Episodes: Formality (1x11); Code Breaker (1x12)
Word Count: 12,270

XXXIII

In between make-up and fiddling with her hair, Malia was fielding a barrage of texts from Danny and Allison with updates on their pre-formal routines. Allison had officially talked herself in and out of the dress she picked (unfortunately, the one Peter suggested) at least three times, sending Malia pictures of a few of her other dresses as possible replacements before eventually deciding to just go with the new one. Danny, on the other hand, was mostly just sending her pictures of him in his tailored suit, asking if it was too much. Frankly, he looked perfect, and Adam was lucky to be on Danny's arm, which was exactly what she told him. Just as disgustingly cute as ever, they'd decided to go on a pre-formal date, complete with dinner, and Malia was contemplating whether a bowl of macaroni and cheese would hold her over the whole night.

A knock at the door caught her attention and she called out, "If you don't have food, I'm not interested."

Her dad laughed. "Can I come in?"

Still in sweats since she didn't want to wrinkle her dress, Malia swung her desk chair around. "Sure. I'm as decent as I'll ever get."

The door swung open, and Henry stepped inside. His brows hiked. "I like the hair."

Malia reached up to touch a few curls tentatively. While her hair usually fell kind of wavy, she'd purposely pulled out the curler this time around, pinning back some of her hair to try and frame her face. Updos weren't really her thing and her experience with styling her hair was mostly absent. Only burning her fingers on her hair curler three times was a miracle. "It's not too much?"

Henry's face softened. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks."

"I had a thought. You don't have to accept. I won't be upset if you don't want to. But…" He pulled a box out. "These were your moms. They're moonstone. I think her grandma passed them down to her. She only wore them on special occasions. I figure this counts, so…"

Malia stared down at the earrings tucked inside. They were simple drop earrings with a gold hook and a perfectly round stone of pale white with a rainbow sheen threaded through. "Are you sure?"

"She'd want you to have them." He urged the box closer and she accepted it.

"Thanks," she said, her voice strangled.

He nodded, clearing his own throat. "Pictures later? When you're all ready?"

Malia half-smiled. "Sure."

"Okay." He backed up toward the door. "Did you say you were hungry?"

"Are you making something?"

"I'll throw something together."

"Okay, thanks."

After he left, Malia found herself lingering on the earrings. She'd already decided not to wear Kylie's necklace. A rare thing, but it didn't totally go with the dress, and it'd be safer at home anyway, especially if Stiles was right and Peter decided to pull something at the formal. The earrings though, that could work. Chewing her lip, she pulled one loose from the box and lifted it up to her ear, admiring it in the mirror. Moonstone, she thought. Ironic, but fitting.

…

Melissa stood at the foot of Scott's bed, brushing off the suit he'd laid out. "This is really nice! How'd you afford a—" She paused as she opened one side to see there was two strips of crossed tape along the inside. "Oh…"

Scott left his bathroom, nervously fidgeting with his bolo tie. "It's not gonna work, is it?"

"No, no, it's fine, it's fine." She lifted the jacket up and gave it a quick shake out. "No one'll notice…" To herself, she muttered, "No one legally blind."

"I heard that."

"Okay, well, just come here and we can try it." He hurried over while she held it up for him to slide his arms into the sleeves. "Let's do this."

He turned to face her and she smoothed her hands over the shoulders and lapels. "See? I actually think this is gonna work."

"Really?"

"Turn."

Scott raised his arms up and turned around, revealing a split in the seat of his pants, where his shirt poked out.

"And… no."

He looked back at her. "What?"

Melissa hummed and pointed down to the hole in his pants. "Yeah."

"What?! I don't have time for this! I can't buy new ones! Mom, what am I gonna do?"

"Okay, don't panic, all right? Take them off." She started for the door and pointed back at him. "Pants off now." Melissa left and returned with needle and a threat. She took a seat on the edge of his bed and started sewing the split back together. "So, is Malia coming here? Because you know I need the car tonight."

Standing in a pressed shirt, suit jacket, and his boxers, Scott rocked back on his heels and nodded. "She's driving her dad's truck over and picking me up. Which sounds really lame. Right?"

"Or like gender norms are antiquated and who cares who drives who as long as you get where you need to go."

Scott groaned. "This is our first official date. I want it to be perfect."

"Perfect is also unreachable. Scott, relax." Melissa patted the bed expectantly. Scott slumped down to sit beside her. "It's Malia. She's been your best friend since you were ten years old. I don't think she cares who's driving."

"Yeah, I know." He sighed. "I just don't want to screw it up."

"You guys have been headed this direction for a while now. I don't think you'll screw it up. But if you do…" She shrugged, mouth folded in a sympathetic frown. "It happens. Your friendship will survive. You're strong, both of you are, and you built a good foundation."

"I know. But I don't just want to be her friend. I… I look at her and it's like… Like if nobody else existed but her, I'd be okay."

"Ouch," Melissa joked.

"You know what I mean…" Scott shook his head. "I just feel better when I'm with her. And I want her to feel that way too."

"I think she does…" Melissa stared at him searchingly. "I'm not saying love doesn't matter. It does. It will make you feel amazing and awful and sometimes both at the same time. And I know that this is a big, huge, important step for you two. But I don't want you to get caught up in thinking that you only matter if you have a partner or your life isn't worth something if you don't have a girlfriend."

"I don't."

Melissa's brow furrowed skeptically.

"I don't," he insisted.

"I remember what it was like when I was your age. I fell in love, and he became the center of my universe. It's normal in the beginning, but then people remind you that they're not perfect. None of us are. We're human and flawed and we make mistakes and do dumb things. Just don't put her on a pedestal, and don't put yourself on one either. Inevitably, one of both of you will fall off. Let things happen organically. Grow together."

Scott nodded. "Okay."

"Don't get me wrong, because I think you and Malia make a lot of sense. I don't really know Allison, but I know you liked her and she seemed very sweet. But there's a lot of history between you and Malia. A lot of feelings. I don't want to see either of you get hurt. I just want you to be careful and take your time… And be honest with each other. Even if it's awkward. Tell each other how you feel and what your expectations are, so you don't spend too much time misunderstanding each other."

"Mom, we're okay." He smiled at her knowingly. "I love Malia. I'd never hurt her."

Melissa hummed and split the thread with her teeth, knotting it as she stood from the bed. "Not on purpose. Just like she wouldn't hurt you. But relationships are hard. They're up and down and they will put you through the ringer. I just want you to be careful, for both your sakes."

"Okay."

"Okay." She shook his pants out, seamlessly sewn back together. "Have fun tonight on your first date. And if you want a second one, I'd keep that buttoned." She motioned to his jacket, where the tape lay hidden inside, and passed him his mended pants. "Here you go."

Scott grinned. "Thank you."

…

Malia hopped out of her dad's truck and climbed the stairs to the McCall porch. It was weird to knock when, in the past, she'd usually just walk in. Should she walk in? It felt different now to just let herself into his house. Or was she overthinking this? The door swung open, and an amused Melissa stared back at her.

"We're knocking now?"

Malia sighed. "I don't know." She stepped inside, her hands nervously flexing at her sides. "It felt polite. Weird, but polite."

Melissa grinned. "You look beautiful."

"Yeah? You think?"

Melissa twirled her finger expectantly and Malia made a circle, her hands out to show off her dress. "I got it off the sale rack at Macy's. If you ask Lydia, I'm dressed for a funeral."

"Are you the rich widow? Because this dress is a lot more than funeral wear." She brushed a few curls back from Malia's face, tucking them over her shoulder, and her fingers folded gently around her earrings. "These are pretty."

"Yeah, my dad gave them to me. They were my mom's."

Melissa nodded. "They suit you."

Heavy footsteps on the stairs drew their attention then and they turned to see Scott hurrying down them. He paused near the bottom, spotted her, and nearly tripped off the last step. His eyes widened as he stared at her. "Whoa."

Malia felt a warm flush fill her cheeks. "Whoa yourself. I like the tie."

He grinned. "You said you wanted the bolo."

She shrugged. "It's my favorite." She looked him over. "New suit?"

"New for me." He smoothed a hand down one side of his jacket. "If it splits open at the seams while we're dancing, do you promise not to lose complete respect for me?"

Malia snorted. "I think I'll manage."

"Oh!" Scott stepped back, turned, and grabbed a box off a nearby table. "Here. I went with white. It's not super fancy but…" He opened the box to show her a simple white rose surrounded by a cluster of green leaves. He plucked it out and reached for her wrist, carefully tying the ribbon around it. "You like it?"

Malia bit her lip as she smiled. "It's beautiful." Flipping open her purse, she dug a hand inside. "And I think we were on the same page because…" She produced a small clutch of tiny white flowers with long, dark green leaves, tied together at the stem with brown twine. Smoothing out his lapel, she pinned it to him.

"Oh, this is too precious," Melissa said.

"Mom..." Scott groaned.

"What? It is." She motioned at them. "Hey, get in close, I want a few pictures."

"Seriously?"

Melissa raised an impatient eyebrow. "Yes, seriously. Come on."

Scott shifted to face her better and reached an arm around Malia's waist. "Your dad was okay with us taking the truck?"

"As long as nobody drinks and drives, he's fine." She leaned into his side and smiled for Melissa's dozen or so pictures.

"There. Was that hard?"

Scott rolled his eyes.

Malia snorted. "You think this is bad, my dad took like thirty pictures of me before I convinced him I was running late."

Scott's brow furrowed. "You're early."

"He doesn't need to know that."

Shaking his head, he held out a hand for her. "Well, I'm ready to go if you are."

Malia took it. "I hope you didn't think you were driving."

Scott grinned. "Of course not. Gender norms are antiquated."

Melissa looked between them, amused. "Have fun."

…

Allison stood awkwardly outside of her SUV, one arm crossed over her waist, a hand tucked under her jacket. Her and Erica were waiting on Lydia and Stiles to arrive. "Are you excited?"

Erica's hands smoothed over the folds of her skirt. "Kind of. This is my first high school dance. Actually, it's only my second dance ever."

"You didn't go in middle school?"

"Just one, but it kind of sucked. I didn't really have any friends, so I spent a lot of time sitting on the bleachers."

"Well, you'll have a bunch of us tonight."

Erica nodded, her gaze bouncing around the crowd of people climbing the stairs toward the school. There were stars projected along the front of the building, and a table set up for students to check tickets. Blue and white balloons bookended the doors leading into the gymnasium and lights were strung along the metal handrails that lined the stairs. "Big turnout."

Allison nodded. "I haven't been to a lot of dances either."

"No?"

She shook her head. "We moved around a lot. If I managed to stick around long enough for there to be a dance, I didn't usually have a lot of friends to hang out with."

The rev of an engine drew their eye then and they looked over to see Jackson pulling his Porsche in next to them.

Erica rolled her eyes.

Jackson climbed from his car, took one look at Erica, and then turned to Allison. "Rejected for a freshman." He buttoned his suit jacket and sniffed dismissively. "Your loss."

Allison sighed. "We were just going as friends anyway, right? So, I picked a different friend."

Humming, he plucked an unlabeled bottle from the inside pocket of his jacket, took a swig of a clear liquid, and then held it out to her.

Allison's nose wrinkled. "I'm good, thanks."

His eyebrows arched rather judgementally. "You want to do tonight sober?"

"It's a dance, Jackson, not a public execution."

"I'd prefer the execution." He tucked the bottle away.

Allison frowned. "Nobody made you come."

"Some things aren't choices."

While she pondered what he even meant by that, Stiles' familiar blue jeep pulled up nearby. Allison watched a goofy grin light up his face as he hopped out of his jeep and circled around. He smoothed out his jacket and readjusted his tie as he went before eagerly pulling open Lydia's door.

Irritated, Lydia hopped out and immediately started brushing off the skirt of her dress.

As Erica and Allison started toward them, Jackson fell into stride as well.

"Jackson," Lydia said, her voice soft and hopeful. "You look handsome."

"Obviously." He laughed dismissively, glancing briefly at Stiles. "It's Hugo Boss." With that, he walked away, smug as ever.

Erica shook her head. "I don't wanna sound too cocky, but I think I'm the better pick."

Allison grinned and leaned over to bump her shoulder. "Me too."

Gripping her clutch tightly, Lydia muttered scathingly, "I don't care. I don't want compliments. I will not fall prey to society's desire to turn girls into emotional, insecure neurotics who pull up their dresses at the first flattering remark." She huffed.

Stiles paused before telling her, sincerely, "Well, I think you look beautiful."

Lydia stared up at him, her eyes wide. "Really?"

Smothering a grin, he held his arm out for her. Lydia took it, her hair swinging dramatically behind her. As they walked toward the check in table, Allison and Erica exchanged an amused look and followed them.

…

Malia parked the truck far enough away from the front entrance that the chances of anyone recognizing Scott were slim. Hopping out, she circled around to the front. "For the record, me going in alone and you sneaking in later would make a much more insecure person feel like a loser."

"Good thing you're not insecure." Scott's hand slid down her arm until it found hers and squeezed. "I'll only be gone a minute. Coach is probably near the front door so hopefully he won't notice when I sneak in the back."

"'Hopefully' being the key word there." Malia shook her head. "Should I be attracted to this new 'bad boy' side of you? Breaking and entering, skirting the rules. What happened to boy-next-door Scott?"

He laughed under his breath. "Sometimes you have to bend the rules. But only when it matters. And this… matters."

Malia bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too goofily. She only sort of managed it. "All right." She shoved his shoulder. "Go. Sneak in. I'll meet you inside."

Ducking forward, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, and then he was gone.

Sighing, Malia turned on her heel and marched toward the school. She handed her ticket over at the table, signed in, and made her way toward the balloon lined door. The music was loud, almost deafeningly so, but it seemed to mellow out the further she walked. She was pretty sure it had something to with where the music was set up and the speaker placement because when she stepped into the main room and past the stage, she could finally hear herself think again.

A live band stood on a make-shift stage, in front of which a bunch of people were dancing. There were white oval tables set up along the outer area. Long, chandelier-like lights were strung from the rafters and gauzy blue curtains with a white star pattern were draped from the center, flowing out. There was a table set up with punch bowls and jugs of ice water, a crowd formed around it. People were clustered together in random groups, talking or dancing. Malia searched for familiar faces and found Danny and Adam dancing somewhere near the center. Beyond that, she noticed a shock of yellow hair and red fabric. Allison and Erica were sitting together, laughing, while Stiles seemed to be trying, and failing, to get Lydia to pay him attention. Strangely, Jackson was also sharing their table, though he looked like he wished he could be anywhere else.

Malia started in their direction and was about halfway there when a flash caught her eye. She turned to the right, only to see Matt the photographer on the fringes. He waved and gave a short nod before turning his camera elsewhere to capture another moment. Shaking her head, she continued walking, until she'd reached their table.

"Hey."

"Hey!" Allison grinned up at her. "Your dress looks amazing."

"Yours too."

Allison stood and smoothed a hand over her stomach nervously. "Really? I think the color works but I'm still not sure about the puffy skirt."

"You look great, seriously."

Allison beamed. "Thanks."

Malia looked to Erica then. "I was gonna go say hi to Danny. You wanna come?"

"Sure!" She hopped up from the table to join her. "Allison?"

Allison scrunched up her nose. "Nah, I think I'm going to grab something to drink."

"Okay." Malia and Erica cut there way through the crowd, weaving through a few dense groups, before they reached Danny, who was happily jumping around to the music. He grinned when he spotted them.

Reaching for their hands, he twirled them both.

Erica laughed before shouting, "How are you not deaf? It's so loud over here!"

"That's what makes it fun," he yelled back. He leaned into Malia then so she could hear him a little better. "Nice dress. A lot better than your sweater collection."

Malia rolled her eyes. "I put in a little effort, and I never live it down."

"If this is a little, a lot might send McCall to the hospital." He leaned back then. "Dance with me?"

"Erica can. I need to find my date. He's probably Spider-manning around the rafters right now."

Danny's brow furrowed curiously but Malia just waved him off.

"Later," she promised. "Save me a dance."

"I'll hold you to that." Danny twirled Erica again before drawing her over to Adam for a very loud first introduction.

Malia made her way back through the crowd, her gaze bouncing around, searching for Scott. While she didn't spot him, she did see a stern-faced Coach Finstock walking the perimeter. Malia made her way over to the refreshments table and poured herself a cup of punch.

"You need an extra kick for that?"

Malia looked up to see Jackson next to her, a bottle in hand. She raised an eyebrow. "I've been here five minutes. What do you think has gone so wrong I need to forget it?"

"Well, you're here stag. That's strike one." He unscrewed the top of the bottle and poured some into his own cup of pink punch. "Unless McCall's hiding somewhere in the wings." His gaze skittered around curiously. "I heard he was on academic probation. Some people just can't handle the pressure."

"You're drinking at a high school dance, Jackson. Which one of us is struggling here?"

Jackson rolled his eyes. "I'm trying to liven up a boring dance, sue me."

"You could try having fun, you know. Not everything needs to subvert expectations. Dance with somebody, crack a smile, pretend you know what it's like to experience real joy." She raised her cup to him. "Be a real boy." With that, she left, making her way over to where Allison, Lydia and Stiles were sitting.

"Well, if it isn't Morticia Addams," Lydia greeted.

"I wish." Malia pulled out a chair and took a seat. "So, are we just hoarding a table or were you guys planning on dancing?"

"I could dance. I'm a great dancer!" Stiles piped up. "Lydia, you wanna dance?"

Arms crossed, she scoffed. "Pass."

Jackson reappeared at the table then, looking just a shade less condescending. Clearing his throat, he looked at Allison. "Wanna dance?"

Allison glanced around the table and then shrugged. "Sure." She hopped up from the table and tucked her arm in his, letting him lead her out onto the floor. They joined Danny, Erica, and Adam near the front, forming more of a group than anything.

Lydia followed them with disappointed eyes, her lips pursed in a pout.

"You know what? Let me try that again." Stiles sat a little taller and said, quite firmly, "Lydia, get off your cute little ass and dance with me right now."

Looking amused more than anything, she said, "Interesting tactic. I'm gonna stick with no."

"Come on, what's one little dance? Okay?" He stood from his chair to face her. "Look, I don't care that you made out with my best friend for some weird power trip. I don't— Lydia, I've had a crush on you since the third grade. And I know that somewhere inside that cold, lifeless exterior, there's an actual human soul. Probably in the same place you're hiding how unbelievably smart you are. Uh-huh, yeah, I've noticed. And I know that one day you'll go off and write some insane mathematical theorem that wins you the Nobel Prize."

Lydia smiled then, ducking her head, and said, rather quietly, "A Fields Medal."

"What?"

Lydia stood from her table and walked toward him, until they were inches apart. "Nobel doesn't have a prize for mathematics." Grinning, she took his hand. "The Fields Medal is the one I'll be winning." With that, she marched toward the dance floor, towing him along.

Stiles looked back at Malia, his face lit with excitement.

Laughing to herself, she gave him two thumbs up.

He managed a fist pump before being swallowed by the crowd; a willing victim if it meant a chance to hold Lydia.

"Psst."

Malia turned, her brow furrowed, as she searched for the source of the sound. Eventually, she spotted Scott, hidden over by the bleachers. Grinning, she abandoned the table and made her way toward him, weaving around people as she went.

"Sorry I took so long. Thought I saw Peter."

"You thought you did or you did?"

Scott frowned. "I'm not sure. He was just sort of there and gone. I can't tell if I'm being paranoid or if he really was out on the dancefloor. I mean, that'd be weird right. Who would let him in?"

"The same roof access door you used to get in, probably." Malia sighed and turned her gaze back out to the crowd. It was hard to differentiate between so many faces with the lights bright in some areas and dim in others. "We'll just have to keep an eye out… And warn Stiles."

Nodding, Scott reached for her hand, folding their fingers together. "I'm pretty sure Coach is on the other side of the room."

"Is that your way of asking for a dance before you get kicked out?"

He grinned hopefully and Malia rolled her eyes. Scott walked backwards toward the dance floor, drawing her along with him. They stopped next to a gauzy curtain, somewhat shrouded from curious eyes. With the light shining through, it painted them in a faint purple glow. "Did I tell you how beautiful you look?"

"I think your exact words were 'whoa.'"

He grinned. "Whoa fits."

Malia reached her arms around his shoulders and leaned in, enjoying the way he squeezed her waist before his hands slid around her back. "How many songs do you think we can get in before something goes wrong?"

"Mmm…" She turned her eyes up thoughtfully. "Three?"

"Well, we're halfway through this one, so we've got two and a half left to go. Better make the best of it."

Scott dropped his forehead to meet hers. "What if we get lucky and nothing goes wrong?"

"That'd be a miracle. But…" She threaded her fingers through his hair. "We can always hope." She leaned up to kiss him, relishing in the warm liquid feeling that spread across her skin. It was both strange and exhilarating that they could do this. That the boundary had been crossed and she didn't have to wonder about what it would be like. She didn't have to worry about rejection or unreciprocated feelings. Instead, it was just the two of them, and for a moment they were free.

…

A drunk Jackson stumbled down the steps from the school, dizzy and off-kilter. It was too warm inside; too many people, too much noise. He felt clammy and the cool breeze was welcome. His vision was a little blurry as he walked through the parking lot. He wanted to go home, especially now that he was all out of vodka. Just pass out on his bed and forget everything for a while. Two days ago, he'd nearly been killed, and now here he was, at a high school dance. What a joke.

Watching McCall make heart-eyes at Tate as if they hadn't both been shot was just salt on the wound. While he was struggling to wrap his head around everything, they were fine. They probably weren't even wounded anymore.

Why the hell did they deserve the bite and he didn't? What had Derek said? Nobody cared. Nobody cared about his stupid car or his perfect hair… He was forgettable. The stereotypical jock that peaked in high school. It wasn't fair! He did everything right. He did everything to be the best. And yet he couldn't succeed. He would never be better than McCall or anybody like him. It didn't matter how hard he worked, how much practice he got, he would only ever be human. And humans had flaws. That didn't work for Jackson. He wanted more. He wanted to be the best. He wanted to be… enough.

In the forest ahead, two glowing red spots stared back at him. He rubbed his eyes incomprehensibly. But they were still there, tucked between tall trees, glaringly bright against the collecting fog. His brow furrowed and his heart thumped, climbing up his throat. Were they eyes? Or something else. Blink. It had to be… It had to be the Alpha! What if all he had to do was walk out into the woods and meet his destiny? Or beg for it. He wasn't beyond begging at this point. Maybe that was the vodka talking and maybe not.

And then the eyes were moving away, deeper into the trees, and he knew he had to act now, or he'd always regret it.

…

Stiles was on cloud freaking nine. He had Lydia Martin in his arms and they had danced a total of eight songs together. Eight! Considering the average song was, what, four and a half minutes? That was thirty-six uninterrupted minutes of holding her. Was he dreaming? He considered pinching himself to be sure. But then countered that idea with the fact that, if he was dreaming, well, he didn't want to wake up. He was content to just keep living the dream for as long as life would allow him.

It was probably that thought that jinxed him.

He could feel as Lydia suddenly became a little stiffer in his arms. Her head left his shoulder and started to swivel to and fro, searching.

"You okay?"

"Uh…" She forced a smile. "Just need to take a little break." Her disappointed gaze continued to search the crowd.

"You mean you need to find Jackson?" Stiles' heart sunk down into his belly, fighting a losing battle with his stomach acid.

Her expression was full of apology, but still she nodded.

Stiles sucked up the immediate ache. "I get it."

Relieved, she stepped back from him, taking his wrist and tugging him along as they left the dancefloor.

…

"Come on… I know you're here." Jackson stumbled through the trees, only able to see maybe fifteen feet in front of him before the fog became too dense. He searched for the red eyes, desperately. At times, he thought he caught a flash of them, making him twist and turn, searching for the right direction to go in. But they always seemed just out of reach.

His chest hurt; did they not want him? Why not? Why wasn't he good enough? Why couldn't they see that he would make the perfect werewolf? He was already strong and fast and smart. He deserved this. He needed this.

Throwing his arms out, he yelled, "Come on!" He fell to his knees and felt them squelch against the wet, damp earth. His head bowed as he struggled not to cry. "I wanna be like you. I wanna be one of you." Sniffling, he raised his head and stared out into the fog. "Please."

The fog starts to break apart then and the flashes of red he'd seen came into focus. Two men walk toward him, holding guns. Jackson's heart jumped up into his throat as Chris Argent stepped into view with a smirk.

Hunter. His fingers dug down into the mud as he felt a cold shiver of terror run through him.

"Unfortunately, Jackson, I don't think I can give you what you want." Argent stepped closer. He shifted his gun to one hand and crouched down in front of him. "But I have a feeling you might be able to help me."

…

Malia hazarded a guess that it was somewhere around song number four that Coach Finstock seemed to get suspicious. He didn't look completely sure that he'd spotted Scott, but the squinty-eyed staring made her think he was working himself up to a rampage. It was with that thought that they ducked away from their seemingly secret dance spot and instead tried to go to a denser part of the dancefloor where it would be harder for him to be spotted. That was where they found Allison and Erica dancing; dramatically acting out a Waltz, if Malia had to guess. Danny and Adam were dancing nearby too, much more closely, their heads bowed together as they talked.

"Can you see Jackson anywhere?"

Scott joined her in searching the room but shook his head. "No. You think he went home early?"

"Maybe." Malia frowned. "He was being kind of weird tonight. I mean, weirder than usual. Or maybe sad is a better word, I don't know."

"Sad?"

"He was drinking and moody. I thought he was doing better when he asked Allison to dance but it looks like that didn't last."

Scott hummed. "Do you wanna look for him?"

Malia drew a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. "Not really… But we probably should."

"Hey!" Erica and Allison appeared in front of them then, both looking cheerful.

"Hi." Malia looked between them. "Having fun?"

"More than I expected to." Erica fanned a hand at her face. "It's kind of hot in here though. I'm gonna get some fresh air."

"I'll come with you," Allison offered. "I just need to stop at the bathroom."

Malia glanced at Scott then. If Allison went outside alone, with just Erica there to keep her safe, she'd be a prime target for Peter.

He nodded at her knowingly.

"We'll come too," Malia said. "Scott's technically banned from the dance so maybe if we skip out for a bit, Finstock will give up looking for him."

Allison grinned. "How do you get banned from a dance?"

"You've never seen his macarena. He could take somebody's eye out," Malia said. "It's a public safety precaution."

As Erica and Allison giggled, Scott rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Ha, ha." He slid an arm around her waist as they started walking to one of the exits. "Just because I knocked over an entire bowl of salsa the last time I tried to dance…"

"We went through three bottles of carpet cleaner and still can't get the stain out," Malia added. "He convinced us to move the furniture around so his mom wouldn't see it."

"It worked, didn't it?"

…

Jackson turned to Argent as the school came into view. They walked across the parking lot, Argent's hand on his shoulder. He wondered if Argent thought that was comforting. For Jackson, it wasn't. It felt more like a threat; a reminder that Argent saw him as something small, a little boy that needed direction. Maybe he wasn't wrong though, because in that moment Jackson had never felt more young, more vulnerable, more utterly helpless.

"You promise? You won't hurt him?"

"Of course not. He's just a kid."

"What are you going to do?"

Argent slowed to a stop and patted Jackson's shoulder. "I'm going to take care of it. Go back to the dance, Jackson. Be with your friends. Be a normal teenager."

Nodding, Jackson glanced back once more at the trees before heading toward the school. Guilt and regret nipped at his heels.

Out of view, having left the school from a different exit, a worried Lydia walked toward the parking lot. "Jackson!" she shouted, with no response and no sight of him. Hugging her arms in the cold, she kept walking.

…

"Ugh, I can finally breathe!" Erica twirled as she walked across the parking lot, lined with empty buses, her arms out and her head tipped back. When she let out a long breath, a cloud of white air formed above her.

Allison laughed under her breath. "What, you don't like my dancing?"

"The dancing's great, it's the gross warm air. Too many people." She shrugged, smiling lightly. "Tonight was really fun. Thanks for inviting me."

"It was." Allison grinned at Malia, grabbing up her hand to swing it. "I'm glad we're all here."

"I think the cool air is getting to your guys' heads." Still, Malia grinned at them. "Also, I don't want to be a Debbie-Downer, but if someone sees us back here, we're looking at a week of detention. There were at least three signs that said not to go out that exit."

"Okay, mom." Erica walked backwards, her face raised to meet the cool blue shadow of the moon. "I think this is the first time in weeks I've actually felt, I don't know, normal…"

Malia's heart thudded and she turned to look at Scott next to her, his own smile small and dim.

He stroked a hand gently up and down Malia's back. "It's been a rough few weeks."

"Rough." Erica scoffed. "Two near-death experiences—" She held up two fingers for emphasis. "One of which happened in a place I have to be five days a week. God, if every day could be just like this. Just… carefree, you know?"

"I don't think I'd want to curl my hair every day," Malia joked. "And I might like this dress, but I'm more of a shorts girl."

"I like your shorts too," Scott mused.

Rolling her eyes, Malia hip-bumped him. "Uh-huh."

Erica stopped walking, letting them catch up, and fell into step next to Allison. "Okay, maybe without the too-sugary punch and the make up and dresses. But you know what I mean, right? Tonight just feels different. Like I don't have to worry about anything."

"I get it." Allison hung an arm around Erica's shoulders. "Sometimes it creeps up on you."

"What? Trauma?"

Allison sighed. "Basically, yeah. I…" She screwed her mouth up and twisted it to the side. "I was thinking about seeing like, a counselor or something."

Malia paused. "You are?"

"It's not a big deal, I just… Sometimes it's hard to sleep or think or just… be. It's like… I feel this weight on my shoulders that I can't explain." She shook her head. "It wasn't always like this, obviously. And the only thing that's really changed is what happened to us. So, I guess I'm hoping that maybe if I can talk to someone about it, I can get better."

"That takes guts," Scott said. "To admit you need help, I mean."

"Yeah." Allison nodded before taking a deep breath. "Anyway, I didn't want to bring the mood down."

"You didn't." Malia squeezed her hand. "You're allowed to struggle. Both of you are. And you can tell us about it. I'm not a therapist and I won't always say the right thing, but I'll listen."

Allison smiled down at her, dimples forming in her cheeks. "I know."

…

Stiles walked into the hallway from the gym, cellphone pressed to his ear. Spotting Jackson, he tossed a hand up irritably and put his phone away. "Where the hell have you been? Did Lydia ever find you?"

Jackson, his eyes a little glossy, struggled to reply and started jiggling his hand nervously.

"What?" Stiles shrugged. "What's wrong?"

Jackson swallowed tightly. "I- I was out behind the school, and I… I was out…"

Stiles' eyes narrowed and his mouth flattened. "What happened?"

Jackson struggled to look him in the eye.

"Jackson… What did you do?"

Jackson's shoulders slumped. "I only mentioned McCall… I didn't tell them about Malia. They only wanted one. That's what they said. One Beta. I- I panicked."

Stiles scrubbed a hand over his face. "What the hell?"

…

Erica and Allison were walking up ahead now, talking and laughing. If Malia didn't know better, she would think Erica took a few swigs off Jackson's secret liquor stash. But she was pretty sure it was just the floaty feeling of a pressure valve releasing that had her acting a little loopy and carefree. That was half the reason Malia had wanted Erica to come tonight. It was good to see her blowing off steam and just enjoying herself.

Scott's hand squeezed Malia's hip, tugging her closer against his side. "Okay?"

She turned her head and felt his nose gently graze her cheek. "I'm worried about them. And not just about Peter… With everything that's happened, I feel like I owe them an explanation." Guilt swelled in her throat. "They're in danger and I'm not telling them. And I know we think it's for their own good, but is it?"

"I… don't know," he admitted. "I hope so. I hope we're making the right choice, but… I don't know if we'll regret this later. All I know is that telling Allison is risky. And Erica…" His gaze darted toward her. "I don't know her enough to say how she'd take it or what she'd do."

Malia sighed. "I know." She turned, hugging him, and hooked her chin over his shoulder, even as they kept walking. Behind them, the school echoed with the muffled sound of music. "I just want to skip ahead to the part where all of this is over, and we don't have to worry about Hunters or Alphas or anything but passing math."

He laughed lightly, his hand rubbing her side. "Don't you have a B in that class?"

"Don't jinx it!" She lifted her head to frown at him. "I like to convince myself I'm on the verge of failing so I never get complacent. Danny says it's a terrible motivator, but what does he know?"

Scott grinned at her. "Whatever works, I guess."

Erica made a noise up ahead then and they both turned.

"The bus door is unlocked!" Allison rolled her eyes lightheartedly as she followed after Erica.

"We have actual cars we could be sitting in, you know?" Malia called back to them. She pulled away from Scott, walking closer to keep an eye on them. "Allison's has air conditioning."

Erica and Allison had already climbed into the bus and were walking down the aisle.

Malia turned on her heel to face Scott, who looked amused more than anything. Her brow furrowed for a moment.

Noticing, Scott looked down at himself. "What?"

"Your boutonniere fell off."

"Huh?" His hand rose to his lapel, only to find it empty. "Maybe it's inside?"

But Malia spotted something white in the distance, the silver of the pin glinting on the ground. "I got it. Keep an eye on them." She walked past him, toward the fallen boutonniere. She had just plucked it from the ground when she heard the rev of an engine. The hairs on the nape of her neck stood up and Malia stood abruptly, turning around. "Scott—"

An SUV swung past her then, pulling in toward where Scott was standing. Confused, Malia stepped closer. Another SUV was on the other side, bookending either side of the space between the busses, leaving Scott caught in the middle. She could see the look on his face— utterly puzzled. And then the engines were revving, and Malia's hands began to shake. She took a step but Scott threw a hand up, his expression twisting, pleading— don't come closer.

For a moment, everything stopped; the moment hung in suspense.

She wanted to yell at him to run, but the only way out was up. Was that the point? To scare him into reacting. To prove that he was a werewolf. If he stayed still and calm, would they call off their macho charade? Or would he be crushed between the two trucks? It seemed there was nothing to do but wait. Above, she could see Allison and Erica, huddled together at the windows, watching, their faces horror-struck. To them, this must make no sense. Another strange attack that could end in death.

Malia's gaze fell to Scott once more.

And then the trucks were moving, the space between the buses so narrow that the SUVs scraped against them, sending up sparks as they went.

Malia felt a scream tear from her throat. But just as the two SUVs would've crashed together, he leapt into the air, landing in a crouch with a foot on either frontend. Malia already knew what she would see when he raised his head, but her relief that he was okay briefly outweighed the fact that he had turned, showing the Hunters, Allison, and Erica his secret. Still, her knees shook for a moment, the relief so deep that she briefly thought she was going to crumble to the ground.

Only there was no time for that.

A slack-jawed Erica and Allison stared at Scott. Malia, on the other hand, stepped forward and yelled, "Run!"

He looked back at her, and she could see the hesitation there. He didn't want to leave her behind. It might've been sweet if she wasn't scared for his life. For all they knew, Scott was the only one they'd guessed. Malia could be safe.

"Go," she mouthed to him.

He hesitated only a beat longer before turning and leaping onto the roof of the farthest SUV. He flipped off the top and raced toward the woods, swallowed by trees and fog.

Malia let out a breath of relief even as she swayed.

As the SUVs pulled back, a dazed Allison stepped out of the bus. She turned, her gaze reaching for Malia's, for understanding, for answers. Malia stared back at her, heart thudding loudly in her ears. She opened her mouth, but no words came. Betrayal filled Allison's anguished face. She looked away only as her dad wrapped his arms around her, turning her to meet him.

"It's all right, you're okay," he soothed.

Malia wanted to snarl back at him that Allison had been fine. That Scott would never hurt her. He wouldn't hurt anyone. Instead, she stood, heart lodged in her throat, watching Allison lean into her dad as he led her to his SUV and tucked her inside. Malia stared at her through the windshield, Allison's hand pressed against her mouth as she blinked glossy eyes and tried to avoid meeting Malia's gaze.

In seconds, the parking lot was quiet and dark, as if nothing had ever happened.

And then Erica stepped off the bus.

"I was right," she said, though she didn't sound very triumphant or smug. Instead, she stared out into the distance, at the trees, her brow furrowed. "Me and Danny. We thought…"

"It's complicated." Malia's voice came out as a croak. She was still lost in the memory of nearly losing Scott and seemingly losing Allison. "Erica, I… I have so much to tell you. But…"

"But not now." Erica nodded. She turned and crossed toward Malia. Gone was the happy atmosphere of before; the lighthearted joy of a girl who felt free of her demons. "I just need to know… In the video store, at the school… Was it him? Was it Scott?"

Malia shook her head quickly. "No. No! Scott would never…" She took a deep breath and tried to gather her composure. "There's someone else, an Alpha, and he— He's the one hurting people, killing them."

Erica nodded, her eyes darting thoughtfully. "And you? Are you… like him?"

Malia swallowed tightly. An alarm in her head told her to lie, to keep her own secret at least. But a soft, "yes," escaped her anyway.

Erica stared at her uncomprehendingly before finally saying, "They could've killed him. Allison's dad. They could've killed Scott."

"I think maybe they wanted to…" Malia looked back at the school. "Look, I want to explain this to you in depth, but I need to find Scott. Can you do me a favor?"

Erica raised an eyebrow. "Now?"

"I just need you to go tell Stiles. And stay inside the school, where it's safe."

"Tell Stiles what?" Erica scoffed, incredulous. "That Scott almost got run over by Allison's dad?"

"That Allison's dad knows what Scott is. Tell him to call me and I'll fill him in." She reached for her then, wincing when Erica flinched. Retracting her hand, she nodded. "I meant what I said. Stay inside, okay? Or ask Danny to take you home. Just… get somewhere safe."

Erica stared at her a beat and then nodded. With that, Erica left, making her way toward the school.

Malia watched her go until she was safely inside and then turned on her heel. She crossed the parking lot quickly and hopped into her dad's truck. Putting Scott's boutonniere on the dash, she stared at it a moment before putting the truck in Drive and pulling away.

…

Erica had just reached the entrance to the gym when she spotted Stiles walking out a different exit. "Seriously?" she muttered to herself. Hurrying after him, she rushed out the door and down the stairs. "Stiles!" She blamed her heels for slowing her down, but if she was honest, she'd never been particularly active. Much of her life was spent trying to avoid anything that would set off her seizures, which made gym class particularly difficult. Still, she tried to catch up to him as he jogged toward the lacrosse field. "Stiles!"

Pausing, he looked back, his brow furrowed. "Erica? What are you doing out here?"

"Malia asked me to find you." She slowed down, panting now, her hands on her hips as she looked from him toward the field. "Where are you going?"

"I, uh, I'm looking for Lydia. She left the dance." He rubbed a hand over his cropped hair nervously. "Look, you should go back inside, all right?"

Erica rolled her eyes. "Why, because there's no werewolves in there?"

He blinked at her, slack-jawed. "H-huh?"

She opened her mouth to respond when a wall of bright light appeared in the distance. Erica frowned. Who the hell was turning on the stadium lights?

Stiles gulped. Waving a hand back at her, he said, "Go back inside. Now." With that, he took off running.

Maybe it was stimulation overload, assuming nothing could be worse than what she'd just seen, what she'd already been through. But curiosity got there better of her when she chose to ignore his suggestion and instead followed him. Later, she would wonder if maybe she should've listened.

…

"Jackson!" Arms wrapped tightly around herself, Lydia marched across the dark lacrosse field, gaze darting as she searched for him. She remembered nights when he would come out here and practice. Nights when she would sit on the bleachers, wrapped in her warmest jacket, sipping hot cocoa. Nights where she complained, wanting to do anything but watch him throw a little ball, over and over and over again. What she would give to be doing that right now. "Jackson!?"

A block of lights came on over the stands. Lydia slowed to a stop. Another block turned on, and then the third and fourth. She squinted, the glare was so bright. The stands behind her were suddenly lit up too. She whirled around to face them, her worried, panting breath creating white clouds in front of her.

Scared now, her hands gripped the skirt of her dress, shaking. "Jackson," she said, soft and nervous.

A figure walked out from the stands, shrouded in the light. Lydia squinted at it but couldn't make out their face. "Jackson, is that you?" If this was some shitty joke…

But the man walking toward her wasn't Jackson. There was no way he'd be caught dead in a leather trench coat— ew.

"Lydia! Run!"

Lydia turned back, only to see Stiles racing toward her, Erica not far behind.

Lydia's heart hammered, panic swelling. When she looked back, it was to see teeth, long and jagged, coming right at her. The man's jaw seemed too long to be normal, to be human; it was like the mandible had unhinged to make space for teeth too large to fit. She screamed so loud and deep she swore she felt her vocal cords tear. Or maybe it wasn't the scream that did it, but his teeth gouging through soft tissue.

Pain.

Blood.

Every muscle in her body went limp and when the screaming stopped there was only silence. The lights flickered in her vision as she fell. Down, down, down. As she collided with the earth, everything went dark.

…

Malia was just passing the clinic when she spotted him, walking along the side of the road, his head bowed and shoulders slumped.

He jumped as she swerved her truck over to the side of the road. Shoving the door open, she climbed out. They stared at each other for a moment before they were both moving, crossing the distance in a few strides before she had her arms around him. Her relief was palpable as she gripped the shoulder of his suit. "You're okay."

Scott's arms squeezed around her. "I'm okay."

She let herself linger there, soaking him in. His body, his smell, the sound of his heart; all of it. She almost lost him. For a second there, it seemed so certain. The idea was overwhelming, but the fact that she hadn't was almost just as consuming. He was here. He was with her. She wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go. Only they didn't have time for that. So much was happening and as much as she wanted to close her eyes to it and just enjoy him, she couldn't.

Seconds, maybe minutes passed, but, eventually, she leaned back. "Didn't your mom ever tell you hitchhiking was dangerous?"

Scott tried to smile but couldn't. "As first dates go, did this totally suck?"

"Only the last ten minutes or so." She tipped her head. "Come on."

Sighing, they pulled apart to climb into the truck.

Scott yanked his door closed with a bang and slumped against the seat. "How long do you think I have before Argent's at my front door with a rifle?"

"I wouldn't go home anytime soon." Malia started driving toward her house, figuring it was the best place to pull themselves together and make a plan. At worst, if they were attacked, there was plenty of space to hide in the woods. "Is your mom home?"

He shook his head. "She's working late. Your dad?"

Malia checked the time on the dash. "Should be at a meeting right now, and he usually goes for coffee afterwards. We should be okay for a little while."

"To do what? Write my obituary?"

"Okay, dramatic much?"

Scott shrugged.

"We'll go to my place, change, and figure something out," Malia decided. "Derek said hunters only kill adult werewolves who've killed. You're neither of those. So, maybe we convince Argent to leave you alone."

"That doesn't stop them from knowing what I am. From Allison knowing. And how long before they realize you're a shifter too?" He leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he dropped his face into his hands. "This is too dangerous, we need help."

"From who?" Malia shook her head. "They already have Derek. The only one left is Peter, and we don't want his help."

"I don't know." Scott sighed. "I just know we're in way over our heads here."

Malia clenched her teeth. He wasn't wrong.

"We'll figure it out," she promised, but the lead weight in her stomach said different.

…

Stiles slid across muddy earth, stopping just short of Lydia's prone body, lying on her side, covered in blood. Peter Hale crouched next to her, growling as Stiles got too close. Peter hunched himself over Lydia's body, hands planted on the ground, like a rabid animal protecting its kill from being stolen.

Stiles held a hand up, desperate to reach for her while also keenly aware that Peter would gladly rip his arm off and feed it to him. His gaze bounced from Lydia to Peter and back.

"Don't kill her." His voice shook. "Please."

The low, rumbling growl ebbed away, leaving a smug Peter to grin at Stiles, waving his clawed fingers about. "Of course not," he said, entirely too blasé for a man who still had Lydia's blood dripping down his chin. "Just tell me how to find Derek."

Stiles blinked rapidly. "Wh-what?"

Erica crept up closer, just behind Stiles now.

Peter's gaze flickered to her dismissively before returning to Stiles. He leaned back and let his finger stroke along Lydia's hairline, the jagged tip of his nail perilously close to piercing her skin. "Tell me how to find Derek Hale."

"How would he know that?" Erica stepped closer, her hands balled into fists. "Derek Hale's been on the run for almost two weeks."

Stiles waved a hand back at her, urging her to be quiet. The last thing he needed was two bodies to worry about.

"You're new, aren't you?" Peter sent a sneering, dismissive look at Erica before turning his attention back to Stiles. "You're the clever one, Stiles. And because deception has a particularly acrid scent, tell me the truth… or I will rip her apart."

"Look, I don't know, okay?" Stiles' voice shook. "I sw-swear to God, I have no idea."

"Tell me!" Peter yelled, his voice echoing with a roar.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut as his entire body shook with fear.

Erica let out a tiny shriek and covered her ears, falling to her knees.

"Okay, okay, okay, look!" Stiles met his eyes and held a hand up pleadingly. Sucking in air so deep he was almost hiccupping on it, he admitted, "I think he knew."

"Knew what?"

"Derek, I think he— I think he knew he was gonna be caught."

"By the Argents?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah."

"And?"

"When they were shot… I think Derek took Scott's phone."

Peter tipped his head, brows arched. "Why?"

"GPS," Erica murmured.

Stiles snapped his fingers and pointed back at her. "Exactly. They all have GPS now. So, if he still has it, and if it's still on…" He raised his eyes to meet Peter's stare, a rush of defiant anger filling him. "You can find him."

…

Malia's house was still dark, a sign her dad hadn't returned, and for that she was relieved. A part of her hoped he would stay out as long as possible, unknowingly avoiding any chance of becoming a target.

Malia took a quick shower, mostly to get rid of the hairspray, and traded in her dress for jeans and a sweater. She placed her mom's moonstone earrings away in her jewelry box, next to Kylie's necklace. Part of her wanted to don it for comfort alone, but the heavy sensation in her gut that told her things could get really complicated at any moment didn't want to risk it. What if she shifted and it was lost to the woods?

She found Scott sitting in the living room, wearing some of the spare clothes he'd left at her place. He was staring at the blank TV screen, lost in thought, fingers drumming against his knees.

Crossing the floor, she sat next to him and pressed as close to his side as she could get. "I know you're scared—"

"I'm terrified," he admitted. "For me and you and everyone. Even if they don't kill me, what if they tell my mom what I am? What if she hates me?"

"Scott…" She covered his hand against his knee. "Your mom could never hate you."

His chin started to shake as he held back tears. "I can't lose her. And I don't know what she'd do if she lost me."

"Nobody's losing anybody. Your mom will understand. She loves you."

He stared at her searchingly. "If they come for me, you have to hide. You can't let them know what you are." He gripped her hand tight. "Promise me."

Malia frowned. "No. I won't let them take you. I won't let them kill you. If you they come, I'll be right there fighting with you."

"Lia—" He sniffled and quickly wiped a tear from his cheek. "We have to be smart about this."

"Yeah, smart, not sacrificial." She shook her head quickly. "We need a plan."

…

Peter stood now, lordly above them, flattening his hands across the lapels of his jacket.

Stiles knelt next to Lydia, head bowed with defeat. "No, I'm not letting you leave her here."

Peter dabbed at the blood on his chin. "You don't have a choice, Stiles. You're coming with me."

"Just kill me. Look, I don't care anymore."

Erica made a strangled noise behind him.

Peter reached out, tucked his clawed hands under Stiles' chin, and forced him to his feet. "Your little blonde friend here can keep an eye on her. What's the problem?"

"W-What? No." Stiles' chest heaved with his laboured breathing. "She can't carry Lydia to safety. That's not enough!"

"Call your friend then. Tell Jackson where she is. That's all you get."

With shaking hands, Stiles pulled his phone from his pocket. As Peter walked away, he took the opportunity to quickly text Malia—Code red! Call Erica!

With that finished, he dug Jackson's name up from his contacts and hit Dial.

"Where are you? Where's Lydia?"

"Get to the lacrosse field. Now." Hanging up, he fumbled to get his phone back in his pocket and looked back at Erica. He reached for her, grabbed her hand, and tugged her toward Lydia. "Here. Hold your hand down against her neck, all right? Just apply pressure to stem the bleeding."

Erica looked up at him from big, terrified eyes. "Stiles," she choked out.

"It's okay." He nodded. "Jackson is coming. He'll help you."

Her gaze darted toward Peter. "Who's going to help you?"

Stiles gulped.

"Let's go," Peter called out.

Stiles flinched before letting Erica go and slowly walking backwards toward Peter, his gaze falling mournfully on Lydia's still, lifeless face. Mouth trembling, he swallowed the urge to cry, turned on his heel, and hurried after Peter.

…

Malia frowned, staring at Stiles' message.

"What?" Scott reached for the phone. "Call him."

She jerked her head in a stunted shake. "No, he said to call Erica… That means calling him isn't safe."

"For who?"

"Him." Malia thumbed over to her contacts and pressed down on Erica's name. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest as she waited for it to pick up. It rang and rang and rang before finally—

"H-Hello?"

"Erica, what happened?"

"I… I don't know." Erica let out a strangled noise. "There was this man… I… He hurt Lydia. There's so much b-blood."

"Come on, Lydia. Stay with me. Come on!" Jackson could be heard pleading in the background.

"Erica, where's Stiles?"

"He w— He went with the man. They're trying to find Derek." She sniffled. "They're going to use GPS. I don't— I don't know where they went!"

Malia squeezed her eyes closed as a ripple of heat ran through her, a warning that she was on the verge of changing against her will. She swallowed it down, willed whatever control she had into place, and shook her head. "Are you at the school?"

Sirens filled the background then, a piercing noise to Malia's sensitive ears.

"I called 911. They're here." Erica gulped in air. "I- I'll go to the hospital."

"Good." Malia nodded. "Good. Stay there, okay? I'm on my way."

"Malia?" Erica's voice broke. "Was he… The one who took Stiles, is he the Alpha?"

Malia scrubbed a hand over her forehead. "Yeah. That was him."

"Oh God. Oh God, I think he killed Lydia. And now he has Stiles. What do we do?"

"You go to the hospital, just like you said, okay? Stay somewhere bright and public and safe. I'm coming."

"Okay. Okay, I will."

Malia hung the phone up and stood from the couch. "Did you hear all that?"

Scott stared at the floor from round, shocked eyes. "Peter attacked Lydia and he has Stiles."

"Yeah." She rubbed a hand over her mouth. "I need to check on her… And I need to talk to Erica. I need to know exactly what Peter said. Maybe there's a clue to where he took Stiles."

Scott nodded. "Okay." He stood from the couch. "I'll come."

"You can't." Malia's hand found his shoulder. "If Allison finds out what happened to Lydia, she might go to the hospital. You can't be anywhere they are. Not right now. Just… Stay here. For now."

"You want me to just sit around while Stiles has been kidnapped?" Scott's voice rose with outrage. "I can't do that!"

"We have no idea where Peter went, but I know it's not the hospital where the Argents will probably show up. So, you can stay here, or you can try to track him down, but I have no idea where you'd even start."

Scott shuffled his feet, straining with the need to act. "I can't do nothing."

Taking his hands, she rubbed her thumbs along the back. "Scott, I know you feel helpless, but right now, our hands are tied. You can't be seen by the Argents. We can't risk that until we know what they plan to do."

"So, what about the GPS thing? Why can't we do the same for Stiles' phone?"

Malia's brow furrowed. "I don't know how to do that. Do you?"

"No, but we know someone who does."

Malia blinked. "Danny."

"Can you call him? Would he do that?"

Malia nodded slowly. "I'll call him while I'm on the way to the hospital, get him to track Stiles while I'm checking on Lydia. He'll still be at the school, so it'll take him a little while to get home. Hopefully, he'll have something by the time I'm on my way back. Then we can go after Peter and find Stiles together."

"Okay." Scott nodded. "That'll work."

"Just in case my dad comes home, stay in my room. He'll have questions we don't have answers to."

"I can do that."

Malia pulled a jacket on. "And if they show up here, you run." She stared at him seriously. "As far as you can, just run for the trees and don't look back."

Scott smiled faintly, sadly. "I will."

Hesitating in front of him a moment, she finally stepping forward. Her hand folded around his nape as her forehead met his. "We'll get Stiles back."

He nodded, his eyes falling closed.

Malia's heart squeezed. "I'll be quick."

"Okay."

Her feet felt heavy as she stepped away and turned for the door. But she had to do this.

…

Peter turned his head toward the jeep window, distant sirens approaching the school were loud enough for him to hear even if his human companion couldn't.

He glanced at Stiles and shook his head dismissively. "Don't feel bad. If she lives, she'll become a werewolf. She'll be incredibly powerful."

"Yeah," Stiles scoffed, "and once a month she'll go out of her freaking mind and try to tear me apart."

"Actually, considering she's a woman... twice a month."

Stiles stared at him a beat, incredulous. Clenching his teeth, he squeezed the steering wheel, and glared out at the road ahead.

Some people just couldn't take a joke.

…

A lamp whipped across the room and burst against the fireplace, sending shards every which way. Argent stood, seething. He stomped across the den, kicking broken glass as he went. Gripping the mantle, he bowed his head, and tried to breathe through his anger.

An unmoved Kate sat on the couch, not the least bit intimidated by her brother's little power-trip. "Feeling better?"

He thrust a finger in her direction, shouting, "Don't push me, Kate!"

"I thought it was a pretty healthy display of aggression, actually," she sniped.

"You told her."

"She found out."

"Don't think I don't know about the clues you've been leaving, starting with that necklace. She knows because you wanted her to!"

"Because she needs to," Kate snapped back through gritted teeth.

"Why are you back here?" He squinted, suspicious. "You hate this town. I had a network of names I could've called a lot closer than you. But you called first."

Kate laughed it off. "So, now you don't want my help?"

"I'm not sure I know who you're helping."

"Oh, come on. I'm here to catch the Alpha!" she defended. "Remember the one running around here, killing people at random?"

Argent knelt down, beginning to gather up the debris of the lamp. "Not random."

Kate paused just a beat too long. "What?"

"Tyhurst said that Sheriff Stilinski can connect every murder back to the Hale fire."

He watched her face; the subtle way her eyes moved as she tried to quickly gather a response.

"Well, then that's even more reason for her to know," Kate fumbled. "'Cause they've always blamed us for that fire."

Chris paused, a realization beginning to take shape in his mind, one he wanted to stomp out as quickly and easily as it began to form.

"It had to have been Derek and some other relative. But I guarantee they're circling around to us as their last targets."

"I know. It's why you're taking Allison out of here tonight." Chris busied himself with the debris once more. "You're gonna drive her to the house in Washington, and you will stay there until I call."

Kate laughed derisively and stood from the couch. "Are you kidding me? You're gonna bench your star player in the last quarter?"

Enraged, he threw the glass down again, so hard it bounced into the air. He stood and walked toward her until they were face to face. He was nearly at his breaking point; it was a stark reminder of why he and Kate spent little time together. She was always so eager to push his buttons, to try to prove something.

Swallowing his rage, he forced his voice down from a shout. "Get your things. I want the two of you on the road within the hour."

Kate stared back at him, looking eager for a fight, like she wanted him to take a swing just so she could prove she could hit back harder. Instead, she laughed under her breath, piercing him with a condescending stare. And then she stepped back, turned, and walked away.

Chris watched her go, his hand falling to his side, fingers unfurling from a fist and stretching apart. He gave his hands a shake but the surge of violence that had screamed through him still lingered, waiting.

...

Allison sat on her bed, staring at her phone, perched on the top of her dresser. The urge to call Malia welled up inside her even as she tried to stamp it out. Malia lied to her. She'd known about this world, about werewolves and what they were capable of, and she never told her. She never warned her that Scott… A lump formed in her throat. Allison had trusted them. She'd believed, truly and wholly, that Malia was her friend. That Scott, despite their rocky, short-lived romance, was her friend too. But were they?

Every conversation she had with Malia about all of this. The nightmares, the fear, the overwhelming dread… They all filtered through her mind with a new context. How much did Malia know? Did she know her family's history? Did she know they would be attacked that night in the school? Had she just been hiding this information the whole time? And for what? To protect who? Whose side was she on?

Whose side was Allison on?

She thought back to Derek Hale, locked up in that basement, a current of electricity keeping him at bay. He'd looked so weak then, so unlike the terrifying thing that had stalked them through the school. But his teeth… Kate had shown her those razor-sharp teeth— 'made for the tearing and rending of flesh,' that's what Kate said. And he had, hadn't he? The bus driver, the janitor, and the librarian. Maybe even the video clerk in that weird animal attack… The one that left Malia with stitches. Her brow furrowed. But if she was on Derek's side, why would he attack her? It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. But what could when she lived in a world that secretly had werewolves all along?

God, she wanted to laugh and cry and bury her head under her pillow. She wanted to lean on her best friend and ask her, "How?" How was she supposed to live with this knowledge? How was she supposed to process any of this? She wanted to ask her why. Why didn't she tell her? Why didn't she trust her? Why was she her friend? Was it real? Was any of it real?

"I'm not sure how long you'll be." Allison's mother shoved hanger after hanger to the side, searching through her clothes. "You want me to pick out anything specific?"

Allison jumped at the sudden intrusion to her thoughts.

"Sweetheart?"

Allison peeled her eyes away from the phone. "I just saw my ex-boyfriend, someone I thought was a friend, turn into a werewolf…"

Victoria laughed lightly. "All right. I'll grab something myself."

Allison's phone began to ring. Just as she lunged from the bed for it, her mother grabbed it up, checked the screen, and hung up. Laying the phone back down, she returned to searching through Allison's clothes.

"Who was it? Was it Malia? Scott?"

"No. Somebody named Jackson."

Allison gathered her courage to ask, "What are you gonna do to him?"

"That depends." Victoria added another folded sweater to the stack of clothes forming on the dresser. "We have a sort of moral code we follow. Especially when they're that young."

"Scott didn't kill anybody." Allison shook her head. "He couldn't—"

"This is all part of a longer conversation."

"I wanna know now," Allison demanded. "Right now."

"What you want right now doesn't matter," Victoria snapped, turning to stare her down. "What you need is to stay quiet."

Allison pulled away from her, a flash of fear filling her body.

"You're catching a glimpse of something you are not quite ready to see," Victoria told her. "And there are others outside of this family who are not ready for you to see it."

Slowly, absently, Allison nodded.

"Staying quiet is the best protection." Victoria's voice suddenly turned soft and gentle. "Do you understand?"

Allison began to loosen up. This was her mother, she reminded herself. She just wanted the best for her. Trying to smile, she nodded.

Immediately, Victoria's face twisted with rage. "Say it!"

Allison flinched, tears brimming in her eyes. "I understand."

Victoria's expression smoothed out again, the picture of a loving mother. "That's my girl. Now grab a few warm coats. It'll probably be cold up there."

tbc

author's note: i have zero defense for why it took over a year to update other than editing is tedious, especially with really long chapters. this has been done for a while, it just needed a good read-through for any errors. apologies for that. with the motivation of the movie coming out next month, i'm hoping to finish editing and posting throughout the month. especially because i have a feeling my endgame otp is going to get roasted in the movie in favor of scallison. happy we're getting a movie, don't get me wrong. i just wish my ship was allowed to sail without useless interruption. alas. fanfiction will likely have to fill that spot, as per usual. thank you for those still reading. i appreciate your loyalty to my terrible posting habits.

~ Lee| Fina