There's Always Something Tougher than You in the Garden
Deaton talks and says nothing. Derek ends up wishing Kali didn't want to talk to him. Allison tries to avoid talking to everyone. Lydia asks the wrong questions and Gerard asks weird ones.
Derek waited for the sheriff in the parking lot, face lifted to the rising sun, leaning against his sister's car. Using one piece of his past to brace himself before confronting another.
Alan Deaton had been a part of his childhood, bound to the Hales by his role as Emissary. It hadn't been friendship—Deaton had never been invited to Thanksgiving dinner—but he'd always been there. Deaton had known Derek as a kid, as a teen, and it made Derek afraid.
It was illogical, weak. Stupid even. He'd already spoken to the man since he'd been back and nothing had happened, but there was a little boy inside him that remembered his mom telling him that Deaton knew all the family's secrets.
Derek didn't want anybody knowing all his secrets.
The sheriff finally pulled in. Derek kept his greeting casual.
"You know, a vet being the expert on werewolves seems..."
"Convenient?" Derek asked. He thought he'd kept his voice level, but the sheriff paused at the door and looked at him. Derek wondered what he'd just revealed.
"I was going to say ironic, but I suppose there's an element of symbiosis." Stilinski replied as they entered. "Which came first: the calling or the career?"
"Actually, they developed in tandem." Of course Deaton was waiting for them behind the counter. "Hello, Sheriff. Derek."
Derek just nodded, but Stilinski moved into a manly handshake. "Alan. Hope this isn't an inconvenience."
"Not at all," Deaton smiled. "Although I expected you three weeks ago. And with Scott." The druid-slash-vet led them through to his exam room, so they could have privacy. Derek turned to let the sheriff go first, and he noticed the sheriff's eyes were narrowed. Wariness rolled off the alpha. Scott was Stiles' best friend. Derek would bet the sheriff felt protective of him. Then Stilinski blinked and the threat disappeared.
"Had to deal with Kate Argent's arrest, and the officer-involved fatality," Stilinski said easily. "Police work didn't change, just me. So, what does a druid do, exactly?"
Derek wanted to laugh, because as far as he could tell, the answer was not much.
"We maintain the balance."
Derek managed to hide his snort.
Sheriff Stilinski didn't look amused. "What balance? The balance between good and bad? Chaos and order? Creation and entropy? That kind of balance?" Deaton looked surprised.
"My son plays video games," Stilinski explained. Deaton nodded, as if that made sense.
"Chaos and order is probably closest, but we also weigh the needs of the supernatural with the rest of the world."
"Yeah? You keep the forces of evil away?"
Deaton shifted. "Evil is such a subjective-"
"That's a 'no'," the sheriff interrupted. "Or let me ask it a different way. If you had known that Kate Argent was going to burn down the Hale house would you have stopped her?"
"Yes! Yes, of course I would have."
Derek's gut curled around on itself and he felt like whimpering. He'd never even thought to ask the question, but Deaton's answer changed something in him, lightened it. He realized that he'd always assumed the druid had known of his relationship with Kate, that Deaton had known her plans, and that he'd let the fire happen as punishment for Paige.
It was such a momentous revelation that he almost missed the sheriff's next question.
"You would have physically stopped her? Gone out and faced her."
"No. Not at all. I would have alerted Talia Hale."
"The sheriff's office?" Stilinski settled his hands on his belt. It seemed accusatory.
Deaton shrugged gently. "And tell them what?"
The sheriff's shoulders shifted, as if he was trying to settle a weight. Finally, he sighed. "Yeah, OK. I still find it hard to believe in supernatural beings, and I am one. Still that doesn't really explain what you do, or why you do it." Deaton smiled as if the sheriff had said something funny. It was Deaton's patronizing "you wouldn't understand" look, and it made Derek's teeth itch. He wanted to growl at the vet on Stilinski's behalf.
Derek shook off the impulse and wondered what was going on. He'd never felt the need to growl when that look had been directed at him.
"It's not easy to explain," Deaton said, everlastingly calm. "And it can change depending on the situation."
"Uh huh." The sheriff's agreement was dry enough for a desert. "Well, since you're not willing to answer that question, I'll ask another. Do you know all the supernatural creatures who live in Beacon Hills?"
Deaton frowned. "I doubt it. Why do you ask?"
The sheriff hesitated. Derek could see the flush of embarrassment in his face. "Derek's been, uh, teaching me to... Reach out over my territory. As an alpha, thing. Y'know?"
Deaton's eyebrows went up. "Territorial awareness? Good idea, Derek."
Derek frowned. Why did Deaton sound so surprised? "Mom used to take us with her," he growled. Deaton ignored him to ask the sheriff what he was picking up.
Stilinski shuffled, still awkward and uncomfortable acknowledging the supernatural. "The country wasn't so bad—mostly nothing, you know?" Deaton nodded. "But the city? There are supernatural people everywhere. Most are scattered, but there are a couple big groups."
Again, Deaton nodded. "The larger groups are probably beings who exist in family groups or packs."
"Yeah, I figured that," the sheriff responded. "What about the individual signatures? What creature causes them?"
"They could be omegas entering your territory to see what kind of alpha you are."
"Or creatures who prefer being solo," Derek added. "Like druids." Deaton frowned at him.
"How can I tell them apart?" the sheriff asked.
Deaton shrugged. "I doubt any of them are going to test your alpha-ness."
Stilinski waved that away. "Not me," he said. "How can I tell if any of them a threat to the people in Beacon County, or to my deputies?"
Again, the vet's eyebrows lifted in surprise. It was enough to tell Derek that Deaton didn't know Sheriff Stilinski at all. Not surprising, Derek supposed, since the enigmatic druid-slash-vet had probably spent a lot of energy trying not to draw the notice of law enforcement. On that count, Derek could sympathize with Deaton. The fact that a whole station full of cops knew he was a werewolf made Derek very uncomfortable.
Still, having spent a fair bit of time with the man, Derek had learned that Sheriff Stilinski believed absolutely in judging the actions, not the person. If he'd been a homeless omega, Derek would be tempted to ask the alpha for refuge.
Thankfully, Deaton's surprised response interrupted that thought. He denied ill intent in any of the creatures he knew.
Unfortunately, the statement was hardly worth anything since Deaton was, apparently, unaware of 90 percent of the creatures living in Beacon Hills. It was both shocking and unsurprising that he was as unhelpful to the sheriff as he'd been to Derek and Scott.
Like a pro, Sheriff Stilinski didn't let any frustration show until they'd left the clinic. "That's the local expert?" he said with a growl. "My son could tell me more." Since Derek kinda agreed with him, he just shrugged.
"I bet Chris Argent knows more."
Derek froze, snarling. "You'd speak to a hunter? You'd trust a hunter?"
The sheriff stared back at him, eyes flicking to red, hands flexing. Derek fought not to flinch.
Finally, Stilinski took a breath. "Son," he said in a mostly-normal voice. "I'd talk to the devil himself if he had information I needed to do my job right. Trust isn't a requirement." It was a cynical statement, but the sheriff said it with such light-hearted humor that it took a moment for Derek to realize what he'd said.
"Stiles really is your son," was the only thing that occurred to Derek to say.
Luckily, the alpha wasn't offended. Instead, Stilinski laughed "He is, undoubtedly, my son." The sheriff's smile softened. "He'll be a helluva detective one day."
It was such a parental thing to say, filled with rueful pride and hope. It hurt Derek to hear it because his father had said the same thing about Laura: "She'll make a mighty fine alpha one day."
That had been right after she'd dragged Peter and couple of their other teenaged cousins into some scrape, before getting them right back out again. He'd been too young to go with them, but Derek remembered the yelling, and being both envious and relieved that he hadn't been invited.
"She'll make a mighty, fine alpha one day."
His throat closed. Laura had been a hell of an alpha, but her pack had only been one instead of the dozens she should've had. His fault.
Didn't matter that Kate Argent had targeted him. He'd fell for it, and he would never forgive himself.
As he drove back to the house, Derek was mired in memories of what had been and what should have been.
It was his only excuse for missing the signs that he had visitors until he'd actually pulled up at the house. They weren't friendly—that was easy enough to pick up. So it was either Argents or the Alpha Pack.
Either way, he was fucked.
-o0o-
The sheriff leaned against the wall around the corner from the front desk and took another sip of his coffee. He had another hour before he had to be out in a car, and so far, he was enjoying it.
Rita, the civilian officer who handled their front desk, was wonderful at handling unctuous or obnoxious asses. Her tone didn't descend into condescending officialdom, she never became over-sympathetic, and she mostly hid her hard-assed police training. Somehow, Rita managed a finely-tuned blend of all of those, covered over with a dash of bland unconcern.
And Sheriff Stilinski was enjoying listening to Gerard Argent sputter in angry frustration. He didn't even feel guilty.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Argent, but I cannot release those records to you, as you are not your daughter's legal representative, nor are you an officer of the Court." Argent argued a few minutes more, blustering about getting Rita fired.
She wasn't getting fired.
The Sheriff's Office been notified last week that Kate had refused, verbally and in writing, to let her father have direct access to her records. Without that permission, and lacking a warrant, Gerard Argent was not getting any records—no witness statements, no evidence reports, no nothing.
Well, he could get a copy of the speeding ticket he'd received on Saturday, Noah thought with a smirk.
"I would like to see the sheriff." It was said through gritted dentures, but still understandable.
"Sheriff Stilinski would, of course, be pleased to speak with you," Rita lied with an absolutely even voice. "However, he is unavailable right now. If you leave your contact information, I'll be sure he gets it." And she would. She'd drop the note on his keyboard, so he couldn't miss it. Then he would crumple it up and throw it in the garbage.
After a few more rounds of "Let me see the sheriff," Argent finally cracked. "Do you know who I am!" Gerard thumped the desk. The desk didn't break.
There was a moment's hesitation, and Stilinski could picture Rita's eyebrow—just one—going up in unspoken condemnation. "I see a parent whose child has been accused of a crime," Rita stated in a tone that indicated this was absolutely nothing special in a police station.
Stilinski buried his grin in his coffee. Yes, dealing with the public was a skill, the sheriff thought, one he thoroughly appreciated when someone else did it for him.
After Argent (and his two goons) stormed out, Stilinski stepped into the reception area. "Good job."
"He'll be back." She frowned. "But I don't think he's interested in Kate Argent's records. He wants to get a closer look at you."
The sheriff lowered his coffee. "You think so?"
Rita nodded. "He was a lot more upset that I wouldn't page you. He's a werewolf hunter, isn't he? Like his daughter." The sheriff thought it was probably the other way around, but the logic still applied.
"I'll wear my vest home," the sheriff assured her, filling up his coffee and heading back to his desk.
"You'd better!" she called after him. "I don't want to be breaking in a new sheriff."
The sheriff's smile lasted until he entered his office.
There was something about Gerard Argent that raised the sheriff's hackles—both the ones he'd developed as a cop and his new, wolfy ones. He'd come up to Noah at the restaurant, confronting him in in front of customers and staff. He'd barged into the sheriff's office, making a memorable ass of himself in front of trained law enforcement staff. Why?
There was something in how Gerard spoke that made the sheriff think Argent's loud, fatherly concern covered two or three less socially acceptable goals, and one outright nefarious one.
It wasn't until he was in his car that it occurred to Noah that part of his antipathy to the man was because he smelled bad. Not "evil" bad, but as if there was something was wrong with his body. Sour and embedded, as if all the scrubbing in the world wouldn't make the man clean.
Considering what the man did for kicks, maybe it was wolfsbane, and Noah's werewolf was reacting to it? He was pretty sure he'd never smelled the toxic flower, but he expected it was something sharp and medicinal, which was exactly what Gerard Argent smelled like.
And now that he had that thought, Noah realized Argent's scent reminded him of his wife's last days—stuck in the hospital, dying.
No wonder he disliked the man.
-o0o-
Derek sniffed at the wimpy breeze filtering through the trees, trying to gain information.
He entertained the brief hope that it was the omega, squatting in the ruins of the house, that had made the forest silent, but he could smell at least two strange werewolves. One scent was female, slightly sour as if unbathed, but strong. An alpha. The second—third?—scent was something more. Different, weirdly strong and layered.
They didn't come out from wherever they were hiding, so Derek had to assume they weren't friendly. He didn't reach for his phone—it would prove him weak. Besides, the service out here was generally lousy. Instead, he rolled up the windows, turned off his sister's Camaro, made sure his expression was neutral, and got out of the car.
Another sniff confirmed the female alpha—her scent was strong, and a bit familiar. The other scent (scents?) had thinned.
He was more than halfway to the porch when the female alpha appeared in the doorway.
"Welcome home."
It was Kali of the Alpha Pack. Beautiful, deadly, she stood chin up and smirking, but if she expected him to be upset that she'd taken over the ruins of his old home, he was glad to disappoint—this place hadn't been home since his family had died in it.
He stared at her ridiculously long toenails, and tried to think of a reason for them that wasn't bat-shit crazy and slicing people's stomachs open. "Where's your—" he rethought and changed his wording. "—teammates?"
As he'd expected, the female laughed. She didn't consider the other member of the Alpha Pack to be her anything. If the ones with her had thought otherwise, they now knew better. It wasn't much, but any dissension he could cause in the Alpha Pack's ranks…
"Are you that anxious for a beat down?" she asked.
Derek shrugged. "I don't think anything I say will stop you if that's what you want to do." From the sides of the house two more alphas appeared. Twins, obviously, and that mostly explained the oddness in the second scent Derek had picked up. They were also very young—like they should be in school with McCall, not out in the woods threatening people.
Kali's toenails clicked on the wood of the porch as she paced. "If you remembered me then you'd know I always get what I want." She was snarling, or maybe it was laughing, Derek wasn't sure.
She seemed upset that he hadn't called out her name in fear, or done some other kind of big gesture acknowledging who she was and what she'd done. Maybe she needed his fear to justify what she'd done to become part of the Alpha Pack. There probably wasn't much she wouldn't do, but she couldn't kill his family so there wasn't much for him to try to protect.
"Why would I remember you?" he asked mostly to poke at her.
Predictably, she sneered. Also predictably, she leaped from the porch into a 3-point landing inches from him. Instinct demanded he jump back or fight. Derek dug his claws into his palms, and managed to do neither.
"I am Kali," she announced with all the passion of a TV preacher. Was he supposed to cower in awe?
"Derek Hale," he said instead of any of other stupid things he could say. He jerked his chin at the twins. "Who're your friends?"
Snorting, Kali rose to her full height (only a couple inches shorter than Derek). "Ignore them," she ordered.
Derek lifted his eyebrows. "That what you do?" He didn't need Kali's sneer to know that's exactly what she did. So he looked at each of the twins. "Derek Hale," he said with a nod in their direction.
Before either could respond, Kali gripped Derek's chin and wrenched it so that he was facing her. "I said ignore them."
Her claws were uncomfortable and long enough to threaten his eyes. He didn't try to pull his chin from her grasp. "What do you want? It's not me—I'm not the alpha."
Kali stared at him, still sneering. "No, you're not. For the first time in a hundred and fifty years, the Hales don't rule Beacon Hills. How does that make you feel?"
It should've hurt. It should've hurt a lot. Instead, surprisingly, it made him calm. It made him free. He wasn't "the Hale of Beacon Hills." The territory wasn't his responsibility. The line was broken. There was no one left to disappoint. "I live in New York." Derek lifted his chin away. "Whatever you're looking for, I can't give it to you."
For the first time, Kali looked uncertain. It didn't last long. She reached for Derek again. This time he dodged, a graceful backwards lean and twist he'd had no intention of performing. She growled outright.
"Who's the alpha?" she demanded. "If it's not a Hale, then who won the prize?"
Derek finally smiled, a slow lift of his lips. "Two people you can ask about the showdown: Chris Argent, and the sheriff. Good luck with it."
Derek refused to say anything more, even when, as a farewell gesture, she wiggled her stupidly long fingernails around in his guts.
-o0o-
Derek wasn't sure how much time passed before he heard the car drive up. He lay there, breathing, and tried to push the dirt and leaves out of his body with willpower alone.
The engine shut off, the car door slammed shut, and the clearing filled with the sheriff's distinctive alpha scent. Derek automatically pulled in a big, comforting breath. When he realized what he'd done, he wheezed, which caused his damaged abdominals to explode in pain. By the time he recovered, the sheriff was crouched beside him.
"Jesus! Did they push the dirt into you?" Stilinski asked, skipping all the irrelevant questions like "Who did this" and "Does it hurt".
Derek grunted confirmation. The sheriff hummed in disapproval.
"Why are you here?" Derek asked before the sheriff could ask anything stupid. And it was a good question: Kali had smashed his phone.
"I sensed a disturbance in the Force."
Derek opened one eye just so he could disapprove. "You've been hanging out with Stiles again."
The sheriff laughed. "Other way 'round, actually. When he was a baby I'd throw that in the VHS, lay down on the couch, and we'd both fall asleep." Derek could picture it: Stilinski stretched out, still in his uniform, a tiny form on his chest, bundled and still... No, wait. That part didn't work.
"We still watch it together, sometimes," Stilinski said. "Usually in prep for another sequel."
Derek's turn to snort. He'd seen a couple of the original series with his friends. They'd been okay. Derek wasn't much for straight-up hero stories. He didn't believe in heroes.
"I was actually expecting an omega." It was a decent explanation. And not exactly wrong.
"Did you hurt them back?" Stilinski asked with a nod at Derek's bloody hands.
Derek could only wish he'd given Kali some trouble. "Made sure she hadn't tied my intestines in a knot or anything," he answered, totally embarrassed. "Cleaned the dirt out. As much as I could, anyway." The sheriff looked resigned. Derek didn't need him to say he'd fucked up. Except that wasn't what Stilinski said.
"I may have underestimated the threat the Alpha Pack represents. Damn." He ran a tired hand down his face. He held the position—vulnerable, concerned—for a moment. Then, with a blink and a roll of his shoulders, he was determined again. "I'm going to try something Scott showed me."
"Please don't."
The sheriff grinned, but ignored him. He put his hand under the remnants of Derek's shirt. It was cool on his skin, and then Derek felt his pain fade. There was a moment of neutrality and then bliss.
"Where'd Scott learn 'at?" Derek's voice was slurry, soft and without strength, a disturbing after-effect of the sudden disappearance of pain.
"I think Stiles read about it somewhere."
Stiles? Where the fuck did Stiles read about it?
Stilinski continued, his voice a weird mix of pride, acceptance, and fear. "I can only hope it wasn't a classified government server, somewhere." Derek didn't bother trying to comfort Stilinski about his son's research habits. He remembered Stiles making him change into one tight shirt after another in front of that dark-eyed hacker.
The sheriff grabbed Derek's arm and wrapped it around his shoulder. "Come on. Let's get you shifted before the pain comes back." Stilinski angled him onto unsteady feet. As an alpha, the sheriff could probably have picked him up and carried him the however-far it was to the car. Derek was just as glad the older man didn't.
"My car."
"I'll get someone to drive it back."
"Not Stiles," Derek growled.
"He's a good driver, and I'll make sure that he knows to be careful," the sheriff promised.
Not satisfied, but unable to directly oppose the sheriff, Derek settled into the back seat. It was familiar from all the times he'd been put there, so Derek let himself drift to the hum of the tires on the asphalt. It was weird being hurt—physically hurt. Before he'd come to Beacon Hills, he'd had a couple bullies target him at school, and there'd been the typical sports injuries: sprains, pulled muscles, and bruises. Normal, human hurts that he'd shrugged off with a scowl of annoyance. Since coming here, he'd been shot with an aconite-dosed bullet, he'd been electrocuted for hours, and now an alpha had played mud pies with his innards.
"Can I go back to New York?"
Shit. He hadn't meant to say that aloud.
Fortunately, the sheriff didn't call him on his whining. "Sure," the sheriff shrugged. "You're not the suspect. You'd probably have to come back for the depositions and certainly for the Grand Jury. I'd get a lawyer to help you with those, by the way."
Derek blinked at the roof. That wasn't the response he'd expected. It wasn't a lecture on duty and consequences. It didn't demand he be strong and tough it out.
He didn't know what to do with it, how to respond, so he grunted and let his eyes drift shut. Any decision could wait until he healed.
-o0o-
When the sheriff arrived back at work after tucking Derek away in a safe place, it was to find a werewolf and his delinquent son sitting in his office. It was only 2 P.M.
On a school day.
The sheriff thought gentle thoughts until he was sure the doorknob was no longer in danger.
"Isn't there school today?" He was sure his tone had been mild, but Scott flinched. Stiles, of course, just widened his smile like he always did when caught doing something only marginally justifiable.
"Lunch period?" Stiles said hopefully.
It was possibly true that one of them was on lunch. No prize for guessing which one was ditching. He glared at his son who widened his smile a notch more. "Whatever class this is, you're getting an A in it right?" He didn't let Stiles interrupt. "I will be seeing an A on the next report card." It was an old threat, but the growl was new.
It was also, maybe, making the threat somewhat more menacing than it was meant to be. Stiles' defensive smile wobbled. "You know I will."
Stilinski huffed out a breath and took a moment to make sure his teeth were all human-shaped. "I do know that," he reassured his son. "But I'd be a bad parent if I let you get away with ditching without saying something."
Stiles' smile was back bigger than before. "You're a great dad. And we're here on important business."
"It's kinda important," Scott temporized.
Stiles steamrolled him. "It's 'immanent threat' level important."
He resisted the impulse to rub his temples—he'd probably need it more later. "What's up?"
"There's werewolves at school," Stiles announced.
"Aside from me," Scott added.
Stiles turned to him. "That was a given."
Scott looked back. "Was it?"
"Uh-huh." Stiles nodded emphatically.
The sheriff didn't allow himself to be distracted. "Who are these werewolves? Are they kids you know?"
Stiles shook his head as Scott answered, "They transferred in a week ago?" He looked at Stiles.
"A week ago, on Monday," Stiles confirmed.
"Are they harassing you, or threatening you in any way?"
"One of them is hitting on Lydia."
Scott rolled his eyes. "Lydia is encouraging it."
That explained Stiles going to DefCon 4, but it raised other issues. "You're sure they're werewolves?"
Scott nodded. "Absolutely. One of them joined the lacrosse team this morning, and I'm getting the same sense from him as I get around you or Derek."
The sheriff nodded, accepting Scott's judgement. He tapped a fingernail on the arm of his chair while he considered possibilities. It stayed a fingernail the whole time.
"This could sound insensitive," the sheriff warned, sitting forward. "Could your sense of them be tainted by some sort of territorial thing?"
"You mean, like..." Scott trailed off, blushing.
Stiles gave his best friend an unimpressed look before turning to the sheriff. "He doesn't feel like peeing on their pant legs, Dad! They've got this freaky twin thing going on-"
Noah sat up fast enough to cause a breeze. "Twins?"
It took a moment for the boys to unfreeze. "Yeah," Stiles confirmed.
"Identical twins," Scott elaborated.
The sheriff felt the growl in his chest.
"So how come you know about Ethan and Aiden?" Stiles asked.
Ethan and Aiden: two of the alphas, at his son's school, putting his son in danger! Putting them all in danger. Bringing some bullshit crusade into his county.
Scott pointed with his chin. "Your, um, sideburns are sprouting."
-o0o-
Derek had just managed to get back to the couch in the innocuous bungalow the sheriff had dropped him at when he heard noises at the door.. He tensed as adrenaline poured into his body, tightening his muscles, readying him to fight. He really shouldn't have let his guard down, he lectured himself. Not with hunters and the Alpha Pack in town Then he hissed as it pulled on his barely-healed stomach.
He set aside the pain, and focused his hearing at the front door: Two heartbeats—both a little fast. Two voices... Male... Young...
All the tension left Derek in an instant, leaving him lightheaded. When the door opened he didn't bother to look. "I don't remember giving either of you a key."
McCall and the sheriff's kid froze. Derek grinned internally.
Of course, his victory didn't last long. "Oh my god, dude! Could you be any more of a creeper?"
Derek frowned. How was he the creeper here? "I'm not the one breaking into someone else's house."
"Lurking." The Stilinski kid flailed. "There's definitely lurking. Happening. In the dark."
Even McCall wouldn't let him have that one, giving his friend a long-suffering look. "Dude, it's only three thirty."
Stilinski shrugged his whole body. Derek's stomach ached just watching him. "The lights are out?"
McCall rolled his eyes, so Derek didn't bother.
"Why are you here?" Which was a far more important issue as far as Derek was concerned.
"We brought your car," Scott said, putting his keys next to him on the coffee table. "And we know about the Alpha Pack."
Derek jerked upright, sending a hot wash of agony through his body. He ignored it. "He told you?" This time Stiles rolled his eyes.
"He wanted us to be careful," Scott said. "The twins are in our school."
"We are kinda concerned."
Okay. Derek could buy that.
"Stiles is concerned," Scott corrected. "I'm more… wary."
Stiles turned to stare at his friend. "Dude, that's essentially the same thing."
"No, it's not." Scott frowned. "Is it?"
"Did they approach you?" Derek interrupted before they could do anymore Bill and Ted impressions.
Scott shook his head while Stiles answered. "They keep staring at Scott. One of them's joined lacrosse. And Lydia's dating the other. "
"Did you approach them?" They were teenagers, and idiots, so it was possible.
This time Stiles shook his head while McCall answered. "I thought we should talk to you first." From that, Derek figured Stiles had wanted to "sneak" around, but Scott had won the argument about what to do. Or maybe Sheriff Stilinski had vetoed it.
Didn't matter, Derek decided, as long as they stayed away from the twins. "Don't approach them," he warned. "Don't go near them, or sniff around them."
Stiles jerked his chin at him. "Did they do that to you?"
Scott shot Stiles a baffled look. "What 'that'?"
"What do you mean 'what that'? He's hurt." Stiles shot back, waving a hand in Derek's general direction.
Derek blinked in surprise. For a hyperactive little shithead, Stiles could be surprisingly observant. Maybe it was the sheriff's genetic influence.
Melissa McCall's influence was obvious as Scott flipped from teenage spaz to budding medical professional. "Where are you hurt?" Scott asked in a voice both calm and commanding. "Never mind. I see it."
He knocked Derek's hands out of their protective curl over his stomach, and lifted his T-shirt. Derek didn't need Scott's hiss of shock to know it looked bad.
"Oh my god." He especially didn't need Stiles barfing on the carpet because of a weak stomach.
"Stiles! Do not throw up!" Scott commanded.
Derek made a note to thank him for that, sometime. Maybe.
"I need a clean cloth, some hot water and the first-aid kit." Stiles ran out of the room. Scott looked up at Derek. "You do have a first-aid kit, right?"
He glared at Scott. "This isn't my house, you know."
"It's the county safe house," Stiles said from the kitchen, shouting over the sound of the tap. "Of course it's got a first-aid kit." He came back into the room. He had a towel over his shoulder, a bowl of hot water in one hand, and a 2-foot square case with the familiar red cross. He put the case on the floor by Scott, and the water on the coffee table. He very carefully didn't look at Derek's torn-up abdomen. "I thought you guys had super healing? Can't keep a good wolf down and all that."
"Alpha." Derek answered. They both looked blankly unenlightened. Derek sighed—he'd already been through this with the sheriff. "Injuries made by an alpha take longer to heal."
Scott just grunted understanding, hands busy with disinfectants and other things with which Derek hadn't bothered. Stiles, however, frowned in thought.
"Would you heal as slow if you were an alpha? Or does all that alphaness cancel each other out."
It was a smart question, considering his dad had a pack of one. "Depends on the size of your pack. How healthy it is."
"So the leader of a small, healthy pack would heal as quickly as the leader of a large, dysfunctional one?"
Derek nodded. "The sooner your dad—"
"I'm not going to stitch you up, because the wound needs to be able to drain," Scott interrupted. "It doesn't smell infected, but we're going to stay and monitor you for a bit."
"We are?" Stiles asked.
"We are." Scott nodded sharp and decisive. Stiles rolled his whole body, but didn't protest. He'd already known the answer when he'd asked the question.
"You don't have to do that," Derek protested.
Scott ignored him. "You'll rest better knowing someone's keeping watch," he said to Derek. "We've got you covered."
Derek felt like he should say something dismissive because Scott fought like a startled duck, but instead his eyes slid shut and his body relaxed into bonelessness. Scott had taken his pain, just as the sheriff had done earlier.
"You know," he heard Stiles say. "If we're doing Chem homework, we should really have Lydia here to tutor us."
"We don't need to do Chem."
"Same with math," Stiles said over the beeping of a phone. "She's going to win a Field's Medal."
"I don't even know what that is." The bickering was without heat, and somehow, familiar.
When had being around people become comforting? Derek was asleep before he could care about the answer.
-o0o-
Allison looked up at the humble little bungalow and wondered where Lydia had taken her. This wasn't the Stilinski's house and it wasn't Lydia's usual hanging-out neighborhood
"I thought we were going to Stiles'."
"And this is where he is."
"This isn't his house," Allison pointed out. In case Lydia didn't actually know what the Stilinski's house looked like.
"But it's where Stiles said to come." Lydia's logic was inarguable so Allison didn't argue, but she did give the empty street a long look. Its tidy, decently maintained, totally innocuous houses didn't bother looking back. Not even a curtain twitch.
By the time she'd finished her survey Lydia was already at the door, leaving Allison to carry the three bags of snacks.
Stiles nearly fell over his feet opening the door. "You came!"
"It's called 'scoping out the opposition'," she said. "If I'm going to get the top mark on the final, I need to know where you might rival me."
Stiles beamed. "You think I can rival you?" he asked happily.
Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes," she conceded. "When you can focus and aren't being a spaz." She walked by him into the house. Stiles just stared after her in ecstasy.
"Hi, Stiles," Allison said and broke the spell. She lifted the bags. "Where should I put these?"
"Allison." His face and voice were suddenly blank. "Wow, okay. This could be awkward."
Before Allison could ask him about why, Scott bounded up from the living room to say hello. "Allison?" he said with a wide smile.
She couldn't help but smile back. "I hear you need help with your studying."
Lydia's snort from the living room echoed the one coming from Stiles. "He's hardly likely to get any studying done now that you're here," Lydia remarked calmly. "Can someone tell me why Derek Hale—accused murderer and occasional crazy-person-who-attacks-us-at-school—is here?"
It was almost comic the way Scott and Stiles froze. Or at least, it would've been funny if Allison hadn't done the same thing.
Lydia didn't know.
"Umm," Scott said. "Yeah, there's a few things you need to know about the accusations against Derek."
"You're not going to tell her about werewolves," Stiles hissed.
"Of course not," Scott hissed back. "Crazy uncle."
"Revenge attack?" Stiles suggested.
Scott nodded. "That'll work."
"For about two minutes," Allison pointed out.
"I know you're all trying to come up with a suitable story," Lydia said from the living room. "You should close the door, so that we don't all freeze to death while you try to think of something believable." There was no help for it but to step into the living room and let Stiles close the door. Allison took a couple steps forward and then stopped. Derek looked... Well, he looked a lot like he'd looked chained to Kate's fence, except with a shirt and smaller teeth.
"Why are you here?" Derek asked Lydia accusingly.
Lydia ignored him. "The sheriff is involved somehow, since you're in a county safe house."
"Why do you think this is a county safe house?" Stiles asked with a squeak.
Lydia rolled her eyes. "The fact that you're here? And so is he." She turned back to Derek. "There's no guard, so you're not a criminal or a witness. You're not avoiding the press, since most of them have left. So why is the sheriff letting you hide here? What kind of trouble are you in?"
"It could be Derek's house," Stiles suggested.
Lydia didn't bother rolling her eyes, and Derek's frown didn't change. "Why do you think you have any right to ask me questions?"
Lydia put her hands on her hips. "Maybe because you tried to kill us that one time?" She stopped. "Or did you?" Derek glared at all of them indiscriminately, but Lydia ignored the lava-force of his disapproval. She tapped a finger to her lips as she thought, and Allison recognized that they were in soo much trouble.
Lydia turned to look at Scott. "You're the one who said it was him." It was an accusation.
"Yeah, about that," Scott said, scrubbing the back of his neck.
"He's been cleared of all charges," Stiles said, rescuing Scott from having to explain.
Lydia rolled her eyes. "If it wasn't Derek Hale who attacked us at the school, who was it?" She didn't wait for any of them to answer. "It was the uncle. The one who was killed at the police station." Allison exchanged looks with Scott and Stiles. It was easy to forget how smart Lydia was, since she was careful to hide it all behind the prom queen.
"How is this any of your business?" Derek asked again.
"Because I like to know when my life might be threatened and by who," Lydia snapped.
"I think you should go," Derek tried again. "I think you should all go."
"Don't be rude," Lydia said, flipping her hair. "It's not like it's your house. Plus, since you're not a killer, we've got nothing to worry about."
"Maybe he's right," Allison certainly felt no need to hang out around the man. What if he recognized her smell, or something?
Scott took her hands in his. "You've made it this far. You might as well keep going."
"Yeah," Stiles said. "Scott and I have already apologized."
"No, you haven't," Derek growled.
"We haven't?" Scott frowned, and his eyes flicked as if reviewing his memories.
"I don't have to apologize," Lydia pointed out. "I'm not the one who accused him of anything."
"I don't want your apologies," Derek went on. "What I want is quiet."
"I don't mind apologizing," Stiles chirped happily. "Derek I'm sorry I misinterpreted your broody and stalkery behavior as being murdery and evil." Predictably, Scott's eyes widened in horror, Derek's glare at Stiles was extra ferocious, and Lydia rolled her eyes at all of them.
However, surprisingly, Allison couldn't hold in a snort of laughter. Derek had been broody and stalkery—always there, in the periphery, dressed in black and staring.
There was a moment of complete stillness when everyone looked at her. She covered her mouth and swallowed down her laughter, knowing it was semi-hysterical for while "broody and stalkery" described Derek pretty well, "murdery and evil" was exactly what her aunt had been. Would Derek take out his desire for revenge on her?
"C'mon," Scott nudged her. "It'll be okay. And Derek really shouldn't be alone right now."
"I do not need babysitting!"
With a snort, Stiles moved to the small kitchen table. It was a small house (the living room and dining room were practically one room) so it didn't take long. "Dude, you can't even get off the couch by yourself." Of course, Derek immediately tried to pull himself up from his prone position.
Lydia nearly backed up a step before she stopped herself. She didn't reach out to him, didn't put a hand on his shoulder, or anything to show how unafraid she was. She just cocked a hip and twirled a curl. "Well, you're not a killer, but you are a stereotypical example of hyper-masculine stupidity. Good to know." He glared. She tilted her head and treated him just like she did any non-worthy boy from school—by looking at her nails instead of him.
Allison wondered what demon Lydia was trying to slay by being so determined to stay in the same house as Derek Hale, but she was absolutely sure that's exactly what her friend was doing.
"So are you two ever going to leave the doorway, or are you planning some PDA?" Lydia asked, voice just a little too unconcerned.
Beside her, Scott blushed. He took the bags and her hand, and pulled her the final two steps from the doorway to the living room. Derek shifted his glare from Lydia to Scott then to her. His nostrils flared as if he was scenting the air. Allison nearly hunched over with fear. (Had he caught her scent in the basement? Surely not. There had been so many (unpleasant) smells in that place?)
"This is my girlfriend," Scott said, bottom jaw jutting out stubbornly.
"I'm Allison—"
"I know who you are."
He recognized her! It made her feel ill. Was he going to tell everyone that she'd been there, in that cave, while Kate... Tortured him.
Allison started babbling. "I'm so sorry—so, so sorry. What my aunt did was wrong, and I don't agree with her at all—about any of it—and I hope that, if I'd known what she was doing—which I didn't, of course. But, I hope that I'd be the kind of person who would call for help, even against my own family, because it would be the right thing to do." She was just spewing guilt everywhere, and Derek Hale was just looking at her and not reacting, and she really needed to shut up.
Luckily, Scott was there. "Hey, hey," he soothed, rubbing her arms lightly. "Nobody thinks you were working with your aunt." Behind him, Derek huffed mockingly. "Nobody who knows you thinks that," Scott corrected.
"Scott's right in this instance," Lydia said with a little grimace of distaste. (Probably from having to say Scott was correct about anything.) "Allison is the gentlest person I know. Certainly gentler than you," she said to Derek.
"He was cleared of all charges," Stiles repeated from the kitchen.
"And that makes this situation less weird, how?" Lydia asked skeptically. "Because there is a distinct mortal enemy's vibe coming from the two of them. Also, witness contamination"
Derek was now staring at Lydia. It meant Allison could breathe a little.
She turned to Scott. "Maybe I should just go."
-o0o-
Derek knew that Allison wasn't her aunt, but she reminded him of Kate Argent. It was in her scent. All the Argents smelled of it—they reeked of death.
However, Allison was just a kid, and her babbling apology had reminded him of the fact.
Once he'd been able to sense beyond Argent-enemy, he'd nearly been overwhelmed by the girl's guilt and grief, her embarrassment and fear, and that smell had triggered memories of his last hours in the old Hale holding room, where young wolves with shaky control could go to keep the family safe. It was the room Kate used to taunt and torture him. There were always some of her goons around, and they'd smelled of fear (of him and Kate both) or curiosity (how much voltage to make his skin burn) or nothing (just doing his job, reattaching the leads to Derek's skin like he was hooking up a car battery). Kate, of course, had reeked of triumph and sick enjoyment.
But there had been that one time, right before the sheriff had rescued him. He'd smelled nearly the same mix of scents as he was getting now. Had Allison been in the basement with Kate? There'd been an odd spike in her heartbeat when Scott and her friend assured her that of course, she hadn't known, and of course, she would have told someone.
Her physical response let him know two things: Allison Argent had definitely been in that basement, and not all of her guilt was because of him.
erek's curiosity had him growling that they might as well stay, as long as he got the popcorn snacks. "And when your family's lawyers yell at you for consorting with the enemy, don't expect any sympathy from me."
Stiles laughed. "Well, she wouldn't, dude. That's what boyfriends are for." They all laughed.
Derek just sneered and grabbed the remote. He may have to put up with their chatter, but he'd be damned if he got stuck with their taste in television.
"Well, that's great and all, but it still doesn't explain why he's here and not in a hospital," the red-headed one said. Derek closed his eyes. Did the girl not know when to drop it?
McCall and Stiles didn't help deflect the question. Derek could practically smell the big, 'oh shit' looks they gave each other.
"I don't need a hospital," he ground out.
"Uh-huh," she said in complete disagreement. "Then why did Sheriff Stilinski send Bert and Ernie over to look after you?"
"He didn't send us," Stiles protested. "Well, I suppose he kinda did."
"Uh, which one of us is Bert?" McCall asked, finger raised as if that question was the important one.
The red-head (Lydia his memory finally supplied) raised her eyebrows to indicate they were both idiots. "I'm sure he didn't announce this over normal dispatch channels, Stiles—which I'm sure you listen in on—because that would defeat the purpose of a safe house."
"Wait, you listen to police radio?" Allison asked. "Aren't those encrypted? To stop reporters and ambulance chasers?" There was something more than shock in her voice—there was fear.
Stiles wiggled in place of a shrug. "Beacon Hills doesn't use signal encryption," he explained. "It's a trunked radio control, like chat systems for online games? There's the larger chat room for all of the county, and a room each for the police and the hospitals and the fire department. And there's private chat for when it's just two people. It's a really cool system." Everybody stared at him. "What?"
"Please tell me you didn't steal one of your father's radios," Lydia asked, and Allison's stance tightened
"No, no! God, no."
Allison slumped in relief.
"All you need is a clone of the control program and the trunk ID keys."
Lydia groaned. "Why would you do that?"
Stiles blinked in surprise. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Everyone knows" McCall said.
"Well, they suspect," Stiles corrected.
"Oh," Allison breathed. "That explains it."
"What do you mean 'that explains it'?" Stilinski asked. "What's explained?"
"It's nothing," Allison said too quickly. Her heartbeat shooting up.
"No, it's not," Derek said. "It's definitely something. Probably to do with your crazy family." The red-head scowled at him. Derek just lifted a brow back and ate his popcorn.
"Oh my god! They think I told!" Stiles jumped up, arms flailing. "Your family! They think I'm Dad's confidential informant." The kid started pacing, dragging all eyes to him. "What are they going to do? Vengeance?" He froze, eyes narrowing. "Maybe, but nothing direct."
This time it was Lydia who rolled her eyes. "Stiles. Do you think this is some kind of Shakespeare play? People don't really go around vowing vengeance." She lifted her arm and declaimed, 'As for the brat of this accursed duke, Whose father slew my father, he shall die!" Lydia paused, but no one laughed. She huffed. "I severely doubt that Mr. Argent will come gunning for you because you turned in his psychotic sister. Sorry, Allison."
Allison, though pale and tragic-looking, nodded. "No. No, that's fair."
"But I didn't turn in her aunt," Stiles wailed. "I didn't know anything about there being a call until he asked Scott to come drive Allison home. He let me think it was some kind of meth lab in the woods thing—"
Allison's heart rate jumped back up, and McCall made frantic 'stop, stop' hand signals at his best friend, and Derek knew, absolutely, irrevocably, who had told the sheriff where to find him that night. "I knew your scent was familiar," he said at the same time Lydia announced, "You turned in your aunt."
Allison tried to deny it. She said 'no, no. It wasn't me' and waved her hands as if that would magically erase the last two minutes, but everything about her screamed the truth.
"Oh, wow," Stiles said after her initial, useless, protests stopped. "That is fucked up." Allison's face crumpled, and McCall slapped his friend on the arm in retaliation.
Allison cried, huge gulping sobs even as McCall pulled her in. Lydia shifted to protect her friend's back, giving Stiles a death look. Stiles stammered out a correction. "No. I mean, it was awesome and brave, but wow. Not an easy thing to do."
Derek didn't say anything. Mostly because he didn't know what to say. 'Thanks for having a conscience?' 'Thanks for treating me like a human being?' 'Thanks for not being like the rest of your psycho family?' There was also a part of him that wondered if she was some kind of trap. After all, Kate had seemed like a decent person when he met her eight years ago, different from the rest of her Argent family.
It was safer to think it was a trap.
Scott could coo and be empathetic. Stiles could look on with dimly-concealed worry, and Lydia could continue to be oblivious to the truth, but Derek would do what he did best: watch and wait for when Allison brought out the knives and stabbed Scott between the ribs.
-o0o-
There was no studying after that. Instead, once she was presentable again, Lydia drove her home. Her friend didn't play the music loud the way she usually did. Instead, she turned it up only enough to fill the silence. Allison smoothed her hair, examined her nails, picked loose threads from her jacket…
"Have humans evolved at all?" she asked out loud. "I don't mean technologically. I mean, obviously computers are better than clay tablets, but our first instinct is to fear what we don't understand."
Lydia hummed low and flat as she thought. "We haven't evolved as much as we'd like to think we have," she finally responded. "But society has gotten better. Two hundred years ago, as women, we'd already be married and working on our third kid."
"That still happens."
"But it's not standard anymore," Lydia argued. "Even if a few fringe religions still believe in it, there are laws that try to protect kids from being forced into marriage. And yes, I know it's still quite common in certain areas, but there is more and more push back against it. And not just from western nations, but from people within the countries where it's prevalent."
Allison nodded. She'd seen the ad campaigns. She'd signed the petitions.
"Why'd you ask, anyway?"
Allison looked out the window. They were in the newer subdivisions now—bigger houses, wider streets, smaller trees. "It just seems like we still want to kill whatever we consider "other", that's all."
Lydia glanced at her from the corner of her eye. It was a considering look. "Is this because your aunt believes in werewolves?" Allison jumped.
Again, she'd forgotten how smart Lydia could be. How she could and did understand far more than she let on. On the other hand, this could be an opening. "If–" Allison started. "What if... I mean, Kate says werewolves are real. What if she could produce proof?"
"Proof… " Lydia asked skeptically.
"Just say she could," Allison said. "Do you think people would still consider what she did to be torture? Or would they think that it was okay, because she was just protecting humans?"
Both of Lydia's eyebrows were nearly at her hairline. "Okay, first. Assuming she could produce a werewolf in court, it's not a testable hypothesis, because we've built up these negative myths around werewolves, about their aggressiveness and lack of control that would automatically bias people against them. Second, I wouldn't be so worried about people wanting to kill it as I would governments and research labs wanting to study it. Super-strength? Super-healing? The military and medical applications of those two alone guarantees that the poor slob would leave the courtroom in the back of an armored van. Third…" Lydia paused. "Third: If werewolves were real, then they've been living among us vanilla humans for millennia—since we crawled out of the caves, most likely. Obviously, they'd have to have learned control or we'd've already hunted them to extinction like we have the European bear.
"So you're saying…" What was Lydia saying?
Lydia sighed. "I'm saying, even if she could prove Derek was a werewolf, she also killed all those other people. She doesn't have the excuse that they weren't human, and that's what'll get her convicted."
Lydia waited at the curb until Allison opened the door. With a final wave, Allison walked into her house. As soon as the door started to swing shut, she held her breath, listening for the other people occupying her home.
It was quiet.
She let out a breath she hadn't even realized she was holding. It was only a couple steps from the door to the stairs. Then she could stay in her room, avoiding everyone, at least until supper. Allison took that first step.
And her grandfather stepped out of the unlit front room. "Allison."
She barely managed to control her voice. Her body got away from her and she gave a little jump backwards, hitting the door as it closed and giving it an extra 'bang'. Her hand came up to her racing heart.
He seemed just as startled by her reaction, dropping something he'd been holding. A book, Allison noted, leather-bound and well used.
She gave herself a mental shake, and bent down to pick it up.
"Thank you," he said as she passed it over. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost this."
"No problem," she murmured. It took him a couple tries to push the book into his pocket.
"So you were out tonight. With friends." It wasn't a question, but he looked at her, waiting.
"Um, yeah. Studying." He was standing between her and the stairs.
"It's nice to have friends."
What was she supposed to say to something so… Hallmark greeting card? "Um, yeah. It can be hard to find any. Because we move so often."
He grunted. Perhaps in agreement. Perhaps it was just a noise.
Allison stepped to the right, edging her way around him. Gerard shifted, not to block her (as she'd first thought) but just to pull something out of his pocket. One of those daily pill containers, she realized even as he popped the top and poured them into his hand. He threw the lot into his mouth and dry swallowed them.
He saw her looking and sighed. "When I was your age I didn't even take vitamins. Now I'm choking down a cocktail of pills three times a day. But I do what my doctor tells me because I trust him." He sounded resigned, but also resentful. He didn't wait for her to say anything, which was good, because Allison hadn't a clue.
"Trust is a commodity our family holds very high," Gerard continued, staring at her. "My daughter was doing what she thought was right. Her intentions may have been a bit misguided—"
"Misguided?" Allison shook herself, unsure how trust had led to Kate. Unless he suspected she might have let something slip to one of her friends? She frowned at her grandfather. "That's not what the prosecutor's calling it."
"I like that," he chuckled, putting away his pill container. "You remind me of her. She challenged me too."
Allison crossed her arms in front of her, wishing she'd invited Lydia in (or gone home with her). "Is that what you want me to do? Challenge you?"
He was still smiling. It was kind of creepy. "I want you to trust me. You're going to find yourself put in the position where you question the trust of people close to you—even your closest friends. And when that happens, you have to know the trust you never question is family. Can I trust you, Allison?"
Was he serious? Allison stared at him, a little bit stunned and a lot amazed that he was asking the question.
"Well?" he barked and she jumped.
She took a breath. "I don't know you," she finally said. "Family or not, I don't trust people I don't know." She thought he'd be angry with her, try to convince her that blood trumps all or some nonsense like that, but he just laughed.
It wasn't a great laugh, more like a patronizing "aren't you precious?" laugh not unlike his comment about challenging him. He didn't like to be challenged, Allison knew from watching him at dinner. Instead, he'd tuck "the insult" away to be paid back later. He was, she realized, a very dangerous man.
Allison gave him a smile as fake as his, and hopped around him to the stairs. When she got in her room, she closed and locked the door behind her.
Then she looked for hidden cameras.
-o0o-