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CHAPTER WARNINGS: physical abuse, language, mild slash, and hints towards sexual abuse (parent/child)

Scott immediately tensed when he jumped out of the Jeep and landed on the soggy carpet of leaves that covered the forest floor in front of Derek's house. He paused and sniffed deeply, noting the distinct scent of anxiousness and animosity in the air. He smelled people he didn't recognize. He growled lowly and slammed the Jeep door shut behind him, taking off towards the front door of the house without waiting for Stiles.

"I'll catch up, then!" Stiles called after him irritably, tossing his hands up in the air. He tramped after Scott towards Derek's house, hiking up his backpack on his shoulder. The sleeve of Derek's jacket flopped out of the front pocket and slapped against his side as he jogged towards the house. He'd stuffed it into his bag that morning and prayed like crazy that Scott wouldn't smell it on the ride over.

Scott burst into the house and made a beeline for the living room, not bothering to shut the door behind him. "Derek? Derek!"

He skidded to a halt in the door of the living room, slightly stunned at the scene before him. Most of the pack was settled onto the sofa; even Lydia had shown up for this. Derek was standing in front of the couch, positioning himself as a physical barrier between the knot of five people standing in front of the armchair and his own pack.

Scott immediately recognized the other five people in the room as the pack Derek had had them check out last night. The Alpha glanced over at Scott for moment, but shifted his gaze back to Derek quickly, effectively dismissing Scott as a threat. Scott snarled lowly, his upper lip curling slightly.

He was bumped completely into the room when Stiles turned the corner of the hallway and ran into him. He shot Stiles an annoyed look and strode across the room to Derek's side, keeping a wary eye on the other pack. He crossed his arms over his chest and addressed Derek calmly, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. "What are they doing here?"

"I invited them here," Derek replied raising an eyebrow at Scott, daring him to challenge him. "I thought it would be a good idea to figure out what exactly they're doing here."

Derek's gaze flickered back to the other Alpha; he'd introduced himself as Mason before Scott had come bumbling in, demanding an explanation. Derek couldn't shake the sense that there was something familiar about this guy; he brushed it off, inwardly chiding himself to stop being so paranoid. The man smiled and nodded, understanding Derek's implication for him to speak. "…as I was saying, we're just passing through. We had every intention of asking permission, but we were all exhausted by the time we found a place to stay."

Derek made a short, noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. His gaze flickered over the other members of the pack where they crowded around Mason. They were younger than Mason was, probably closer to Derek's age whereas the Alpha looked like he was around the same age as Peter. "Where are you staying?"

"We found a barn that looks deserted out beyond the edge of the woods, away from town," Mason replied, shrugging, unconcerned. His gaze flickered over to the doorway where Stiles was still standing, watching the interaction with his jaw slightly slack. Mason's eyebrows drew together when he realized that the kid in the doorway was completely, unimpressively human. His upper lip curled slightly, his instinctive reaction to seeing a human around werewolves disgust; when he realized what he was doing, he quickly schooled his face back into an impassive expression, returning his attention to Derek.

Derek quirked an eyebrow at him, following his gaze to Stiles and immediately tensing when he saw who had caught the other Alpha's attention. Mason sensed the change in Derek's already hostile demeanor to a more intense form of protectiveness, one that Mason could only remember feeling around his parents.

He pursed his lips, filed that crucial piece of information away for later, and continued speaking. "And we were planning on camping out there for around a week, if that's okay with you."

Derek shifted his weight to his other foot and pursed his lips, obviously on the verge of telling them to get the hell away from his territory and his pack, but paused when he caught a glimpse of the disapproving expression Stiles was aiming at him. He replied through gritted teeth, "That's fine."

Mason stared at his expectantly, obviously anticipating Derek to say more. When Derek just glared at him silently, he nodded shortly and uncrossed his arms, smiling widely. "Thanks. We appreciate it. I guess we'll be seeing you guys around." Derek nodded stiffly, but still didn't speak. Mason pursed his lips into a thin grin. "Goodnight, then."

He led the way out of the living room, the rest of his pack following suit. When he passed the human in the doorway, he inhaled as deeply as he could without drawing attention to himself. He was unsurprised when he determined the human absolutely reeked of Derek; the Hales had always been a less traditional family. It wasn't shocking that Derek had chosen an untraditional mate.

"I'll meet the rest of you at the barn," Mason said when they'd stepped outside and closed the door behind them. He turned to take off in the direction of the town, determined to get this thing done as soon as possible.

"Where are you going?" Elijah called after him. Mason stopped in his tracks and turned to face his pack again, digging his hands into his pockets and raising his eyebrows impatiently. Elijah ducked his head and dropped his gaze when Mason focused his attention on him completely, regretting he'd spoken when he realized how on edge Mason was.

Mason scrutinized Elijah doe a moment before unexpectedly smiling a little bit and replying lightly, "I've just got some things to take care of before we…go hunting. I'll be back soon."

Juliet and Gabriel nodded in understanding. Leah rolled her eyes at him and reached into her back pocket for her phone, uninterested as usual. Mason ignored her and turned his gaze back to Elijah. "I expect you all at the barn when I get back."

He didn't wait for a response before he turned back towards the woods and took off towards where he remembered there was a rocky, unpaved road to the town cemetery.

Derek didn't move from his stance in the center of the living room until he heard the front door slam shut behind the other pack. He rubbed his face with his hands frustratedly and forced himself to say calmly, "Everyone head home. Just…just be careful until they move on. I don't…just be careful."

"I don't like them hanging around here," Scott ignored Derek's order, crossing his arms and stubbornly and refusing to budge from where he stood next to Derek, glaring up at the taller man. "Did you see the way he was looking at Stiles? Do you think he can handle himself around humans?"

"It's not you decision," Derek replied tersely, shooting Scott a frustrated glare. "And it's definitely not your place to question me. I told you all to get out of here."

"Whatever," Jackson muttered, rising to his feet and heading straight for the door, eager to get away from this freak show as soon as possible. Lydia allowed him to tug her out after him, looking bored and unconcerned. Jackson pushed by Stilinski, giving him a wide berth as he slipped through the doorway. He could smell Derek all over Stiles, and the thought of them together made Jackson want to puke.

Boyd rose to his feet and disappeared upstairs, characteristically not saying a word before he left. Erica pushed herself up and ran a hand through her hair, biting the inside of her lip and watching Derek closely. She let out a puff of air from her nose before turning on her heel and wandering into the kitchen, flipping her loose curls over her shoulder. Isaac tried to duck out into the front hallway, but was stopped short when he heard Derek growl lowly, "Where are you going?"

Isaac tried to hide his flinch with a shrug and turned back to face Derek. He kept his eyes firmly on the floor, unable to hold Derek's gaze. "I have t-to work."

"You worked last night," Derek replied, raising an eyebrow. He noted the slight stutter in Isaac's voice. He'd been hearing it more and more often lately, and it was a little disconcerting. Derek had thought he'd been cured of it when he'd accepted the bite. "We were supposed to train tonight."

Isaac shrugged again and ran a shaking hand through his thick honey colored curls, his eyes flickering nervously to the door. "I know. My dad just called me after school, he told me he needed me at the graveyard tonight. I didn't know."

"You worked last night," Derek snapped, anger evident in his expression and his voice. Isaac shrank back and crossed his arms over his chest protectively, rubbing his hands up and down his upper arms as if he was cold and trying to warm himself up. He felt the edge of the bandages around his arms curl under his fingers; he tightened his grip painfully, digging his fingers into the bruised skin in an effort to anchor himself. "How much does he expect you to do? You still have to sleep some time."

Isaac shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, tugging at the soft curls there. He hesitantly stepped towards the front hall, hovering in the doorway uncertainly. "I'm fine. I really have to go, though…"

Derek shook his head and turned away from Isaac, dismissing him with a vague wave in the direction of the front door. "I expect you here tomorrow to train."

Isaac sucked his head and nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

He darted towards the front door and almost made it before he felt a hand close around his wrist. He bit back a yelp of surprise and tore his hand from the grip, stumbling back a few steps and finding himself looking down at Stiles's confused and slightly shocked expression. He took a few deep breaths and forced himself to relax, trying to look less like a deer caught in headlights than he knew he already did. He mentally shook himself for being so jumpy in front of them. When he spoke, he was proud of how steady he kept his voice. "What?"

"I just…" Stiles watched him carefully, eyeing the arm he'd grabbed suspiciously. Isaac shifted his weight uncomfortably, hoping Stiles hadn't felt the bandages. The last thing he needed was to try to explain why he wasn't healing when he hadn't even figured it out himself yet. "Do you need a ride to school tomorrow?"

Isaac blinked at him, thrown by such a normal, mundane question. School seemed almost surreal lately, considering the rest of Isaac's life was werewolf-induced chaos. "I…no, that's okay. My dad's not working in the morning."

"Okay," Stiles shrugged and smiled warmly at Isaac, his grin tinged with concern. "See you in Chemistry, then, man."

"Yeah," Isaac forced a smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "See you."

He slipped out the front door and shut it behind him almost silently; Stiles pursed his lips and wondered how young Isaac had been when he'd learned how to disappear so quickly and soundlessly.

Scott sighed with frustration and dropped his arms to his sides, clearly giving up his halfhearted argument with Derek. "Fine. Whatever. Let's just go, Stiles."

"I'll meet you outside," Stiles replied, looking up to meet Derek's gaze. He tried to convey with his eyes that they needed to talk, and was almost sixty-five percent positive that Derek understood. "I've gotta run to the bathroom."

Scott looked between Derek and Stiles suspiciously, unable to shake the feeling he was missing something. He almost felt like he was intruding, but he knew that was ridiculous, because Stiles might be a little bisexual, but he'd never have anything to do with Derek Hale; his father would literally shoot Derek without hesitation. Plus, Derek couldn't stand Stiles on a good day. It didn't make sense, and Scott seriously had to calm the fuck down and stop making up ridiculous scenarios in his head because of his acute paranoia.

He nodded and caught the keys Stiles tossed to him before heading out to the Jeep, loudly slamming the front door shut behind him.

Derek snarled when the noise echoed throughout the entire house and glared at the door angrily, as if he blamed it for every problem he'd ever had in his life. Stiles rolled his eyes. "He'll get over it, man. He's just all hormonal because, hello, you picked a bunch of teenagers to turn. Not as easy as you thought it'd be, huh?"

"What did you want to talk about?" Derek ignored his comments and moved right to the point, knowing that if he allowed Stiles to get off topic they could be there all night. "The other pack? I was nice about it, I let them stay."

"No, not them," Stiles waved them off easily. "Though I do appreciate you listening to my input. I actually wanted to talk to you about Isaac."

"Isaac?" Derek repeated oddly, his eyebrows drawing together.

"He's…he's acting weird," Stiles said slowly, trying to explain himself. Of course Derek didn't understand what a normal teenager was and what a teenager was like when something serious was actually wrong; he'd been one of those unlucky kids who never got the chance to really be a kid. He'd never been able to rebel against his parents, or ignore their rules, or talk back to them because he'd lost them before he was old enough to feel that itch of irritation every teenager feels whenever their parents try to tell them what to do or how to do it. Stiles rubbed his forehead and continued slowly, "He should be ignoring his job to hang out with his friends, he should be telling you to fuck off. He shouldn't be standing there submissively and going to work and flinching like my hand burned him when I touched his arm. That's not normal."

Derek shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. "We're not really normal."

Stiles had to give him that. That didn't mean that there wasn't something wrong. He persisted, "I think you should talk to him. See what's bothering him. He looks tired."

"He works a lot," Derek replied defensively, but he felt doubt niggling at the back of his mind. Isaac had been looking exhausted and downright sickly lately, and it threw Derek a little bit. He'd never experienced anything like it with any of his family members before, so he had no idea what was wrong with Isaac now. "Of course he's tired. His dad is teaching him about work ethic. I can't say that's wrong."

"I swear to God, Derek…" Stiles hissed irritably, running his hands through his short hair and glaring up at him. "Just talk to him, okay? He's always been that quiet, weird kid at school that everyone think is going to snap and shoot up the place, and I just figured he was shy, but now that I've spent time with the guy…he's not shy, man, he's fucking terrified of something. Figure out what."

Derek's gaze flickered to the window and he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper on his tongue. "I think we already know what."

Isaac set the bucket of soapy water down next to one of the headstones towards the back of the cemetery and dropped to his knees next to it, running a hand through his hair to push the tangled curls out of his eyes. He tugged his thick sweater more tightly around his lithe frame, shivering and wishing he'd remembered to bring a thicker jacket. He dipped the worn out toothbrush into the bucket and leaned forward to gently scrub the surface of the marble stone. He worked on the dirt and discoloration around the letters carved into the stone first, bracing himself with a grip on the top of the stone so he could scrub hard at the stains.

He glanced up when he heard rustling in the woods. He pushed himself up a little bit and peered through the trees for the source of the noise. When he didn't hear anything again, he returned to scrubbing a spot of green mold off the 'M' in the stone. He only had to finish cleaning this last row of graves before he could leave. His body ached with fatigue. He bit his lip and hoped his dad would be asleep when he got home; he yearned to curl up under his thick quilt and just sleep without having to run interference with his father. He rubbed his hands together, trying to work some warmth back into his ice cold, pruned fingers.

He heard another branch snap twenty or thirty feet away. He immediately straightened up, straining his eyes to try to make out what was moving around in the forest. He took a few steps towards the edge of the woods, the toothbrush lying forgotten on the grass next to the headstone.

Nothing moved. Isaac forced his shoulders to relax and let out a deep breath, pressing a hand to his rapidly beating heart. He had nothing to worry about. He was a werewolf now, for God's sake; he could handle anything that came out of that forest.

He wasn't helpless anymore.

He turned back to the headstone and sank to his knees again, reaching for the toothbrush he'd discarded next to the bucket. He began to scrub at the stone again, cursing the hard plastic of the toothbrush that left his hands red and blistered.

He was halfway through cleaning a patch of dried tree sap from the top corner of the stone when he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head and everything went black.

Scott tramped after his best friend in the woods, feeling a sickening sense of déjà vu; the last time he'd blindly followed Stiles into the woods, he'd ended up getting bitten by a werewolf. Somehow, he didn't feel the least bit guilty anymore for being wary of Stiles's impromptu strolls through the woods.

He ducked under the branch of a pine tree and walked more quickly to catch up with Stiles. "Where are we going?"

Stiles tripped over a fallen log and stumbled a few steps before continuing to jog through the piles of thick leaves carpeting the forest floor. He glanced over his shoulder at Scott and shrugged innocently, like he believed Scott would buy into his façade of ignorance. "I don't know. My dad was called in twenty minutes ago. He wouldn't tell me why."

"Why are you so concerned?" Scott asked, leaping easily over the log and falling back into step behind Stiles. "Where are we going?"

Stiles ran a hand through his hair and scrubbed his mouth nervously. "I, uh…I just heard…it was something out at the Lahey's graveyard."

"Isaac was working last night?" Scott's stomach dropped and he immediately picked up the pace. Even before they were pack, Scott had felt irrationally protective when it came to Isaac. Maybe it had something to do with the sad, lost look in his eyes, or the quiet, hesitant lilt of his voice. After his initial period of overconfidence and jerk-ish behavior, he'd quickly fallen back into his quiet and uncertain self. He reminded Scott of one of the dogs at the clinic that had been kicked one too many times by its owner, and it triggered some kind of protective instinct in him that he couldn't seem to fight.

Stiles nodded and peered through the trees. He could see the clearing of the graveyard up ahead. The lights of police cruisers flickered in the dim light of the dawn, painting the bark of the trees blue and red. He replied softly, "Yeah."

"Is he okay?" Scott asked, trying to keep the panic from edging its way into his voice. "Did your dad say-?"

"I don't know," Stiles muttered softly, coming to a stop at the edge of the trees and ducking behind one of the trunks, peering out from behind it to observe the scene. Scott, on the other hand, remained standing in plain view of the police gathered in the graveyard, too focused on trying to find Isaac to remember that they were sort of intruding on a crime scene, which would not go over so well with Stiles's dad. Stiles reached out and grabbed Scott's sleeve to yank him down next to him. "Dude, they'll see you."

"Quiet," Scott hissed, straining his ears to try to make out what the Sheriff was saying from where he stood talking to a irritable looking Mr. Lahey and a tired looking Isaac across the graveyard.

"So you didn't see anything?" John Stilinski asked again, crossing his arms over his chest and examining the Lahey boy closely. He shifted uncomfortably and glanced up at the Sheriff, his thick, golden curls falling into his light blue eyes. John recalled that the kid's mother had disappeared without an explanation when he was very young, abandoning him, his father, and his older brother. Isaac looked just like her, down to the pale skin and lithe frame. However, his demeanor was a stark contrast to the one of his confident, self-assured mother.

Isaac shrugged and looked away, gazing distantly at the freshly dug up grave they were gathered around. He gingerly reached up to brush his fingers over his swollen black eye and tug at a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. He shook his head and replied hoarsely, "No. I was cleaning that stone over there and felt something hit the back of my head…they knocked me out."

The Sheriff nodded, eyeing Isaac's bruised face suspiciously. He could make out bruises on the kid's wrists and his chin was streaked with dried blood. John couldn't tell where it had come from; there were no open wounds on his face. He pursed his lips and glanced over at Lester Lahey for a moment before returning his attention to Isaac. "Did they do that to your face?"

Isaac nodded stiffly, looking up to meet the Sheriff's gaze. His eyes were sincere and honest, and had John not seen Isaac's brother lie with the same disconcerting amount of conviction, he would have believed him. He raised an eyebrow and closed his notepad, slipping it into his pocket for a moment. "So you must have seen them, if they hit you in the eye like that."

"I didn't," Isaac replied firmly, shaking his head. "It happened too quickly, I didn't realize what had happened until it was too late."

"You don't remember anything?" John pressed, hoping the kid would just break down and finally admit that his dad had done that to him. Not likely, he reflected tiredly, watching Isaac search for some excuse, for some way to explain away his injuries. "Not if it was a male or female, or how tall they were, or…"

"Listen, Officer," Lahey interrupted, reaching out to grip his son's arm. Isaac bit back a wince when his fingers dug deeply into his already bruised skin. He couldn't feel his eye healing, which he was partially grateful for (the last thing he needed to explain was how his eye had magically healed itself in front of the Sheriff), but also slightly concerned about. He hadn't been healing as quickly as usual, sometimes waiting for hours for a bruise to fade back to the creamy pale color of his skin. He was tempted to bring it up with Derek, but every time he tried, his words caught in his throat; he didn't want Derek asking why he had so many bruises in the first place. Lahey tugged Isaac closer to his side, holding him possessively as he spoke steadily, leaving little room for debate. "He said he didn't see anything, and I believe the kid. He gets so caught up in whatever's going on in his head he doesn't notice what's going on around him. He can be pretty damn useless sometimes."

Isaac didn't seem to react at all to the insult, instead focusing intensely on the frozen grass crunching under his boots. John considered Lahey for a moment, anger boiling in his chest when he saw the man's fingers gripping Isaac's arm tightly so they dug into the bruises that already painted his pale skin sickly shades of green, purple, and brown. John cleared his throat and returned his attention to the freshly dug up grave. "It's kind of strange to have another robbery here so soon after the last one, isn't it?"

Lahey shrugged and nodded, conceding to the Sheriff's point. "I guess so. I haven't seen too much of that around here. Sometimes some of the trinkets on the graves go missing, but we can hardly help that."

"What's missing from this one?" John asked, peering over the edge of the grave, but unable to make out anything but some shadows in the bottom.

John had expected Lahey to answer, and was surprised when Isaac spoke up quietly, his voice hesitant and hoarse. "It was her…her hand."

"Her whole hand?" John repeated, staring at Isaac, stunned.

Isaac shrugged and nodded, dropping his gaze back to the ground. "It was cut off at the wrist. I don't…yeah. Her whole hand."

"Are we almost done here?" Lester asked irritably, cutting off the Sheriff's reply. His gaze flickered between Isaac and the Sheriff suspiciously, his shoulders tense and his mouth set in a thin, hard line. "He's got to get home and change before he goes to school."

John hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah, I think that's it for now. I'll call if we have any more questions for you."

"You do that, Sheriff," Lahey tried to grin warmly; it came off more as a mild facial twitch. "Let's go, Isaac."

Isaac ducked his head an allowed his father to place a guiding hand on the center of his back to lead him to their truck parked on the dirt path that ran up the center of the graveyard. Isaac stumbled slightly and Lahey used his grip on his shirt to yank him back to his feet, easily forcing the slim boy to keep moving.

John watched them go, wishing he could get that kid away from his bastard of a father, but knowing with crushing certainty that Isaac would never, ever come and talk to him about it; Lester had the kid wrapped around his finger, always had. The thought of a kid like Isaac being hurt like that sometimes made John sincerely hate the system he worked in.

"Get inside," Dad growled, shoving his son into the front hall of the house by his grip on the back of Isaac's worn sweatshirt. Isaac stumbled over the threshold and managed to regain his balance before he went stumbling into the opposite wall. He whirled around to face his dad, his arms automatically moving to cover his face from any further damage at his father's hands.

Dad's upper lip curled in disgust and he slammed the front door behind him. "I'm not going to hit you, Isaac."

Isaac eyed him warily, obviously not believing him; not that his father had ever given him any reason to believe anything he says.

Dad chuckled softly and held up his hands in mock defeat. "Alright, alright, you have a point. But I'm serious this time. The last thing I need is for that idiot rent-a-cop poking his nose around here, and it seems like he's taken some interest in you."

Dad strode across the front hall towards the kitchen door, pausing next to Isaac on his way by. His hand stole across Isaac's waist and curled possessively around his hip, gripping hard enough to leave dark bruises. He could feel Isaac's sharp hipbones dig into his palm, and he smiled a little bit; the kid was too damn skinny, just like his mother had been before he and his brother had been born. When he spoke, his mouth was pressed close to Isaac's ear, his hot breath ghosting down Isaac's neck and making the slim boy shudder. "In fact, I think he's taken too much of an interest in you. Be careful around him, alright? I don't like the way he looks at you."

Isaac glanced up sharply at his father, confused. "What d-d-do you me-mean?"

Dad raised his eyebrows innocently and dropped his hand from Isaac's hip, allowing his fingers to ghost across his son's stomach. Isaac shifted uncomfortably, but didn't try to move away from Dad's uncharacteristically gentle touch. He preferred having Dad beat him to having his dad's hands anywhere near where they had been wandering lately. "I don't mean anything. I'm just saying. He might have some less than honorable intentions."

Isaac blinked at his father, shocked, and took a step back, putting distance between himself and his dad's calloused hands. He shook his head wordlessly and swallowed hard, trying to speak, but finding the words got stuck in his throat.

Dad sneered at him and shoved him roughly towards his bedroom. "Go get dressed. You're too stupid to miss school. Get a move on."

Juliet pulled a face when Mason dropped the disembodied hand on the makeshift table in the middle of the dilapidated barn. "Do you have to put that right there?"

Mason shot her a harsh glare and turned to dig through the duffel bag on the floor for the book he needed. "Don't complain. If a hand freaks you out, I'm not sure you can handle what we'll have to do to the human and the pup."

Juliet set her mouth in a thin line and crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "I can handle it. If it will get Alex back, it'll be worth it."

Elijah snorted from where he was sprawled out in the corner of the barn, his face obscured by shadows.

Juliet's lip twitched and her gaze dropped to the roughhewn wood planks of the floor. Her hands clenched together tightly in her lap, her fingernails digging into her palms hard enough to draw blood.

"Leave her alone," Gabriel snapped, immediately coming to his sister's defense. He bit his lip and his eyes flickered towards the windows of the barn nervously. He couldn't help but feel slightly uneasy in another pack's territory, and that wariness was amplified by the fact it was Derek Hale's pack. He'd heard from Mason exactly what the Hales had proven themselves capable of, especially Derek's bitch of a sister. He turned to Mason and asked hesitantly, trying not to let his uncertainty show in the tone of his voice. "How long will we be here? I don't like this, Mason."

"We'll be here as long as it takes," Mason snapped, setting the thick tome on the table and flipping it open to the page he'd bookmarked with a tattered napkin. The wind whistled through the gaps in the rotting walls of the barn, sending an icy draft through the large building. The freezing tendrils wrapped around Mason's bare arms and seeped through his thin, battered clothing, forcing a shiver to run through his sturdy frame. He cleared his throat and glanced down at the bottom half of the page. He scanned the list one more time, reassuring himself that they almost had everything the needed to do this; they were so close to getting her back he could practically taste it. "We're almost ready, alright? Tomorrow we'll grab Derek's mate and the other kid, and then we wait for the moon. That's it, and then we're done. Then we have Alex back and we can leave."

Gabriel ducked his head and let his straw blonde hair fall in front of his eyes so Mason couldn't see the panic flashing through them when he thought of what Mason was going to make them do. He swallowed hard and nodded shortly, rising to his feet. "I…I'm going to get some sleep."

"What is it, Gabe?" Mason asked, noting the change in Gabriel's demeanor. Gabriel's shoulders tensed at the nickname; he hated to be called that, Juliet was the only one he allowed to get away with calling him that. He was too afraid of Mason right now to call him on it. Ever since he'd started this crusade to get Alex back, he'd been cold, harsh, and irrational. "Cold feet?"

Gabriel shook his head and turned away from Mason, determinedly making his way to the other side of the barn where he'd set down his blankets. "No. I just…I'm just tired."

Mason watched him sink to the ground and curl up on the floor, tugging his tattered blankets around himself in an effort to protect himself from the drafts blowing through the cracks in the walls. He noticed Juliet watching him with concern in her dark brown eyes. She stood up and turned to move towards Gabriel, but paused when she felt Mason's eyes on her. She nodded uncertainly to him and muttered, "Goodnight", before turning and striding across the room to kneel at her brother's side. Gabriel felt her hand on his shoulder and shifted to lie on his side, allowing her to plop down next to him and tug half the blankets over herself.

Mason's jaw automatically tightened at the sight. He tried to force back the memories of his sister, but seeing them together reminded him too strongly of how close he and his sister used to be.

He slammed the book shut, gritting his teeth together so hard he heard them squeak as they grinded against each other. He tilted his head up to peer out one of the windows high up the wooden walls. The moon was partially obscured by clouds and mist, but Mason could see by the dim silvery glow of the outline that it was only nights away from being full.

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