"Scott. Scotty! C'mon, man, don't do this. Please."

He heard him. He could hear him. But the problem was the wolf. It was standing there, just at the edge of the shadows, staring at him with red eyes, full of accusations.

Scott wanted to answer Stiles, wanted to tell him it was going to be okay. He knew this wolf. He'd be safe with this wolf. He didn't have to be afraid anymore.

"I gotta go out there, Scotty…."

I know. It's okay, Stiles.

"I can't just…wait in here and watch you die. You're my brother, dammit. I was mad at you for not trusting me, but…I should have trusted you, too. And I do, Scott."

The wolf tilted its head in question. Trust. What an odd word. So many layers. So much meaning. So critical to survival, yet so easy to lose.

"I trust you, okay? And I need you, man. So, I'm gonna go out there and get your—our pack. And I need you to be here when I get back. Okay?"

Pack.

Scott felt something shift in his chest. Something warm and real. Something different than the mind-numbing, suffocating pain that had become his whole world. He watched the wolf come closer, felt it sniff at him, rubbing its muzzle along Scott's face, pressing its head against Scott's chest, just above the wounds, and he took a low, stuttering breath.

Somewhere outside of this world of shadows and pain, this world where his wolf was sitting separate from him, watching from the outside in, he felt Stiles move away, heard metal screeching, heard the door pried open. He knew Stiles was leaving, but he couldn't move, couldn't open his eyes, couldn't reach out to stop him.

Pack…trust.

The words swirled and scattered, only to come back and sit solidly before him, threatening to blend with the shadows and disappear. The wolf stood suddenly, the black hairs on its back standing, its eyes flashing a deep, blood red. Someone was here. Someone was close.

"You're a mess, McCall."

Theo. He could feel the chimera's rage rolling from him, slipping around the room like an echo. He smelled his hate and his vengeance—it was so strong it almost had color.

"Some True Alpha."

"What's all that black stuff?"

Another voice, one Scott didn't recognize. He was almost tempted to see if his eyes would still open, but something about the wolf's stance warned him not to. The sensation of warmth spread through his chest again, comforting, solid.

"Blood," Theo's voice was scorn-filled and thin. "I could kill him right now."

"Why don't you?"

Scott waited for the answer, his wolf perched before him like a gargoyle of protection.

"Because I need his power," Theo growled. "And I can't take it from him."

Scott felt hands wrapping around his arms, pulling him from the floor. He didn't struggle, didn't fight. He could feel the fragile beginnings of healing seeping into his chest, into the wounds that punctured his lungs and made breathing such a monumental task.

Pack. Trust.

The wolf followed as Theo and his companion dragged Scott from the janitor's closet into the tunnel. In that instant, Scott was hit with something that felt like a blast furnace. It was so strong, so raw, he groaned, hanging limply from the arms of his captors. The heat seeped into his body, stroking careful fingers up the bared skin of his chest and caressing his wound. The wolf drew close, pressing its strong body against Scott's legs.

"Scott…."

His name was held safe in the voice of a friend he hadn't known how much he needed. Derek.

"Let him go, you bastard!" That was Stiles, Scott could tell. He'd know his friend by heartbeat, by energy. But his voice was unmistakable. "You don't get to touch him!"

He thinks I'm dead, Scott realized. And he wasn't sure how far from that state he truly was, to be honest. He couldn't recall a time when his wolf had sat outside of him, staring with red eyes, afraid to join with the human shell that was dying around it.

"Burn him," Theo ordered, his voice devoid of emotion.

"No!" The roar was from Isaac, but Scott flinched with the same instinctive reach of protest. The hands gripping him by the arms, holding his sagging body upright, tightened. He couldn't lift his head, but he was able to blink his eyes open, just slightly.

Enough to see that with his eyes open, the wolf was gone. Enough to see he was hanging between Theo and other chimera wolf, facing off with six of his friends. Enough to see that Stiles was being pinned to the wall by a teen who looked scarily like a freaking dragon.

"You want him alive?" Theo mocked. "Fine. Get me the Alpha's powers and you can have the human."

"No—" Stiles protested, but his words were cut off. Scott tried to roll his head to see what stopped Stiles from speaking, but he still couldn't move.

However, with every protest from Stiles, the warmth within Scott grew. He could feel his tissues stretching to cover gaping holes, his cells multiplying to regenerate broken skin. He could feel the blood that had been rushing to leave his body in a mass exodus moments before, turning instead to heal his wounded heart.

"You can't take Scott's power," Derek informed the rage-filled chimera, "because he didn't take it from anyone else."

"Bullshit. I know how this works," Theo huffed, throwing Scott's arm away from him so that the young wolf hung awkwardly for a moment in the grip of the other chimera.

Released by Theo's cohort, Scott collapsed against the cold cement floor, breath rasping, eyes closing once more. He felt the wounds in his chest—hot, hollow—press against the cool floor and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to stay there. To let the darkness win, to give in to the shadows. It was cool here. Quiet here. And the pain…the pain was just something to mark time.

His wolf approached, nuzzling him, pressing its teeth against his face.

Scott….

That wasn't a voice from the tunnel. But it was a voice he knew.

Get up, Scott.

Oh, he knew her voice. He knew it like his own. He knew it like he knew her smell, her heartbeat, her sacrifice.

Alison.

"I know you kill an Alpha, you take its power," Theo was saying, moving away from him, moving toward his friends. He stood over Scott's prone body, a warden. "Except I did kill him. And his punk ass is still here."

Get up, Scott. They need you.

"Give it up, Theo." Chris Argent's baritone slid in through Scott's pain. "You aren't going to win this one. And we need him."

Theo chuffed a harsh laugh. "You need him to kill The Beast."

"No," Derek spat. "We need him…because he's our Alpha."

"Our friend." Isaac.

How was Isaac here? The feel of his voice surged through Scott and the wolf pressed close.

"Our protector." Malia.

The wolf pawed at him, and Scott couldn't bite back the groan as the heat in his wounds became bright.

"Our brother." Stiles.

Scott breathed in and the wolf climbed inside of him. He felt it fold into his skin, into his bones. He felt its teeth and claws, felt it stretch and flex.

"And we want him back." Kira.

Scott opened his eyes, pressing his hands flat on the ground, and lifted his head. He could see them all, his vision unconsciously tinged red, his fangs pressing against his blood-stained lips.

Go, Scott. Nous protegeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se portaged eux-memes.

His pack could protect themselves, he knew. But that didn't mean he couldn't help out.

Ignored where he lay forgotten in a crumpled heap on the floor, Scott turned his head to see Stiles pinned to the wall nearest him, a blond chimera—who smelled oddly of sulfur—holding him by the throat. Through will or the strength of their friendship, he wasn't sure, Scott was able to pull Stiles' eyes down toward him and he blinked once.

Stiles blinked back.

"You're going to have to take him," Theo mocked.

There were two beats where no one breathed.

"Okay."

Derek's assertion was like the shot of a starter pistol. As Scott watched, gathering his strength, Theo and his chimera wolf charged forward. From a room to the right of the group, something with wings and—holy shit, was that a lion's mane?—launched at Chris and a skinny teen with needles for fingers went for Isaac.

Scott felt a roar building low in his gut, felt his claws extend, gouging the cement. He could feel the wounds on his chest knitting together, pulling painfully at the delicate skin and building barriers against the weakness that would kill him. He dropped his head to draw in a breath, pushing his body upright in a plank position.

Then Stiles screamed.

It cut through the core of Scott, triggering the wolf within, and suddenly everything was red. He was on his feet, claws out, teeth bared between one breath and the next. The chimera who'd held Stiles against the wall was pressing a flaming hand against the teen's wounded shoulder, its mouth open to reveal a furnace of flame within. Stiles' head was back, his face fisted in pain, and was trying desperately to push the chimera away.

Scott didn't hesitate. Digging his claws into the fire-breather's shoulder, he ripped the chimera away from Stiles. The flames in the chimera's hand caught on Scott's sleeve as he threw the blond across the room. Shooting a quick glance over his shoulder as he ripped off his burning jacket, he saw Derek step forward, grabbing the chimera out of the air and shoving a syringe of something into its neck. Scott stumbled forward, catching Stiles as he slid down the wall, gasping and whimpering.

"I thought you were dead," Stiles managed. He was shaking. Scott's wolf tilted its head, causing Scott to do the same. Stiles smelled wrong. He smelled of pain and fear. He smelled of grief. "I thought you were dead, Scotty."

Scott had his arms around his friend, holding him close for a moment before easing him back against the wall. He registered Chris Argent rushing forward to flank Stiles. He smelled like comfort, protection. Home.

Scott straightened, seeing Liam on the ground, holding a bloodied wound on his abdomen. Isaac stood over him, trading blows with the winged-lion chimera, Derek slammed the needle-fingered chimera into a wall with a mighty kick, and Kira was using a chain pulled down from the rusty pipes above their heads to hold off the other wolf. That left….

"You're full of surprises, Scott."

Theo.

Scott turned, claws out at his sides, and saw Theo holding Malia as a shield, his claws at her throat. She was bleeding from a wound on her side, and her eyes were human. But angry. The rage rolled off of her in choking waves.

"Let her go." Scott didn't even recognize his own voice. It was raw, deep. He could feel his still-healing wounds tug as he spoke.

"Y'know," Theo continued, ignoring Scott's order. He moved forward, pushing Malia in front of him. "I managed to work every one of you. It wasn't too hard to find your weak point. But this one," Theo shook Malia slightly, "she's full of weak points. Especially when it came to family."

"You son of a bitch," Stiles spat from the ground, Chris's body—and his two hand cannons—acting as a shield.

The battle behind Scott had rolled to a stop—the other chimeras either defeated or too curious to see the outcome of Theo's standoff to keep fighting.

"What do you say, Scott?" Theo taunted, moving close enough Scott could feel Malia's heartbeat shimmering through the air toward him. It was steady. She wasn't afraid. He pinned his Alpha-red gaze to her and saw her eyes flash a responsive blue. "How about you take one for the pack?"

"Let. Her. Go." Scott repeated, his shoulders flexing, his head lowering, his eyes reflecting the heat of his healing wounds.

For one moment, Theo looked afraid. Scott knew then that he'd always intended to kill Malia. As though the world downshifted into slow motion, Scott saw Theo's claws dig into Malia's throat but before he could pull them across and wound her deeper than her coyote could heal, Scott lunged, driving his claws deep into Theo's gut, causing him to reflexively release Malia.

Scott didn't see where she fell, or who caught her. He roared, feeling the air around him shake with the force of it, feeling his pack shudder with the power of it. Pushing Theo back against the wall, he flexed the claws of his free hand and held them over Theo's throat.

"P-please…," Theo whimpered, eyes still beta-yellow, but wolf quickly retreating. "Don't, Scott. Please…you don't kill!"

"You killed me," Scott growled. "You tried to kill my pack."

"I needed power!" Theo protested, his hands raised to chest level in a semblance of surrender, his eyes still glowing. "I needed enough power to kill The Beast. I-I helped them…. The Dread Doctors. I helped them release it…I just needed to clean up my mess. I needed to be an Alpha werewolf!"

"You can't become something you never were in the first place," Scott snarled, but felt himself backing down at Theo's pleading. His humanity remembered that Theo was a teenager as his wolf rallied memories of Theo's viciousness.

"I wanted to be like you," Theo said, his voice small, almost fragile. "I wanted a pack."

"That's not something you can take," Scott said, pulling his claws from Theo's body, lowering his arm. "You have to earn it."

Before Scott—or his wolf—could react, Theo shoved his claws into Scott's healing wound. They speared his heart, gripping it and Scott cried out, stumbling and falling backwards. He heard Kira's shout of "NO!" echoed by Stiles cry of denial. Theo was on top of him, crouched low, his grip on Scott's heart solid.

"I've done this before, you know," Theo said softly, golden eyes almost caressing Scott's pain-tense, human features. "I took my sister's heart to live. Now I'll take your heart to survive."

"Don't bet on it."

Scott gasped and looked over his head as Liam stepped forward, his wolf on point, landing a powerful, merciless blow of claws across Theo's face. The force of the hit pulled Theo's claws from Scott's heart as the chimera tumbled backwards against the tunnel wall. Scott reflexively folded forward, his hand going to his bare chest, feeling blood pool.

Someone was next to him instantly, pulling his head and shoulders into their lap. Kira. Scott felt himself gasping, thirsty for air, his body on fire as it tried to heal and reeled from the new wound at the same time. Blinking rapidly, Scott tried to look everywhere at once, hearing Liam and Derek stalk Theo.

"You can't take a True Alpha's power, Theo," Derek was saying calmly.

"What…what is that?" Theo's voice trembled with real fear.

Malia was next to Kira, her hand on Scott's shoulder. He was shivering, the tremors sliding through his body. He tried to find Stiles. Where was Stiles?

"Scott may not kill," Liam's voice matched Derek's tone, "but I don't have a problem with it. How about you, Derek?"

"Never really bothered me much," Derek replied.

"No! No no no, wait—don't!" Theo's protest was cut off and Scott's desperately searching eyes found Derek as he and Liam stepped away from Theo, an empty syringe in Liam's hand, the slash marks across his belly already healing.

Derek's eyes were on something Scott couldn't see.

"You three have a choice," Derek growled, showing his teeth. "Leave with me, or go with them."

"Wh-where are they going?" asked one of the remaining chimera.

"Nowhere good."

Scott felt their pause for thought wrap around the room as he shivered, his eyes finding Isaac where he was crouching next to Malia. Scott was aware enough of their worry to see it painted across their faces, but couldn't feel it from them anymore. Couldn't scent it. His heart was hammering, his body trying desperately to heal around the new wounds, each beat sluicing blood from his body.

"We'll stick with you," came a reply. "Always thought Theo was crazy anyway."

Scott groaned as his chest seized painfully. He could feel tissues coming together then breaking apart as the wolf and human fought for dominance. Pain thrust his human self forward, survival called the wolf. Kira's hands gripped his shoulders as his neck arched, pressing his head back against her lap.

"Derek!" Her voice sounded scared, desperate.

Scott wanted to comfort her, calm her. They'd won. They were alive, they were all alive. He could see them grouped around him as his eyes roamed for something to anchor himself to—

"Stiles," he gasped, unable to grab a full breath. "Where's Stiles?"

"Hey," the voice was close. Scott saw Liam move aside to make room as Stiles scooted close to Scott's shoulder, reaching down to grip Scott's blood-smeared hand. "Hey, right here, buddy."

"You're hurt," Scott wheezed. "Upstairs…hospital…mom—"

The pain shook through him again and he bit back a cry, closing his eyes to try and regain control. When he opened them, everything was tinged red, and his wolf howled inside.

"I'm okay, Scotty, don't worry, okay?" Stiles' grip tightened on his hand.

Scott turned toward his friend, seeking the familiar brown of his eyes, wanting the reassurance of that lopsided grin. Stiles looked scared. Tears drew tracks down his dirty face.

"Trust you," Scott managed, breath a rare commodity suddenly. He needed Stiles to know this. Needed him to believe.

"I know you do, man. I trust you, too, okay? Trust you to get yourself beat to hell." Stiles sniffed and looked up at Derek. "We gotta do something…take him upstairs, something!"

Derek dropped to his knees next to Stiles. Only Chris and Liam remained standing. Scott shot his eyes around at his friends. His pack.

"Did you kill them?" he rasped.

Malia shook her head. "Poisoned. Deaton."

Scott felt a sense of relief at that. They were still whole. They hadn't killed because of him. He dropped his head back, exhaling brokenly. "Good."

"Why isn't he healing?" Kira asked, tears turning her words slick.

"He is…," Isaac observed. "It's just not staying healed."

"Theo pierced his heart," Chris said quietly.

Scott was starting to get dizzy from trying to track the voices around him. He closed his eyes and gripped Stiles' hand.

"Stiles…," he started. He wanted to say so much. Thank you. I'm sorry. Don't leave me. Let me go. He tried to force his wolf to obey, to heal him, but the wolf was licking its wounds, crawling into the corner of his soul, unwilling once more to risk the pain. "Stiles."

It was all he could manage. But Stiles knew. He always knew.

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere, Scotty," Stiles said, gripping his hand tightly. Scott couldn't tell which of them was shaking anymore. "You haven't been able to get rid of me since we were five years old. No way some punk like Theo is going to shake that."

Scott nodded against Kira's lap. He felt her hands on his face, smoothing his sweaty hair away from his forehead.

"Let's move him upstairs," Chris suggested. "We have to try something."

Scott felt several sets of hands slide under his bare back and sprawled legs. As they lifted, the pain spiked and he couldn't stifle the ragged cry that seemed to echo against the walls. They set him down hastily.

"I don't get it—he was fine!" Kira raged. "He was…he was Alpha. And he fought—he protected Stiles and he fought!" Her tears began to choke her. "How could he do that and not heal from this?"

"Pack…," Scott gasped.

"We came together as a pack," Isaac said. "Our strength was his strength."

"We're pack now, though, right?" Malia interjected. "I mean, I still like you guys."

Scott swallowed roughly, turning his head once more to find Stiles.

"Right here, buddy," Stiles said, when he met Scott's eyes.

"Hurts," he managed.

He could feel the wolf trying. Could feel the wounds starting to close. But it hurt…it hurt so bad. The pain triggered his humanity and the wounds opened up again.

"Oh, of course," Stiles breathed. He looked up at Derek. "When he thought you were dead…he couldn't heal. We almost lost him, but…Alison made him believe he was healing and…he did."

Scott gasped as his heart stuttered on a beat.

"The pain is keeping him human," Derek nodded. Scott felt him reach forward. "Everyone find skin. Pull his pain from him. All of us."

Scott closed his eyes. Hands were on his face, his arms, his ribs, his belly, his wound. Stiles' hand never left his grip. And suddenly he felt heat. Intense, white-hot. He wanted to scream as it rippled through him but he had no air. Instead he heard the cries of his friends as they took in his pain.

He knew black lines would be snaking up their arms; he knew they'd each feel a touch of the physical mixed with the emotional, that they'd know his fear, his desperation, his loneliness. His back arched, his body bowing into their touch as the holes—literal and figurative—in his heart began to close. He gasped for breath, the relief of pain dizzying and overwhelming.

For a brief moment, Scott was breathless, hanging suspended in the grip of his pack's will for him to survive. Then his wolf howled, a sound of coming home, of unity, and he sank gratefully into a darkness that was no longer terrifying.

Waiting for the outcome of a battle was different for a druid emissary than it was for the worried parents—and friend—left out of the fight.

Deaton stood still and quiet in the corner as Lydia sat stiff and silent, listening for any indication, any voice. Melissa paced, one arm crossed over her chest, her eyes on a steady roam of Stilinski's vital signs, Lydia's face, and the door. The Sherriff was stone-faced and pale, keeping his eyes purposefully fixed on nothing.

It seemed as though hours had passed when Lydia finally stirred, but the clock betrayed it's ruse by ticking away minutes only.

"What? What is it?" Melissa demanded.

"They found him," Lydia whispered.

"Are they okay?" Stilinski demanded.

Lydia shook her head helplessly, her eyes on the middle distance, her power only taking her so far.

So they waited. And waited. And Deaton felt dread find a home in his heart. Which wasn't something he was accustomed to.

The lives of the supernatural creatures he was charged to watch over simply…happened. They moved through the course of their existence with him as their emissary—healing when possible, guiding where able, but never interfering, never changing the course of their destiny.

However, he'd never been an emissary to a True Alpha. Never to an Alpha this young. Talia Hale had been twice Scott's age when Deaton met her, and she'd been a born wolf. Deaton had been well out of his element with a bitten wolf, and one with the strength of character so strong it not only brought forth the rarest form or werewolf, but drew people to him like magnets.

All three adult in the room jumped in surprise when Lydia suddenly gripped the arms of her wheelchair and practically launched herself to her feet. Melissa moved—instinct alone guiding her in her worried state—and collected the fragile girl against her.

"They're coming!" Lydia said, eyes wide and tear-filled.

Chris Argent was the first through the door. He was dirt-streaked, panting from exertion, but intact.

"We need help—can't move them through the hospital without suspicion."

Melissa nodded and eased Lydia back down to the chair. "Injuries?"

"Stiles," Chris responded, glancing over at the Sheriff. "He'll be okay." He looked over at Deaton. "We need your help with Scott."

"You have it," Deaton replied.

"Give me two minutes," Melissa requested. She stepped into the hallway and moments later, they heard the sound of a fire alarm and an announcement for all non-essential personnel to evacuate the north corridor.

"How that woman still has a job here is anyone's guess," Stilinski muttered with grudging respect.

"She's stealthy," Lydia replied, a smile tipping the corners of her full lips, as she blinked away her tears.

Chris wiped his forehead with the back of his arm.

"What happened down there?" Stilinski demanded.

"Never seen anything like it," Chris responded, sounding exhausted. "It was a fight…. But these chimeras, they…. It's not just wolves," he glanced at Deaton. "The Dread Doctors were experimenting…broadly."

"Stiles is okay?" Stilinski pressed.

"He was hurt—took a good hit from a set of claws before we got there—but Scott patched him up. Probably going to need some stitches and rest, I'd wager."

"Claws?" Stilinski sounded weak.

"He won't turn," Deaton spoke up, reassuring him. "Chimera can't turn humans."

Melissa stuck her head back into the room. "Okay, it's clear."

Chris looked over at Deaton and indicated with a nod to follow. As he passed Melissa, he said, "Get that other bed ready and someone to look at Stiles."

Deaton followed Chris to the basement, pausing outside the mangled door that led to the tunnels. Weak tendrils of steam slid around the corners of the doorway, and soon he saw Malia and Kira exit followed closely by Isaac supporting a wounded-looking Stiles. Three teenagers Deaton had never seen came next, prodded forward by Liam.

And bringing up the rear of the procession was Derek, a bloodied, unconscious Scott in his arms.

Deaton tried to keep his calm demeanor in place, keep his heartbeat steady, but the wolves in the room heard it's suddenly panicked pace at the sight of Scott and each glanced his way.

"He's alive," Derek replied. "But…we need you."

"I'll take these three," Chris offered, nodding at the chimera. "We'll be at the Preserve when you're ready to go, Derek."

"Thank you," Derek replied. "I, uh…I really mean that. Believe it or not."

Chris grinned, pale crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. He clapped Derek on the shoulder, then dropped his hand to the top of Scott's head where it rested against Derek's chest.

"We protect those who cannot protect themselves," Chris said. "Even if those who need protection…are our leaders."

"I'll see you?" Isaac questioned, his grip on Stiles tightening as he turned to face the older man.

"You know where to look," Chris smiled at the younger wolf, then gestured to the three chimera.

Deaton put the puzzle pieces together quickly: the teens had died and been reanimated into the chimera he saw now. Integrating back into their lives was just not possible. Derek would be taking them with him when he left.

"What about the three with the Scorpion venom?" Deaton asked.

"They're…a little tied up," Stiles grinned tiredly.

"I'll come back for them later," Chris stated. "After I set things up with Eichen House to contain them."

Deaton led the way from the basement to Sheriff Stilinski's room. Malia and Kira headed directly to Lydia, pulling the other girl out of her chair and wrapping her into a strong embrace. Isaac took Stiles to the Sheriff's bed and waited until both Stilinskis had a moment to reassure each other they were alive, and more or less intact. Deaton led Derek over to the empty bed where he lay Scott down.

Melissa stood close, her hands hovering over Scott's blood-stained face. "I don't know what to fix first," she said, her eyes tracking to the blood that still stained his bared chest.

"There's nothing you can fix," Derek told her. "He's healed. Outside, at least."

"Tell me," Deaton demanded, moving toward Scott and laying his hand over the boy's heart. Scott's skin was shockingly warm, his breathing rapid, but he didn't so much as stir at Deaton's touch.

As Melissa busied her hands guiding Stiles to a chair and pulling away the field dressing to examine his wounds, Derek recounted how they'd found Scott, the condition he'd been in. Stiles filled in the gaps they all had missed while he and Scott had been trapped in the janitor's storage area.

"When we stood together, as a pack, he recovered enough to join the fight…he'd nearly defeated Theo but then…," Derek seemed to sag a bit.

"Theo tried to rip out his heart," Malia supplied.

"Pain makes you human," Stiles said quietly. "And he was in a lot of pain."

"So we pulled it out," Derek looked at Deaton. "All of us."

"And he hasn't woken since?" Deaton asked. Derek shook his head. Deaton leaned closer, checking Scott's pupil reaction, his pulse, then straightened. "He's still healing," he realized. "On the inside. His heart is…pulling itself back together."

"His…heart?" Melissa choked out.

"Theo couldn't have taken his power," Deaton looked at Scott's face, appearing achingly young in repose. "But he could have killed him. He very nearly did." He looked around the room at the humans and supernatural creatures gathered there. "You are the reason he failed."

"No, Scott fought him, fought back," Stiles protested.

"He did…and the reason he could was through the strength of his pack," Deaton stated. He looked back at Scott. "He needs rest, and he needs you. All of you."

"We aren't going anywhere, Doc," Stiles replied.

"You are," Melissa said, looking pointedly at Stiles. "You need to get those cuts treated. Now."

"But—"

"Stiles," the Sheriff intoned in a warning, fatherly tone.

Stiles huffed a muffled, "Fine."

"Isaac," Derek called the younger wolf's attention. "Take Malia and Kira home. You three get some food and rest. You can come back tomorrow."

"But I thought Deaton—" Kira started to protest.

"Being pack isn't about proximity," Derek cut her off. "Isaac and I heard Scott's call from thousands of miles away. Being pack is about…," he looked down at Scott, "heart."

"C'mon," Isaac motioned to the girls. "I'll buy you a pizza."

"Meat lovers," Malia stipulated.

"Naturally," Isaac nodded, tossing a grin toward Derek.

"Liam, you need to go home, too," Melissa stated. "Your father is on shift tomorrow; I don't think you're ready to have the conversation you'd have to have if he found you here."

Liam nodded, then looked at Derek. "Tell Scott I'm sorry."

"He already knows," Derek reassured him.

When they were gone, Melissa took Lydia back to her room to rest and guided Stiles to a treatment area where he could get cleaned up and get some antibiotics and pain killers. Derek and Deaton sat on either side of Scott's bed, watching, listening as the Sheriff fell asleep, listening as Scott's breathing changed, listening as the hospital cycled around them.

Once Stiles was cared for and resting, Melissa returned, a blanket in her arms. Neither Deaton nor Derek moved from their perch as Melissa wet a cloth in the room sink and began to gently clean the blood from Scott's chest, hands, and face. She paused at the dark stain on his lips, her brows pulling together, tears pooling in her eyes.

"It was bad," she whispered to no one in particular. "It was bad this time."

"He's still here, Melissa," Stilinski reassured her from his bed, somehow knowing exactly what his long-time friend needed to hear.

"That's right," Melissa nodded, sniffing. She ran the backs of her fingers along Scott's cheek gently. "He's still here."

She glanced at Deaton, then at Derek. "I want to get him out of these jeans. I can smell the blood on them and I'm not a werewolf."

Derek glanced at Deaton. "You're the doc, Doc."

Deaton nodded and stood, helping Melissa pull Scott's jeans off and slide him into a clean pair of sweatpants she'd procured from lost and found. Free of blood, Scott looked younger. Peaceful. Melissa covered him with the blanket and kissed his forehead.

"I'll be back in a bit," she said. "Have to make rounds and keep them from checking in on you guys too soon."

Several hours later, Stiles returned to the room, dressed in clean scrubs, his chest bandaged and his arm in a sling. Butterfly bandages pressed the cut on his forehead closed, the bruise an impressive halo around one eye. He climbed onto Scott's bed, perching at the head on top of the pillow, Scott's shoulder wedged against Stiles' hip. No one corrected or questioned him. Melissa came in to check on Stilinski, saying they had another several hours before a doctor made rounds.

Near dawn, Deaton sensed Scott stirring. Stiles' head bounced forward where he'd rested it back against the wall. Derek simply blinked, waiting.

"Scotty?"

"Stiles?" Scott's voice was rough from disuse.

"Hey, buddy." Stiles grinned and Deaton couldn't help but smile in response. There was light all around that kid, even when he stood in the middle of darkness. "How ya doin'?"

"Better?"

"You don't sound sure," Deaton spoke up, standing and drawing Scott's bleary gaze.

Scott pushed the blanket down to his waist, then pressed his hands flat against the bed to sit up. It took both Stiles and Deaton's help to haul him upright. He sat next to Stiles, their shoulders touching, Scott's body sinking sideways into his friend's frame.

"It doesn't hurt…not like it did."

"Your heart was damaged," Deaton told him. "It will take time to heal…especially as you were very recently…," He paused, unsure how to exactly phrase this next part.

"Dead," Melissa supplied, moving to the foot of Scott's bed and hitching her hip up on the mattress.

"In a way," Deaton nodded. "There are rare instances of an Alpha's wolf retreating for protection. Lurking, but never really dead. Like Peter Hale," Deaton glanced at Derek, who nodded, a scowl of thought on his face.

"I saw it," Scott said.

"Saw what?" Derek asked, standing slowly.

"My wolf," Scott looked up at the older man, his eyes young and uncertain. "I saw it when…when the pain took over, when I closed my eyes…it was there. Big and black, with red eyes."

"You saw your wolf?" Deaton's eyebrows bounced up, taking this in. "I've heard of this possibility, but…never…. Did it interact with you?"

"Mostly it just stared. Like it was accusing me of something." Scott looked down at his chest, rubbing his hands over the smooth skin where the claw marks had been. "Of not being strong enough."

"You're not invincible, Scott," Stiles protested.

"I'm an Alpha," Scott argued. "I should've been able to stop Liam without hurting him. Stop Theo before he even started."

Derek leaned forward. "Look. You're right. Alphas are stronger. More powerful. But most of us—hell, every other one I've met—are that way because we killed for it. Our power comes from our willingness to be ruthless. Yours doesn't."

Scott frowned, staring at Derek as though he held answer to questions Scott hadn't thought to ask.

"Your strength comes from your character, and you are a good person, Scott. You don't kill to get what you want. You're willing to die for it."

"But…," Scott looked over at Deaton. "I did die. So…how am I here?"

Deaton saw Stiles look over at Melissa with a sort of hero's worship.

"Part of it was you," Deaton said. "You weren't ready to die…and when your mother called you back, you listened."

"And the other part?" Stiles asked.

Deaton offered a small smile. "I think it was inherited."

Scott's brows pulled together. "Like…from my parents?"

"In a way. From your sire. Peter Hale bit you, turned you. And he was able to latch onto Lydia and use her to bring himself back from the dead."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Swell. You get immortality from a psychopath. That's friggin' awesome."

"Not immortality," Deaton cautioned, shaking his head. "Resilience. You can die, Scott. Remember that or life becomes commonplace."

Scott nodded soberly. Something in his expression shifted as his eyes slid to the darker corner of the room. It looked like disbelief. Like fear. Derek sensed it and pinned Scott with a serious expression.

"What is it?" Derek asked.

"Do you see that?" Scott asked, his voice strangled.

"What?" Derek looked over his shoulder.

"The shadows."

Stiles straightened. "You said something about shadows down in that room. Told me the wolf was waiting in them."

"They were…down there they were growing. Reaching for me." Scott looked over at Stiles, brows close. "They were reaching for you, too. I thought it was because—" he brushed his hand over his healed skin, "but I see them now, too."

Deaton put a reassuring hand on Scott's arm. "You can't go through what you did without some residual side effects. You were, for all intents and purposes, dead. And you are a supernatural creature. The universe doesn't just fold around events like that without leaving scars."

"So the shadows are…scars?" Scott asked.

"From a certain point of view, yes," Deaton replied.

"Oh, dude, that was such a perfect Obi-Wan Kenobi," Stiles grinned. Off Scott's confused glance he huffed. "Are you kidding me? Obi-Wan Ken—forget it. You're a lost cause."

"You may have more in common with Lydia than you ever thought you would," Deaton considered. "It may be why your cry for help woke her. Use the shadows to your advantage. They could be a warning of danger to come."

"How am I gonna know when it's a warning, though?"

Deaton smiled with a small shrug. "You'll just have to learn how to feel it."

"It's like…a werewolf Force," Stiles cackled. "And you're a werewolf Jedi."

"Stiles," Sheriff Stilinski sighed from the other bed, his smile affectionate.

"What? Come on, Dad, you gotta admit this is perfect!"

Scott tilted his head at his friend. "There's no way I'm getting out of watching Star Wars with you now, is there?"

"Not a chance," Stiles bounced a gentle fist against Scott's shoulder.

Derek's phone buzzed and he dug it out of his pocket, peering at the screen.

"You better get on that shadow thing pretty quick," he said, looking up, then glancing over at the Sheriff. "That was Chris. Looks like the Beast of Gévaudan just killed someone at the edge of town, out by the Preserve."

Scott started to move forward, but Melissa held up a hand, which was echoed by Deaton.

"Gather your strength, Scott," he admonished. "Heal. Really heal. Not just your body, not just your wolf, but your pack."

Scott nodded, glancing once at Derek, then Stiles, then back at Deaton. "If I'm going to beat this thing, I need my pack."

"And if they are to survive the battle, the pack needs their Alpha," Deaton nodded.

Scott curled his hand into a fist and Stiles bounced his on top of it.

"You know that's right," Stiles asserted.

Deaton smiled at the group. If their success lay in the strength of their bond, the McCall Pack was destined for greatness.

"Druids call this conairt," Deaton told them.

Melissa smiled. "We call it family."

a/n: Floxglove is a real flower and it's totally poisonous, but if mistletoe is fair game, I figure others are, too. Also, I got the idea of Scorpion venom from the Scorpion Sting in Final Fantasy IV. Don't judge me?