Thanks for reading, guys, and to everyone who has left a review - I really appreciate it! I love hearing your thoughts! Also to be confirming that I will eventually be continuing this AU for both parts of s3.

we aren't who we used to be part 4/4

Stiles pulls up outside the Argent house a while later. The pair took their time, Allison silent, with tears streaming down her face. She's grateful that Stiles didn't ask questions, because she has no idea how she's feeling.

Her mother tried to kill Scott. Tried and almost succeeded.

Scott is working with Gerard. He may have been feeding information to him that led to the evening being a total disaster.

And something is up with Lydia. She just vanished on them all at the club, and Allison should probably be more concerned but both their phones had gone off fifteen minutes ago with a text. A text. Lydia had woken up somewhere, unconscious, but fine. She had no idea what happened with the mountain ash line. Did they find out anything?

Neither of them had bothered to send a reply.

The lights are on in her house, and there are cars outside. They probably belong to the other hunters. Stiles had wanted to park down the street, but Allison didn't want him to. She knows it's dangerous, but she appreciates that he parks the jeep outside, in plain view. She's making a statement here.

She's not going to follow her family's code.

After all, it's not like any of them follow it anyway.

"Wait," Stiles reaches out for her arm when she makes to climb out the car, "Will you…" he pauses, "Are you going to be okay?" he asks.

She relaxes back into the seat of the jeep, sighing. "No," she says, and that's completely honest.

"Do you need me to sneak into your room later?" she's flattered that he offers.

"It would be safer if you didn't."

"Do you want Scott…?"

"I don't want to talk to Scott." She whispers, because she's afraid. She loves Scott. She loves her mom. And she is afraid that she's going to have to choose between them.

She can't. She loves both of them.

But she knows she's going to have to pick a side, and until then, she wants to stay away from both of them.

Stiles' gaze snaps around, and Allison peers around him, seeing that her front door has opened. Her dad stands framed in the doorway, and he's glaring at the car. Stiles gulps audibly, and Allison reaches out, one hand on his arm.

"I won't let him hurt you," she whispers, "Or Scott. They can't just… there are rules, and I won't let anybody fall prey to the loopholes in them."

Stiles glances back at her, "Take care," he tells her.

"You too," she reaches for the door-handle and hesitates, "I…" she stops, fingers curling, "Gerard knows," she settles for. She can't tell Stiles about Scott. Not now. "Gerard knows who the kanima is. He knows who is in Derek's pack." She glances up at Stiles, "He knows about you and Scott." She sees Stiles' eyes widen, "I didn't tell him," she says, and Stiles will be able to hear the honesty in her voice, "I didn't say a word, I swear, but he knows. So be careful. Okay?"

"Allison!" her dad yells from the doorway.

"Be careful," she asks him again, "Promise me you'll be careful. And… look after Scott?"

"I'll be fine," Stiles says, "Now go, before your dad marches out here with a gun and tries to shoot me. Again."

She opens the jeep door and slides out, grabbing her jacket and closing it. She stalks around the front, heading to her door. She pauses obstinately to turn and wave to Stiles. Stiles just nods, turning on the jeep's engine which makes a pathetic noise before starting. Allison thinks it might be about to die right there and then on her driveway, but then it starts and he pulls away.

"Allison," her dad's voice is like ice, "We need to talk."

She spins around, head held high. "About what?" she shrugs, stepping past him. There are hunters in the kitchen, dabbing at bruises they must have received from Derek and Boyd. Allison turns away, and she catches sight of her mother, sitting in the living room.

Her mother is wiping antiseptic onto a bloody wound in her shoulder. A wound in the jagged and terrible shape of a set of wolf fangs.

Allison feels all her breath leave her body.

Her mother's been bitten.

Stiles gets home to his dad asleep on the sofa, the television still playing. There is a coyote curled up over his dad's toes. He tries to sneak in without waking either, but the front door clicks and Malia stirs, blinking sleepily at him. She lets out a little huff upon seeing him, and shifts, his dad stirring as the weight on his feet moves.

"Stiles?" the Sheriff yawns. For the first time Stiles notices he's in his uniform.

"Did you have to go out?" he says, worried, suddenly. "Was there another murder?"

His dad looks grim, "They phoned. They've got things handled, but they might need me to pop by, so I got ready." He turns over on the couch, feet sliding to the floor and Malia whining as she slides off his legs, "What happened?" John asks, "I take it by your face things didn't go well?"

Stiles wordlessly shakes his head, "I'm sorry," he sighs, "You were right. We should have… we can't handle this. Not by ourselves." He sinks down on the couch, "Scott almost died," he whispers, "Allison's mom poisoned him with wolfsbane. And we didn't find anything. Nothing." He glances at the paper strewn on the other sofa, "What about you?" he asks.

"Me and Malia spent a relaxing evening at home. Eating pizza. Isn't that right?" the Sheriff asks the coyote, who just stares back, "Well she enjoyed it at the time," he sighs.

"Malia and I," Stiles corrects his dad's grammar, "Did you find anything?"

"Yeah. The first murders were all in the same class of 2006. They had the same teacher as well: Adrian Harris."

Stiles freezes, mid-reaching for the 2006 year book where it is open on the table, "But he's dead." He doesn't look at his dad. He thinks back, because the person controlling the kanima knows the teacher. They know the teacher and they know the pupils in his old class. There is an awkward pause and he glances up to see his dad looking uncomfortable, "What is it? Dad?"

"The girl who was killed tonight - the concert promoter… Kara Simmons."

Stiles picks up the year book and stares at the pictures there. He scans the names. "She's not going to be here, is she?" he stops looking after a few seconds.

His dad shakes his head. Curled up between them Malia looks from one to the other with a confused expression on her little coyote face. "She doesn't fit the pattern," he sighs, "So we're back to square one."

Stiles flicks through the year book, because maybe the girl is in another class that she shared with the others. Maybe she shared a different teacher and there is another link between them all. Maybe…

"Wait… stop…" his dad reaches out, turning back a few pages, "Isn't that Lahey?"

Stiles glances over the page, because his dad is right. Lahey has made the 2006 year book. He's the captain of the swim team and…

"Dad," Stiles whispers, "Look at the swim team."

"What happened?" Allison sits next to her mother as her dad dabs antiseptic on the bite wound, "Mom…?" Victoria hisses at the sting as Chris finishes up.

"It should be okay," he says, "It's not that deep…"

"It will heal," Allison asks, voice nervous, "It will heal, won't it?"

"We don't know." Chris leans back, packing everything away into the medicine kit, "We can't know. Not for sure…"

Allison frowns, looking between her dad and her mom. "What do you mean?" she asks.

"It's an alpha bite," Gerard says from the doorway, "You know what it means. And you know what has to happen. I'm afraid the prognosis on this one is dire."

She doesn't even look at Gerard. She just stares at her mother, because she's read her family's journals. She knows what tradition depicts should happen if a hunter is bitten but her mom…. She wouldn't… she would never, would she?

"Mom," she leans forwards, "Tell me it's going to be okay. Tell me to be strong or… or…" she bites her lip, "Tell me you didn't try to kill him."

"What?" Chris frowns, "Victoria, what is she talking about?"

Her mother is tight lipped and she hasn't said a thing so far, but now she leans away from her husband's hands, "I want to speak to Allison. Alone." Her voice is cold and she glares daggers at Gerard standing in the doorway, "Just for a little while."

Chris looks pained, "But…"

"It's okay," Allison says quickly, "Go."

Chris moves off for the doorway, and closes the door. Allison can hear him and Gerard talking in low voices and she knows what they're talking about.

"Tell me what happened," Allison demands of her mother again, "Everything," she says.

Victoria purses her lips, "You obviously know what happened," she sneers, "You were there. You pulled him out, didn't you? He's not dead. God, Allison, I was doing what you couldn't. I was helping you…"

"You almost killed Scott!" she snaps, and suddenly she can't sit on the sofa next to her mom anymore, "You had the wolfsbane filter and everything. You planned this!" Her mother doesn't deny this, "Why?" Allison demands, "Why try to kill Scott?"

"He's a distraction," her mother leans forwards, "He makes you weak."

"He makes me strong," Allison argues, "Scott is the reason I have something to fight for!"

Her mother looks angry, "He's an animal," she sneers, "A monster."

"Then what are you?"

Victoria looks floored for a moment, unable to come up with a reply. Her top has slipped back up, and now it clings to the bleeding flesh. It looks uncomfortable but Victoria makes no move to adjust it.

Allison sighs, suddenly, all the fight draining out of her. "I can talk to Derek," she says, "He can help you control it," she gestures at the bite, "If it was going to kill you, you'd probably be dead already."

Her mother shakes her head, "I don't want it," she snaps, "I don't need anything."

"Why not? You… you've been bitten. You're a werewolf… you'll turn and you need to know how to cope. It's not the end of the world. You can live with it, you just need to know how."

"You think I want to be one of them?" Victoria sneers, "You think I want to be a snivelling rabid dog?" her tone is condescending and cruel and Allison flinches, because those are her friends, "I thought you were better than this," Victoria sighs, "Better than them. But you… you're not. You crawl back here stinking of them. That wolf would have walked you right to the door is you let him," she sneers, "Allison…"

"No," she shakes her head, "I don't want to hear it," her voice is cold, "I don't care. They're my friends. They stood with me when I still didn't even know what our family did as a living. I'm not just abandoning them!"

"They're going to get you hurt!" her mother accuses, "That's what they do! They'll lose control, because that is who they are." She yanks the collar of her top down so Allison can see the deep red bite mark. Allison winces, but her mother continues, "See?" she gestures, "They'll be the death of you!"

"No," Allison shakes, "This family… that will be the death of me. It will be the death of you too if you let it. There is a way we can work through this. Take it."

But Victoria looks stony, "You're a teenage girl," she snaps, "You're not a leader yet, and you're not making any decisions here. Go to your room."

"Mom, just promise me you're not going to do anything stupid."

"Allison…"

"Please…"

"Go to your room!" Victoria snaps.

She goes. The door slams closed, and she blinks back tears.

She's not weak. She's strong.

She stays composed until she reaches her room whereupon she breaks down and cries.

Allison probably hates him, Scott thinks sadly. He should have just kept quiet, he shouldn't have said anything.

But he had and now he couldn't do anything. He longed to text her or something, fingers twitching and he would, later, when Derek wasn't sitting opposite him, judging him with those eyebrows.

"Are you feeling better?" Derek tries and fails to be conversational. "We're going to need a new plan for next time we try and trap Jackson."

"There is going to be a next time?" Scott raises one eyebrow, "And I thought you wanted to kill him?"

Derek just shrugs, "It appears that we can't. He heals too fast. Any drug lasts about half as long as it should. He's getting stronger and stronger and with the full moon on Wednesday he's going to just get more powerful. To be honest, Scott, I don't know how we're going to stop him."

"What you need to do," Deaton appears in the doorway, "Is to stop the master. And you might be a bit closer with that than you were before…" he steps asides to reveal Derek's betas shifting nervously in the doorway. Isaac steps forwards.

"Actually," Isaac hovers, just in front of Erica. Boyd is nowhere to be seen, "Stiles found something out. The kanima master knows who Adrian Harris is."

"And?" Scott frowns, "So does everybody who went to Beacon Hills High."

"So if Stiles told a random stranger about how he hated 'his chemistry teacher' with no names, they'd be able to guess it was Adrian Harris?" Isaac asks, "Also," he waves his phone about, "Apparently they had a vendetta against the 2006 swim team. My dad was the coach, and all the other murders were team members." He shrugs and glances back up, "Stiles just sent me a text," he says, when everybody stares at him blankly, "We have each other's numbers from when he and I used to try and sort out Coach's lacrosse strategies." He shrinks back slightly with anxiety.

Derek doesn't actually appear to care, "Then you need to find out who it is," he tells Scott, "Because once we know that, we can actually do something."

"And Jackson?"

"He'll be at Lydia's party, right?" Isaac asks, "I mean… everybody goes to Lydia's party. She is throwing one this year, right?"

"That's if anyone shows up," Erica snorts, "Apparently she's not very interesting now she's not seeing Jackson and she's been seen with you and us."

"What about you?" Scott asks, looking at Derek and glancing at the two betas, "What are you going to do?"

"Fix it," Derek grits his teeth, "I'm the one who bit him. This is my fault."

"No it's not," Scott argues, "Jackson is the one who determines what shape he turns into. You merely… flicked the switch."

"We're going to prepare for the full moon," Derek tells Scott, finally meeting his gaze, "Isaac and I have some meetings about getting him emancipated properly."

"Because until then Derek's my legal guardian for some strange reason and nobody wants that. Least of all Derek," Isaac grins, but it falters when Derek stares at him.

With a sigh Derek continues, "Go home, Scott. Look after your friends. Because the full moon's coming and with the way things are going, I've got a feeling it's gonna be a rough one."

"I'm just saying, are you sure the party is a good idea?"

"When is anything a good idea, Stiles?"

"And what happened Friday? Allison said you were fine, there was an ash line around the whole building and you weren't there. It got broken as a consequence."

"I told you. I don't remember."

Stiles sighs, and leans back against the sofa situated in Lydia's living room. Her mom's on a business trip or something for the spring break, so Lydia is at home alone.

Stiles is worried about her. She seems distant, but he's not getting through to her. It feels like she's keeping something from him, like she's not telling him something important. Her story about Friday is flimsy, and the one thing Stiles had noticed is that there is no head wound, no nick of claws or anything. Lydia claims to have awoken from unconsciousness but she wasn't knocked out. She's too perfect, too pristine for that, her body perfectly healthy.

Her mind on the other hand…

"Hey, how are your hallucinations?" he asks, and she freezes, gaze growing slack and he thinks he's hit the jackpot.

That's when Lydia's door bursts open.

"Hey," Allison stands there, looking stressed, "Thank goodness you're home and sorry for just bursting in, but I…" she looks worried, and Stiles hasn't seen her since Friday. It's Monday now, and they're on their spring break so there has been no opportunity to see anyone. Stiles had had to invite himself around to Lydia's house to speak with her, and when he's not looking through the school yearbooks for potential kanima master candidate with his dad, he's trying to figure out how to get Malia back to human before the full moon.

"What's wrong?" Lydia stands, moving towards Allison with a concerned look on her face.

Allison looks torn, "Nothing," she shakes her head, "Well yes…" she has a bag on a shoulder, and Stiles wonders what is in it. He can smell the sharp scent of mint and soap, along with laundry detergent. It's not weapons, for once, it's belongings. "Yes," Allison moves over to the living room, sinking down next to Stiles on the couch, "I can't stay at home at the moment. I need somewhere to sleep. Do you mind if…?"

"Of course not!" Lydia grins, looking happy, but Stiles notices her grin is strained, "My mom's on a trip," she says with a one shoulder shrug, "So I'd love to have you stay."

"I'd offer my house," Stiles gestures, "But I currently have a coyote living there and I don't think your family would approve. Is that…" he pauses, "Is that what the problem is?"

"What? No," Allison laughs, "It's something else. Just… stuff with my mom is kind of tense and my dad keeps telling me to understand, and Gerard keeps sprouting off all this crap about the code…" her face twists, "I'm scared," she admits, "I just need… I need to spend some time away from them."

"Well that's perfect timing then," Lydia smirks, "I need help picking out dresses for my party." She grabs Allison's hand, tugging her towards the stairs.

"I'll just see myself out then?" Stiles is left there, standing in the living room. "Oh, and hey, can I bring Malia on Wednesday? My dad is working and I can't leave her at home. The betas will be busy with the full moon…"

Lydia pulls a face, "What about her and the full moon?" she asks, as if Stiles hasn't considered it.

He shrugs, "I don't know, I haven't exactly had a lot of coyotes who may go rabid on a full moon, living at my house before!"

The strawberry-blonde just considers it, "Fine," she decides, "But you're looking after her. Party's at 10. I'll see you then."

"Bye," Stiles says, and the pair of girls vanish up the stairs. He sighs and heads out, beginning to trudge down the drive towards his jeep.

It's only when he's sitting in the warmth of his car, the engine roaring, that he recalls that Lydia never answered his question. She's neatly avoided it with Allison's arrival.

It looked like Stiles wasn't the only one still hallucinating Peter Hale.

"This," Derek dumps out the equipment that he'd rescued from his family's basement, "Is for you," he's decided to give Erica the headband, because she has a higher pain tolerance. The chains and cuffs he thinks will be best for Boyd and Isaac. "You get those," he tells them, as he collects what he needs out of the ash stained chest.

Isaac leans over, making critical comments and stupid remarks about everything. Now he's examining the mark on the lid of the chest, "What is that?" he asks.

"It's a triskele," Boyd speaks up from where he is reading a book in the corner of the warehouse. The teenagers treat the place like a hang-out. Boyd doesn't have much in the way of friends though, that's why Derek picked him. He doesn't have much in the way of family either. A younger sister who was kidnapped when Boyd was young, and an elderly grandmother who doesn't have many years left in her.

Erica on the other hand has two healthy and working parents. Their problem is that they don't understand and Erica's not willing to explain. Erica's not that kind of person. "What does it mean?" she frowns at Derek.

"Whatever you want," Boyd slams his book closed, "The three arms mean whatever is important to you. Mother, father, child. Past, present, future…"

"Alpha, beta, omega," Derek finishes, "Being in a spiral reminds us that any one of us can fall from one to another, or alternatively rise up."

"What if it's not a spiral," Erica suggests, "What if it's a triangle," she crouches down, tracing a pattern in the brick dust that sits there. A triangle rests at the centre, and she extends the sides with straight, harsh lines that turn violently and then sprawl out, like a spider with three legs.

"You've been up to my old house," Derek accuses her.

Erica looks completely unashamed and she nods. An uneasy shuffling from behind him has Derek sighing, "You too?" he glances at Isaac. The beta nods.

"That was painted on your door." He says, "What does it mean?"

Derek debates whether or not to tell them, but it's just another problem that's been added to a long list. He decides against it, "It means more trouble," he says, "But we can deal with that later. Now, we need to worry about the full moon."

"So," Stiles takes no notice of the tension that hangs in the air between Allison and Scott. Scott is almost grateful for that when his friend appears, hands stuffed in his pockets as he looks around at Lydia's empty garden, "The party is a success then, I take it?"

"Doesn't she usually send out invitations?" Scott frowns.

Allison laughs, "She told me she doesn't need invitations. Everybody knows about it."

"Or maybe they don't," Scott murmurs, because there is nobody around. Maybe they all saw the full moon hanging in the sky, fat and heavy, and decided it was safer to stay indoors tonight.

"Well," Allison crosses her arms, looking over Scott's shoulder, "At least Jackson's here."

Scott tenses, but doesn't turn. He hears footsteps and Lydia appears besides him, "Got anymore great plans, wolf boy?" she asks him, "Jackson's acting like nothing happened. Like everything is normal. Where's Derek?"

"With his betas, dealing with the full moon," Stiles shrugs, "Hey, Lydia, I thought your parties were usually more…" he tries to make a gesture with his hands and fails, "More." He repeats.

"It's that coyote you have curled up in my living room." Lydia's voice is a deadpan, "She's scaring them all away." Stiles glares at her and Scott just glances uneasily towards where Stiles had decided to bring Malia along. It's a bad idea waiting to happen, but so far the coyote seemed fine, "And didn't you know?" Lydia smirks, "The party never starts when it's meant to. When I said the party started at ten, I actually meant, turn up an hour later," she flaunts off, carting around her punch like it's a weapon, having already managed to dump some on Scott and Allison. Stiles doesn't even bother.

"It's not like I can get drunk," he argues, when Scott glares at him for being rude, "And, hey… did either of you guys think there was something up with Lydia?"

"Like what?" Allison asks, curiously.

"Something," Stiles repeats, stubbornly, gaze fixing on the brunette, "Are you okay?"

"Me? I thought we were talking about Lydia. And that? That's probably just stress from the kanima thing and all."

"I told you guys about the water thing, right?"

"About how they're all connected to the swim team?" Scott asks, "Yeah."

"Yeah, but specifically the 2006 swim team. So we're looking at teachers and students."

Scott sighs, running a hand through his hair. There is a loud whoop from outside and there are several more people milling around, and he frowns, because he thinks he might recognise some of those people from the gay club…

"Is that a drag queen?" Allison steps backwards as the woman wanders past, laughing at something. "I didn't know Lydia had these kinds of friends."

Scott wonders whether to share his suspicion that they probably met Lydia at the club the other night, and decides not to. Stiles still looks worried though, "Okay, something is definitely up with Lydia," he says, as someone starts the music playing, "I'm going to go check on her, okay?" He slips off and just like that Scott's barrier between him and Allison is gone.

He braces himself, about to turn to talk to her, but when he looks Allison's way, the hunter's girl is distracted. She's stepping daintily after the photographer, a thin smile plastered on her face.

Scott sighs and sips his punch. It looks like it's just him and the alcohol then.

"Can I talk to you? Alone."

She doesn't quite trust alone though so she leaves the door open. Matt looks awkwardly at it, but makes no move to close it, instead cradling his punch glass to his chest. Allison's own glass is gone, and Lydia was right, the punch was kind of nice, even if it did have a strange after taste.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" she asks, looking around the room. There is a blanket on the sofa and Allison wonders vaguely where Malia is. She should be there…

"I wanted to ask about you and Scott."

"Scott?" she looks up, blithely, "What about Scott?"

"I wanted to know…" Matt swallows, looking nervous, "I wanted to know if you two are still a thing. I mean… you tell everyone you've broken up, that you're looking to date, but then you go to a party with me and ditch me after the first five minutes."

Guilt sinks in her stomach but she ignores it. "I'm not with Scott," she says.

"Then why are you always with him? Do you…" Matt's face looks pinched, "Do you have to keep it a secret or something because your little love affair isn't that hidden…"

"Why do you want to know so much about Scott?" she asks, interrupting him, "Because Scott and I… we're not…" she tries to think of how to describe it. How Scott's her weak spot, but he's also her blind spot. How he makes her weak… and she can't have that. She can't be so damn attached to someone that she can't make the best choices and decisions every time she's around them.

Matt just looks frustrated, "It's not Scott I'm interested in," he snaps, and then freezes, because yeah, that's pretty much an admittance.

She tries to let him down gently, "I'm sorry," she shakes her head, "I'm not really looking for a relationship, and you and I… we're not…" she shakes her head, "We're not like that."

"We could be." He steps forwards, and she steps back, suddenly put off by his enthusiasm. "Couldn't we at least try?" he suggests, "It's just… I think you're so beautiful, that you deserve to be the subject of a perfect photograph. And I just want to try and find that angle that makes your skin glow and..."

And now it's getting creepy, "No," she says, "No… I'm not interested. And if you keep throwing yourself at me, then I'm going to have to go the police."

"Throwing…" Matt quotes her, looking even more frustrated, "I'm not throwing myself at you," he tries to explain, "I'm not the kind of guy who says something like 'well, if I can't have her, no one can' and I waited, because I knew you and Scott had this thing, and I just thought that now, maybe you'd give me a chance. But obviously I was wrong and you know what, move on, because he doesn't deserve you."

"And neither do you," Allison says, and that much she knows. She pushes past him towards the door, and he latches one hand onto her wrist.

It's instinctual, training kicking in automatically. Three seconds later, Matt is sprawled on the floor staring up at her in horror, "What the hell…?"

She shudders, stepping back, "Sorry," she shrugs, "Reflex," then feeling slightly guilty she steps out into the crowd of people, slipping away. She can't do this anymore. She should head home, help her mother through the full moon. She hadn't been able to bear being there in the days leading up to it, not with Gerard talking about Victoria like she was an animal and her mother looking so depressed.

But they would get through it. Her mom was strong, she'd manage the transformation, manage to find an anchor, to control the shift. Allison should be there to help her.

And then later, she can help Scott. She can't be with Scott, not now, not after everything, but she can help Lydia and Stiles find the kanima's master, sort all their problems out…

Someone bumps her shoulder and she winces, about to complain but when she turns around, nobody is there. She frowns in confusion but turns around, freezing abruptly when she is confronted by a dark shape stepping out from the shadows.

The figure isn't turned towards her, instead the shape is focussed on a sprawled Scott, who clutches the banister. "Allison, no…" he pleads.

"Hey!" Allison says, just as the shadowy figure raises a crossbow towards Scott, "Hey!" she shoves someone out of the way and towards the figure, towards Scott, "Leave him alone!" she skids to a halt between the pair, and the crossbow fires.

Something sinks into her gut and she chokes, gaze fixed on the arrow in her stomach, "No…" she breaths, and she looks up, into her own eyes.

It's her, the figure with the dark hood standing there, crossbow lowering, "God, look at you," her double sneers, "Trying to defend everyone… but who do you actually save?" The shadow scoffs, "You should be stronger, Allison." The other Allison's lips curls, "You should be stronger - more like Kate, more like Gerard, more like me." And she spreads out her hands, and Allison sees herself, a hunter, standing before her.

The air shimmers and she blinks, choking. She looks down at the arrow in her chest and there is nothing there. She gasps for a moment, pressing her hand to the wound that isn't present. She looks back up but her double is gone.

Glancing behind her, Scott is gone too, and she wonders if he was ever real.

She wonders if she's ever really managed to protect him in the first place.

Stiles ducks under the awning and almost trips over the coyote who sits there, mewling like some goddamn cat at him. "Malia?" he asks, "What's wrong?"

She looks agitated, and he sighs, glancing around for Lydia. Spotting her red hair by the punch bowl he scoops up the anxious coyote to his chest and makes for his friend. Malia squirms against his chest but settles down after a little bit, her small heart beating against his.

Lydia sniffs as he wanders over with Malia, "Don't let her get hair in the punch," she says.

"Who cares about the punch?" Stiles asks, "Are you okay?" he stares at her, because there is something just that bit off with Lydia.

"Maybe it's the moon," Peter whispers in his ears, "You know that's where the word 'lunatic' comes from?" invisible claws run over Stiles' spine and he shivers.

And Lydia is smiling there, looking happy and healthy and - yeah - maybe he's overacting, "I'm fine," she says, scooping some punch for him, "Here," she shoves it at him, "Try some."

Stiles wrinkles his nose, "No thanks." He says, "I can't get drunk."

"Then try a sip and compliment my amazing skills," she shrugs, "Go on."

Stiles gets the impression she's not going to let him go until he does, so he shifts Malia to one arm, the coyote barely minding, and sips the punch. It's fruity. Fruity and something bitter that sits heavily on his tongue. It's familiar, heavily acidic and has a strong aftertaste. He frowns, dabbing his tongue against his teeth, "It's interesting," he says.

Lydia snatches it out of his hands with a sigh, "You have no taste," she complains.

He's thinking the same thing about Lydia though, because really that drink tasted foul. He wipes his tongue on the back of his hands, making his way to the kitchen for a glass of water. Anything, really, to wash away the taste.

It's peaceful in the kitchen, the sounds muted. Stiles' control is getting better slowly, but the world still likes to scream in his ears and this full moon night is no exception. Malia slips out of his grasp, claws clinking on the floor. It echoes and Stiles is dizzy suddenly. He wonders if it's the moon, high in the sky. The world is fuzzy and he blinks, using the cold marble of the kitchen counter to steady himself.

His hands are shaky as he runs himself a glass of water and he gulps it down, thirsty suddenly. "Come, Stiles," Peter purrs in his ear, "The moon is high and full and fat and all we need to do is to paint it red with blood."

The glass drops into the sink as Stiles jumps in alarm, not prepared for Peter to be right there, leaning on the countertop next to him. His skin prickles in a hot flush and he growls, angrily, turning away. He tugs off his jacket, sweaty and feeling sick suddenly. He wonders if it's possible to get sick from the full moon.

He feels like he's about to puke and he stumbles, trying to locate the bathroom.

There is a slow prickling feeling on the back of his neck, and he glances over his shoulder to see Peter stepping towards him. "You know Derek's going to be busy tonight," his old alpha suggests, as casually as you might like, "Busy with his rag tag excuse for a pack. He'll have his guard down and his back turned."

"What are you saying?" Stiles knows that talking to his hallucinations isn't exactly the best thing to do, but he's just so shattered at the moment it's not going to hurt him much more.

"Don't you think you'd make a better alpha than Derek?" Peter suggests, stepping forwards into Stiles' personal space.

"No," he complains, shaking his head, "No, no I don't want…"

"Stiles." The voice is smooth, tone soft and almost soothing if it weren't for the clear command in it. Stiles steps back again, freezing when his back meets a wall or door or fridge and he doesn't even fucking know. Peter follows the movement and without hesitation reaches out and grabs Stiles' chin, fingers curling and making Stiles angle his head upwards slightly, so they meet, eye to eye.

Stiles swallows reflexively, because he can remember when Peter had done this before, when he had made Stiles bare his neck like a whimpering hound. Now there are only mere inches separating them, and Stiles can't move, can't escape…

"You can lie to yourself." Peter looks like he's savouring Stiles' tension and confusion and just that little bit of fear that creeps back in even though he can't help it. "But you can never lie to me."

His fingers trace Stiles' jawline and for the first time Stiles realises they're warm. Warm and wet and slightly sticky almost. His thumb brushes over Stiles' cheek, and then slides down until his hand frames Stiles' neck. With one squeeze he could be choking Stiles, but instead he just lets his fingers linger there, the pulse fluttering beneath.

And none of his hallucinations have been this vivid, Stiles thinks. None have even come close and there must have been something in the water. In the water or the punch or…

Peter withdraws his hand, and just like that between one blink and the next he's gone. The kitchen is empty but Stiles…

There is still something warm and wet drying on his face and feeling drunk on the moon and whatever is wrong with him Stiles stumbles to the nearest mirror, in the downstairs bathroom in the hallway. He flicks on the light and catches sight of his reflection and he's -

He's sick. So fucking sick.

Stiles has never liked blood, and in the mirror half of his face and neck is streaked with the stuff, painted on like a sick kind of war paint. He chokes, and gags, and his eyes flicker blue as for a moment his control wavers and the sounds rush in and -

And he blinks and he's normal. There is no blood, just sweat and his hair is clinging to the back of his neck, and there is no blood, no blood or finger marks or anything even remotely suggesting there had been something there only seconds previously.

There is movement in the mirror, and Stiles steps out of the toilet, spotting Lydia in the hallway. The red head has her gaze down as she heads to the door, keys in her hand.

It's Lydia's party.

It's Lydia, who had shoved the punch glass at him waited until he had drunk even a sip.

It's Lydia who has a shadow behind her that Stiles thinks is probably still a hallucination, because he could swear the shape looks almost like Peter, but burned beyond recognition.

"Lydia!" Stiles raises his voice in warning, seeing the shadow of Peter looming behind her. She turns, almost reluctantly. He pauses, "Lydia?" he asks, gaze sliding to the shadow, "Is that Peter?"

"Get rid of him," the shadow, the hallucination, whatever it is says.

And Lydia listens, stepping forwards, her eyes stone cold.

That throws Stiles, because Peter hasn't been real, right? Peter's been in his head, but he wasn't real.

And that hesitation is all Lydia needs to throw some faintly blue dust in his face.

Scott tries to locate Allison first. She's upstairs, splashing cold water over her face. "Are you okay?" he asks, lingering in the doorway. She smiles at him in the mirror, but it's weak and barely there.

She nods, "I'm fine," he hears the lie, but he lets her have it, "I was just going to head out actually," she shrugs, "I'm sure Lydia will understand."

Scott nods and steps backwards, letting that distance between them grow just a little bit. He has no idea what went wrong, but he knows he's lost her. He's lost her and he's not going to chase after her this time. He backs away, turning to head down the stairs and freezes because what is his mom doing here?

"Mom?" he asks, and she looks up at him. Her lips are pale, except for a streak of lipstick across them in bright red.

"Scott," she breathes out, and then slides down against the wall and that is the moment Scott realises it's not lipstick.

It's blood, crimson red and clinging to her lips, "Mom!" he panics, darting forwards, but she flinches away, "Mom - what happened? What are you doing here… we… we need to get you to a hospital…"

For a moment she meets his gaze, lips trembling, "It was a monster," she whispers, and Scott feels his heart beating loudly in his chest, "It was a monster with yellow eyes…" he voice wavers, "Fangs and claws and…"

"Mom…" Scott moves towards her, about to reach out, to touch her…

But then she flinches back.

"Don't touch me!"

He freezes, eyes wide and scared and…

There are claw marks on his mother's side.

And the hand he had reached out with, fingers spread is hovering in the air, indecisive.

Each fingertip is dipped in red.

"-cott? Scott. SCOTT!"

He shakes himself out of his daze, to Alliosn shaking him. The brunette ducks down into his field of vision, brushing hair out of her eyes, "What is it? What's wrong?"

He shoves her aside, attention sliding to his mom, but there is nothing there. Scott's fingers and claws and clean and his mom isn't there.

"It's not real!" Allison shakes him, "Scott, listen to me, it's not real. I don't know what's wrong, but it happened to me too! It's not real!"

"But it…"

She shakes her head, looking distraught, "I know," is all she says, looking grim, "We need to find the others. We need to…" she freezes, "Lydia."

Scott chokes back the hysteria in his throat, trying to wrap his head around the fact his mom isn't dying, he didn't hurt her. "You look for Lydia," he tells Allison, "I'll find Stiles."

Allison nods and vanishes and Scott pulls himself up, taking a moment to compose himself.

There is something wrong.

Not just with him. Everyone is stumbling around looking drunk, but it's worse than that. Someone is making out with a bush, another person is picking imaginary bugs off himself. Scott stands in the doorway to the garden, looking around to spot his lanky friend.

The punch bowl sits nearby, pink and innoculous, and Scott's heart just drops at the sight of purple petals floating around in it.

Wolfsbane.

"I can't swim!" somebody shouts suddenly, "No! No, no no, STOP, GUYS! I can't swim!"

Scott's head snaps up, because that's the photographer dude.

Matt. Matt Daehler.

"I can't swim!" the guy is protesting as two burly guys from the lacrosse team swing him forwards, "No, wait, I can't…" he goes straight forwards into the pool. And he's right. He can't swim. He struggles and flails and Scott, like an asshole, stands there and watches the guy as he slowly sinks.

Jackson's the one to pull him out. Because of course. Because this is it, this is the solution, the final piece of the puzzle. Matt chokes and coughs out water, shirt drenched. He's terrified, Scott can hear his heartbeat. Utterly terrified. He hates the water, fears it.

"What are you looking at?" he spits at everyone, most of whom are too drunk to care. Jackson is standing behind him, still and calm.

Or controlled, Scott thinks, because it's Matt. Matt's controlling Jackson. Matt is the one killing people. Oh god it's Matt.

Matt is the one controlling the kanima.

Derek needs help.

He works that out approximately seven seconds after Isaac's chains, old and worn by the fire, snap and the beta hurtles out of the subway car. He should be able to wrangle Isaac back, get the beta back into the broken chains, but at that moment Boyd's chains break as well.

Derek turns around, only to be confronted by a raging werewolf, snarling and eyes a brilliant golden yellow. He wrestles with Boyd, gritting his teeth and trying not to hiss in pain every time the claws slice through him. Erica lets out a yowl, sounding more like a cat than a werewolf as she wrestles her own chains off, and Derek should be shoving her back, but he's still got his arms full of Boyd.

"Erica, no!" he shouts, just as Boyd swipes stinging claws down his face and Erica makes a break for it. The alpha buckles under the force of his beta's struggles, still helpless to try and get Erica back.

There is a snarl and Erica never makes it to the door, because suddenly Isaac is there, knocking her backwards. Erica tumbles to the ground and Isaac leans over her, pressing down on the back of her neck, keeping her pinned there.

The blonde looks up, eyes gold. He nods when he meets Derek's gaze, and the alpha can hear Isaac's heart beat racing, but the shift is under control. Relaxing slightly, Boyd once again surges against him, but now Derek can concentrate his full attention on forcing the beta back, wrapping the chains around the enraged full moon happy wolf.

"I found an anchor," Isaac says, a little lisp from his fangs that makes him sound adorable. "It managed to pull me back." He clips the chain he had been in around Erica, the female beta looking out of control, but mildly less so now.

"What was it?" Derek frowns, stepping back and checking Boyd isn't going to break free.

"My father," Isaac says shortly, "Before… I mean… he didn't always lock me in a freezer." And that - that's sad. It's the saddest thing Derek has heard beyond his own life and not for the first time he wonders why he decided to surround himself with broken people. "Go take a break," Isaac says, "I'll keep an eye on them," he gestures at the pair of wolves, "They're looking less like they want to kill anything with a heartbeat."

Derek nods, relieved and grateful. Isaac has slipped down into a seat and Derek pauses to check the bindings on Erica, before stepping out, tension slipping off him like water.

There are footsteps and he blinks, wondering if Scott had finally got his message. He turns, frowning when he sees Lydia standing there, looking small and out of place in the warehouse. "Lydia?" he asks.

"It's okay," she tells him, and she offers him a reassuring smile that somehow only serves to make Derek more nervous, and he's about to step back, step away from her, when she moves, bringing something to her mouth and blowing and-

Derek can taste wolfsbane on his tongue and feel the grit land in his eyes, and the world swims sickeningly. Lydia stares down at him, sighing.

"For the record," she says, as she leans down towards him. Her voice sounds odd, distorted, like there is someone speaking with her, "I am sorry."

He isn't waking up.

He's so still, but his chest is still rising and falling. That reassures her, just that little bit and she nuzzles him, trying to wake him up. The coyote whines, pawing at her human when he doesn't respond. He shouldn't be sleeping, not at this time. It's wrong, and the smell is unnatural.

The coyote - Malia, her name is Malia - barks in the human's ear. The human - Stiles - doesn't react.

She has to wake him up. She has to. The moon pulses above but at the moment she's safe. She's trapped in fur and claws, and though it makes her bones ache she's in control. She whines, because she needs Stiles.

Malia had never asked him to come into the woods, looking for her. She had never asked him to invade her home, but he did it anyway. He stole the doll, almost got her killed by monster-reptile-cold-blood and she shouldn't still be here.

But he had come back for her. There had been a moment in the library, when she thought she was going to be left alone. She was going to die, killed by the monster.

She hadn't: Stiles had come back for her, he hadn't left her there.

Malia had missed that feeling of having someone there for her. It had been the reason she had sought him out again, found him down at that house by the lake and seen if he'd still follow after her, even when she ran.

He had. And she had stayed with him since.

But now he had gone. He was still there, physically, but he was out of it. There was a poison or something that had knocked him out and she had to help. She had to do something and she felt so useless, four paws, a fur coat…

She pawed at his shoulder, preparing to scratch him up. He's a wolf. He'll heal.

Blunt nails scrape over soft flannel and she hisses, frustrated, digging deeper as she paws, before realising what the problem is.

Her nails are blunt and soft and rounded. Her paws are pale and she has fingers - god how she's missed fingers, nothing much else but fingers…

Oh my god she tries to say, but all that comes out is a rush of breath, surprise and shock overcoming her. She rocks back, icy cold suddenly, because she's lost her fur coat. The world has dimmed around her and she blinks, peering around at the kitchen which suddenly looks a whole lot smaller…

She's human.

She takes a deep breath.

Malia just managed to turn herself back to human.

Now, now she can do something. She can be useful, she can help. Her vocal cords aren't working but she reaches out, grabbing weakly onto Stiles' shoulder and shaking him. His head lolls and he whines, low in his throat but doesn't stir.

He's not going to wake, not like this.

Malia makes a grab for the jacket lying over the chair. It smells like Stiles and it's still faintly warm, and it's better than nothing. She knows human society doesn't accept naked people as the norm, but at the moment she doesn't care. She stands, legs weak, and there is a terrible moment when she thinks she is going to fall back over, because she hasn't walked on two legs for years but then it all clicks, her brain wired into gear.

She is still unsteady as she steps lightly forwards, tiptoeing. She glances at Stiles, worried about him, but she needs help. She scents the air, raising her head. It's cold, and she clutches the jacket to her tighter as she slips outside, following the scent to Stiles' wolf-brother.

Stiles' wolf-brother is standing at the bottom of the stairs, frowning at something outside. She catches his attention by tugging at his sleeve, still trying to work out how human vocal cords work.

"Yeah?" he blinks at her, "Hey…" he frowns at her, taking in her lack of clothes, "Are you okay?" he reaches out and she flinches back slightly, but then relaxes into the human touch.

"Sc…" she tries to say his name, but her tongue is tied up in knots. She tries again, "Scoh…. Sccc-oh-ttt." Sounding it out one syllable at a time seems to work.

"Are you drunk?"

Sort of. Or maybe not.

Malia shakes her head vigorously and Scott just looks confused. She decides to skip the niceties and get straight to the point, "St…. stah…. Stie…. St….eye… st-eye…"

"Stiles?" he guesses, suddenly, and then takes her in again, gaze sweeping up her form, noticing the jacket and his jaw just drops, "Oh my god. Malia?"

She nods frantically, stumbling backwards, and dragging him with her, "St-eye-iles." She says, gesturing at the unconscious human, "Stiles," she says again, throat beginning to get used to talking, but it still sounds like a garbled mess.

Scott drops to his knees, and he shakes the unconscious wolf's shoulder, "Stiles? Stiles! Wake up!" he glances helplessly back at Malia.

She shakes her head, "d-Did… didn't… w-w-work." She stutters out. "H-hhell-pp?"

"I'm going to help him," Scott promises, meeting her gaze. She nods again, shakily.

Scott had better help Stiles, otherwise she's turned back to human for nothing.

Derek wakes to a burning in his arms, splinters digging into his back and a lethargic, exhaustion weighing his limbs down. He wakes to a shadow in the corner of his vision, small and lithe and adjusting the angle of a mirror, then stepping sideways and moving another one.

"Lydia?" Derek squints, "Lydia…"

That's when the smell hits him, of wolfsbane and ash and a bitter acrid burnt smell that-

That's coming from the floorboards. Or more accurately, the hole in the floorboards. Derek cranes his neck, and then decides he doesn't want to when he catches the sight of pale flesh. It's surprisingly whole, and not nearly as burnt or rotted as it should be.

There is the smell of ozone as Lydia steps daintily around his wolfsbane encased body, "Lydia, stop." Derek tries to tell her. She blinks at him as if she is in a dream and not really there, "You don't what you're doing." He tries instead.

"Actually I do," the red head whispers sadly, "That's always the worst thing, isn't it?" and she tilts the final mirror to catch the moonlight.

The room lights up. The moon pours down, refracted and reflected from one mirror to another and then finally shooting past Derek, straight down into the hole.

Claws dig into his wrist, and it's only then that Derek realises his wrist is dangling over into the hole in the floorboards. He cries out in surprise, eyes burning red as something shifts and digs into him. He feels blood running down, dripping down towards the body buried there.

Then it lets go and there is only silence, broken by Lydia's deep breaths, a slightly hysterical edge to them.

The floorboards cracking is unexpected and has Derek tugging his arm back, curling it to his chest and clenching his eyes closed as dust and soil rains down on him. He shudders, feeling weak and so, so drained.

"I'm sorry," he hears Lydia's whisper, unsteady and almost unheard.

But the voice he loses consciousness to is smooth and deep and all too smug. "I heard there was a party. Don't worry. I invited myself."

The light is blinding. The room is white and the harsh, brightness that presses in on him doesn't help. Derek squints, hands coming up to shield his eyes from his pale surroundings.

"Good," someone says, and Derek rolls over onto one shoulder, eyes narrowing at where Stiles sits, perches on what looks like a giant tree trunk. "You're awake," Stiles grins at him, and it's not a nice smile.

"Stiles?" Derek asks, limbs lethargic and weak. He tries to stand, but it feels like he's moving through treacle. "Stiles… what… what is this place?"

Stiles just stares at him in amusement, thumbs twiddling as he watches Derek roll back onto his spine, so, so tired suddenly.

"Stiles…" Derek tries to find the strength to push himself up again and this time succeeds, slumping into a sitting position. He glances wearily up, and from where he is perched the blue eyed wolf pushes himself up.

"No," he says, padding towards Derek. He moves like a predator, all grace and poise and screaming not-Stiles. Derek tenses, staring at the teenage boy, brown eyes and messy hair. He's wearing a t-shirt with some comic reference quoted on it that Derek doesn't get and skinny jeans. He's sixteen and harmless.

But he's not.

Stiles stops just in front of where Derek sits, slumped forwards, "Come on, nephew," Stiles drawls, sounding impatient. He crouches down in front of the alpha, fingers tucked under Derek's chin to lift up his head, so their gazes meet. Stiles' smile is lopsided and his eyes have flared blue, "Didn't anyone ever tell you to smile, Derek? Stop looking like someone just killed your dog!" Stiles nails dig into Derek's cheek, and he claws his hand away, leaving a sticky trail of blood in his wake.

The blue-eyed wolf's hand snatches forwards towards Derek's throat, but Derek catches the clawed grip before it reaches him, "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" and Stiles' other hand is slipping forwards, something in his grip. Derek doesn't realise what it is until the blade is buried well into Derek's gut, "Killing you," Stiles' tone is scornful, his movements way too calm and still. "Really, nephew, you didn't see this coming?" Stiles laughs.

Derek's hand slides weakly off Stiles' wrist and he feels the claws slot around his throat. "Peter," Derek whispers, and Stiles just smirks.

"Now he gets it," Stiles' tone is like honeyed poison.

No.

Not Stiles.

Peter.

It's Peter staring at him out of Stiles' eyes. Peter smirking at him with Stiles' face as he twists the blade in deeper.

Stiles plasters a fake smile on his face, "It was fun," he says, "While it lasted. Y'know, I might actually miss you, nephew."

Then Stiles - Peter, lurking behind Stiles' eyes - curls his claws in Derek's neck and rips Derek's throat out.

Derek wakes suddenly. He is breathing way too quickly and panting, gasping for breath. His hand flies to his throat, but it is smooth and unmarked.

It was just a dream, he thinks, slumping back, it was all just some twisted dream.

"Good," someone says suddenly, and his whole body just freezes, "You're awake."

Deaton steps into view, peering at him in concern.

"You did quite a number on him," Deaton says to someone Derek can't quite see.

"It's to be expected, really," someone replies, and Derek feels his claws beginning to emerge as he sits up, gaze zeroing in on the man who stands the other side of the room.

Peter Hale just smirks, looking rather satisfied. He raises his hand up in a little wave, "Hello nephew."

The last thing Scott had been expecting was to be confronted by a naked girl wearing nothing other than what looked like Stiles' jacket.

And Stiles is out of it. He has no idea what happened, but Malia looks frantic. She's human, naked and standing, shaking and shivering and - god, Scott takes thirty seconds to grab one of Lydia's coats from the hall way, shoving it at the girl. She sinks down into a curled up pile on the floor, wrapping herself up. She doesn't look like she cares about her state of dress, but she seems pretty cold at the very least.

Scott turns his attention back to Stiles. "Can you get Allison?" he asks Malia, who just blinks at him, blankly. "Allison," he says again, slowly, "The girl. Brown hair. Brown eyes."

She nods, and uncurls from her position. Her movements are shaky, but she stands, nose twitching as she wanders off, following the scent. Scott turns back to Stiles, shaking his shoulder, frantically.

"Come on!" Scott snaps, "Wake up! You can't be that drunk! We can't even get drunk, but I think Lydia spiked the punch. I don't even know why… but everyone is freaking out and… Matt… it's Matt, controlling the kanima. I don't know why, but he can't swim. Jackson fished him out and everything, come on, we need to tell your dad and…"

"And that ain't gonna sober him up," a large black girl peers down at Scott, sipping on a glass of water.

"Well what is?" he stares up at her rather desperately.

"This is one way to do it," she says, taking one last sip of her water before upending the rest of the glass onto Stiles' head.

His friend's eyes fly open, flaring blue from shock. He lashes out; human fingers clawing out at Scott in a frantic panic.

"Woah!" the girl steps back, "Easy there, sugar."

"Stiles!" Scott snaps, "Stiles! Snap out of it!" he catches Stiles' flailing hands and his friend focusses, staring at Scott in horror. "You okay?" he asks.

The wolf shakes his head, "Thanks Danielle," he says to the girl who just shrugs and saunters off, looking smug. Stiles swallows, trembling. He looks weak and terrified.

"What is it?" Scott asks, "What's wrong?" he reaches out, one hand on Stiles' shoulder but Stiles flinches away.

"Don't… Don't touch me… don't… don't… don't touch me…" he curls up on himself, shivering.

"Stiles?" there is movement of limbs and then Malia has piled herself back onto the floor, sitting in front of Stiles, "Stiles?" she repeats.

He stares at her, but for him it seems to click faster than it did for Scott, "Malia?"

"What happened?" Allison appears in the doorway, "This girl appeared and I think she might be drunk…" she freezes, "Wait… is she the coyote?"

Scott rocks back on his heels, "We need to move," he says, frantically, "We need to move. I know who's controlling the kanima," and their attention snaps to him, "It's Matt," he says, "Matt's the one controlling Jackson."

He's waiting for Stiles to say 'I told you so' which is why when Allison speaks he jumps slightly. "Wait… where's Lydia?"

Stiles flinches. Actually flinches, "She knocked me out," he whispers, voice only just audible, "She blew this sort of powder into my face." He looks terrified, for some reason, "The punch… she drugged the punch. And I thought I saw…" he shakes his head, "That… it's not though. I just… I see him everywhere so it can't be…"

"Can't be who?" Scott asks, because who the hell does Stiles see everywhere? But his friend looks grim and confused and so, so lost, almost as lost as the once-a-coyote sitting next to him. "Who can't it be?"

Stiles looks up at them, and for just a moment his eyes flare blue, "Peter," he whispers, "I thought I saw Peter."

"What's he doing here?" Derek growls out at Deaton. The vet tries to placate him.

"He brought you here," the dark skinned man says, tone low, "I know it's not the best thing to have him here, but he hasn't done anything."

"Yet," Derek growls. Peter just shifts his weight slightly in the background, as if he's trying to avoid the curious gaze Deaton keeps directing towards him. It might be because Derek is pretty sure his uncle was dead only that morning. "Why are you helping?" Derek directs towards Deaton.

"I made a promise to your mother."

"To Talia?" Peter sneers his sister's name like it's a curse, then pauses, eyes widening, "You were her emissary, weren't you?"

"Yes," Deaton nods, "And I guess now that duty I once had to Talia - your mother," he says to Derek fondly, "And your sister," he tells Peter, slightly less fondly, "I now have a duty to you," he tells Derek, "Despite your questionable competency as an alpha."

"I'm still an alpha then?" Derek queries.

"Oh, don't worry," Peter drawls, "I don't want to be the alpha again. I'm alive and happy and I want to stay that way."

Derek responds by grabbing a scalpel that was resting in a tray on the table nearby and throwing it at Peter. The other wolf catches it, inches from his face. "Okay." He looks slightly cowed, "I was hoping for a warmer welcome, but: point taken."

"I can set you on fire again." Derek snarls at him, "What did you do? You were dead!"

"And now I'm not," Peter tosses the scalpel to the floor, hands spread out to either side placating. Deaton steps backwards, as if sensing the oncoming fight. "Look, Derek, you're weak at the moment, and so am I. I'm tired; I barely managed to find a half-decent shower and some clothes while you were taking a nap, and I've come back, only to find out that there is a kanima around, Gerard Argent is in town and you've got a little pack of orphans you've taken under your wing."

Derek thinks he's had enough. He slides off the table, tugging his shirt back on. Peter steps backwards, "Don't… let's not fight," Peter says, and he looks nervous. He genuinely doesn't want to fight. He never did though. Peter will talk, cunning and smooth and wrap his way into Derek's head. "I'm here to help."

"Why would I want help from a total psycho?" Derek snaps.

Peter scoffs as if Derek is being completely ridiculous, "First of all, I'm not a total psycho," he says, as if that makes everything better, "And, by the way, you're the one that slashed my throat wide open," he gestures at Derek with a grin, "Oh, and I had a clever little beta who did exactly what I told him to - how is he, by the way?"

Derek flinches, and decides not to mention how he can't look at Stiles without seeing Peter. And now Peter's here, alive, not-dead, "Stay away from him," Derek says, "In fact, stay away from everyone."

"But I can help," Peter emphasises, "I can…"

The alpha has finally given up trying to play nice and he gives into temptation and punches Peter in the face.

Scott leaves the party, along with everyone else. To the ring of sirens and the screams of drunk and stoned teenagers and young adults running across the lawn.

And just for a second - just for a split second - he thinks he sees Matt, with the kanima curled by his legs, the long tail lashing. But then he's gone and Scott is moving for his bike, moving away from the crowd.

Allison and Stiles are still inside, along with the coyote - Malia, Scott reminds himself. Her name is Malia and she's human now. He'll leave his friend to handle that though.

Scott meanwhile is going to Deaton's. He's convinced Deaton lives at the clinic, and he'll probably be there this late. He'll have a plan, or at least some more mountain ash for them. He wheels his bike into the parking lot, heading to where he usually ties it up. He's only metres away when a shadow appears from behind a parked car, and Scott jumps in surprise, his bike clattering to the ground.

He's mid-punch as well when the figure moves, stepping out into the moonlight with wide, terrified eyes. "Scott!"

He pulls the punch at the last second, "Isaac?" he asks, disbelief in his tone as he stares at the curly haired beta. There is a splash of blood drying above Isaac's one lip, but otherwise apart from his blonde hair being in disarray, Isaac looks fine, "What are you doing here?"

Isaac looks frantic, glancing around and tapping his fingers against his palm, some sort of nervous twitch or something, "I can't find Derek," he admits, sounding desperate, "He just took off somewhere. It's the middle of the full moon and he vanishes. I tracked his scent but there was… something else. I lost it." The beta looks helpless and lost.

Scott grimaces, because he has no idea, no clue… "Where the hell would he go?"

Isaac shrugs, "Why do you think I came to you?"

"Don't worry," Scott comforts him, running his mind through the potential places an alpha would go to on the full moon, "Just… we'll go find him. I'm heading to Deaton's… I just… we know who the kanima's master is," he ends up blurting out instead. Because they can use help on this, and Isaac is another set of claws.

But only if he agrees.

"Who?"

"Matt." Scott's tone is grim.

For a moment Isaac looks puzzled, trying to place him, and then his expression clears so suddenly it's not even funny. "The photographer? But he… he used to come over to my house when we were kids and talk comics with me."

Scott begins moving, rescuing his bike from the ground. He leaves it propped up against the wall. "Yeah," he nods, "That Matt. I don't know why he'd want to kill the 2006 swim team…"

"Maybe they sucked."

"Allison and Stiles are going to check it out," Scott shrugs, "And then…" he pauses when something occurs to him and he glances at the full moon, still in the sky, "Wait… if you were dealing with the full moon then how are you coping?"

"Better than Erica and Boyd," Isaac pushes past him, "They're still chained up. Now are we going to go find Deaton or Derek or what?"

"You're coming with me?" Scott stares in surprise at the beta's back. He honestly hadn't expected help. Hoped for it, yes, but expected it? No.

Isaac turns, looking slightly sheepish, "Yeah… you… you're always trying to do the right thing and I want to help." He ducks his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. Scott hates the way he looks at him, as if Scott has some great master plan, and isn't winging his way by making it up as he goes along.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," he admits.

Isaac just laughs, turning around and heading for the entrance to the vet's clinic. "I don't think any of us do," he turns, shouting back over his shoulder, and for some reason that settles Scott, calms him down, in a way nothing else that night has.

"Here, try this." Stiles tosses Malia a jumper and the girl sitting on the bed attempts to figure out how to wear it. "Okay, maybe not," Stiles sighs, and turns back to Lydia's wardrobe.

"I c-can…" Malia's voice is still weak, hoarse and her words not flowing smoothly, but she's already better than she had been when she had still been in the mind-set of an animal, "I can w-wear your jacket," she looks almost hopeful, and Stiles presses his lips together in a thin line. He gladly left Allison to find Malia underwear before the brunette huntress had to leave.

The once-coyote is wearing Lydia's stuff. Stiles had somehow found the only pair of shorts he thinks Lydia owns. Lydia may murder him for the terrible matching clothes but Malia seems comfortable. Well, as comfortable as a girl can be when she has just lost her fur coat.

"Here," he finds a cardigan instead and throws that at her, "Try this."

Malia takes it, and she seems to be able to sense his urgency, because she pulls it on. It's back-to-front and her fingers are clumsy as she growls, trying to wrestle her arms into it.

"Hey…" Stiles approaches her to help and she flinches. He holds up his hands to show he means no harm, then reaches out, untangling the sleeve, "Try that," he says.

She looks embarrassed, but grateful. Stiles gives her his jacket, because she seems to like it, and she sniffs at it, before pulling it on, shivering. "We…lizard look?" She frowns at how that sentence came out.

"We're going to look for the lizard," Stiles nods, "I'm going to take you home first though… okay…?" he's barely got the sentence out than Malia is shaking her head.

"No," she says, "No no no…" she stops, takes a deep breath and tries to find her words. Stiles is suddenly aware of how difficult this is for her, after seven, nearly eight years of being a coyote, to now be a human once more. "You… you didn't leave," she says, bluntly, "You didn't leave me. So I… I'm not gonna leave you," she stares at him, eyes boring into his. She looks terrified, scared and so, so alone.

And Stiles can't resist pretty brown eyes. He sighs, "It's gonna be dangerous," he warns her, "Killer lizard. Guys with guns. Hunters…"

She leans towards him, grabbing one hand, "I'm not going to leave you," she says, looking delighted when the words flow out, "Never gonna leave you."

Stiles grins back at Malia, and she looks shy, nervous suddenly. "Come on then. You know my dad, right? We're going to go talk to him."

Malia nods, "He's nice. He gives me… that meat… ppepp…pp.."

"Pepperoni?"

"That's it. From the pizza. He gave it to me."

Stiles thinks he wants to keep Malia around, if only so she eats all the unhealthy bits of the pizza for his dad.

The bell rings as they push their way into the animal clinic. Scott leads, with Isaac cautiously treading in his footsteps. "Deaton's still in," Scott notes, gesturing at the light on behind the desk.

"But it says closed."

"It always says closed," Scott shrugs, "This way," he leads Isaac past the front desk. The barrier at reception is open, the rowan barricade a non-problem. It's easy to step through, circling around towards the main operations room that Deaton tends to use as some sort of office…

There is a crash and a pained 'oww'. Scott's pace speeds up as he rounds the corner, freezing as he takes in the sight greeting him.

Isaac appears besides him, just as Derek hoists up the guy he had just chucked to the floor and punches him in the face again. His head flies back, lip bleeding red, and Scott just gapes.

At Peter.

A very much alive Peter.

"Holy shit."

He remembers Stiles' words 'I thought I saw Peter' and thinks - god, this is going to kill his friend. Kill him, or break him beyond repair. His first thoughts are all wrapped around Stiles, so that when his own worry and concern hit him, he stays standing, even as Derek punches Peter again.

Because that's Peter. Peter. Alive. His old alpha. The monster who had bit him.

That's when the anger appears.

"I see this is cathartic for you," Peter drawls, licking the blood from around his mouth.

Derek hits him again and in the background Scott can see Deaton, standing back, well out of the way. Derek's eyes flare red - good, that means he's still an alpha. Peter's not even fighting, not shifting, so Scott has no idea what colour his eyes are, but he has a horrible feeling they're a cold ice blue to match Stiles'.

Another punch has Peter crashing back into a wall, looking frustrated, "Okay, go ahead!" he snaps, "Come on! Do it! Hit me! Hit me! Let go of all the anger, self-loathing and hatred that's sitting in your pathetic little brain. I may be the one taking the beating, but you're already beaten, Derek." He smirks, triumphantly as Derek comes to a stop in front of his uncle, glaring at him.

"Is this normal?" Isaac whispers to Scott, squinting at the fight, "Who is that guy?"

"That's Peter. Derek's uncle?" Isaac makes a small 'ah' of understanding. "A while ago he tried to kill us all so we set him on fire and Derek ripped his throat out." Isaac's expression shifts quickly from understanding to shock to sympathy and then to wariness. Derek and Peter are blinking, turning to look at the new arrivals as if they've only just noticed them.

"Good to know," Isaac shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Scott…" Deaton steps past the other two wolves, giving them a wide berth. Peter is dabbing at his split lip, which is still pouring blood. "Is everything okay?" Deaton glances from Scott to Isaac.

Derek looks like he's trying to compose himself, but failing. "What is it?" the alpha growls out.

"We know who's controlling the kanima," Scott says, grimly, "It's Matt."

There is a pause. "Who?" Derek narrows his eyes are him.

Scott elaborates, "He's a photographer at school…"

"Total psycho," Isaac inputs helpfully. Peter looks mildly offended, even though they're not even talking about him.

"Prime example," he says, pulling out a white handkerchief from somewhere and wiping away the blood on his face, "I'm not healing that quickly…" he falls silent when both Derek and Scott turn to glare at him.

"Um… what's he doing here?" Scott points at Peter, "I thought he was dead."

"I got better," Peter shrugs. Derek flashes red eyes at him but the - beta? Is Peter a beta now? Peter doesn't look cowed by Derek's intimidation tactics.

"Stiles," Scott blurts out, "He said something about Lydia. Where is she? Is she okay? What did you do to her…" he steps threateningly towards Peter, and the beta just flinches back, using Derek as a shield.

"She helped," he drawls, "And she's fine. There's no lasting damage: maybe a few terrifying nightmares, but she's a strong girl. She'll bounce back - they always do. She went home. I haven't laid one little claw on her…"

"If you have…" Scott growls, "If you've touched her, or… or…"

"When you've finished with your inane sounding threat, can we get back to our main focus?" Peter spreads out his hands, attempting to placate them. "Please," he says, but it's more exasperation than asking nicely.

Scott frowns at him, "Why are you even here?"

And the bastard looks smug. "Because I know how to stop Jackson. And not just how to stop him. How to save him." Isaac shifts uncomfortably, and he's probably thinking the same thing as Scott.

"There isn't anything," Derek grinds out, "We've looked."

"And at this stage," Isaac leans over Scott's shoulder, "We might be better off killing him. He's too powerful."

Peter just shrugs, "You've looked in the Argent's books, yes, but the Hale family have their own records. After I got out of the coma I managed to save everything we had," he somehow manages to look superior when Derek looks confused. The alpha obviously didn't know about this, and he looks to Deaton for help. The vet just shoots him a wry grin and that isn't helpful in the slightest.

So Derek turns to Peter, "Where?" he asks, as if it physically pains him to go to his uncle for help. And it should, Scott thinks. They should be burning Peter to the ground, not letting him walk around as if nothing ever happened.

"Where else?" Peter shrugs, "At our old house," he makes as if to move past Derek, as if to take on the role of retrieving the information but Derek stops him, one arm out across Peter's path.

Peter pauses, looking affronted as Derek shakes his head, "I'm not letting you slip out of sight. I'm going with you," he turns back to Scott, taking in Isaac hovering, "You two…" he starts to tell them something.

"We'll go to the Sheriff's station," Scott says, "See about getting an arrest. That's where Stiles and Malia are heading… oh, yeah, Malia turned back to human, thanks for the help. Allison is meeting them there."

"You really think you can just arrest this kid?" Derek looks sceptical.

"Derek's right," Deaton finally speaks up, only to sound grave and forbearing, "He's killed six people already. Who's to say he might not kill more?"

Scott glances between them, not knowing what to do. But Isaac hovers at his shoulder, and he knows his friends (his pack) are waiting for him. "It's a start." He says, tone dark, "It's a start."

"It's two in the morning," the Sheriff looks weary as he peers over his cup of coffee at Stiles, "I've got another five hours on my shift and you want me to what now?"

"Matt Daehler," Stiles enunciates every syllable of the name.

"That's the kid that is the real killer? No… no wait… he's the one controlling the… the…"

"Kanima," Stiles inputs helpfully.

"Right - he's the one controlling the kanima to kill the 2006 swim team. Why?"

"Well… we don't have a motive yet…" Stiles drags out his sentence, "But!" he adds, brightly, "It's definitely him, so if we can link him to the site of the murders we can get a warrant, get him in and out of the way and stop the murders…"

His dad holds up a hand, "Okay, okay, hold up here a minute. Who's that?" he nods at where Malia is standing, shoulders hunched, behind Stiles. "And why is she wearing your jacket?" The Sheriff's face falls, "Please tell me you didn't get a girl pregnant."

Stiles gapes. Malia just frowns and looks at him with a confused expression on her face. "Mating season is finished," she whispers to him, "What's he t-talking about?"

The blue eyed wolf sighs, and turns to his dad slowly, "Dad, you remember the coyote?"

"No." John Stilinski stares with a deadpan expression at Malia.

"Yes." Stiles nods, because it might be hard to believe but it's true.

"No."

"Yes," Stiles hisses, "Meet Malia." She pulls one hand out of his jacket pocket long enough to give a small wave before sticking it back in.

His dad just blinks.

She sneaks in through her window.

It's easy, surprisingly so, and no wonder the werewolves favour it to using the front door. She stills when the window creaks, but there is no sound in the house. A faint clatter suggests the hunters are congregating in the basement, probably due to the full moon.

Allison feels guilty, because she should have been there. She should have spent the evening at home, with her mother. But she found she couldn't.

She's picked her side.

She grabs the duffel bag that she keeps under her bed and slips out the window as easily as she slipped in. She pauses for a moment, contemplating passing onto her dad what they've found out about the kanima. But there's no point. They can sort it out, they will sort it out. Then there will be no kanima and no threat and Allison can talk with her dad and her mom about everything.

But right now, Allison's running with a wolf pack, and there is no place for a wolf amongst hunters.

She slides her window back up, setting on leg out and onto her rooftop. One day soon these tiles will slip from all the people who walk across them, but for now the roof holds steady. She pads like the cat Stiles is so fond of calling her, silently towards the edge.

The door below her swings open and she leans back, just as light spills out into the darkness. She can make out the pale white crown of her grandfather's head and she crouches, just in time as he raises his head, sniffing around.

He's a hunter but he acts like a wolf.

"Are you sure about this?" Chris asks, stepping out after Gerard, "We need to phone Allison. I need to tell her… we need to be together…"

"You can be together once we've hounded Derek and his pack from whatever dark corner they're hiding in," Gerard's voice is stern, commanding. "For now, we've got bigger things to worry about."

"How do you know?" Chris presses the point, "How do you know the kanima will be at the police station?"

Allison gasps, and she immediately presses her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound, shifting away from the rooftop. Pressing herself flat until she knows she can't be seen, she listens as the conversation continues.

"Because I do," Gerard doesn't answer her dad, "Because now is the time to strike and so we are going to take it." The pair move down the driveway for their cars, and all Allison can think is that at least she had the sense to park her car around the corner.

Because now? Now it's a race. It's her against her family, to warn Stiles and Scott before…

Allison's mind stutters to a halt because it's Scott. Scott's been passing information to Gerard and this… He's told her grandfather again. He's told her grandfather all about the kanima's master. Gerard knows it's Matt. And he's heading to the Sheriff's station where Stiles and his dad are finding evidence against him…

And Matt will know that. Matt will be heading there right now. Matt will be going to stop them, maybe even kill them. It's bait. It's bait drawing everyone to the police station.

Allison has to warn them.

"You know, if Harris was alive, he'd already be under arrest because all the victims were in his class." The Sheriff looks at the screen, and then at Stiles, wincing at Stiles' face. "Sorry," his dad says, "But I still don't see a motive, anywhere here."

"Maybe the swim team…" Malia stops when Stiles and the Sheriff turn to face her, "Uh… maybe the swim team are really bad?" she offers, hesitantly.

Stiles considers it, "That's true," he admits, "They haven't won in like - six years."

"Here," his dad stops the screen, "This is the time frame when the spouse was murdered at the hospital. That one - it had to be Matt, right? He would have had to kill her himself. But I…"

"There," Stiles rests on his dad's shoulder as he points at the screen. He had spent hours with Lydia once, looking through camera footage for clues of who the alpha was, back when Peter's name was just a name to him and not memories of claws and blood and fire. He's gotten good at spotting things on camera footage, and it's easy to see the dark jacket and head he knows belongs to Matt.

"That's the back of his head."

"I sit behind him in history," Stiles argues, "I know that's him."

His dad scrolls through, looking for another shot from a different camera.

"There," this time Malia spots him, "Same guy," her sentences are short and snappy but to the point as she prods the screen, making the image blur slightly, and then refine to the same dark jacket and brown hair.

They still can't see his face.

"He's talking to… oh my god," Stiles peers closer, "Is he talking to Melissa?"

John is reaching out for a pen and paper, "We'll call Melissa," he says, "Get her in. We've got footprints by the trailer and…" he pulls out a plastic bag, "There was a receipt signed by Matt at the mechanics garage a few hours before the mechanic was estimated to have died."

"Oh god," Stiles breaths, "And we know he was at the rave as well… so if one's an incident, two's a coincidence, and three's a pattern, what's four?"

His dad looks surprised that everything has panned out, but oddly and grimly satisfied, "Enough for a warrant. Call Melissa. Check she remembers seeing Matt at the hospital." Stiles nods, grabbing his phone and stepping out. Malia steps after him, if only because she doesn't know what else to do. She barely understands what's happening, and Stiles feels a little guilty, because she should be with her father now, but instead he's dragged her into their mess.

"Stiles? What is it? I'm at work, you know?"

"Yes, please, don't hang up. I need to know if the night the pregnant girl came in, if you saw a kid. Brown hair, leather jacket…"

"Stiles, do you know how many kids have brown hair and wear leather jackets?"

"He looks evil," Stiles adds, "No, wait… I'm sending you a picture…" he takes a minute to do so while Malia marvels over his phone. "Got it?"

"Yeah… I remember him. I mean… I stopped him because he was tracking mud in the hall. Why? Stiles… what is all this about? Is Scott okay?"

Melissa's voice sounds tense and worried, and Stiles quickly reassures her, "Scott's fine. Just… my dad and I - we need you to come into the station - okay? He'll want you to give a statement because we think this kid is the one murdering people."

"Oh god… I… sure… I'll come as soon as possible."

Stiles thanks her and hangs up, glancing at where Malia is sniffing the air. "Stiles," she says, cautiously, "There's… someone's here…"

He slides off the desk he had been perched on, stalking like a predator towards the door. He pauses before opening, listening and senses alert, but still oddly focussed on his dad. His dad whose heart is beating faster than it should be.

He yanks open the door, stepping forwards and freezing at what he sees. Matt grins at him, slightly psychotic, and a gun held in his unwavering grip, pointed directly at his dad's head.

"Hey Stiles," Matt smirks, "I think you and I need to have a conversation."

"You know I'm technically an omega at the moment," Peter sounds disgusted as he leads the way to their old house, not even hesitating, pausing only to admire the triskelle in black drawn on the door. "Like it or not Derek, I need a pack. I need an alpha." He heads for the stairs and lifts up the floorboard.

"What is that?" Derek peers at the cloth encased item, "A book?" He somehow can't believe that their entire family's library all fits into one book.

"What century are you living in?" Peter sneers, "It's a laptop, you idiot." He pulls it out from the covers, and flips it open, about to press it on when Derek grabs his wrist.

"Not now," he says, gruffly, "We can look when we get to the Sheriff's station. There's no time now."

Peter sighs, but closes the laptop, "After you, esteemed alpha."

Derek can't help but think that Peter's mocking him, but he really can't find it in him to care.

His eyes flash blue and a low growl builds up in his throat, eyes darting from where his dad sits, to the gun Matt has pointed at his head. A snarl behind him, reminds him about Malia, and he barely manages to stop her from lunging forwards.

"Nu uh," Matt smirks, "None of that. From you or…" his eyebrows furrow as he stares at Malia, "Or your girlfriend," he settles for, but he still has no idea who Malia is.

"Matt… it's Matt, right?" the Sheriff says, placating the teenager, "How about we take this slowly and talk through… there is no need for a gun."

"Oh, but there is," Matt's grin is sick and almost regretful; "There is when your son has his own pair of claws. So Stiles," he gestures violently with the gun and Stiles winces at the movement, "How about you keep your little werewolf claws sheathed and I won't put a bullet in your dad's skull."

"You put a bullet in his head and I'll rip out your throat," Stiles' vision flares into crystal sharp focus, and Matt looks wary of his flickering eyes, brown to blue and back again, but doesn't move.

"If he doesn't I will," Malia says bluntly, and Matt looks confused by her again.

He juts out his chin towards her, "What are you? A werewolf too?"

"Werecoyote," Malia says, and she still looks surprised every time the words come out correctly.

Matt lets out a mocking laugh, "Wow," he whistles, "Werewolves, hunters, kanimas… and now a freaking were…" his face twists in realisation, "Coyote. In the library." He glares at Stiles, "Was that her?"

Stiles shrugs, but he's still more worried about the gun pressed to his father's head, "Guilty," he says, "Look, Matt, are you sure we can't have this conversation without the gun… nobody has to get hurt…"

The photographer snorts, "Actually, there are still a lot of people I want to hurt. You three weren't on the list but I think I can make exceptions. But first… Sheriff… if you'd be so kind…"

Stiles' dad's face is twisted in a grimace as his gaze drops down to the computer. He's deleting all the files, Stiles imagines. All the evidence against Matt. It's almost ironic - the one time Stiles tries to do the right thing, the time he tries to get them arrested, this happens.

In that regard Peter's right. The law… it doesn't always work. But Stiles has seen for himself that taking the law into your own hands doesn't work either. It just ends up with more graves in the end.

"Deleted," John says, clicking a final button. He looks at loss with his job done, and he sits there, looking like he wants to do something, but can't think of what. "What now?"

Matt looks insane. Stiles wonders is he looked like that when he was helping Peter ever, that distant look in his gaze, the panic and desperation, "Now?" he asks, gaze sliding right by Stiles, "Now we wait for Mommy McCall to get here, and then I make sure that none of you can tell anyone…"

Stiles steps forwards angrily, but only makes it a few steps when Matt moves towards his father, threateningly, "Look, I told you back at the rave - killing doesn't solve anything!"

"Like you'd know," Matt sneers.

"I sided with a murdering psychopath," Stiles laughs, far more cheerful than he should be considering the situation, "And yes, I killed people. I know what you're going through…"

"You DON'T!" Matt shouts out, "That's the thing - NONE OF YOU DO!" he looks frustrated, making little angry noises, "Up," he gestures at John, "Get up!" he snaps, and the Sheriff stands, "Head through to the main station." He steps after the Sheriff, "You two go first," he says.

Stiles drags Malia out there. Her heart is unsteady, and she is wide-eyed. God - Stiles wishes he hadn't dragged her into this. He wishes that even more when they stumble out and the deputy at the front desk is dead, throat slit open and blood pooling on the floor.

"Oh, Matt…" the Sheriff sighs when he sees the body.

"Don't act like you pity me!" Matt snaps, "I don't need your pity. Not now. Because now? Now I have Jackson," he stares triumphantly down the corridor, and Stiles just feels sick at the scent and sight of blood and bodies. "I think about killing them and Jackson… he does it."

A door slams open and everyone flinches. Matt narrows his eyes, and Stiles whirls around. "Scott," he snaps out, because he knows his friend will hear him, "Matt's here, he's got a gun, don't…" a sharp pain blossoms in his leg and he drops to one knee with a gasp. It hurts, and it's almost worse than the last time something happened to his leg. And considering the last time had been Peter snapping the bone…

"Hey!" Malia snarls, "Don't touch him!" she makes for Matt but Stiles grabs onto her top, stopping her.

"Don't…" he gasps out, feeling the flesh slowly force the bullet out. He's healing, but slower than he had once healed as a beta. There's no support, no pack, nothing, and it's painful feeling every cell heal one at a time. He moans slightly as the bullet clicks to the floor, teeth gritted.

"Matt… listen to me…" the Sheriff is staring with terror at Stiles, "Calm down…"

"No!" Matt steps away from the Sheriff, "McCall - come through here, otherwise I'll shoot you," he glares at John, "The others may heal supernaturally fast, but you don't have that ability, and Stiles would hate to lose his father, wouldn't he?"

Scott's voice drifts over, "You wouldn't," he says, "The moment you do that you lose your bargaining chip and Stiles or Malia rips your throat out." Stiles cranes his neck, spotting where Isaac and Scott have frozen down the hall. The pair are cautiously approaching, having spotted the Sheriff. They're moving slowly, because nobody wants to alarm Matt.

Matt laughs, "No, the moment I do that, Jackson appears. Like now, for instance. So you know what? Maybe I really would." And he raises the gun up to eye level and points it at the Sheriff.

But this time - he pulls the trigger.

The shot passes so close to Stiles' dad that for one terrible moment Scott thinks its hit. He sees Stiles lurch up in wild panic, limbs trembling as he realises abruptly his dad is okay, and then his eyes grow dark as he glares at Matt.

"Are you going to start taking me seriously now?" Matt shouts at them, gaze sidling from Scott and Isaac, then to where Malia hovers over a kneeling Stiles. Then with a frustrated animalistic growl to match the wolves, he grabs the Sheriff's collar, yanking him backwards. He's strong. Really strong and the gun's muzzle is pressed to John's head as he steps backwards.

Scott tries to placate him, but he knows it's not going to work, "Matt," he says, slowly, "Matt, please…"

"No," Matt shakes his head, glancing wildly around again. He's past listening to reason, "I… I need to know about this…" he tugs up his shirt and Scott gapes at the scales on Matt's torso. He drops the shirt down almost immediately, "I need the bestiary. I need to know what the hell is happening… But why should I listen to any of you? You're all monsters." He laughs, bitterly.

"So are you!" Surprisingly it's Malia who snaps that, her eyes flaring blue on and off, matching Stiles' own eyes. "You're killing people!"

The photographer looks grim, "How about all of you just SHUT UP?" he snaps, "And Stilinski, stop moping around on the floor - your leg has probably healed already - and god - you don't realise how amazing that is, do you? That's you're even healing at all? Do you know what happens to normal people?"

"They die," Malia actually answers him, bluntly, and glaring at him. She looks protective of Stiles, but at the same time knows she can't do anything. Scott thinks she's wearing some of Lydia's clothes, but he's not sure.

"He shouldn't have let them drink," Matt shakes his head viciously.

"Who?" Scott presses, trying to keep him talking. He can see a vein pulse on the Sheriff's neck, but Matt's distracted again.

"Lahey!" he snaps at Scott, "He shouldn't have let them drink?"

Despite being at gun point, the Sheriff still speaks up, "Let who drink?"

It just seems to make Matt more frustrated, "The swim team!" he grits out, "They were celebrating," he sneers, "Lahey let his favourites comes over for a couple of drinks after they won state, the fact they were seventeen be damned."

"Oh god," is the choked sound of Isaac, behind Scott. He's staring at Matt with horror, "You were over at mine," he barely speaks, it's hardly audible, "You came over for…"

Matt sneers at Isaac, "Some stupid comic," he shrugs, "I was over there and there was music and then… then… Isaac's jarhead brother, Camden…"

Isaac shoves past Scott, and he has to grab the beta, to stop him doing anything stupid, "You shut up," Isaac snaps, finger pointing at Matt, "Shut up about Cam!" Isaac is glaring daggers, body shaking with fury. He looks pissed, and Scott wonders how bad it got after Camden died. For not just Isaac, but his father, and consequently, Isaac again…

Matt laughs, "Your brother almost drowned me!" he snaps, "They thought it was funny."

"They threw you in."

Like a predator, Matt's head snaps around to Stiles.

"You drowned," Stiles continues, "You drowned because you can't swim. Boohoo. Get over it," he snarls, "It doesn't have to make you a crazy psychopath with a tonne of issues! You know I hear there is a pretty good guidance councillor at school…"

"Stiles," Scott hisses, because his friend isn't helping. One bit.

Matt just laughs though, "No, don't worry, Scott. It's okay? Do you want to know what it was like? Waking up in the middle of the night, gasping for breath… my parents got me an inhaler, they… they thought I was asthmatic. But every, single time I closed my eyes… I was drowning. Over and over and - and - you know that little white light that they talk about, you see when you die? Well, I didn't see anything. Just darkness. Everything was dark."

And Scott thinks he might just be able to feel sorry for Matt, except he's still got a gun to the Sheriff.

"I'd see them at school," Matt laughs, "Sean, Jessica, Bennett, Tucker, Kara, Camden… and they… they couldn't even look at me," he shakes his head, "I never told anyone," he whispers, "I never said a word - but then at the funeral - Argent's funeral - I was taking photos and just by chance Lahey got in one of the photos. And I just… I was furious. So, so angry. I hated that bastard, and I wanted to see him dead."

"No…" Isaac whispers.

"Then he was," Matt smirks, "Don't tell me you're not happy, Isaac?" Isaac just looks grim, like he can't decide what to think, "That's all I had to do," the photographer shrugs, "I took their photo and then they died. I met Jackson on the night of the full moon, when he asked me to restore that video. And I… I knew he had killed Lahey for me. I knew he'd kill again. God-" Matt's laugh is disbelieving, "All I had to do was take their picture. Then Jackson would take their life. And…" he grins, like he knows a joke they don't, "Did you know, Stiles, Scott, Isaac? All you little wolves, coyotes, whatever you are… Did you know that your eyes flare in the flash?"

There is a click of claws and that is their only warning before the kanima appears from behind Scott and Isaac. It slashes out, and Isaac and Scott leaps away to avoid the claws to the back of the neck. Scott ducks under a second slash, then throws himself forwards with a snarl, about ready to lunge for the kanima.

"Scott! Duck!"

It's Allison. She's at the end of the corridor, and Scott doesn't hesitate, because when Allison tells you to duck, you duck. Scott throws himself flat just as a crossbow bolt punches through Jackson's throat.

Allison can't see clearly what's happening, but the kanima is attacking the wolves, and Matt is holding a gun to the Sheriff. That's all she needs to know to shoot but now Jackson…

Jackson, who is currently more lizard than human, wide yellow eyes, scales everywhere- Jackson, who currently has a crossbow bolt through his throat-

He snarls; silver teeth flashing as one clawed hand reaches up towards his throat. It grasps the end of the arrow, the tip smeared black with blood, and then it tugs-

"Oh god…" Allison chokes out, because that is disgusting. The arrow was straight through the throat but the kanima is still tugging it out like it's a splinter. It hasn't even fazed it, the yellow eyes are blinking as if it's a mild irritation.

In the background Malia and Stiles are staring wide-eyed at the kanima, and Isaac and Scott are staggering back. Allison's instinct is to shout to Scott, to warn him…

But she can't trust Scott. "Sti-iles…" she shouts to instead, eyes still fixed on the kanima, "The hunters! They're coming!"

She hears him swear, a second before there is a horrible wet gurgle as the arrow finally comes free from Jackson's throat, and with a snarl the kanima turns around, gaze landing on Allison. She freezes, and then with one frantic glance at the wolves, she turns and runs. The kanima is between them and her and she's in no position to do anything right now. She skids towards the door, then decides against it, spinning around the corner.

The kanima - Jackson - takes off after her. It bounces off the walls, clattering against the door and then after her.

The door bursts open, and she chances a glance over her shoulder to see Derek, taking the situation in, and then he takes off after the kanima. Isaac appears behind him and Allison turns, relieved that she's got some back up at least. Even if they are wolves.

The kanima takes off after Allison and Isaac lunges after it. He doesn't reach the end of the corridor before the door slams open, Derek and Peter appearing with wide-eyes.

"What the-" Derek doesn't hang around long. He just about manages to take in the scene before he spots the kanima and goes after it. Isaac follows and Peter just pauses, glancing between Scott and the direction his nephew went.

"Stiles!" Malia shouts out suddenly, and Scott whirls around, just in time to see Stiles throw himself at a door. It doesn't budge, and Stiles look frantic, like a caged animal except he's not caged, he's just been barricaded out because Matt and his dad…

Matt and his dad are gone.

The cry of pain from Stiles' throat is a pitiful thing. He backs away, looking like he's about to dart off down another corridor, but Malia stops him, "Wait…" she says… "Stiles…"

"He's got my dad," Stiles chokes out, "He's got my…"

"And we've got a plan!" Scott snaps, "We've got a plan, okay?"

"But the hunters…"

"We have a plan!" Scott repeats, "Stiles… just listen…"

"We have a plan!" Peter steps fully into the room, and Scott freezes, because Stiles doesn't know. This is the first time Stiles and Peter have been in a room together properly since Peter probably told Stiles something along the line of 'hurt Scott' and left him to it. And the other wolf still hasn't been told about his old alpha's resurrection. But Stiles… Stiles' gaze just skims over the resurrected wolf. "We have a plan," Peter repeats, "But it requires you all to play your parts."

"There's no time," Stiles snaps at Peter, and it might be the adrenaline, or the worry for his father, but Stiles seems to be coping quite well with Peter's alive status. "Allison can only hold the kanima off for so long and there are hunters as well. And I don't even know where Matt is, but he has my dad and your mom is coming…"

"Wait… my mom?"

"Well now we've definitely got to find Matt. Have you seen his mom? She's hot."

"Shut up!" Scott snaps, and Stiles freezes.

"What…" Stiles goes pale, and Scott can't work out why, can't see the problem…

That's when he puts everything together.

"I see him everywhere…" The distant gazes, the words muttered to someone who isn't there… Scott had known Stiles hadn't been alright after what had happened with Peter but he hadn't realised that… he hadn't quite expected this.

Stiles was so used to Peter being there, he couldn't even tell the difference between what was in his mind and what was now horribly and tragically real.

And he… he's still staring at Scott with that broken expression, begging him, "Scott… please tell me… he's not… he wasn't…"

"Stiles?"

Stiles' head snaps around to meet Peter's gaze, wide-eyed.

"Hey, Stiles," Peter grins, "Miss me?"

Scott's not expecting the long pause before any reaction. In fact the pause is so long, Malia actually asks, "Is everything okay?" before Stiles blinks, and makes a decision.

He lunges for Peter's throat.

Allison's running. Straight down the corridor and not looking back, she throws herself through the door at the end into some kind of office space, only having seconds to be thankful that the door wasn't locked before she's spinning around, ducking down the wall.

The door bursts open behind her and with a screech the kanima flies out, landing on all fours and taking a moment to eye their new arena. The new battleground.

Allison ducks out of sight behind a desk, and so when the door slams open again she has no idea who it is. There is a snarl though, so it's wolf, and she grabs another arrow, notching it to her crossbow. She takes a deep breath, feeling air whistle down her throat seconds before she straightens, turning sharply and neatly. She brings the weapons up, swinging it around until the kanima falls into her sights and then fires.

The tail lashes and the arrow snaps before it even reaches the monster. With another snarl, Jackson's head turns, attention on her. He's a full lizard now. There is no humanity left in those reptilian yellow eyes. Allison wonders if it's going to be kinder to put the creature down than let it live.

There is a roar and Derek jumps out towards the creature. Allison repositions herself, stepping sideways along the row of desks and computers and filing cabinets, keeping one eye on Derek and the kanima. Derek punches but the kanima dodges, kicks out, Derek skids under the limb and rolls to avoid the claws that come crashing down.

Isaac appears then, and it's the two wolves against one lizard.

And even Allison can see they're vastly outmanoeuvred. The kanima is too fast, ducking their claws and dodging their blows. It looks mildly irritated by them, but not threatened.

She shoots it again. The bolt buries itself in Jackson's chest and the creature Jackson has become barely flinches, just screeches again and with a powerful jump leaps straight out from between the two werewolves and lands on a nearby office desk.

Its gaze is fixed on Allison.

She grabs another bolt, bringing her crossbow up. The kanima is already leaping down, and she never gets time to fire, instead is forced to use her crossbow as a club, hitting out.

There is the sound of a crossbow bolt being fired and across the room Isaac ducks with wide eyes as the bolt buries itself into the wall behind him. Allison's jaw drops, and she stares in horror at the snapped string of her bow.

The kanima snaps at her again and without a thought Allison tosses the useless weapon to one side. She tugs out her knives from their sheaths on her arms, spinning them around and stepping backwards, away from the angry lizard.

That's the moment that the first guns start firing.

The windows shatter and they all drop to the ground, except the kanima, which just looks pissed. It shakes off the bullets and in one leap, bounds away. Derek loses sight of it when the first smoke bomb is tossed through, and he sees Allison vanishing out of another door.

He makes a grab for Isaac. "Come on," he grunts, "Get up."

"That's the thing," Isaac groans, "I can't…" he's clutching his leg, and he finally drops his arm away from it. His hand falls limply to the ground and Derek winces at the thin slices made by the kanima's claws, tearing through the jeans.

"Fine," Derek grits his teeth and slings Isaac's arm around his shoulder, "I thought I told you to stay with Boyd and Erica," he wonders if complaining will make the beta listen to him some more. Isaac just mumbles something that sounds like an insult and lets himself be half dragged out of there.

Because now it's not just Matt and the kanima in play.

The hunters have arrived as well.

"Stop!"

It's a roar; a sharp barked command that has Stiles freezing, claws still extended as he glares at Peter. The other wolf is still in the process of looking shocked, like he hadn't expected that reaction and had gotten no further than processing it. He hadn't even reacted…

God, Stiles would have managed it. He could have ended Peter there and then and Scott…

Scott had stopped him.

"You can't kill him," Scott is saying, "You can't-"

"Why not?" he interrupts, spinning around with a snarl to face his friend, "After what he did…"

Across the room Peter laughs, "Oh, do you really wanna go there?" he chuckles.

Stiles is sick of listening to reason. He wishes he'd ripped Matt apart when he'd had the chance, but now his dad… He steps towards Peter, feeling his fangs against his lip.

"Stiles - no!" Scott physically steps in front of him, eyes flashing gold. There is orange bleeding into them and that - that is actually fascinating enough to make Stiles stop, even if there wasn't that weight to Scott's words that sound almost like a command, "We need him," Scott emphasises, "He's helping us." His eyes burn that odd colour, half-way between gold and…

Stiles visibly restrains himself, claws curling bloody imprints into his palm. "What the plan?" he asks, gaze sliding away so he's not looking at Peter or Scott. He fixes his sights on where Malia is standing, staring at everything with fascination and something that should be terror, but just looks like confusion.

His friend relaxes, shoulders slumping. He doesn't move from his position between Peter and Stiles, "The Hales have information on the kanima. We need to use it. We need to find out how to fix this all."

"Now?" Stiles demands, "But my dad…"

Scott looks torn, like he doesn't know what to do. "Yes, now," he says, reluctantly, "Once Jackson's saved and back to normal, Matt has no weapon. Nothing. We can stop him then."

"Saved?" Stiles laughs, bitterly, "You think Jackson can still be saved?"

"I thought you could still be saved," Scott says quietly, "And you were pretty far gone."

He falls silent because that hurts. He steps backwards, "I need to get my dad," he says, "You understand that, right?"

There is the sound of someone sucking their breath in, and Peter sidesteps back into Stiles' eye line. He glares at his former alpha, and Peter ignores him. It makes a change. "As nice as your heartfelt conversation is, there's another problem. We're going to need Lydia."

That revelation has barely hit them, than there is the audible sound of a car pulling up outside and the door opening. And Stiles knows that heartbeat; recognises it, how can he not with the blood relation standing right here next to him?

Melissa McCall has finally arrived.

As if on cue, that's when the gun fire starts.

Scott flinches at the sound of gunfire. "Oh god…" he chokes, "Allison…" he steps backwards, trying to work out where the sound is coming from. He turns to the other three shapeshifters, and his gaze is drawn to where Stiles' face is pale. He looks sick and Scott wonders if the moon is still affecting him.

"Stiles?" he asks, taking a measured step towards his friend, "What's wrong?"

"That's your mom…" Stiles' fangs flash down as he worries at his lip with the pointed canines. Scott doesn't know what he means, can't work it out, but then he hears the sound underneath the gunfire.

The sound of a car door slamming.

"What?" Scott's eyes widen, and he ignores Stiles' personal space, grabbing onto his friend's shoulders and shaking Stiles until the amber eyes finally focus on him, "What are you ta-"

Malia slams into him, knocking him away. "Don't t-t-touch him," she bares her teeth, even though there are no fangs. She doesn't have the control for that. Scott steps backwards as the coyote slides neatly between them.

"Woah," Stiles tugs her backwards by one arm, "Malia, it's okay… calm down…" he steps backwards, drawing Malia to him, and she trembles at his side, looking confused.

Scott decides that ignoring the girl is probably the safest bet, "What do you mean," Scott looks over Malia's shoulder at Stiles, "What the hell is my mom doing here?"

And he's said something wrong. He's done something wrong, because Stiles' face creases and he curls his lips in a silent snarl. "You wanted us to get evidence," Stiles snaps, defensively, "Your mom saw Matt at the hospital."

"She wasn't meant to be here!" Scott feels frustration bubbling at his veins and he runs his fingers through his hair, tugging at his scalp, "This wasn't meant to happen…"

"So what?" Stiles steps forwards, angrily, "It's okay if my dad gets hurt, but your mom - she's off limits?" he scoffs, tone derisive and scathing, "Keeping her out of this isn't going to keep her safe, it's going to get her killed. And you know what? At this point, telling her will get her killed too."

"Such a pessimist," Peter drawls from the corner.

"And you-" Stiles rounds on him, "You can shut up! I've had enough of your inane stupid comments - seriously, what help is he going to be?" he says suddenly to Scott, "I still vote we kill him."

"NO KILLING!" Scott growls out, "Stiles, can you just…" he pales suddenly when he hears the door opening. "Mom…" he mutters.

"Well go on, then," Stiles sneers cruelly, and gestures to the front door, "Before the hunters find her." Scott has forgotten how much of an asshole Stiles can be when threatened. Because he's defensive - he's like a prickly ball of anger and fear. "Meanwhile…" Stiles spins neatly around, "I'm going to find my dad…"

That's when the door slams open and Scott lurches towards the figure standing there. He hears Stiles snort, and Peter says something, only for Stiles to snap a response, but he can't hear them over the sound of his heart racing.

"Mom…" he appears in front of her so suddenly that she jumps, hand on her heart.

"Scott. Wow - you scared me…" she laughs, "What are you doing here?" she asks.

Scott plasters a smile to her face, "What do you mean… what are you doing-"

Her gaze drifts over his shoulder, "Ah - Stiles. Is your dad about? What is it exactly that you two wanted to talk to me about?" her voice lowers, "Is this about the murders… did that kid…?"

Scott feels like ice, because what the hell did Stiles tell her? He opens his mouth to respond, and that is of course when there is the sharp retort of a gun being fired.

The hunters are here. The hunters - her family - are here. Allison ducks through another door and emerges into the garage, parked cars everywhere and she slows down. The gunfire has stopped for the moment, and she holds her breath, ears straining for a sound.

There is a crash and she jumps in alarm as Derek and Isaac stumble out of the door behind her. Isaac is draped over Derek's shoulder, and upon seeing her Derek slumps in relief, staggering to a parked car and sliding down, using it as shelter as the pair try to catch their breath. Allison darts towards them, "You guys okay?"

"Isaac got paralyzed," Derek grits out, "And there was definitely some wolfsbane in those smoke grenades."

Allison winces, "I didn't tell them," she says, "But I…" she stops, chewing on her lip, then decides that now isn't the time to lie, "I think Scott did."

"Scott?"

"I heard him talking to Gerard," Allison admits, "At the rave. Gerard knows. About you and Isaac and Jackson and Stiles…"

Derek lets his head crash back with a loud thump against the parked car, "Dammit," he growls. Next to him Isaac looks like a kicked puppy.

"Scott wouldn't do that," he says, "He must have some sort of plan…"

"Well if he has…" Allison shrugs, "he hasn't told any of us." She pokes her head over the car, but the garage is quiet, "What do we do now?" she asks, and winces when she spots Isaac, his claws curling into his leg. She leans over to see the blood welling up under his claws, "Uh… Isaac… what are you doing? That's disgusting…"

Isaac has an expression of pain on his face, "Trying to make my body get rid of the poison," he mumbles, "Speed up the healing… at least that's what Derek taught us…"

"Well, Derek's lesson's suck."

"Derek doesn't care," Derek snipes back, "Is it working?"

"I can move my toes."

"Oh my god." Allison looks on in disgust at the wolves, "Tell you what, I'll go try and talk to my insane family. Where's Matt and Jackson?"

"Matt's with the Sheriff. He had him at gunpoint," Isaac mumbles, "And there was… he pulled up his shirt and he's… his body was all scaly. Like the kanima. I have no idea what's happening… neither does he, but I think he wants to know…"

Derek looks puzzled, "I don't know," he shrugs, "But it's probably because he broke the rules."

"Rules? There are rules?"

The alpha nods, "The universe balances things out. The kanima is a weapon of vengeance to kill murderers and Matt… he's using the kanima to kill people who don't deserve it. And killing people himself."

Allison's brows furrow, "So if Matt breaks the rules, he becomes the kanima? That… that doesn't sound good. We need to find the others. Any idea where they'll be?" she glances around the garage again, but it's still all quiet, "Can Isaac move?"

"I'll gift wrap him and give him to Peter until he can."

"Peter?" she stares in horror at the pair, "Did you just say…"

The alpha looks grave, "Lydia resurrected him," he tells her, "Now, really isn't the time," Derek continues, moving into a crouch. He scoops up Isaac again, the beta wincing as his own claws dig deeper into his leg. "I'll head back into the station to look for the others. You find the hunters."

"Okay," Allison says, watching as Derek stands and begins moving for the door they had burst through.

The sharp sound of a gun has Allison flinching in alarm, and the horrible thought of 'I think the hunters have found us' shooting through her head, before her brain kicks into gear and she's moving, throwing herself up and forwards to stand between Derek and Isaac.

"Go!" she snaps at them, and Derek is groaning. He's probably been shot, and she just gestures again at the door, "Get out of here!"

She ducks as another shot rings out and swings up her compound bow, knocking an arrow in place. She hears the door slam behind her.

There are footsteps, and then a startled voice calls out in alarm. "Allison?"

Her heart stutters as her dad steps into view.

"Tighter," Matt mutters, "They have to be tighter," he twists the cuffs in viciously, until John can feel them cutting off his circulation. "There," Matt steps back, triumphantly.

"You know, Matt, you don't have to do this," his voice remains calm. He's been doing this his whole life; he's not going to panic now. "If you put down the gun, call off the kanima, then we can talk…"

"I know what will happen," Matt snaps, "And it will be that I see everyone that has wronged me suffer at my hands. They deserved it. Their crimes went unpunished and then… then fate gave me Jackson. Like the furies from Greek Mythology coming down to punish Orestes."

The Sheriff squints, "Was that the guy who stabbed out his eyes?"

"That's Oedipus, you idiot," Matt actually rolls his eyes, "The furies are weapons of vengeance. They had tears of blood and snakes for hair. If there was a crime that had gone unpunished, the furies would do the punishing. Jackson… Jackson is my fury." He grins, and there is a click of claws. From the shadows behind Matt, Jackson emerges.

Except it's not Jackson. Not anymore. It's a monster that looks human, except covered with scales, monstrous claws and yellow eyes.

John thinks he's never been trained for this.

"You stay here," Matt tells him, as if he was planning on shrugging off the handcuffs and walking away. He's half-way through slipping them off as it is, just so he can punch the kid, but now with the kanima there watching him he doesn't know what he can do.

Matt straightens, stepping back, and the kanima slinks forwards to take his place. It paces, snarling at him, but not moving any closer. John winces, and when he looks up for Matt, the kid is gone.

He's not prepared for this. He's not prepared for monsters that crawl out of the night with glowing eyes and fangs.

He hadn't been prepared to find that in his own son.

The sheriff wonders if he failed as a father sometimes. If he had had his head so immersed with his work, with the murders, that he missed the moment an older man crept into his son's life, his son's head and twisted claws into Stiles' neck. He keeps himself awake at night wondering if Peter was a replacement father for Stiles because he hadn't done a good enough job.

Which is why it's his worst nightmare - not the kanima pacing in front of him ready to eat him if he moves, not the psychotic kid with the gun, but the moment Stiles bursts in to the rescue, following by the former-coyote and a not-dead Peter Hale.

"Is that-" Melissa begins to ask, but Stiles isn't hanging around to listen. He needs to find his dad.

"No," Stiles barely whispers, and then spins back to the locked door. He throws himself at it, and behind him Peter rolls his eyes.

"Allow me," the psychopath purrs, extending one claw. He slots it into the lock like he's lock-picking or something. Stiles reminds himself to copy all the keys to the Sheriff's station as soon as everything is over.

"What is that? Is that gunfire?" Melissa asks in rising panic. Scott is trying to reassure her, so Stiles just leans on the wall, watching Peter grit his teeth over the lock.

"Why the hell are you doing this?" he drawls in a passable imitation of the other wolf. Peter's not an alpha now. Stiles doesn't need to see the other wolf's eyes colours to know. He can feel it, or rather the lack of it. There's no bond, no link, nothing. Despite this it's still reassuring when as his comment, Peter flashes blue eyes, confirming his suspicions.

"Doing what?" Peter sneers, and gives up lock picking in favour of trying to rip the lock off, "Helping you?" the other wolf laughs, "I thought you knew me better than that."

Stiles grins, shoving Peter out of the way, "I do," he says, "So you should know what I'm asking." Peter knocks him aside, taking up position at the door again. Stiles regains his balance, exchanging a silent glance with Malia.

"And you should know what exactly I'm getting out of this," Peter smirks, before snapping the door handle clean off. The door swings open and Stiles pauses only a moment to meet his former-alpha's gaze, before sliding through.

"Scott, what's happening?" Melissa demands. Stiles glances over his shoulder. Peter and Malia are behind him, and he can see Melissa hovering in the background. He turns back around, trying to catch a scent. He can smell Matt and his dad and fear and anger and ahead of him is where they lock up the drunk and disorderly and occasional criminal.

"Scott, why aren't you talking to me…?"

He rounds the corner and the door is wide open. He spots his dad right there, sitting handcuffed to the bench.

"Dad," Stiles moves forwards in relief, and his father's head snaps up, eyes widening and his mouth beginning to form a warning when something crashes into the blue-eyed wolf. He is knocked to one side, and he instantly rolls, just as something crashes down onto the floor next to him. He sees claws and scales and rolls away again, just in time to dodge the second set of claws.

The kanima snarls over him - and wasn't Allison meant to be keeping the kanima busy?

There is a snarl and Malia throws herself at the kanima, lashing out. It kicks her backwards and she crashes into the wall besides his dad, sliding down and blinking dazed.

"What the hell - oh my god…"

Stiles can't pay attention to Melissa, reaching out backwards and grabbing the first thing his hand touches. He'd been hoping for a fire extinguisher, instead he finds a metal crowbar. That will work just as well, he hopes. The kanima turns back to him-

He hits it around the head. There is a crack that is definitely bone breaking. That's not going to keep it down for long. Stiles uses the much needed break to scramble to his feet, and lash out again. He's sick of getting his claws dirty, so he keeps a hold of the crowbar, using it to hit out.

The kanima catches the crowbar in one reptilian hand and Stiles flinches back, dropping it quickly as the clawed grip tightens, the metal twisting with a horrible screech. Seconds later, the damn lizard drops the ruined metal in favour of backhanding him. It feels like a lorry hit him, and he crashes through the air. His vision whirls around, black and white and he hits something soft. There is soft panting and warm hands checking he's okay. He blinks his eyes open to Malia staring down at him in concern.

Stiles glances, dazed, back up at the fight, just in time to see Peter sidestep the claws of the kanima as if he's not even going to bother to fight.

That movement does however have the problem of putting Melissa, still standing in the doorway, in the direct path of the cold blooded reptilian.

"What is that? What… Scott…"

His mother's in shock, Scott thinks. She's standing there, staring at Stiles and Malia fighting the kanima, and he has no words, no explanations…

He'd pictured how he'd tell his mother a hundred times, but never had he imagined it going like this.

Time seems to freeze and Peter sidles out of the way with a disinterested tilt to his head as if this isn't even worth his time. Melissa flinches, expecting claws, but Scott gets there first.

He punches Jackson in the head. It's strangely satisfying, but the monster standing in front of him doesn't even look fazed. It raises its claws, about to bring them down on top of him when there is a wet squelch.

Jackson writhes. He can't really keep calling it Jackson - not the inhuman thing in front of him. Certainly not when he's been impaled by what looks like a bent metal crowbar.

"That was my crowbar, asshole," Stiles glares at Peter, the latter of who had rescued the metal from the floor, just to whirl around dramatically and stab Jackson with it. Not he's just eyeing the shaking, convulsing kanima with what looks like disgust.

"Is that gonna kill it?" Malia asks dubiously, her voice a feral growl.

As if to answer, the kanima snarls, dropping to all fours and leaping up. Scott grabs his mom, dragging her to the ground as the lizard leaps straight over them, barrelling down the corridor. "I think not," Peter hums, "It gives us more time though…"

"Scott…" Melissa is staring at him, "Scott… what…?" she sounds so lost and confused and…

And Scott is wolfed out. There are claws and fangs and bad facial hair and they didn't warn anybody about that happening at puberty.

His mom stares at him in abject horror, as if he has some disease she can't cure. Which he does.

It's called lycanthropy.

"Melissa…" there is a click and the screech of metal as Stiles doesn't even both to pick the lock, he just rips the handcuffs apart so his dad can stand, stepping towards where Melissa is crouched on the floor, staring at Scott.

"Mom…" he reaches out and she flinches back. He stiffens, and removes himself from where he stood in front of her, "Mom…" he repeats, now standing, "It's okay… I swear, it's just… I'm a werewolf." It sounds so stupid, "I'm a werewolf… Stiles and I both… that's all…"

"All?" Stiles sneers, "Neglect to mention the asshole who bit us, thanks for that, by the way," Peter gives him a one second smirk of contentment back at him, "Oh and there is a killer lizard called a kanima which is being controlled by our insane classmate who wants to kill us, there are hunters which includes Scott's girlfriend and the most grouchy guy ever…"

"Stiles," the Sheriff says, voice calm, but it's enough to shut Stiles up.

Melissa glances from Scott to where Stiles and Malia stand, the pair both flashing fangs.

"Melissa," the Sheriff says, calmly, "It's okay," his presence is doing a lot to calm Scott's mother down, but not enough.

"Lydia," Stiles says suddenly, head snapping up. He sidesteps around Melissa, and pauses to turn to Malia. "Keep an eye on my dad?" he asks.

"But…"

"Please."

"Stiles, where are you going…?" the Sheriff begins to ask.

"Look after Melissa," Stiles says over Malia's shoulder, then glances back at the girl, "Will you stay with him?"

After a moment's deliberation Malia nods, "Promise," she says, stepping back towards the Sheriff.

"I should probably…" Stiles has already vanished down the hall and Peter doesn't even bother to finish his sentence before disappearing after him. Scott's not sure if he likes the idea of Stiles and Lydia - the two people who are most susceptible to Peter - spending extended periods of time together with Peter present.

But he doesn't really have much choice.

"Dad, what are you doing here?" Allison demands, desperately. She lowers her bow, slowly letting the string go slack. Her father is staring at her in horror, and she takes several careful measured steps towards him, slowly coming to a halt in front of him, "Dad? Are you okay? Where's mom? Was the full moon… was it okay?"

"Have you picked a side, then?" Chris asks, sadly, lowering his gun and staring at her. His gaze drifts to where the two wolves had been only moments before, "Are you working with them?"

"I'm working to protect people!" she shouts back, hand jabbing to one side to make her point, "We know everything, we're going to fix this! I'm not running in and shooting at our allies!"

Chris scoffs, "Allies?" he asks, "Do you know what they do?" his voice breaks and he stops to take a shuddering breath. "Now isn't a good time," he whispers, "It's not… but Allison…"

She stops, all her anger leaving her suddenly, "What is it?" she asks, "Dad… what is it…?" she looks around again, and it's just Chris. Just Chris and her mom… "What happened with mom?"

Chris stares at her, his eyes so, so sad. He swallows.

"Dad. What happened with mom? Did you get through the full moon? Did you…" she stops, suddenly, "Dad, please, tell me she didn't…" a sob chokes in her throat, "SAY SOMETHING!"

Her father opens his mouth and finally tells her. He finally says the words that cut through her sharper than any knife or claws. "She's dead."

Allison's world shatters.

Lydia's heartbeat hits Stiles' senses as if he's picking her up on radar or something. One minute there is nothing, the next there is. Amongst the guns and various other heartbeats of the building's occupants, Stiles is the first to be aware of another car pulling up and Lydia suddenly being there, answering Scott's text.

He meets her at the door. She's barely had time to step inside and close it behind her than Stiles is there. She turns, eyes widening, seconds before Stiles slams her back against the door she's just walked through. "What the hell did you do?" he demands, in a low, angry tone.

"Are you kidding me?" Lydia snaps, sounding disbelieving, "Have you any idea what it's like out there? There are hunters everywhere and now you… you…" her gaze drifts over his shoulder, spotting Peter, "Oh," she says, dryly, "That?" she avoids meeting Stiles' eyes, "I had no choice," she shrugs, as if there is nothing she should be worried about. She shoves him away, and Stiles lets himself be pushed backwards, giving her some breathing room.

Stiles laughs, "You had no choice?" he repeats, in disbelief, "There is always a choice and you… you chose to bring Peter back. You KNOW what he did!"

"I know what you did," Lydia's eyes light up with a fire suddenly, and her one hand coils into a fist. It's the same arm that she has scars from a bite on. Oddly enough, Stiles thinks, it's the same arm he was bitten on, back in the woods that one night.

"So what?" he spreads out his arms, "You gave him a second chance?" He curls his lips in scorn, "He'll turn around the moment our backs are turned and tear us apart. You think we can trust him? You think he's changed his ways? Or did you do this out of some petty need to get back at me?" he takes another step back, mocking her.

Peter's alive. Peter was meant to be dead. He was meant to be nothing more than a nightmare in Stiles' head.

But Lydia… Lydia had made him a reality again.

"Maybe," she shrugs, airily, head tilting to one side, "I told you though," she defends herself, "I told you I was seeing things and what did you do?" Stiles bristles, because she's accusing him now of not stopping her. He had tried, and she had turned around and blown wolfsbane straight in his face. Lydia laughs at his silence, "I'll tell you what you did. You. Did. Nothing."

Stiles glances over his shoulder, and wisely Peter has kept his distance, setting up the laptop. "I didn't know he was real," Stiles' voice is barely audible, and Lydia has to lean towards him to hear what he's saying, "I saw him too, and I knew it was all in my head. I knew it wasn't real. But you…"

Lydia's expression breaks, and she presses her lips together mutely, "I thought it was in my head too," she whispers, "But it wasn't. And then that night at the rave... Peter broke the ash line. Or he used me to do it… I don't know and you out of all people should understand how that feels, Stiles, not knowing whether you did something because you wanted to or because someone forced you to."

Her eyes are pools of emotion that burn him, because she's right. She's completely right and somehow that hurts even more.

She glances over his shoulder and fixes her gaze on Peter, "So yes," she nods, sharply, "Yes - I'm sorry I brought him back, but I'm not sorry because at least now I'm alone in my own mind."

Stiles doesn't say anything because she's right. He knows how she feels. He's angry at her but blame her? He doesn't blame her. He can't. He can only blame Peter.

"As fascinating as your conversation must be," Peter shouts over to them, "We still have a situation on our hands."

Lydia sighs, and Stiles takes another step backwards from her. They're sort of even now, at least, and he meets her gaze with a nod. "We need you to fix Jackson," he tells her, "Peter has the Hale bestiary…"

"Let's see…" Lydia shoves past him. She casts such a scorn and hate filled glance at Peter that Stiles is surprised the former-alpha doesn't burst into flames, but as it is Peter just smirks and continues typing stuff into his laptop. Stiles trails behind her, feeling oddly settled, despite Peter still standing there as if nothing had happened. He still feels the burn of anger, but it's duller now, and he knows he's not going to do anything rash.

But he'll get the recipe of how to make a self-igniting Molotov cocktail from Lydia.

Just in case.

They say there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. And as the realisation hits her, Allison's first instinct is to deny it.

"No. No - this is… it's just another kind of sick, training session… this isn't real… it was meant to be fine. We talked about it. She was going to be fine… she didn't…"

"She honoured you with her dying breath," Chris whispers.

"Honoured?" Allison screams at him, "She would have done me more honour by LIVING!" It's her fault, she thinks. She should have been there. She should have been there with her, prevented this from happening…

Chris steps forwards and she steps backwards, disgusted with him suddenly. She's disgusted with herself. "It's not your fault, sweetie," he tells her gently, "Allison, it was her choice. Understand? Her choice! I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" he's got his own tears in his eyes.

"And what did Gerard say, huh? What the hell did he tell her?" Tears are streaming down her face but she doesn't care.

"I don't know," Chris shakes his head, "I don't know… I'm sorry, I don't…" That's the moment she crashes into his arms, and he drops his gun, wrapping his arms around her. She curls into him, letting him reassure her, "It's okay, sweetie, shhh," he murmurs into her ears and she clenches her eyes closed, trying to find a point of peace inside of her.

At the moment though it's like her emotions are undergoing an earthquake, and every time she thinks she's found a stable point they are uprooted, and another sob wells up.

Eventually though, the waves subside. "Who was it?" she asks, her dad's shirt wet against her cheek, "The alpha that bit mom - who was it?"

"I don't know," Chris shakes his head, "She didn't say."

That's when a loud voice echoes out over the garage, "I hate to break up this touching family moment, Allison…" Matt steps into view, with Jackson at his heels like a mutated dog, "But I'm going to need a copy of that bestiary your family prize so highly. And not just a few pages." His head tilts to one side, "I'm going to need all of it."

"There is a myth that you can cure a werewolf simply by calling out its Christian name."

Stiles snorts. Lydia shoots him an annoyed look, and he grins wryly, "Well in that case," the wolf leans back, fingers locked together as he stretches, "I'm never gonna be cured, since nobody can pronounce my name."

Peter actually pauses, turning to Stiles, "You mean Stiles isn't your actual name? Oh thank god…"

"Turn around," Stiles spins his finger to demonstrate, "And get back to work. What the hell is your point?"

Peter curls his lip and glances back at the laptop screen. "Obviously it's a myth." He shrugs, "But there's a basis of truth. Werewolfs, kanimas, even werecoyotes, we're all essentially shape shifters."

"Derek likes to say that the shape that you take reflects the person that you are," Stiles frowns, crossing his arms, "Is he actually right and not just spouting out something he made up?"

Peter nods slowly, "I once told you, Stiles, that the bite isn't just a gift. It's an infection. And like every infection it has different symptoms. The coyote - practically the same animal as the wolf - reacts to wolfsbane, the full moon, mountain ash, the same way a werewolf would. A kanima however is stronger. But the price you pay for that is that it is more out of control. It needs someone else to control it."

"Matt," Lydia sighs, "Where are you going with this?"

"Names, Lydia," Peter smiles, and it's not a nice smile, "Our name defines us. It's a symbol of who we are. Our identity. But at the moment, that lizard being controlled by Matt… what identity does he have?"

"He's Jackson!" Lydia glares at him, because it is still her ex-boyfriend. Despite the scales and claws, it is still Jackson, the same way Scott is still Scott even when he wolfs out.

"Wait…" Stiles frowns, "The kanima has no identity. Because Jackson has no identity. No pack. He's an orphan."

And Lydia feels sick, because Jackson always had to be the best. He had to be the best and better, than anybody else, proving himself to people who had died before he was even born. And he'd wanted to be a werewolf, he'd wanted to be even better than human, and he ended up going above and beyond even a werewolf.

"We need…" Peter scrolls through a document, "To bring him back, by reminding him of his identity. Before he turns into something worse. His current shape is only a beta form… and there is an alpha transformation that he could progress to. We need to save him before that… we need to allow him to see a reflection and to be able to recognise who is staring back at him. We need to use his heart."

"What heart?" Stiles scoffs, but Peter is gazing at Lydia. Stiles' eyes flash, and he glances between them, "Oh god," he looks disgusted, "That's why we need Lydia, then?"

"Well, you've failed there," Lydia says, shrugging, "Jackson dumped me. He doesn't love me."

Peter smiles thinly, "Even someone as burned and as dead on the inside as me, knows better than to underestimate the simple yet undeniable power of human love." His voice grows almost soppy at the end and Stiles shoots him an incredulous look.

"You know I think that might have been the most disgusting thing I've ever heard you say," the wolf shrugs, leaning over Peter's shoulder uncomfortably to look at the laptop, "And believe me I've heard a lot of sick ideas from you. So what you're saying is that Lydia and Jackson need to get laid or he's going to turn into that?"

"To put it crudely, yes," Peter sneers, and Lydia just sighs, because it's not going to work. Jackson doesn't love her. If he loved her, he would have turned back to human at the pool… he wouldn't have tried to kill her.

Except… he hadn't actually tried to kill her. He'd trapped her there, paralyzed Erica, and knocked Derek out of commission, while stalking her, but never actually went for her throat.

"That's a terrible picture," Stiles is still snarking to Peter, "Can you make it bigger?"

"Someone actually made an animation," Peter smirks, "Let's watch it." He double clicks, and the video pops up. A screech sounds out and the trio gape at the screen, before Peter slams it closed, "Nope," he says, quickly, "Maybe not."

"Jackson's going to turn into that? That… has wings."

"I can see that." Peter looks up at Lydia, "Can you do it?" he asks.

She's shaking her head slowly when something occurs to her, "He won't recognise me," she says, "I've been face to face with him before and he… it did nothing. But I think I might have something to help. A key."

"And this key-" Lydia begins to reach for a chain around her neck and Stiles rolls his eyes, "Oh, you mean like a literal key key. That one that Jackson was asking about in the library?"

"Yeah - do you think it will work?"

"I think at this point we're running out of options," Stiles says grimly.

Lydia's hand grasps at her neck and her fingers close over mid-air. She tenses, mind-racing. "Uh… there's just one problem," she whispers, and she sees Stiles' expression. He knows what she's going to say before she says it.

"Lydia…"

"I don't have the key with me."

"Mom, please. Look at me."

Scott never wanted his mother to find out like this. He'd planned to tell her eventually, he thinks. He would have had to, and it all would have been okay but…

Not like this.

"Believe me," the Sheriff just shakes his head at his surroundings, which include a no-longer-coyote that is practically glued to his side. "I didn't believe it either."

Melissa numbly closes her eyes, "I don't know what's happening. I don't know what that thing was, or even what you are… or… oh my god, are you on drugs? Is that it? Did you take something and it… did it do this?" She opens her eyes and gazes pleadingly at Scott, "Have you been taking drugs?"

Scott feels his jaw drop open, "Have you taken drugs?" he asks, alarmed.

"That's not…" Melissa's face creases, and Scott wonders if he should be concerned that she doesn't answer him, "What are you?"

"Werewolf," Scott says, and he gives his mother another few seconds to process that, "Stiles and I… we went into the woods looking for a dead body and got bitten. Just before school started…"

"And I'm not even going to start on what a stupid idea that was," the Sheriff mutters and rolls his eyes.

Scott refrains from pointing out it was Stiles' idea. He doesn't blame his friend - not really. He'd followed along after all, and they'd both come out of it with healing bite marks. Strangely his mother is relaxing a bit. She's probably relieved he's not on drugs, even if the answers is something as insane as 'werewolf'. "So when your grades took a downward turn that was because…"

"Because of the werewolf thing, yeah."

She still looks scared. And she won't let him touch her, so it's the Sheriff that wraps an arm of comfort around Scott's mother. Malia hovers, and she glances at Scott as if for guidance. But Scott has no idea what to do.

Malia spins around suddenly, and a feral snarl works it's way out of her throat, just as Derek and Isaac appear, staggering through the doorway. The once-coyote looks about to leap forwards, so Scott holds her back with a hand on her shoulder.

"Is that hypothetical situation getting any less hypothetical?" Derek is growling out at Isaac, the latter seeming barely able to move.

Isaac lets out a hiss of pain as his alpha accidentally steers him into the wall, "Be careful!"

The Sheriff bristles at the pair, glancing between them, "Derek, right?" he asks the alpha, "What's happening over there?"

"Allison is-" Isaac cuts off with a groan as Derek proceeds to drop him on the floor. Malia pokes at him with one leg, nudging him upright and Isaac frowns at her in thanks, "Allison is trying to get the hunters to back off. I think Chris shot Derek…"

"I healed," the alpha says gruffly.

Scott is alarmed suddenly, "And Matt? Where's Matt? And Jackson?"

The Sheriff steps forwards, "Scott, you are not going back to confront them… it is not your job to protect everybody…"

"I've got to do something!" Scott insists.

Stiles' father looks torn, and he glances down the corridor to where Stiles had vanished with Peter, "You're children," he tells them, "I can't have you putting yourself in danger. I already have four dead deputies. I don't want to lose you, or Stiles or Malia…"

"Can you finish this?" Melissa interrupts suddenly, meeting her son's gaze, "Scott, can you stop this, right now? The killing… all of it?"

He stares back at her and nods, "Yes," he promises.

"Then go." Melissa nods to herself, "You get that son of a bitch, got it?" she's still scared, but the shock has passed, and so Scott feels happy enough to throw himself forwards into her arms. She tenses up, and then relaxes, clinging back to him, just as tightly as he is to her.

"I'm still Scott," he whispers in her ear, "I'm still your son. Just with claws and glowing eyes and…"

"I know," she replies, "Now go. Go and finish this."

"Matt," Chris steps backwards, letting his hands drop from where they had been holding Allison at arm's length from him. She keeps herself turned to him, blinking away tears from her eyes and resolving herself as she slips one blade from the sheath along her arm… "Matt," Chris says again, "You don't have to do this."

Matt just sneers, "You guys really have no clue do you?" he laughs, "I need the bestiary."

"It's not ours!" Allison shouts to him, "It's Gerard's."

"And? He's your grandfather! Surely you can get that for me? Just one little book?" Allison bites her lip to refrain from pointing out that it's a computer file. "Or what about you - Chris, can I call you Chris?" Matt doesn't wait for a reply, "How about: you get me the bestiary… or I tell Jackson to kill Allison."

Allison picks that moment to whirl around, and she throws her blade. It flies through the air, whistling slightly and then slams into warm flesh.

She's not hit Matt. She could have so, so easily, but she's not willing to take that step yet. She's not quite been driven far enough to shoot a human, even one as armed and dangerous as Matt is. Maybe she should have aimed for him, but as it was she had thrown the blade at Jackson.

"Like that's going to work," Matt shrugs, seemingly unbothered by the knife protruding from Jackson's chest, "If that's the way you're going to play, well then," he sighs, "Go get her."

The last comment was said to the kanima, and with a quick yank of claws her knife is ripped out of its chest and tossed aside. The kanima leaps forwards and Chris and Allison scatter. As expected, the kanima goes for her, and she throws herself behind a parked car.

"Allison!" Chris shouts, moving towards her. He has his gun out and look about to pull the trigger when Matt is suddenly there, lashing out.

Allison stifles a cry as her dad drops. Matt's not human anymore, she thinks, he's too strong, too powerful. Chris crumples to the ground and his gun skids across the concrete floor. Clenching her fist in determination, Allison moves out from behind the parked car.

She takes a running leap and lands on the nearest police cruiser. It dips under her weight and then she's running, up and along towards the next car. The kanima spots her and with a screech it leaps after her, just as the car alarms start blaring.

With a cry of pain, Jackson skids to a halt, crashing into the side of the car and clawing in vain at where Allison imagines the reptile's ears are. She drops back to the ground, whirling around and spinning her remaining blade in a clean rotation so that the handle rests securely in her palm. She takes a step back towards Matt.

"Allison! Look out!"

With a whine and a crash the car alarm dies suddenly. The kanima is standing again, and it punched cleanly through the side of the metal, ripping it apart like butter. It's eyes are fixed on her and Allison stills, it's gaze unnervingly resting on her, seconds before it moves.

Scott, who had shouted out a warning only seconds before, crashes into the kanima. He's snarling with orange eyes and a flash of claws, and that's all Allison needs to move forwards, neatly and cleanly and to plunge her blade into Jackson's throat.

The writhing kanima goes still and Scott's claws cut nearly across the stomach. Jackson drops, black blood spilling out and he's choking, trying to breath around the metal in his wind pipe.

"Are you okay?" Scott asks her, breathless. She sidesteps around Jackson and Scott moves to meet her. Jackson looks like he's dying. His claws are scrabbling uselessly at the floor and making no effort to pull the knife out. He's going to die, Allison thinks stupidly, watching Jackson - the kanima - convulse. He can't heal from this… can he?

"Why do you care?" Allison snaps at him, suddenly bitter. Scott recoils away from her, looking like she punched him in the face, "You lied to us!" she accuses in a low voice, "About Gerard…"

His expression clears in sudden understanding, "Allison, no, it's not what you think…"

"I don't care."

The door crashes open again and Derek and Isaac reappear. Isaac is still hobbling, but he manages to stand without aid, eyes flashing gold at Matt.

"Give up," Derek growls at the teenager, "You're outnumbered."

"Come on, Matt…" Scott finally tears his gaze away from her, "You can't win."

"There are four of us," Allison adds in, "You can't take us all on. Not with Jackson out of commission."

And Matt? Matt just laughs, blinking slowly and lazily and he doesn't look worried at all. He spreads out his arms, "Who said he was out of commission?" he laughs at them, and with horror Allison turns back to stare at Jackson's body.

Jackson is still lying where he had dropped to the floor earlier, and now she thinks about it, of course they hadn't done enough to kill him, but this…

He's neither dead, nor dying, but he's not particularly threatening at the moments either. Allison steps backwards, away from the clear substance dripping off his claws like water. It pools around him in a sticky pile. Allison recognises it as venom. Jackson's being encased in his own venom.

"Well that's sufficiently terrifying," Derek deadpans, sounding surprisingly calm.

Scott bends down, frowning. He doesn't touch the stuff, just watches as more and more seeps out to surround the lizard's form. Jackson still looks like a lizard. There is no recognisable human feature at all. "What's happening to him?" Scott asks.

Isaac takes a step backwards, "I don't particularly want to find out…" he swallows, just as one of the limbs twitched violently. They all back away so quickly it would be funny if it wasn't so terrifying.

Matt watches with a smirk. Because any second now Jackson's going to stand, going to get better and then… then he has all the power. He has the control. And they can't let him have that power. Allison makes a lightning fast decision and darts towards where her dad's gun had skidded out of his grasp. Her fingers enclose on the grip when a boot slams down on the muzzle, preventing her from picking it up.

She looks up and Matt glances down at her, "You know how I said that I wasn't that guy who would say something like, "well, if I can't have her, no one can?" he asks, and she doesn't know what he means… what is he talking about? But then she remembers with horror and he nods, seeing the recognition in her eyes, "I lied," he shrugs, "Because if I can't have you? Nobody can…"

Allison doesn't know what he was going to do next. Maybe Jackson would have jolted into movement by then, or maybe Mat would have lifted up the gun he still held loosely in his hands.

But she's not going to find out because at that moment there is a loud crack and Matt's whole body lurches as a bullet lodges itself into his brain.

The sound of the gun is loud and startling, and it makes Scott jump, but what's really alarming is the spray of blood. Matt's whole body lurches and then he just topples. Allison makes grab for her father's gun and staggers backwards, and Scott goes to help her but she pushes right past him, standing and cocking the weapon, raising it to point at her grandfather.

"Gerard?"

Allison lowers her weapon slightly, although Scott wishes she'd keep it up. Especially when Gerard just killed Matt and is now examining the body with fastidious distaste, like Matt is a fly he found on the bottom of his boot.

"What are you doing?" Scott doesn't realise he's spoken until the words have left his mouth. But there's no point pretending otherwise anymore. Allison somehow knows about Gerard, and Derek and Isaac don't look that trusting and…

Gerard shoots him a thin smile, as if he's about to lecture them, "The kanima is a weapon of vengeance," he says.

Allison steps to one side, "Is this about Kate?" she asks, and she keeps glancing sideways at her dad, as if she wants to run to him, but is scared to take her eyes off Gerard.

Gerard huffs and rolls his eyes, "I came here not just to bury my daughter," he sneers, "I came here to avenge her. And not just Kate, Allison. Your mother as well."

Icy shards dig into Scott's chest, because Allison's mother… what was wrong with her mother…?

Whatever it is, it's enough to make Allison raise the gun that little bit higher to point at Gerard's head. "She didn't have to kill herself!" Allison spits with vengeance, and Scott hears Derek's gasp of realisation next to him, "Those are your laws. Your customs. But there's a better way! You didn't have to drive her to suicide!"

Gerard chuckles, "Victoria died, following the code. A bite by an alpha werewolf was bound to turn her. She was dead the moment the alpha sank his fangs into her."

"No…" Scott hears Derek whisper, and god Allison's mother had been bitten. She'd been bitten and she'd followed custom and killed herself and no wonder Allison couldn't look at him. But if Victoria had been bitten by an alpha then…

"The question you're not asking, Allison, is who is the only alpha in Beacon Hills capable of doing such a terrible deed?"

The words hang heavy in the air for a moment before they finally register. And just like that Allison swings the gun from pointing at her grandfather's head to pointing at Derek's.

It's not true.

He must be lying, because Derek was their ally. He was a sort-of-friend he wouldn't he had been with her and Stiles, rescuing Scott…

Except he hadn't been. He had turned up late, and that was plenty of time to sink his teeth into…

No…

"He's lying," Derek's attention is fully on her, eyes desperate. Allison doesn't know what to believe. She has no idea who to trust. She feels completely and utterly alone.

And Gerard is still standing there smiling…

"This won't kill you," she waves the gun slightly, "But it will hurt. Is he telling the truth?"

"NO!"

"How can I believe that?" she laughs hysterically, "From you? You lied to Scott about the cure for a bite! You lied to Stiles about the alpha! You lied to Isaac about the dangers involved!"

"To keep them safe!" Derek emphasises, "You didn't need to know! But I swear I didn't bite your mother! I was there - with you and Stiles and Scott and…"

"You weren't though! You came afterwards!"

"And what are you going to do? Shoot me? Kill me? Can't you see that he's lying?"

Allison can't see anything clearly. The world isn't black and white and her family aren't motivated by anything good. They're rotten all the way through and maybe… maybe she's just as rotten.

The movement out of the corner of her eyes has her flinching, but it's Isaac who is attacked by a dark black shape. It's the kanima, fluid still leaking off its form and it lashes out, sending Isaac flying to one side. Its whole shape is slick with venom, and there is something almost skeletal spreading from its shoulders.

"Are those wings?" Scott gapes, and Gerard just smiles. Jackson's growing even more powerful, and he's almost rabid, barely kept in check because his master is dead but…

"The kanima must have a master," Gerard's voice is trembling with excitement, and Allison wonders in a state of total shock if her grandfather even realises he just quoted Pirate of the Caribbean. But he's staring at Jackson with something that looks like adoration, "And," Gerard says, straightening, "In the wake of the previous master's death the power is transferred to the one who killed his previous puppeteer. Which would be me."

"No!" Derek snarls, stalking forwards but Allison pulls the trigger, and Derek stops, a bullet passing inches in front of his face. "Allison…" he says.

She shakes her head, "Nuh uh," she refuses to let him move, "Stay where you are." She turns to face Gerard, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders, "What do you want?" she asks her grandfather, and he looks almost proud of her for the first time as she asks that.

"Why don't you ask Scott?" he suggests lightly. "As you can see, there have been some interesting developments lately."

"What are you doing? It wasn't meant to go like this!" Scott argues, wide-eyed.

"Come on, Scott, let's be realistic about who's got the upper hand. Or I will send Jackson here, straight into where your mother and Stiles' father are."

Allison laughs, because if Gerard threatens Stiles' father, Stiles will kill him. She doesn't even question that, not after Peter. But Scott… she glances to the yellow-eyed wolf, "Scott, what is he talking about? What is it he wants you to do?"

Scott looks uncomfortable, "He wants the bite." Allison closes her eyes because that… that's the most hypocritical thing she's heard in a long time. Almost unconsciously she turns around so that she's back to aiming at Gerard.

"No," Derek takes full advantage of the fact he's not about to be shot to attempt another abortive movement, but this time it's the kanima that stops him. And Jackson's fast. He's really fast now, and he's growing more powerful. That shouldn't be possible, but Derek lets out a surprised hiss, hand flying to the back of his neck and he drops. Scott catches him, supporting Derek's weight.

She demands: "Why?" at the same time that she realises it herself, "The pills…"

Gerard nods slowly, "Man has many cures for diseases, but none for cancer," he looks disgusted, but Allison thinks it's appropriate that he died from something almost as foul as him, "The supernatural however, does have a cure," and he smirks at Derek who suddenly appears to realise how well and truly screwed he is.

"No."

"I'm afraid you don't have much choice."

Gerard meets Allison's gaze and she tenses, because Scott is there and Scott…

Scott's working for Gerard.

"Don't," she tells him, "Scott…" the gun wavers in her grip, torn between where she should be pointing it… which side she is on… "You can't give it to him! He'll kill Derek, he'll be an alpha…"

She opens her eyes again, looking about and just for a moment she catches Scott's gaze. He's staring at her pleadingly, and there is something there, in the yellow supernatural gaze… for a moment she could have sword she saw a spark of another colour…

Scott doesn't say anything but his eyes beg 'trust me'.

So she does.

She lowers the gun.

"Scott! Don't! Don't!"

"I'm sorry. But I have to."

Scott forces Derek's head up and hating himself for it, he forces Derek to bite.

Derek's teeth clamp down on Gerard's arm and Gerard laughs triumphantly, stepping backwards. Scott drops Derek, but doesn't move from where the other alpha is trying to move through the paralysis.

"Finally," Gerard says, and Allison stares numbly at the sight of his bleeding arm. Her grandfather isn't as honourable as her mother though. He's not going to kill himself. Instead he's just going to seek more power.

Scott allowed that to happen. Allison is staring at her boyfriend (ex-boyfriend), unable to understand why. Scott helped Gerard to get the bite and she trusts Scott, really, but she's beginning to think that she's just helped Scott make a terribly mistake.

Gerard is laughing, and at the edge of the room Isaac moans, shoving himself up. He takes in the scene, an emotionally shocked Allison, Scott standing over a hurt Derek and Gerard staggering back and clutching his wrist. From the bite in his arm black blood wells up, dripping down and…

"What the hell?" Isaac says, and Allison's eyes drift back because-

Because Gerard's arm is bleeding black blood. The same as Jackson's.

Isaac unsteadily moves over to where Derek is, tugging up his alpha. Scott doesn't offer help, instead circling around to one side, watching with baited breath. Derek is leaning on Isaac, but his eyes widen as he catches sight of the bite wound. Scott's heartbeat skips a beat or two in pure relief because it worked.

"What is this?" Gerard demands, "What did you do?" he shouts at Derek.

But it's not Derek he should be looking at.

He should be looking at Scott. Scott who just shrugs slightly with a thin, pained grin, "I could smell the cancer," he says, "I knew you were ill. I talked to Deaton. You had a plan but… so did I."

"What?" Allison's head whips to the side so fast she should have whiplash, "Scott… what…?"

Gerard reaches with a shaking hand into his coat pocket, and he tugs out a bottle of pills. Popping off the lid, he drops them onto his hands and crushes them in his palm with werewolf strength.

They burst into black powder that seeps through his fingers, "It was that night outside the rave, wasn't it?" he sneers, and now there is blood dripping from his nose and the corner of his mouth…

"What is that?" Isaac whispers.

Gerard snarls, spittle flying everywhere. "MOUNTAIN ASH!" he drops the powder and looks about to leap at them, but stops, abruptly stooping as if in pain. His face creases and he chokes, black vomit splurging out onto the tarmac.

"That is disgusting," Isaac mutters.

"Oh god…" Allison steps backwards in horror.

Gerard just peers up at them with crazed eyes, "Kill them," he spits out, black saliva dripping down his lips. With a jolt Scott looks around for Jackson, spotting the whip-like tail and yellow eyes in the shadows, "Kill them aa-" he is abruptly cut off as, with an awful screech, the doors to the garage crash open.

Gerard whirls around, but not fast enough because the car rolling through doesn't stop. It slams straight into him.

Scott just has time recognise the pale blue of Stiles' jeep seconds before it hits Gerard, knocking him flying. The brakes screech and Scott meets Stiles' gaze behind the wheel, wide-eyed and panicked.

The doors slam and Stiles and Lydia slide out.

"Oh my god," Stiles winces at first Matt's body, and then at the black sludgy form of Gerard's body. For a known killer, Stiles is surprisingly squeamish when it comes to bodily fluids, "Did I just kill a geriatric?" Stiles pulls a face, "Peter would be so proud."

"Jackson! No!" Lydia somehow manages to run forwards, despite the heels, and Scott sees the snarl and fangs only after, and he's moving as well but Lydia's there first, placing herself between Allison and Jackson. Scott tugs Allison backwards, watching as Lydia closes her eyes, holding something out and waiting for claws to slash down.

They don't come.

She's standing there, expecting Jackson to kill her. He's all scaly and kanima-like and there is the faint skeletal bone structure spreading from his shoulders that suggests he's already developing wings but he…

He's frozen. One claw remains outstretched, and his whole body is coated in some kind of slime or something, but he's not moving.

His eyes are fixed on the key in Lydia's hand.

"Jackson?" she whispers, because this is it - this is her only chance, "Jackson." She doesn't know what else to say.

But it's enough. He blinks and yellow lizard eyes turn back to human blue. His features twist and shift until she can see human skin under the scales. "Lydia?" his voice is hoarse and rough, but it's him. She wants to punch him, but she wants to hug him as well. As it is she does neither because a shot rings out, clean and loud in the silence.

Jackson's eyes flutter closed and he chokes. Lydia staggers backwards in shock, colliding with Allison and Scott just as a shape bursts out of nowhere and Peter slams his claws into Jackson's heart.

She glances over her shoulder to see the Sheriff standing there, gun out. His face is grave. A shape hovers behind him, and upon seeing no danger, Malia darts over to Stiles like an anxious puppy.

It's over, Lydia thinks.

It's over.

Then with a choking cry Jackson stirs.

Peter's staring down at Jackson with varying levels of disgust on his face. Stiles' claws still itch to rip into his former alpha, but he refrains because Scott told him not to. And so for now, he won't.

Instead he keeps an eye on Jackson who is still the main threat. He'd be watching Jackson more closely, except he doesn't want to get too well acquainted with Jackson's nude form. As it is he still catches sight Jackson's face, distorted with werewolf fangs and blue eyes. It looks weird, but it suits him better than scales, so Stiles allows himself to relax.

Jackson's lack of clothes doesn't stop Lydia from throwing herself forwards to wrap him in a hug. "Oh god," she chokes against his chest, "You're an idiot. A complete idiot."

"What…?" Jackson seems dazed and confused, "What happened?"

There are light footsteps and Allison moves towards Stiles. She flashes him a thin and humourless smile, before dropping down to where her dad is groaning with a head wound.

Endings are messy, Stiles thinks, and not just because of the blood. Endings are messy because he can see a trail of black sludge where Gerard had been lying but no Gerard. He makes a start after that, but there is a hand on his wrist. He glances around to see Chris shaking his head. "Don't," Argent tells him, "We'll get him," he's holding Allison closely, tightly, as if he's scared to let her go.

Melissa had crept in after Stiles' dad, and she's over by Scott, embracing him and cupping his face in her hands, reassuring herself that he's okay.

"Are you okay?" Derek asks Isaac, although the former still looks a bit paralyzed.

"Am I okay?" Isaac scoffs, "What about you? Not just the paralysis, because I know from experience that sucks, but you… you were forced to bite Gerard…"

Derek looks surprised, as if someone showing concern for him is new.

"Don't look so alarmed," Isaac looks nervous, "You're my alpha. I've got to look after you too, right?"

Derek's gaze slides over and he meets Stiles' watching look. His hazel eyes flicker to Peter.

Stiles shakes his head.

Derek relaxes just that tiny bit.

"I'm sorry," Scott says, and the alpha looks towards the other young werewolf. Scott has fought his way free of his mother's embrace to catch Derek's attention. "I'm sorry I made you bite him, but I'm not sorry I didn't tell you my plan. I'm not in your pack."

Derek just nods stiffly.

"I'm with Scott," Stiles' voice is slightly hoarse, as he wraps an arm round Malia, stepping forwards to meet with his dad. The Sheriff has a resigned look on his face which suggests he's preparing to adopt the coyote girl.

Scott looks mildly surprised at that, and all Stiles can do if offer up a weak grin. Scott's beam back is completely worth it and around him the sounds settle into a nice manageable hum. Lydia and Jackson are still hugging. The Argents are whispering together and Allison has tears in her eyes. Peter is lurking, but Derek has half an eye on him, and half an eye on Isaac who is trying to help his alpha to stand upright without knocking into anything.

There is the hint of light seeping through the windows. The sun is finally rising, the moon set and…

And maybe…

Maybe everything was going to be okay now.

The morning after everything, Stiles and the Sheriff eventually manage to find a moment to drive out to a house on the southern edge of the preserve. Malia is bundled into the back seat, clinging onto the edge of the seat nervously. Every time the car turns she tenses just a little. Stiles can't tell if it's from anxiety at what is to come, or fear at being inside the enclosed space of the moving vehicle.

They knock on the door and John straightens his uniform, still slightly dusty and blood splattered from that night.

Henry Tate is a frowning man of little understanding for being awoken early on a holiday week. His expression clears almost immediately when Malia is dragged into view and he stares at her in pure shock and awe, recognising her despite so many years apart.

And Malia clings to her father, tears in her eyes and words choking in her throat.

They eventually leave the duo, after explanations. Or lies, depending on your perspective, but Tate just nods and accepts the falsifications they cram down his throat, still too busy marvelling over his eldest daughter. Stiles assures himself that Malia is safe, that she is happy, before eventually relaxing, content to leave the coyote with her father. He's done his good deed.

He doesn't expect his window to creak open in the middle of the night. His claws are out and he's half-way towards attacking the intruder before he recognises her scent.

"Malia?" he whispers, blue fading from his eyes.

Her eyes are blue too, he realises suddenly. He's not the only blue-eyed shapeshifter anymore.

She blinks her eyes back to brown, "I c-couldn't s-s-sleep." She's shaking and shivering and it's easy to just wrap her up in his arms and duvet. "It's just s-so…" her face twists in frustrated, "Not-right," she tells him.

"Wrong?" Stiles offers her up alternative words, "Weird? Strange?"

"Strange," she decides, "I miss my den. My territory. I miss being a coyote."

"We might be able to help you," he tells her, "You can control it, you know."

"So I wouldn't hurt him?"

She doesn't have to specify who. Stiles knows who she means. "You're not going to hurt your dad," he reassures her, "We can teach you control." He'll find a better method as well. Then again anything is better than being stuffed into the trunk of a car.

The girl nods against his chest. Stiles thinks it's odd, because coyotes are lone animals, and it's odd that she seeks out a friend, a pack in her time of need. But then she glances up at him, "It's not my den," she whispers, "It's not… I can't do this. I can't be…" she pauses, and Stiles gently un-pries her hands from where they are curling into claws with her frustration.

"Being human isn't hard," he tells her, "We'll help you. All of us."

Her smile is blinding, and she relaxes into him, a warm little ball of coyote, sans fur, curled into his side.

His dad finds them in the morning, Stiles snoring gently on his back in the middle of the bed with Malia clinging to him like a hot-water bottle. She's got one arm splayed across his chest and she's gnawing quietly on his shoulder in her sleep. John has no idea whether to be concerned or not, so he settles for taking a picture on his phone and smiling softly.

He thinks their little family of two just grew by one more.

Jackson still loves Lydia.

Of course he does. She brought him back. Back from the brink of scales and claws and - he shudders - wings. She tethered him down and he was reminded of who he was again.

He's a werewolf now - he's got his wish. It seems almost petty considering all the people who died because of it. He feels guilty, but not as guilty as he knows he'd be if he remembered even half of it. Instead he's just disgusted with everything. With life, with Matt, with himself…

But never with Lydia.

With Lydia he's just more in love with her than ever.

And that? That's bad. He can't have that.

Jackson hates being weak. Detests it. He has to prove himself, and even though now he realises the only person he has to prove himself to is to himself, he still doesn't like being second-best. He doesn't like having such a glaring, gaping weakness, that even a former psychopath can see it (Stiles and Lydia argue that Peter's still a psychopath, and neither will go near him. Jackson doesn't mention Peter around them, because the one time he did, Stiles' sarcasm got a razor sharp edge and Lydia's gaze drifted off into the distance for a startling long minute.)

He tells Lydia first. Before he's even told his parents. Before he's even told Derek (his alpha, some part of him screams).

"I'm moving to London."

"Okay," she says, and that's it.

He's getting away. He's getting out. (He can see what the others cannot).

Beacon Hills is dangerous. And it's not getting any better.

It's not safe. Not for him, or for anyone else, not that he'd be able to persuade them of that. But they'll see in time. They'll crawl away too, shattered and broken. They'll run, if they're still alive to realise what he now knows.

Beacon Hills will kill you. It almost killed him, and he almost got others killed. He did get others killed. He almost killed Lydia.

That's why he's got to get out. Because he's no good for her. He doesn't want to hurt her again, and he also can't bear to stand around to watch Beacon Hills tear her apart as well. She's already showing cracks. Stilinski is a broken mess, and somewhere along the way he's picked up a mismatched coyote. Scott's crumbling under the blows raining down and Allison has a deep crack running right through her. Derek's been scorched and blackened, and his pack aren't any better.

Jackson doesn't even want to know what he's like. He's already scarred, he decides. He doesn't want to stick around to see what he'll be like in six months' time.

"I'm moving to London," he tells Lydia before anyone else.

She shrugs, "Okay," is all she says. She smiles, and she looks sad, but she doesn't argue.

"I still love you," he says then.

"I know," she's still smiling, that sad smile, "Here," she drops something cold and metal into the palm of his hand. "Take care," she tells him, before she spins neatly around and walks out of the door.

The cold edges of the key press into his palm, and Jackson closes his eyes so he doesn't cry.

Lizards don't cry.

But wolves do.

A single tear rolls down his face.

"Jackson left."

"Oh." Allison doesn't really know what to say to that. "I broke up with Scott," she offers. It was almost worse because he'd been completely and totally understanding of her situation. They couldn't be together. Not like they had. Not until they both looked at who they were first.

Allison had thought she knew, but now…

Now she doesn't.

"Great!" Lydia says with a blinding smile, "That means we can spend a summer totally boy free."

"Don't you miss him?" Allison frowns at Lydia. This is the girl who only days before had brought a killer reptile back to humanity using love. "I thought you loved him."

Lydia looks for a moment like she's about to brush Allison off, but then pauses and considers the question, "I do," she says, "I don't know… I don't know what we could have been, and that… I'll be sad about that. But in the same way I'm glad he's gone." Her smiles is thin, "I don't want to get my heart broken." She's staring sympathetically at Allison, and again her thoughts turn to Scott.

Their love was at first sight. Even when everything threatened to tear them apart, they had still been there for each other, to lean and support each other. But now…

Now they needed to spend time apart. They needed to let other people in.

She still loves Scott. She thinks a part of her will always love him. He promised he'd wait, and Allison will wait too. She'll wait and see, because maybe a few years down the road that spark will burn once more between them.

"Stop moping," Lydia leans forwards and shoves her shoulder gently, "A few more weeks and we have the summer. All. To. Our. Selves!"

Allison laughs," Actually," she shakes her head, "I'm not going to be here for some of it," she admits, weakly, "My dad and I are taking a trip. To France. We need time to…"

Recover, rest, come to terms with what had happened… there are so many words and phrases to try and explain what they need to do. Her mother is dead, and Allison's still trying to pick everything up from where it shattered under the full moon. Her mother is dead and her grandfather was a psycho obsessed over getting the bite.

There is a text on her phone that she hasn't replied to from Stiles, saying that if she ever wants to talk he'll answer. She knows that he's lost a mother too, and some part of her is relieved that she won't be the only one.

Lydia's staring at her with a jealous expression, "Oh my god, you have to bring me back some of those clothes," she is saying, and that's more like the old Lydia. Fiery and passionate, and fiercely intelligent. But there is something new there that Allison hasn't seen before.

Determination.

Allison takes that and grabs hold of it. Because there is more awaiting her in France than just the final few stages of grief until she reaches acceptance.

"Your mother was bitten by an alpha named Deucalion," Derek had told Chris and her.

She's got motivation.

"Good morning. In less than an hour, aircraft from here will be joining others from around the world. And you will be launching the largest aerial battle in the history of mankind."

Stiles gives a muted groan and drops his head into his palm. Next to him Isaac gives a sigh so large his shoulders tremble. Melissa squints, "What." Her tone is a deadpan question.

The other side of the locker room, Coach waves his hands about in grand extravagance. "Mankind!" he declares, "That word should have a new meaning for all of us today!"

Scott looks mildly pained and Isaac pats him on the back reassuringly, "Just think," the beta reasons, "After fighting off a lizard person and a geriatric psychopath - Coach's speeches and lacrosse should be no problem."

"You'll be great!" Melissa pumps her fist from where she's wandered into the locker room to wish Scott 'good luck' before the game. "You've got an advantage, right? Use it!"

"Mom - being a werewolf does not give me an excuse to cheat at lacrosse!"

"I give you permission to cheat." Stiles snickers into his hands at Scott's startled expression as he stares at his mother. He looks shocked and disturbed by his mother telling him to cheat. Melissa however is distracted, "Hey - wait… is this?" she points at Coach.

"We are fighting for our right to live!" Coach chimes out and around them, the team cheer.

Stiles nods slowly, "Yeaahhh," he drawls, "It's the speech from Independence Day."

"-But as the day the world declared in one voice-"

"It's his favourite movie…"

"We will not go quietly into the night!"

"Does he not know any sports speeches?"

"I don't think he cares."

"Today we celebrate our - Argent, what have I told you about coming into the boys locker room when people are changing?!"

"Uh…" Allison looks startled, and Coach looks really put off that she ruined the end of his speech, "I just wanted to talk to Scott and Stiles. And Isaac."

Coach chokes, "What." Stiles wonders what the hell Coach could be thinking of now, and then decides he doesn't want to know. "Danny…" Coach pats the nearby teenager on the shoulder, "I want you to keep an eye on them." He's trying to be confiding, but his confiding voice is still audible to everyone, even Melissa who looks confused by the implications. "But don't join in!" Finstock hastens to add, "No joining in!"

"Excuse me; I'll just… yeah…" Allison darts between burly lacrosse players and reappears in front of the three werewolves and one mother, "Uh… hey…" her foot taps awkwardly on the floor. She looks nervous and Stiles smiles reassuringly at her. She grins hesitantly back, but still looks unsure of herself. "Just wanted to wish you guys luck."

Scott won't meet her gaze, but still mumbles a "thanks."

"Are you going to be watching?" Melissa asks softly. She's not just a mother to Scott. Ever since Claudia died, she's been a mother to Stiles too, and now with a soft smile she's a mother to Allison and Isaac as well. Her love is big enough to go around and Stiles feels slightly embarrassed for some reason, but there is a warm feeling inside him that he curls into.

"Yeah," Allison nods, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. Her smile is wobbly, but her voice warm, "Malia said she'd be there. We were gonna hang out with Lydia, and I was going to try and explain lacrosse to her."

Stiles snorts, "Good luck," he tells her, "I'm still trying to explain utensils to her."

"Stilinski!" Coach barks out, "You're on the field, since Jackson left!" he mumbles a profanity under his breath. Stiles just gapes.

"Wha- but I thought Isaac was sub?"

"He is!" Coach growls, "For McCall."

"What?" Scott yelps.

"You're not playing because of your grades," Coach looks about ready to murder someone, "It's not my decision, McCall, believe me - that is not my decision. But it means Lahey's covering for you. Stilinski's covering for Jackson."

"But what about Greenberg?" Stiles protests.

"Greenberg? He sucks. You suck… slightly less."

"So I'm playing? With the team?"

"Are you deaf? YES!" Coach's shout deafens one of Stiles' ears and he winces. Coach just scoffs, "Unless you'd rather play with yourself?"

Stiles blinks, "I already did that today. Twice." There is the sound of Allison choking and Scott's palm hitting his forehead. Melissa looks like she is pretending she didn't hear that. Coach just rolls his eyes.

"Just get the hell out there!"

"Why is my son out there?" John squints at the field.

"He's playing," Allison sits down next to him and Malia, "Scott got benched and Jackson's gone. And Stiles is on the team, even if he somehow seems to occupy the position of Coach's secretary."

"He's on the team?" the Sheriff squints, but Malia just leaps up.

"That's good, right? Can I cheer now?"

"No!" Lydia drags her back down, "Cheering only starts when the game does," she instructs. She looks totally serious and Malia blinks at her with wide-eyes, looking like she wants to absorb every word Lydia says, but at the same time completely disagrees with her.

Allison shrugs, "I'm cheering," she says, and then proceeds to loudly whoop as their team runs out. Malia joins her and Lydia pretends not to know either of them.

Scott sits on the bench. He's still nervous, even a week after everything that happened. His mother had spoken about speaking to the guidance councillor, and he might, he thinks. But Deaton tends to work just as well when he needs guidance.

There is a crash and Isaac staggers away from a player, muttering apologies. Scott doesn't pause until he realises that the guy being carted off is on their team. What the hell-

There is another crash and this time it's Stiles who somehow manages to dislocate someone's shoulder. Again the person on their team limps back to the bench and Coach sends off the next person.

Scott realises what the other two wolves are doing, seconds before Stiles trips the last one and then Isaac crashes into the poor dude. Coach sighs, "You have no idea how lucky you are McCall," he says, "No idea. Now get out there. We're dying, being murdered and…"

-and Stiles manages to put a ball into the net, and he seems to be the one most surprised by it.

"Okay, maybe not dying," Coach admits, "But what hell. Go win this for us! But next season get your grades up, understand? Get your grades up! I need you on the team!"

"Sure thing, Coach," Scott slots on his helmet and picks up his lacrosse stick. It seems almost trivial, to be worrying about grades, but on the field Isaac and Stiles look like they're plotting the murder of another team mate, so he jogs over to them, feeling relaxed and happy for the first time in ages as he joins his friends on the field.

"What's the matter, Derek?" Isaac is still recovering from the post-game high when he arrives back at the subway car, "What's wrong?"

Derek is standing in the middle of the wolf den - ahem, warehouse - looking grim. "Have you seen Erica or Boyd?" he asks, "Have you seen either of them since the full moon?"

Isaac wonders what this is about, but then he actually takes a moment to stop and think, "No…" he's growing cold, "No I… why? What… where are they?"

"Missing," Peter drawls from the shadows, and the guy still makes Isaac uneasy, "Well," Peter stalks forwards and comes to a stop behind Derek, "Aren't you going to tell the kid where they are?"

"Derek?" Isaac's voice tilts slightly, "Derek, what is he talking about? Where are they?"

"Come on," Peter goads, "He's going to find out eventually."

"Do you know where they are?"

"They've been taken. Kidnapped."

"By who?"

"Another pack."

Peter laughs scornfully and because he has to have the last word he steps forwards, "Not just a pack. An alpha pack."

"You mean like… the head pack?" Isaac frowns. "That was their symbol on your old house, right?"

"It's not just a pack," Derek's voice is grave, but stressed, "It's an Alpha Pack. A pack of alphas. And they're not coming. They're already here."

"You've still got me, you know," Stiles tells Scott sometime afterwards, "You know that right? I know there was all that stuff with Peter, and then you and Gerard but… I understand. God, do I understand why you did it."

"I know," Scott smiles sadly.

Stiles doesn't actually think Scott does so he continues, "No, I mean… if you want me - you've got me. I'm not… I'm not in Derek's pack. And I'm not with Peter. Not now. Now? I'm with you, if you'll have me. You once said that we can be omegas together and… maybe that's true, but if we're together, we're not omegas are we? We're a pack?"

Scott just laughs, "I know," he says again, "Dude, I know, okay? I know I've still got you, but that - that's because I always had you."

"And you still do," Stiles insists, and then realises he's repeating himself.

"I do," Scott nods in agreement, smiling, "We're pack, right?"