let me break (the walls that surround me)

by Tarafina

Life as Malia Tate knows it takes a swan dive when her best friend Scott is bitten by a werewolf. Toss in her growing feelings for him, a lurky Derek Hale, a budding friendship with Allison, and a need to protect everything she cares about, even at the cost of herself, and Malia has a tough road ahead of her. [season one rewrite - Malia was there from the beginning]

31. co-captain 3 - formality 1

episodes: Co-Captain (1x10); Formality (1x11)
word count: 14,723

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XXXI

Melissa watched the scenery move past outside the car window, her fingers absently fiddling with her phone. A strange sense of anxiety was welling up inside her, a leaden feeling in her gut. A warning sign, maybe. Or just nerves at being on the first date in, well, too long. He seemed nice enough. Effortlessly charming. Which, historically, hasn't been great for her. The effortless ones usually ended up being assholes. But she refused to assume the worst. Maybe he was the outlier. Or maybe she was desperate… Between work and being a single-mom, having any kind of personal life was difficult. Scott was old enough now that he didn't need 90% of her attention, but that just meant she had more time to dedicate to work, which she had to do if she wanted to keep on top of the bills. She couldn't rely on Rafe to come through with child support. For a man with a good, steady government job, he sure was shit at doing basic math. She silently told herself not to go down that path. Rafe had his demons. The kind that lived at the bottom of a bottle and rarely came up for air. For all she knew, that cushy government job had canned him after too many hangovers. She wouldn't know. The one thing he was worse at than paying child support was calling his kid. Not that Scott ever seemed particularly interested in speaking to his dad. Though, she wondered if that was a protective mechanism more than anything. If he never answered, he never had to hope for another call.

Rubbing a hand over her forehead, Melissa tried to will away the furrow that was forming. Scott was tough. For as big a heart as he had, he was equally as strong. He had to be. She was proud of him for that. Even if, lately, he seemed more scattered. Was that just puberty? She couldn't remember that stage in her life being so… chaotic. Then again, when she was his age, she was smoking pot and making out with Rafe every chance she got. She was almost certain Scott didn't smoke pot. He'd probably be less anxious if he did… Not that she wanted him to start. She just wished he'd talk to her more. Lately, it seemed like he was hiding something from her. Or maybe she was just projecting. He was getting older; he was bound to pull away some. And he was dating now… Sort of. Allison seemed like a nice girl. Very pretty and sweet. Her parents could probably benefit from a quick day surgery to remove the stick from their collective asses. But Allison seemed genuine enough.

Now, if only she could have the same luck and find a good man she could share a nice time with. She didn't need a ring and a promise of forever, but laughter and dancing? Now that she was happy to sign up for. Was that Peter? Maybe. Possibly. It was too new to tell.

Melissa's gaze moved to the window once more. She'd lived in Beacon Hills most of her life. The particular restaurant he'd wanted to go to was familiar. The route he was taking, however, was not.

"Everything okay?" Peter asked.

"Mm, I don't know. I just feel like we maybe missed the turn for the restaurant?"

"Hm, I'll pull over," Peter offered. "We can map it on your phone."

Melissa nodded. "Okay." As the car pulled over, she opened her phone and started tapping in the name of the restaurant, bringing up Maps to figure out how lost they were. She was sure he had either driven past the usual turn off or had them completely turned around. It wasn't long into her search when the weight of his stare was hard to ignore. Laughing lightly, she looked over at him. "What?"

"I was just noticing that you have the most incredible skin," he murmured. "It's flawless."

At her age, that was quite the compliment. If anything, work had her feeling like she was aging quicker than expected. "That's a new one on me."

His hand rose and his knuckles gently glided across the slope of her cheek. "Do you mind?"

A handsome man was stroking her face with the sort of fascination she might read about in a Harlequin book. Should she be flattered? Part of her was. Another part was nervous. Was it anticipation of more or something else? Her phone slipped from her hand then; Melissa bent to search for it on the floor between her feet.

Abruptly, the car rocked sideways and a crash echoed. "Oh!" Startled, Melissa sat up. Without pause, she had her seatbelt off and was climbing from the car. One look at the jeep that had rear-ended her date's car and irritation flared. "Oh, are you kidding me?" She slammed the car door and walked toward the jeep. "Stiles!"

Hopping out of his jeep, he said, "Mrs. McCall?"

"Yes!" she snapped.

"Wow, this is— this is just crazy." He closed his door and laughed awkwardly. "What a coincidence, huh?"

Melissa laughed, but she was far from amused.

---

…

---

The sky rumbled as rain began to pour. Crouched behind a car, Scott watched as his mom bickered with an apologetic Stiles

Peter stood apart from them and said, quietly, "Nicely done, Scott."

"I mean, I do not know what happened," Stiles defended. "You guys just came out of nowhere."

"Came out of nowhere!" Melissa scoffed. "We were parked on the side of the road, Stiles."

"How crazy is that? I mean, we should probably call the cops, you know, do like an accident report thing."

"I don't think that's necessary," Peter said.

"Are you sure? I think I'm feeling a little whiplash."

"Whiplash?" Melissa shrieked. "You hit us!"

"I don't know…" Stiles rubbed his neck dramatically. "There's something definitely wrong with my neck."

Peter slowly walked away from the duo, speaking under his breath so they wouldn't hear. "I know you're there, Scott, and I'm impressed. It's too bad most teenagers aren't that smart. Like that one on the lacrosse team— Jackson. Thinks he knows all about us. You know how they say knowledge is power. Not in his case."

Scott's chest heaved, his heart hammering rapidly. "Jackson. Oh, no…" Backing away from the car, Scott turned and started running down the street.

He'd parked his mom's car a block away; it didn't take him long to get to it. He had his phone out and was dialing Malia's number, urgently muttering, "pleasepleaseplease" under his breath. When it continued to go to voice mail, he hung up and called again, over and over. It wasn't until he was nearly halfway to the preserve that she picked up.

"Scott, hey," she answered.

"Oh, thank god." Relief swamped him and he sunk back against his seat. "Where are you right now?"

"Uh… At home?"

After a brief pause to make sure nobody was around, he blew through a red light. "How fast can you be at the Hale house?"

"What? Why?"

"Because… I think Derek's going to kill Jackson."

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…

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"Stupid freaking Jackson and his stupid freaking ego…" Malia raced through the woods, dodging low hanging branches and leaping over fallen tree trunks. What few animals she spotted scurried away from her, whether because they knew, deep down, that she was a predator, or just because she was a loud, angry girl running through the woods, she couldn't be sure. What she was sure of was that she was going to kick both Jackson and Derek's asses for putting her in this weird position.

Was this her fault? she wondered. In the heat of their argument, she'd stupidly let it slip that Jackson knew. Or had Derek found out on his own and she'd just reinforced that knowledge? Either way, did he seriously think the only solution to that problem was murder? What was it with Hales and murder? As coping mechanisms go, theirs sucked.

By the time she reached the ominous Hale house, she could already hear Jackson and Derek moving around inside.

"This house… it's the same h-house…"

"What'd you say?"

"I've dreamt of this house. I— I remember the staircase. I remember these- these walls. I remember… everything."

Catching sight of Scott coming from the trees, she crossed the yard toward him. He caught her hands when she was in reach and tugged her closer. "I've been calling you for hours."

Malia winced. "I did something stupid and then I was kind of stuck in my head about it. I didn't want to talk."

"You met with him." Scott sighed. "Malia, Derek's dangerous."

"I know. I said it was stupid." She frowned. "I just needed to know why."

He stared at her searchingly. "Did he tell you?"

"Not really." She shook her head. "I feel like there's more to the story but he's keeping it close to the vest. As per usual." She nodded her chin toward the house. "What's your plan here?"

Scott shrugged. "Take them off guard?"

"And then?"

His brows hiked. "I'll fight Derek, you sneak Jackson out the back."

Malia wasn't impressed. "Or we talk Derek out of it and scare Jackson enough that he keeps his mouth shut." When Scott didn't look convinced, she said, "He's not a killer. He might think he is, but… Whatever Derek is, it's not that."

"If you say so. But we go with my plan if yours doesn't work."

"Deal."

They decided to split up; Scott would come in through the second floor while Malia went in through the main. She was careful, tip-toeing her way down the hall. It was dark and the house was eager to creak and whine. She hoped they wouldn't pick up on any movement, too caught up in the situation. She slid her way across the wall, peeling paint catching on her sweater.

"P-please don't, okay? I'll shut up. I'll never say another word again." Jackson's voice quivered as he sat on the stairs, desperately pleading with Derek. "I'll leave Scott and Malia alone. Please, you can't do this! Please!"

Derek's head fell, his gaze on the floor.

"I—" Jackson started crying. "I don't deserve it."

Grinding his teeth, Derek said, "I think you do."

"N-no!"

"Look around you!" Derek yelled. "Wouldn't there be someone here trying to save you? There's no one here."

Jackson let out a stuttered breath.

"There's a reason. No one cares that you drive an expensive car. No one cares that you have perfect hair, and no one cares that you're captain of the lacrosse team."

"Excuse me," Scott called out from the top of the stairs. "Co-captain." He leapt from above, sailed over Jackson's head, and landed in a crouch between him and Derek.

Rolling her eyes at the dramatics, Malia stepped out from the shadows. "I knew you'd do something stupid." Frankly, she wasn't sure if that was directed at Derek or Jackson. But then again, it seemed like a good message in general.

Derek reared his head back with a snap and when he looked forward, he was sporting fangs and too much sideburn. He snarled at Scott and bared his teeth. "What are you doing here?"

Scott rose, equally as hairy. "I won't let you do this."

Malia's gaze darted to Jackson, who wasn't sure where to focus, his startled eyes moving from Malia to Scott to Derek.

"He's blackmailing you," Derek growled. "He's trying to expose you!"

"I promise I won't," Jackson cried.

"Shut up," Scott and Derek told him.

Malia stepped further out, shoulder to shoulder with Scott. She met Derek's angry gaze. "I'll be the first to say Jackson's an idiot. Obviously."

Jackson made a strangled noise behind her.

"But that shouldn't be a death sentence."

Derek shook his head. "If he tells the Argents who you are, they will kill you."

"I'll cross that bridge when I get there." Malia reached behind her, motioning for Jackson to get the hell up.

Misjudging, he reached out to take her hand.

She frowned back at him, but he didn't let go. Instead, he shuffled off the stairs to stand next to her, close enough that she wouldn't put it past him to pull her in front of him as a human shield.

Derek snapped his teeth and growled.

Scott stepped forward, blocking him from Malia and Jackson.

"Move," Derek told him.

Scott shifted from one foot to the other, ready to attack. "No."

"Fine, I'll kill you too."

A whistling noise cut the air.

Derek's expression immediately changed. He looked behind him and then yelled, "Cover your eyes!" before abruptly dropping to a crouch.

Instinctively, Malia shoved Jackson sideways.

An arrow pierced the glass window next to the door and hit a nearby cabinet, exploding in a spray of fire and smoke.

Malia was rocked from her feet, falling against the stairs. As bullets began riddling the house, she watched Jackson crawl down the hall on his hands and knees, scurrying away like a fearful rat. Meanwhile, Derek was crab-walking out of the danger zone.

A bullet pierced Scott's ribs, blood spraying. Shocked, she reached for him, only to be thrown backwards as fire lit up her stomach and her back collided with the banister.

Scott grabbed her hand and pulled. Malia's legs caved and she fell to her knees, dragged along the floor as Scott pulled her into a corner against a cabinet and shielded her body with his own. Malia pressed a hand flat against her stomach, only to feel the squish of blood as a flare of pain sent her vision sideways. It took a few seconds of blinking for things to level out. Bullets were still flying but her hearing had dulled everything to a distant rushing noise. All she could see was the blood coating her fingers.

Scott panted against her cheek, his forehead pressed to her temple. His hand caught her chin and her eyes turned to meet his. His mouth was moving but she couldn't make out what he was saying. Bursts of white light exploded all around them, arrows and bullets sailing past, sending debris in every direction.

He leaned back so he could see her better. And then, noise. Explosions and crashing debris, the repeated drum of automatic gunfire, and Scott's low, worried voice, "—hear me? Lia?"

Swallowing, she nodded. "I think you were shot."

He let out a shaky breath. Just as he was about to respond, he grimaced. Blood bubbled on his lips before he let out a wet cough; it sprayed against her face. She blinked, her heart stuttering. "Scott?" She reached for him, one hand gripping his shirt as he slid sideways, the other reaching for the bullet hole in his ribs. Smoke curled up from it and panic made her heart hammer.

Frantically, she searched the room until she found Derek, crouched in a corner, his back against the wall.

He stared at Scott, a complicated emotion crossing his face. "Go!" he shouted, pointing toward the back of the house. "Get him out of here!"

He said it like it was simple; like semi-automatic weapons weren't currently pointed in their direction and making confetti of the walls around them. Folding his mouth in a frown, Derek leapt from the floor, rushed over to them, and pulled Scott from the ground, taking Malia with him. "Run!" he ordered.

Malia swallowed down her fear, wrapped her arm around Scott's waist, and hurried them down the hall.

Scott was limping, nearly dead weight in her arms. Her jeans were soaked through with their collected blood. She kept going, stumbling over debris. She only looked back when she heard Derek's howl— a roar that briefly silenced everything else. The door was open and he stood before their attackers.

Malia fought the urge to go back for him.

Scott needed her now. Derek was doing this for them, so they could get to safety.

There were no stairs off the back door; fire or time or something had taken them. Malia jumped down, but the landing hurt. It ricocheted through her body and made her stomach throb. She swallowed down a sob and locked her knees so her legs wouldn't give out under her. Scott was no better. He cried out in abject pain; a sound that tore from his throat with such sincerity it made her wince. She hauled him in closer and rushed toward the trees. They had to move. Derek may be a distraction, but only for so long.

Scott was bent in half, his arm around his middle, blood pouring from his mouth as he panted, struggling for breath.

"Just keep breathing, Scott." She tried to run, but they were too awkward, their feet out of sync with each other.

Where was Jackson? Maybe if there were two of them, it would be easier. Knowing him, he wouldn't want to get blood on himself. He was probably long gone, leaving them to their fate without an ounce of remorse.

"Where'd you park your mom's car?" she asked, just barely missing a tree as they weaved through the woods. She was losing track of where they were. The trees were starting to blur together, the dim light making it harder for her to make sense of their surroundings. Her senses, once in overwhelmingly high definition, were now dull and failing. Not a great sign, and clearly the worst possible timing.

"I don't… I don't know… I can't…" His eyes rolled and he slipped, drawing her down with him.

"Shit." Malia caught him, gripping the waist of his jeans and pulling him up. He tried to walk with her, but his feet were dragging, and her own knees were getting wobbly. Whatever he'd been shot with, it was worse than her. It had to be one of Kate's magic bullets. For whatever reason, Malia's wound wasn't the same. It hurt like hell, but it was probably survivable… She hoped. How the hell was she going to explain this to the hospital? Her dad? Melissa? Sheriff Stilinski? Was she supposed to pull a Derek and hide Scott while she stole another bullet from Kate Argent's stash? She doubted it would as easy this time. And Scott looked a lot worse for wear. He wouldn't last a day or however long it would take for her to find it. Not to mention, she was bleeding and had no idea how long it would take her to heal from something like this. The Argents were bound to notice she'd been shot and would put two and two together fast.

Panting, Malia pulled him to a stop and let him lean against her. She needed a second to get her bearings. Where were they and where was the closest parking lot? "It was a parking lot, right? You didn't just park on the side of the road?" She had no idea how they'd find his car if it was just abandoned somewhere.

Scott shook his head, but she wasn't sure at which option.

She whipped her head around, squinting at the trees, trying to figure out how close they were to her house. Her dad would ask questions, but he would also drive them to the hospital. Or she could steal the truck. One or the other.

"We'll go to my place. Okay?" She nodded, even as her body was begging her to just stay still a little while longer.

"Stop." He pulled at her, wheezing. "Stop. I need… I just wanna… lay down."

"What, like a dog on his death bed?" She clenched her teeth. "No way. We'll keep moving."

"Please." He looked up at her, his chin drenched in black blood. "Lia, please."

"Don't make me stop. Don't do this." Malia's eyes burned. "Scott, you're hurt. We have to get you somewhere."

"Jus' for a minute," he slurred.

He slid to the ground and she went with him.

Blinking back tears, she whispered, "A minute, that's all." She leaned her back against a tree and felt her legs go limp, exhausted. Her gut burned; every breath felt like being stabbed with a hot poker.

Scott shifted himself over, laying on his back, resting his head in her lap. She brushed her fingers through his hair soothingly. "You need a haircut."

He grinned, his teeth stained black. "I do?"

"Yeah?" The tips of her fingers slid down his face, tracing his cheek. "Did you ever think we'd be here?" She scrubbed her wrist over her face, swiping at a stray tear. "Sixteen years old and we'll have matching gunshot wounds. What a story, huh?"

He stared up at her from half-closed eyes. "S-something to remember." His chest heaved and his breathing was laboured. Smoke still drifted up from his wound, curling in the air.

"We should go." Malia's throat tightened. "Scott, we need to move."

He reached up to cover her hand against his face. His palm was damp and streaked in blood. "Lia?"

"Yeah," she whispered.

"Will you… winter formal… with me?"

Squeezing her eyes shut, Malia let out a choked laugh. "Winter formal?"

"Uh-huh."

Nodding, she said, "Sure. If you promise not to lose your boutonniere this time."

He smiled. "Deal."

Swallowing, Malia rubbed her thumb against a tear that slipped out from the corner of his eye. His hand felt loose against hers now and his eyes were all but closed. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek and took a deep breath through her nose. "Wake up." She shook him a little bit. "Scott, please… Wake up…"

But he was still and quiet, his chest barely moving, his lungs struggling to draw in breath. She spread her hand over his chest, trying to feel the rhythm of his heart, the unsteady rise of his lungs, to convince herself he was still with her. "This is my fault," she whispered. "I told Derek about Jackson. He wouldn't have gone after him, we wouldn't have been there, if it wasn't for me doing exactly what I promised I wouldn't. I should've left it alone. I never should've talked to him. It was stupid a-and dangerous and I…" She swallowed tightly. "I did this."

There was nothing but the sound of Scott's rattling breaths, and Malia squeezed her eyes shut. Her head fell back against the tree and she looked up, glaring at the moon. An angry, defeated scream welled up in her throat, but she trapped it behind her blood-stained teeth. There were hunters in the woods, and they were already wounded. They'd be sitting ducks. No, she had to think. She had to be logical…

She could carry him. It would be hard, and it would hurt like hell, but she could do it. She had to. He was not going to die in the woods. She wasn't going to tell Melissa her only son was lost. She wasn't going to stand at his funeral, shoulder to shoulder with Stiles, mourning their best friend. She was not going to lose him, not like this. Breathing hard, her chest heaving, she felt a flood of determination. Carefully moving his head from her lap, she laid him down next to her. Digging her heels down into the soft ground, she pressed her hands against the rough bark of the tree and leveraged herself up. Her gut flared with pain, like hooked claws tearing through her organs. But she kept pushing, breathing hard through her nose, until she was on her feet. She swayed, her vision briefly spotty, but managed to plant her feet and stay upright.

She would carry him on her back like the worst piggyback in history, she decided. Dropping to one knee, she reached for his hands. It was going to take some twisting and pulling, but she could do it.

Suddenly, she heard a noise. The snap of a nearby branch. Her eyes darted, searching out the perpetrator. Was it an animal? An Argent? Was it Jackson? If it was, she might just forgive that power-hungry dumbass.

Heart hammering, she released Scott's hands and pushed herself up. She gritted her teeth against the burst of pain flaring across her stomach and shook her head, willing herself to focus. Her hands flared out at her sides, nails elongated and sharp. Panting, she gritted her teeth, and readied herself for a fight. But just as she heard a whistle and turned toward it, light flashed in her eyes. It forced her to squint and throw a hand up to shield her vision. When the light bounced away, she dropped her hand to see—

"Deaton?"

"Malia," he greeted calmly.

She stared at him, her brow furrowed. "What are you doing out here?"

Deaton's gaze swung toward Scott. "I had reason to believe Scott might need my help."

She tucked her hands behind her back, willing her nails away. "Are you parked nearby?"

Deaton nodded and made his way closer to Scott.

Malia stepped forward, getting between them. She eyed Deaton warily. "Why are you here?"

He smiled at her gently, knowingly. "I'm only here to help. I promise."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Have I ever given you reason not to?"

She paused, her mouth pursed in a frown.

"Here. Help me get him up. We need to get the bullet out."

Malia glanced at Scott; sweaty, pale, and wheezing. He was only getting worse. Weighing her options, she sighed, and bent to help lift Scott from the ground. Her wound screamed at her to stop, but she wouldn't. Even when every muscle ached and her heartbeat grew loud in her ears, she hauled him up from the forest floor. Once Deaton had him high enough, he was able to carry him without Malia's help. It was a relief; she wasn't sure she could do much more. Already her knees were wobbly and sweat had broken out across her forehead.

"Come on. It isn't far," Deaton said.

Nodding, Malia followed after him, her arm wrapped around her center. She couldn't feel her legs, but they seemed to be doing what her brain told them to. One foot after the other, she followed him through the woods, shuffling through wet leaves.

Swallowing down a sour taste in her mouth, Malia tried to hurry her steps, to keep close to them. She wanted to reach for Scott, his head dangling over the side of Deaton's arm.

"Stop," he murmured, his eyes still closed.

"You're going to be all right," Deaton told him soothingly.

Malia glanced at Deaton and then back to Scott. "How did you know where we were?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Deaton said, rather pleasantly given the situation.

"And you haven't answered any of them."

He smiled back at her. "All will be answered in time."

He sounded like an older, wiser Derek. Couching his non-answers in some strange mysticism.

Rolling her eyes, Malia continued to trudge after them. As soon as Scott was safe, she'd get whatever answers she wanted.

---

…

---

Allison paced her bedroom, fiddling with her phone as she chewed her lip. No response from Malia and now not even Scott was getting back to her. Maybe she was overreacting. Malia already told her she'd be with her cousin, helping him through something. But Allison couldn't get the weight in her gut to go away.

Finally, tired of second-guessing herself, she grabbed up her jacket and made her way downstairs. She was almost to the garage when her dad popped out from behind the fridge door. "Hey," he said. "Isn't it a little late to go for a drive?"

Allison forced a smile. "Yeah. I just… I was a little worried about Malia. She was kind of anxious after school and she's not really answering my texts…"

"Okay." His brow furrowed. "You think it's serious?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "But with everything that's been going on the last month, I'm worried. I just want to drop by her house, see if she's home. Or if her dad knows where she is. Then I'll come right back, I promise."

He hummed, not looking entirely sure.

"Dad, seriously. I'll be fine."

"All right." He nodded slowly. "You stop by her house, if it's dark, you leave it and you come home. If she's there, remind her she should be better about checking in and then—"

"Get home." She smiled, dimples forming in her cheeks. "I will."

"You got your phone on you?"

"Fully charged," she assured.

"Call me if you need anything."

Nodding, Allison made her way into the garage, grabbing the keys off a hook as she went.

---

…

---

Malia scrubbed the dried blood from Scott's mouth and chin with a damp cloth while Deaton carefully probed his wound. Scott was laid out in the same surgical room Shiloh had occupied a month ago. Scott's lips were cracked as if he were dehydrated; his skin was pale and sallow, covered in a fine sheet of sweat. Once the blood was clear, she grabbed a separate cloth, soaked it in cold water, and washed the rest of his face. His shirt had been tossed, bloody and torn, leaving him only in blood-soaked jeans, the hole in his ribs gruesomely open.

"How deep did it go?"

"Deep enough."

"Does it hurt?" she worried. "Can he feel it when he's passed out?"

Deaton glanced at where her hand rested against Scott's cheek. "If you're trying to take his pain, it might not work."

Her mouth twisted. "I don't know how, but why not?"

"In order to absorb pain, you have to be focused and willing."

"I'm both of those," she argued.

"Yes, but don't think I missed that you were shot too. It's hard to take someone else's pain when you're already struggling with your own." He shook his head. "While noble, it's dangerous."

Malia's brow furrowed. "Dangerous how?"

"Depending on how much you're trying to heal someone else, it can do harm to you. It's one thing to give someone comfort, to ease their pain to something tolerable. But to absorb everything they're battling can have fatal results."

She frowned. "You're saying I could potentially heal someone completely though?"

"As a beta, it's unlikely. You could try but, as I said, it'd likely only result in your own death. For an alpha, they may put so much into healing one of their pack, they lose their alpha status and are returned to a beta. The power it takes to fully heal someone from something lethal is all-consuming. So, it's best, in my professional opinion, to offer comfort and compassion where possible, but always be aware of your own limitations."

Malia hummed thoughtfully. "Professional like, as a vet, or as whatever had you out in the woods tonight?"

He sent an amused look in her direction. "I'll need to remove the bullet."

She shook her head faintly. "Scott's is worse."

"Scott's… was laced with wolfsbane."

"Regular wolfsbane? It's not Nordic Blue?"

Deaton stared at her a beat. "Luckily, just the common type." His gaze fell to her stomach where her shirt was soaked through and clinging to her. "Yours appears to be a regular bullet, not laced with anything."

"Still hurts."

"I bet."

"So, Scott won't need anything then? If it's normal wolfsbane, I mean."

Deaton nodded. "Once I remove the bullet, the wolfsbane won't be as potent. I'll clean out the wound to get rid of any lingering residue so he can heal."

"Good." Malia dabbed at his forehead with the cloth. "So, how long have you known?"

"About Scott?"

She nodded.

A faint smile pulled at his mouth. "I picked up on a few hints."

"With everything you know, I'm guessing he's not your first werewolf patient."

"And you aren't my first werecoyote."

Malia stared at him, but Deaton only had eyes for Scott's wound now. He dug inside him with a pair of forceps and carefully plucked the bullet from his ribs. He dropped it in a steel emesis basin before picking up a cotton ball to gently dab at Scott's ragged skin.

Sucking in a deep breath, Scott startled awake. He let out a stuttered cough, his head raising off the table.

"It's all right, Scott," Deaton soothed. He pressed a hand to Scott's shoulder encouraging him to lay back. "I wouldn't get up just, yet."

"Where am I?" His eyes darted around. "Where's Lia?"

"She's here."

"Hey…" She leaned over him, fingers brushing through his hair.

His arm swung back, reaching for her, but his coordination was off.

Half-smiling, she caught his hand and brought it up to her cheek. "You're okay."

"You're fine," Deaton agreed. "And I've given you something that should speed up the healing process."

Scott squinted at him from glossy eyes. "But you're a vet."

"That's very true. And 90% of the time, I'm mostly treating cats and dogs."

Scott blinked sluggishly, barely keeping himself awake. "Mostly?"

Deaton smiled down at him. "Mostly."

Malia squeezed Scott's hand. "You can go to sleep. I'll be right here."

He tilted his head back and tried to look at her.

"You're okay," she promised.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. His mouth moved to form her name— Lia, but no sound came out. His grip loosened and she knew he'd fallen back asleep.

Malia stared at him a long moment before she raised her eyes to meet Deaton's curious stare. "What?"

He shook his head. "I'm almost done here. Why don't you clean yourself up and we'll get started?"

Grimacing, Malia nodded.

---

…

---

Idling in front of Malia's house, Allison frowned. It was dark; even her dad didn't seem to be home. Digging her phone out, Allison tried Malia's phone one more time. It rang and rang but no one picked up. When her voicemail clicked over, she cleared her throat. "Hey. Me again. I'm probably starting to sound crazy and needy but I'm just worried about you…" She rubbed her fingers against her eyes. "You were so weird after school and I just really want to talk to you… So, call me when you get this?"

Hanging up, Allison sighed. She was about to shove her phone back in the pocket of her jacket when it buzzed in her hand. Hopeful, she raised it, flipping it open to see if Malia had responded. Instead, she was met with a text from Kate:

—'We need to talk'

Frowning, Allison's fingers hovered over the message before eventually tapping to open it. She typed back—'now?'

A bubble popped up showing her aunt was responding.

Allison looked back at Malia's dark house and felt, strangely, like she was at a crossroads. Should she keep trying to track down her friend or see what Kate wanted?

Her phone buzzed and it startled Allison from her thoughts.

—'Right now. Meet me at the preserve. By the south-facing parking lot.'

An excuse was just in reach. She couldn't. It was a school night. She promised her dad she would come right home. But this was her aunt. It wouldn't take much for Kate to convince her dad that she come hang out with her for a little while. She could lie, say she was with Malia and that her friend needed her, but then what? She just wasted an hour or two sitting in front of Malia's house, hoping she came home, just in case Kate mentioned to her dad that she didn't meet with her? Why did this feel so complicated?

It was just a conversation… Late at night, in the dark, ominous woods. A conversation that already felt loaded. After all, Kate was the one that left the exploding arrowhead out for her to find. She had to know Allison would test it and have questions. And didn't she? Hadn't she watched sparks and smoke fly off that tree and asked herself why? Well, this was her chance to find out the answer.

Curiosity killed the cat, a voice whispered in her head.

But not knowing wouldn't do her any good. Left in the dark, always wondering, helpless and confused… That wasn't who Allison wanted to be.

Her hands shook as she replied: —'I'm on my way'

There. Now there was no going back.

---

…

---

Having stripped off her shirt and tossed it in the garbage with a heavy plop, Malia stood at the stainless-steel sink, scrubbing blood first from her face, then from her stomach, careful not to get too close to her wound. Her hands were stained red, dried blood in every crack and crevice, embedded under her nails. Hers and Scott's. She scrubbed at her fingers until they were red and raw.

Deaton reached past her to shut the water off. "You're overwhelmed. You went through something traumatic. It's normal to get anxious."

Malia glanced at him. "Are you a part-time therapist, too?"

"Not quite." He motioned behind him to where a second surgical table had been wheeled in. "Once I get the bullet out, it'll start to heal."

"How long does it take?"

"Healing depends on a lot of things." He washed his own hands before pulling on a new set of gloves. "For an alpha, they can heal faster depending on how large their pack is. For a beta, it depends on who they are. How easily they stress out. An anxious beta may take longer because it's not focused on its healing."

Awkwardly, Malia climbed up and laid herself down on the table. It was cold against her bare skin and she let out an involuntary hiss. Wiggling around until she was flat, she struggled with where to put her hands before eventually letting them fall to the edges of the table. "What if the anxiety's not for yourself?"

"It's still a distraction. When a beta has time to rest and focus on themselves, the healing process is quicker. If they're pulled in too many directions, their body doesn't have the energy to put into healing."

Malia hummed. "Is this going to hurt?"

"No worse than when the bullet went in."

Snorting, she said, "It sucked going in."

"I imagine so." Deaton pressed a hand against her ribs to steady her. "Try to hold still… Most of my patients are unconscious when I do things like this."

"That's encouraging…"

"You're strong, Malia. And pain is fleeting."

"Sounds like something someone who isn't in pain would say." Malia gritted her teeth as she felt the cold metal of his forceps dig through her torn skin and muscle. She clamped her fingers down around the bed and squeezed. Holding her breath, she stared at the light above until her eyes burned from the brightness.

"Just breathe," he said, his voice calm and soothing. "I've almost got it."

Malia let a rush of air out through her nose and sucked it back in. Her heels dug into the surgical bed, rubber soles of her sneakers squeaking against the metal. She hummed the tune to Rhiannon, trying to focus on anything but the searing pain of him digging around in her open abdomen.

"Fleetwood Mac, huh? Good taste."

Malia kept humming.

"There it is… All right. Deep breath."

She sucked in air—

"Got it."

—and let it out in a whoosh.

Deaton pressed a gauze pad against her stomach. "Here, hold this."

Forcing one hand to release its grip on the bed, the metal of which felt deformed as she let go, she pressed a shaking hand to her stomach. Gritting her teeth, she swallowed down a grunt of pain.

"Just keep breathing." Deaton stepped away and disposed of his gloves. He picked up a small brown bottle and a bowl of cotton swabs from a tray near Scott. "Here. This will help."

Her hand slid away and he removed the pad from her stomach. He soaked a cotton ball and began gently rubbing it along the frayed edges of her bullet wound.

It burned for three of the longest seconds of her life but then faded into a dull ache. "What is it?"

"A special blend. It will speed up the healing process."

She frowned. "And you just have that… laying around?"

"For special occasions, yes."

Malia stared at him skeptically. "They didn't teach you that in vet school, did they?"

His mouth quirked. "No."

"Well, wherever you learned it, I'm grateful. Scott will be too."

Deaton nodded. Once he was done, he placed a new square of gauze over her stomach and taped it down. "Don't move too much. If you can, try to sleep."

She raised a dubious eyebrow. "This bed might be good for surgery but not so much for sleeping."

"Try," he encouraged.

Malia sighed but gave a faint nod.

Deaton busied himself tidying up the surgical room. The shuffle of him moving around was soothing. And if she tried really hard, she was almost sure she could hear Scott's steady heartbeat. In a matter of minutes, the adrenaline seemed to wear off, and the anxiety left her in a rush. Exhaustion swamped her in its place and her eyes grew heavy. She blinked a few times, trying to fight it, but eventually, it was too much. She let herself drift away.

---

…

---

Allison swallowed down the urge to ask, again, where they were going. Kate never answered anyway.

Hugging her arms around herself, she eyed the walls, half peeling paint and half brick. Dull light bulbs were strung across the ceiling far enough apart that it left everything draped in shadows. The distant noise of water dripping and the cold temperature reminded her she was underground, in some hidden basement beneath the preserve.

The heel of Kate's boots clicked on the cement floor as she walked with ease, as if she came here often. Strange, considering this place looked like an abandoned bunker that hadn't seen people in a few decades. The unease that had been stirring in her gut from the moment Kate texted her was only growing.

Kate came to a stop in front of a rusted, metal door

"What is this place?" Allison asked.

"Let's start with the basics." Sighing, Kate faced her and rested a shoulder against the door. "You know how every family has its secrets…? Ours is a little different." She slowly stepped back, pulling the rolling door with her.

Nervously, Allison inched forward, until she could see inside the room. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't what she found.

A figure, seemingly strapped to a fence of rusted bars. Her brow furrowed; confused.

Kate swaggered past her, crossing the shadowy room.

Taking tentative steps, Allison walked closer, squinting at the figure, searching for some kind of explanation. Her heart hammered in her chest and her palms turned sweaty.

Allison glanced at her aunt, trying and failing to look unmoved. But her gaze bounced back to the figure, the man. Shirtless and shackled. This was her family's doing? This was her family's secret? It didn't make sense. None of it made sense.

And then, a flood of light from where Kate stood.

The… man? Animal? Thing? It roared. Elongated teeth, like fangs, bared at them. It wasn't human. Or it didn't look like it was, exactly. Its nose was flat and its brow pronounced, heavy over its eyes. And its hair seemed thicker, longer, shaped around its face almost like fur.

Allison's heart stuttered and her breath left her for a moment.

With a sinister smile, Kate looked at her and asked, "Isn't he beautiful?"

He growled, pulling at the shackles around his wrists, angling his shoulders forward, pulling away from the metal bars he was stuck to. He snarled in Kate's direction and then looked at Allison, those long, deadly teeth a testament to brutality.

Beautiful wasn't the right word. Terrifying was a better fit.

---

…

---

"There's my Ladybug."

Malia blinks, staring up at the smiling face hovering over her. "Mom?"

Evelyn reaches out and brushes her fingers over Malia's forehead. "You've been getting into trouble lately, haven't you?"

Her throat burns as she swallows. "Think I have a habit of that."

"There's a difference between being trouble and getting into it…" Evelyn takes a seat next to her and tips her head back, letting moonlight dance across her face.

They were in the woods; cold, damp earth and wet leaves make a bed beneath Malia. High above, the moon sits center at the mouth of where the tips of swaying trees reach. "Were you like me? Are you the reason I am what I am?"

"Would that make it easier for you?" She looks back at her. "Would it be less terrifying if you knew it came from me?"

Malia's head gives a quick, hard jerk. "No. I don't know. I just…" She clenches her teeth. "If it was, if you were a shifter, why wouldn't you tell me? Why… Why wouldn't you prepare me for that?" She stares at her searchingly. "And why didn't you survive?"

"Oh, Malia…" She cups her cheek and strokes a tear away.

"I was shot, but I survived." Malia's mouth trembles. "So, why couldn't you? Why couldn't Kylie?"

"Baby…" Evelyn shakes her head. "People are fragile. Even you. We all die some day. There are no quick fixes, no cures, no guarantees."

"But we're stronger. We heal." Her chin trembles. "Why didn't you heal?"

Evelyn smiles, soft and soothing. And then she bends down and presses a kiss to Malia's forehead.

Malia's eyes fall closed, squeezing against the tears that fill them. Her heart lurches in her chest, eager to escape; to break into pieces and spread itself across the forest floor. Instead, it lays stuck behind her ribs, trapped in a cycle of miserable mystery.

When Evelyn leans back, Malia's eyes open. But it isn't her mother staring back at her, no.

It's another woman with long, dark hair, freckled cheeks, and warm brown eyes. She was so familiar… "Rest, pup," she says.

The woman's face flickers, becoming Evelyn once more. "Let yourself heal."

It flickers back to the familiar stranger. She strokes the side of Malia's face. "You have so much to learn."

Malia shakes her head. "Who are you?"

"I'm—"

"Malia!"

Her head swivels abruptly, and everything shifts. It's daylight and she's in her yard, sprawled out on her back, the swing jerking past her.

Kylie runs over and crouches at her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Suddenly, Malia can't breathe. Her hand finds her chest and grips the front of her shirt, willing her lungs to work. But they refuse. She can do nothing but stare at Kylie's terrified face above her, screaming for their mom. And then, Evelyn's there, leaning over Malia. Evelyn's hand replaces Malia's as she says, soft and soothing, "It's okay. Don't panic. If you relax, the air will come."

Malia's heels dig into the earth and kick. Her instincts fight against her mother's advice. But Evelyn isn't worried. She doesn't look scared. Instead, she presses her hand down against Malia's chest, grounding her. "Relax."

It could've taken seconds or minutes, but eventually, the air comes. Malia sucks in gulps of it, her throat stinging and her lungs aching.

"See?" Evelyn smiles. "Could be worse."

"H-How?" Malia chokes out.

Evelyn's hand falls to Malia's stomach. "It could be a bullet wound." When she presses down, fire licks at every nerve-ending, and Malia screams.

---

…

---

Electricity rippled up the wires and sent Derek Hale's body into a seizing fit. He threw his head back and screamed. Each time the electricity struck him, his features became human again. But when it stopped and his rage flooded back, he turned. In either form, he was a sweaty, trembling mess of a person.

"What are you doing to him?" Allison worried. "Is that gonna kill him?"

"Oh, come on, Kiddo," Kate said. "Don't get all ethical on me now."

"What is he?"

"Shape-shifter. Lycan. Werewolf." She laughed. "To me he's just another dumb animal." As if to prove it, she sent another wave of electricity through Derek, watching gleefully as his body twisted, dancing in ghoulish fashion.

"Come here." Kate crossed the room to Derek and reached up, using her thumbs to pry open his mouth, revealing long, sharp teeth.

Squinting, Allison slowly crept closer.

"See these right here? These are canines, also known as fangs. Made for the tearing and rending of flesh." She shook her head. "Not something you'd find on those cute little leaf-eating herbivores, is it?"

Allison's brow furrowed. "This is a joke to you?"

"Sweetheart, there are werewolves running around in the world." Kate's hands fell, one resting against Derek's abdomen while the other hung loose at her side. "Everything's a joke to me. How else do you think I stay sane?"

Allison shook her head. It wasn't funny. Not at all. It was… She wasn't even sure what it was! It was hard to understand. Difficult to wrap her mind around. Werewolves? It sounded… absurd. Like something out of a bad TV show. Not real life. Not… Not her life. And yet, here he was. Somewhere in between human and animal.

"So, it was him at the high school and all the other animal attacks?"

Kate left Derek hanging there. She turned the light off and took Allison's arm, leading her back toward the door. "There's actually three of them. Another younger one like him called a Beta—"

Allison glanced back at Derek; his head hanging low, blue beams of moonlight cast across his exhausted, dejected figure.

"—and then there's the Alpha. Alpha's the pack leader— bigger, stronger, nastier. Those are the real ugly motherfuckers."

Fear curdled Allison's stomach. It was too much information. It was overwhelming. She had so many questions and yet a part of her didn't want to know. It didn't want any more of her life to feel like it was being turned on its head. But that was just it… Her life, in a lot of ways, was a lie. This was her family's legacy. Their secret. Everything they did was a cover for this, and Allison had been the unsuspecting child, dragged along, completely unaware.

Kate rolled the door closed on her captive and Allison stood, her back to the wall, arms crossed tight over her chest. "When were they gonna tell me?"

Kate sucked in a sigh. "They still haven't decided if they're gonna tell you."

"Why?"

"Let's just say if you react badly when you find out…" Kate clucked her tongue and shook her head. "Not good." She started through the brick-lined tunnel, leaving Allison to either linger or follow.

Pushing off the wall, Allison kept pace at her heels. "What do you mean, 'not good?'"

"They don't think that you can handle it. They look at you and they see this frightened little girl who's gonna run crying in the corner when she finds out the truth."

Allison frowned. The description sat wrong with her. That wasn't who she was. Even if, right now, she felt like it was more right than wrong. She was scared, and she had been for a while. But who wouldn't be when they'd been stalked by some serial killer? Who wouldn't be afraid when they were told that werewolves existed, and one had tried to kill her and her friends? Didn't that warrant a little fear? But she wasn't a coward… Was she?

"Me? What I see… natural talent." Kate came to a stop and turned to face her. "Allison, you said you wanted to feel more powerful, right?"

Allison nodded.

"Now's your chance."

Allison's arms loosened, her hands falling to her sides. She pulled at the sleeves of her jacket until they covered her fingertips. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"Go to school, do your homework. Go to the Formal on Saturday night," Kate encouraged. "Be a normal teenage girl who doesn't know anything. Trust me to get everything ready for the next part."

"What's the next part?"

"You're gonna help me catch the second Beta." Kate grinned, flicked her brows up, and then walked away.

Allison's mouth fell open in silent protest; but she said nothing, did nothing, as her aunt walked away.

---

…

---

When Malia startled awake, it was dark. There was only a faint shaft of light coming through a window in the door from the hallway. Her skin felt flushed and a faint sheen of sweat dotted her brow. Automatically, her hand reached for her stomach and found the gauze bandage. It didn't hurt as much, but she wasn't sure yet if it was healed. Pushing herself up, she grimaced as her muscles cried in protest. Despite how stiff her joints felt, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and slid off to stand. Her knees shook but her legs didn't give out, so that was something. Crossing to the other bed, Malia leaned over Scott. Gently peeling back his bandage, she found his wound was still red and raw, but it didn't look nearly as bad as it had before. She smoothed it back down and checked his face, searching for any sign of distress, but he seemed calm. Content to sleep.

For a moment there, she really thought she was going to lose him. Stuck in the woods, with no idea how she was going to fix what was happening, a bullet wound in her gut… Was this her life now? Was this what she could expect for the rest of… ever? Was she okay with that? Questions she didn't have answers to, and there was no time to find them.

There was so much to do, and she had no idea where to start.

Was Derek alive? Was Jackson?

What if they'd hunted Jackson down after and killed him, assuming he was still the beta? What if Derek was severed in half out in those woods, just like his sister? Would they bury him or leave him somewhere for the police to find, letting the town rest easy, believing the local serial killer was dead?

Anxiety welled up inside her.

She needed to do something. She couldn't just wait here and hope for the best.

But could she really leave Scott here with Deaton? Sure, he'd helped them. He'd saved Scott's life. But there were so many unanswered questions about him too. How did he know what to do? Had he always known Scott was a werewolf? Did he know about Peter? Was he on Peter's side? After all, a dead beta was worthless. But he did save him, and it would be pointless to kill him now. Wouldn't it?

She just needed to go back and make sure Derek was okay… And Jackson. If she could find either of them. And when she was done, she'd come back for Scott. It wasn't a great plan, but it was a plan.

Bending, Malia pressed her mouth to Scott's forehead. It wasn't a kiss, exactly. It was comfort, or a promise, or just plain confirmation that he was there and real and alive, and she would come back.

Leaving him, she crossed to the door and carefully snuck into the hallway. She wasn't sure where Deaton was, but he had to be around here somewhere. He wouldn't just leave two teenagers to sleep off a couple bullet wounds on their own, would he?

She was nearly to the back exit when a throat cleared.

Going still, she slowly looked back. "I needed some fresh air."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow but then held out a hand, a shirt dangling from his fingers. "You might draw less attention if you were fully dressed."

Glancing down at herself, Malia snorted. "Maybe." She took the proffered pair of scrub pants and shirt with a quiet 'thanks' and made her way into a nearby bathroom. When she walked back out, he was waiting for her. "I'll be back. If you could just keep an eye on Scott…"

"He'll be safe here." Deaton stared at her a beat. "You already know the woods are filled with hunters. Is it smart to go back in?"

She clenched her teeth. "I left a couple people behind. I need to make sure they're okay."

"And if they aren't?"

"Well, I just freed up a surgical table." She headed for the door but hesitated. "I'm going to trust you. But if anything happens to Scott while I'm gone…"

"Message received."

With a nod, she left.

Rain made the parking lot dark and slick. Her shoes slapped loudly as she raced toward the trees. In her head, she was trying to figure out the best direction to get to the Hale House.

A buzz caught her attention and she slowed to a stop, reaching for the phone tucked in the pocket of her scrub pants. She had a dozen missed calls from Stiles, Allison, and Scott— each. Not to mention as many missed texts. But Allison's face was the one currently flashing on her screen. Malia's thumb hesitated before eventually pressing the 'Answer' button.

"Hey," she greeted, her voice strained. "You know it's like… 3 am, right?"

"Where are you?" Allison sounded more than a little distressed. "Like, right now. Where are you?"

Malia blinked. "I… I'm in town." She scrubbed a hand through her hair and rubbed her temple. "I just left my cousin's. I was gonna walk home."

It said a lot that Allison didn't throw the fact that it was 3 am back in her face. "Where? I'll come get you."

"Are you okay?"

Allison let out a shaky breath. "No," she whispered. "Not really."

Nodding, Malia backed up until she was standing near the road. "You know the vet clinic that Scott works at. I'm pretty close to there."

"Okay." Allison sniffled before saying a little louder and clearer, "Okay. I'm on my way. I'll see you soon."

The line went dead, and Malia lowered the phone, staring at it a moment.

She considered calling Stiles, but given the hour, she doubted he was awake. And she wasn't sure if his dad was on duty now or not, but she had a feeling he'd be suspicious if Stiles' phone started blaring this late at night. Instead, she sent him a few texts letting him know that she was okay, that Scott was at the clinic, and she'd explain everything in the morning.

And then, she waited.

---

…

---

By the time Allison pulled up, Malia was soaked through and shivering. These days, she usually ran hot, but with a still healing stomach wound, she had a feeling she wasn't at her best. Climbing into the SUV, she'd barely pulled the seatbelt on before Allison was driving away. The SUV lurched ahead, going fast enough that Malia was tossed back against her seat abruptly. "Okay, Speed Racer, take it easy."

Allison glanced at her, chin trembling before she nodded faintly. She slowed down, but Malia still felt like they were going too fast for both the weather and whatever emotional turmoil Allison was going through.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?"

Allison's mouth opened but no words came out. Instead, it closed, and she drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, her brow furrowed. "Where were you?" she wondered.

"At my cousin's. I told you after school…"

"No, I know. I mean… Scott, he found me in the woods earlier, and he said he was worried too. That you were upset about your cousin and he'd tried to call but you didn't pick up. I feel like I called you and texted you twenty times and just…" She shook her head. "Nothing."

Malia swallowed. "I'm sorry. I suck at checking my phone sometimes. I was just really focused on my cousin."

"Yeah." Allison chewed her lip. "That night… At the school… I was terrified. And every night since, I feel like I'm trying to prove to myself that I'm not anymore. That I'm okay now. That nothing can make me feel like that if I don't let it."

"It's okay to be afraid."

"Is it?" Allison turned sad eyes on her. "Or does it make me weak? Because I feel… weak. And I hate it."

"You're not weak." Malia frowned. "What the hell happened today?"

"I don't know." She blinked back tears. "And I don't know what to do or think or feel."

Malia reached for her, a hand slowly wrapping around Allison's forearm. "Talk to me."

Allison gripped the steering wheel so tight her hands shook. Gritting her teeth, she yanked the SUV over to the side of the road, slammed the brakes, and put it in park. "This isn't who I am." Agitated, she ran her hands over her hair, smoothing it back from her face.

Malia waited, silently.

"It's not. I am not some—" She let out a tight, fractured laugh. "—frightened little girl who runs away crying when…"

"When what?"

She screwed her mouth up and sighed through her nose. "I don't know where to start."

Shifting in her seat, Malia shrugged. "Wherever you want, you can always fill in the blanks later."

"Okay." She nodded and rubbed her hands over her face, swiping at a few loose tears. "Okay. You remember the arrowhead? I tested it and it was… It exploded. I think it was like, a flash bomb or something. And I couldn't figure out what that meant. It didn't make any sense. Why would we have those? What would we use them for? And then… Then, I was worried about you and I was texting Scott. I was asking him if he heard from you. He hadn't. So, I waited. And I stopped hearing back from him and you weren't answering, so I thought I'd just go to your house, see if you were there. If maybe your dad had heard from you. But when I got there, it was dark. I thought about waiting. I tried calling you, but you never picked up. And then Kate called me. And my gut told me not to pick up…" She smiled, but it was haunted and empty. "But I just… I wanted to know. I needed to know…"

Malia felt heart start to race. Her hands, resting in her lap, folded into fists to hide their shaking.

"Do you remember when we joked about the serial killer being some supernatural creature? Like a vampire or an abominable snowman or… werewolves?"

"Yeah," Malia said, her voice little more than a whisper.

Allison started fiddling and tugging at her fingers. She shifted at the waist to look at Malia better. "What if we were right? What if… What if it was a monster?"

Malia stared at her, silently.

"I know that sounds crazy." She let out a hiccup of a laugh. "I sound crazy."

"You're not crazy."

"I'm not." Allison's face fell. Shaking her head, she rubbed under her nose. "If you could stop someone or something that was dangerous, would you do it? If it was for the right reasons. If you knew that stopping this… person would mean saving lives… Could you be a part of that?"

"I don't know." Malia took a deep breath. "I think I could. If I was sure that I had all the information… That I figured it out for myself and it wasn't just something someone else told me."

Brow furrowed, Allison tipped her head, questioningly.

"You're asking me because you trust me."

Allison nodded.

"Okay, well, I can give you my opinion," Malia said. "I can tell you what I'd do. But, in the end, whatever you do, it has to be your choice. It can't be anybody else's."

Allison swallowed and let her gaze fall. "What if my only source of information is biased?"

"Find another source."

She nodded slowly and turned her gaze off toward the rain-slicked road. "You haven't asked…"

Malia leaned back in her seat. "If you wanted to tell me, you would."

"I do. I want to. I just…" Her mouth twisted up. "I don't know how to put it into words that make sense. I'm not even sure I understand any of it. Not yet." Turning back to her, Allison smiled faintly. "But I'll tell you when I do."

Malia nodded. "Okay."

Scrubbing at her eyes, Allison sat forward. She put her car in drive and pulled back onto the road. "I'll take you home." As they started in the direction of Malia's house, Allison wondered, "Is your cousin okay?"

"I hope so." Malia stared out the window. "I guess we'll see."

---

…

---

After Allison dropped her off, Malia made her way inside. She changed her clothes and waited until she was sure Allison was long gone. Henry's truck was in the driveway and she could hear him snoring in his room. Earlier that night, before she'd left to see Derek, she'd written her dad a note telling him she was hanging out at Allison's and might stay over. She hadn't known how long she'd be with Derek and didn't want her dad to panic. Now, she was second-guessing that decision. What if she'd died tonight? He would've had no idea. In the end, he'd have more questions than answers, and yet another daughter to mourn. That should have given her pause. And maybe it did, for a moment. But Derek and Jackson were still missing. She at least had to attempt finding them.

Leaving her house, she made her way deeper into the woods.

Finding the Hale House wasn't difficult, even if it left a sour feeling in her stomach every time she saw it. There was just something haunted about the house; it clung to every fire-eaten board and hollowed-out room. The front door was left open a few inches, silently drifting back and forth, at the will of the wind passing by. There were no heartbeats inside. No sign of Derek or Jackson or the hunters that had tracked them down there. In the leaves and grass, there were bullet shells everywhere. Her feet kicked them as she walked. She could just imagine the hunters standing here, spread out in front of the house, spraying it with bullets while they were crouched inside, terrified.

Malia climbed the creaking stairs and made her way inside. There was blood on the cabinet where she and Scott had cowered. The faint smell of bitter smoke still clung to the walls from where exploding arrows had landed. Splintered wood and chunks of old plaster littered the floor. But it was easy to overlook, melding into the dilapidated mess of what the house had been before the attack.

Did Derek get away? Was he hiding somewhere in the woods? He'd found a place to lay low before, when the cops were looking for him. Maybe he'd escaped again. He, at least, had a chance. Jackson, however, was human.

Jackson's scent lingered by the stairs; overpriced cologne and sweat. There was something sweet about Jackson's scent; strange, considering how bitter he always was.

Following his scent, she breathed it in deep, trying to track it through the house. He'd gone out the back and crossed the yard. From there, it got a little hazier. She wasn't exactly adept at tracking smells, not in human-form anyway, and the forest had an abundance of them, all criss-crossing over each other. She couldn't totally be sure she was still following Jackson's scent and not the urine trail of some other animal. Abandoning his scent, she instead decided to go straight to the source.

By the time she'd crossed town and found herself in Jackson's pricy neighborhood, the sun was starting to rise. She stood at the bottom of the towering stairs that led up a small mountain to the front door. Sighing, she started climbing. Knocking on the door was not an option. Instead, she circled around to the back. There was a tree and she seriously contemplated climbing it to see if she could spot whichever window belonged to him. Or maybe she could throw rocks at his window until he opened it (and then, for good measure, keep throwing until she hit him square in his dumb face). Hands on her hips, she paced a circle, wondering if this was the stupidest thing she could be doing. What if one of his neighbors saw her and called the police? How was she supposed to explain this to Stiles' dad?

A noise caught her ears then and she turned to see the sliding glass door opening. Her brain immediately shut down any coherent thought that might offer an excuse for why she was in the backyard. She waited for his mom or dad to step out and start asking questions but, instead, she was met with the pale, drawn face of Jackson himself.

Malia let out a shaky breath of relief. "You're alive."

He stared at her a beat and then blinked. "So are you."

"Not for lack of trying on their part." She eyed him. "You don't look so good."

His eyes narrowed. "Almost getting killed will do that." He glanced behind him into the house and then yanked the door closed before crossing the deck. "What are you doing here?"

"Making sure your escape routine didn't end with you being severed in half. They do that, you know? They literally cut werewolves in half with some archaic sword."

Jackson rolled his eyes. "Great. Thanks for sharing."

"Was this enough?" She tossed her hands up. "Are you going to stop now?"

"Stop what?"

"Blackmailing me and my friends."

Jackson scoffed, his eyes wide. "Do you know what happened last night?"

Malia crossed her arms. "Enlighten me."

"You were shot." He nodded. "I saw you. You and McCall were shot. But here you are, perfectly fine. So no, I'm not done. Because if I'd been shot, my parents would be planning a funeral." He shook his head. "You don't get it, do you? The reward outweighs the risk. So what if a few hunters take a couple shots at you! It's survivable even when they don't miss."

"It's not that simple," she gritted out. "Jesus Christ, Jackson. Are you so desperate to be just a little stronger or faster that you're willing to die for it?"

Jackson stabbed a finger at his chest. "I need to be the best. And as long as there are people like you and McCall and Derek freaking Hale around, I can't be. So yeah, I am willing. Sometimes, in order to succeed, you need to sacrifice a part of yourself. Just because you and McCall are too weak to see the opportunity in front of you, doesn't mean I am."

Malia ground her teeth together. "You're gonna get yourself killed. Or worse, someone else."

Rolling his eyes, he took a deep breath and stepped back. "You owe me that bite. I don't care who does it or what it takes. Until I get it, I'll make your life and McCall's a living hell."

"Your existence does that all on its own."

He sneered at her before turning on his heel to leave.

Watching him go, Malia wondered why she'd ever been worried about the jerk.

---

…

---

Scott snapped awake, sitting up with a jolt. His gaze bounced around, only to realize he was in the exam room at the animal clinic. His memory was foggy at first, trying to remember how he got to the clinic. But slowly, it was coming back to him. The hunters at Derek's house, a bullet to his ribs, coughing up blood, his head in Malia's lap—

Malia.

He hopped off the table, his bare feet meeting cold concrete.

"Welcome back to the land of the conscious. You doing okay?" Deaton caught him, a steadying hand against his chest. "Maybe you should sit down, huh?"

"I can't." Scott shook his head. "Where's Malia? She was with me when…" His brow furrowed. "She was hurt too, wasn't she?"

"She was," Deaton agreed. "Not as bad though. She was healing a lot faster. That happens with regular bullets."

"Where is she?"

"I'm afraid she left."

Shock and confusion flooded him for a moment. "Left?"

"A few hours ago. It was still dark." He frowned. "I think she headed back into the woods, to see if she could find someone."

A muscle flexed in Scott's cheek. Derek. Or maybe Jackson. He wasn't sure which was better. "I need to find her."

"You need to rest." Deaton frowned. "You're healing, but you're not healed, Scott. You should take this time to—"

A bell rung from the front, alerting them to someone entering the clinic. They both looked toward the door.

"Hello?" Deaton called out.

A door closed, but no one answered. As Deaton moved to see who might be there, Scott grabbed his arm, stilling him. That feeling was back. The same one he'd felt last night when his mom sent him to open the door for her date. The instinctual awareness that a predator was near.

Deaton patted his hand but tugged it loose. He made his way to front reception.

"Hi there. I'm here to pick up."

If Scott wasn't sure he could trust his instincts, then the voice sold him— Peter Hale. A cold drip of fear trickled down Scott's back and his stomach dropped to his feet.

"I'm not sure I remember you dropping off," Deaton replied calmly.

Peter scoffed under his breath. "This one wandered in on its own."

Scott backed himself into a corner of the room and crouched down, the cold brick wall scraping against the bare skin of his back.

"Even if he did, I'm afraid I can't help you," Deaton said. "We're closed."

"Well, I think you can make an exception this one time. Don't you?"

"I'm sorry. That's not going to be possible. Maybe you could come back during regular hours."

"You have something of mine." Any attempt at friendliness fled Peter's voice. "I'm here to collect it."

"Like I said— we're closed."

There was silence then, followed by a couple footsteps, and then a scraping noise. "Mountain ash." Peter's voice turned wry, "That's an old one." And then— a grunt and a crash. Wood splintering as what Scott assumed was a chair making impact with the wall.

"Let me be as clear as possible…" Deaton remained unmoved, far from intimidated. "We… Are… Closed."

A shuffle, footsteps leading away. And then, quietly, so only Scott could hear, Peter said, "There are others who can help me get what I want, Scott. More innocent, and far more vulnerable."

Scott's fingers dug into the brick wall until they split. His mother, Stiles, Allison, even Jackson; they all fit Peter's description and they were all at risk.

---

…

---

When Malia finally returned to the clinic, she was exhausted. After reassuring herself Jackson was alive and just as much of an asshole as ever, she returned to the preserve and tried to find any sign or scent for Derek. There was nothing. Despite a few faint trails of him and a strange powder spread across the yard, she couldn't find any particular direction he might have gone. There were tire tracks criss-crossing in the dirt, but even they seemed to have no distinct path in any particular direction. She resolved herself to hoping he would eventually crop up, even if she was still completely pissed at him. She wanted him to wake up and realize his uncle was a homicidal asshole, not die.

She walked into the clinic on heavy legs, weighed down by fatigue, guilt, and worry. The bell rung above her head and she was about to make her way through to the surgical room when Scott stepped out. He was wearing scrubs, at least the shirt, and he stared at her a beat, his brows hiked.

"Hey," she said, her voice thick.

He walked through the open gate and crossed the room in two long strides, gathering her up in a hug that had her standing on her tiptoes. Malia felt something break inside of her, some barrier holding back the intense emotion of the last 24-hours. She wrapped her arms around him tight and buried her face in the crook of his neck as her heart stuttered its way up into her throat. One of her hands balled up the fabric of his shirt so tight she thought it might tear.

"I'm okay," he murmured against her hair. He rubbed her back soothingly and Malia let her eyes fall closed as any shadow of strength seemed to leave her. Her knees gave out and it was only his grip keeping her up. "Hey… Are you okay?"

Malia took a deep breath and held it for a moment, her chest squeezing. "I thought—" Her voice cracked. "I thought I lost you."

His arms tightened. "I'm sorry I scared you."

She let out a haggard laugh. "It's not your fault. I told Derek. I didn't even mean to. It slipped out!"

"Hey, it's okay."

"It's not. I screwed up and it could've gotten you killed." Shaking her head, she leaned back to see him, her forehead falling to rest against his. "We were lucky Deaton found us."

He half-smiled, his hand stroking her hair back from her face. "You didn't know Derek was going to do that. And you couldn't know the hunters would show up."

Malia shook her head. She knew he was trying to let her off the hook but that didn't make the guilt go away.

"What about Derek?"

Malia sighed. "I couldn't find him. Jackson's fine though." Her nose wrinkled. "Like a cockroach, he'd probably survive nuclear fallout."

Scott's mouth quirked up at the corners. "Maybe Derek did too."

"Maybe." She dropped down to her heels and, when she was sure her legs wouldn't give out on her, she leaned back. One of her hands gently slid toward his bullet wound. "Has it healed?"

"Not totally, but it's getting there." His gaze fell to her stomach. "What about you?"

Malia reached for the end of her shirt and shifted it up. She peeled the bandage back for him to see. "Mostly."

Scott winced, his fingers gently stroking her skin, just along the outline of where the bandage had stuck to her. "Does it hurt?"

"A little. Probably didn't help that I've been hiking around the woods and across town."

"Deaton says we should both rest. He's probably right, but I'm already late for school and I'm behind in three classes." He frowned. "I need to go in, but you should go home, get some sleep."

Malia shook her head. "I'm fine."

"Malia…" His hands rubbed down her arms. "You were shot, and you've been up all night."

"Not all night… I fell asleep for a couple hours after he pulled that slug out of my stomach." She frowned. "Had the weirdest dream…"

Scott pulled a face. "That doesn't make me feel better at all."

"Well, you're the one who got a laced bullet." She poked his chest. "So, if anybody needs more rest, it's you."

"And I will. Tomorrow." His hands rose to her shoulders and squeezed. "Please go home? Even just for the morning. If you're feeling up to it at lunch, then come in for the afternoon."

Malia pursed her lips. "Fine. But I'm setting an alarm. And if anything goes wrong at school, you and Stiles need to tell me. Immediately."

"Okay." He smiled then, slow and happy. "Are you excited for tomorrow?"

Confused, she said, "I've never met a Saturday I didn't like. Why?"

"The formal." He was entirely too cheerful for someone who'd been shot less than 12 hours ago. "You said you'd be my date."

"You were delirious from pain and you remember asking me to the formal?" She snorted. "Unbelievable."

Scott shrugged. "It was pretty memorable."

"It was pretty bloody." She smiled though, more amused than anything. "I need to find a dress. And you need to dust off your bolo tie."

He raised an eyebrow. "You want me to wear the bolo to the winter formal?"

"Sure. You'll stand out."

He laughed under his breath. "All right."

A cleared throat drew their attention then and they turned to see Deaton standing in the doorway. "While I appreciate you two are feeling better, clients will be showing up soon, and they might have questions…"

Scott's brow furrowed. "I have a few of my own."

"Later," Deaton told him in a firm enough tone that Scott merely nodded.

"C'mon," Malia tugged on Scott's hand. "We need to track down your mom's car. You can drive me home and maybe even make it to first period."

---

…

---

Malia slumped down in the passenger seat, her eyes at half-mast as she fought off sleep. Blinking a few times, she turned her head to look at him. "You said you called me a bunch, before the whole Jackson/Derek thing… Were you just worried I'd meet him somewhere?"

"At the beginning, yeah. I had a feeling you'd go looking for him. But also…" Scott frowned. "Peter showed up at my house."

"What?" Wide awake now, Malia sat upright. "Why? When?"

"He asked my mom out on a date. He told her he was some pharmaceutical rep or something, I don't know. Anyway, I couldn't tell her not to go." He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "You should've seen her. She was all dressed up and she was so excited. If it was anybody else, I'd be happy for her. But Peter? He basically hinted he was going to turn her just so I'd be on his side. I had to do something!"

A knot formed in Malia's gut. If something had happened to Melissa… Malia wasn't sure what she would have done, but it wasn't anything good. "What'd you do?"

"Had Stiles tail them. He rear-ended Peter's car and the date was basically a bust. But then Peter said he knew about Jackson and that he was blackmailing us. I knew he was going to get Derek to do something, so I left and I called you."

"But your mom's okay?"

"I think so." He shook his head. "I left her with Stiles. There was a crowd and I know Stiles wouldn't let anything happen to her. But I haven't heard from him since. Actually, I don't know where my phone is. I'm hoping I left it in the car somewhere, but…" He glanced around, frowning. "Maybe it's in the woods."

Malia fell back against her seat, her arms crossed over her stomach. "I have mine, but it died a while ago. Stiles is probably freaking out."

Scott sighed. "I know I have to go to school, but there's so much to do… Find my phone, convince my mom to stay away from Peter, find Derek, stop Peter, get caught up with school, go to the formal."

"Hey, at least one of those is skippable. We don't need to be at the formal. We've got more important things to worry about."

"Out of everything, that might be the only thing I'm looking forward to. It'd be a nice break from everything else. And anyway, it is important. We're going on a date…" He paused. "Right? It is a date, isn't it?"

Malia smiled slowly. "It's a date."

"Okay." He grinned. "So, it's important."

He pulled up to her house then and cut the engine.

Malia noticed her dad's truck wasn't there and couldn't help but be relieved she wouldn't have to explain last night to him. Eventually, she knew, she wouldn't be able to avoid the inevitable. She just had no idea how he would react to the idea that she wasn't totally human… and that maybe her mom was the reason behind it.

"You're sure you want to go to school? I have a very comfortable bed and enough room for both of us to pass out for a few hours."

"I wish I could…" Scott slumped back against his seat. "But I've already had at least one teacher call me and tell me I need to get on top of my homework."

"All right." Malia unbuckled her seat belt. "I'm planning to be there this afternoon. Until then, stay safe. Keep an eye on Stiles… and Allison… And try not to worry too much."

"I don't see that happening, but I'll try."

She reached for the door, but paused. Leaning across the center console, she pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. Leaning back so they were just inches apart, she murmured, "See you later."

Scott stared at her, a little wide-eyed.

Malia grinned. She shoved the door open and climbed out of the car. She crossed the yard to her porch before twirling around to wave.

His fingers flicked up from the steering wheel and then he was backing out of the driveway and heading toward the road.

Malia made her way inside and let out a long, tired sigh as the door closed behind her.

An excited Shiloh scurried out to meet her, tail wagging. Malia knelt down and wrapped her arms around Shiloh's neck for a hug. "C'mon you, we'll get you something to eat and then you and me are going to take a nap."

---

…

---

Kate stood at a table, digging through the pockets of Derek's leather jacket. "Come on, Derek. He killed your sister." She found his wallet and quickly went through it, pocketing his cash. "Now, either you're not telling me because, well, you want to kill him yourself or, for some reason…" Plucking his licence out, she smirked down at it. "You're protecting him." Turning on her heel, she swaggered toward him, hanging limply from metal cuffs, utterly weak. His eyes were closed and his skin shone with sweat.

Laughing to herself, she reached up and gripped his chin, giving his head a shake. She held his licence up next to him, the same grumbly expression staring back at her in print. "Look at that sour face. I bet you always used to get people coming up to you saying, 'Smile, Derek. Why don't you smile more?'" She stared up at him but he gave no reaction. Turning on her heel, she took a few steps away from him. "Don't you just wanna kick those people in the face?"

Glaring at the back of her head, he answered, "I can think of one."

"Promise?" She turned to face him. "'Cause if I thought you'd be that much fun, I'd let you go."

Back to his stoic self, he said nothing.

Annoyed, Kate made her way back to the table and plucked his phone up. "All right, let's see." Tapping the screen, she opened it and started scrolling through his contacts. "Nothing, nothing, nothing. God, I hate this detective crap."

Tipping his head back to rest against the bars, Derek stared up at the ceiling. "Are you gonna torture me? Or are you just gonna talk me to death?"

Kate put on her fakest sweet voice. "Oh, sweetie… I don't wanna torture you." She tossed his phone back to the table and walked toward him, swinging her hips. "I just wanna catch up. Remember all the fun we had together?"

Derek gritted his teeth. "Like the time you burned my family alive?"

She scoffed. "No, I was thinking more about the hot, crazy sex we had." She stopped just short of him and grinned. "But the fire thing. Yeah, that was fun too."

Furious, Derek lunged forward, but the restraints kept him from getting very far.

Kate laughed, his face just inches from hers. "I love how much you hate me. Remember how this felt?" Dipping low, she dragged her tongue from just below his navel to his sternum.

Growling, Derek shifted, and lunged at her again, this time snapping his teeth at her once, twice. If he could tear her head off, he would.

Kate, however, was happy. She got exactly what she wanted: a reaction. "Oh, sweetheart, I really don't want to torture you…"

Breathing hard, Derek closed his eyes and struggled to control himself.

The metal door rolled open. A man stepped forward from the shadows; tall, strong, and mean looking. He was bald with wide shoulders and dark eyes.

"But he does." Kate walked out, not so much as glancing behind her.

Derek sighed, already exhausted from a beating yet to come. He watched the man step further into the room, cracking his knuckles as he went.

[tbc]

---

author's note: so, in the original episode, one thing that bugged me was the beginning scene, where allison is driving erratically because she can't stop thinking about what she just saw in the basement with kate and derek. and sheriff stilinski pulls her over. but we later see scott waking up at the clinic, which implies it's all the same night. sheriff stilinski was just getting wasted at home, going over paperwork. what's he doing on the job? anyway, i liked it better as an opportunity for an emotional and freaked out allison to turn to malia for guidance. and malia can't help but compare what allison is asking- can you stop someone if you think it will save people, to her situation with the alpha. she also recognizes allison is at a crossroads and she can't be the one to decide it for her, just give her the tools and opportunity to choose to be different and make her own judgments.

as much as i dislike jackson, there are these brief moments where you see past the shell to this scared little boy terrified of not being good enough. and then he covers them with being a total asshole, so that's fun. i do enjoy writing his dynamic with malia. they're both such blunt people, lol.

next chapter: girl bonding, dress shopping, and scott/malia make some progress. ;)

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