Chapter 15: Stubbornness Works Almost Like Strength

Lydia rules, but Sheriff Stilinski commands.

AN: I experimented when I wrote this, and didn't put in any chapter breaks. It was just one long (really long) document, and then I stuck in the breaks where it seemed logical to put them based on my event notes.

Reading it now, before posting, I'm more interested in how the story plays out, rather than making sure my timeline works. Hence, another shortish chapter that ends in a better place than I had before.

I hope you like it.

The building they found at the end of the track was lit it up from the inside somehow, and rays of light shone through the cracks like beacons. There was activity outside, and Allison thankfully recognized the outlines of police uniforms.

"I think we won."

"Were we at war?" Lydia asked. Before Lydia could grill Allison on that (because she and Scott hadn't actually explained everything to Lydia even after the werewolf reveal) they arrived at the shed, and a deputy jumped in front of Lydia's car to stop her.

There weren't enough cops to stop Allison from jumping out of the car, and running into the shed. Inside it looked creepy. Big LEDs provided harsh slashes of blue-white light, but left large areas in darkness. It was like a suspense movie. Or, when Allison noticed the dark, wet-looking patches, it was actually, a horror.

Deputies moved with controlled urgency to those who were hurt. Allison's eyes followed them, searching for… Oh, god—those people were dead.

"Dad?" she called. "Scott?" It wasn't a shout. She couldn't shout. Her heart felt like it was stuttering in her chest. She could see— There was so much blood!

"Over here," she heard Scott say. She turned in that direction and saw both Scott and her father just outside one of the patches of light. Her dad (looking only a short step away from really angry) held his shirt up off his back while a deputy examined his ribs.

Scott was helping, handing the deputy supplies and flinching every time her dad scowled in his direction (which was always until he turned to frown at her.) But they were alive, if gorey. Scott had so much blood on him. His hands and body were coated with it—but he was moving okay if a little stiff. He was a werewolf, she remembered, so he'd probably already healed any damage.

Her shoulders drooped and she let out a breath that had been sitting on her diaphragm since they left the hospital.

She rushed over to them, hopping over a wooden post that blocked her way.

Just outside the line of light, there was another body. A tall, white male with grey hair—and the jacket her grandfather had been wearing when he left the house. She couldn't take her eyes off it. That was her grandfather's body.

Was she supposed to be sad?

She forced herself to look at what was important—who was important. She didn't care if her father was pissed. He was alive. And Scott was alive. She hugged Scott (because he didn't have someone bandaging him up.) "Are you okay?" she asked. "Both of you?"

Her father's wince as the medic swabbed his back, undermined his growl. "Allison, what are you doing here?"

"We wanted to help." She backed away from Scott (just a little) and looked at father. He had to know that Gerard was dead, but he only looked tired not upset.

"Who's 'we'?"

"Well, Scott, of course," she answered. "And Lydia's outside—"

A faint voice in the entrance called her name. "Allison?"

-o0o-

Once the hug had gone on long enough that Stiles reminded him that he wasn't 8-years-old anymore, Noah let him go. "Check on Derek, okay? I think he'll need a hand out."

"Sure, yeah. I can do that," Stiles said with a smile and two thumbs up. "You know me. Cool under pressure."

"Just don't faint on him," Noah responded with knowing fondness. Stiles made various 'who me?' gestures before turning around to watch where he was putting his feet. Noah took the moment to look around the shed, assessing the aftermath.

Chris Argent was injured. He hid it well, but the sheriff could see it in the way the hunter held himself. He could also see Allison Argent, and if he wasn't mistaken, that was Lydia Martin.

"Bungalon," he said to his Site Commander. "Since when do we allow civilians into crime scenes?" Bungalon looked at him. Noah nodded at the two teenage girls next to Scott.

"We'll get them out of here!" Bungalon responded. He waved at Diaz and pointed him towards the girls.

"Report, Lieutenant?" Noah listened as Bungalon gave his report, but he also heard his lieutenant's heartbeat (a little fast but steady). He nodded when Bungalon listed the injuries, but nobody had to tell him Derek was seriously hurt. The sheriff knew it in a way that went beyond having seen Kali impale him with that pipe. It was the same way he knew that Aggersen's head wound needed to be in a hospital ASAP. Patterson had a sprained ankle, Johnson had bashed his arm on something, and Scott's cracked rib and damaged knee ligaments were nearly back to 100%.

"… I think we should bring the SUVs here to the shed," Bungalon said. "We'll load the injured and take them up to the road, rather than trying to get the ambulances down here."

It was a good suggestion, so Noah nodded agreement. When Bungalon didn't move away, Noah looked at him.

The SWAT Team Leader tipped his chin down at the former leader of the Alpha Pack, tied like a cartoon character at the sheriff's feet. "What about him?"

"Yes, Sheriff. What about me?" Deucalion tilted his head towards them. No one had found his sunglasses (more accurately, no one had looked), and the blackened holes where his eyes used to be looked truly horrific even in this dim light.

"I'll keep him with me for right now," he answered. "Later, well… I'm thinking about it." Bungalon nodded and left to call the 4-wheel-drives down.

Derek was comfortable, if a little cold, before Stiles showed up. The kid forced him to roll over, to straighten out. It made Derek's whole body flash in one big pulse of pain. Even his hair follicles seemed electrified.

He opened his eyes to see Stiles, reluctantly pull back the remains of his leather jacket. When the kid saw the extent of Derek's injuries, he paled, and wobbled on his knees. "Ohmuhgod, dude! You've lost much blood. How are you still breathing?" Stiles may have shouted it. Derek heard a whisper.

"We won." It was all he could manage.

It didn't cheer Stiles up. He just looked worried. "I know, man. But you are seriously stabbed through the gut."

Even rolling his eyes would've hurt too much. Derek didn't bother.

"Come on, we need to do something."

" 'M healin'."

"But slower, right? Wounds of an alpha and all that?" He didn't stop to let Derek answer. "Although, is being stabbed by a pipe wielded by an alpha the same as being stabbed directly by one? If we're lucky it's not."

"Wasn't stabbed," Derek said. "Impaled. Geddid righ'." He didn't have to open his eyes to see Stiles' bitch face. It almost made him smile.

Then it wasn't just Stiles leaning over him, but some of the county deputies. They had bandages and water, enough for some rough first aid. He watched them cut away his jacket with regret. He'd liked this jacket. Laura had given him shit for looking like an extra from Grease, but she's the one who watched the movie over and over.

Stiles' hand was warm on his wrist, and Derek thought he was monitoring his pulse. He could've told Stiles not to bother—he could hear his heart beating. Each pulse ached throughout his torso. Derek knew the pain was worth it. He'd proved… Something to the sheriff. And maybe to Chris Argent, too.

One of the sheriff's deputies brought out an IV. Derek tried to flinch away from it, tried to tell them 'no', but everything was so heavy.

Stiles saved him again. "No IVs, Hillard. He'll just heal around the needle."

"We need to get fluids into him somehow, and he can't drink." That must be Hillard, Derek thought. Defending his first aid training.

"Why not?" Stiles asked. "It missed his stomach, right?"

"Not really," said the SWAT guy cleaning his abdomen.

"But it's healing," Stiles insisted. "Oh my god, that's so gross." He must have looked.

"If you throw up on my patient, Stiles, I will swat you upside the head and then I'll tell your father and Scott."

That made Derek smile.

-o0o-

"Allison?" Lydia called from the entrance. She had her arms wrapped around herself and she stood with her feet close together, as if her compactness would stop dirt and blood from ruining her clothes.

Allison turned towards the entrance. "Over here!"

That was all the invitation Lydia needed to walk into the shed like a queen entering her throne room.

Allison saw the sheriff talking to a SWAT officer and hoped he'd be too busy to notice them. Her father pulled his shirt down over the thick white bandage that had been put on his wound, and sort of scooped all of them up in his outstretched arms. "We'll talk outside."

Lydia raised her eyebrow. It was possible she would've argued, but her eye caught on something on the other side of Scott. "Ethan? Why are you covered in blood?" Lydia pushed past them and stopped, spotting Aiden, listless and lifeless, lying on the dirty floor. "What happened to Aiden?"

"He was shot," Ethan said. "He was trying to protect Stilinski and he was shot."

Completely heedless of the dirt and blood, Lydia knelt beside her maybe-boyfriend. Aiden's breath rasped in his throat and he barely noticed her. "He'll heal right? Because he's a werewolf."

Ethan shook his head. "They knew. They knew," he repeated. He held his twin's hand to his heart. He gripped tight. Aiden did not.

Allison turned to her father. "Dad?"

Chris looked stricken. "Right." He dug in his belt pouch. He pulled out a small box, etched with pretty flowers, and opened it. Inside were rifle bullets. "Open the bullet to get the wolfsbane. Burn it, and then stuff the ashes in the wound."

Allison raised her eyebrows. "Really? What about the actual bullet?"

He pushed her towards the twins. "The aconite poisoning is the immediate threat." Allison wasn't sure how that could be true, but she had to trust that her father knew what he was talking about. After all, it was kind of his job. She shuddered at the thought. Every time she thought of how her family's "calling", it made her feel ill.

Sure, there had to be some non-humans that were evil, that needed to be stopped, but if Allison had her way the Argents would stop pre-emptively hunting things that could hurt humans and go after the things that actually were hurting them. Until then, she needed to try to save Aiden.

"I'm sorry, but you two can't be here." It was another deputy, with slightly more stripes than the others she could see.

Her father stepped back. "Maybe we should go," he suggested.

"We'll shift when we're finished treating Aiden," Lydia stated. She'd grabbed Aiden's other hand, and everything about her said she wasn't moving unless the twins went with them. She glared at Allison, and Allison reached out for her father's bullet.

What had he said? First, break open the bullet...

Easier said than done. Her fingers slipped on the slick metal.

Ethan held out his hand. "Here, let me. I've seen it done."

-o0o-

"Wouldn't it have been easier to just kill me?" Deucalion crooned.

It was bravado. The sheriff could feel the truth under the condescension, and that was Deucalion wanted to die. Blind, packless, and submissive, there was nowhere the alpha could go in North America and not be hunted. Packs who'd suffered from his attacks, hunters looking for a prize, neither would hesitate to take advantage of Deucalion's new vulnerability.

However, one thing that the sheriff was also aware of was that Deucalion didn't just want to die. He wanted Noah to kill him.

Noah had no idea why this was, and frankly, he didn't care. What really concerned him was why the hell did he know what Deucalion was feeling?

It wasn't just Deucalion, or Scott or Derek, or the members of the SWAT Team here in the shed—he'd grown used to those. Now, however, he was somehow aware that Lassiter had cut himself trying to chop up an apple, and Gus needed to see a doctor about his knee. There were others: migraines and sprains, bruises and aching bones. All the regular hurts of nearly 800 people. He hoped that this sensitivity to his... The sensitivity to all of… Noah sighed, and gave in.

This sensitivity to his pack would settle into something a little less sensitive. He didn't want to experience someone else's hemorrhoids or menstrual cramps. Not even second-hand, thank you.

He'd have to talk with Derek after the beta had a chance to heal up, but maybe, hopefully, it was like territorial awareness or controlling the transformation. Maybe, it would get better with practice. Or he'd learn to filter it all out like he'd done with Stiles' 'private time'.

Noah looked up at the nearly-full moon through the half-collapsed roof, and wondered if that was a factor. Maybe his sensitivity would reduce once the full moon passed.

One of the roof trusses swayed into view, blocking the light, and then swayed back out.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

The sheriff took a closer look at the shaky old building. The remaining panels of the roof quivered. He put a hand on one of the support beams. It trembled in the breeze.

The building was going to collapse.

-o0o-

"Can I have everyone's attention!" It was the sheriff. He barely had to raise his voice to have everyone looking at him. "I need everyone to move out of the building," he said. "Now."

-o0o-

Rolling onto his side was painful. Getting to his feet was looking to be impossible.

"Dude!"

Derek recognized the voice, but it was unimportant. "Man. What're you doing?" Stiles was next to him. Stiles was often next to him when he was injured.

"Leavin'. Orders." That was clear enough. He put his hands out and lifted, but the floor didn't get any farther from his face. Weird.

"Oh, Jesus. You really are his beta. Does that make you like my step-brother?" Derek tried again to get to his feet. "Hey, no. Don't do that! We'll get you out of here."

Hands grabbed at him. He wanted to snarl that he could do it, but the hands were gentle, and familiar without him recognizing anyone specific (except for Stiles) and it was somehow okay to let them help.

"Sooo much muscle! Is it a werewolf thing? Because Scott stopped being stringy when he got bit," Stiles babbled. "Wouldn't mind having some of those muscles. Don't want much else that goes with being a werewolf. No offense."

None taken. Too often, being a werewolf meant hiding. It meant lying. It meant pretending to be something he wasn't.

"Scott," the familiar voice shouted. "A little help here!"

Then he was floating. " 'm floatin'."

"Not exactly, man. We're carrying you—three of us. Waaay easier than the last time I had to lug you around."

The words flowed over Derek far more smoothly than he was floating over the ground. He had to bite back sounds of pain more than once, but he was moving.

Were they going the right way? It was getting brighter. Outside was supposed to be darker.

"Hey, Dad? Come reassure your beta that he's going in the right direction."

"My beta?"

Derek struggled to get closer to that voice. "Woah, Derek. Settle, dude."

"Oh."

"Yeah. You'll have to talk to him or something about it. When he's healed and, y'know. Lucid."

"Hmm," said that voice. A soft hum, so warm. Just hearing that voice shouldn't make him feel better, but it did.

"I'll think about it. For now, take him out. We've got an SUV coming in. It's going to take Aggersen first—"

"Is he okay?"

"If we can get him to a hospital, he'll be fine."

Everybody would be fine. Alpha's orders.

"We'll make sure Hale survives for the next ride out, Sheriff. Don't worry."

"Good. Now out. Get a good ways away from the building."

"Copy that."

And then Derek was floating again.

No, not floating; he was being carried. Three people were carrying him—he could feel their hands. Stiles, McCall and one of Stilinski's deputies. Derek should feel embarrassed at the show of weakness, but he was just thankful that he didn't have to use his own muscles.

-o0o-

Chris wasn't hurt enough to need help getting out of the old building, but he only had one fully-functioning arm because he was busy holding his broken rib in place. He'd be pretty useless getting any the truly injured out of the building.

The kid who'd been tossed into the stud had been bundled up in a portable neck brace and stretcher, and he was half-way out the door already. Derek was being carried out. It didn't look like he was bleeding anymore. Johnson was hopping out with the help of the lieutenant. That left Aiden, the werewolf he'd shot, as the next... person who needed moving.

Chris knew he shouldn't feel bad about shooting the kid—the werewolf. It had been justified after all. He'd thought Aiden was attacking his father and Stiles. Except, Aiden hadn't been attacking anyone.

Like Scott, the werewolf had been trying to protect a human. Someone who couldn't protect themselves against danger as well as a werewolf could. In this instance, the danger had been Chris's own father. Someone fully human.

Goddamn it! Chris hadn't felt this conflicted over hunting since he was younger than Allison.

Still, Chris did what he could, since it was the right thing to do. He'd already given Allison a wolfsbane bullet even though he felt as if generations of Argents weren't lined up behind him, watching him and disapproving.

When the sheriff told them all to leave the building, he hustled the teens out using his parental voice of authority. (It worked on Lydia, and that was enough to have the redheaded teen taking charge of moving the rest of them.) He took part of Aiden's weight when it turned out Ethan was also injured, (knee—already healing), and they all limped slowly towards the entryway.

His broken ribs grated with every step and every breath, and even if he could've caught his breath, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Christ! How far was it to the door?

Scott bounded up. "Sheriff says to hurry up," he said. Chris would have glared at the boy—werewolf—boy, but he'd already taken Aiden into a fireman's lift and ran out with him. A simple thing, but it meant they could all move much easier and quicker. He straightened thankfully. Then felt stupidly guilty for not saying thank you. Except that Scott was the second beta, and a potential enemy.

Now that he knew Scott was the second Beta, he'd have to tell Victoria. He'd tell her everything, of course. About how Scott had risked himself to protect Chris, and his age would protect him. After all, the Code had exceptions for teenagers.

Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent - "We hunt those who hunt us".

Except Scott hadn't hunted anyone. He hadn't even done any real damage to Ennis. All he'd done was to put himself between the big Alpha and Chris, again and again.

Over coffee this morning, (had it really been just this morning?) Stilinski had asked if hunters protected civilians, and Chris hadn't been able to say yes.

Chris repeated the Code with its codicils for innocents and teenagers, forcing it to fit into this situation. It just made him realize how often they didn't follow it. Not just his father or Kate, but him, his aunts, his cousins and his whole damn family.

If a supernatural creature worked a steady job and paid their bills like every regular schmuck in America (barbeque and baseball on Saturday, and mortgages and college funds for their kids)... if they did all that, never attacking anyone, weren't they civilians too? That's what Sheriff Stilinski had asked, and that's what Chris had scoffed at (at least internally).

What if the sheriff was right?

Just this month, he'd hunted Derek, because both he and Victoria had both assumed Derek would automatically know who the Alpha was, even though he'd been living in New York since the fire and neither he nor his sister had done anything to bring attention to them.

He and Victoria had been hunting "the second Beta" for the same reason. Even knowing that it was likely to be a teenager, Victoria had talked calmly about killing it (Scott) and Chris had said nothing, willing to do it if it became necessary. Willing to ignore the part of the Code that prohibited slaying supernaturals who were children.

The Alpha Pack had killed humans, but only when they were part of a targeted pack. His family had discussed it one night, and his cousin had said, "They laid down with dogs and they got up with fleas". They'd all nodded their heads (even Chris) and so the deaths of dozens of people, 100% human, were ignored because of who they'd loved.

When the old building finally collapsed causing a small dust storm, Chris barely noticed, too caught in his spiral of memories and recrimination.

Allison thought they were the bad guys, because they saw supernatural creature first, and tax-paying citizen and loving parent after.

He was beginning to think that she was right.