Disclaimer: Teen Wolf and all its characters do not belong to me. I'm just borrowing them for a bit. And the town of High Peaks is completely fictional.

A/N: Well, hello! I'm back with another venture into the Teen Wolf world. This one is an AU, taking place about a decade after the end of Season 2.

We do have a few OC's in this fic...but they are only to keep the story rolling. No relationships, No Mary-Sue takeovers...

Chapter 1

"If they find out what you are, they find out about me, about all us. And then, it's not just the hunters after us. It's everyone." ~ Derek Hale

"You'll have to wait in here."

Emily stepped past the secretary and entered the cramped office of the High Peaks sheriff. Offering a thank-you to the little woman with her round face and fly away hair, she got a bleak smile in return. One that did not even attempt to reach the other woman's eyes.

The door clicked shut.

A stuffed trout stared at her from its perch on top of the filing cabinet.

The chair set before the sheriff's simple pine desk was rickety with a wide slash exposing the cushion's stuffing. Emily twisted her lips with distaste before placing herself on the very edge of the ancient seat. She set her oversized briefcase beside her knee, folded her hands, and turned her sights on the hazy gray street outside.

She had seen the pillar of smoke rising above the mountains of Idaho's Fourth of July Pass long before the highway signs had shown the exit leading to the small town. While she had been easing her company Buick along what once had been Main Street, she had imagined it must have been quaint and welcoming.

It now lay in smoldering ruins.

The people who had wandered back and forth before blasted storefront faces shared the same vacant and mystified expression as police department's receptionist. The face of tragedy, Emily had seen it before. It always followed a collision between packs.

But she had never seen an entire street destroyed. Smashed walls, gouged cement, and broken windows, sure. But it was always in back alleys, abandoned parking lots, or warehouses. This type of damage didn't usually happen center stage for all to see.

The fire troubled her. In the eight years she'd followed the actions of America's registered packs, she had never seen a werewolf with a penchant for arson. Let alone an entire pack that would turn a blind eye to setting six businesses ablaze.

And why here? Surely, there better towns to settle in. The more feral packs couldn't even hunt the forests anymore thanks to the Sanctification of National Species Act passed four years ago. There was no reason for unregistered wolves to be this far north.

She glanced up as the door opened and rose when a tall, bear of man ambled in.

"Sheriff Warren," she said, extending her credentials towards him. "Special Agent Emily Hansen. I'm here to aid with your suspect."

The hand which took her badge had been smeared black by ash and soot. It coated him, covering his clothing and clinging to the faint stubble which lined his jaw. His jacket was spotted and stained by the spray of fire hoses, suggesting that he had been on the front lines in the effort to save his town.

"Retrieval Agent," he read as the soles of his heavy boots clunked past the staring trout. He pushed his own chair from the desk and eased into it slow and with a groan. He glanced up, revealing the pale flesh that had been shielded by the crow's feet gathered around his eyes. "Retrieval? I thought you were here to identify this thing for us."

He slid the badge back over the desk and Emily reached for it. "Identification is only one part of my job, Sheriff. As part of the Werewolf Protection Act, any incident involving one of these individuals must be overseen by an impartial government official following the safe extraction of the werewolf in question. Once we're gone, there will be a thorough investigation. I assure you, you're town will see justice - "

"Justice," he said, softly. Leaning forward, he hooked his hands before his stomach and tipped his head. "I have four dead citizens out there, Miss Hansen, and a community demanding to know why. If you think you are taking that thing out of here - "

"It's protocol when a werewolf is involved, Sheriff," Emily spread her hands, helplessly. "These measures are in place only as a precaution. Given the general opinion on these individuals, you can understand - "

"That Washington wouldn't want to risk a bunch of hillbillies executing a little vigilante justice?" Warren finished, coldly.

Emily stuttered to a stop, blinking at him in surprise. "No. No, of course not, that's not what -"

"Well, that's what got you people started, wasn't it?" He sat back, swiping a finger across his upper lip. "The wolf hunts back in 2014? What did the papers call it? A 'modern day Crucible?'"

His pale eyes held hers for a long moment. Emily cleared her throat. "Yes. Once the wolves were exposed, people across the country were accused of being werewolves in disguise, refusing to register. Hitchhikers and the homeless were persecuted, mercilessly. In part, the W.I.A. was created to intervene on cases of mistaken identity." She sat a little straighter, straightening out the jacket of her pressed suit. "We also ensure that law enforcement makes every effort to guarantee that justice is shown to all. Human and werewolf alike."

"Oh, by all means," the man said, sardonically. "Wouldn't want these creatures to feel slighted by their potential victims, would we?"

Ice snuck into Emily's smile. "Certainly not. The government recognizes werewolves as civilians, Mr. Warren. And, for the most part, they are law-abiding and upstanding citizens."

A gentle scoff shook through his shoulders. "So long as they register, you mean." His eyes crossed to the corner of his desk, where a series of coffee rings had permanently warped the wood. He frowned. "Problem is, it's the ones who aren't so eager to put their names on your roster who do things like this, isn't it?" He jerked a thumb towards the window.

Emily swallowed and set the heel of her shoe against her briefcase. "We pride ourselves in our rehabilitation programs, sir. The exceptions to the rule are incarcerated, processed, and reintroduced to the masses as reformed assets to society."

He made a face, rocking his chair from side to side. "Sounds like you've had a long time to memorize that manual your people love to send us every year. Lots and lots of that legal crap that nobody really listens to." He ignored her unamused huff in order to study his cuticles. "You folks ever consider the possibility that there are cheaper ways of dealing with these things. Say, bullets, maybe?"

Emily blinked in surprise before she felt her jaw slide forward in annoyance. "There are those who suggest the same solution to human felons as well."

"Well, at least those people couldn't be accuse of being...speciest, right?"

Emily shifted closer to the edge of her seat. "Are you insinuating personal beliefs, Sheriff? Because I have to admit that the thought of having a member of law enforcement holding such an opinion is quite troubling."

"Oh no, heaven forbid." Amusement filtered through the ash and sweat. "I was only relaying a message from the taxpayers. In case you feel the need to lodge the complaint with your superiors."

"If the taxpayers are dissatisfied with the way the W.I.A. operates, they should contact their state representatives. Now, am I going to have the chance to overview our suspect's information before I interview him, or do I have to gather his history myself?"

Warren's eyes lingered on her for just a moment before turning to dig through the mounds of paperwork that had spilled along the edge of his desk. "He was unconscious when the boys found him. Lying in that kids' park on the east end of town, all busted up and left to die by the look of it. He's young, twenty-six I think it said...damn, where the hell is that file?" He threw his hands up and perused the top of the desk with a frown.

Emily frowned, her head tipping, curiously. "He was alone?"

"Yep." He pulled open one of his drawers and peered inside. "Ah, did I leave it...yeah-yeah, I did." He pushed himself up, rolling his hand for her to follow him. "C'mon, I'll let you get a look at him while I get his papers."

She grabbed her briefcase as he opened the door and fell into step behind him, entering the short hall.

"Turns out he did have a record...he was involved in solving a couple of murder cases back in California. Guess they know now why he was such a Hardy Boy, huh?" He gave a mirthless laugh and Emily added her own non-committed hum of acknowledgement.

They emerged into the front office, where the secretary's desk created a barrier between the foyer and the deputy's desks. Their owners were still out, helping with the cleanup effort, Emily supposed.

The secretary herself was manning her station just as she had been when the agent arrived. At the moment, she was on the phone with what sounded like a towing company. The phone book lay open on her desk and waiting on the other side of the high counter was a man. His leather coat was wrinkled about his shoulders as he leaned against the laminate and a quiet, apologetic smile had brushed across his lips as he watched her speaking.

He glanced up when Emily and the sheriff went breezing past. His gaze touched the agent's and she felt her steps falter. The blue eyes seemed calm and compassionate but underneath it, she swore she could feel herself being analyzed by a cold and indifferent mind. Then, his face split into a warmer grin and he gave her a nod before returning his attention to the little woman before him.

They reached the opposite side of room and Warren held the door for her. Although she cast a final peek back towards the stranger, he did not return the look. The sheriff's voice filtered back through her thoughts as the door swung shut behind them and he took the lead again.

"Uh," Emily shook her head to clear it of those strange, searching eyes and fell back in line. "You believe the wolves set fire to Main Street."

"Well, they were the ones brawling in the center of it. None of my people dared to get near them after they found the Jansen's boys and their girlfriends down on First. They were leaving the bar when they got jumped. Ugly, ugly, stuff..."

"Yes, but the fire doesn't make sense," Emily said, ignoring his annoyed glance back. "I've studied werewolves, Sheriff. Interacted with them. I've never seen arson used in pack disputes."

"So?"

She let out a sigh. "Discrepancies in behavior are always cause for concern. It's worth looking deeper into the incident, there might be more going on here than meets the eye."

"Hey," Warren shrugged, "You're the expert. Feel free to dig as deep as you want. Just so long as this thing gets what's coming to him."

Emily dropped her chin, taking in a few silent breaths to calm her frustration.

A pair of doors led off to their right. The sheriff bypassed the first, which was no more than a slab of slate gray metal simply labeled "Interview" and made for the more welcoming room that had been marked "Observation."

They entered the dark interior, where the only light was filtered in by the shaded window nestled in the wall connecting the two rooms. Warren walked towards a low table set across from the door. Hooking a thumb towards the glass, he said, "There's your wolf, Hansen."

Emily drifted towards the window and bent her knees just enough to set her heavy case to the floor. She drew a knuckle to her lips as she finally set eyes upon the subject of her investigation.

He was young, as Warren had said, in his mid-twenties. His head was lowered over the small table where they had seated him and a barrier of wild, unruly curls seemed to separate him from the reflective surface of the glass. Blood had crusted his upper lip and a dark crescent followed the curve of his left eye. Wide shoulders were spread, allowing his arms to be bound behind the chair.

A white paper bag sat on the corner of the table nearest the door.

Emily's brow lifted. "Sheriff, what is that?"

"I had Jonesy pick him up some breakfast," Warren replied, materializing at her side. He snapped a thin manila folder towards her. "Just in case it turned out he really was just passing through town and got caught in the crossfire like the rest of us."

Emily pressed her lips together. "Seems he hasn't quite managed to get to it."

"Nope," he said, mildly, as Emily took the file. He folded his arms and rocked back on his heels, looking into the other room to avoid the scowl he was receiving. "So, is he a werewolf or what?"

"It's hard to say after a glance," she said delicately. She turned the file right side up and turned it towards the light. "What has he said in your initial interviews?"

"Got me. Hasn't said a word since he woke up."

Pursing her lips, she rolled her eyes towards him. "So you haven't heard his side of the incident?"

"I got a community breathing down my neck to explain how one of these was able to level part of our town and three families asking why their children are dead. His side isn't a high priority, right now."

She sighed and turned her attention to the file. The emblem on the top of the first report was the California state seal. It was from a police department in a small town, the name of which her eyes naturally bypassed for more interesting details. But she had only gone a few lines before a bell went off in her head.

"Beacon Hills?" she squawked and Warren started when she jerked her head up. "As in, Beacon Hills, California?"

"Uh...yeah?"

Emily turned and made for the table, all but slamming the file on the top as she began to rifle through the pages. Warren looked from her to the boy and back before he sauntered over. Emily's finger flew over the report, her tongue making a soft clicking sound while the words went flying by.

"'September...2011...'" she read at last. "'Upon following the directions provided by the two minors, officers were able to exhume the second half of the body first reported on August 31st, 2011. Officers obtained statements from both witnesses at the scene of the discovery. Officer Daniels spoke with the Sheriff Stilinski's son, Stiles...Officer Trenton interviewed...'"

Emily's hands settled on either side of the file as if to steady herself.

"Scott McCall," Warren finished without looking to the page. "Our suspect." His brow furrowed when he got no response. "Hansen, you want to clue me in here?"

Slowly, the agent straightened herself and returned to the window. Her eyes were glittery and excited. The slightest of grins broke across her mouth.

"I should congratulate you, Sheriff," she said, distantly. "You've managed to capture one of Hale's."

The heavy clunk of his boots rejoined her, stopping just behind her shoulder.

"And just what the hell is a Hale?"

* Whew!* What do you say? Intrigued? Perplexed? Thinking: What in the wide, wide world of sports is going on? Worth continuing? Let me know, please!