Scott's howl of emotion drowned out even Lydia's banshee wail outside, filling the ears of everything for miles and sending the word out to the packs: Stiles Stilinski was dead.

Mixed reactions ripped across the crowd. The Sheriff, who was running beside Allison, paused before racing at double speed towards the cellar.

Allison stopped dead, a hand covering her mouth quickly as the tears threatening to spill over did. Like a guardian angel, Isaac appeared at just the right time, grabbing her elbow to stop her from falling and tugging her into a hug. She cried openly into his chest as his eyes fixated on Stiles' blood on the tree stump, numbness spreading through him.

Melissa McCall completely broke down as Mr. Argent unbound her, having lost a son as much as the Sheriff. The hunter felt strange: he'd overlooked the kid completely, yet it was his brave acts which had saved them. Guilt. That was the feeling in his gut. He comforted Melissa as much as he could, but she was inconsolable, making her way towards the shrieking Lydia martin. The girl, unlike the rest of them, had no one to turn to, so at Mrs. McCall's touch she snapped out of her scream, and the women collapsed together.

Peter was shaking his head, a hand on Derek's shoulder. It was a shame – they'd lost one of their most useful allies. Cursing his decision to not turn the kid long ago, Peter sighed deeply. He'd been fond of the jumpy little human. Derek's face was shattered, shoulder's tense under Peter's hand. Ashen, he looked lost, like he was drowning and had just lost hold of a lifeline.

Even the twins looked mournful, but sternly forced back emotions, looking to Ducalion for orders. The lead alpha looked . . . awed, if it were possible. Admiration rested in his gaze at least. As soon as it appeared, the look was replaced by coldness as he looked at the sky above him, which had turned to black. The lunar eclipse had begun – they were all powerless. Not that it mattered, now Blake couldn't manipulate this weakness. Or so Ducalion thought, as he calmly collected his stick and began to leave.

"You," snarled Derek behind him, "You knew this was going to happen!"

He threw himself at Ducalion. Clawless though he was at the moment, that didn't mean Derek wasn't deadly. The fight flared quickly, and soon the two packs had left their solitude in favour of a good old human fistfight. Derek pounded Kali and Ducalion, while Peter and Isaac tried to reason with the twins.

They were all so guilty and broken and angry that a spark was bound to set a forest fire, leading to a full scale brawl. A release of emotions that could very well resort in all of their deaths.

Ducalion, fuming, impaled Derek on his stick, and the ex-alpha screamed in rage. Despite the wolf being temporarily gone, that sound was as close to a wounded animal as a human could get.

(Collision theory)

Below the action, in that lonely root cellar, Scott watched as the Sheriff clung to his son's lifeless body, grief and unspeakable despair clouding the room. It was the most heartbreaking thing Scott had ever seen; he was too young to feel this old.

When the noises of the fight reached them, he was initially angry. How could they fight at a time like this? Then Scott thought, and thought some more, rocking back onto his heels beside the Sheriff.

"This is all Ducalion's fault," he said aloud, softly.

If that man, that evil shell of a man, hadn't started killing in the first place, Jennifer wouldn't have turned out the way she did. If it wasn't for his lust for an 'ideal pack', Scott and his friends would never have been involved in this mess. If it wasn't for Ducalion, whose name was cloaked in blood, he wouldn't be sitting besides his best friend's body.

Slowly, Scott McCall got to his feet and made his way up the steps of the root cellar.

"I'm going to finish this," he said before he left, though he wasn't sure who to.

(A little bit of Truth)

Scott's fist deftly connected with the alpha's jaw, sending it backwards. Just the maliciousness he radiated when walking forwards had been enough for Ethan and Aidan to stand aside, but Kali had moved to protect Ducalion. Now, she lay unconscious at his feet.

"Have you come to kill me, Scott?" Ducalion asked, ever calm. "You'll never become a true alpha"

"I don't care, don't you see? Power doesn't matter," Scott punched the older man in the gut, "Family matters. Friends matter." Another two blows for each example were delivered. "I spent a lot of time running away from you, but I don't need to anymore," a kick, "I'm not scared of you, not like Ms. Blake. I feel sorry for you."

Ducalion was on his knees now, his face bleeding. His expression however, changed at Scott's words, "What?"

"You have no one. For all your power, and your alpha's, you don't have anybody. Even your pack stepped aside now, deserting you. Because you're poison, Ducalion – and I pity you." Scott kicked him in the jaw, and the alpha fell backwards, hitting the dirt. He wasn't going to kill him – it wasn't worth it. He'd seen enough death tonight.

"Come with us," he ordered the twins as he passed them, and they obeyed his instructions. In fact, most of the remaining people made to follow him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world – except Derek, who still looked as if kicking ten types of crap out of the alpha would bring him immense pleasure. Scott placed a hand on his arm, and Derek looked up.

"Leave him," Scott said softly, "Even when the eclipse is over – they're all gone, he's just another Omega. Alone. You don't have to be."

Scott moved over to walk beside his mother, who clutched onto him like a crutch and wiped the tears off his face, "I'm so sorry, honey."

Scott hugged his mom. He didn't care who saw, or what they thought of it – his best friend was dead and his mom was alive. All he wanted to do was cry, for relief, for grief, for what he was feeling. But for now, he wrapped his arms around her fiercely for a second before straightening, looking the world in the eye.

Scott noticed Allison sticking close to her father, too, and shared a quiet look with her. They were okay. There would be plenty of time to talk later.

Just as it seemed it was over, a voice spoke from behind them, haughty and cruel. Ducalion looked up. "I was hoping it wouldn't have to come to this."

(Moons and madness)

Around them, the twins fell to their knees, grabbing at their throats like they couldn't breathe, and Kali started twitching on the ground. As they did, Ducalion got to his feet – and healed himself, the lacerations on his face sealing before their eyes. His, incidentally, were glowing blood red.

"What did you do?" Scott roared, gazing heavenwards. The eclipse was still blocking out the moon – this wasn't possible.

"I warned you: I am the demon wolf. It's got to have its benefits."

The Twins were dying, and so was Kali by the look of it. Ducalion, it seemed, was draining all of them to fuel his transformation. Scott crouched next to Ethan, holding him up, but there was nothing he could do.

"Stop this!" he yelled at the alpha, who laughed in response.

"You should have joined me when you had the chance, it's too late now."

"They're your own pack – you're killing them!" Scott argued.

"And as you pointed out, they all just deserted me," Ducalion said, seeming to grow in height as time went by. "Now none of you will be leaving."

Chris Argent, recovering quickly, unloaded a casing of bullets towards the wolf – and they hit, drawing blood. Ducalion wasn't invincible, then. With a howl the alpha attacked, sending a huge claw towards the hunter which knocked him into the trees.

"Dad!" Allison screeched, running in that direction, but Ducalion cornered her, not even flinching at the exploding arrow she sent its way. He was about to hit her when Scott intervened, throwing his entire body in a football-like tackle. Thrown off balance, the wolf stumbled more into the clearing, and Allison was able to get away, followed closely by Mrs. McCall.

His human body was nothing compared to the alpha, but still Scott stared him down defiantly, setting his jaw. He'd lost so much today. No more.

"Enough." He roared, "That's enough, Ducalion."

"Says who?" Ducalion swept him off his feet, and Scott landed a few metres away, bleeding with a few broken bones. Only now, in the darkness, he could feel them and they weren't healing.

"Says me," Derek said and attacked him from the other side, reining a hard blow to the alpha's cranium before he too was knocked down. From his position on the floor, Derek could see the moon clearly – specifically the edge of light peeking from under the shadow. It was ending.

(The Shadow's Pass)

They had to keep him busy until the moon's power returned. Four guys against one, it should have been easy. Factor in that the one guy is a werewolf on super-steroids and extremely pissed off – not so much.

Taking it in turns to charge and attack, the four men managed to hold out a little longer than any of them thought, but they were looking a little worse off than before. Scott was sure at least three fingers were broken, and from the fact that he was struggling to breathe, he guessed a couple of ribs were too. Isaac had been caught across the back of the head and was out of action, bleeding out on the floor. They couldn't help him yet. They needed something else- just a little more bought time.

Their salvation revealed itself in a storm of bullets.

"That's – for – my – son – you – bastard!" The Sheriff, battered badge Stiles had been carrying clenched in his fist, punctuated each word with a bullet. Each one met its mark, and Ducalion stumbled about, reeling and definitely injured. Out of shells, the Sheriff looked at Scott – passing over the baton. Their turn.

Just as it was starting to feel helpless, Derek checked as the alpha turned its back – and claws emerged from his skin. Looking up, the eclipse was half gone, meaning they stood half a chance again. He caught Scott's eye and nodded. It was now or never.

Together, they ran at the demon wolf, Scott distracting it at the front while Derek attacked from behind. They had no plan; not much chance, but they had to do something. Better or worse, it was ending here.

Scott landed a solid punch to Ducalion's face, but he was no killer. He still had a choice. Derek, however, had reached the end of his tether. As Scott hit, he sank his claws into Ducalion's back, through the ribcage. Hand stabbing the alpha in the back, he let back his head and howled before twisting the hand to finish it. Scott looked terrified, watching Ducalion's face as he realized what had happened; seeing the budge of his eyes as Derek twisted. He had lost, and the alpha knew it was over. He was dying by Derek's hand. But despite everything, there was only one thing Scott could think to do.

He reached out for Ducalion's shoulder, and in the man's last few seconds, Scott began drawing away the pain.

This time, he could feel it, and flinched at the sight of his dark veins, but kept going. For some reason, as Ducalion stood before him, Scott McCall knew it was the right thing to do. It was in his nature.

For his part, this action seemed to scare Ducalion more than the idea of dying, for his eyes widened in shock just before they glassed over. As they did, Scott felt a sudden pain in his heart, and stumbled back, crying out.

"Scott. Scott!"

He could hear his name being shouted by Derek, but it felt far away. The Sheriff was beside him, taking his arm as he screamed, then as suddenly as it was over – the pain stopped.

On instinct, Scott threw back his head and let out an almighty roar – louder and more powerful than ever before. The alpha pack, recovered from Ducalions abuse, were getting to their feet, and everyone in the clearing was staring at Scott in mixture of awe and horror. His eyes were Red.

He was the alpha, a true alpha. Because you see, the true status of 'true alpha' was not won by bloodshed or dominance, but will. By a simple act of kindness – like taking away an enemies pain in their dying breaths – that proves they have the good intentions and pure heart to lead. He had earned the searing red flashing through his eyes, and lived up to the potential he was worthy of. As if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders, he felt free from the stresses of the last few months. The Darach and Ducalion were gone. He finally had some control over the werewolf within him, and now had a responsibly to the pack – his pack – to carry on to something better.

Something good, after going through Hell.

(Can you hear me?)

A few minutes passed in silence, as the argents and Ms. McCall emerged from the woods to the destruction, and Scott's red eyes. Usually, it faded after a moment, but his stayed the burning colour for minutes before returning to their usual soft hue. There was silence.

"Let's go home," Scott said, surveying their shattered and bruised faces, as Peter helped a woozy Isaac to his feet, and the alpha pack watched him warily. Too much had happened that day. On their faces he could see it: joy at families being reunited, relief at being alive – then sad glances towards the cellar, and guilt for breathing, too.

The Sheriff made as to go collect his son's body, but Derek stopped him.

"Sir, it would be my absolute honour" he said quietly. After a moment, the Sheriff nodded. They all knew that if he'd have tried to carry his son's body, he would have broken down before they could get far. Derek doing it was easier, and his way to pay back the kid for never telling him that he was as much a part of his pack as any of the wolves. Now Stiles would never know.

Derek's hoarse voice from the cellar stopped them all. "Wait! He's . . . he's gone."

"What?" asked Scott.

"Stiles – he's gone, he's not here!" Derek called back. Panic flitted across the Sheriff's face as he tore towards the steps, everyone else on his heels, and jumped into the darkness below.

Derek was right. There was Jennifer on the tree's roots, and a patch of blood stained floorboards where Stiles had died – as each person's eyes crossed that place they shuddered, each filling in the gap of his final moments there – but no Stiles. They searched the entire root cellar, but his body had vanished.

"Where is he?" ranted the Sheriff, "Stiles has already died at the hands of that sick beast – at least his body could be at rest. Where the hell is my son?"

"Exactly where it should be." A new voice spoke from the top of the steps, and they all turned to see Deaton standing there, looking down at them all with a calmness none of them could muster.

"Deaton? What do you mean?" Scott demanded, then his brow furrowed, "Wait – you gave him the mistletoe, didn't you? You knew his plan?"

"He asked me for it, yes."

"Why did you give it to him? You knew he'd die!" Scott yelled.

"He wanted to have a plan B," Deaton said simply, "He thought it was worth it."

"Not if it meant him dying!" screamed Scott, and Derek placed a hand on his shoulder to hold him back. "Nothing was worth that."

"I think you should see this."

Without another word, Deaton turned on heel and disappeared, so they had no choice but to follow him, Melissa McCall steadying a distraught Sheriff. Once out into the clearing, Deaton simply pointed towards the Nemeton's stump.

In the moonlight, it appeared to be glowing.

"What Stiles did tonight was a true sacrifice," Deaton said softly; quiet enough so he didn't sound threatening, but loud enough that they could all hear. In his head, Scott thought of 'true alpha' when Deaton said the other name, and in his mind they linked together. "Jennifer was wrong: what she was doing was not sacrifice, it was just slaughter. Sacrifice has to have meaning – Stiles gave himself willingly for his father, and for Scott, and for all of you – that is a true selfless act."

"Jennifer's ways had corrupted the power here long ago, but it all burned away with her. It was replaced by the one good act, and the power turned again. But that power," a smile played on the vet's lips now, "It has been saved and restored before. It can do it again."

"Does that mean-?" Scott interrupted disbelievingly, looking at his boss but not daring to get his hopes up just yet. Deaton nodded honestly in return, and Scott felt his heart race. Keeping his eyes transfixed on the stump, he witness what could only be described by human standards as a miracle.

The tree stump glowed brighter for a second, and in a blink, and outline was forming there. It strengthened in the moonlight until a pale figure was standing atop the tree, eyes shut and ghostlike.

"Stiles," the Sheriff whispered hoarsely, making to approach his son, but Deaton held out an arm.

Advising sagely, the vet nodded, "Coming back from the dead can be a bit of a shock - give him a moment."

The Sheriff complied, watching as his son stood bathed in light, before his eyes flicked open. Like Jennifer's had, they glowed silver for a second before muting to their usual amber, emotionless. Then, they focused, blinking rapidly as he took them all in.

"Am I dead?" he asked, "Is this Heaven?" The Sheriff did not need direction this time, striding forwards and embracing his son as he took a hesitant step off the stump. "So I'm not dead? Awesome," Stiles could be heard saying from his father's shoulder, the smile in his voice evident.

He had his dad back. He wasn't dead. Things had worked out pretty well, considering.

"I'm sorry," the Sheriff said, gripping his son tighter and trying to remember everything about him. He'd lost his wife, and for a moment today he'd lost his son – he never wanted to be in that place again.

"Dad, what for? You've got nothing to apologise for."

"Don't say that," the Sheriff leaned back, holding the boy's shoulder firmly, "I should have believed you."

"No," Stiles shook his head, "That's not your fault. If things were different, I wouldn't have believed it – I'm just glad you never carted me off to the nut house."

He grinned, and the Sheriff realized that was what he would have missed the most about his son. He tried to smile back, but found it hard to breathe.

Behind the Sheriff, Scott detached himself from the crowd and started hesitantly forwards, not wanting to ruin the moment. As soon as he saw his best friend, Stiles leaned away, and the Sheriff stepped back to give them a moment. Scott rushed forwards now, and in an unconventional display of affection between them, the two boys hugged fiercely.

Scott, between embracing his friend and knowing he was real and listening to Stiles heartbeat to check, managed to choke out "Don't ever do that again."

Stiles laughed against him, "No choice, wolf boy. Plan B was better than Plan D for 'Everybody's Dead'"

"You dumbass."

"Shut up," the paler boy grinned. In the crowd behind them, there were only a few dry eyes. "We might not all be werewolves, but everyone here would have done the same thing. It's what we had to do."

"If you ever do that again, I'm coming with you," Scott said more seriously, releasing his friend to catch his eye. Solemnly, Stiles nodded back.

"I'm not leaving again. Promise."

(All's well)

After that, everybody rushed forward to clap the dead man walking on the back. Lydia and Allison both hugged him, one in each arm, and he smiled broadly at them.

"Two pretty girls crying over me – never thought I'd see the day" he joked.

Peter shook his hand, as did Mr. Argent, but both Derek and Ms. McCall demanded hugs, the first of which surprised most, but the latter was like a mother and a son. They were a family; a pack – it was that simple.

"So, do I get like cool druid powers now?" Stiles asked Deaton eventually as he came to a stop before him.

"Yes," Deaton answered, but with an edge to his voice, "But this power isn't like an emissaries – it's older, more corruptible."

He didn't directly say it, but Stiles understood just the same.

"'Absolute power corrupts absolutely', right? I don't want to end up like Ms. Blake." He nodded to the stump, "This thing, it's still dangerous right? It could still give power to less cuddly things than me?" Deaton nodded in answer. "Okay," Stiles said, "Let's do this."

Stiles faced the tree stump and cracked his knuckles.

"What are you doing?" Allison asked.

He shushed her, putting a finger to his lips, "You're interrupting my Zen."

Allison scoffed at that. But then he closed his eyes, concentrating hard, like with the mountain ash. He just had to believe, right? He'd show them faith.

They all waited with baited breath as he stood. When his eyes opened again, they were silver, glowing like orbed moons. Suddenly, he dropped towards the ground. They thought he had collapsed, but he stopped at a crouch, deliberately slamming his fist into the ground at his feet. The dirt puffed up in a small cloud around them, as the earth cracked from the point of impact – a line carved right through the tree stump. The Nemeton was cracked.

The light faded, his eyes dark once more. Stiles asked with uncertainty, "Is it gone?"

Deaton nodded, "Without its power, you know you're on your own now – just a human again."

Stiles got to his feet and brushed the dirt off his hands before he met his friend's expectant eyes. "That's not too bad. Who needs all that supernatural crap? Especially when you've got an entire werewolf pack that owes you one."

That made them all groan, and him grin. Just as it should be.

END.