were (you)

by bhanesidhe

• question everything • Bestfriends Scott, Stiles & Lydia were struck by tragedy when trapped in a car accident that took Claudia Stilinski's life. Scott & Lydia were rescued from the crash, Stiles body was never recovered. Traumatized & grief-stricken, Scott & Lydia drift apart until 6yrs later when a Monster descends on Beacon Hills. [AU]Were!Stiles Playlists @ 8tracks/bhanesidhe

17. undercover

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Track 01 - A Reflection On Fire by Junius

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{Friday: Late Night - Hale House, Preserve Land, CA}

"It should take between 800 - 900 degrees to burn a house," Tyhurst explained mechanically, text-bookedly. "But since the house had already been burnt it would have taken much less for it destabilize, especially since it only took the rain to diffuse the flames. From first impressions the scene looks staged; structural damage to the building was strategic enough to leave the basement only half collapsed and navigable enough to retrieve the buried body."

Sheriff Stilinski and Tyhurst stood shoulder to shoulder only their dispositions were entirely different, the Sheriff stood standoffish while Tyhurst was relentless. Under the rubble that the Hale House was where they uncovered a body of a young man with his face crushed in. Correction, kicked in, but the crash of collapsing floor beams into the basement made it easy to mistake. Tyhurst waited on that report for particular reasons. He noted the deliberately missing fingernails, but he wasn't the only one.

The Sheriff figured the fingernails had been pulled because whoever did it wanted to keep any DNA from staying underneath. Perfectly reasonable conclusion to draw, because why would anyone jump to the conclusion that Werewolf claws had been yanked out? Or the face had been destroyed not just to keep the identity obscure, probably, but to get the fangs out and not very professionally.

From the build it was easy to assume the victim was a teenager, probably a runaway (more than likely an Omega like the more recent pattern).

"It takes about 1400 - 1800 degrees centigrade for a human body to burn," Tyhurst voice was crisp and clear even through the medical mask he wore. He turned to the Sheriff who looked both discomforted and as ashy as the debris around them, but Tyhurst continued his observation. "So, this young man wasn't incinerated under this roof. He was moved there and there's something else." With gloved hands he moved the body with such delicate care to turn it on his side, then taking a pen from his pocket he put pressure on the chest cavity, right between and gap of two ribs that were open and exposed. He kept going until he touched at a brown-black piece of stone, only it gave way under pressure and showed signs of pink beneath.

"It's un-burnt within," Tyhurst displayed the evidence and Stilinski surprised himself by how closely he inspected. "He had air in his lungs when he died," explained coming to his feet, dusting off his knees as he did so. The investigation allured him certainly, but the gore didn't, and he took a few quick steps back before he allowed himself the luxury of an easy breath. After a moment, the Sheriff followed. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking whoever rigged the house to go up didn't expect the rain," the Sheriff glanced around at the structure still clinging to the shape of a house. He noticed that the frame stood strong enough to keep the top-most floor aloft but the panels from the walls had holes like Swiss cheese and the stairwell had looked like something resembling a DNA module. But the fire-marshal deemed it safe enough to poke through, which left them enough room to get investigate and guestimate. And the Sheriff played a good game at first guesses. "If they had they would have figured out the math between burning the house and burning the body and gone another route. Fingernails and hair are the first thing to go in the fire as well, am I right?" Tyhurst nodded and the Sheriff took that as lead to continue "so even if we're looking at a homeless person, our murderer still didn't want the identity of the victim picked up. So, if it is a runaway probably young enough to be in the system because parents would still be looking for them?"

A pang struck the Sheriff, like a biting down on an open nerve when he should have gotten a root canal seen to a long-long time ago. Despite having his son home and (relatively) safe there had been a long-standing fear that a report of a body would come in of a teenage boy, injured, murdered, mutilated and he would have to identify and collect Stiles' corpse.

"Do you think you can get identification from this?" the Sheriff said coolly, removing emotion from his tone.

"Yes," Tyhurst replied without hesitation. The Sheriff looked surprised by the answer but then pleased by it. "This means I'll have to tap some other resources, sir. If that's alright with you?"

He gave a nod. They climbed out of the rubble in silence and stood on the lip of where the porch began. Or more rightly, 2 feet back from that on the new line of where the porch began. Tyhurst looked to the markings on the door and back to the Sheriff who followed his eye line.

"Think it means anything?"

Tyhurst shrugged, "graffiti." He suggested and the Sheriff gave another nod. The County took the property over long ago and neighborhood kids frequented sneaking onto it for pranks, so it wasn't too far off process of thought. "None I'm familiar with."

"I can look into it," Tyhurst offered knowing it would deflect a bit there, but the Sheriff was kind enough to suggest the task for one of his Deputies, you know someone more familiar with the locals. Fine. They wouldn't come up with anything. Not likely, but if it kept them busy and out of the Hunters' way it was good enough for him.

Identifying the corpse was the thing; shadows at the corners of his vision that said a who's who of Werewolf packs had much to say about what lay beneath. If Tyhurst didn't make a move soon there would be blood spilled over ashes. If that were so, he intended to make sure it was the right sort.

"No offence, but for once I'm actually glad that you're here," the Sheriff said to Tyhurst wearily. The man had background in government that left him impeachable.

"I'm afraid to ask where you learned all this?" the Sheriff said only half in jest.

"Would you believe me if I said the C.I.A.?" Tyhurst said after a pause, his face just shy of smirking.

"Not even a little," they walked in silence to the edge of the property line where the Chief's cruiser was parked.

Tyhurst appreciated that the Sheriff didn't blurt out all of their findings. Instead, the Sheriff instructed his Deputies to meet back at the station. In addition to the Fire Marshals' final assessment, without the coroner's forensics report he didn't have much he could prove.

Tapping into a newborn sense of camaraderie Sheriff Stilinski offered Tyhurst a lift back into the station but he declined, insisting he wanted to stick around a little longer. He looked on over the distance as the coroner's team, all of two people cautiously and very incrementally slooowly removed the corpse from the premises. The grime, soot and gore didn't put him off, instead he wanted to confer with the coroner if/when there would be an autopsy and when he could take samples.

Just as they parted, and the Sheriff climbed into his car he had to add "I bet you really did learn all this in the C.I.A."

That time Tyhurst smirked.

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Track 02 - Midnight by Coldplay

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{Meanwhile Argent's House, 2nd Floor, Meeting/War Room, 5th Ring of Hell}

"Are you okay?" Scott asked.

"I'm okay," Allison smiled briefly when she answered because she wasn't, even less so when she realized Scott had actually asked Stiles just over her shoulder. "Of course, you're asking Stiles" her smile went lopsided and laughing, "and not me."

"I mean, I know you're okay," his hand moved along her shoulder and smoothed the line of her spine, his confidence in her was as straight as her back. Allison flashed a quick brave smile that flickered out as soon as she stepped out of their way.

"No." Stiles shook his head and didn't look up as he calculatingly closed display windows on the tabletop. "Not okay. Not remotely okay." He didn't elaborate so she left Scott to continue his poking.

Lydia reorganized the stack of folders she pulled from the shelves. She had memorized the order of evidence but seemed to get stuck on a few. Allison came up beside her and found herself feeling déjà vu.

"Lydia, are you okay?"

"Uhm," she scanned through the documents in a pile she balanced awkwardly, cradled into her chest so that only she could see them. After a moment she acknowledged Allison. "No, I don't think so. This Omega, the girl, I remember her. I saw her attack and I thought it was mine. Everyone keeps saying she looked like me."

Allison peaked over Lydia's shoulder, "I guess." The girl held some resemblance, but the mauled image made it hard to tell, plus she didn't want to compare her to Lydia. But the location where the victim's body was found, and where Lydia was spotted after her fugue state was nearly on point. The date aligned with the night of Scott's last nightmare when he dreamt he attacked Lydia. When he called her desperately seeking confirmation of her well-being and Allison lied, she lied because she was camped outside of Jackson's place. With a surge of refusal, Allison slid the folder closed "but she isn't you. You know you don't just dream of things to stop them; you dream of things that have special meaning and that night you shared that dream with Scott."

Lydia blinked a few times, the worry lines were replaced with bright-eyed openness.

"Scott has been having these dreams?"

"He has some dreams," part of Allison should have felt bad for revealing this secret but she knew 1) this settled some of those detachment issues Lydia was working through and 2) Lydia was exceptionally good with secrets. "Not exactly like yours. It's hard to explain," and it wasn't a lure to force her best-friend and boyfriend to get along more. It was true her non-supernatural brain couldn't wrap around it.

Lydia looked uncertain for a moment then opened her mouth to speak and stopped, her lips pursed in thought. Finally, she hooked onto it, "do you think this girl died because of us?"

Allison's conviction hardened. Her Hunter instinct to fight and protect, said firmly "no." She took the half the folders from Lydia's arms urged her back to work, not to distract but to urge to hurry along. She got where Lydia was coming from and though she couldn't 100% disagree she said, "but because of the Monster that's got its hooks into you? I'd say definitely not."

No guilt weighed the air; Lydia looked to Allison for a chink in her armor but saw only that conviction that she needed to lead her through the dark. She looked down to her files and smiled softly before putting on a braver face and starting toward the shelves.

"You should really talk to Scott about this," said Allison speeding to keep up.

"Talk to me about what?" asked Scott who stood beside the archive booth with Derek's file in hand.

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"Is there something I can do?" Scott offered.

"This is like looking for a cohesive pattern in spider-webs," Stiles muttered closing out another window.

"If anyone can find one I'm sure it'll be you," Scott assured him but Stiles shook his head in negation.

"No way. I'm too close to it. It's like l can't see the forest through the trees," Stiles insisted.

"Or you can't decipher your cliché from your mix metaphor," Isaac mumbled closing off readjusting the lights and seats to make it look as though no one had been in the War Room at all.

Stiles actually smiled at that. After a moment he handed his notebook back to Scott.

"When you look at that what's the first thing that pops up at you?"

Scott hesitated. He knew even holding the damn thing made Stiles' hair stand on end. He looked to his friend who looked on with his hands clutched, fingers laced in a bundle under his nose. His eyes gleamed intently, and he looked like he would gnaw through his hands.

What popped out to him in the shapes that Stiles had drawn were the cliffs. He wondered how it all tied together. And when he remembered that their Cliffside story wasn't meant to be the beginning at all, he looked again at the list of victims as neatly as Stiles' rushed scrawling allowed on the margin lines.

Sure, Claudia ranked among the strange events but not earliest.

Among the list of so many, Stiles' brethren, victims, the separated list of Betas alongside Omegas, Scott noted a standout. It felt safe to assume some connectivity. 'Primal Pack, Kali, Pelt, Satomi, Deucalion…'

"They're the same, the names of the packs," his mind hooked onto something. "They're all the same ones Kate said were here 15 years ago." '...Ennis & Vaughan...'

"Including the Hales," Stiles agreed and wrung his hands.

"So, they've been targets ever since way back then," Scott followed a train of thought. The drawing hardly mattered but the names, the frequency, therein lay its one hiccup.

"I've gotta know if they're all connected why is my Mom included? The freak show murders- crashing my Mom's car. And now the police are out there?" Stiles rubbed his hands down his face to rub off some anxiety. It didn't work, his mind split between worries for his pack, his friends and the one living family member he had left that willingly putting himself in the center of this mess. He felt a possibility come clear "unless she wasn't who it was after."

"Or what it was after," Scott suggested. He gave an earnest smile to carry Stiles from under another weight of relentless survivor's guilt. After all, once he saw Claudia Stilinski on the list he felt just as compelled, Stiles wasn't alone in the car. "It's going to be okay Stiles. We'll figure it out."

"Are you always this disgustingly optimistic?" asked Stiles, his expression worried changed to a different color of worry.

"Yeah," Scott admitted, scratching the line of his jaw with the edge of the notebook. "Sorry?"

"No. It's good," Stiles eased up a little, a smile started to spread. "I'm with ya. I gotta say that this new-found heroism is making me very attracted to you."

Scott grinned and pushed him back to work, "shut up."

"You know, the sooner we get out of here the sooner we can figure out how much more info these Hunters are hiding really," Isaac grumbled collecting the last of the Derek's coroner's report into its folder.

"Seriously, what's the point of you, aside persistent negativity and the scarf," Stiles snapped. "We need her!" Stiles surprised himself at how quickly he came to Allison's defense.

"You mean, to input the close-out code on the table," Scott humored Stiles his embarrassment. "I'll just go get her" Scott handed back Stiles' notebook and took hold of Derek's manilla folder before turn toward the archive booth where the girls worked and left the foster brothers to their obvious growing contention.

Instead, they stared at one another; Stiles looked to Isaac with a narrowing glare.

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"What are you looking for now?" Isaac slipped alongside Stiles. He rubbed his thumb along his brow in nervousness and kept his tone low.

"I don't know yet," and Stiles didn't care who listened. He flipped page by page through his notebook crossing through line after line of theory, while he tried to memorize line after line of data on the tabletop screens.

"Whatever it is, you'll find it," Isaac reassured him and Stiles answered with an eye-roll. "You weren't that far off course," and that got him a grunt.

"I was right there Isaac," Stiles stopped writing and closed his eyes, dropping his head low but not touching the table. After a breath he looked up, remorse darkened his gaze, as he remembered his forest, "I might as well have been a million miles away."

"So, what's the plan instead," said Isaac, a hint of callousness in his tone. "Give up?" Stiles blinked at him in confusion and followed it up with a look as if he had eaten something rotten. "Do we go back?" at that suggestion Stiles outright scoffed. "Exactly," Isaac shrugged, "so what has your scheming brain thought up already? Share it with the rest of the class."

"You really think it just comes to me," Stiles snapped his fingers, "like the solutions just line up?"

"I didn't say they would be good ones," Isaac gave a slight nod. Stiles sniffed back a scoff, barely but didn't do much to hide his smirk. At least they could agree on that.

"Stiles, for weeks you were a few feet away spying on all of us- your family," Isaac leaned onto the edged of the table and said low as he remembered the weeks he spent trying to find a place in BHHS, a single person in Beacon Hills, one friend in the silence but he was alone. "I didn't know."

Stiles gave a snort as he laughed and stood straight "are you trying to tell me it's a good thing someone's trying to hide things under our noses?"

"Uh, I don't know, am I?" Isaac kept his hands on the edge of the table as he straightened his back, stretching his arms out. A cat had such traits rather than a wolf.

Shaking his head, Stiles loosened his thoughts, "shit, it is a good thing we know someone is trying to hide things under our noses." He chewed his lips before he spoke again at the speed of his thoughts, "when we were attacked on the road by the second time, they didn't bother to hide it but the first attackers was a sneak attack. That is the real threat. That is our murderer; #1. The others don't matter."

"I don't know," Isaac's bitterness leaked into the space between them and he had to step back to make room. "They mattered enough to've destroyed every remaining member of our pack."

"Listen." Stiles rummaged his notes once more and ran his fingers along red pen marks that swirled along blue bic drawings on trails that led from highways into Mountains, "Derek's death was an outlier. Even though Derek was snatched by the Alphas up by Southbridge his murder took place in the North and was made to look like an animal which fits the first killer's M.O. It was sudden and disorganized which is in contrast to any ransoming," Stiles jabbed at a mark on his scrawled map distinctly so far south that it might as well have been a different county.

"What are you getting at?" asked Isaac.

"Any Alpha wouldn't have grabbed Cora because without a Hale Alpha there was no one to ransom her to. Which leads to the second assumption," he shuddered to think, even as he tried to calm his focus and failed, "let's assume the 1st killer has her, that's the 'Monster' due to the M.O.," he tapped the pen against his notebook with a growing ferocity, "since it didn't kill her on the spot and Derek seemed certain she was alive we don't have a reason to doubt it. Now, we haven't seen any sign of her than either a) she's still captured and alone or b) she's escaped and alone."

"You don't think Derek could have escaped his kidnappers?" Isaac threw out there because he wasn't exactly sure he could follow Stiles' reasoning.

Stiles gaze narrowed in thought then he shook his head resolutely, "I think if he did, he would have ended up in exactly the same spot." He displayed by drawing a light line of dots along from the length of miles from where Derek had been kidnapped to where he had been found. "Killed and made to look like the rest of the deaths going through the county so the authorities wouldn't suspect it."

"What do you think we can do about it?" Isaac came close again and tried to follow along the dots as Stiles traced a second and third hypothetical trail the length of Beacon Hills that Derek could have travelled without crossing any major streets or walkways. To not have made contact and travelled that distance unseen would take more than a desperate act.

"Nothing. Goddamn nothing." Stiles voice rose with frustration. He hit the side of the table hard, not hard enough to leave a mark but hard enough everyone in the room turned to look. Exhale noisily and stared at the ceiling then added quietly, "I feel like I'm standing in a goddamn graveyard. Sitting on our laurels, sniffing each other's asses."

After a pause Isaac picked up the notebook from where it fell between them on the bench, then added "Unless laurels means on a pile of battle axes and missile launchers then I don't think it accurately describes how I feel about this."

"Can't you at least be a little helpful?" Stiles sniggered and looked at him sidelong.

"I might be a little bit more supportive if I stopped getting shot, threatened and crushed under falling debris," Isaac rolled his eyes and slid closed the shelf draw at the edge of the table.

"You say that like you're not okay now," Allison followed popping up on the opposite side of the table, sliding closed another draw, "you want to know the same things I do. Are we okay?"

Stiles gave snort at the sight of Isaac's face gone steely and blank. "We're totally okay," he lied.

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Track 03 - Slipping Around by Zhala

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{Later still – Outskirts of The Hale Estate}

"How do you suspect this will turn out then?" Deucalion said with the cool detachment.

"I 'suspect' it's another goddamn dead body, Deucalion," Ennis nose flared as he breathed out, he might as well have been a steam engine for all the tension that rolled through him. "Just like the last damn dead body. Just like the next goddamn one."

"What would you do Ennis?" Deucalion's tone changed in deceptive melodic increments. Ennis wasn't one easily deceived by Deucalion, and he knew the man felt just as furious, even if his voice wouldn't raise. "Would you kill the next person you suspect? Or the next 'goddamn' one after that?"

He waited long enough to force Ennis to turn toward him, whether to glare or to ask something more. "Then you would be the one making dead bodies, Ennis. Then Kali and I would be combing these woods for you."

At the mention of Kali's name Ennis could have gnawed his arm off for his own restlessness but this man walked on the wind of agelessness for all his pains.

"There, there brother," Deucalion derided gently, "surely you can't still be sore over something that couldn't have been helped," Deucalion sounded reasonable. He SOUNDED reasonable but in truth he was poking a bear. The man's smile, no, barely the upturn of the corner of his thin lips was like a stab at Ennis' brain.

"This can be helped. Kali backstabbing me could have been helped and you know it," Ennis showed all his teeth in a grimace that was nowhere near a smile. His fingers dug into the bark of a tree as he edged forward not exactly leaning in for a race, but he wanted to move because standing still would kill him if he had to do it for a minute longer, certainly near this madman.

"And with our numbers decreasing your solution is war?" Deucalion said.

"Says the man with screams coming from your home every night."

"You can hear that from your Motel out in the Styx? Let me ask you, no let me ask your torturer, those cries coming from my home what do they really sound like. Because they don't sound like screams to me at all, they sound like secrets... Oh, you can't ask your torturer, can you? Where has the good doctor Kane run off to?"

"Tell me, Deucalion, when you're out of secrets and you're out of friends, you've gotta walk over those hills and through the woods before you get back to civilization, amiright? How are you planning on managing that safely, Old Man. I've heard your types don't tend to make it."

"While the two of you had your pissing contest the body has been tagged and filed away," taciturn voice cut through the crap. Tyhurst's tone tended to cut through most attitudes, fortunately arrogance qualified.

"I wanna see it!" Ennis insisted, his foul mood turning from Deucalion to Tyhurst easily.

"No can do," the Hunter's expression twitch barely perceptive, his amusement rippled something along the features, just around his crow's feet. He reminded patiently "there are procedures put in place."

"I don't give a rat's ass about what you suits have to say, I'll break down those police station doors. I want the body, it belongs to us," and as Ennis spoke, as his voice deepened his fangs extended. Then it was Deucalion's amusement to have shown in an obvious smirk.

"First off, you need to step back. They don't even keep bodies in the police department. No one does. They take them to the city morgue," Tyhurst pointed out coolly and Ennis took a step back, infuriated. "Secondly, the 'procedure' we have put in place are between Werewolves and Hunters is for exactly this reason. Maybe the two of you think it's okay to be at the jugular but once it spills over into threatening civilians we will intervene."

"Will you now?" Ennis very nearly wanted him to because he wanted to make something pay for his grief and loss. Any and everyone standing in his path would do, the stuffed shirt especially looked like a good target.

Deucalion put a handout on Ennis' shoulder and divided his attention, momentarily diverting his temper.

"Of course, he will," Deucalion reminded in that familiar superior tenor of his. "He has a moral duty to the body- that is if you're still willing to listen."

And like that Ennis' fangs retreated and his temper was momentarily diffused.

Tyhurst gave them both a look from top to bottom and analyzed if they were up to the task of actually taking information in without immediately blowing their tops. Although unsure of them, he was sure of himself enough to handle them if not.

"Preliminary exam: the fire was set up to leave the basement passable enough to get to where the corpse was concealed. But the victim could have been killed somewhere else on the premises, too hard to tell. The area has been too deteriorated by both the elements and explosion but as you can see," he pointed off toward the doorway in particular and the wood board left hanging off a hinge, "from the marks there, I'm pretty certain someone wants revenge."

"What about the body?" Ennis insisted.

Tyhurst took a moment and looked from the house back to them, dragging a trail marking a growing interest.

"Like I said there was significant fire and smoke damage done, deliberately made to the body as well. Identification is going to be hard. We were hoping the terrain would give us a clue, but it's only confirmed he was killed somewhere else, and this scene was staged."

"He?" Deucalion clued in.

"Yeah," Tyhurst sighed and dispassionately ran through details. "He's been dead a couple of days. He's got both defensive and offensive wounds, his skin mostly healed up before it melted flat, but he still had internal lacerations that didn't get enough time to heal up before the deathblow. He had a lot of fight in him before he went down. He's got a decent crack to the face that looks to have been post-mortem to keep him unidentifiable or knock his fangs out, probably both. But a break at the base of his neck was likely the thing that killed him. The Sheriff's department noted that his fingernails have been pulled, they think it was because whoever did this wanted to keep any DNA from underneath."

"A theory you didn't help along, I'm sure."

"I'm sure you're sure," Tyhurst ignored Deucalion's' cool condescension. "It's easier to assume a murderer is the only creature in these woods tonight."

Even Deucalion's coolness twitched at the cast away commentary. "Anything else to offer, Hunter? Anything useful?" Deucalion insisted. He played at confusion when he only meant to play his cards close to the chest.

"Like an actual description of the guy?" Ennis teetered on anger once more.

"Ah," Tyhurst flicked wet hair out of his eye. The dew still pelted lightly off the low leaves of the near trees, and he imagined it made for decent coverage, scent-wise. Werewolves weren't the cleverest in an emotional fight even if they were eager for it. If this all came across as bad news, well then it would be bad wouldn't it. "I guess you must be missing members if you're this invested-" he didn't wait for a reply, he looked between them for how they looked to each other for combative gestures "-I couldn't say for sure, but I would say 165-167lbs. medium build, about 6' 3 and young."

A crack went through the air as Ennis put his fist into the trunk of the tree nearest. It wasn't quite comparable to the guttural sound he gave off when, growling he yanked his hand out and took a third of the tree's core with it.

Tyhurst hand went to the gun on his hip as he came to the end of his sentence while Deucalion stepped aside, with a stoic expression betrayed by his claws that came unfurled.

"I take it you can identify the victim?" Tyhurst said calmly, he breathed out ready for the blow back when Ennis snarled in his face with eyes enflamed and a snarl on his lips.

"What's it to you?!"

"Calm. Down." Tyhurst insisted in his most professional voice and took one large step back from beneath the trembling tree with the shaky trunk and the raining leaves. "I can't release the body without a positive ID."

"The boy's name is Quint," Deucalion supplied. "I suppose Ennis would be nearest kin since Quint's Father bolted a few days ago."

"So, another Omega?" Tyhurst logged mentally. Ennis didn't like the comment and ground down his footing in a gesture to move toward him, but Tyhurst stood his ground.

"He didn't run away. He was run out by that bitch, Kali!" he shouted.

Deucalion looked to Tyhurst almost in a way of warning before he simply shook his head. At a certain point thing had dissolved into bickering which resolved nothing.

"Your classification system doesn't make him any less dead, Ennis. Helping that kid get some respect is all I'm trying to do," Tyhurst voice tone became clipped in punctuation, reminding Ennis of his status.

"It's not about respect!" shouted Ennis, with red glowing eyes and gleaming fangs. "It's about justice!" he thrust out his hand, palm out dead center into Tyhurst chest and sent him in an arch, nearly 10ft landing sprawled onto his back.

On his side, Tyhurst feigned weakness and rolled back, he took advantage of Ennis' underestimation and unseen pulled out a gun. While growling and posturing, Ennis missed the taser Tyhurst shot from the waist. The wires connected to Ennis' collar bone and sent him into seizures. He dropped to the floor writhing, his Alpha features melted away as he fell into the rainwater Tyhurst used as an accelerated conductor.

As he had planned all along Tyhurst stepped calmly forward, avoiding the puddles, and waited for an extremely long period of time before letting go of the trigger and pulled out the probes. With his right hand he kept his Desert Eagle .50 trained steadily on Deucalion. His heart rate went steady, with an expression of anger from being pushed just a little too far.

"Come on Hunter-"

"Tyhurst," he reminded he had a name.

"Alright," Deucalion put his hands up with claws withdrawn, "don't make us part of a historical cliché."

Tyhurst brow rose, piqued in annoyance and without warning he fired two shots. They went over Deucalion's head into a tree near off and after a howl in pain there came the sound of scratches when Kali came sliding down a tree trunk to an inelegant heap on the forest floor.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to bring claws to a gunfight?" Tyhurst called to Kali while he replaced his weapons into their holsters.

Deucalion went to Kali's side along with Tyhurst, they noted his perfect aim, one silver bullet to each calf. "You'll heal once you dig them out, but you're going to have a helluva' time digging them out," he grunted dusting off his clothes from mud and clinging leaves.

Not that she didn't know that already, not that she wasn't writhing in pain, not that she wasn't swearing and threatening and, in her rage, admitting her furious intent to "kill who ever I have to!"

"What would it have helped, Kali?" Deucalion tried to reason. "A skirmish becomes a war. A murder becomes a massacre."

"Don't you understand, we must do whatever is necessary," she wheezed out.

"Then we end up no better than our enemy?" Deucalion asked.

She scoffed and looked to Tyhurst over his shoulder and back to him "Deuc, everyone is the enemy."

He shook his head in disappointment. He would have helped her from the woods, he might even have tried to shield her from Ennis' anger when he awoke but upon thinking he realized it would have put him between a rockhead and hardhead. He encouraged the Hunter to walk away, told him there was war no matter what either of them said. When 'Tyhurst' (whom he called by name) asked if this meant there would be more bodies in the woods, Deucalion admitted he wasn't sure about the future but he and his pack were about to check the Preserve because (he dusted soot off the Tyhurst's shoulder) there was the scent of war in the air.

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Track 04 - Breathe Me vs Young God (mashup) by Gingergreen Mashup

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{Still at Argent's House, 2nd Floor, Meeting/War Room, 5th Ring of Hell}

While lost in his thirst for knowledge Stiles lingered by the Multi-Touch table, lips pursed in thought while he rolled the notebook down to a tube, as if he could squeeze more information from it. Meanwhile Isaac followed Allison as she stepped along keeping busy with their exit strategy. He lingered next to her, with words of apology that Allison admired for rehearsed delivery.

Isaac tried to explain away why he would jump to bitter and judgmental conclusion about Hunters- "I mean, think of how we were raised." Which wasn't the winningest argument and got a few dirty looks, he followed it up with, "but now that we know the killer used techniques a Hunter would use, it just makes sense."

"Or any supernatural that doesn't shapeshift. Or a druid. Or an emissary. Or just about anyone who has ever read a bestiary-" she reminded.

Then Stiles came over and handed her a cordless power drill the size of an assault rifle, that he removed from a compartment in the wall and Isaac quieted. When she started to remove bolts from the ventilation shaft above the toilet Isaac asked with the exact phrasing, "do you need help using the bathroom?"

At which point Stiles had the dignity to leave the booth to check on the others.

.

When the metal panel came free with an unappealing screech Isaac hopped to attention and grabbed onto the ends, steadying it before the fall.

"I got this."

"Why?" Allison snorted at his eagerness to please. With a slight smirk she shoved off the rest of the panel's weight onto him. "You feeling a little foolish?"

"Yeah," Isaac grunted beneath it, surprised at its heft. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"Isaac," Allison smiled and went back to work unhinging the ventilation shaft's internal brace, "I admit I've made mistakes, but the action of every Hunter is not my fault." Grunts punctuated her statement while she drilled away at another bolt.

"I can see that," Isaac considered the more he learned of the Hale's past the more he questioned their dependability. "Is that how you see us?"

As an afterthought it occurred to him, if Allison was raised with similar prejudices, she had the same right to resent him- hell, to resent each of them because of the things Werewolves have done to Hunters throughout history.

Instead, she rolled her eyes and tossed him another bolt. He struggled to catch hold, unaccustomed to being physically weak he juggled the objects. Another bolt.

"You're struggling because of the mineral in the mortar we make the walls from. Its scattering light and the affects it has on shapeshifters."

Another bolt followed by a creaking.

"All sorts of people come to us for advising," she cut through his theory of how the Argents related to supernatural beings. "When they ask to meet on equal footing there really isn't an ideal place for that. So, we created one." With that she pulled at the brace with all her weight, satisfied at the rattle it gave off, "this is why even you're going to need help pulling the vent away from the house's outer-wall, Isaac."

Dismissing Isaac's utter discomfort at having his Werewolfiness brought down by minerals and herbs he also didn't like the idea that his gesture of apology would be trumped by a ringer. He dropped the bolts to the floor with a clatter and when Allison climbed onto the ledge above the toilet he didn't move to follow.

"Did I say something wrong?" she squirmed around in the entrance of the passageway to face further toward him.

"No, nope. What makes you think reminding someone of their mortality could be taken the wrong way?" he shrugged crossed his arms and did anything to keep from making eye contact.

Allison laughed lightly and dropped down from the ledge. "You know coming from someone in the holier than thou Hale Pack I would be careful where to hedge my bets."

They stared at one another for a moment, top to bottom, arms crossed, smirking in kind.

"Should we start again?"

"You mean, Again-again?" he bit down on an urge to laugh.

"We have really gotten ourselves into a situation," she put her hand on his crossed arms and pulled it undone from the digging grip. "We're lucky we're friends. We'll figure it out eventually."

Isaac shook his head and tried to hang onto her words as they swam against his insecurities. It wasn't that long ago when he saw the hallucinated ghosts of his dead pack members walking through the poisoned mist, throughout that Allison stood beside him.

"I'm going to go get Scott," he said instead of 'Thank You' but gratitude was in his tone as he smiled and walked away.

.

Despite the claim that they should talk, Scott and Lydia worked in silence. Lydia's virtually photographic memory had her calling out easy instructions for Scott to speed through. Every time he paused to see if she would say something 'now', instead she gave a glare that demanded 'move on.'

Finally, he asked without daring to look "what's bothering you? You shouldn't be embarrassed," he took a stab in the dark. Lydia would barely talk to him about her abilities never mind being exposed in front of so many. "You helped everyone. I don't even know how to begin-."

"Are you kidding me?" she handed over the following folder and whacked him in the arm. "All I did was complicate things. Those answers only made new questions and made everything worse."

"How is everything worse?" Scott stood at a crooked angle to keep balance on the stepping stool and unintentionally blocked Lydia's exit. "You helped give our friends closure," he insisted.

"But at what cost?" she shook her head and struggled to keep her voice from rising. "We've entirely lost the plot!"

"What does that mean?" Scott slipped down one step. He stabilized himself and after a moment, once the threat of collapse passed, he looked to her in apology as the file in hand fell apart on the floor at their feet.

"Oh, Scott," she dropped to her knees, and he hopped down to the steps to the floor in front of her.

"It's like Ms. Blake said in English class about the narrators' perspective," she explained calmly as they handed pages back and forth into sequential order. "Learning there is more than one killer doesn't make a difference- there could be 2 or there could be 20, it didn't change the situation just the perspective."

Scott helped her up and moved aside so that she could safely return the folder to its rightful place. "English is not my best subject," Scott maintained with a smile "but how could figuring that out not make a difference?"

After she pushed the folder into its place Lydia turned around to face Scott fully. He held the same smile but with a new tint of worry. She sighed deeply feeling at ease in the small space because it felt familiar with their whispers.

"I didn't exactly see what Derek saw," she explained. "I could hear it so crisply. I felt like I was in his skin, do you know what I mean?"

He nodded.

"Yeah, I think you do. When I get these sorts of nightmare visions-"

"Do you feel like you're the person it's happening to?" Scott's tone turned thick with worry, his eyes seem a little darker. He was never very good at hiding how much he cared for things.

"Sometimes," Lydia admitted in contrast she never found it easy to display vulnerability. "When I said I'd help I thought it would make up for how I've been, for the way I act." When Scott shook his head and started in on that speech of his saying 'she didn't have to' Lydia ignored him and bullied passed it like she always did. "Finding the answers weren't exactly a priority. But my redemption story just turned into a ghost story now that everyone knows what a freak I am. And even when I can do whatever it is I can do, I'm useless."

"That's crazy-talk," Scott assured her but his poor choice in words wounded her. Her eyes darted around searching his face intently not quite a glare but something terribly incriminating.

"And you? When you offered to help your bros, I bet you thought it would be a buddy action-adventure you'd reminisce over pizza and Pepsi," she glanced toward the rest of the room where weapons lay, and their friends worked at dismantling a wall to break them out of a Hunter's War Room and some horrific end. "And now?"

Scott didn't have an answer, but she was right in assuming this excursion turned out nothing like he had expected, not from the moment they first set eyes on Stiles in the middle of the woods.

"What is it to you now Scott? Is it still an action-adventure or a murder mystery?"

Scott considered the moments he spent in the car discussing things over with Allison, how he wanted to stop the Monster and would coerce their friends to do it. Or even how he'd grabbed extra files of the dead to shove into Stiles' face in an attempt to manipulate his attention.

"Now what's it to Stiles?" she sighed as Stiles walked toward them, his notebook wrung tight into a tube. "Detective story turned into a quest for revenge?"

"Lydia, if your nightmares are anything like mine than we know it's not our fault, it's not in our control," he reached and touched her arm. Scott couldn't imagine what plot was meant to play out between them only that he refused to be abandoned to confusion. Not from playground to battlegrounds. "But we affect our story because of what we take from it, right?"

"You were paying a little bit of attention in English," she teased and brightened a little, just a little. She breathed out a slower and calmer breath. The strangeness shared between them once cut her off, but he had heard her say she didn't want that anymore.

"If we're going to keep being thrown together," he started, to quote with care. "We need to agree to terms," his hand ran along her arm and hooked her fingers. Lydia's mouth twitched into a smile as she tried to keep his gaze but sometimes their intensity intimidated her. He continued "we need to believe, even if it seems like our perspectives keep changing, we're still sharing the same story. That's never going to change."

"Fine," she squeezed his hand before letting it go. Lydia recognized her words thrown around with a Scott-esque twist. "Still an idiot with a hero complex," she smiled a bit wider than worried, "but when things get dark-"

"With all of our different perspectives," he thought on her analogy, "we can just try and see from each other's instead?"

"Okay," Lydia tilted her head to not look straight at him from fear of (maybe even) laughing.

"Okay?" asked Scott insistently with grin.

"Is everything okay?" Stiles asked, reluctantly inching toward them.

.

"Yeah, just a little worried," Scott admitted. He looked to Lydia almost for permission before he looked back to Stiles. "Everything's okay now."

"Great! Now," and when Stiles neared, he glanced high and low among the tall filling booth and tried to talk his way inside for a better look.

"Not a chance," Lydia pushed him back as she stepped out from little entryway. "Haven't you gotten enough yet? Or are you trying to get us all caught?"

"What do you mean by 'enough'?" Stiles stumbled until his back hit the edge of the table, then he jumped a step forward when he realized he smacked into the battle axe. He and Scott rushed forward, their hands hovering at odd, carefully non-spikey places to keep the thing from falling off the table.

"She is right about how much time we have left?" Scott reminded when he could steady his panicking.

"Still, it's not like we're going to get another chance to get into the Hunters' secret lair," he glared over their shoulders as Lydia and Scott stood as sentinels. The more he insisted the less articulate he became.

A snag in the back of Lydia's mind caught the better of her, "don't you have enough in your little notepad to work with already?" That stopped Stiles' rant, Scott said Lydia's name in a soft warning, but she was insistent, "you're already investigating your Father's investigation. Now you've got juicier mysteries on your plate, what else is it you're really looking for?"

"I'm not looking for trouble," he back-peddled.

"You're not doing too great at looking for answers either," she warned. So, he looked away, toward the clock as if a sudden impulse to get out quickly became of great importance.

"Didn't he leave that notebook in the forest?" she turned her head to ask Scott. He reluctantly nodded, remembering clearly when he then briefly flipped through it, locking away the sight of the familiar scrawl. It smelled so strongly of Stiles that Scott thought he might be able to use it to track him, instead it remained practically forgotten, shoved into the bottom of a backpack along with dirty socks.

"Maybe you're really good at remembering things," Stiles shrugged and tried to play off his discomfort for aloofness. "But some of us might want to get the details down before it slips our mind."

"Like your Dad does," Scott suggested, Stiles nodded like a bobble-head in his eagerness. "With a pin-board in the kitchen that almost anyone can sneak in and get a peek."

After a moment to process the change-up, Stiles shoved the notebook in his back pocket and stood a little taller.

"What am I supposed to do?" Stiles scoffed lightly.

"I don't know," Scott shrugged apologetically but didn't veer off topic. "We could help you," when he looked to Lydia, her expression held surprising openness as she gave the smallest nod.

"Don't let the details drive you crazy, Stiles," Lydia's voice gave a small tremor over the word crazy. The point she wanted to make was more important, the fact that she knew too well how over analyzing could tear up your waking thoughts she spoke with more confidence, "follow your instinct, but trust us to have your back. Maybe even help you make better choices."

Stiles' paranoia sensed they were up to something. But then he did spend more hours at night staring at the notebook than staring at the backs of his eyelids. And it didn't help that Lydia had quoted part of his voicemail back at him in a clear attempt at manipulation. In earnest assistance, yes but manipulation, nonetheless.

"I can't stand the idea of someone finding this," Stiles admitted when what he really meant to express was that he didn't like the idea of conceding the point.

"You could always burn it," Lydia said, mostly to get Stiles riled up.

"Is everything okay over here?" asked Isaac, wondering at Stiles grabbing with two hands to cover the pockets on the backside of his jeans.

"Fine. Great! Why? What do you wanna know?"

Scott ignored Stiles babbling and turned to Isaac and asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah, not exactly," the discomfort of his loss in super strength led to the equally uncomfortable situation of admitting to it. "I need your guys' help."

.

Mildly dusted in grime, Allison remained half-in and half-out of the vent that she lit with her cellphone light. She assured them it wasn't a cavernous as first anticipated but Isaac wasn't comforted at all. She dropped down once more and gave room for Scott and Isaac to work together to dislodge the frame. There wasn't enough room in for anyone else in the narrow bathroom-booth and Allison, Stiles and Lydia hovered by the entrance, waiting and not at all looking at the clock away on the wall. Although they heard its threatening tick.

The shimmying of the frame took longer than expected despite the two working together, even with Scott encouraging Isaac every second of the way. When it finally lurched forward it gave a vibrating jolt instead of a screech which surprised everyone.

Everyone froze until finally Allison said, "alright guys, let's move!"

With a little goading Isaac was first through the shaft, encouraged mostly because he saw the crack in the piping and with the breeze of the outside moon illuminated world, he felt compelled. Scott went through second, assuring Isaac if he hesitated Scott would be there to shove him the rest of the way. Allison urged Stiles to follow up when he stopped in the doorway of the bathroom.

"Wait? What are you doing?" Stiles refused to move forward. He noticed when Allison climbed back up onto the lid of the toilet seat, she had handed over the power drill to Lydia.

"Once we're outside it'll be easier for Scott to replace the vent and Lydia will seal it up from the inside," Allison gestured to the drill which Lydia held up in salute.

"Why can't Lydia just climb out with us?" asked Stiles "You can stay behind."

Lydia looked to Stiles and to Allison and back again. She was grateful to Allison's poker-face and Stiles' inability to hear any change in her heart rate at the moment. Allison never explained it to Lydia, but she had an instinct when Allison was pushing herself too far, and it was clear to her at least that Allison only trusted the guys with her family's secrets up to a point. She wanted to make sure the Werewolves didn't leave themselves a backdoor entrance to the War Room. She wanted to confirm with her own eyes that everything was securely sealed up and later with her usual access she could double-check the bathroom as well. Her paranoia was part of her personality, and it made her better at what she did, it made her an asset to her friends even, but it made it hard to explain why she had to leave Lydia, a non-Werewolf best-friend behind.

"This is part of the plan Stiles," Lydia insisted and shoved him, her bossy tone confused him, and she hoped it helped enough.

"Nope." Nope, not enough. "I don't like this," he reached his hands out and grabbed hold of the doorframe. "I'm not going."

"What do you mean?" Allison stared in shock.

"What's going on?" Scott poked his head out through the vent that creaked a little from his weight.

"I'm not leaving Lydia behind," Stiles crossed his arms. Lydia rolled her eyes at the dramatic flair in his statement.

"I thought that was the plan," Scott glanced from person to person. Allison looked bewildered, Lydia frustrated, and Stiles determined.

"Stiles, it'll be fine. Lydia can handle herself." Despite his assurance Scott hopped down from the shaft's ledge.

"Someone should stay with you," Stiles looked to Lydia intently and momentarily her argument left her mind. "What if some other Hunter shows up before Allison?" Stiles looked to Allison for confirmation, but she looked to the exit, her escape for all things.

"I'll stay," Lydia ignore his concern. "I'll be fine... we all agreed I'll be the fall guy."

"I'm so not okay with this," Stiles said, his mouth pressed into a line, and he shook his head. As usual, unflappable Lydia Martin, but this felt like something extra.

"Guys, go." Lydia pushed Allison and Scott back toward the vent and yanked at Stiles' arm to follow, the small space nearly turned into a skirmish.

"No." Stiles said, with his frown turned into a full-on pout as Scott shoved at his back.

"Hide if anything happens," Allison instructed and hugged her best-friend. Lydia watched her best-friend disappear into the shadowy depths.

"Nope, still not okay with it. Not going anywhere," Stiles said from several feet outside of the booth after he broke away.

Scott gave her a small smile of reassurance and went back to their plan, and he climbed through the vent in reverse. After delivering a cold glare over her shoulder Lydia climbed onto the toilet with the power drill held tight in hand. She looked murderous.

Once in the duct it was obvious Scott felt stronger than inside of the room. He was able to realign the vent's bracing without the help of another. He held it in place while Lydia drilled each bolt securely in place. He was merciful enough not to say a thing although his face said more than enough with just a small grin. When she finally smacked the grate into place over the ventilation shaft, she was grinning, too.

Stiles' attempt at coming to the rescue was ill-conceived when her arms were already sore from drilling, hair stuck to the back of her neck from sweaty exertion, and she only had the one bolt left.

She said "thank you" anyway when Stiles handed it to her because he looked apologetic. She wasn't sure she would ever get tired of the sound of his apologies, so she only glared a little and was gracious enough to allow him to help her down.

.

Track 05 - Sleep Tonight (Junior Boys) by Stars

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{Argent's House, Roof Top}

The rush of twilight felt flush against Isaac, and it was nothing like he could describe.

It took two minutes to scramble along through the tunneled spaced to the filter at the end, but no one crawled faster than Isaac. With a grunt and a bump of his fist the filter came loose, and their exit revealed. Scott kept up the rear so that he could readjust and seal off the opposite side which made Isaac even more grateful for how straight forward and easy it was to get through. He wasn't sure he could have survived that closed environment for more than it took for him to claw his way out.

He caught hold of the second story ledge and grappled with shingles to pull himself upward. While he stayed balanced in a crouch staring up at stars, through floating grey clouds he heard Allison call to him barely in a whisper.

"Hey," she said for the fourth time only this time he looked back at her. "Are you okay?" he nodded. "Alright then can you move over?"

He gulped feeling a little stupid and scuttled along trying not to topple or knock down shingles and make it obvious he was sneaking over her rooftops again. Just as he thought to offer help climbing out Allison glided from the lip of the shaft across the ledge, she caught the edge and swung her weight back and forth to catch enough momentum to fling herself up beside him.

"Hey," she greeted a little winded and with a grin. "I took gymnastics for 8 years," she explained when he still hadn't closed his mouth.

When she noticed Isaac's, breath hadn't calmed despite their newfound freedom. "Are you really, okay?" Allison asked.

"Yeah," he shrugged to keep his cool, "just not a big fan of small places."

"Come on," she insisted. Keeping him moving was best, she knew obsessing would make it worse, so she put an arm softly on his shoulder and shoved him along to make room for Scott. But she kept her hand there.

Without nearly as much class Scott crawled from the shaft onto the ledge beside them. Everything seemed to be working for their advantage until Allison asked where the vents' filter was.

"We have to close the exit guys. Otherwise, someone is going to know something came through there," she rolled her eyes when both boys made a suggestive face as to what comes out of bathroom vents anyway. "I mean someone came out of there. Isaac?" They looked to him questioning and he turned back blank-faced, his mind drew a blank. He back tracked and only remembered busting out not how exactly.

"It's okay. It's alright," Scott insisted and lowered his voice as he did when he remembered they were supposed to be sneaking.

"I see it!" Allison said excitedly but quietly. She pointed into the shadows on sleet and grey lines against the horizon. Somehow, she made out the flat piece where it had been tossed higher onto the slanted roof where the shingles were looser still. Without hesitation she ascended toward it.

"Should we-?" began Isaac, he made a hand gesture between them meaning one or the other should follow.

"She can handle it," affirmed Scott with a proud grin.

At that moment, the sound of shingles giving way scraped along and clattered about. One fell over the ledge and cracked onto in a flowerbed below. They looked up at the sight of Allison speeding backward, legs curled into a bundle too fast toward them. On instinct Scott put out a hand for Allison to hook before falling off. Tucked under her other arm she had the ventilation filter, and she wore a bright smile as though she expected, no, intended Scott to catch her all along.

"I got you," he grinned at her. He wished he had thought of something cleverer to say but that was all that came to mind.

"I know," laughing gently, she leaned over and kissed him.

"I know you know," rubbed his cheek softly against hers so that the words were less that sounds and more like a caress.

Allison closed her eyes inhaled, when she opened them again her expression was scrunched and wary in the way he dreaded, in the way that meant 'I'm sorry because things are about to get worse.' Scott nodded consent. With that she used his nearness as leverage and their embrace as hand holds to reach the ventilation shaft.

Scott's claws dug into the roof while Allison's nails dug into his shoulder for leverage, and she hung across to put the filter casement securely in place. It took a bit, more than a bit to get it to fit. And after a few grunts from Scott came a low growl and squeaked apologies from Allison it got done.

"I'm okay," Scott insisted although he looked shaken with eyes dimming from a state of amber "are you okay?"

"I'm okay, are you okay?" Allison asked in disbelief, one hand over her mouth the other tracing the outline of her deep scratches into Scott's shoulder blades.

"Alright, already! Guys, we're all okay," Isaac reminded just a bit louder "but Lydia and Stiles might not be if we don't hurry." The thought of their friends locked away powerless made him sick, and when Scott looked to him, he could see from his expression it was dread they shared. They turned to find Allison had already easily climbed halfway up the slanted rooftop before suggesting she move along. Once at the top she took a deep breath and flipped over the far edge like she had no reason to hesitate at all.

"Whoa," Scott said louder than he had realized.

"Apparently, she took 8 years of gymnastics," Isaac chuckled and put a hand on Scott's good shoulder. "Hey, come. We gotta go."

With a nod and a little bit of competitiveness they both flipped off the near windowsill, dropping down to Mr. Argent's study where they would wait out the night.

.

Track 06 - Place for Us by Mikky Ekko

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{Back in Argent's House, 2nd Floor, Meeting/War Room, 5th Ring of Hell}

"Would you stop pacing," Lydia's voice was tight and not a shout at all but their long silence made it seem like a scream.

Stiles stopped mid-step out of fright and let his foot down very, very slowly. She was not amused. The clock on the wall infuriated her but it wouldn't have done her any good yelling either.

"Stupid clock," Stiles muttered as if reading her mind. She sighed and moved to lean on the side of the table nearest the weapons. At least they were an interesting distraction.

"Is that armed?" he asked of the rocket launcher only after having placed himself on the farthest end.

"How would I know?" she glared but looked back at the weapon in wonder. While she investigated Stiles came up beside her.

"This stuff is crazy," he said and poked at it as if it would come alive and she shook her head in disapproval. "What? It is? Who keeps a rocket launcher hidden in their bedroom?"

"But the medieval axe is okay?" her eyes narrowed in critical disbelief.

"That's pretty bad-ass," he smirked, with that she rolled her eyes and stepped away. "Why would you want to stick around here alone?" he called out after her which made her stop mid-step.

"What?" she swung around, her hair spun with to further illuminate a comically false veil of innocence with gaped mouth and wide eyes.

"Don't 'what?' me," he made a flippant hand gesture to mock the flow of her hair. "What are you up to? You've been helpful before, but you've never been this helpful."

Lydia recalled her earlier conversation with Scott, the quiet confidence they shared about something close to this and she tried to lock it quickly away while thinking up what to say which took too long and his smirk lengthened. "oh, shut up."

"We both know you're trying to make up for something. What's so bad you gotta throw yourself in front of the literal bomb?" he drew closer but stopped part of the way between her and the weapons, not quite sure which was the more threatening.

"Well, you're not the only one trying to figure things out Stiles," she snapped back. She looked him over for any inch of mockery.

"Oh," he nodded and shifted his feet.

"We both know things have changed since the fire. You talked to Scott about it right?"

"Yeah," he nodded again and watched her intently. He stepped forward as cautiously as one would an open flame. "Did you want to talk to me about it?"

She bit her lower lip and shrugged. "Yeah, maybe."

He grinned then pressed his lips together trying to hide it. "Should I start?" he waved his hand airily like he held a literal olive branch. "Should I blame things on psychotropic Wolfsbane?"

She didn't move but like a micro-expression her face turned, a little more serious while her voice became softer across their distance. "Maybe. Or maybe we could admit 6 years changed some things." He only noted the moisture in her eyes when she sniffed them back harshly, "I feel a little more forgiving."

Moving the rest of the way to her Stiles put both hands on her shoulders and she bowed her head to the side, "yeah, to everyone but yourself."

"I used to have this idea about things," she started slowly, her arms were crossed creating a wall still between them, but her expression was tenderer than he had seen it since the first day in the Sheriff's department. He felt relieved to know she could still look him in the eyes again. "Things seemed simple when you were just a thought floating in my mind. Now you're here and everyone's reacting differently than I imagined. Now my nightmares are turning real, I feel like I've lost my mind so what's to keep you from walking away and turning into just a thought again?"

Stiles sighed and he gripped her shoulder hard. It seemed like the effort it would take to ground a hot air balloon. Sure, he believed these might be worries that poured through her head and they were guilty wounds he'd work the rest of his life to mend but it wasn't what he sensed when he watched her across the room tight in the booth with Scott.

"That's not what's bothering you?"

"No," she smiled softly, "it's not. Not when you're standing right in front of me."

He smiled at that.

"What's bothering me is figuring out how useful am I if I'm just crazy?"

He rolled his eyes at that "now you thinking that you're crazy IS crazy!" he scoffed. He ran his hands from her shoulders to where her arms crisscrossed and pulled them apart. He dragged her forward by her hands and went to face the booth, "you just need to learn to see you as you are now, then you'll recognize how powerful you are. We'll help you. I'll help you."

She stumbled forward reluctantly while her small smile grew into a smirk, "I figured you'd say something like that. You and Scott, you're so alike sometimes it's scary. It's your turn now?" she reminded. Her brow and tone rose insistently, "is there something you wanted to blame on psychotropics, or did you want to be honest this time?"

"I dunno," he looked to the ceiling for guidance from the fluorescent lights, Lydia squeezed his hands viscously. "Alright, alright, alright," he all but whimpered. "It isn't something that changed in 6 years it's something that shouldn't have."

Unaccustomed to the expression of stillness and wide-eyed concentration that she reserved for few, Stiles felt mute and a pressure for the right words to the say but in the end, they came easily to him.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said like a promise or a fact of some sort. Her calculating green eyes were drawn to the notebook poking into sight from the outline of his waist. His grip on her hands tightened and her eyes came back to look at his. "I mean it," he insisted.

A beeping interrupted their stillness, and their hands broke off. Lydia moved toward the door as the keypad lit up with the entry codes unlocking.

"Allison," she said with relief in her voice.

"It could be someone else," Stiles suggested with panic in his voice. But Lydia shook her head as if that were the silliest suggestion that were ever made. "We should check just in case," when he said it, her face scrunched up in distaste.

"Stiles-" she winced when he refuted. But he insisted and pulled them toward the tiny camera at the doorframe. There stood the sights of two men, two very distinct men, neither of which were their friend and savior Allison Argent.

"Come on, let's get under the table," he stepped over and waved to the spaced between two benches where they could crawl and squeeze into.

"Ohh, No!" she stood tall, poised in indignation with her hands up in defense. "You have got to be kidding me! I have seen to many bad movies to know this trope. I'm not letting you mount me!"

"I'm not-" Stiles voice rose in disbelief, his jaw dropped as if he had forgotten how to speak preventing him from articulating any rebuttal. The door gave off the sound of air displacement as pressure moved when locks released. "Would you just shut up and let me save us?" he insisted, and her glare settled an internal argument that he should think things through before spurting them out.

Lydia took his panicked silence as the go ahead, grabbed him firmly by the wrist and dragged him to disappear bellow the table seconds before Roman and Norm walked into the Argent's secret Meeting Room where there was armed weaponry.

.

Track 07 - Shake It Out (Acoustic) by Florence and The Machine

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{Return to Argent's House, 2nd Floor, Allison's Bedroom}

Allison rolled onto her stomach at the sound of her Mother calling her name. She had touched down onto the windowsill when her bedroom door began to push forward. Crawling along her belly against the tiles she made it to her bathroom window she pulled herself inside. She called back "I'm getting out of shower," Allison lied stripping off her clothes. "Is there something you needed, Mother?" she thought of wrapping herself up in a towel, walking out and waving off her Mother's worries easily but it depended on the level of investment.

"Oh," Victoria responded while nearing the other side of the door and Allison pushed in the lock with the achingly slow stillness to keep the act soundless as it snapped into place. "Where's Lydia?"

Where is Lydia indeed? Screwed.

"Probably using the bathroom down the hall," she hurried a reply. "What do you want?" she deflected. Prada's yapping, disturbed by Victoria's entrance made for a helpful cover noise to move around the bathroom without her Mother overhearing too much.

"I've been calling you for nearly an hour?"

Genuinely thankful she left her phone behind by the bedside Allison shared that excuse.

"Well," Victoria continued and with her ear pressed to the bathroom door Allison could hear the bedspring of her Mother sitting on the edge of the bed "your presence has been requested at the Lodge?"

"Requested?" she tried not to sound desperate. She knew now her Mother wouldn't leave until they had a face-to-face and Allison realized the complication this ruse created. Should she turn the shower on now she would be found out. Hell, even turning on the faucet enough to wet her hair would have made it obvious. She looked around the room across every surface for a saving grace, from the towel rack to the sink, the medic cabinet to the mirror and the toilet.

"shit," she muttered to herself realizing the only option available.

Upon exiting the bathroom, she had one large bath towel wrapped tight around her body the other she scrubbed hard, scouring water from her hair.

"Does 'request' actually mean request this time?' Allison made her way across the room and checked her phone. Sure, enough there were a number of messages from her Mother, but they were punctuated with messages from her Godfather.

· Rumy: f2t?

· Mother: Allison if you aren't too busy do you think you could come to the Lodge?

· Rumy: babycakes, this place smells of conspiratorial hatecakes. You're lucky you've got friends as an out. I need friends. Would you be my friend?

· Rumy: muffinbutt, the mojo here is seriously choking my flow. You might not even want to be my friend after this. I might not even want to be friendly after this.

· Mother: Allison? Are you awake? Your bedroom light is on. Why don't you bring me down the lay-line maps in my bedroom if you're coming down?

· Rumy: shugarmartian, you are made of such good stuff. I don't think u want to be close to this. I'm getting it from all ends here. I won 3 hands in a row, but I feel like a loser, like the house has it fixed but something killer is coming. Only something raw is in the air y'know what I mean butterbean?

· Rumy: whatever thy tell u dont come. don't let em' con u. I dont kno whats going on yet but there is some bad juju booboo. dont let it fuck u.I hope you're not answrin cuz your asleep n in th end thisll b nothing buta dream.

· Mother: Allison? Is everything okay? I'm going to come up in a minute if you're not coming, okay?

· Rumy: aly? u good D:

Allison quickly put her Android back to sleep before her Mother could get a peek at the amount of missed messages. Admittedly her heart sank that she hadn't received a message yet from Scott saying they'd gotten back to the study safely. She longed to get some good news. Something needed to go right tonight, just one thing needed to come out good from her scheme, the first plot she had that put every single one of her friends in jeopardy.

"Sorry I missed all your messages," Allison said and knew she came across sincere because in her mind she said it to Rumy. "But why would I come down if I didn't have to? You guys don't need me."

"Maybe we do," Victoria sighed light placing her hands on her knees, moving aside the lay-line maps she'd obviously grabbed (something she was clearly capable of doing herself). She looked to her daughter with a light in her eyes, some eagerness lived behind there. She tried not to show her annoyance at the growling dog beside her, circling her feet.

It helped that Allison remembered there was toilet water dripping from her hair.

"Mother unless there is something new you want to tell me right now-"

Victoria said nothing.

"Well, there is nothing new I have to say, and I've got a friend here I'm neglecting," REALLY NEGLECTING she thought. Allison lifted up Prada, hugged him gently and rubbed between his ears until her licked her cheek.

"I texted you because of Kate," Victoria added a bit anxiously.

"I bet," Allison said in exhale and she looked at her Mother. There was acknowledgment there they had yet to speak aloud. Since Kate arrived, she had made for some sort of power move even when Kate pretended to try to help, and it wasn't something Allison could rightly point at. It was suddenly obvious her Mother felt the same.

She sat beside her Mother at the foot of the bed, "what's she got to say for herself this time?"

"She wanted everyone to be there when Tyhurst got back," Victoria explained. She looked to her daughter with anticipation in her bright blues eyes. "He's got something big to report."

Allison clocked onto a thing they'd brought up in the Diner, one of many uncomfortable subjects; the reason why her friends turn up at the Hale House – The boys searching for Stiles' Alpha. Lydia sensing a dead body.

"Did he and the Sheriff's department turn up a corpse?" Allison said as blasé as talking about the weather, not the recent weather though.

"How did you know?" Victoria had genuine surprise barely suppressed in her voice.

"Wild guess," Allison huffed in annoyance, not at her friends so much since they had been honest in as much as they could be. In as much as much as subterfuge afforded around Kate Argent.

"You didn't see anything when you were out there with Kate?"

"Let's just say I was sufficiently distracted," Allison responded and looked away, playing with the dog, not wanting to give away the game. She put him down and tightened her hair up to keep the water from leaking down her back. "That and Kate lies."

Once she said it aloud it felt like the rightest thing in the world. Her Mother's expression was hard, covering shock. Not at the statement but at the knowledge that Allison had caught on so early.

"Yes." Victoria took a moment then smiled. She petted her daughters' leg before she stood to walk away, "but don't be so hard on her. We all lie sometimes. Never mind the title of Argent, if we didn't turn a blind eye to each other's lie sometimes to stay our happy family."

"Mother," Allison said severely, "that is definitely a dead body."

"Yeah, and your friends found it first."

Allison felt her stomach drop through the floor.

Victoria smiled gently. "You snuck out to meet them and you didn't tell us because you were afraid their involvement would get them in over their heads. It might make you a good friend, but it also makes you very grounded." She stroked her daughter's cheek before kissing it, "it might not be on par with being as dangerous, but it has all the earmarks." She didn't question about Allison's loyalties, like she feared her Mother would, like she feared the Matriarch of their Argent faction would. Instead, she simply gave her a deriding look that a Mother gave her kid for maybe hanging out with the 'wrong crowd'.

When she slipped out of the bedroom Allison felt somehow dirtier even than the feeling of toilet water slipping down her spine.

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Track 08 - Wolves Without Teeth by Of Monsters and Men

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{Back at Argent's House, 2nd Floor, Meeting/War Room, 5th Ring of Hell}

"Do you think we missed any of them?" Roman said in jest, with a dramatic grunt.

Norm laughed eventually after he squeezed through the door after Roman. Each man carried a military grade duffle attached to their backs, equal to their size and held smaller bags along their arms.

After they passed through the door, they paused for Norm to re-enter the entry code to seal the doors without alarm.

A childhood of playing Twister made it familiar for Player 2's right arm over Player 1's head. Player 1 to place his left leg twisted under her right leg but laced through Player 2's legs made easy. Despite years of displacement having changed their height difference from centimeters to inches, body mass for things like Lydia's chest against the expanse of Stiles' shoulder span but they held their placements steadily. For a little while anyway.

"D'you think the two of them could have possibly packed enough gear?" Roman started in again. He swung low a satchel with a belt of bullets wrapped around it. The satchel held handheld weapons from handguns to throwing knives they'd collected from around the second story, possibly even her Mom's room. Lydia's chest tightened with the breath she held as he would settle the bag on the bench in front of them.

"Makes sense," Norm replied. He neared the table and brought with him sedateness of someone juggling 200lbs of illegal weapons. "(Rumy and Bennet) lived here a while longer than the rest of us. They've accumulated some rust."

"Rust?" Roman scoffed. He dropped the body-sized duffle bag onto the table. "This is a goddamn arsenal," from Roman's flippant description a slight wave of nausea coursed through both of their hidden guests. For all the table's stable mounting it's shuddered from contact and passed through Lydia's spine down to Stiles' stomach.

"Good thing too," Norm added both in sentiment and content as he added his bag along with Roman onto the table. "Since this town is infested," alleged Norm indifferently. At his passivity Lydia felt a little light-headed and pressed her forehead against Stiles' neck. While Stiles too felt weak and bowed forward onto his elbows instead of carrying their weight straight armed.

"'Infested'? Aren't we being a bit dramatic? Do we use the word infested anymore?" asked Roman, he sounded prickly. "Werewolves aren't exactly termites eating through wood."

"How is it possible you don't see how accurate your metaphor is? For months they've been popping up just about everywhere on this coast," Norm recited as he placed his hands on the table. "Back in the day this never would have happened."

"And I'm sure you would have never let this happen?" Roman's response came in a question that wasn't a question at all. "Back in the day youd've burned townies with Wolfsbane if you'd want to exterminate the Werewolves, right?"

"Firstly, they were just chemical burns," said Norm and he punctuated each point with knuckles against the surface of the table. They could feel the vibrations around them, and it reminded how trapped they were.

In response Roman scoffed.

In response Stiles shuddered.

In response Lydia placed her right hand close to Stiles and she brushed her thumb along the back of his hand. Soothing the alleged savage beast.

"Secondly, it was an effective method," continued Norm as he turned to leave. On the opposite side of the table Roman followed in suit.

"Don't listen. Just focus on my voice alright." Lydia whispered against the curve of Stiles ear, he squeezed his eyes shut and turned toward the sound of her voice. "Don't listen to them. Block it out." She didn't know what the modern punishment would be for getting caught by Hunter's in the heart of their lair but in that moment, anything felt better than the shredding through Stiles nerves. "It's going to be okay. Okay?" A barely perceptible nod rubbed against the side of her face. Once she made him believe it, she believed it and could better ignore the moisture teeming in her eyes. "Okay."

"Thirdly, that was long before even my Father was born," Norm concluded as he punched the key code back into the door.

With a tight squirm Lydia turned her head, unable to make out the men but enough to make out the digits and memorize it for later. Allison would just have to forgive her for prying, for keeping a secret that wasn't hers to keep. If Lydia had learned anything that night, she learned if it protected a friend, you did anything.

When breathing out Lydia deflated and aligned herself to the plateau of Stiles' spine, careful not to sink her entire weight. "You're okay, I promise," she said, her voice kept imperceptibly low with her lips pressed into the fabric of his red hoodie.

"You sound disappointed," they could hear Roman distantly as the door began to close.

When Stiles opened his eyes again, he focused only on Lydia's hand beside his, the shine of the band on her finger and polish on her fingertips. He shifted his fingers a little so sidelong they touched in those places, and they felt like the only realness.

"Not disappointed. Frustrated. How many months has Victoria and Chris been here and yet they can't seem to come up with a solution nearly as effective as burning out the infestation," Norm's voice turned small with worry, distance and the sealing of the door.

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Track 09 - I've Got A Future (feat. Gavin Clark) by Toydrum

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{And back; at Argent's House, 1st Floor, Chris' Study}

Isaac didn't pace like Stiles or wring his hands like Allison. He didn't bite his lip like Lydia, but he had a 'Tell' when he was nervous. He developed stillness and lounged. Against everything, walls, doorframes, lamps, countertops anything that looked like it needed his help holding up, he could be found stretched up against.

"They are going to be okay Isaac," Scott insisted although after he'd texted Allison, he kept his hands gnarled tight around his Blackberry, strangling it out from his own anxiety.

"Yeah?" Isaac's startled expression drained a little.

"Yeah," Scott maintained. It should have been tiring saying the same thing over and over all evening, but he needed to hear it as much as he needed to say it.

"You don't think they're taking long?" Isaac asked, easing off the doorframe a little.

Scott did think they were taking long but there was a difference between taking long and taking too long.

"I think they're going to be okay," he repeated with a different tone. Lower and he hit the words with a different intonation.

Isaac wasn't waiting for friends. He might think of Stiles as an annoyance half of the time, most of the time but he only just gotten his foster-brother back. The loss was as fresh and nightmarish as murderers and Monsters even if he was only a room away.

"Just take a breather and think about it realistically," Scott gestured between them like he circulated serenity between them. Isaac looked down wide-eyed, his neck craned back in a sort of dismissal at first but then he tried to understand. All Scott wanted to do was get through the ordeal together. "They're on their way out of the room now you just got to get your head out of that room too."

Isaac scoffed lightly at that. "Don't you get tired of checking to see if everyone's okay?"

"No," he shook his head and after he gave it a little fake thinking. "I guess that's why I'm such a fair Co-Captain."

There was faint tension around Isaac's blue eyes that wouldn't leave. The dank lifelessness, literal senseless anxiety the room created clung to his skin in a way that felt like a thousand showers could not peel away. "So, what happens next?"

"Dunno," Scott shrugged a smile quirked across his face, "still trying to figure that part out. The day just started though. We've got time."

That eased Isaac a little, the realism or maybe idealism that dawn would bring with it new opportunities, so he went over to the couch and dropped onto it with a relieved thud.

"Guess we catch up on some sleep," he yawned, spreading his arms out wide.

Scott watched him but had a flicker of a thought. "Where've you been staying all this time Isaac?"

"I've been staying over in Spaulding," he hadn't hesitated when he answered but his heart gave a little jump.

"You mean you've been squatting?" Scott said. It wasn't impossible, just impractical for longtime stay, the district had plenty of empty turnover and new properties. Sometimes Uni kids briefly invaded and had ragers there. During vacation seasons, when wealthy kids didn't want to go to Aspen on break and they wanted to party near the beach in places posh enough to have pools and amenities, but far enough away from townies, they'd invaded places like Spaulding. Isaac hardly fit that bill.

While Isaac nodded and stretching his long legs out, he eased himself back into the couch looking as though he tried to flatten it out.

Scott came up alongside him and dropped onto the couch. Isaac crossed and uncrossed his ankles to kick off his sneakers but didn't speak not even as Scott answered a question, he hadn't yet dreamt of asking "you can stay with us if you want?"

Isaac's eyes went narrow, not because he didn't believe Scott only that he wasn't sure it wasn't a trap. "I can take care of myself. I'm sure Stiles'll let me crash at his sometimes. It's not that big a deal."

"Nah," Scott shrugged and he didn't exactly smile but there was a lift at the corner of his lips that said he found this intriguing. "It isn't a big deal. We have space, though we take turns doing the dishes and cooking... Plus, I think you're kinda like family now."

"Maybe," Isaac nodded noncommittally. "Yeah," he said and looked away. A smile grew as he turned to look at the clock and eased up on the couch.

"Maybe, yeah," Scott repeated with a mocking sigh.

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Track 10 - Thank God For Girls by Weezer

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{Lastly, at Argent's House, 2nd Floor, Meeting/War Room, 5th Ring of Hell}

Due to muscle tension, Stiles limbs dropped out from beneath. He rolled out a moment later and sat back, kicking his feet out until his back hit a display-case hard. He would have kept kicking until he peddled through to the shore. Lydia crawled from under the table after him and took longer to regain her bearings. Despite understanding the room to be soundproof she worried they could be overheard, and the Hunters would double back.

"Shh, Stiles," she whispered to him as she crawled to sit beside him.

Covered in a sheen of sweat, Stiles breathed in gasps as if he had come up from deep sea diving, he kept his eyes closed tight and flinched away from her touch.

Pulling her hair behind her ears and with her hands over her mouth she stayed a captive audience to his suffering. "What can I do? What's wrong? Stiles."

"Wait." He demanded in a weak voice. He then sighed and when he dropped his head back against the display-case it made a sharp bang that caused Lydia to laugh from nerves. The sound made Stiles' grimace turn into a shaky smile before he opened his eyes. He pulled her clasped hands apart and held one firmly while she kept the other to her mouth as if it were the filter ferrying the control of air through her.

"Try slowing your breathing," she insisted, at that he opened his dark and dilated eyes to deliver an artless glare that expressed 'what do you think I'm trying to do.' She held on tighter and breathed along calmer, "are you okay over there?"

"Yeah," he nodded and straightened his posture. "You promised," he conceded with a rasp when his voice sounded like his own. "So, thanks."

Lydia softly cleared her throat "of course," she looked around and pointed toward the monitors, "and thank you for keeping an eye out."

Stiles started to his feet and pulled her up with him. "I need to get out of here," he insisted.

"I know," she considered their options and kept her eyes focused on the door. Where the table once held solutions to Stiles' destroyed pack now lay vacantness. It meant without the weapons the Hunters weren't returning and they had time in a sort of way but not options. Allison would be on her way but not with the expediency they needed.

"I mean now," their hands held tight as they glared at the single-entry point. "There is no way I can tear down that door but if I don't try something-" he babbled.

"You don't have to," she yanked him along toward the door. They moved with determination although the door was intimidating, and his brow furrowed. He watched Lydia with skepticism, but she insisted eagerly, "I have a very bad idea."

"I am all in," he grinned and released her hold when they came nearest. He analyzed the key lock and thick mixed-metal of the door. The room restricted his supernatural strength and left him weak but aware with Lydia steering him.

"There is however a catch," she explained with a stiltedness that annoyed him. "I'll have tunnel vision."

His face colored with aggravation, and he didn't have to read her heartrate to realize he stepped into dangerous territory nearly literally when she put her hands on his chest as a warning to stop. The pressure weight sensitive mat lay at his feet, a 5ft. by 5ft. chance to get this right was only one try.

Lydia looked to him and smiled. He didn't have to have full faculty of his senses to see newborn fear behind it.

"Promise me, if you sense anyone coming down the hallway, you'll pull me back." It sounded too measured to be a command, but he gave a curt nod in agreement. He kept his face masked as panic crawling over his skin when she sauntered across the weight sensitive pad to punch the code into the Argent's stupid super-secret Meeting Room door.

.

"I think we're good," said Stiles as he walked part way across the upstairs walkway that led beyond her Mom's bedroom, with sights over the front door and a clear-ish view of Chris' study.

"You think," said Lydia snidely while she inched behind him. They'd lucked out the hall had been clear when they escaped the Family/Meeting/War/Hellish Room. With the limited camera feed, which showed only a view the linen closet it left them a nervous as Stiles headed down the hall toward Main stairwell toward the study. Meanwhile, Lydia had the straight line of all of 15ft to Allison's room so there was little worry on her part. But she would blame herself if Stiles got caught just because she couldn't contain him before Allison came to their rescue.

"Yup, I don't sense anyone moving around downstairs," he responded turning back to her with a grin. Clearly, he was happier his full senses had returned than he was pleased for the all-clear.

Relief surprised her, having Stiles leave her with no drama had almost been unexpected.

"Oh," she then smiled. "Well, go," she shoved at his arm surprised it took him so long to remember he should hurry away. He grabbed the railing and started to descend as Lydia spun around and walked toward Allison's room. She had the impulse still to sneak along, partly because her Mom was asleep and partly because the whole night seemed to ask for it.

When Allison's door cracked open, she hoped to surprise and impress her friend with her clever escape skills but was seized of the privilege with smothering hand over her mouth. Stiles pulled her back with a hand wrapped around her waist as he easily lifted her and carried her into the linen closet.

"Shh, shhh, shh," he whispered against the hair at the back of her neck. "That's Allison's Mother."

When he released grip she turned her head part of the way, not with enough room to see him but enough to whisper at him, "I thought you didn't sense anyone."

"I didn't sense anyone downstairs," he sounded just as aggravated as she felt.

She twisted further trying to regain her footing and squirm out of his hold. Without supernatural hearing she could hardly make out the sounds in the hallway if Mrs. Argent had closed Allison's door and moved on. Lydia only hoped she would hear someone passed them by over the sound of her heart hammering in her ears.

"Lydia please," his voice came at a controlled and closed-off tone utterly unfamiliar to him. "Could you just not," he begged.

"I'm being quiet," she snapped, quieter still, twisting a little further with the intention of tossing him a glare. She noted the reddening of his face.

"It's not the noise, it's the friction," he muttered and looked down to where her hip rubbed against his crotch.

"Oh," she articulated in a sound between a squeak and a gasp. Swiftly she shifted in his hold on her waist and turned around. Instead of keeping her legs between his, she intersected theirs intending to give them enough room. With hands braced on either side of his head, just above his shoulders she pushed against the wall for balance, she leaned up and aligned with him. "There. Is that better?"

While Stiles eyes travelled from where his hands on her waistline to her face, his own face looked like it caught fire even in the dark, "no. Lydia, it kinda makes things worse."

She watched on with bright eyes disarming and amused as she bit her lip in realization then bit it harder to keep from laughing at the most lopsided grin. Their humor disappeared entirely when Victoria Argent pulled open the linen closet.

Well, the humor didn't disappear entirely. The fury in Victoria's face was as terrifying as any of the illustrations in the Bestiary. Her eyes looked rimmed with glowing fury and lips practically disappeared against a harsh line of angry disapproval.

They were separated while Victoria escorted Ms. "I'm-rather-disappointed-with-you" Lydia back to Allison's room (threatening Stiles with the more clichéd "I'll talk to you later, Mr. Sheriff's son"). As they separated, they at each other and secreted a smirk when they realized they were chewed out for sneaking a lover's rendezvous in a closet, rather than super-secret supernatural espionage. Considering it meant a successful mission this was reputation they could live with.

---

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