Stiles was looking at Scott, mouth agape. "Did you just seriously werewolf-out yourself to Danny of all people?" he uttered, unbelieving at Scott's revelation . Scott didn't respond. He was clutching his head still, as if having the mother of all migraines. "Why don't we just tell the whole bus while we're at it?"

Jackson grinned. "Well, if you say so..." He made a move to get up, when Scott reached across the aisle and grabbed the front of his shirt for a second time that night. Danny was blocking the aisle still, so no one but the three of them saw the claws come flying out.

"You do and you're dead," Scott snarled, accidentally showing off a bit of fang, his eyes lighting up in warning.

"Well, I guess those aren't really contacts then," Danny deadpanned, an eyebrow raised, taking in the transformation.

Stiles made an attempt to pry Scott's hand from Jackson's uniform. "Can we please keep the you-know-what talking to a minimum? We're getting closer. And I think you should put the helmet on. That punch didn't buy you much time." Scott relented and pulled back the hood, revealing to Danny the very real wolf-like features coming over him. He jammed the lacrosse helmet down, noting that it wasn't his; it smelled funny and fit awkwardly.

Danny tried to connect the dots of all the odd events over the semester in his head. "You know, weird as it is, this all makes a lot of sense." Danny couldn't help but stare; Scott refused to look at him now. He must be embarrassed... Getting Jackson's attention, he queried, "So, you've been back here, hurting him, to keep this from happening?" Danny gestured to the supernatural state Scott currently found himself in.

"Yeah." Jackson turned his attention to Stiles. "Do you think he'll make it in time, or should we do something else?"

"I don't know!" Stiles whispered, worry now very much evident in his voice. He chewed on his lip, quietly cataloging what could be used as a weapon on the bus without anyone noticing. And without Scott stopping them. Jackson started throwing out suggestions.

"Break his nose?"

"No."

"How bout breaking his arm?"

Baring his teeth and looking more vicious by the minute, Scott retorted, "How bout I break your face?"

"Scott, you're not helping."

Jackson continued, perking up the more sadistic he got. "Would his eyeball grow back if I stuck my thumb in the socket?"

"I don't know but we are NOT trying that."

"What if we shoved a lacrosse stick up his ass?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "We're not filming some gay lacrosse porno, NO!" He caught himself and looked at Danny. "Do they actually make gay lacrosse porno?" He paused, thinking over what he just said. "Sorry, no offense."

Danny shook his head, "None taken, but-"

He was cut off by Jackson. "Can we stab him in the hand or something?"

"Jackson, with what? I've already used my keys on his shoulder and they're too dull to break the skin without a lot of force behind them."

"I have a pocket knife on my keys."

The two stared at Danny after he proffered up the information, but it was Scott who replied.

"Where?" he asked, trying to keep himself from grabbing him.

Danny cocked his head towards his bag, in a seat a few rows up. After making sure Scott was slouched down low enough in his seat to stay hidden, Danny got up. He held on to the backs of the seats as the bus began down the curve of the exit for Beacon Hills.

"So, have you picked a body part we can stab you in until we get back? Probably something with a lot of meat but not near a major artery. How bout your butt? Or maybe your quad, that's easier to get too. Or maybe-"

Scott cut him off, indignant. "You're not doing anything. I can do it myself. I'm not a voodoo doll." Looking at various body parts, he figured his hand would be a safe bet. Or maybe Stiles was right and he should go for his quad. Scott continued to mull his options over while waiting for the promised knife.

"Oh thank God, we're finally here," Stiles sighed, giving Scott a tired glance to make sure he understood it was only a matter of minutes now til he was safe. Scott sat up a little straighter to look out the bus window, as if he needed proof. Jackson looked over at the two of them, disinterested as he realized his fun for the evening was about to be over.

The bus swayed, taking the extreme curve off the highway. The relief he felt suddenly began to knot up in his stomach, as Stiles realized the cloud cover that they had come to depend upon on the ride home had dissipated the closer they had gotten to Beacon Hills. Patches of moonlight ricocheted through the bus windows, flying across the interior. Stiles had half a second to search with his eyes for something, anything, to throw over Scott. He had to watch as the light made its way around the bus to sweep across Scott's face.

His eyes gleamed bright as the moon washed over his face. The moonlight on him, no matter for how long, started his shift and Scott doubled over in the seat. He grimaced as his head felt tight inside the lacrosse helmet, his ears painfully cramped. He bit his tongue, feeling his fangs grow and slide into the flesh so easily. A part of Scott couldn't believe he was actually savoring the taste of blood in his mouth, even though it was just his own; it could be so much more satisfying if it wasn't his. He grunted, trying to stay quiet, trying not to think of the metallic flavor in his mouth, to stay in control of himself. If he could just hold on a little bit more, it will all be over soon.

Danny had returned just in time to see Scott double over. Confused, he looked at Stiles and Jackson. "The moon..." Stiles hissed before he could speak, jerking his thumb to the window now as his back. He was trying to inconspicuously shield Scott from any further exposure to the moon light, contorting his lean body to somehow fit the boxy shape of the window. Jackson watched the futile attempt with a weird mix of amusement and doubt. The stark contrast of reactions between the two confused Danny; just how bad was this situation about to get? He sat down on the edge of the seat directly in front of Scott. Danny flipped the blade open and wordlessly held out the mini Swiss army knife that had previously hung on his key chain. Stiles prodded Scott so he would take the offered weapon, but he stayed bent over, helmet pressing into the back of the seat in front of him.

"Scott?" Danny asked tentatively. "Take it." He extended the knife towards the teen.

The helmet rose up in slow increments, gradually revealing all that Scott tried to keep in check. His mouth hung open slightly, revealing to Danny, up close at least, the sharpness that lay inside. Danny saw Scott's eyes, no longer brown at all, focusing in on the small knife he held out to him. He didn't know what else lay under that helmet and was hoping that Scott would pull himself together enough so that he didn't have to. At least not tonight.

A clawed hand came out and grasped the small knife gingerly. Scott stared at it, as if he'd never seen one before, rubbing his thumb up and down the precise blade. Jackson, growing irritated, whispered, "Oh for God's sake, spare us the dramatics and just do it already!"

Scott's thumb paused in the middle of the knife. He moved his gaze sideways, eyes narrowing, to watch Jackson head on, instead of only using the periphery of his vision.

His pride didn't want him too, but Jackson had to admit to himself this wasn't a joke anymore. Whatever stared at him from inside that lacrosse helmet was not the Scott McCall he was used to. Not even the same one who "pretended" to threaten him to protect Allison at the formal. It was as if he spent the evening taunting a caged animal at the zoo and it finally noticed the crack in the plexiglass between them. Jackson inched back in his seat, casting a nervous glance to Danny, who sat frozen, studying their teammate.

Scott's thumb deftly bent the blade into a sharp ninety degree angle. A sick smile grew on his face as he leaned over and jammed the knife down into the seat, between Jackson's legs.

Without a sound, Jackson felt himself go into panic mode as one hand sliced through the space between him and Scott and encircled his throat. Jackson was trying to will himself to stop shaking so damn much and do something as he felt warm fingers, ending with sharp pricks, slide over his skin. He's really gonna do it...! Jackson went stiff, preparing for one last punch.

In the seconds that passed, Scott soundlessly moved across the aisle to Jackson. "Well, gentlemen," Stiles began, a hopeless tinge to his voice, "I'd love to say its been a pleasure playing lacrosse with you, but I never did, so..." Trailing off, he looked to the front of the bus to see that still, no one cared about the impending blood bath that would begin any moment. Stiles honestly didn't know how the other students did it; oblivious that they were spending the last moments of their lives either trying to jerk off inconspicuously or playing Angry Birds. Refocusing, he prepared to hurl himself onto his best friend, not caring who saw what anymore. Except Danny intervened instead. He grabbed Scott's free hand and twisted the wrist until he heard a small snap! The noise from the breaking bones was louder than the groan that came from Scott as he jerked away from Jackson, his hand coming to cradle his clearly broken wrist. Seeing his chance, Jackson kicked Scott out of the seat. He landed in the middle of the aisle with a thud. He stayed there, waiting for the bones to heal, holding his wrist steady.

After letting go, Danny stood back, again blocking the aisle view. Stiles looked at him, clearly processing the skills he just saw. "Y-you're, you're," he stammered, trying to connect words in his head. "You're like a ninja!" he declared, with new appreciation for the goalie.

Danny shrugged. "Eight years of karate will do that." Nodding to Scott, "Did that work?"

"Yes," came the gruff answer from Scott, rotating his wrist, feeling for any abnormalities. Physically, not much had changed, but mentally, the pain had jerked him back for the moment. He found himself panting now, trying to suck in air to help keep his wits about him. He could tell they were close. He could smell it: the sweat from the gym, the garbage rotting out behind the cafeteria, the exhaust from Derek's car. Scott took in a breath. He held it long enough to make it uncomfortable. Somehow, it helped him focus. Derek was out there.

As the bus pulled into the high school parking lot, Scott jumped up from the floor, head bowed low so as not to meet anyone's gaze head on. Derek was at the perimeter of the lot, not quite as edgy as Scott felt, but affected by tonight just the same. It was as if a magnetic force linked the two, alpha to beta, drawing Scott to the safety of the pack, however abysmally small it was. He zeroed in on it, using it to concentrate on his alpha, instead of the annoyances surrounding him. Danny was staring at him, Stiles was babbling at him, Jackson was sniggering at him, and Coach was yelling at him to sit down again. He dodged the haphazard placement of lacrosse equipment sliding off seats, helmets rolling around on the floor. Scott needed to focus on that damn emergency door in the back of bus and not on how badly he wanted to rip into someone, anyone. The bus still rolled along, the driver taking her time to come to a complete stop.

It was finally over. One of those clawed hands grabbed the emergency handle and yanked it open. The door swung open, clanging against the outside of the bus and alerting the rest of the occupants to what was happening. Stiles hoped they just thought Scott's asshole streak was continuing as he watched his friend leap out the door. Scott rolled effortlessly on the pavement of the parking lot and took off in the dark, dodging the lights. He ripped the helmet off of his head and threw it away. He was racing towards Derek, Stiles hoped.

Danny went to the back door, trying to secure some equipment that hung precariously close to the opening. He pulled the emergency door shut as Scott disappeared in the dark, only the white of his jersey still visible as he receded. Danny could just make out a black sports car at the edge of the lot. He figured that's where Scott was headed.

"He oughta be good now." Stiles craned his neck, assuming Danny was worried for Scott's safety.

"How so?"

"That's Derek's car he's getting in. Well, getting thrown in it looks like." Stiles winced in sympathy. "He'll make sure Scott doesn't hurt anyone." Stiles, sank into his seat, let out a long held breath of true relief, one that he had been wanting to let go for the majority of the day. The fact that Scott had managed to bury the pull of the full moon this long was impressive. Every time he pressed his luck just a little bit more, the better he got at resisting, holding onto himself. Stiles wasn't sure how much longer he could put up with this kind of friend-related stress, though. Scott's friendship didn't come with mental health benefits.

"Who's Derek?"

"Um," Stiles pursed his lips together, debating. Finally, he answered with, "Remember my cousin, Miguel?"

Danny nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, I don't have a cousin Miguel."

"Ok," Danny sat in the seat opposite Stiles, where his pocket knife was still stuck in the seat. He pulled it out, studying it. He was disappointed; he'd only had it since Christmas. Turning back to Stiles, he continued, "So what's that Derek guy going to do to him? Is he a -" he mouthed the word, werewolf- "too?"

Stiles nodded. "Derek will probably kick the crap out of him. It'll keep him busy all night, away from people. And then Scott will -" Stiles was cut off as the bus had finally come to a halt. Players began gathering their belongings, pushing past Stiles carelessly to get to the back of the bus.

Danny was too intrigued to let this go. He tried to get Stiles to continue inconspicuously, though Stiles motioned for him to wait until they were off the bus and away from everyone.

Getting off the bus, Stiles's mind was racing. They took a huge chance tonight and it could have ended worse, like a double digit body count worse. Stiles didn't realize that telling Danny would have been an acceptable tactic to Scott. Luckily, Stiles was pretty sure they didn't need to worry about Danny, although he's going to want answers. The goalie was waiting patiently for him on the curb, duffel bag slung across his shoulder. Coach was still complaining to Jackson for Scott's incredulous behavior tonight. And to his credit, Jackson was continuing to cover for his co-captain, no matter how much he claimed to despise him. Stiles didn't know why; perhaps Jackson liked being in on Scott's secret. Stiles had to admit, as far as secret clubs went, this one was pretty cool.

A. N.

Many thanks goes out to Lady Silver. Not only was it her prompt, but she helped beta the entire thing and came up with the title. She pretty much rocks.