense."

Stiles shuddered, trying not to think about Peter and the closet full of weapons and the termination order. He was just glad that Allison and Scott were alright and safe.

"How much do you know?" he asked miserably.

Allison drew back and took Stiles' hands in hers. "The police searched the entire penthouse. They found a weapons cache in the closet and a folder with some of my aunt's ex-associates in it and… and my family." Allison sucked in a breath, and Stiles felt her hands shake in his. He stroked them with his thumbs, and Allison's shaking eased.

"Yeah, I found that too," Stiles murmured sadly. "When I did, that's when Peter showed off his true colours."

"I should have met him before you went off with him," Allison said. "Maybe we could have prevented this."

"No," Stiles argued, "because then he would've been inside our apartment, and—"

Tainted it, look it over for weaknesses, stolen something to make Allison go to him. For the first time, Stiles was glad that it was him that had been in the line of fire. He would've gone crazy with guilt if Peter had gotten his hands on her.

"I'm not made of spun glass, Stiles," Allison said firmly. "I can take care of myself."

"I know, but he's a monster, Ally; he doesn't understand that not everyone in that folder is a killer. Maybe those other guys he murdered really did set his sister's house on fire and kill her children, but your family wouldn't, it's insane."

Allison hesitated, biting her lip. "Sometimes I'm not so sure."

Stiles looked at her. What was she saying?

"What do you mean?" Stiles asked cautiously.

Allison shifted nervously, moving her body around until she was sitting lengthwise with Stiles, her head propped up on the pillows. She crossed her ankles and held Stiles' uninjured hand with both of hers, resting it above her heart. She looked over at him, and her eyes were glassy.

"My parents hid a lot of our family's ugly past from me when I was growing up," she began. "One of those things was the feud with the Hale family, but that had happened so long ago that Mom and Dad were just sort of… begrudging of it, I guess? But my dad's dad—he was never around enough to be worthy of being called Grandpa—was obsessed with hating them. I was actually in school with Derek and Laura Hale, but they were a few years older than me, so I was never in their classes. I think my parents and Mrs. Hale must have worked something out, because I never felt like they were a threat to me on the playground. They were really good kids. Laura once shared her cookies with me.

"But then Gerard—Dad's dad—found out, and made a very furious phone call to my parents. I remember my mother shooing me out of the living room once and told me to go and be quiet in my room. There was a lot of yelling, so I think Gerard personally came over to 'talk' to them. I was fourteen at the time."

Allison took a deep breath, her voice shuddering. "A few days later, there was an announcement at school. Derek, Laura, and their little sister had died in a house fire. Mom had to come pick me up because I couldn't stop crying in class. She was furious, but not with me. Now that I think about, she was probably mad at whatever Gerard had said and done."

"Jesus Christ," Stiles said. "So what do you think? Do you think Gerard had something to do with the fire?" He didn't recall his name being in the folder with the rest of the Argents.

"Dad never spoke fondly of him," replied Allison, "and Gerard seemed so vehement about continuing the feud, so yeah, I definitely think he had everything to do with the fire."

The problem was where was the proof? Stiles could ask his dad about digging up the old records and re-evaluating them. It couldn't hurt to see if there was a missing factor into the whole "faulty wiring" or whatever excuse was in there to explain why a house would suddenly go up in flames.

Even though Stiles hated Peter, he needed to understand what happened to his family. It wasn't their fault that he had turned out to be a monster; he allowed himself to become that way.

But this was a mystery for another day.

Allison relaxed a little after telling her story, and both she and Stiles had sunk down into a lying position. She smiled when he spotted the little ring on her finger.

"No diamonds?" Stiles asked.

"Contrary to popular belief, they aren't a girl's best friend," Allison replied, holding her hand up to the light. The band was a lovely rose gold with a small pink stone shaped like a heart in the center. "Scott said that he wanted to find a conflict-free diamond for me, but this was the best he could find. Apparently they have those in Canada—conflict-free, that is. But I don't care that isn't made of a million bucks; all that matters is that he wants to be with me." Allison's face grew red, but her smile was radiant.

Stiles grinned. "Now you're my legit sister."

Allison turned to her side, curling up next to him. "I always have been," she said. "But I guess this makes it super-glue permanent, eh?"

When Scott came in later with sandwiches, he found the two of them asleep. He sat down in the chair, just watching them with a small smile on his face.

A couple more days passed before Stiles was well enough to be walking around on his own. Scott was always close at hand, but he was trying to make the effort to not hover. It was difficult, but old habits die hard. Stiles wasn't annoyed by it; having an extra set of eyes looking out for him helped ease his anxiety, but only so much. He was paranoid that Peter would slip his way past hospital security and gut all of Stiles' loved ones that were hanging around. He had already begged his father not to stay alone at the house and made him text him constantly.

Unfortunately, Asshole McCall deemed that Stiles was well enough for questioning, and wanted to drag him down to the station. "Why do you need me to be isolated in order to ask me questions, Agent?" Stiles asked venomously, dragging out the last word as if it was an insult. It was a total joke; whoever was in charge of hiring at the FBI should be fired. McCall's face twisted into anger, as if he couldn't believe that Stiles was fighting him on this. Stiles always enjoyed being a little shit to him; it was about a fraction of the pain that he deserved.

"For your safety," McCall hissed out. "You've gotten yourself mixed up with a wanted criminal, not that that surprises me. You have a way of dragging yourself and my son into every mess you come across."

"I'm sorry, what son?" Stiles seethed, clenching his fists into the sheets. The two of them were in Stiles' hospital room, glaring at each other from across the room. Stiles was still in bed, so at least he would look like an innocent patient being horrifically harassed by this useless jackass. Which, in actuality, he was.

"Scott," McCall answered impatiently. "Who else would I be talking about?"

"Oh I'm sorry," Stiles replied sarcastically, "I thought you might be referring to some poor illegitimate bastard that you forced your shitty DNA into. It wouldn't surprise me that you'd slipped up in the past and fucked someone else behind Melissa's back."

"Why are you making things more difficult than they have to be?" McCall sighed. Whoa, he was trying to restrain himself for once. Whoo hoo. "We just need you to answer some questions about Peter Hale. He's a wanted man who should be behind bars. You and that girl—"

"Don't forget Vernon," Stiles muttered. "But oh wait, he's black so his opinion doesn't matter, right?"

McCall narrowed his eyes at him. "I'm not a racist."

"Sounds like something a racist would say," Stiles sneered back.

"We've already spoken to him," McCall said wearily. "He's given us a full account."

"Then why do you need me?" Stiles asked angrily. He gestured at his cast, which Erica had doodled cats and spirals onto it. "As you can see, I'm still recovering."

"You've recovered your smart mouth enough so you can help us out," McCall said drily. He pushed away from the wall that he was leaning against, and walked over to the end of Stiles' bed. He grabbed the metal railing, and leaned forward, trying to look intimidating. Stiles tried not to roll his eyes; Asshole's tactics weren't going to work on him. "What were you doing with Peter Hale that night, Stiles?"

"None of your business," Stiles snapped. He felt his face growing red from shame. Erica knew, and he had reluctantly told Scott and Allison about the aftermath of his discovery of the closet. There had been a lot of tears, a lot of reassurances that he had nothing to be ashamed of and that they were glad that he was alive and with them now.

McCall sighed heavily. "The way you keep dodging my questions," he said darkly, "Makes it seem like you're trying to protect the bastard."

"Go fuck yourself," Stiles said heatedly. "It's not like anyone is going to do it for you."

McCall was about to spew a retort when Scott walked into the room. He looked at his father for a second before walking over to Stiles' bed.

"You want to go for a walk?" he asked softly.

Stiles never nodded faster in his life. He stood up quickly, stumbling slightly, and followed Scott out the door.

"Scott—" McCall began, but Scott ignored him. They were down the hall when Stiles heard him following them, his footsteps a resounding tempo in his ears. "Scott!" he repeated in a commanding voice.

It did the trick. Scott paused, slowly turning on the spot to face McCall. The asshole looked surprised and a little relieved that Scott was actually paying attention to him.

"Scott, I need to question your friend—"

"But in the hospital?" Scott asked softly, his eyes averted. "This is where people come to heal, not to be torn down again."

McCall huffed angrily, the out-of-character softness at seeing his son quickly dissolving. "He was making things difficult," he explained, but Scott shook his head.

"Don't you think it would be better to have a different agent ask him questions?" he asked. "Having you interrogate him is extremely unprofessional, sir, because you know the victim. To me, it looks like you're making it personal."

"We are looking into a man who's murdered dozens of people," McCall explained slowly, as if Scott was too stupid to understand. "Your friend here is the best lead we have to finally getting him." It was that condescending tone that he'd always forced on him when he had been small.

"Then I want Agent Anderson to talk to him," Scott said, lifting his head. He looked McCall directly in the eye; it was a warning look. "I heard that she's in town; why isn't she leading the investigation?"

Burn! Stiles thought victoriously, giving Scott a mental fist bump.

McCall glared at Scott. "She's a bleeding heart," he snarled. "Anderson's too soft for her own good at times."

"Which is why she's perfect," Scott said calmly. "She knows what it's like to get hurt."

Scott gently grabbed Stiles by the forearm, and steered him down the hall, leaving McCall to stew in his own incompetence.

Agent Dana Anderson was blonde and in her mid-forties and was dressed in a practical, dark pantsuit. She had a stern look on her face, but her eyes betrayed kindness. She arrived at the hospital two hours after McCall's dismal attempt of gaining new information from Stiles. Anderson didn't try to crowd him into a room, but made a small compromise; privacy out in the open. Stiles gave a dubious look until she led him out to the hospital's small courtyard where there were a couple of benches. She sat next to him so that he could avoid her gaze and stare straight ahead if he wanted to. Anderson didn't say anything about the intentions of their seating arrangements, but Stiles appreciated the silent effort.

Stiles was initially dubious of telling her about everything that had gone on that night, knowing that McCall would eventually get wind of it. But Scott trusted her, and Stiles trusted Scott's good intentions, so he told her everything: how he first met Peter, their second meeting, the so-called date that led to… well, the sex. Stiles' tongue fumbled over the words, but Anderson remained quiet and patient, allowing him to recollect his thoughts.

"The next morning I found this big-ass cache of weapons in his closet," Stiles explained timidly. "It seemed a bit excessive, but then I found this termination notice with Allison's family in it."

"Miss Argent's family?" Anderson asked, and Stiles nodded miserably. It was still difficult to cope with the idea that Peter wanted someone as selfless and kind as Allison dead.

"How many were listed in there?" she gently prodded, and Stiles recollected a small number: Christopher Argent, Victoria Argent, and Ally's Aunt Kate. Anderson frowned, as if she was expecting more.

"Those were the only Argents listed?" she asked.

"Yeah," Stiles replied, his curiosity rising in spite of himself. "Why?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Argent had alibis for the night of the Hale fire," Anderson explained. "They were out of town, while Miss Argent was at a friend's house. Kate Argent, on the other hand, was in town, along with her father. Are you sure Gerard Argent wasn't in that folder?"

"Positive," Stiles said wearily. "It's hard to miss a shitty photo of a dinosaur." He laughed weakly at his own joke; Anderson's face cracked a small smile.

Agent Anderson stood up and Stiles followed suit. "Thank you for sharing what you know," she said, extending her hand. Stiles grasped it, shaking it slightly before pulling away.

Seeing the look on his face, Anderson reassured him that she wouldn't share the more "intimate" details to the other agents. It didn't help much with Stiles' own anxieties over his experiences, but having someone on his side helped lessen the pain.