Shawn climbed down the ladder in total darkness. The opening far above seemed to dwindle to a mere speck before vanishing altogether. He was reminded forcibly of the story of Aladdin, where the evil magician locks him inside the darkened tomb for refusing to give him the lamp. It horrified him, even though it was supposed to be a child's fantasy story; the boy wandering the dark cavern forever, surrounded only by the dead that he would soon be joining. It combined fear of the dark and of enclosed spaces into a neat terrifying bundle that he never thought he would survive if it ever happened…and here he was. Aladdin was able to use the genie to get out of the cave. Shawn had no such escape plan.

He felt the bottle of water in his pocket and thought about drinking it, but decided to save it for later. He had no idea how long he would be down here, though he knew he had to hurry. The bottle comforted him somehow, perhaps because his mother had given it to him.

When he finally reached the bottom, the light from above was gone. Shawn cursed himself for not counting the rungs. He had an image of the ladder stretching way up to infinity when he tried to leave, unable to reach the top before he simply fell from it in exhaustion. He would lie at the base, broken and bleeding, rats leaping out of the shadows to feast…

'Don't think of things like that, dope!'

Shawn put tentative hands out in front of him. The damp stone wall seemed to be circular; perhaps this was once the bottom of a well. Wasn't there a horror movie about an evil little girl who died at the bottom of a well?

'I SAID DON'T THINK ABOUT THINGS LIKE THAT!'

There was a break, what felt like a crevice that led even further down into the earth just across from the ladder. Shawn wanted to shout and listen to the echo, but was afraid of waking whatever might live down here…

'SHUT! UP!'

"There is nothing down here. Nothing living anyway." Shawn breathed aloud. Wait a minute, that thought wasn't particularly comforting.

Grinding his teeth, he squeezed through the crevice. The ceiling was low, forcing him to walk hunched over. The walls were close on either side, their chill dampness starling him every time he made contact. His hands were stretched out in front of him. He hoped there weren't some monster in front of him, jaws agape, about to chomp down on his fingers…

Shawn smacked himself, hard.

Ten seconds later, he hit a wall. He felt it, puzzled. There were no openings to either side. Panicked, he backpedaled swiftly praying that the way behind him hadn't sealed itself shut leaving him to die in a capsule of rock under the earth. The way back still stretched out behind him.

After a more thorough exploration, it seemed this was merely a dead end in the cavern. There was nothing down here; no monsters and no coins. He exhaled a great sigh of relief, though he didn't relish bringing the news back up to the wolves. He took out the water bottle and spun the cap off, tossing it into the darkness before taking a long swig of water (which tasted amazing, wiping out his thirst immediately). Listening intently, he heard the cap bouncing along in the darkness ahead of him. Frowning, he finished the bottle before getting on his hands and knees to feel around. A cool draft hit his face. The wall contained a hole that led forward, towards the coins…less than 2 feet in height.

He would have to crawl through a tunnel barely large enough to accommodate him, wiggling his way through with no idea what, if anything, lay ahead. Maybe it wasn't a tunnel, maybe it was just a hole that led into a larger area…

Shawn reached down and felt around, praying that there was no imp or goblin ready to grab his hand and yank him through like that movie 'Don't Be Afraid Of The Dark'. Again he smacked himself. It seemed to be a tunnel, not a hole after all. Damn. What if he got stuck? No one besides the werewolves even knew he was down here, and there was a good chance they would be killed before they told anyone. He would die there, the weight of a mountain surrounding him, alone in the dark.

Shawn began to shake, in the throes of a full-blown panic attack. He struggled to calm himself down. He needed to get the coins. He needed to help Erik's friends.

But he was afraid.

He admitted this to himself, as he always admitted it to himself whenever Jimmy Porlock and Anson Cooper insisted that he partake in their torment of Erik. Jimmy as much told him that if he didn't join in, Shawn might be the next target.

'Fuck that.' The thought came so suddenly, and felt so alien that for a second he assumed another person had spoken it aloud.

Something inside him, something that seemed to be made of a very angry sheet of steel was welling up. He had never felt anything like it before. Why had he never punched Jimmy's clock? Why hadn't he told Anson to fuck off and die…before he actually did?

Why was he so goddamned afraid of a stupid hole in the wall?

Shawn dropped to his knees and crawled into the passage. His eyes, still trying to work in the blackness, almost seemed to create the illusion of the tunnel stretching in front of him. The smell suddenly hit him…something damp and rotted…but it didn't deter him at all. His ears picked up every sound; even seeming to give him an idea of how far it stretched by the echoes.

The tunnel became tighter. Shawn wriggled grimly forward at a snail's pace. A protrusion in the ceiling caught on his shirt and stopped his movement. An hour ago, that might have sent him into the final madness. This time, he just snarled and yanked himself ahead. The shirt tore, and he felt the wet warmth of blood as the point scratched the skin of his back. The pain was small; it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but getting the stupid goddamned coins back to his Pack…

His Pack?

He didn't know where the thought had come from, but it seemed to be very right. He neared what had to be the end of the tunnel. Perversely, the opening that led to freedom was tighter than ever. Shawn was able to get his head through, but his shoulders were good and stuck. Moving backward seemed impossible.

Shawn's heart began to race. He had to get out of this hole. He wasn't afraid, he was furious. Who had built this fucking thing this way? Why couldn't they make normal tunnels like normal people?

His heart beat even faster, and a heat seemed to be building up in him, flowing though his limbs like a lava flow. He began to thrash back and forth, throwing his body weight from side to side. It didn't help. The rock held him fast, like a pacifier in the mouth of a great stone baby. Muscles that Shawn had never had in his life bulged in his arms, squeezing him even tighter into the hole. Shawn started growling and snapping at the air, forcing his arms outward through sheer force of will, lack of leverage notwithstanding.

The rock held.

The rock held.

The rock held.

Shawn clenched teeth that were too big for his mouth and roared; the sheer hatred of being confined feeling like a lifelong and previously futile struggle. With a massive cracking, the rock exploded outward, depositing Shawn into a huge chamber twenty feet below the opening. He instinctually turned his body in the air and landed neatly on his feet. His shirt was in tatters, and he irritably yanked off the remnants. Something hissed in the air, an invisible presence dispersing into a cloud of thin cheated fury.

Shawn looked down at himself and shouted aloud. There were claws on the ends of his fingers. Thin blood from the numerous scratches he sustained in the tunnel was disappearing back into skin that was whole and unmarked. The claws faded before his eyes, and the subtle shift inside his mouth told of frightening changed there as well. He explored his teeth frantically with trembling fingers, but they seemed human…if a little sharp. Was this a trick of the magic the Argents had told him about? Somehow, he didn't think so. It felt too…natural…too much a part of himself to be an illusion. Besides, it didn't frighten him as much as he would have thought. He shrugged, resolving to work this out later. He had a task to complete, and too much time was wasted already…and he wasn't exactly out of danger down here.

As his breathing evened out, and he looked around the room with a predator's gaze. There was a small faint glimmer far ahead. He stalked forward, arms and hands stretched out, just waiting for something to spring out at him.

A huge vaulted chamber lay at the end of the passage. By Shawn's calculations, this place should lay right under the Town Square of Beacon Hills. Weird religious scenes were painted on the walls, seeming to move in the flickering greenish light. In the first was a picture that Shawn remembered from the Bible. It was the scene where Jesus throws the moneychangers from the Temple. Shawn had never thought it went down like this…Jesus was pissed…he seemed to be sending a tornado through the room, the tables and people being thrown around by a fierce wind. One guy had snuck out amidst the destruction while holding a small chest beneath his arm.

"THE COINS ARE GATHERED." It read underneath.

In the next, it showed the open chest being offered to a man by Temple priests. They hid their faces so as not to look at the coins, but the man they were giving them to had looked…and seemed to be in agony as he tried in vain to turn away. Judas Iscariot, presumably.

"THE BETRAYER IS ENSNARED."

The final scene showed the crucifixion. From a nearby tree hung Judas, a bag of coins open in the dirt at his feet.

"DEATH IS TRIUMPHANT."

Underneath each scene was a stone sarcophagus. Shawn swallowed as he once again picked up a slight movement in the air, a gurgling phlegmy chuckle that gave him the chills.

Shawn growled in his throat, and felt the new presence in his soul turn over, as if waking from a light nap.

Shawn walked over to the first sarcophagus, beneath the scene of the money changers in the Temple. The lid should have been too heavy to lift, but it moved easily. Perhaps he was stronger, now.

Or perhaps something inside the coffin was aiding his efforts.

The lid fell to the floor with a deafening crash. Predictably, there was a body inside the coffin. Unpredictably, it seemed to be his mother lying there. Shawn pulled away from the coffin with a cry. She had been ravaged by an animal; the blood pooled at the bottom of the coffin, fresh and hot and smelling of copper and the beginnings of decay. In her hand, she clutched a pouch of ancient leather. All he had to do was prise it free from her cold dead fingers.

Shawn fell backwards, nauseated. His breath came in short sharp gasps, the blood smell combining with an animal musk he had never smelt before, but instinctively recognized as the odor of wolf.

How was this possible? Who had done this?

His mother sat up sharply in her casket. Her head snapped around to glare at him with eyes glowing a putrescent green while neck vertebrae frozen in rigor mortis snapped with a stomach clenching ratcheting sound.

"You…killed…me…" came her voice. There was no mistaking it.

"Mom…what happened…I didn't do this to you! I just saw you upstairs! I wasn't…this…until just now! What happened to you? What do you mean I did this?" he ended shouting at her as she scrabbled out of the coffin.

"No, not yet…but soon…when the madness of the moon comes, you kill me…you kill your own motherrrrrrr!" she shrieked as she leapt at him. Shawn dived to the side, on his feet in a moment as his body made use of its ability without him even consciously aware of it.

"No…I would never do that! The others will help me, I know they will!" he backed up, horrified that the fangs and claws were coming back against his will, the wolf inside him registering his mother as an enemy without giving him any say in the matter.

"Erik is gone, and the father that remains knows only that you joined in the torment of his son! They will turn you away, and when you change…when you become the monster I always knew you were, you will come home, you will find me, and I will scream, I will beg for mercy, but there is no mercy to be had from beasts! Better I should have torn you from my womb than have such a traitorous abomination name me MOTHER!"

She leapt again, and this time she tackled him to the floor. She tore at him with sharp nails, bit at his flesh with inhuman teeth. Shawn screamed and tried to push her off him while trying to keep the wolf from taking over his body. It was a losing battle; his instincts were too strong now. Shawn wolfed out completely, and within a few moments had ripped the corpse-thing into bloody pieces, ruthlessly snapping bones and tearing flesh. He came to himself drenched in her blood and staring with wide shocked eyes at her bloody skull (the scalp and hair had been thrown against the wall where it stuck with a wet splat).

"Kill yourself…and this never…has…to…be…"

The green glow faded from the dead eyes. Shawn walked over to where a severed hand lay, conscious thought lost as his mind fled from what just happened. He opened the pouch after pulling it from the stiff fingers and looked inside.

Ten coins lay within, glowing the same putrescent green as his mother's eyes. He looked over at the other two coffins before his eyes rolled up in his head and he fainted.

{}{}{}{}

They came marching from the Tower in single file, a never-ending line of soldiers in ancient armor and horned helmets, rusty shields and swords and axes. Grinning skulls leered at the wolves.

Stiles surprised the others with a sigh of relief. They all looked at him.

"C'mon, who cares about them? They're just stupid skeletons! The zombies we fought had more meat on them, and they were pushovers! Those weapons look like they couldn't cut butter!"

Stiles stopped speaking when Vivian pointed at them.

As they passed through the bizarre rib-cage that surrounded the Tower, the lightning played over them…and suddenly the skeletal warriors became fully fleshed. Muscles and sinews that looked like they belonged on Conan or maybe the Terminator bulged obscenely under armor that was now good as new while light twinkled off the new steel of weapons that looked fresh from the forge. Axes and swords whickered back and forth through the air in expert hands.

"We are so fucked," muttered Scott.

{}{}{}{}

Shawn came to in a panic, wondering how much time had passed. He looked at the pouch holding the ten coins and surged to his feet. Without letting himself think about the possibilities, he pushed the lid off the second coffin.

In the coffin was none other than Hank Porlock, Jimmy's father and a man that Shawn had always been secretly afraid of. Hank was laid out in his old Army uniform (a gaping shotgun wound oozing scarlet in the middle of his chest), which he typically wore only when he got drunk and ranted about his dishonorable discharge. Jimmy had told him that his old man was canned for using 'excessive force' against civilians, a ridiculous charge…hadn't they been sent there to wipe the bastards out? Shawn had agreed (as he always agreed with Jimmy, just to keep the peace). When Shawn asked his own parents about it, they got quiet and told him he was too young to hear about it. Unfortunately for them, Shawn was familiar with this thing called the 'Internet' and was able to find out the truth for himself.

Hank Porlock and a few men under his command had torched an entire village while the men were away. When they returned to their base, they were found to be drunk. Shawn made it a point never to be around the man if he could help it.

Hank Porlock opened his eyes, the same pale green glow pouring out of them. He grabbed Shawn by the throat and almost seemed to slither out of the coffin. His ugly features were exaggerated to the point of monstrousness…this was the Hank Porlock that chased Shawn through endless corridors for some unknown purpose, in dreams that Shawn was always too terrified to remember.

"You siding with the damned wolves, boy? Only thing worse than a werewolf is a wolf-lover…like the son of a bitch Sheriff who shot me and left my son to grow up without a father! Look at you, turning your back on the whole human race…worse than anybody I fought in the name of this great country! You know what they gonna do to you if they win? You think they gonna put you on their shoulders and parade you around like you scored a homer with the bases loaded?"

Shawn backed away as Hank unbuckled his belt, lambent eyes leering at him.

"Stay away from me!" The boy turned, searching for the hole in the wall that would lead him out of here, hoping he could get through it before Hank could grab at his legs and pull him back and violate him in this dark hell where no light ever shone, except the light coming from the dead eyes in his hideous face…it would be worse than death by far.

"This is what happens to little pansies who betray their country, who betray their own goddamned species…"

"NO, YOU OLD PERV! YOU DID THAT WHEN YOU KILLED THOSE WOMEN! THOSE KIDS! THEY WEREN'T PART OF ANY WAR! YOU KILLED THEM BECAUSE YOU'RE A SICK TWISTED FUCK!"

Hank lunged at him at the same time Shawn stopped backing away, falling into an attack crouch and springing forward with enough force to knock Hank backwards. Once again Shawn pulled the corpse to pieces, this time without regret; giving in to the full depth of the hatred and disgust he had for the man…a failed soldier and a failed father whose only legacy to the world was an attempt to try to poison his own son with the same sickness. Shawn gave himself over to his new inner companion completely, the two almost a single being united by the desire to kill the shade of this long-dead monster. Shawn ended it by standing over the bits and pieces that were left and slamming his foot down on the head…it squished like an overripe pumpkin. Shawn leaned back against the nearby wall, barely registering the presence of a second leather pouch in the ruins of Hank's ribcage. He was trembling from a horror that was bordering on madness. He couldn't imagine what or who might lay in the final coffin, and (wolf or not) didn't think he could face it without needing a strait-jacket afterward. He sighed as he leaned forward to pull the second pouch from its resting place. He counted ten additional coins that he stuck in his pocket with the others. The entire place suddenly shook; dust poured down on him from the unseen ceiling overhead. The battle raged above while he sat here in the dark with tears pouring down his face. Every second he waited could mean another death. And with the werewolves gone, how long would the people trapped upstairs last in the New Order?

"Get yourself up, Murphy. You have a job to do." Shawn's father used to say that to him all the time, especially on lazy Saturday mornings when he tried to hide from his chores under a pillow and blanket.

{}{}{}{}

Brigid Murphy was the first to notice the peculiarities. After splinting the Judge Thorn's leg and checking on her unconscious husband Brian, it seemed to her that some of the wounded were recovering rather quickly. Even the judge (on his third bottle of water) kept frowning at his leg and scratching at it, even moving it more than he ought to be able to.

Perhaps the gods were being kind for once.

She looked down at Brian, remembering how brave he had been. An accountant by trade, and a barbarian when his family was put in danger! Brigid saw more than a few husbands running ahead of their wives, leaving even their children behind…but not her Brian. And to think Brigid's father had disapproved of him! But the decaying creatures had been too much for him and knocked him headlong into a ravine where even more of the wretched things were swarming all over each other in their attempts to escape. Brigid (no shrinking violet herself) had shoved Brian towards the nearby Town Hall and climbed down after her man. She got him up just in time, thank goodness…

Brigid frowned. Brian's color was not at all good. He was still breathing heavily, but even that had acquired an unhealthy rattling sound. He had also begun to smell, slightly. Brigid bit her lip in fright.

"No, Saints preserve us; no…it can't be…" Brigid pulled up his thick shirt which she now realized was soaked with blood…with all the wounded, there seemed to be blood everywhere…but this was her Brian's blood! And sure enough, under the shirt was a bite mark. The flesh was discolored around it, and beginning to spread. Her Brian was going to become one of them.

"NO! I WON'T HAVE IT!" she screamed, her thick Irish brogue emerging for the first time in years. She grabbed a bottle of fountain water and poured it on the wound, hoping that if she cleaned it quickly that he might still have a chance. Others had heard her scream and were coming over to see. If they noticed the bite, Brian would be tossed outside. Brigid's hands and jaw seemed to throb, and her ears itched something fierce under her thick red hair. Then she breathed out a sigh of relief…the water seemed to wash away the decay. Maybe it was just dirt discoloring the skin after all.

Brigid looked closer, not believing what she was seeing.

The bite mark itself was being washed away!

Brian mumbled something, his eyes fluttering weakly. Brigid quickly cupped his head and held the bottle to his mouth, urging him to drink. He was able to get a few swallows down, only coughing once or twice before the full flush of health returned once more to his face.

"Brigid? Where am I? What's going on?" Brigid hugged him joyfully, thanking whatever power blessed that water for saving her husband.

"Everyone, quick! If you haven't drunk the water yet, do it now! It heals! It healed my husband!" she shouted.

"Pretty sure we all have, ma'am!" called Mr. Healy who ran the local supermarket. He was talking with Mr. Halvorsen, and they were both holding empty bottles.

"I knew something was going on with my leg!" called Judge Thorn. He pulled himself up, seeming much spryer than his seventy years would suggest. Brigid covered her mouth with her hand as she watched his white hair slowly turn iron gray and then finally jet black. He pulled the splint off his leg and took some experimental steps. Spider veins faded away before their eyes while his withered calf bulged with new muscle. Brigid looked around and saw that a similar effect was happening to everyone. It was beyond a miracle!

"We're saved! I've got to find Shawn! Has anyone seen my Shawn?" she called out. Then Brigid did a very odd thing…she sniffed the air. One whiff told her Shawn was no longer in the building, but she was almost able to tell which direction he had gone. Refusing to question it until she had him back and safe, Brigid growled under her breath and began following the invisible trail.

That was when the building was rocked to its very foundations, as if a giant were trying to pull the very roof off. As it turned out, that was exactly what was happening.

{}{}{}{}

Shawn hurled the lid off the third coffin, and was almost not surprised to find Anson Cooper inside. Anson looked hulked out, as if the steroids he had been using had given him almost comic book style super powers.

"You…you were my best friend…and now you're with him…THE ONE WHO KILLED ME!"

Shawn had had enough. He slammed his hand under the rib cage and pulled out the thing's heart, tossing it away when Anson fell back into the coffin, an expression of horrified surprise etched into his dead face.

"Well, you always were an asshole," Shawn grabbed the last pouch and ran for the hole, pulling himself up and into it with animal grace and crawling toward the exit as fast as he could. In a moment, he was through and climbing the ladder out of this hell hole. Sniffing, he scented his mother and father and ran for them.

The roof was gone, and the townsfolk of Beacon Hills were standing there looking up at the All-Father in the fullness of his Divine power. Two enormous ravens flew around his head cawing loudly enough to hurt his ears. Dressed in full Viking armor, the giant slammed his hand down on top of the Wolf fountain, demolishing it. The walls were obliterated when he swept his other arm through the collapsing building hoping to crush the people within.

But those people were no longer exactly human.

The imminent danger triggered shifts in everyone present except the very young, who were themselves snatched up by snarling parents or whoever happened to be close by. Shawn joined in his parents who fled back outside only to find a different battle already in progress.

The Hale Pack was being decimated by a horde of Viking warriors that significantly outnumbered them. The werewolves were all on the defensive; just doing everything they could to remain alive and whole. Pack instinct took over in all the new werewolves present, who immediately joined the fray and began to turn the battle in their favor. With the added numbers, the werewolves were able to get on the offensive, and Viking blood began to pour into the already soaked ground.

Shawn watched his father rip a warrior's head off, saw his mother tear out a throat with her teeth. Snarling with bloodthirsty anticipation, he selected his own target and began racking up his own kills.

The All-Father saw the tide turning and roared in outrage. He raised a hand to the heavens, and lightning struck his outstretched palm and freezing in place to become a sword that hummed with lethal electricity. He raised it over his head, prepared to bring it down in a stroke that might split the earth in two when a roaring howl filled the world and made the All-Father stop and turn to face the new threat.

A wolf that seemed to fill the sky, great jaws agape and with eyes of flame leapt on the giant and brought him down. Teeth the size of skyscrapers clamped down on the giant's throat…but before they could rip away the All-Father's life, the ravens descended and tore at the beast with their beaks and claws. Fenrir howled as his blood was shed, and the ravens crowed their triumph even as their heads darted forward to pluck out the flaming eyes.

That was when two enormous wolf-heads suddenly sprouted from the shoulders of the beast, turning him into a lupine Cerberus for a moment before the Avatars Erik and Robin fully emerged from within Fenrir to snap their jaws closed on Hugin and Munin, crushing the life from the bodies until the great wings ceased their frantic flapping.

The All-Father was not done yet, however. The hand that held his lightning-sword turned the blade and readied to send it directly into Fenrir's heart…before the third even larger Avatar split off, Derek's jaws closing around the wrist before biting the hand off altogether.

The All-Father roared in pain, a shout that was quickly ended as Fenrir finally pulled his throat open.

The remaining warriors from Valgrind stood silent and still as the flesh once more disappeared from their bones, all of which collapsed to dust. A shrieking whirlwind from the tower sucked the remains back inside until the great door slammed shut, the stone blocks tumbling apart a moment later.

All the werewolves cheered; the townspeople and the Pack joining together and howling at their sudden victory. Only Stiles, Laurie, Danny and Ted remained quiet as they looked up at the Avatars and felt the loss of the ones they loved.

{}{}{}{}

"I have talk to them all, tell them what to expect now. Um, what can they expect now?" Stiles asked the Beast of Ragnarok, who was stretched out on his back, mouth open and tongue hanging out as he basked in his new freedom. The first thing Fenrir had done after the battle was promote the Hale Pack members to Alpha status…as such they would now be able to communicate with Fenrir directly without the use of an intermediary.

"The lunar eclipse will end the imprisonment of the people…but the dome will be maintained forever with one small change…Beacon Hills is now a world onto itself. Only my children will be able to enter (an amusing reversal of what Mountain Ash did to us, no?), and the travails of the outside world will have no sway over it. This place is Mine, and will last forever."

"But some of them have families that live all over the world!" Stiles knew he was pushing his luck; Fenrir was in a good humor at the moment, but like any werewolf that could change at any time.

"They are welcome to go and visit their kin, or, if they wish to bring them back here, as will be the case with the Bradley pup's parents, I will be more than happy to embrace them into the Pack."

"What about bringing goods into or out of town? What about government inspectors or builders or…"

"It would take but a little of My influence to convince humans not to try to enter and believe it was their own idea; your concerns are irrelevant. As for goods, what little cannot be produced here and be fetched and brought in by any one of our people. Are you not in charge such an industry in your human life? This is My will, and so it will be. It is for the best."

"And Derek? Erik? Robin? If you've got this wolfy force-field, why do you need them to stay the way they are?"

"Alas, it is difficult to remove Divine power without killing the mortal who wields it. It only takes a few centuries to millennia for it to seep away if it is not actively replenished by the devout or expended in great workings. If you want your mate back…just be patient and wait. If you need assistance with that, just come to me. I have some experience with it."

Stiles' mouth hung open at that. He didn't know what to say.

Fenrir rolled over once, and slept. The conversation, such as it was, had ended.

{}{}{}{}

Stiles spoke to the people of the town, and explained everything as best he could. He told them about their new life and their new powers, and the choices they would now have to make. Some took it in stride, many came around after taking the time to think about it, and a small few were pretty upset but realized there was nothing to be done. They decided to work together to rebuild the town and go about their lives pretty much as they did before…with some small changes in routine and diet. The Avatars patrolled the borders at night or kept company with Fenrir by day. After a time, the townspeople no longer even noticed them.

{}{}{}{}

One day, Shawn Murphy came up to Stiles after a day of playing with Dylan and Christine (the boy sensed how Erik's loss must have hit him and tried to make up for it in this small way). He gave Stiles three leather pouches containing some old coins.

"Are these…oh holy hell Shawn, you actually were able to find them?" Stiles was loathe to touch them, considering their history let alone their power.

"Yeah, I'm glad we didn't need them anyway. No good could ever come from using them that I could see."

"Maybe…maybe not." As Shawn ran off to play with the children (today he was attempting to teach them how to play baseball; it was the one thing Derek had proven himself better than Stiles at), an idea began to form in Stiles' mind. It would take some research, but that was something he had mastered long before he ever became a werewolf.

{}{}{}{}

Stiles approached the Avatars on the hill outside of town proper (but still within Beacon Hill's borders) where they typically remained during the day. Stiles could easily tell who was who, even in these forms. He approached Derek, who put his head down under his enormous paws and whined.

"Hey, Der, Erik, Robin. Brought you guys some gifts."

The Avatars tilted their heads and gave questioning growls.

He placed the first pouch in front of Derek who sniffed and pawed at it suspiciously at it before glancing at Stiles. As the great head leaned down towards him, Stiles kissed the side of the enormous muzzle.

"Betrayed with a kiss, sorry Der. Now it's your turn, Erik!" The second pouch was placed before his son, and the third before Robin. In each case, Stiles made sure to kiss them. For some whacko reason, this was how the coins worked. All together, the coins could probably have rendered the Avatars fully human again, but if they each just got ten…maybe, just maybe…

"I, Stiles Stilinski, possessor of the thirty sacred coins hereby invoke their power! Drain the Divine Essence from these whom I love…these, my victims…these, whom I have betrayed!"

So went the spell Stiles found in an ancient Argent text, helpfully translated by Lydia from the original Ancient Aramaic.

The Avatars howled as black lightning crackled upwards from the collected coins in their pouches. By the time Fenrir came bounding up, the three great wolves had already begun to shrink and slowly revert to their human forms. All three ran towards Stiles as soon as their legs were human enough to do so.

{}{}{}{}

"Fenrir's pissed…you broke the rules, and did it by betrayal. He hates that." Derek was speaking in between massive bites of a rare hamburger. The groans he was making while he ate were obscene.

"He'll get over it in time. Tell Him to be patient; it should only take a few centuries or millennia," Stiles snarked. "You guys are still werewolves, and still Alphas…that should be enough for him."

Erik and Robin were similarly eating massive quantities of food…such a drastic transformation had left all three famished to the point of desperation. Laurie kept coming over with more food from the grill where Ted and Danny were cooking up a storm. They were positively glowing to have Robin back, while Laurie kept crying and hugging her brother. Derek was going to find out just how much Stiles missed him later tonight…and every night forever.

"What happened to the coins?" asked Chris Argent.

"Fenrir called up Alberich to take back the Rheingold. The dwarf was furious at being tricked by Gallows, but he became pretty happy to be given the coins as well. He'll hide them in a pocket dimension somewhere no one will ever find them. I owe Shawn for going through what he did to get them. He went through hell for us." Stiles said meaningfully to Erik.

Erik nodded. "Don't worry, Pop. I'll make it up to him. Do you know what happened to the Great Pack? I feel like they're gone."

Derek looked sad for his son…he knew what it was like to lose a Pack. "Well…the afterlife for werewolves wasn't very pleasant, son. Now, instead of a lake with an island, Fenrir converted one of the old Norse dimensions that's not in use anymore into a place any werewolf would call paradise. As pleasant as that sounds, I hope none of us get to see it for a very long time."

Stiles, squeezing Derek's hand in longing (too impatient even to wait for evening to fall it seemed) could only agree.

A/N – One more fluff chapter after this, and that should be that. Thank all of you who have stuck with this to the end…life made it impossible for me to write as much as I wanted to, and the keys for this AU were harder to find every time I put them down. This may not be the best thing I ever wrote, but it is definitely one of my favorites. Thank all of you so much and I will get the last chapter up soon…and remember; reviews are ALWAYS appreciated. Remember, authors write thousands of words in hopes of receiving maybe two or three sentences in response whether critique or praise. It is what helps us learn and grow as writers and goddamn it it's just like M&M's or potato chips, one is never enough. Hope everyone had a great holiday season and see you next fic.