episodes: 1x10 - Co-Captain
word count: 10,990

XXX.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder on a pair of stools, Scott and Stiles watched Malia pace from one side of the empty classroom to the other. The clock was running down quick; soon they would have hurry to first period. But Scott had been adamant that she needed to know as soon as possible. Now, he was kind of regretting that. There was a layer of hurt covering hurt and confusion. But was that anger at Derek or them? He knew how much she wanted to believe Derek was a good person. And maybe, up until last night, he'd been leaning a little in that direction too. But now they knew which side Derek was on, and it wasn't theirs.

"No… That can't…" Brow furrowed, Malia shook her head. "Derek wouldn't help him. He killed Laura."

"Yeah, well, maybe they weren't that close," Stiles mumbled.

"They were!" Malia's hands folded into fists. "He told me about her. She was the only family he had left. He— He loved her. He admired her. She was strong and smart. If you heard him talk about her…"

"Lia…" Scott caught her wrist and tugged her to a stop, just in front of him. "I know you care about him. I… I know how hard this must be. But he was there… He was with Peter. And he didn't stop him. He just stood there while Peter talked."

"And what did Peter say? What does he want?"

"Help." Scott shrugged. "There are more people that he wants to kill. He didn't say who. Just that they deserved it."

Stiles snorted. "Because the serial killer must have a good reason for who he's offing."

Malia swallowed. "Does that mean Derek… Is he going to help him too?"

"I guess…" Scott winced. "He said Laura's death was an accident. That it happens."

"What about the bus driver? What about Trisha?" Malia gritted her teeth and her eyes flared an angry yellow. "They weren't accidents. And when it wasn't his uncle, Derek had a moral compass."

"Well, he also kidnapped and beat Deaton bloody, so…" Stiles coughed at Malia's withering look and shrugged. "But I guess a skewed moral compass is still technically a compass."

"Hey, you're turning." Scott stood from the stool and rubbed his hands over her shoulders soothingly.

Malia took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. It was a few seconds before she opened them, her eyes back to a warm brown. "I need to talk to him."

"Alone?" Scott brows hiked, panic settling in his gut. "Malia, he's dangerous."

"He won't hurt me."

He frowned. "You don't know that."

"Look, I don't know what Peter did or said, but… Derek wouldn't do this."

"You trust him." Scott stared at her searchingly. "I know how much it takes for you to feel that way. But this is family… And now Peter is all Derek has left."

Her chin wobbled before she looked up and away. "I can't believe that he would do that. That he would be on Peter's side… That's not who he is."

"Maybe we don't know who he is." Scott said it gently. His hands ran down her arms until they found hers. "Derek showed up when everything was going sideways and he… He helped you. He understood you. And maybe, if it wasn't his uncle, he would do the right thing. But right now, we can't trust that. So, we need to be careful… We need to stick together."

Malia nodded, her brow furrowed. "What else…? What else did he say?"

Scott hesitated a moment, sharing a look with Stiles. "He said he would spare Allison."

"Allison," she repeated. "Then… He wants to kill the Argents."

"Hey, if we're lucky, they'll kill each other. Four birds one stone… Or is it two stones?" Stiles frowned before shaking his head. "Anyway, best case scenario, hunter vs. werewolves, nobody leaves the ring."

"Yeah, and Allison loses her family." Malia huffed. "No. We have to do what we planned."

"Which is what? Kill the alpha?" Stiles shot up from his seat. "Look, I'll be the first to throw my hat into the anti-Derek ring, but at least when he was on our side, we had an experienced werewolf helping us out. Now, we're just two really new and inexperienced shifters and one very human human. How are we supposed to take them down?"

"Not them, just him," Malia decided. "We separate Derek from his uncle, and we put Peter down."

"And what if Derek wants revenge for Uncle Dexter?"

She raised her chin stubbornly. "Then I guess we fight him too."

"And the Argents?"

"For now, we keep our heads down around them." She pursed her lips. "And we keep Jackson's down too. They think he's the beta they've been looking for."

"What!?" Stiles startled, looking from her to Scott and back. "Since when?"

"Since the game. They saw the scratches on his neck."

"So, now we have to keep Jackson safe? After all of his threats and general dick-headery?" Stiles let out a strangled scoff. "Why?"

"Because he knows our secret," Scott said. "And if the Argents get him, he'll be happy to sell us out."

"Great, so now we're playing babysitter and bodyguard to Jackson Whittemore." Stiles squinted before wondering, "How?"

Malia shrugged. "I don't know. Just keep an eye on him." Pulling away from them, Malia grabbed her bag off the floor and hooked it over her shoulder. "I need to get to first period."

She was at the door before Scott called out to her. Pausing, she looked back at him.

"Promise us you won't go looking for Derek… Please?"

She stared at him a beat. "I promise."

…

Malia was on edge. She was hardly paying attention to anything her teacher was saying. It was all just a muffled echo in her ears, like she was in a Charlie Brown skit. Instead, she sat at her desk, knee bouncing, pencil rapping against the desktop, while she looked from the clock to the window. When the bell finally rang, signalling a break, she rushed out of class and toward fresh air. Her hands were shaking and the anticipation of possibly shifting was making her even more nervous. Should she just head for the woods now, just in case? Or try to tough it out and prove to herself that just because she was stressed didn't mean she had to turn?

She was pacing in front of her tree, debating her options, when Danny appeared.

"Hey." He dropped down to the grass and pulled his bag into his lap, digging out a ripe red apple.

Malia glanced at him and immediately noticed the sunglasses he was wearing. She snorted. "Hung over?"

He grinned before he sunk those pearly white teeth into his apple. "It was a good party. You would've liked it."

"Maybe next time." She crossed her arms and dug her fingers into the loose fabric of her shirt, twisting it under her grip.

Danny raised an eyebrow. "You okay? You look stressed."

"Fine. Just…" She shook her head. "I've got some stuff on my mind."

He hummed. "Anything to do with why Stiles needed me to track a phone number?"

She frowned. "That's what he had you do?"

"He didn't tell you?" His mouth turned down. "I thought the whole point of helping him was to help you?"

"It was. He just didn't tell me what his plan was." Drawing a deep breath, she took a seat across from him and folded her legs. "I'm sorry… Asking you to do that was shitty."

Danny shrugged. "If it helped you, it's fine… Did it?"

Her mouth twisted. Technically, yes. Overall, however, it just made things more complicated. But that wasn't on Danny or what he'd done for her. That was on the bizarre situation itself. "It did. I appreciate it, seriously. Next time though, don't do it if you're not okay with it. And I won't ask."

He grinned. "As long as Sheriff Stilinski doesn't come knocking on my door, I think we're fine."

Malia plucked at the grass, making a little pile. "Hey, if you had a friend… Someone you thought you knew, and they did something that was out of character… Would you trust them, or would you keep your distance?"

Danny took another bite of his apple and seemed to stew over his answer as he chewed. When he finally spoke, Malia felt like she'd been holding her breath the whole time. "Depends on the friend… and if what he did was unforgiveable."

Malia frowned. "What if he hasn't done it yet but you know he plans to?"

His brow furrowed. "Can you stop him? Like, yourself or even calling the cops."

She shrugged non-commitally. "Maybe. But you can't guarantee it would work even if you did interfere."

"Okay." He nodded. "I would talk to him. Explain my side, hear him out. If I really thought he could do something I morally don't agree with then… maybe the friendship ends there. I do my best to stop whatever I think is wrong and if it works, great. If not, then at least I know I tried."

Malia hummed, her gaze set on the grass.

"Was that the answer you were hoping for?"

She looked up at him and sighed. "Probably… I think I need to talk to him but I'm also not sure it's safe. I want to think it is, but I don't know."

He paused then, looking unsure. "Malia, if it's not safe—"

The bell rang, reminding them to get to their next period.

"I know." She pushed up from the grass and hooked her bag over her shoulder. "Thanks. I'll text you later."

Before he could say anything, she hurried away.

…

As Allison closed her locker door, she jumped, spooked to find a grinning Jackson standing on the other side. Raising an eyebrow, she said, "Hi…?"

"Hey." He pushed his shoulder off the locker, hand hooked in the strap of his book bag. "So, I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Okay…" She backed up and angled herself to the side, motioning with her head to let him know she wanted to walk and talk. "What's up?"

"The, uh, winter formal is coming up in a few days."

"It is?" Allison frowned. "Is that a big deal around here?"

"Sort of, yeah." Jackson kept pace next to her and motioned to a flashy flyer on the wall, boasting about the winter dance, formal wear required. "I was wondering if you had a date yet."

Allison's brows hiked abruptly. "Oh. Uh, well, since I just heard about it, no. But, I don't really know if that's my kind of thing."

"What? You don't like dancing?" He grinned, the kind of smile she expected would make most people swoon. But those people didn't know Jackson very well, because while he was handsome, he was also a dick.

"Dancing's fine. But drama isn't." She stared at him expectantly. "What about Lydia?"

He sighed. "Me and Lydia just weren't working out. I tried to make it work, but after I found out about her and McCall, it just wasn't the same."

Allison winced, an awkward sense of sympathy washing over her. "I'm sorry. I know you guys were together a while."

"We were, but… all things end."

"End, yes, but the history is still there. I don't think Lydia would be too happy if she found out you'd asked me."

He shrugged. "It doesn't have to be a serious thing. We can go as friends, if you want. I just… I want to go with someone I can trust. And I think we have fun together. Like yesterday, when we were all swimming. That was fun, right?"

"It was fun watching Malia kick your ass at swimming," she agreed, smiling.

He laughed. "She's a lot faster than I anticipated."

Allison shrugged. "Never underestimate an opponent."

Jackson stared at her searchingly. "See, this is why I think it could be fun. No pressure, just a couple friends hanging out."

Hugging an arm around her waist, Allison chewed her lip. "I don't know… Me and Lydia aren't really talking right now, but it still feels kind of weird."

"Listen, Allison…" He caught her elbow and tugged her to a stop. "That's what I like about you. You're loyal." He stared down at her from beneath long eyelashes. "You don't have to decide right now, just… Give it some thought. Okay?"

She nodded.

He half-grinned then and turned to walk away.

Allison watched him go before eventually turning on her heel and continuing to class. Before she made any decisions about Jackson, she wanted to talk to Malia… and Lydia.

…

"Well?" Stiles unceremoniously shoved another crinkle fry into his mouth.

Scott's head was tilted, his hearing tuned in to Jackson, sitting across the cafeteria with a few of their lacrosse teammates. "Nothing. At least not anything important. They're just talking about the game last night."

"Lamest spy detail ever," Stiles muttered.

Sighing, Scott sent him a flat look. "We have to be careful. All it takes is Jackson letting it slip to one person…"

"There's no way he'll tell anybody, not if he wants the bite." Stiles leaned forward, fingers tapping against the edges of his cafeteria tray. "Look, he might not care if you or Malia get killed by hunters, but if he wants this bite, he'll keep his trap shut. Or he'll go down with the sinking ship too. Jackson's not the smartest guy around, but he's bright enough to know that."

Scott shook his head. "He doesn't get how serious this is. And I don't know how else to explain it to him! Getting the bite, becoming this…" He took a look around to make sure nobody was listening in. "It's not easy. I know there are perks. And I get why someone might see it as a good thing, but—"

"There's more than a few perks," Stiles interrupted. "I'm not saying it's simple, but dude, you and Malia are just short of superhero levels of awesome. And if you think about it, even superheroes have evil nemesisis… Nemesees… Nemesi?"

"I don't want a freaking nemesis. I want to stop worrying people around me are going to die." Scott sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Has she messaged you? Talked to you? Anything?"

"Who? Malia?" Stiles dug his phone out from his pocket and shook his head. "Nope. No messages."

"I'm worried about her."

"Because Derek went to the dark side?"

Scott rolled his eyes. "Yeah, basically."

Stiles dunked a fry in some ketchup and then popped it in his mouth. Still chewing, her wondered, "You think she'll go talk to him?"

"She said she wouldn't…" A pit filled Scott's stomach. "I don't think she'd lie to us on purpose. I just think she'll want answers and we don't have them. Not the ones she wants to hear, anyway."

Stiles nodded. "Well, maybe it's a good thing."

"A good thing…? That she might sneak off to talk to someone we know is working with the alpha…? To systemically hunt down and kill people?"

Wincing, Stiles said, "Okay, not in those exact words… But maybe she'll get through to him. They did have some weird kind of trauma bond. Maybe she can knock some sense into him… Hopefully literally. Just, knock him right on his furry ass and tell him to pull his head out of it."

Scott snorted. "Maybe."

Tossing another fry in his mouth, Stiles said, "In an effort to totally ignore how crazy life currently is, have you asked her to the dance yet?"

"The what?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "The winter formal. Dude, it's like two days away."

"Oh." Scott paused, remembering that Jackson was planning on using Allison as a bargaining chip. "Now's not really the time for a dance, is it?"

"Are you kidding? Now is exactly the time for a dance. In case you haven't noticed, everything else sucks. We deserve a totally normal night off. Plus, it's an opportunity for you and Malia to become official."

Scott blinked. "You think I should ask her to go as my date?"

"Uh, yeah, duh." Stiles unscrewed the cap on his water and shook his head. "That's the whole point, right? You two are just on the verge of being together. Why not ask her out on a real date?"

Scott mulled that thought over for a moment. In the past, he, Stiles, and Malia had gone to dances together, as a group. But Stiles was right. Malia hadn't exactly said they were together together, but they were definitely more than friends. So, maybe asking her to the dance would help solidify a few things. But that would have to wait.

Across the room, Jackson stood from his table and carried his tray over to the garbage. Since he was making his way out the door, Scott stood too. "Come on. We need to keep an eye on him."

Groaning, Stiles shoved the rest of his fries into his mouth and followed.

…

"Are you okay?"

Malia looked up to find Erica staring at her, mouth tilted in a frown. "Huh?"

Erica squinted at her. "You just seem… agitated. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. I've got a lot on my mind. I'm kind of spacey today, I guess."

Erica hummed. "How was the game last night?"

"The better question is how were the snacks. And the answer is 'entirely too good.' I'm pretty sure I ate my weight in junk food." She leaned back, resting against the tree behind her. "How was your night?"

"I did homework until my eyes crossed. So, not fun."

"You should come to the next game with us. The popcorn alone is worth it."

Erica snorted. "You sold me."

Malia dug her lunch out of her bag, which was really just cold, leftover pizza from Allison's. "What kind of homework?"

"History." Erica scrunched up her nose. "I have to do a project."

"Tell me about it."

Perking up, Erica launched into a description of the project she needed to put together.

As much as Malia wanted to be a good friend and focus on what Erica was saying, her mind couldn't help but wander to Danny's advice. She had promised Scott and Stiles she wouldn't talk to Derek… But could she keep that promise? She needed to know why Derek would flip like that. Everything she'd learned about him suggested different. He was too loyal. He loved Laura too much. Even if it was some freak accident that his uncle murdered her in the woods… Derek couldn't let him go on some crazy killing spree. Peter Hale was dangerous. Derek had to know that.

If her mom came back and she was twisted and violent, bent on killing people for some unknown reason, would Malia let her?

No. Because that wasn't her mom. That wasn't who she was. And if that was the cost of her return, then her mother wouldn't want that for herself or for Malia.

"…so I think I might just streak across the quad and see what happens."

Malia blinked. "What?"

Erica raised a knowing eyebrow. "You didn't hear a thing I said, did you?"

Sighing, Malia shook her head. "Sorry. I meant to. I just… My head's weird today. Tell me again. I swear, I'll focus this time."

Erica looked skeptical, but started from the beginning.

…

After school, an anxious Malia hurried through the halls, darting around people, en route to her locker. She was side-tracked when Jackson abruptly stepped directly in front of her.

Stumbling to a stop, she smothered a growl. "Don't tell me. You're collecting donations for your future hair plug surgery."

"No." He sneered, but then reached up to tentatively touch his hairline, looking briefly concerned. Shaking it off, he said, "Yesterday, at the pool, were you holding back so you'd still seem human? Or is that as fast as you can go even as a… whatever."

Malia glared. Gripping the front of his shirt, she yanked him sideways, until his shoulder collided hard with a locker. "Exactly how smart do you think it is to try and intimidate someone you know is physically stronger than you in every possible way?"

Jackson raised an unworried eyebrow and snorted. "What, are you gonna go full furball right here in front of everybody?"

Malia's eyes shone a golden yellow; she could see them reflected in Jackson's pupils. She could also feel him tense up while his face went slack and his throat bobbed. "I don't need to fully shift. We both know I have a reputation for losing it and kicking the shit out of people. It's been a long time since someone deserved that, but I think you've more than proved you're worth it."

Gritting his teeth, Jackson gathered up his bravado. "You wouldn't."

"No?" She raised an eyebrow and gave his chest a shove. "You're putting my life at risk, dick-head. If the Argents find out what we are—"

He grinned then, slow and snide. "You mean Allison? I bet she'd love to hear you've been lying to her this whole time."

Malia's hand gripped his shirt tighter. "You're an asshole."

"An asshole that knows how to get what he wants." He pushed off the locker then and looked down at her hand expectantly.

Slowly, she released him.

Smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt, he grinned. "I'm glad we're on the same page, Tate." He patted her shoulder before he walked away.

It took everything in her not to grab him by his collar and slam his face into a locker. As it was, she took a deep breath and made her way down the hall.

…

Allison hitched her bag over her shoulder and started the weaving trek to Malia's locker. She dodged a few distracted basketball players that nearly mowed her over, waving as Cole cheerfully called out, 'Hey Allison!' as she passed. Eventually, managing to get through the crowd led her to stop just short of Malia. She grinned. "Hey! Are you ready?"

Malia looked up, startled. "Ready?"

Allison cocked her head, her brow furrowed. "For the woods? We're going to test that arrowhead I found. Remember?"

"Oh. Right. Yeah, I, uh…" She frowned. "Can we rain check that for today? I have a thing I need to do."

"A thing…?"

"My cousin, Miguel. He asked me to meet him. He sounded pretty upset and I just want to check on him." Malia pulled her bag on and shoved her locker closed. "Maybe I can meet you there after? Or we could try tomorrow?"

Allison chewed her lip. "Is your cousin okay? Do you want me to come with you?"

"No. Thank you, but… I think he'd be embarrassed if I brought someone else." Malia sighed. "I'm really sorry. I'm being a total jerk. I know you want to test the arrow today. I just need to do this first."

Allison nodded. "It's okay. I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something else. But if you're in a hurry, we can do it later." She waved a hand. "I texted Lydia to meet by the preserve. So, I'll test it with her, and I'll let you know what I find out."

Malia hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"It's fine." Allison grinned. "Seriously. Go. Just text me after, let me know your cousin's okay."

Shoulders slumping, Malia reached out and pulled Allison into a quick, one-armed hug. It was sudden, but tight. "Be careful," she said, a weight to her words that made them settle heavy in Allison's chest.

"I will." Allison searched Malia's face. "You're sure you're okay?"

"I will be." She started backing up. "Have fun with Lydia. I'll call you later."

"Okay." Allison watched her speed-walk down the hall and hurry out the door. Worry filled her stomach, but she tried to shrug it off. If Malia needed something, she would've said so. Allison would just have to trust that was true.

…

Tires squealed as Stiles' Jeep jerked to a stop. Scott and Stiles took in a panicked looking Jackson standing at the back of his Porsche next to Chris Argent.

"Sup?" Stiles called out with a goofy grin.

"Is everything okay?" Scott looked from Jackson to Argent and back.

Jackson's eyes darted nervously as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Hey, Scott," Argent greeted with a broad grin. "Your friend here was having car trouble. We're just taking a look."

Stiles nodded. "Ooh."

"There's a shop right down the street." Scott pointed a thumb. "I'm sure they have a tow truck."

"Yeah. You want a ride?" Stiles offered.

Scott pushed the door open expectantly.

Jackson fidgeted, his hands moving restlessly.

"Hey, come on, Jackson," Stiles cajoled. "You're way too pretty to be out here all by yourself."

Scott stared at Jackson, his brow falling heavy over his eyes, a silent demand for Jackson to stop dragging his feet and take the offer.

Silently, Jackson nodded, and started toward the jeep.

Scott hopped out, reaching back to move the seat forward.

Argent, meanwhile, was fiddling with something inside the Porsche. "Hey boys," he called out, closing the trunk with a snap.

Jackson and Scott both turned to face Argent as he walked around to the driver's side and reached inside to turn the ignition. The car hummed to life.

Argent smiled smugly. "Told you I knew a few things about cars."

As Argent walked back to his red SUV, Jackson let out a relieved breath and closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself.

As soon as the SUV had driven out of sight, Jackson dropped any pretense of friendliness and turned on Scott. "What, are you following me now?"

Scott shoved the Jeep door closed and face him. "Yes, you stupid freaking idiot. You almost gave away everything, right there."

"What are you talking about?"

"He thinks you're the second beta!"

Jackson's face screwed up in confusion. "What?"

"He thinks you're me!" Scott reared a fist back and slammed it against the side of Stiles' jeep.

Stiles tossed his hands up. "Dude, my jeep."

Scott's chest heaved as he struggled to control his frustration. "I can hear your heart beating from a mile away— literally. Now he thinks that there's something wrong, and now I have to keep an eye on you so he doesn't kill you too!" Raising his fist again, he turned to throw it against the jeep, but Stiles intercepted him.

"Okay, okay, okay." He pressed a hand to Scott's chest and drew him back. "How about we step away from Stiles' Jeep."

"This is your problem, not mine. Okay?" Jackson stabbed a finger at Scott. "I didn't say anything, which means you're the one that's gonna get me killed." He shoved Scott until he slammed into the jeep. "This is your fault."

Stiles tossed his hands up. "Can we stop hitting my jeep?"

Breathing through clenched teeth, Scott lurched forward and shoved Jackson back.

"Yo, all right, yo. Guys!" Stiles got between them, a hand on either chest. "Stop. All right?"

"When they come after you, I won't be able to protect you." Frustrating fleeing and despondence setting in, Scott muttered, "I can't protect anyone."

Stiles startled. "Why are you looking at me?"

Jackson looked between them, his eyes narrowed. "You know what? Now you have to do it." He clenched his teeth so hard a muscle in his cheek ticked. "Get me what I want, and I will be fine protecting myself."

"No, you won't!" Scott stressed. "Just trust me. This will make things worse, not better."

"Oh, yeah, really?" Jackson scoffed, unconvinced. "You and your little were-girlfriend can hear anything you want and run faster than humanly possible. Sounds like a real hardship, McCall."

"Yeah, I can run really fast now. Except half the time, I'm running away from people trying to kill me!"

Jackson rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"In case you haven't noticed, what you want comes with strings. The alpha will try to control you. He'll try to force you to do what he's doing. Hurting people. Killing people. And if he can't control you, then he'll probably kill you. I'm not lying to you! This isn't something you should want."

Jackson scoffed. "All I'm hearing is that you have all the power in the world, and you don't know what to do with it. You know what it's actually like? It's like you turned 16 and someone bought you a Porsche when they should have started you out with a nice little Honda. Me? I drive a Porsche." With that, he turned on his heel and walked back to his car, leaving Scott and Stiles to speechlessly watch him go.

…

Allison marched through the woods, a bag with her bow tucked inside strung over her shoulder. It bounced against her hip as she walked deeper into the woods, her booted-feet kicking orange and brown leaves as she went.

Lydia followed behind her, out of breath. "Allison, when you said you needed to stop for an errand before we went shopping… a five-mile hike in the woods… was not what I was expecting."

Rolling her eyes, Allison continued forward. "Before I forget, I wanted to ask if you're okay with something… Jackson asked me to the winter formal."

Lydia's voice raised an octave. "Did he?"

"Mmhmm. Just as friends. But I just wanted to make sure you're okay with it first."

"Sure. As long as it's just friends…"

"Well, yeah, I mean, it's not like I would take him to the coach's office during lacrosse practice to make out with him or anything."

Lydia sighed. "Are you still mad about that? I saw Scott and Malia practically making out in the hall yesterday. I hardly think one little kiss threw that much of a wrench in their perfect little relationship."

Allison swung around, still walking backwards, her eyes narrowed. "That's the problem though, right? You were jealous."

Lydia scoffed. "Jealous!? Of Terrible Tate. You have to be joking."

"No, we aren't doing that." Allison abruptly stopped walking, forcing Lydia to stumble to a stop too. "Just admit that for a moment you liked her. You might even consider her a friend. Or something just on the verge of friendship. You can pretend to be this catty, unfeeling bitch all you want, but I know you, Lydia. I know that as much as you and Malia banter and pick at each other, you respect each other. At least I thought you did."

Lydia's haughty expression wavered. "Whatever it was, some mirage of friendship, it's long gone now. Okay? I made a mistake. Is that what you want to hear?"

"I want you to realize that what you did was shitty. You told her that Scott liked her. You encouraged her to do something about it. And you knew that she was insecure and worried that she would ruin their friendship." Allison stared at her searchingly. "Why would you risk hurting her? You don't even like Scott! You—"

"It wasn't jealousy, it was envy," Lydia interrupted.

Allison paused. "What?"

"I'm not jealous of her. Malia Tate hardly has much to be jealous of. But I was envious of what her and Scott, I don't know, share." She shrugged. "Me and Jackson… we're different. I'm not saying I don't love him. I do. But the kind of love we have, it isn't like that. It isn't… unconditional. There are strings. Okay? When you want to be popular, when there's a social structure that demands attention, then you do things, you date people, because it's expected. Not because you want it. Jackson and I made that work for us. We fit together in our own complicated way. But then Scott and Malia are there, and they are so…"

"Perfect," Allison whispered.

"Grossly so. And for a second, I saw an opportunity. To have someone look at me the way Scott looks at her. To have someone care about me like that. So, I took it."

"Did it work?"

"Obviously not." Lydia rolled her eyes. "He's a great kisser, but there's a difference between love and lust."

Allison frowned. "Then why do it? You're not an idiot. Scott wasn't going to fall in love with you from one kiss."

"I just wanted to be wanted. Haven't you ever felt that?" Lydia crossed her arms over her chest. "Look, I'll be the first to admit it wasn't my best moment. And I regret it. But I can't take it back."

"No, you can't." Allison turned on her heel and continued walking. "But forgiveness isn't off the table."

Lydia hurried her steps. "Forgiveness? From you?"

"I'm not the one you have to apologize to." Allison smiled. "You owe that to Malia."

Lydia pulled a face. "About that…"

…

Malia washed and refilled Shiloh's water and food bowls, partly to herself something to do. An eager Shiloh shoved her face into her food bowl and Malia gave her ears an affection scratch. It had only been a few minutes since the last time she checked, but she dug her phone out for the twentieth time to see if Derek had texted her back. Chewing her thumbnail, she paced around her kitchen. She should tell Scott and Stiles. Or she should scrap this whole idea. But she didn't. She didn't text or call them; she didn't tell them she was reaching out to the exact person they'd cautioned her against. Once again, she was tempting fate when it came to Derek Hale. But that was kind of the point, wasn't it? In all the time since this whole thing started, as much as Scott and Stiles doubted Derek and his role in things, some instinct told her different. It told her to trust Derek. Or, at the very least, to give him the benefit of the doubt. But was she wrong all along? Had she completely misjudged him?

Her phone buzzed. She was so lost in thought, she nearly dropped it.

Her gaze fell to the screen, but the first time she read it, it didn't quite register. So, she read it again.

—one hour. come alone. meet at the ridge.

He had to mean the ridge overlooking the town. The same one they'd run into each other while she was jogging what felt like years ago. A strange place to meet, unless he was planning on throwing her over the cliff. With that macabre thought in mind, she made her way down the hall to her bedroom. It wouldn't take her long to get to the ridge, which meant she had some time to waste. She considered wandering around until she found Allison, but then she'd have to make an excuse for why she was leaving her again. So, instead, she pulled her homework out and decided to spend a half hour looking over an English assignment.

…

Kneeling in the leaves, Allison screwed the peculiarly shaped arrowhead into the end of the shaft.

Standing just behind her, Lydia crossed her arms to stave off the cool breeze. "What does that do?"

Holding the shaft between three fingers, she plucked her bow from the forest floor and stood. "We're about to find out."

Notching the arrow, she took aim at a far-off tree. She drew the string back to her chin and felt the tension pull against her fingers. She released and watched as it cut elegantly through the air. When it made impact with the tree, it exploded, sending up sparks and a cloud of smoke. Both Allison and Lydia were startled.

Lowering her bow slowly, Allison stared at the tree, her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed.

"What the hell was that?" Lydia wondered.

"I don't know." Allison pursed her lips, irritated. It was supposed to be simple. Shoot the arrow, mystery solved. Instead, all she had was more questions. Why did Kate leave it out for her to find? What could they possibly use it for?

"Well." Lydia clapped her gloved hands together. "That was fun! Anymore lethal weapons you wanna try out?"

A creak sounded in the distance; a branch snapping underfoot? Allison's gaze was drawn to the trees where the fog seemed to grow denser. Another noise followed, louder this time, or maybe it was just coming closer? Allison took a look around her, was it ahead or behind? Another noise. Unmistakable now. Allison let her bow tip sideways and turned, passing it to Lydia. "Hold this."

Confused, Lydia held her hands out to catch it. Unsure how to handle it, she let it rest in her outstretched hands. "What? Why?"

"Because I thought I heard something," Allison whispered. She pulled apart her shooting glove; the tearing noise of the velcro was almost too loud for how silent the woods seemed.

"So, what if you heard something?"

Allison tossed her glove toward her bag. "So, I want to find out what that something is." Lydia stared up at her, wide-eyed. "Don't worry. It's probably nothing." Allison started walking away.

"Well, what if that nothing is something and that something is something dangerous?"

Allison paused. "Shoot it."

Left behind to watch her go, Lydia made a tiny noise of fear.

This probably wasn't her brightest idea. Allison walked through the trees, head swiveling as she looked around. The sun was still out, but the density of the trees gave it an almost grey glow. In the distance, the caw of a crow rang out. Allison rubbed her hands against her hips, annoyed that they felt damp. It was probably an animal. A rabbit or deer or something tiny and furry. Or maybe it was another mountain lion, and this time she wouldn't have her dad to shoot it. Would a tazer put a mountain lion down? Just as she was pondering that question, she felt something come up behind her.

Pulling the tazer from the inside pocket of her jacket, she turned, aimed, and shot.

Scott jolted, his teeth clenched and his mouth drawn back as he went completely stiff and fell backwards to the ground. Strangled noises left him in stuttered grunts.

"Scott?" She rushed over.

"Trigger finger!"

Allison's eyes widened and her mouth fell open in shock. "Oh! Oh God, oh God." She released the trigger and dropped to her knees next to him. "I'm so, so, so, so sorry."

Panting, he laid in the grass, his eyes squeezed shut. "My fault. Totally my fault."

She winced and looked him over. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." His body gave an involuntary jolt. "I'm fine."

"I didn't know it was you." She held her hands up apologetically. "If I'd known it was you, I—"

"Still would have pulled the trigger?"

"No!" She laughed. "Of course not."

"I'd probable deserve it." He half-smiled. "I've messed up a lot lately."

"Seriously, I'm so sorry." She pulled the tines from his chest. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." Scott took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I think so."

Alison made a face. "What were you doing here anyway?"

"Uh, actually, I was hoping Malia was with you…" He sat up slowly and rubbed a hand over his chest. "I've been texting her, but she hasn't been answering. And she was pretty upset about something, so I wanted to check in."

Allison nodded, her brows raised. "About Miguel?"

Scott frowned. "Huh?"

"Her cousin Miguel?" She cocked her head. "We were supposed to hang out but then she had something come up. She said her cousin was upset and she wanted to check on him…"

"Oh. Yeah." His gaze fell. "She was pretty worried about him and I just wanted to make sure she was okay."

"I get it. Unfortunately, she's not with us." She screwed her mouth up, worried. "You said you texted a bunch and she didn't answer?"

"Yeah." He dug his phone out of his pocket and scrolled up through his numerous texts. His face flushed pink. "I might've been a little overzealous."

Allison grinned. "A little."

"It's just been so weird lately. And things feel really dangerous."

"I know what you mean."

He sighed. "I want to give her space. I've already screwed up enough. But I also worry about her, even if she'd be the first person to tell me she can handle whatever happens."

Allison hummed. "She doesn't always remember she's just as fragile as the rest of us."

"Yeah. Anyway, I'm sorry I scared you by creeping around out here in the woods."

She laughed lightly. "It's fine." Standing, she held out a hand to help him up. "I'll message her too. First one to hear back from her lets the other know she's okay. Deal?"

He took her hand. "Deal."

…

Stiles walked into his house with a pep in his step. He bee-lined it for the fridge and cheerfully pulled out a jug of milk. He laughed to himself as he unscrewed the cap and was guzzling it back, en route to the living room, when he noticed his dad at the dining room table, pouring over stacks of paperwork. He capped the milk and swiped a hand over his mouth. "Whatcha doing?"

"Work," Noah answered, not looking up.

"Anything I can help with?" Stiles hoped.

"You know, if you poured me an ounce of whiskey, that would be awfully nice."

Stiles darted to the cupboard. He left his milk sitting on the counter, trading it in for a bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass. Taking a seat at the table, he put the bottle down and reached for a stack of papers. "Any leads?"

Noah snapped at his hand with a pen.

Stiles pulled it back with a wince.

"You know I can't discuss that with you."

Frowning, Stiles unscrewed the cap off the whiskey bottle.

Focus back on the paperwork, his dad mumbled absently, "Not too much."

Stiles started pouring, but as he reached the one-inch mark, he paused, looked at his dad thoughtfully, and continued pouring until there was at least three times what he asked for. "Okay. There you go, dad."

"Thanks." Tossing the pen aside, he reached for the glass.

Stiles watched as his dad tipped it back and guzzled it down. "Bottoms up."

Glass now empty, his dad dropped it to a writing pad and leaned forward, resting his crossed arms on his collection of paperwork. With a frustrated sigh, he said "You know, Derek Hale would be a whole hale of a lot… Hale of a lot?"

Stiles stared at him a beat. "Hell of a lot?"

"Hell…" He gave Stiles a thumbs-up. "Yes."

Stiles muffled his amusement.

"He would be a hell of a lot easier to catch if we could get an actual picture of him."

"How do you not have a picture of him?"

"It's the weirdest thing. It's like every time we tried to get a mug shot, it's like two—" Stiles plucked the picture from his dad's fingers. "—laser beams were pointing at the camera."

Stiles stared at the picture. Derek's entire face was blotted out with overlapping white and blue spots. "Nice," he murmured.

"Oh, my God." His dad pulled his glasses off and tossed them aside. He let out a long sigh and rubbed a hand over his face. "God, that ounce hit me like a brick. And I have said way too much, and if you repeat any of that—"

Stiles feigned innocence. "Dad, it's me. I'm not gonna say anything. Come on." He grabbed up a manila folder and pulled out a few sheets of paper titled Agency Report.

"See, the thing is, they're all connected." Noah rubbed the heel of his hand against his temple. "I mean, the bus driver that got killed, he was an insurance investigator assigned to the Hale house fire."

Stiles leaned over to read a line on his dad's paperwork. "'Terminated under suspicion of fraud.'"

His dad shook his head. "Exactly."

"Who else?" Stiles flipped through pictures of injuries; bite marks and lacerations across the bus driver's body, clearly taken at the hospital.

"The video store clerk who got his throat slashed— He's a convicted felon, history of arson."

"What about the other two guys? Who got killed in the woods?"

His dad tossed a hand up and shook his head. "Priors all over their records, including—"

Stiles looked away, thoughtful. "Arson." To himself, he murmured, "So maybe they all had something to do with the fire. Another shot?"

"No! No, no, no more."

"Dad, come on," Stiles encouraged. "You work really hard, all right? You deserve it."

"Oh, my God…" His dad laughed to himself. "I'm gonna have such a hangover." Still, he waved for Stiles to pour him another.

Stiles chuckled. "You mean you're gonna have such a good night's sleep." Stiles plucked up his glass and turned away, his humor fading as he topped it off. "And I'm gonna have an eternity in the lowest circle of hell."

…

The sun was setting in the distance. At her back, the woods were becoming darker by the second. Malia paced, her arms crossed tight over her chest. What if he didn't show? Why would he even bother texting her if he wouldn't? Then again, what if he didn't come alone? What if he brought his murderous uncle with him? Was she prepared to face Peter Hale? She wasn't sure how she'd react. He killed Trisha. He tried to kill Scott; or, at the very least, to get him to kill their friends. He hurt so many people, and he wanted to hurt more. A tiny voice in her head encouraged her to skip asking questions and instead go for the jugular. That was the coyote, she decided. The shifter in her that just wanted blood. She couldn't think like that. She needed to be smart and level-headed. She had to make Derek understand that what he was doing was wrong. Family or not. He couldn't do this. He couldn't be on Peter's side.

"Hey."

She whirled around, her heart lurching up into her throat. She looked past him, eyes darting side to side.

Knowingly, he said, "I'm alone."

"By choice?"

He looked away a moment. "He doesn't know I'm here."

Malia shifted back onto her heels, her hands folding into fists that she tapped against her legs out of pure anxiety. "I don't know where to start… I thought when you got here, it'd be simple. I'd ask you why… how… and you'd see that what you're doing is insane."

"He's my uncle."

"So what?" She marched forward. "You don't think the people he killed had families? You don't think they're missed?"

Derek shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and let out a heavy sigh. "You don't know the whole story."

"Then tell me! Tell me everything so I can understand what the hell you're doing."

He raised his eyes to meet hers. "What happened to Laura was an accident."

"Bullshit," she snapped.

"Malia…"

"I don't care why or how. He killed her, Derek. He killed his niece. He killed your sister." Tears bit at her eyes and she blinked quickly, her chest heaving. "He cut her in two and he left her in the woods for animals to eat at her. He abandoned her out there. He took her power and he used it to hurt people. What about that is worth saving?"

Derek breathed in deep through his nose. "He had a reason."

"What's yours?"

His brow furrowed.

"What's your excuse for siding with him? Even if some part of you can't stop him, can't kill him…" She shook her head. "Why join him?"

He started toward her but stopped when she threw her hands up. He stumbled to a stop, a wince flickering across his face. "You're afraid of me."

"I'm pissed at you." She glared, even as her chin trembled. "I— I trusted you. Do you get that? I put myself out there for you. Again. I forgave you for not telling me what I am. I defended you over and over. Because I was sure that no matter what happened, you would do the right thing. Because I thought you understood what it was to lose people you love."

"I know it doesn't make sense to you… But Peter is the only family I have left." He stared at her. "If it was your dad—"

"My dad isn't a killer." She could feel that her eyes had changed, just as her nails had, digging into her palms now, deep enough to draw blood. "I won't let him do this… I won't let him kill people."

Derek pressed his mouth flat. "You can't stop him."

"We could... If you help us, we could."

He stared at her a beat. "I can't do that."

Malia's heart squeezed. Nodding, she looked away. "Okay."

He watched her, an eyebrow raised.

"Then I'll do it myself." With that, she made to walk past him, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to a stop. She turned to glare at him. "Let go."

"If you try to fight him, he'll kill you." He searched her face. "And I won't be able to save you."

Malia yanked her wrist free. "You mean you won't try to."

He ground his teeth together. "I need you to trust me… Stay away from Peter. Please."

Brow furrowed, she shook her head. "I didn't take you for a coward."

"This isn't about bravery. It's about survival." He sighed. "You might not believe me, but I don't want you to get hurt."

"Then do something about it." She shoved past him. "I don't care if he's your uncle. He's a psychopath and I'll do whatever I have to."

"What about Scott?"

She stumbled to a stop.

"You think Peter will just let him go? Whether Scott wants to be or not, he's Peter's beta. And if he won't fall in line, then Peter has no use for him."

Malia whipped around to face him. "What the hell does that mean? Is he going to hurt Scott?"

"The more betas Peter has, the stronger he is. Either Scott joins him or he gets in the way. One of those is expendable."

Malia's gaze narrowed and her lip curled back from her teeth, a low, building growly echoing from her chest.

"He's not the only vulnerable one… Stiles is human. Allison can be turned or killed. Your dad, Scott's mom, the Sheriff… What do you think they're going to do against an Alpha?"

Her gaze fell and she swallowed tightly. "That means he's at his weakest."

Derek made a face, confused. "What?"

"All he has is one beta who won't listen to him." Her chin raised defiantly. "That means that right now, before he has another beta to give him power, he's the weakest he'll ever be."

Frustrated, Derek shook his head. "You're going to get yourself killed."

"Better me than someone else."

"That's just it. Don't you get it? At some point, you need to put yourself first." He stabbed a finger at her. "It's survival of the fittest out there and you are too willing to be the sacrificial lamb."

"No, you just see me that way. You're so convinced that nobody can kill him that you're hiding and calling it survival. But we both know that if we did this together, if we worked as a team, we could put him down. You said it yourself, he is only going to get stronger. What are you going to do then? What are you going to do when he won't stop killing? How many victims are too many?"

Derek pressed his lips flat. "It's more complicated than that."

"I don't care." Malia scoffed. "People are dead, Derek! Scott was turned against his will. Every day I'm trying to outwit lifelong hunters. And now Jackson is threatening to out us so he can get the bite because that dumbass thinks it's the ticket to superiority. And it sucks. All of it sucks! But we are trying to do the right thing. We have no idea what the hell we're doing, but we are trying every day. So, I don't care what your excuse is. I don't care what Peter's justification is. Because if two sixteen-year-old kids are doing it better, then fuck your reasons." With that, Malia turned on her heel and left.

Her chest heaved and her hands shook, but she swallowed down the urge to cry and kept moving. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

…

After a quick shower, Scott tried calling Malia for the sixth time in less than an hour. It went straight to voicemail. As he hung up, he noticed he had a message of his own waiting. Hopeful, he listened to it.

"Scott, I noticed you hadn't handed your paper in today—"

Scott paced his bedroom. "God damn it."

"—if you need an extension, the best I can do is another 48 hours."

"Son of a…" Hanging up, Scott thumbed through to his messages and found one from Allison.

—'Hey, any word from Malia?'

Sighing, Scott typed back –'No. You?'

A bubble popped up to show she was typing back. Scott paced, impatiently.

(frowning emoji) —'No. I drove by her house too. It was totally dark and nobody answered when I knocked… Should we call her dad?'

Scott scrubbed an agitated hand through his hair. —'Not yet. I don't want to worry him. She's probably just caught up. I'll keep trying. Let me know if you hear from her'

—'Okay. I will. But if I don't hear back in a few hours, I'm putting together a search party.'

Scott half-smiled. —'I'll lead it.'

Abruptly, Scott's door was flung open and his mom stepped into his room. "Hey Scott, I'm coming home late tonight."

He stared at her a moment, his brow furrowed as he looked her up and down. She was dressed up; like, wearing-her-favorite-blazer dressed up.

"What? What's wrong?" she worried. "It is my hair? Makeup?"

"No. No, nothing. You look… amazing."

Melissa grinned.

He paused. "Wait, why do you look amazing?"

"Because, amazingly, I'm having dinner, for once, with a member of the male gender who's over the age of 16."

Scott rolled his eyes lightly. "Who?"

"It's a medical rep that came into the hospital, today." She nodded. "Yeah, we just kinda started talking, and the next thing I know, I'm saying yes to dinner and I'm really hating myself for skipping the gym last week…"

Scott shook his head. "What medical rep?"

The doorbell rang.

Melissa looked back over her shoulder. "That medical rep. And, uh, I'm not- I'm not ready." Nervous now, she shook her head and waved her hands. "I'm not done, I'm not ready, so if you could please just get the door and talk with him, okay?" She stepped into the hallway to leave but looked back at him seriously. "Be nice."

Scott tipped his head and sighed, long and loud. This was the last thing he wanted to be happening right now. Still, he quickly made his way downstairs. Maybe, with his mom out for the night, he could borrow the car and take another drive by Malia's house. Or was that overstepping a boundary? Maybe he could plead concerned friend, because her not answering calls or texts for hours on end was more than a little nerve wracking. Especially when there was an angry, murderous alpha wandering around.

Scott had just reached the door, fingers just grazing the handle, when he felt it. A shift in the atmosphere. A tension. The heavy, ominous weight of someone behind that door that he did not want to see. The alpha. He wasn't sure how he knew. An instinct maybe. But he knew it was him. Waiting there. He withdrew his hand and stepped back, his heartbeat climbing.

The doorbell rang.

"Scott! Get the door," his mom called from above.

Scott kept stepping back, as if hoping Peter might just change his mind and leave.

Instead, the doorbell rang twice in quick succession. Scott flinched, blinking rapidly.

"Scott!" Melissa shouted. "For the love of God, please!"

Scott looked back, but he couldn't bring himself to answer her or do what she asked. Instead, he stared at the door handle, watching as it slowly began to turn. Panicked, he reached for it, thinking to—what? Close it? Lock it? Before he could do anything, it opened, revealing an empty porch. His brow furrowed, confused.

"Hey," his mom said.

He looked back to see her standing on the stairway landing, crouched down enough to see him. "What are you doing? Aren't you gonna invite him in?"

She walked away and when Scott turned around, a smirking Peter Hale stood before him.

"Hello there."

Scott's face twisted up and it was pure instinct to try and shut the door. As if that was going to keep a rampaging alpha from tearing it off its hinges if he really wanted to.

Easily, Peter pressed his hand to the door before it could close. "Really? Slam the door in my face? Come on, Scott. Take a second to think that through."

Scott could feel his heart pounding against his chest. If he still had asthma, he imagined he would be in the middle of an attack right now, his lungs screaming for mercy. As it was, he had no idea what to do. "I'll tell her," he decided, grasping at straws.

"That I used to be a catatonic invalid with burns covering half my face? Good luck with that."

"If you hurt her…" He gritted his teeth. "If you even touch her—"

"Scott, if I may interrupt your listing of the top five most impotent-sounding threats for a moment, try and remember that I've been in a coma for six years. Don't you think I'd like to have dinner with a beautiful woman?"

"Just- Just half a second," Melissa called out, passing them by as she made her way into the kitchen. "Sorry."

Peter smiled at her until she was out of view and then turned a glower on Scott. "Or maybe you think that I've come up with an idea... Like how it might be easier to convince you to be part of the pack if your mother is too."

Scott's brows hiked. A cold drip of fear sliding down his back.

Peter crossed the threshold of the door and into the foyer. With his every step forward, Scott took one back, making it clear who was in control. "You need to understand how much more powerful we are together. You and me and Derek… And maybe that feisty little coyote girl of yours, if she can bring herself to be tamed."

A flicker of anger passed Scott's face.

Peter's gaze narrowed thoughtfully. "Did you know that some of the most successful military operations during the second world war were the German U-boat attacks? Do you know what they're called?" He smiled. "Wolf packs. Did you know that? Or are you failing history as well?"

Scott glared at him. "I know the Germans lost the war."

Peter snorted a faint laugh. "I think you'll find that most historians would argue that as a failure of leadership. And trust me, we don't have that problem here."

"I'm ready, I'm ready." Melissa walked up to them, smiling warmly at Peter. "Sorry again."

Peter grinned at her and Scott before holding an arm out for Melissa to take.

"Oh." She looked pleasantly surprised as she hooked her arm through his.

Scott squeezed his eyes shut, struggling for control for a moment. He folded his hands into fists and breathed deep through his nose. A lump at the back of his throat tasted a lot like worry-flavored vomit. He swallowed it down as his mom passed him, walking out the door. "Mom?" He lunged forward, staring at her as she looked back.

"Yes?" She sent him an 'are you serious right now?' look he was familiar with. The kind that said to 'drop it' before he found himself grounded. "Sweetheart."

Scott hesitated. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to convince her not to go without telling her why? Without explaining everything? And even if he did, would she believe him? This whole situation sounded crazy. And even if she did believe him, what then? Would Peter just walk away and accept defeat? Or do what he threatened? Turn Scott's mom into just like them.

No.

He couldn't risk that.

Defeated, he said, "Have a good time."

She smiled and nodded before leaving with a smug Peter.

…

Noah rolled his glass on its side, back and forth, until he went too close to the edge and it fell from his fingers.

Stiles caught it and placed it back on the table.

Noah stared at it and gave a long, tired sigh. "Stiles, there's just so many questions."

Knee bouncing, Stiles tapped a finger against his temple. "Like what?"

"Like if Derek wanted to kill everyone involved with the fire…" He held up a hand, confused, his voice slurring. "Then why start with his sister? I mean, she… she had nothing to do with it. Why make it look like some kind of animal did it? When that— When that cougar ended up in the parking lot, I checked with animal control. You know the instances of wild animal reports were up 70% over the past few months? It's like they're just going crazy, running out of the woods. I don't know."

Stiles sat back in his chair with a sigh. "Or something's scaring them out."

"Yeah." Noah hummed and turned a smile on Stiles. "You know, I miss talking to you. It's like we never have time—"

Lost in thought, Stiles dug his phone from his pocket. "Dad, you know, I have to make a phone call. I'm sorry. I'll be right back." He shoved up from his chair.

Noah's face fell. "I do. I miss it…"

Stiles walked away, already dialing his phone—

"And I miss your mom."

—Stiles abruptly stopped. He looked back, surprise filling his face. "What'd you say?"

Instead of answering, Noah reached for the whiskey bottle.

This time, Stiles intercepted him, stilling the bottle before any could reach the glass.

Noah let his eyes fall closed and whispered, "Thanks."

…

"Pick up… pick up… pick up." When the voicemail kicked in, Scott nearly shattered the phone in his grip. "Malia, where are you? Peter just showed up at my freaking house and is taking my mom on a freaking date! And I think… I think he might turn her o-or hurt her. Malia, please, I need you!" Growling, he ended the call and stared at the screen a long moment. Thumbing to Stiles' name, he tapped it and raised it to his ear.

Stiles picked up after two rings. "Yooo… So, listen, I was looking at the police file for the Hale fire. Long story, I'll explain later. But I have a theory—"

"It'll have to wait," Scott interrupted.

"Uh, okay. Any particular reason?"

Scott rushed out the door of his house, yanking it shut behind him. "Yeah. I need your help."

"You got it. What's up?"

…

Sweat poured down Jackson's face, his teeth gritted, as he raised two dumbbells high above his chest until they nearly collided, and then let them drop back down to his shoulder. His music, once at a deafening roar, abruptly fell silent. Dropping the dumbbells to the floor, he sat up, and shouted into what he'd thought was an empty locker room, "What the hell!?"

Panting, he walked past a wall of lockers to see a figure sitting on the bench next to his speaker, his iPod missing. "Hey?"

"I like your taste in music. I haven't heard this one…" They replaced his iPod in its dock, "in a long time." As the music started, the figure turned to face him.

Jackson's heart dropped into his stomach as he recognized Derek Hale grinning at him. Jackson stumbled back a step; his fight or flight instinct kicking in. Turning, he spotted a lacrosse stick and grabbed it up. "I'm not scared of you." His breathing picked up, coming out in a short pants, and he motioned with his stick. "Come on."

Unconcerned, even lazily, Derek rose from the bench and started toward him.

"I'm not afraid."

Amused, Derek came to a stop right in front of him, grinning as Jackson fell back a step. "Yeah. You are."

Jackson breathed through his nose, his chest heaving, but he maintained eye contact. His entire body was trembling; his fingertips were tingling and his legs felt fuzzy, like static. It wasn't unlike being on the lacrosse field, just as the whistle was about to blow and he knew he was going to face off against a rival team. Only then, it was exhilarating, because the one thing Jackson always knew was that no matter who was in front of him, he was better. Right now, he wouldn't call what he was feeling 'exhilaration.'

"You know, I bet you haven't had a day in your whole life where you haven't been afraid of something…" Derek mused.

Jackson's gut twisted at the truth of those words. At the way they pulled him apart so deftly that he felt his heart fall to his feet. Fear? Yes. But it was more than that. The raw honesty of a cutting remark that saw who he was behind a façade he had carefully crafted. In that moment, he was the worst thing he could imagine; small and insignificant.

"But you won't have to be anymore," Derek declared. "Not when you're one of us."

Jackson's eyes widened, hope blooming in his chest.

One of them… He'd won.

He was finally getting exactly what he wanted.

[tbc]

author's note: well, that chapter was a lot more jackson than i was expecting. a lot of this is set up for what's coming, so it was necessary. i think my favorite part is the malia/derek conversation. i really wanted to hit on malia's frustration and hurt that she keeps investing in derek, in part because she sees a lot of herself in him. only to be disappointed when he does things she just can't understand or agree with. it also highlights just how stubborn malia is. she knows the alpha needs to be stopped and even though a part of doesn't believe she can do it without derek, she's not willing to just let peter run rampant. let me know what your favorite part was!

next chapter, we see a shoot-out at the hale house, some unexpected allies, and a family secret comes to light. ;)

thanks so much for reading! please try to leave a review!
~ Lee | Fina