Reading Time: 129 Minutes

Title: A Tempered Strength
Series: What We Gain
Series Order: 2
Author: enigmaticblue
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Genre: Action Adventure, Drama, Family
Relationship(s): Gen
Content Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None apply to this fic
Word Count: 55,000
Summary: As the newly minted Alpha, Noah knows that he has a responsibility to his pack, and to his territory. He just wishes he didn’t have to deal with the Argents.
Artist: Ringspell

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“A human life gains lustre and strength only when it is polished and tempered.” ~Mas Oyama

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Chapter 3

Noah doesn’t like leaving his pack to go to the station, but he needs to know what the autopsy results are so he can figure out the next steps. If they have another monster on their hands, Noah would prefer to know that sooner, rather than later.

Noah goes to to the coroner’s office first, and the medical examiner is just finishing up the autopsy. “I’d like to say that it’s good to see you again, Sheriff, but I was kind of hoping that we’d have a little bit longer between violent deaths.”

Dr. Kelly has been on the job almost as long as Noah has, and he’s a big guy with a shaved head and a goatee who would probably look more at home in a biker bar than an autopsy theater. He’s fast and thorough, though, and Noah knows that the county is lucky to have him.

“I could say the same,” Noah replies. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what did it.”

Dr. Kelly shakes his head. “What I can tell you is that it likely wasn’t the same sort of animal that was attacking people a few months ago. The wounds are cleaner, as though whatever made them was sharper, but that’s not what’s really interesting.”

Noah raises his eyebrows. “Okay, what’s really interesting?”

Kelly waves to the body. “Tell me if you can smell anything odd.”

Kelly would have no way of knowing about Noah’s advanced senses, so it must be something that even an average human would notice. “Is that sulphur? It kind of smells like rotten eggs.”

“That’s what I smelled to, and I can tell you that I haven’t found anything on him that would cause that odor, at least not yet,” Kelly replies. “But I suspect it came from whatever sliced him open.”

Noah nods, knowing that it’s definitely not a wolf. “Anything else of note?”

“He didn’t die easy,” Kelly replies. “Whatever it was, it took its time. The gut wound came first,” he says, pulling back the sheet. “Then it cut his arms and legs, and only then did it finish him off with the wound to the neck. Cause of death is exsanguination, as you might have guessed.”

Noah leans in close, and he can see the wounds, and he knows what Kelly means. The wounds are clean, not torn, and Noah has seen enough wounds made by werewolf claws to know that this is different.

“I hear you found a second person at the scene,” Kelly says.

Noah straightens. “Yeah, I did. The victim’s kid was locked in a chest freezer. From what he’s been able to articulate, that’s where he was when the attack occurred.”

Kelly shakes his head. “Isn’t the vic the high school swim coach?”

“Yeah, he is,” Noah agrees. “Which certainly brings up some questions, doesn’t it? If he was willing to hurt his own kid, you have to wonder what he might have done to others.”

“Find out who has it in for Lahey, and I think you’ll find your man—or animal,” Kelly says. “Although I don’t know what that might be. I’ll let you know if I find anything else. I plan on running an extensive tox screen.”

That does give Noah something to go on, though, and he knows that he needs to talk to Isaac at the station to get his formal statement. Now that he’s rested, and has eaten Stiles’ quite decent chicken lo mein, Noah figures he’ll get more coherency.

He debates a bit, but then calls Derek. “I need to get a formal statement from Isaac. Would you ask Stiles to drive him in? I’d like you to stay with the others. I know we still have a little time before the full moon, but Erica—“

“Is new,” Derek says easily. “I don’t mind.”

Noah suspects that being formally appointed his right hand has helped settle Derek. “Thank you, Derek.”

There’s a pause, and Derek says, “Stiles is going to drive Isaac over now. They should be there shortly.”

Fifteen minutes later, Stiles is ushering Isaac into the station. Isaac’s shoulders are up around his ears, and Stiles is gesticulating. “It’s cool. It’s just a formality. I’ve been through it before, and I survived. You just have to tell my dad what happened.”

Isaac doesn’t appear especially comforted by that, and Noah meets them in the bullpen, and then ushers Isaac into an interview room. He turns on the video and audio recording, and asks, “Do you want something to drink? I can get you a bottle of water or a soda?”

Isaac shakes his head wordlessly.

Noah clears his throat. “I want you to know that you’re not in trouble. We aren’t sure yet what or who killed your dad, but we know it wasn’t you. But we do think that whoever was behind it might have had a personal motive.”

“You mean, they hated my dad?” Isaac asks softly.

“That’s what I mean,” Noah confirms. “Do you know anyone who might fit that bill? Do you know if he was violent with any of the kids on the swim team?”

Isaac shakes his head. “No, he wouldn’t—he knew better.”

Noah takes a deep breath. “When did he start getting violent with you, Isaac?”

“It was after Camden died,” Isaac admits slowly, staring down at the table. “He didn’t like me much before that, but after Camden was killed, it got a lot worse.”

“Okay,” Noah says gently. “Does anyone know about your dad’s treatment of you?”

Isaac shakes his head, and then seems to reconsider. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Who is it?” Noah asks. “It might not have anything to do with what happened, but it could give us some information.”

“I have a friend, Matt Daehler,” Isaac admits slowly. “I think he probably knows, but it’s more of a guess, you know?”

Noah nods. “Tell me what happened that night.” He knows that Isaac has gone over it before, but that had been more informal, and not on the record.

“Dad was mad about a grade I got,” Isaac confesses, staring down at the table, hunched up. “We got into it, and he started throwing things.”

Isaac touches the still-healing cut on his cheek reflexively. “Eventually, he grabbed me and took me down to the basement. I don’t know what happened after that. The next thing I knew, you were letting me out of the freezer.”

Noah isn’t too surprised to find out that Isaac hadn’t seen or heard anything after being locked in the freezer. “All right. Thank you, Isaac.”

“What’s going to happen now?” Isaac asks apprehensively.

Noah takes a deep breath. “You can stay with me this weekend. After that, we’ll work on finding a suitable placement.”

Isaac shakes his head. “I don’t want to go into foster care.”

“We might be able to get you emancipated,” Noah offers. “Or find another place for you to stay if it’s not with me.”

Isaac nods. “Okay. Are we—“

Judging from the expression on Isaac’s face, Noah knows what he’s going to ask, and he holds up a hand. He stops the audio and video recording, and then says, “We can discuss it, but not here. That would be unwise.”

“Could I ever be that strong?” Isaac asks.

What Noah hears is, “Could I have some way to keep myself from ever being a victim?” and he says, “There’s a good chance of that, but we need to talk first. There are some potential problems that you need to be aware of before we go too far down that path.”

Isaac looks almost desperate when he says, “I’ll do anything.”

And Noah knows that’s probably true. Isaac would do anything to get stronger, which is why he’s hesitant to offer the bite until Isaac has his feet under him. He knows just how badly power can affect some.

~~~~~

Derek listens to the chatter of the kids in the next room. Isaac’s departure had put a damper on things for about two minutes before Erica started trash talking Scott over a game of Mario Kart. He’s looking at the courses being offered at nearby Sonoma State University.

By his calculations, if he takes summer courses and as many online classes as he can, Derek can graduate with his degree in just under six months. He could even pair it up with taking the modular course for law enforcement at the same time, and graduate from both around the same time if he uses his time wisely.

He can hear the front door open, and by the smells and the sounds, Derek knows that it’s Stiles and Isaac coming back.

Derek expects them to stay in the living room with Scott and Erica, but Stiles comes wandering into the kitchen. “Hey. What are you working on?”

“Looking at courses,” Derek replies. “Sonoma State.”

“Close, decent ratings, so a good choice,” Stiles says. “What’s your major?”

“Sociology,” Derek replies. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Stiles shrugs. “It’s not a terrible choice for the police force. It’s on my list of options.”

Derek glances towards the living room. “I thought you’d be out there with them.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I’ve been thinking about what happened today, and what we found. I don’t know. I was kind of hoping that Moira would stick around.”

“She said she needed sleep, and that you would, too,” Derek points out.

Stiles puts the kettle on, and Derek keeps half an eye on him as he continues to look at the registration catalog.

“I think I’ll probably have nightmares tonight,” Stiles finally says. “I don’t really want to sleep.”

Derek is nearly done, and he finishes up his selections and hits send. “What makes you think you’ll have nightmares?”

Stiles just shakes his head, pulling the kettle off the heat as it starts to whistle. “Do you want tea?”

Derek is a little curious to see where this goes. “Sure, thanks.”

“Chamomile okay?” Stiles asks.

Derek nods, and accepts the mug that Stiles gives him. “Thanks.” He waits expectantly.

“I don’t regret shooting Kate Argent, but she’s not dead,” Stiles says. “I don’t regret shooting Peter either, but I wasn’t the one to kill him, and I think it’s probably for the best that he’s dead.”

“But?” Derek prompts.

“But what I felt in the woods today felt like Kate Argent times a hundred,” Stiles says bluntly. “It’s a thing that takes pleasure in destroying anything and everything it can, and I don’t think we’re done with the Argents. I don’t particularly want to dream about all the ways that Kate could destroy us, and I think I will.”

Derek isn’t quite sure how to respond to that, so he just stays silent.

Stiles rubs his head and says, “I just, it feels like we’re all holding our breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop, or at least I am.”

“I think that makes sense,” Derek says carefully. “We don’t know what’s going to happen with the Argents, and a lot is up in the air for you, too. But you have the pack, Stiles.”

“The pack is changing,” Stiles points out wryly. “As it must.”

He glances back towards the living room and heaves a sigh, and Derek can relate. Changes to the pack always cause uncertainty, and probably more for Stiles than Derek. Derek’s life has been in a state of flux since Laura returned to Beacon Hills. Stiles had been trying to hold things together, and there are things spinning out of his control.

Derek thinks about what had comforted him, and as soon as they finish their tea, Derek gets up and grabs Stiles’s wrist. “Come on. You need pack.”

Scott glances up as they enter the living room, and he seems to know exactly what’s needed. “Come on, Isaac. We can grab the sleeping bags from the basement.”

“I can help,” Stiles says.

Erica grabs his arm and tugs him down next to her on the couch, Derek on his other side. “No, you should be sleeping. Moira said you’d need a lot of sleep.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t want to sleep.”

“Too bad,” Erica says cheerfully. “But we can put on a movie.”

Scott and Isaac troop upstairs with foam mattresses and sleeping bags from the basement. Scott knows where the blankets are, too, and they bring those out to create a nest on the floor. Erica releases Stiles long enough to select a movie, and puts it on in place of the video game they’d been playing.

The opening of The Princess Bride begins, and Derek can feel Stiles relax next to him. Scott has claimed the place on Stiles’ other side, with Isaac on the other side of him, and Erica on the other side of Derek.

Stiles has the annoying habit of speaking his favorite lines along with the characters, but he falls asleep a half hour into the movie, curling into Derek.

Derek doesn’t read anything into it. His placement in the pack means that Stiles will seek comfort from him.

When Stiles starts to whimper towards the end of the movie, tormented by something inside his own mind, Scott begins to pat Stiles’ arm. “Hey,” Scott says. “You’re okay. You’re with us.”

“You’re okay,” Derek adds. “We’re here.”

Stiles’ whimpering intensifies, and then the front door opens and Noah enters. When he comes over and rubs the top of Stiles’ head, Stiles immediately settles.

“It might help if you were here,” Derek says. “Stiles thought it might help if he wasn’t alone tonight.”

Noah nods. “Just let me get changed.”

When he returns, he’s wearing flannel pants and a t-shirt, and he quickly checks in with each member of the pack.He presses a hand to Isaac’s shoulder, then to Scott’s, grips the back of Derek’s neck, and tugs Erica’s ponytail.

And then Noah presses a hand to the top of Stiles’ head and closes his eyes. “Moira?”

“She has a hotel room, and she said she needed sleep,” Derek says softly. “Stiles was worried about nightmares.”

Noah hums. “We’ll just have to interrupt them if they happen.”

The thing is, Stiles hadn’t been wrong. Derek is woken several times during the night by Stiles moving restlessly, whimpering, and Derek tries to ease him. Noah is there each time, touching Stiles’ head, his face, his shoulder, to calm him down. Scott sleeps on Stiles’ other side, and he’ll reach out to pat Stiles’ shoulder or chest, too.

It’s a restless night for everyone, but Derek is grateful that Stiles at least got some sleep. Derek hopes he has time for a nap the next day.

What actually happens is that Stiles gets up with the sun, and Noah takes one look at him and says, “I think donuts are in order. Stiles?”

“Yeah, Dad,” Stiles says wearily. “Donuts would be awesome.”

“I’ll go pick some up,” Noah replies, and presses a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head. “Be sure you make time for homework today, okay?”

“Top of the list,” Stiles promises. “I could use the break, and I have an English paper to write.”

“Good man,” Noah says.

Stiles shuffles to the kitchen to make the coffee as the other kids burrow deeper into the blankets, clearly unwilling to get up just yet. Derek levers himself up to keep Stiles company in the kitchen, and watches in amusement as Stiles stares blearily at the coffee pot.

“Need some help?” Derek asks.

“Do you think there are prophetic dreams?” Stiles asks in lieu of an answer.

Derek considers the question as he nudges Stiles out of the way. “I think there are dreams that feel so real they almost seem prophetic,” Derek says carefully. “But you also dreamed about Scott being captured, so I’m not ruling out prophetic dreams. Do you think that’s what happened last night?”

Stiles rubs his eyes. “I don’t know. It was probably me talking about Kate yesterday.”

Derek frowns. “What did you dream?” He’s not sure, but he feels as though it’s important.

“I dreamed she escaped,” Stiles says. “Escaped and came after the pack. I don’t know. It was pretty vague beyond that, and it hasn’t happened yet.”

“Came after the pack” could mean a lot of things, and Derek suspects that Stiles’ nightmares had played out at least a few of those scenarios. “If you need to talk about it, you can.”

Stiles snorts. “You don’t need any more nightmare fodder, Derek.”

Derek doesn’t press. He knows all about having things that he doesn’t want to talk about.

Scott wanders into the kitchen, and he throws an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “You okay, dude?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles insists. “Just some bad dreams is all.”

Scott slaps him on the shoulder. “Hang in there.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Stiles says.

Erica is the next to enter, and she also sidles up to Stiles and bumps his shoulder with her own. “You okay, Doctor Strange?”

Stiles nods. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Erica leans in closer. “Liar.”

“I will be,” Stiles insists.

“Less of a lie,” Erica says. “Since we’ll make sure you’re okay.”

Isaac doesn’t come into the kitchen until Noah returns to the house with the donuts, and then he follows Noah into the kitchen like a silent shadow.

For a moment, it could have been any other house after a teenager’s sleepover, as the kids descend on the food and coffee.

Erica makes a sound that’s nearly pornographic. “Oh, my god. Why does this taste so good?”

Stiles is immediately on his phone. “What medications were you on?”

Erica rattles off several names of drugs, and Stiles quickly looks them up. “Side effects for those include nausea and loss of appetite.” He glances up from his phone and grins at her. “And werewolves can eat a lot. Congratulations, you have your appetite back.”

Erica pauses halfway through her second donut. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to gain a bunch of weight, right?”

“Unlikely,” Derek inserts. “You’ll burn most of those calories.”

“Well, hell, this is like the best thing ever,” Erica announces and starts back in on her donut.

Isaac stares at Erica with envy, and Derek glances at Noah, who nods. “Once we’re done eating, I think we should have a pack meeting.”

“Moira should be here shortly,” Stiles says. “I’m not objecting, I’m just saying.”

“As Moira said, the pack’s secrets are her secrets,” Noah says. “Agent Marsh said he trusted her, and I’m going to go with that.”

Stiles nods. “Yeah, okay. Like I said, not an objection, just an observation in case we want to ask her to delay.”

Noah’s eyes narrow, but all he says is, “Let’s move this to the living room.”

They all head into the living room, with Erica sitting next to Stiles on the couch in a protective way. Isaac sort of hovers in the doorway, whereas Scott seems torn, glancing between Stiles and Isaac, before settling on the floor.

Derek understands. Isaac is like a skittish animal, and Scott has a soft heart. Plus, although things have been better between Stiles and Scott, there are still some hard feelings.

While the pack bonds are strong, there’s still the possibility of a schism within the pack. Things are in flux, and while Scott seems to have mostly given up on the idea of Allison, that could change tomorrow.

Noah stands in the middle of the room, glancing around, and he motions for Stiles to move to the recliner. “Isaac, sit. You need to understand just what you’re getting into.”

“You bit Erica, didn’t you?” Isaac says resentfully as he sits where Noah directs.

“I did, because she had a serious medical condition that could be alleviated by the bite,” Noah replies. “It was a pressing issue. But you don’t, and if you’re suddenly very fast and very strong, it might suggest that you would have been able to kill your father.”

Isaac flinches at that. “Oh, I hadn’t thought about that.”

“I didn’t think you had,” Noah says gently. “That’s why we’re having this conversation. Because there are other aspects that you need to seriously consider. There are hunters who have targeted us. They kidnapped and tortured Stiles and Scott, and they killed Derek’s family. Strength, if it’s not to become abusive, must be tempered.”

“I understand,” Isaac says, but his tone says something else.

“Because it’s not an emergency, and because it makes sense to wait, I’m not offering you the bite today,” Noah says. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t be pack. Stiles is human, and he’s pack. Scott’s mom is pack, and she’s human.”

Isaac nods reluctantly. “I understand.”

“We’ll give it some time,” Noah says. “My preference would be to wait until after the next full moon to offer it, but I understand that circumstances might force the issue. So, it’s not never; it just not right now.”

Isaac nods, and Derek figures that by giving Isaac a time frame, it puts some control back in Isaac’s hands.

There’s a knock at the door, and Stiles gets up to answer it. Moira takes one look at him and says, “Hmm. We should talk.” She glances around the room and nods to everyone, eyes Isaac and gives an approving nod, then unexpectedly smiles at Erica. “I see you’re feeling more like yourself, dear.”

“I had two donuts, and they were delicious!” Erica says with irrepressible cheer.

Moira laughs. “We’ll go shopping sometime. For right now, I need to have a private conversation with Stiles. Noah, can we use your office?”

Noah nods. “Sure.”

Derek wants to follow, although he’s not sure why, but then Noah nods at him, and Derek gets up.

Moira raises an eyebrow, but then nods. “Come along. Stiles, you know where we’re going.”

Stiles leads them to an office on the ground floor, and Moira shuts the door and then reaches into her pocket for a vial of clear liquid. She traces something on the door with it, and it’s like all sound cuts off.

“What—“ Derek begins, startled.

“I’m sure that you and Stiles will share what’s needed with Noah and whoever else in the pack needs to know,” Moira says. “But there’s something you need to tell me, and I think privacy is warranted. If you want me to kick Derek out, I will.”

Stiles laughs.”No, it’s cool. I probably would have told Derek about it earlier, but I didn’t want him to have more nightmare fuel, and I didn’t want Erica or Scott to hear about it.”

Moira turns to Derek. “Do you mind?”

“Stiles is right, I have enough nightmares of my own, but that doesn’t mean I won’t bear the burdens of a pack mate,” Derek replies.

Moira nods approvingly. “Spoken like a true right hand. Stiles, take note. Derek is assuming one of the traditional positions within the pack.”

Stiles nods and hunches in on himself, sitting down on an old footlocker in the corner, while Moira sits in Noah’s desk chair, and Derek leans against the wall near the door. “I get it.”

“Did Derek ask you about it earlier?” she asks.

Stiles nods. “I mean, the whole pack was there for my nightmares last night, so I was expecting the questions.”

Moira fixes him with a look. “Stiles, I need you to tell me about your dreams, in detail. Your aura is disordered, and I’m still trying to figure out what your gifts entail.”

“Are there prophetic dreams?” Stiles asks.

“Of course, there are,” Moira says pertly. “Just as there is mind-reading, precognition, telekinesis, and the rest. Most of those gifts are the province of magic users and psychics. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Stiles hunches even further, and Moira adds, “But until you learn to control those abilities, any precognitive gifts you might have are or can be indistinguishable from nightmares.”

There’s a miserable nod, and Stiles begins hesitantly. “My dreams were all over the place. Some seemed more vivid than others.”

“Start with the most vivid,” Moira orders.

Stiles takes a deep breath. “I dreamed that Kate escaped from prison. How wasn’t really clear, and I wish it was, because I’d beg my dad to take precautions. But I dreamed that I woke up and the house was in flames.” He stops and glances at Derek. “It’s cool if you want to leave. You don’t need this in your head.”

“Continue,” Derek grits out.

“We were stuck inside, like, trapped, and I couldn’t figure out why, or find a way to get us out,” Stiles finally says, after a long pause. “The entire pack was in the house, and it wasn’t just us. There were a couple of others, too. I didn’t see their faces or get their names, I just knew there were more people.” He stops. “I really don’t want to go into detail.”

“That’s good enough,” Moira replies. “It’s specific enough that I think we ought to take what precautions we can. I was going to show you how to set up wards anyway, but we’ll start on that this afternoon, specifically anti-fire wards. I made a start yesterday, but we’ll finish them today.”

Derek feels like he’s been hit with a pail full of cold water. “Wait, there are actually anti-fire wards?”

Moira nods. “Yes, and they’re relatively common.” Her gaze sharpens. “Who was the Hale pack’s emissary?”

“I’m not—I’m not entirely sure,” Derek admits. “Mom knew, and she probably told Laura, but not me.”

Moira snorts. “A druid then. Not all of them, of course, but many tend to ask to keep things close to the vest. It seems odd that someone that close to the Hale pack wouldn’t have approached Noah by now if they were still in town.”

“The previous emissary could have moved away,” Stiles points out. “Or maybe they got spooked because of the fire.”

“But why wouldn’t they have set up anti-fire wards?” Derek asks plaintively. “Can any magic user do it?”

Moira takes a deep breath. “No, not every magic user can, but anyone with enough power and experience to be an emissary should be able to do so. Certainly, I wouldn’t tell Noah that Stiles is ready to be a fully fledged emissary without a thorough education in warding. Stiles has a strong connection to the earth, and so we’ll need to develop that.”

Stiles seems to be jolted out of his own misery by the revelation. “So…if the emissary had put up the right wards—“

Moira holds up a hand. “I don’t know, Stiles. There are things that can defeat wards, and hunters know about them. The emissary may have been negligent, or may have made a mistake, or the hunters were able to defeat the wards. Forgive me, Derek, but from what I’ve heard, your family was unable to leave the house, which suggests the use of mountain ash.”

Derek grimaces. “Maybe, but the humans weren’t able to leave either, and my uncle Peter did manage to escape, even though he was badly burned.”

Moira shakes her head. “Without knowing who the emissary was, and questioning him or her, it would be impossible to say, and I don’t want to cast aspersions on a person’s character without knowing them. There may be a perfectly innocent explanation, or the hunters may be at fault.”

Derek nods, feeling a little better. He’s perfectly content to blame Kate for what happened; he’s finally starting to realize that it hadn’t been his fault. He’d been foolish, but he’d also been a child.

“Regardless, we aren’t going to allow that to happen here,” Moira says. “We will treat the Argents as the clear and present threat that they are. We will set up anti-fire wards in areas that make it less likely for the hunters to be able to interfere.” She sounds fierce, and she looks at Stiles. “What other dreams were vivid?”

Stiles rubs his eyes. “Right, well, that was the worst. There were a couple of others, all centering around Kate Argent escaping. In one dream, she kidnapped Derek. It wasn’t pretty. In another, she—she managed to poison my dad with wolfsbane. That was also not pretty.”

Derek definitely doesn’t need or want those details, and he’s sorry that Stiles had to see that, even if it was just in his nightmares.

“There may be a way to suppress your nightmares, Stiles,” Moira says gently. “Do you want that?”

Stiles shakes his head. “What if they’re not nightmares and we can get a warning? I don’t want to risk it.”

Moira nods. “Then it’s important that you talk about what you saw. Don’t let it fester.”

Stiles nods. “I understand.”

“I’m going to give Noah a few names of therapists who know about the supernatural,” Moira adds. “And if he can find one, you need to go, Stiles.”

Stiles hunches his shoulders and nods. “I will.”

Moira nods. “Good. Now, do you want to learn how to set up a ward?”

Derek excuses himself at that point, because he certainly isn’t going to be able to participate in Stiles’ magic lessons.

Noah is in the hallway, waiting for Derek to emerge, and he just raises his eyebrows.

“Kate Argent,” Derek says. “How sure are we that she won’t be able to escape?”

“Not sure enough,” Noah replies. “We can take precautions, and she’ll be treated like a dangerous felon, but I’m not unaware of the potential for danger.”

Derek nods. “I guess we’ll just have to take whatever precautions we can.”

That’s all they can do.

~~~~~

Stiles has an English paper to write, but he has a deep desire to protect his pack, too. He thinks that it’s important to ward the house against fire; he can afford one late paper.

Moira explains how to draw wards along the foundation of the house. She produces an athame from her voluminous bag, one that can cut stone. Moira directs Stiles to dig holes around the foundation so she can place the runes, and then fill the holes back up with soil and remove signs of the ground being disturbed.

They have most of the runes placed by the time his dad calls them in for lunch.

“Good,” Moira says. “There’s a lot more I’ll need to teach you, and it will be some time before you’re ready to do something like this on your own. I’ll finish up after lunch while you do your homework.”

Stiles opens his mouth to protest, but Moira holds up a hand. “Stiles, school is important. I’m here to teach you, yes, but I’m also here to serve as interim emissary.”

He still wants to argue, but he knows he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on, not if he wants to make sure that the others’ grades are where they need to be.

Moira gives him a look. “Be grateful that you have competent adults in your life to handle these things.”

Stiles has to laugh at that. “Yeah, I guess I do. Thanks.”

His dad gets a call during lunch, which he heads outside to take. Stiles figures the other werewolves will be able to hear him, but the humans will be in the dark.

Stiles glances at Scott, who’s wolfing down a sandwich, and Scott shakes his head. “Your dad went out to sit in the car. I can hear him talking, but not what’s being said. It’s too muffled.”

“Smart,” Stiles mutters. “What other homework do the rest of you have?”

Erica makes a face. “Math, which I hate. I always save that for last.”

“History, for the same reason,” Scott admits. “I have that essay to finish.”

Isaac hunches his shoulders. “A little bit of everything, I guess.”

“Well, I have my English essay,” Stiles says. “We can knock all that out after we finish eating.”

Moira watches everything, but says little. Stiles suspects she’s getting a feel for the pack dynamics as they’re developing. He wonders if that’s part of an emissary’s job, and he makes a mental note to ask her later, after he’s finished his homework, and after she’s finished placing the ward stones.

Derek cocks his head as though listening, and Stiles’ dad comes back in. Stiles can tell from the look on his face that something has happened that worries him.

“I don’t want anyone to worry or panic,” Noah says wearily. “But it turns out that Kate has been granted a bond review hearing.”

Stiles can feel the panic starting to bubble up. He understands that means she’ll likely be allowed to attend in person with her attorneys, and a jailbreak is a lot easier during transport than getting someone out of a locked facility.

And Gerard Argent is in town.

“Stiles, take a deep breath,” Derek says softly.

Stiles realizes that he’s starting to hyperventilate as the images from his nightmares flash through his mind. He tries, but can’t quite manage it. His chest feels as though it’s being squeezed in a giant fist.

Derek grabs him by the elbow and pulls him into the living room, shoving Stiles’ head roughly between his knees. Not so rough that it hurts, but rough enough that Stiles doesn’t have much choice in the matter.

“Stiles, breathe,” Derek orders. “Say the mantra with me.”

Stiles shakes his head. “It’s not, though. I saw it. I saw what she did.”

He’s fighting to get the words out, and Derek grips the back of his neck. “Do you think I’m going to let them take another pack from me?”

“What if you can’t stop her?” Stiles asks. “What if no one can stop her?”

“A bullet between the eyes will stop her,” Noah says fiercely. “I need you to believe me, Stiles.”

Stiles just shakes his head, remembering Kate’s threats. Maybe she can’t tell the world that his dad is a werewolf; they’d never believe her. But she can tell Gerard Argent, and he could tell his hunters, and the next thing that happens is a bullet from a sniper’s rifle entering his dad’s brain.

This is what he’d been afraid of, and his nightmares from the previous night, the suspicion that at least some of them might have been prophetic, just reinforce that he’s right to be afraid.

Suddenly, Scott drops down next to Stiles and shoves his own inhaler into Stile’s mouth, depressing it. The albuterol hits the back of his throat and short circuits the hyperventilating, but it doesn’t help Stiles’ racing heart.

“You know that can be a stimulant, don’t you?” Stiles wheezes. “Not the best choice there, Scotty.”

Scott shrugs unrepentantly. “What else does albuterol do to the human body?”

Stiles had researched just that when Scott had been diagnosed with asthma and prescribed the medication, wanting to know everything. He starts rattling off the facts he’d committed to memory years earlier.

“It relaxes and opens the air passages to the lungs,” Stiles says easily. “It can cause nervousness, headache, and throat irritation. Sometimes, it causes an irregular heartbeat. Which is why you probably shouldn’t have given it to me while I’m having an irregular heartbeat due to a panic attack.”

Scott just smirks at him. “Maybe the albuterol didn’t work on you, but reciting the side effects did.”

Stiles realizes that while his heart is still beating too fast, and his chest is still tight, his breathing has evened out, and he’s feeling a lot calmer. “Thanks, dude.”

“Any time,” Scott replies easily.

“We’re going to take precautions,” his dad says softly. “I don’t want you or anyone else going anywhere alone. Derek, that includes you. I’m less worried about Isaac and Erica; I doubt the Argents will have caught wind of any new pack members yet.”

“Who’s going to watch your back?” Stiles objects.

His dad takes a deep breath. “I’m going to bring Paul and Tara in on the secret, and eventually Dave. We’ll wait to see what happens, because I don’t want to jump the gun, but if something happens, I will definitely tell them.”

“I can help with that, Noah,” Moira says. “There are some measures that we can take if they respond poorly.”

His dad nods. “I’d appreciate your help.”

“In the meantime, once I’ve finished warding the house, I can make myself available,” Moira says. “And you’d be surprised at how many hunters look past me.”

“Secret badass,” Stiles murmurs.

Moira smiles smugly. “You know it.”

Stiles takes another breath, and he feels like he’s steadier now. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

“You’re getting all the therapy,” his dad says dryly. “Moira has given me some more names, and I’ll start calling them tomorrow.”

Stiles figures that therapy is probably not a bad idea. He doesn’t want to have a panic attack at an inopportune time.

“You’ll be fine,” Derek says and pats him on the shoulder. “You’ve always kept your head in a dangerous situation before. No reason you won’t the next time.”

“Let’s hope there isn’t a next time,” Noah says.

When Stiles goes back into the dining room to finish up his lunch, Isaac and Erica are staring at him. “I am, in fact, a mess,” Stiles says, wanting to get that out of the way.

Isaac shakes his head. “I get that way in enclosed spaces.”

“Derek is right,” Erica comments. “You and Scott were really great during my last seizure, a lot better than anyone else has been.”

Stiles finishes his lunch by shoving what’s left of his sandwich in his mouth, and he catches his dad’s eye roll. “You know, Stiles, it would be nice if you could demonstrate that I actually taught you some manners.”

Stiles shrugs, and he at least makes an attempt at swallowing before responding. “English paper, Dad.”

His dad just shakes his head. “I need to get some paperwork done.”

“And I need to finish up the warding,” Moira adds.

And that leaves Stiles and the others to finish up their homework.

Stiles brings his laptop downstairs so he can work at the dining room table with the others. He dashes off an essay about the unfairness of sexual double standards in Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter. Stiles thinks he’ll get brownie points for his close analysis of the ways that Hester is discriminated against.

His ADD is such that it’s hard not to multi-task, so he splits his time between his own work and helping the others. They’re all done with their homework before long, and Stiles checks the fridge and cupboards for something to cook. They need supplies, so he pokes his head into his dad’s office. “I’m going to run to the store. Spaghetti and meatballs okay for dinner?”

“Take someone with you,” his dad orders. “Preferably Derek or Moira—or both. And yes, that sounds fine. Did everyone finish their homework?”

Stiles nods. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Well, Mel wants Scott home tonight, and I think he’ll be safe enough,” Noah says. “And Erica’s parents said they were glad she had a fun weekend, but they want her home as well.”

Stiles can’t really argue with that. “What about Isaac?”

“I’m going to let him choose whether he wants to stay here or with Scott,” his dad replies. “We don’t know what attacked his dad yet, and I want to be sure that Isaac isn’t also a target.”

Stiles shuts the door behind him. “I’m sorry for freaking out earlier. It’s not that I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to you either, Stiles,” his dad assures him. “And I know that’s what it is.”

Stiles swallows hard. “Did Moira say anything about what I dreamed?”

“She said it was pretty bad, and you watched me die in one,” Noah says.

Stiles nods. “Yeah. I just—it’s hard to get that images out of my head. It felt so real.”

Right down to the blood that spattered on his face, but he doesn’t want to say anything about that.

Noah sighs and stands, and he pulls Stiles into a long, hard hug. “I know you’ve been rolling with the punches like a champ, kiddo, but I’m worried about you, too.”

Stiles doesn’t try to offer empty promises. He’s not really okay right now, and he’s not going to claim that he is. He just clings tightly, hoping that one of these days it won’t feel as though they’re walking on the razor’s edge.

“I’m gonna go get food,” Stiles says against his dad’s chest.

“Sure, you do that,” Noah replies, and kisses the top of his head, and Stiles wishes he could return to the time when that had been all he’d needed for comfort.

Stiles finds Derek waiting for him, keys to the Camaro in hand. “We can take Roscoe,” Stiles objects.

“We could,” Derek agrees pleasantly. “But my car is in better condition and it’s faster in case we run into trouble.”

Stiles sighs. “Fine.”

Scott, Erica, and Isaac have started a video game marathon in the living room, and Stiles can see that Scott is trying to draw Isaac out. Moira is outside on the porch, and Stiles asks, “What’s up?”

“I put some additional protections on the house,” Moira says. “Eventually, I’ll show you what I did and how I did it. Where are you two off to?”

“Grocery store,” Stiles explains. “I’m going to make spaghetti and meatballs.”

Moira nods. “I’ll go with you.”

Stiles gives her a narrow-eyed look. “Is there something I’m supposed to learn about the grocery store and magic?”

Moira laughs. “No, although I suggest that you include something green.”

“I’ll grab a bag of salad,” Stiles replies.

“Good enough,” Moira replies. “No, I’m just there as someone the relevant parties don’t know, and can offer a hand if necessary without them being able to identify me. Which is why I’m going to follow in my rental.”

Stiles grabs the reusable grocery bags from his own car, then climbs into the passenger seat of the Camaro. Derek glances at the bags, and Stiles says, “Reuse, reduce, and recycle, dude. I figure we can stock up a bit. I’ll probably have to make another trip, though, once we figure out how many people we’re feeding and how often.”

Derek glances over at him. “You like this?”

“Shopping?” Stiles asks. “Or cooking?”

“Both?” Derek hazards.

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t know. My mom died when I was eight, so I was making my own peanut and butter sandwiches and mac and cheese by the time I was twelve, when I told Dad I didn’t need a babysitter. Dad had a bit of a health scare when I was fourteen—high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and the doctor warned him that he was headed to an early heart attack if he didn’t change.”

“And you acted to protect your dad,” Derek says knowingly.

“Sure,” Stiles says. “I started figuring out how to make healthy stuff, and Dad cut way back on his drinking. His last physical was a lot better, and I look forward to the next one where his doctor is amazed by his progress.”

Derek smiles. “Hidden depths.”

Stiles shrugs. “It’s not like I cook every day. Dad works a lot. I’ve probably made more food the last few months than I have done in the last year.”

“I can help with that,” Derek offers. “I probably have more time than you do.”

“That would be good,” Stiles agrees. “Scott can barely boil water, and my dad gets called away in the middle of things. I don’t blame them, but it’s not helpful. And if Isaac starts being around more often, or Erica…” Stiles pauses. “Actually, are there epileptic werewolves? Do you know? Are there diets that help? Should we do more protein and less carbs?”

Derek just shakes his head. “Well, I’ve never met a vegetarian or vegan werewolf, but I won’t swear they don’t exist. My family ate the same as any other, I guess. My mom insisted on making most things from scratch, though. She didn’t like processed food on principle.”

“Oh, man,” Stiles says with a groan. “I’ve been reading up on that, but processed food is so delicious.”

Derek laughs. “Maybe you should ask Moira what processed food does to your magic.”

Stiles groans. “She’s going to cut me off, I just know it.”

He’s pleased when Derek laughs again, mostly because Derek is clearly occupying the place as the second in his dad’s pack, which means it’s important that they get along. That hasn’t always been a foregone conclusion.

Derek parks at the grocery store, and Stiles grabs a cart. He does, indeed, grab a bagged salad from the produce section, as well as a bag of baby carrots.

Stiles is a little surprised when Derek throws a bag of broccoli in the cart. “It’s easy,” Derek explains. “I like broccoli.”

Potatoes and shallots follow, and Stiles grabs turkey sausage for the meatballs, while Derek grabs a family-size package of chicken thighs. They trade off like that, Stiles grabbing pasta, and Derek grabbing a bag of rice. Stiles grabs a box of cereal, and Derek puts a container of oatmeal into the cart.

Even if they don’t say much to each other, it feels right. They’re taking care of the pack.

And then they’re in the bakery section, and Stiles is looking at their options for French bread, when he feels Derek freeze next to him.

Stiles straightens slowly, tossing the loaf of bread into the cart. He sees Chris Argent standing there, looking as though he wishes he were anywhere else. The older man next to him has a smile on his face, though, and it’s not a pleasant one.

Derek moves so that he’s half-blocking Stiles from their view, but Stiles doesn’t think that they’re going to shoot him, and they already know who Stiles is.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” Stiles asks in the most deliberately snide tone that he can muster.

Derek shoots him a quelling look, but Stiles is feeling a little bit like he wants to hurt any hunter who presents a threat.

“You must be Sitles,” the creepy old man, who has to be Gerard Argent, says. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Gross,” Stiles says. “You sound like a pedophile. The next thing I know, I’ll be reporting you to my dad for bad touching. Mr. Argent, I suggest that we part ways as friends before I have to talk to the DA about witness tampering.”

Chris’ mouth tightens. “Good evening.” He grabs the old man’s arm and hustles him away, and Stiles lets out a breath.

“Stiles,” Derek hisses. “Seriously?”

“That old man wants us scared,” Stiles hisses back. “And intimidating witnesses is a felony in the state of California. We know he’s a threat, but I’d let him suck my dick before I showed him any fear.”

Derek stares at him incredulously, and then he grins, and then he starts to laugh. “Oh, my god, Stiles.”

“He’s a gross old man,” Stiles insists. “He couldn’t touch me without me screaming pedo, but I’m just saying. There are priorities.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Derek says. “I don’t like this exposure.”

“We have Moira,” Stiles says. “But I agree. Let’s not let Bad Touch Grandpa get a shot at us.”

Derek snorts, and they go to check out. They don’t see the Argents again, and Stiles doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not, but he’s going to call it a positive.

~~~~~

Derek and Stiles drive Scott and Isaac to the McCall house, while Moira accompanies Noah to take Erica home. The sheriff has made it clear that they’re on the buddy system until they know what the Argents’ next move is going to be.

Plus, from what Noah had said, he wants to talk to Erica’s parents personally, to get a read on their temperature and their motivations. For the parents of a really sick kid, they don’t seem terribly overprotective—or even a little protective.

“Someone will pick you up tomorrow morning,” Derek says.

Scott nods. “Yeah, okay. What if Mom offers to drive us?”

“Text me,” Stiles replies. “Be careful, okay?”

“You, too,” Scott says.

Derek stays parked it in the driveway until he’s sure that Scott and Isaac are safe inside the house.

“Does this feel weird to you?” Stiles asks. “Because it feels weird to me. We’re not supposed to split up. In horror movies, when people split up, someone ends up dead.”

“No one is going to die,” Derek insists. “Unless it’s an Argent. That’s still on the table.”

“Only if you make it look like a wild animal attack,” Stiles replies. “That way, if they ever find the body, they won’t be able to tie it back to you.”

Derek glances at him. “You’ve thought about this. You may have thought about this way too much.”

“It’s possible,” Stiles admits after a pause. “It is entirely possible that I have a whole revenge fantasy where Kate Argent’s body gets dumped at a pig farm and eaten. Did you know that pigs will eat pretty much anything, including human remains?”

“I’m honestly a little concerned that you know that,” Derek admits. “I’m sure that’s not your only method of body disposal, since there aren’t that many pig farms around here.”

“True,” Stiles says. “Acid and lye are impractical, and don’t work nearly as well as people think. Dismemberment is too messy, and leaves too much evidence. Personally, I’m still in favor of likely animal attack and leaving the body for the elements. Under these circumstances, it offers the best chance of getting away with it. And what’s the point of committing murder if you can’t get away with it?”

Derek takes a deep breath. “And again, disturbing.”

“Kate Argent deserves her own content warning,” Stiles responds.

Derek considers that, and then says, “Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”

Moira and Noah aren’t back by the time he and Stiles arrive, and they go inside and lock the doors.

“Do you want ice cream?” Stiles asks. “I think we have some in the freezer.”

Derek shrugs. “Yeah, I’d take some.”

Stiles is dishing up when Noah and Moira come inside, and Noah says, “Is there enough for us?”

Stiles nods. “Sure. There’s hot fudge sauce, too.”

They sit down around the table with their ice cream and fudge sauce, and Stiles gives his dad a look. “So? How did things go with Erica’s parents?”

“She implied that you two are on your way to dating, and she was softening you up this weekend,” Noah says dryly. “They implied that the doctors told them that the last attempt to change Erica’s medications was unsuccessful, and therefore she was unlikely to live much longer.”

Stiles stares at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Language,” Noah scolds half-heartedly. “I’m not sure if they were trying to get out of her way so she could live her best life, or if they’re disengaging, or both.”

“It was both,” Moira says. “It was definitely both.”

“That’s messed up,” Stiles says. “I mean, that’s really messed up.”

Noah grimaces, and Derek can smell the acrid odor of guilt and regret. Stiles might not be a wolf, but he seems to sense it nonetheless. “You didn’t detach, Dad. Maybe you were at work when she died, but someone had to pay the hospital bills.”

“You were alone,” Noah says.

“Yeah, and that sucked,” Stiles replies bluntly. “Still not your fault.”

Moira frowns. “Forgive me for broaching a delicate subject, but how did your wife die, Sheriff?”

“Fronto-temporal dementia is the official cause of death,” Noah says tightly. “That’s all anyone needs to know.”

Derek knows that must mean there’s more to it than that, but no one at the table is willing to press.

“Was there a family history?” Moira asks.

Noah hesitates, and then he shakes his head. “Not so far as we know. Claudia—her parents died the year before we met, and she didn’t know much about her extended family. She didn’t know why. We named Stiles after his maternal grandfather, though—Miecyzslaw Gajos.”

Moira hums. “I’ll make some inquiries. Gifts likes the ones Stiles has are often passed down from parent to child.”

“What does that mean?” Stiles asks, his voice going a little higher. “Does that mean—“

“That means that the wards I’ve placed will protect you from any outside influences,” Moira says firmly. “And the training I give you will help form a solid foundation.”

Derek glances at Stiles, who is pale and clearly afraid. “Does that mean I could have the same problem as my mom?”

“There’s nothing to suggest that, Stiles,” Moira says soothingly. “Even if an outside influence was responsible, your training and the wards on this house will protect you.”

Noah frowns. “Wait. Do you think Claudia might have had magic, too?”

“Perhaps,” Moira says guardedly. “It’s hard to say. But if she did, it was certainly untrained. Stiles’ magic won’t be. As I said, he’s well protected here. But I’ll make some inquiries.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “I know. It’s just—“

“Scary,” Moira supplies gently. “I imagine this fear has been haunting you for some time, hasn’t it, Stiles?”

Stiles nods. “Yeah.” He stands. “Sorry, but I should get some sleep.”

“I’ll get the dishes,” Noah says gently. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“He’s going to have nightmares again tonight,” Noah predicts once Stiles is presumably out of earshot.

“No, he’s not,” Moira says smugly. “I took steps. He’ll sleep well and deeply tonight at least. I should also get back to my hotel. I’m going to need to make some phone calls.”

Noah holds up a hand. “Is that really necessary? Claudia and her family are dead and buried.”

“You may not know it, Noah, but the Gajos name is well known,” Moira replies. “And she may be dead and buried, but she haunts the both of you still.”

Noah sighs. “Well, I suppose that’s true enough. Just—will you tell me what you find out before you tell Stiles?”

“I will,” Moira replies, “but I won’t promise not to say anything to Stiles, no matter what I find out.”

Noah nods. “I understand. It’s Stiles’ heritage. He should know about it.”

“The wards are always especially strong the first night, so anyone sleeping under this roof will be safe and sleep dreamlessly,” Moira says. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Moira stands, and Noah sys, “There’s the possibility that the hunters are watching my house.”

She smiles. “They are. There’s a car parked out front. You’re assuming that they’ll be able to see anything with the wards up. They won’t. And they won’t notice me at all. I’m used to flying under the radar.”

She leaves, and Derek glances at Noah. “What do you think?”

“I think the Argents are going to be a problem, and I think whatever killed Isaac’s father is also going to be a problem,” Noah says. “And we don’t know what that is yet. There aren’t any werewolves around that you don’t know of, are there?”

Derek shakes his head. “I did put my claws in Jackson Whittemore’s neck, but a beta has never been able to turn someone. But…it might have left him open to supernatural intervention.”

“There’s something trapped in the trunk of the Nemeton,” Noah muses. “There might be other things in and around Beacon Hills as a result.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Derek says. “I hope Moira is right about sleeping without dreams.”

“Thinking about the omega?” Noah asks.

Derek nods. “Yeah. That could have been me.”

“It could have been, but it wasn’t,” Noah replies. “You have a pack. We all do. And we’re going to get through this.”

The thing is, Derek believes him.

But there’s a part of him that thinks things are about to get interesting, and not in a good way.

~~~~~

Noah somehow manages to avoid a call-out all of Sunday, and he’s back on the day shift starting on Monday. It’s a good thing, because Stiles’ Jeep won’t start Monday morning, and Noah promises that he’ll arrange to have it towed to the mechanic’s shop. Derek takes Stiles with him to pick up the rest of the kids. The Camaro is barely big enough to fit five, but three of them can crowd into the backseat.

Noah calls for a tow truck, and as he’s waiting, he gets a phone call from the station.

“What’s up, Paul?” Noah asks.

“We have a situation, Sheriff,” Paul says grimly. “Kate Argent has escaped from custody.”

Noah rubs his eyes with his free hand. “When and how?”

“This morning,” Paul says. “She was being transferred from lock-up to the courthouse in anticipation of her hearing today.”

“How many others escaped?” Noah asks, because he feels like the answer to that question will tell him a lot.

“None,” Paul replies. “Every single fucking one was killed execution style with a single shot to the back of the head.”

“No witnesses,” Noah mutters. “Okay, did it happen inside our jurisdiction?”

“Just inside,” Paul admits. “And I mean, a hundred yards inside the county line.”

“So, whoever did it probably wanted us to be the ones to investigate,” Noah says. “Okay, I need you to call Tara, and meet both of us at the station.”

He wants to read Dave in as well, because he trusts the man, and he’d handled some sensitive issues with grace, but there’s something in Paul’s scent that causes Noah to want to read him in first.

“Sir”?” Paul says uncertainly, and it makes sense, because Paul is one of Noah’s best investigators. Normally, Noah would keep him at the crime scene.

“I know it’s an unusual request,” Noah says. “And I know Tara is still on nights, but I need her there as well. I have information for you both about the recent issues.”

Paul takes an audible breath. “Yes, sir. I’ll meet you at the station.”

Noah texts Moira next. Kate Argent has escaped. Reading my people in.

He gets an almost immediate response. ETA 5 minutes. Stay where you are.

Noah frowns, and he wonders if she’d already been on the way.

Moira is as good as her word, and she pulls up in front of his house a few minutes later. She makes a hand gesture, and Noah sees the black SUV parked half a block away.

When Noah steps outside as she comes up the front walk, Moira says, “We have about five minutes before they wake up. I recommend we take my car so they think you’re staying home today.”

“Is that necessary?” Noah asks.

“You have at least one murderous Argent on the loose, so yes, I do,” Moira says.

“What about Stiles?”

“Text Derek and have him stay outside the school,” Moira says, climbing behind the wheel. “But I think Stiles will be safe inside, and inside the house. It’s the in between you have to worry about.”

She parks in front of the station, and Noah strides inside, seeing Tara and Paul hovering, clearly worried. “You two,” he says. “My office.”

They seem confused, but they follow him, and they’re even more confused when Moira brings up the rear and locks the office door.

“Paul, Tara, this is Moira. She’s been helping out with some of the stranger aspects of the recent issues,” Noah says. “Agent Marsh recommended her, and I took him up on it.”

“I thought we were your backup,” Tara blurts out, then adds a hasty, “Sir.”

“Moira is a little bit different in terms of her skillset,” Noah replies. “But before we proceed, you both need to understand the Argents’ motives. You can’t predict behavior if you don’t know motive, no matter how unfounded.”

Paul nods. “Yes, sir, you’ve said that in the past. But what kind of motive can a serial killer have?”

“The kind where she thinks she’s doing the world a favor by ridding it of certain people,” Noah says. “As taught to her by her father.”

Noah isn’t surprised to see identical puzzled expressions on their faces.

“But…” Tara is clearly trying to figure out just what had set the Hales apart, or why Kate Argent would target Stiles and Scott.

Paul, on the other hand, rubs his eyes. “Those motherfuckers are hunters, aren’t they?”

Moira raises an eyebrow and asks, “And what, pray tell, are you?”

Paul flushes as Tara and Noah stare at him. “Werecoyote. Born, not bitten.”

Noah takes a deep breath, and realizes that he had already known that something was different about Paul. There’s a wildness to his scent that he found comforting, but since he’s not a werewolf, Noah hadn’t caught on to the fact that he’s a were of another sort.

Tara holds up a hand. “Wait, slow down. What exactly are you saying, Sheriff?”

Noah flashes red eyes and fangs. “I’m saying that I’m a werewolf, although I was bitten, and fairly recently at that.”

Understanding is beginning to dawn on Tara’s face. “The animal attacks? That wasn’t some sort of wolf dog that Peter Hale was using?”

“No, that was Peter Hale himself,” Noah confirms. “But Paul is right. The Argents are hunters, and Kate and her father, in particular, would like to kill anything they deem not human.”

Tara shakes her head. “This is a lot, sir.”

“You don’t have to remember this conversation,” Moira says gently. “I can do that for you.”

Tara shakes her head vehemently. “No, just—give me a minute. You’re still the best boss I’ve ever had, Sheriff. And I obviously didn’t notice a change. When—what happened?”

“Peter Hale attempted to attack the McCalls, and I happened to be there at the time,” Noah explains, glossing over the circumstances. “I was bitten in the altercation.”

Paul’s face reflects dawning understanding. “You were the one to kill Peter Hale.”

Noah nods. “Kate is very well aware that I’m an alpha, and her father will be, too. It’s not like they can make that claim publicly, but it will affect their actions going forward.”

“You’re going to be an even bigger target than we might have thought,” Tara sums up.

“They’re going to use wolfsbane bullets,” Paul says grimly. “I think we should be concerned about snipers.”

Noah glances at Tara, who seems to have taken in this information, and has moved on to problem-solving. “Well, you’re not going anywhere by yourself, sir.”

He laughs at that. “My son would be pleased to hear you say that.”

“You’re a target,” Paul says. “We can’t exactly put you into protective custody. There’s no reason we could give. But we can make sure that one of us is with you at all times.”

Noah grimaces. “I can’t authorize that kind of overtime, I’m afraid.”

“Then we won’t work it, we’ll just make sure you’re in one piece,” Tara replies. “It’s not up for debate, sir.” She hesitates. “Who else is—you know?”

“Scott McCall, Derek Hale, and Erica Reyes are all werewolves,” Noah says, knowing that they need all the answers. “Stiles is a magic user, but we’re not sure of his exact gifts yet. That’s part of why Moira is here. I’m currently evaluating Isaac Lahey, since he’s expressed some interest in taking the bite. Melissa McCall is a human member.”

“So, you don’t have to be a werewolf to be a member of the pack?” Tara asks.

Noah shakes his head. “The Hale pack had human members as well.” He glances at Paul. “What about you?”

“You mean, do coyotes have packs?” Paul asks. “We do, although we don’t require them the way that wolves do. I struck out on my own when I was 18, but I wouldn’t mind having a pack again.”

Moira nods as though it’s a done deal. “You might want to have Stiles meet them in his more official capacity.”

Noah glances at Tara. “What do you say? Do you want to be a part of the pack?”

Tara hesitates. “I kind of already feel like I am.”

Noah shrugs. “I think of the whole station like a pack.”

“That’s not too surprising,” Paul comments. “A lot of alphas who are first responders tend to look at their unit as a pack of sorts, but there’s a difference between being part of a pack like that, or a family.”

Noah can feel the truth of that. There might be a lot of overlap between those two groups, but distinctions could be drawn when necessary. “That actually makes a lot of sense. Why don’t you two come over for dinner sometime?”

Tara nods. “I’m in.”

“I’m in,” Paul says readily.

“Great, now that’s settled, let’s see how we’re going to track down the Argents,” Noah says.

Moira nods at him, apparently having decided that he’s in good hands. “I’ll wait for the children at your house.”

She leaves, and Noah gathers the rest of the deputies.“There’s a possibility that Kate will go after Stiles or Scott again, or even Derek. She might decide that the best way out of her current dilemma is to eliminate witnesses.”

His heart clenches in his chest, because that would be a way out, and it hurts to think that any of his pack might be hurt or killed.

One of his other deputies, Mark, says, “Wouldn’t they be smarter if they headed north to the border—or even south?”

“That would be assuming that they’re operating out of a place of logic,” Paul says with grim humor. “I mean, the woman kidnapped Stiles.”

Noah is glad that he brought Paul and Tara in on the secret, because they can help guide the investigation in a more natural way.

There are laughs all around at that, and Mark chuckles, too, even though his idea has been effectively shot down. “Fair enough. No offense, sir, but Stiles would be the worst to kidnap, and not just because you’re the sheriff.”

Noah has to agree with that as he smiles. “No offense taken. Stiles is a little shit, but we can all be grateful that he’s a resourceful little shit. Given that we might have multiple targets, I want increased patrols around the high school during the day.”

“And around your house and the McCalls’ house at night,” someone else adds.

Noah shoots Melissa a quick text to find out if she’s still on nights, and she is. “Mel’s working nights. I’ll check with her to see if she’s willing to let Scott stay at my house. It would be better if we didn’t spread ourselves too thin.”

He sends the request, with a quick explanation that the Argents might be a problem, and Mel immediately agrees.

“We’ll step up patrols,” Paul agrees. “It would be better if you got the kids to mostly congregate in a single location, and I include Derek in that.”

Noah nods. “I’ve already spoken to them, and they’ll be coming straight home after school, although there might be others with them.”

“Is that wise?” Tara asks.

“I don’t want them to worry too much, and Stiles is perfectly capable of defending himself,” Noah says easily. “He knows to lock the doors, and he also knows where the gun safe is.”

“We can start calling gas stations,” Tara offers. “Those black SUVs the Argents favor look like government vehicles. Someone might have recognized them.”

“I won’t say that this is top priority,” Noah says. “We have other crimes to respond to and solve, but the Argents don’t care about collateral damage, which makes them our biggest threat right now.”

There are murmurs of agreement, and then the radio crackles, and their dispatcher says, “Sheriff, we have reports of two dead bodies—one in the Preserve and the other at Armor Tire.”

That’s where Stiles’ Jeep is getting worked on, and Noah curses. “Three dead bodies in three days? Tara, take Mark and respond to the Preserve. Paul, you’re with me.”

Paul climbs into the passenger side of his Jeep, and says, “Do we know it’s not a werewolf?”

Noah blows out a breath. “I’m gonna need to see you flash some fang, Paul.”

“Fair enough,” Paul replies, and does just that—golden eyes and sharp canines. “I figured you’d ask at some point.”

“Derek and I took care of an omega that the hunters were tracking the other night,” Noah replies. “It’s possible that he’s responsible for the body in the woods. Beyond that, no. Derek was at my place all weekend, and so was Scott. Erica is still transitioning.”

Paul shakes his head. “Lord knows that I’ve heard of werecoyotes going feral, but we’re not big enough in our fully transformed state to attack a human. We’re more likely to decimate the rabbit population.”

“What do you mean, fully transformed?” Noah asks.

“Derek didn’t tell you?” Paul asks, sounding surprised. “I thought he was a born wolf.”

“He is, but what Derek doesn’t know about being a werewolf could probably fill a warehouse,” Noah replies as he takes the turn for Armor Tire. “Talia Hale thought her daughter would be the next alpha, and it doesn’t sound like she told Derek much of anything.”

Paul grimaces. “Well, that’s fucking stupid. You never know who’s going to be alpha in a pack.”

“Nevertheless, that’s the choice she made,” Noah replies. “So, you might be able to tell me more.”

“Full transformation is just what it sounds like,” Paul replies. “It’s when you take the full form of the were animal that you are.”

“Can you help me with that?” Noah asks.

“I can try,” Paul says. “I mean, I know how my parents taught me, and we can give it a shot.”

Noah nods. “The others might appreciate the lessons, too.”

He pulls up in front of the repair shop, and there are already paramedics outside. The owner of Armor Tire, Tom McFarland, is there, wringing his hands. “I don’t know how I’m going to replace Tucker. He’s one of my best workers.”

Noah and Paul stride inside, and Tucker’s body is on the floor, and there are four lacerations, going from the right shoulder, across the chest, then another four from left to right across the abdomen.

It’s the second set that probably killed him, that or the blood loss. “Go find out how long he’s been here,” Noah tells Paul. “I need to know the window.”

Paul nods, and Noah circles the body. He’s not experienced enough to fully use his own senses to maximum effect. He can smell car oil and engine cleaner, which nearly overwhelms him. He tires to filter that out, to see if there’s the smell of a werewolf, or maybe another were creature. Knowing that Paul is a werecoyote helps with that.

He’s trying to find that wild scent, but there’s nothing like that present, other than Paul. But then Noah catches a hint of sulphur. “What is that?” he mutters.

“What’s what?” Paul asks, kneeling next to Noah.

“Do you smell sulphur?” Noah asks.

Paul takes a deep breath. “Oh, fuck. That’s—I don’t know what that is, but it’s not good.”

“No, I don’t think so either,” Noah agrees. “And both Dr. Kelly and I got the same scent off Lahey’s body. I have a feeling we’re going to have to use some fancy footwork before this is all said and done.”

Paul hitches a shoulder. “I’ll start thinking up a good cover story. I’ve had a few situations like this in the past.”

“You had to have suspected,” Noah says.

Paul nods. “Yes, sir, but I didn’t know about you. I haven’t known a lot of werewolves, so I can’t just identify one. If you weren’t involved, and weren’t in the know, then I’d be risking a lot.”

“Fair enough,” Noah says. “But that’s not the scent of a were-creature.”

Paul glances at him. “Which means it’s probably not going to be easy to take care of the problem.”

Noah knows that’s true. “We’ll have to see what the other DB tells us.”

~~~~~

Stiles thinks it’s a little weird that he actually has friends to eat lunch with—plural, rather than singular. He sits with Scott, Erica, and Isaac, and Erica calls Vernon Boyd over to them.

Today, Erica looks like a completely different person. Her hair falls in healthy blonde waves around her face, she’s wearing makeup, and she’s also wearing jeans and a tight t-shirt under a denim jacket.

Boyd gives her a look. “What happened to you?”

“I got better,” Erica replies. “It’s a miracle.”

Boyd focuses on Isaac. “I was sorry to hear about your dad.”

Isaac just bobs his head, and he doesn’t try to explain what’s probably some fairly mixed emotions, all things considered.

“Who are you going to stay with?” Boyd asks.

“I stayed at the Sheriff’s place this weekend, and with Scott last night,” Isaac replies. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to figure something out.”

“Hey, no,” Stiles says. “I’m pretty sure Dad would insist—you know, for reasons.”

Boyd raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything else.

“Sheriff Stilinski was really nice,” Isaac says finally. “And he did say he’d help me figure it out.”

“Mr. S is great,” Erica agrees. “We hung out all weekend. You should join us next time, Boyd.”

Stiles isn’t sure how that spun out of his control, although he’s not necessarily opposed to Boyd joining them. Boyd seems cool and pretty decent, all things considered. He wouldn’t be the worst choice, that’s for sure; the worst choice would obviously be Jackson.

And, as if his thoughts had summoned him, Jackson drops down next to Scott, putting a threatening arm around his shoulders. “So, you know what I said about exposing your little boyband to the whole school if you didn’t make me one of you?”

Stiles knows that his dad had talked to Jackson about exposing them, but whatever fear had been instilled has obviously worn off. Maybe because Jackson sees other kids joining them and still wants to be a werewolf, or maybe because Jackson is just a relentless douche. Regardless, Stiles has had enough of Jackson’s bullying behavior. “You know what, Jackson? You’re right. It’s unfair to keep this from you.”

Jackson’s expression suggests that he knows it’s a trap, but that he wants it so badly, he’s willing to take that risk. “Okay. So, who do I have to convince?”

“Come to my house after school today,” Stiles says. “We’ll introduce you to the alpha, and you can convince him.”

Jackson is not going to be able to intimidate his dad, but Stiles would really like to see him try.

Jackson nods. “That’s what I’m talking about. I knew one of you would finally see sense. Later, losers.”

Erica gives Stiles an incredulous look. “What the hell, Stiles?”

Boyd is looking around the table like he’s trying to figure everything out, and Stiles is going to blame Jackson for the lack of operational security.

“He’s been bullying Scott for the last few weeks,” Stiles hisses. “He’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants, or what he thinks he wants.”

Scott starts giggling. “Oh, my god, dude. You’re totally using your dad to cockblock Jackson.”

Realization dawns on Erica’s face. “He’s going to have to ask your dad. Shit, Doctor Strange, you don’t play fair.”

Stiles shrugs. “He wants to run with the big dogs, he’s going to have to talk to the big dog.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “Better not let Derek hear you making a dog joke.”

“If the shoe fits,” Stiles replies. “Besides, it got rid of Jackson for the time being without him yelling about things he shouldn’t be yelling about.”

Boyd looks at Erica. “And you want me to hang out with you guys this weekend.”

Erica shrugs. “We mostly just did homework and played video games. It was cool.”

Boyd shrugs. “Yeah, okay, I’m in.”

Stiles phone buzzes with an incoming alert, and he pulls it out. “Oh, shit.” He realizes that talking about dead bodies when Isaac’s dad was just killed—maybe by the same thing—would be a little insensitive.

“Don’t keep us in suspense, Stiles,” Erica prompts. “What’s the ‘oh shit’ for?”

“Two more bodies,” Stiles says. “One in the woods, and another at the mechanic’s—where my Jeep currently is.”

“Way to make it all about you,” Isaac mutters.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says defensively. “That’s just how I recognized the location.”

“Lay off,” Scott says. “It’s not Stiles’ fault that he recognized those people, or that some asshole is going around killing people again.”

Then Scott frowns and pulls out his own phone, and Stiles assumes that Scott is also getting a text, probably from his mom, as he types rapidly in response.

“We should probably figure out what’s killing people,” Stiles says. “If we can figure out what they all had in common—“

“Isn’t your dad the sheriff?” Boyd asks.

Stiles shrugs. “I mean, we could at least help.”

Lydia suddenly leans down right next to Stiles, getting in his face. “What the hell did you say to Jackson?”

“I told him he could come over to my place after school,” Stiles replies. “Why? What’s it to you?”

“He’s grinning like he’s deranged,” Lydia replies. “He’s been in a mood for weeks now, and whatever you said has made him happy. I’m the one who’s supposed to make him happy. He’s supposed to be miserable until he comes crawling back to me.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t ask him to suck my dick,” Stiles says sarcastically.

“That wouldn’t make him feel better, Stiles,” Lydia huffs, flouncing away.

Erica snorts. “It might make me feel better.”

Stiles feels his face heat, and he decides that silence is the better part of valor.

Scott gives him a look. “Seriously, dude.”

Stiles shrugs. “She was just going to keep yelling at me for something that, yes, I am technically responsible for. But no way was I going to just sit there and take it! I’m not getting in the middle of their drama.”

“Fair,” Boyd pronounces.

Isaac nods. “Very fair.”

At least Stiles makes it through the rest of the day without Lydia or Jackson approaching him, and without a panic attack. It’s a minor miracle, but at this point, Stiles will take what he can get.

He does make sure to send his dad a quick text, though: jackson being a douche, threatened Scott, told him he could come over after school to beg the alpha to be a member

Not that his dad replies, but Stiles just hopes that he’s planning an appropriate response.

“Boyd wanted to come over, but I told him that we’d have to clear it with your dad first,” Erica says, leaning up against the locker next to Stiles’. “Sorry if I embarrassed you at lunch.”

Stiles glances at her. “No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” Erica agrees, biting into an apple. “It’s fun to see you blush.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “So, I can expect more of that?”

“Any time you give me the chance, boo,” Erica replies as Stiles stuffs his textbooks in his backpack.

“Ugh, never call me that, even if, in the unlikely chance, we start dating,” Stiles replies.

Erica gives him a look and gestures to her body. “You’d pass up on this?”

“Not in a million years,” Stiles responds. “But it is entirely likely that you would pass up on all this.” He makes the same gesture, but it’s far less graceful, and he probably looks like a total weirdo.

Erica smirks. “You know, I’ve always found Dr. Strange sexy.”

Stiles just gapes at her. “I don’t know if you’re being serious right now.”

“That’s my superpower, boo,” Erica calls and saunters away.

“I told her not to call me that,” Stiles mutters, but then races to catch up.

Derek is already parked outside, and Stiles climbs into the passenger seat. Scott, Isaac, and Erica climb into the backseat with Erica in the middle.

“How was your day?” Derek asks.

“Well, Jackson Whittemore is probably going to stop by to either threaten Dad or beg him to turn him into a werewolf,” Stiles says. “So, thanks for that.”

“Why am I at fault?” Derek asks.

“I don’t know, it’s probably a tie between you and Scott, if I’m being honest,” Stiles replies.

“How is it my fault?” Scott yelps from the backseat.

“Because I told you to be careful!” Derek snaps. “And you weren’t.”

“And then you threatened him, and now Jackson thinks that if he’s a werewolf, too, he can threaten anyone he likes,” Stiles says. “Karma is a bitch. Which reminds me, I need to ask my dad to meet us at the house.”

Derek glares at him. “What did you do?”

“Jackson has been threatening Scott, and he did it again at lunch today,” Stiles replies. “So, I told him to come over after school today and plead his case with the alpha.”

Derek is quiet for a couple of long moments. “Huh. Yeah, that will work.”

“So glad you approve,” Stiles says sarcastically. “Maybe Moira can put a spell on him. Do you think she can make people forget?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Derek replies.

They arrive back at the house, and Stiles says, “I guess we have time to get started on homework before the douche arrives.”

Thankfully, his dad has responded to his 911 text, because he’s waiting for them inside. “I need to know exactly what happened, Stiles,” he says as they enter the house. “You know I’m in the middle of tracking down the Argents.”

“Yeah, well, it was either this or we kidnap Jackson Whittemore, and I’m pretty sure that would be worse,” Stiles replies.

His dad pinches the bridge of his nose with a deep sigh. “All right. Start from the beginning.”

Derek grabs a book and sits on the couch, ostensibly ignoring the whole affair. “Whatever you said to Jackson has worn off, because he came and threatened Scott again at lunch today, in front of multiple witnesses, including Boyd.”

His dad rubs his eyes. “Who’s Boyd?”

“Another student,” Stiles replies. “Kind of a loner. Erica wants to invite him over, but we knew we needed to clear it with you.”

Noah sighs. “We’ll discuss that later. What happened today?”

“Like I said, he started threatening Scott again, and I decided to beat him at his own game. I told him to come here and talk to the alpha.”

Noah raises his eyebrows. “Well, that’s an interesting way of handling it.”

“I can make him forget,” Moira says, coming out of the kitchen with a cup of tea. “Noah and I have been talking about how we might deal with him.”

“Also, Boyd might know about werewolves, too,” Stiles says.

His dad stares at him. “Stiles.”

“I blame Jackson!” Stiles says. “We were having lunch, Boyd happened to be there and then Jackson showed up to threaten Scott. Well, Erica was the one to call him over and invite him to spend next weekend with us, but we weren’t going to tell him anything about werewolves without talking to you about it first.”

“Stiles!” Noah snaps. “What part of hunters on the loose do you not understand?”

“That was pretty much me, Mr. S,” Erica admits. “It’s just—Boyd’s situation isn’t that different from mine—or Isaac’s.”

His dad heaves a deep sigh. “I’m giving you all lessons on operational security when this is over. Stiles, you should know better.”

“Jackson, Dad!” Stiles protests. “It was fine until Jackson showed up and acted like the giant douche he is.”

“I’ll handle Jackson,” his dad says. “Derek, Moira, Stiles, stay down here. The rest of you, upstairs. Get started on your homework. And Erica—we’re going to talk about you inviting people into the pack without getting approval, young lady.”

That actually makes Erica smile. “Sure thing, Sheriff.”

Noah points to the stairs. “Move it.”

They head upstairs, and Stiles grimaces. “Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” Noah asks. “You texted me, and you’re letting me handle this. I feel like this is a huge step in the right direction. What are you not telling me?”

Stiles shrugs. “You know me too well. I was thinking we could figure out what the dead bodies have in common, while you track down the Argents. I can start up my murder board again.”

His dad shakes his head. “I thought we’d worked past this, Stiles.”

“We have!” Stiles protests. “The Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department is small, underfunded, and stretched to the max. I’m telling you that I can track down the connections so that you don’t have to, right?”

His dad lets out a long sigh. “Okay, fine, but research only.”

Stiles nods. “Got it. Research only.”

As soon as he makes that promise, the doorbell rings.

“Show time,” Stiles mutters as he goes to answer the door.

Jackson is standing there, and he shoves past Stiles. “I can’t believe that you’re being such a little bitch about this.” He stops short when he spots Noah. “Sheriff Stilinski.”

“And just what is my son being a little bitch about?” Noah asks, curiously.

Stiles knows that tone of voice. That’s the tone of voice his dad uses on perps before he’s about to go after them.

“I—I didn’t mean that, Sheriff,” Jackson says. “You know kids these days. We say things. Slang.”

“Good, you have some semblance of sense,” Noah says, and he’s still using that dangerous tone of voice. “I hear you have something to ask me.”

Jackson looks around. “Where’s McCall?”

“He’s upstairs,” Stiles replies. “We determined that he wasn’t necessary for this conversation, so he’s doing his homework.”

“I’m in the middle of an investigation, so I’m going to need you to get to the point, Jackson,” Noah says.

Derek is still on the couch, at least pretending to read his book. Stiles figures this is pretty much high drama.

“I don’t—I don’t want to bother you, sir,” Jackson says, stumbling over his words. “I wouldn’t—“

His dad’s face shifts, and the red eyes flare, and Stiles has to admit that if it wasn’t his dad, it would definitely be a nightmare. “What do you want, Jackson?”

Jackson stumbles backwards and falls on his ass, and if he doesn’t soil himself, Stiles figures it’s a near thing. “No, I just—I want to be one of you!”

“Why?” Noah asks, leaning in close. “Why, Jackson?”

“I just want to belong somewhere!” Jackson says, nearly begging. “I just want to belong.”

Noah kneels down next to him, and the red eyes flare. “You belong to your parents. Didn’t you know? Your birth parents died, and your parents came to the hospital. They loved you at first sight. They stayed with you in the NICU, taking shifts. There is no one you will belong to more than them, and you will never belong to this pack.”

Jackson slumps, unconscious, and his dad’s face shifts back. “How did I do, Moira?”

“Better than expected,” Moira admits. “You’re lucky he didn’t piss himself. That would have been harder to explain.”

Stiles looks at her. “Wait, what’s going on?”

“I was with your dad when you texted, and we came up with a plan,” Moira replies. “Noah was going to scare the shit out of him, and then I was going to make him think the whole thing was a nightmare. And you’re going to learn from me as I do it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles says.

Moira fixes him with a glare. “This is the worst case scenario, Stiles. You understand that, don’t you?”

Stiles nods, feeling guilty. “I’m sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault, and you did the right thing by luring him here,” Moira reassured him. “This was the only course to take, but this is a last resort.”

Noah nods grimly. “She’s right about that. Scott, Erica, Isaac, get down here!”

All three of stop on the stairs. “Come downstairs,” Noah says, steel in his voice. “You all need to understand what’s at stake.”

Scott, Erica, and Isaac all line up, staring at Jackson’s unconscious form. “He knows about us, and I’m about to take care of it,” Moira says. “I’ll show Stiles, and Noah will be able to do this for werewolves, but this is why it’s so important to keep your identities secret.”

Scott shakes his head. “I just wanted to play lacrosse.”

Noah frowns heavily. “You put the pack at risk, Scott, because you wanted to show off for a girl who is a hunter. And I know that Derek warned you about this very thing.”

Scott glances away, looking incredibly guilty, and Stiles knows his friend well enough to know that it’s not just about Jackson finding out.

“At some point, you knew she was a hunter, and you still did it,” Moira says severely. “And the end result is that you put all their lives in danger.”

Scott shakes his head stubbornly. “That’s not what I wanted!”

“How did the sheriff get bitten, do you remember?” Moira asks.

Scott flinches. “Yeah, it was, it was to help my mom.”

“You put your mom in danger,” Moira says harshly. “And I’m going to have to alter a young man’s memories to keep him and the rest of you safe. Scott needs to remember what’s at stake.”

Noah holds out a hand. “Moira, that’s enough.”

Moira shakes her head. “No, that’s not enough, because he’s been texting a hunter, probably because he thinks it’s Allison Argent.”

Stiles stares at him. “Scott, you wouldn’t!”

Scott just looks guilty. “It’s harmless, Stiles.”

His dad closes his eyes. “It’s not harmless, Scott. It’s far from harmless. You don’t even know if it’s really Allison. It could put her plea deal in jeopardy if they thought there was even a hint of witness tampering. And meanwhile, the hunters could be gathering information on the pack.”

Scott shuffles his feet. “I just didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“Give me your phone,” his dad orders.

Scott hands it over after he unlocks it, and his dad goes to the string of text messages purportedly from Allison. His jaw tightens, and he says, “You told her that you’d made friends with Erica?”

“I just said that we made friends!” Scott protests.

Stiles closes his eyes. “So much for the hunters not having a clue that Erica is a pack member now.”

“We don’t have time for this right now,” Moira says grimly. “We need to take care of Jackson and get him out of here. Then we can take up the rest of the pack business.”

Noah nods. “I’m going to have to call your mom, Scott.”

Scott’s eyes widen comically. “What? No!”

“I’d rather get her permission to get the data from your phone than get a warrant, which would have to be disclosed to the prosecutor,” Noah says grimly. “So, those are your options, Scott.”

“Mom’s gonna be so mad,” Scott mutters.

Stiles really thought Scott had been doing better—but maybe that’s why it seemed like he was doing better.

“When did it start, Scott?” Stiles asks, because he needs to know.

Scott shrugs. “Just a few days ago.”

Moira says sharply, “Stiles.”

“I’m tracking,” Stiles says. “We’re on Jackson right now.”

“Come here,” Moira replies. “The trick is to take what’s already there, and turn it into something else. Creating memories is tricky, and I don’t recommend it. But you can implant a suggestion, especially for something like this. Werewolves are nightmares to a lot of people. We just have to convince Jackson that he’s had a bad dream.”

Stiles nods. “He probably has already had nightmares about it.”

Moira nods. “Exactly. So, we’re going to plant the thought in his mind that this was all a product of his jealousy, and plant an aversion to messing with Scott.”

Stiles nods slowly. “Okay.”

Moira holds up a small bag. “I essentially put him into a trance earlier. I’ll show you how to do that later. We’re going to partially wake him, and then use scopolamine to make him suggestible. From there, we’re going to tell him exactly what we want him to do and believe.”

Stiles’ stomach twists. “But isn’t that—“ He stops, not wanting to insult her.

“Wrong?” Moira suggests. “Perhaps it is, but he’s threatened to go to the hunters, and he’s shown an inability to keep things to himself, or understand why it might be necessary.”

Stiles nods unhappily. “Yeah.” He glances at his dad, who he knows has a strong moral compass.

His dad nods. “I don’t like it any more than you do, Stiles. But it needs to be done.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Moira brings Jackson into a half-awake state, and then blows the powdered scopolamine into his face.

Jackson gets a doped up look on his face, his eyes glazed over, and Moira says, “Jackson, you’re asleep right now. Repeat after me.”

Jackson nods. “Yeah, I’m asleep.”

“You saw the alpha werewolf in your nightmare,” Moira continues. “You don’t want to be a werewolf. It’s a curse.”

“It’s a curse,” Jackson agrees.

“Your parents love you, and they want the best for you,” Moira continues. “You know that they love you because they chose you.”

Jackson shakes his head, starting to come out of the trance.

“Your parents love you, and you belong to them,” Moira says with a kind of incredible intensity. “You have always belonged to them. You don’t need a pack.”

Jackson finally nods. “I belong to my parents. I don’t need a pack.”

Stiles realizes that no matter how shitty what they’re doing is, they might leave Jackson better than when he’d come into the house. Jackson may actually be less of a douche if he feels more secure.

Moira is doing something for him that no one else could do. Maybe it’s in an underhanded way, but it’s doing something good, even though Jackson had meant them harm.

“Go to sleep, Jackson,” Moira says. “When you wake up, this will be a nightmare, but you’ll know that your parents love you, and you’ll feel as though you belong.”

Jackson nods, and then slumps over.

“Derek, I’d like you and Stiles to leave him somewhere,” Moira says. “Somewhere that makes sense.”

Stiles frowns, thinking quickly. “Jackson often practices at the school lacrosse field. He might fall asleep on the bench by the side of it.”

Derek gets up from the couch. “Yeah, that works, but we’re going to have to transport him without anybody seeing.”

“I’ll open up the garage door, and you can back up,” Noah says. “You can stick him in the trunk. How long do you think he’ll be out, Moira?”

“At least an hour,” Moira says. “By then, darkness will be falling, so you should be able to get away with it.”

“If he wakes up, I”ll knock him out again,” Derek says. “That won’t be anything he wouldn’t expect.”

Stiles snorts at that, and he’s kind of glad to have the reprieve, to get out of the house while his dad reads Scott and the others the riot act.

His dad nods. “Good. Thank you.”

“Do you want me to pick up something for dinner on the way back?” Stiles asks.

“Fried chicken,” his dad replies. “And all the sides, no arguments. Get enough for Mel, too.”

Stiles nods. “You’re lucky that being a werewolf makes you immune to my lecture on cholesterol.”

“You can take that lecture on the road, kiddo,” his dad replies, as Derek heads out to back the Camaro up to the garage.

Stiles sends a single, pitying look at Scott, and then he nods. “Fried chicken. All the fixings. Got it.”

His dad rubs a hand over Stiles’ head. “Thank you.”

Stiles goes to the garage, and he’s very glad that he’s getting out of there.

Derek backs up to the garage, and then goes into the house to grab Jackson, dumping him in the trunk, and then closing it. When he gets into the passenger seat, he asks, “You really didn’t know that Scott was talking to Allison?”

“No, of course not, because I would have reported that shit to my dad.” Stiles rubs his eyes. “I noticed that he was texting someone, but I thought he’d accepted the situation. Fuck.”

Derek snorts. “That’s one way to put it.”

Chapter 4

Noah stands in the center of his living room and surveys the kids in front of him, and he thinks, “Why me?”

He quickly texts Melissa the 911 code they’d agreed to use if one of the kids were in trouble that would bring the other one running.

Scott, Erica, and Isaac are still hovering, clearly torn between staying and going.

“All of you, sit,” Noah orders. He doesn’t really blame Erica for wanting to invite a friend into the group, or for the fact that someone else might have found out because Jackson was so intent on getting what he thought he wanted that he was willing to risk everything in spite of Noah’s warnings.

Still, he needs her to understand what’s at stake.

“Erica, I understand that you want to bring your friend into the pack, but you need to get clearance first,” Noah says. “Do you understand?”

Erica nods. “I’m sorry, Mr. S.”

Her tone is so miserable that Noah believes that she means it. “That being said, I’d like to meet Boyd. He can come over this weekend, and we’ll vet him. What’s his family situation?”

Erica visibly hesitates. “He lives with his grandma, I think. She doesn’t really care where he is or what he does, because she blames him for his little sister going missing.”

Noah blinks, and remembers the police report. “Okay, that’s helpful. I’ll have to take another look at the case when I get the chance.”

He looks at Isaac. “Is there anybody you want to bring on?”

Isaac shakes his head, looking scared to death.

“Are you still thinking that this might be something you want?” Noah asks. “If you’re out, there are no hard feelings.”

“I still want it,” Isaac says, with a sidelong glance at Scott. “But um, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to talk with Scott’s mom, and then we’re going to decide what to do together, which might mean confiscating Scott’s phone, and/or monitoring his texts, depending on what his mom wants to do,” Noah replies.

Isaac cocks his head. “But you’re not going to kick him out of the pack?”

“No,” Noah says. “Scott is pack, and will always be pack until he decides otherwise. The same goes for any pack member. Just because I don’t like someone’s behavior doesn’t mean you get kicked out.”

Isaac’s shoulders come down from around his ears, and he seems to understand that Noah isn’t going to yell or rage or throw things—at least for the moment. “Okay.”

“Good,” Noah says. “You two don’t need to be here for this. But what’s the first rule of being pack?”

Erica hazards a smile. “We don’t talk about pack in public?”

“Good,” Noah says. “Normally, I wouldn’t ask this, but are your parents going to notice if you’re not home tonight?”

“Not if I tell them I’m staying late at Stiles’ house to study,” Erica says. “I’ll need to go back to shower tomorrow morning, though.”

Noah nods. “We’ll figure it out. Okay, get out of here. Get your homework done, and I’ll call you back down when the coast is clear or when the food is here, whichever comes first.”

Erica and Isaac skedaddle upstairs, leaving Scott alone, in a miserable huddle on the couch.

Moira glances at him, and she nods approvingly. Noah figures that she approves of how he handled the kids, but now he has to deal with Scott, which is more difficult.

Thankfully, Mel isn’t on shift for a few hours, and Paul is covering for him at the station, and Mel knows just what a 911 text from him means.

She rings the doorbell, and Noah lets her in. “What’s wrong?” she asks. “Is Scott okay?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Noah says, knowing that no matter how quiet they are, Scott will hear them. “He’s been texting with Allison, or someone pretending to be Allison.”

Melissa’s face goes frozen with fury. “I see. Where is he?”

“He’s in the living room,” Noah replies.

Moira passes them as she leaves. “I need to make a few phone calls,” she says. “I’ll leave you to your pack business, Noah.”

“Who is that?” Melissa asks.

“That’s Stiles’ magic teacher,” Noah replies. “She’s been helping him get ahold of his abilities, and she’s filling a need.”

Melissa nods. “Let’s deal with my son.”

Granted, Noah’s hearing is enhanced now, but he can hear Scott’s audible gulp.

They enter the living room, and Melissa puts her hands on her hips. “I raised you better than this.”

“Allison texted me first!” Scott protests. “I thought it would be okay!”

Noah could understand why Scott might think that. Her dad had ordered Allison not to talk to him, as had her attorney. Allison had told Scott not to contact her. To suddenly hear from her out of the blue would seem to suggest, especially to a love-struck teenager, that she had permission, and that it was okay.

“Scott,” Melissa says in a long-suffering tone that suggests she’s over him being a stupid teenager and can’t wait for him to grow up. “We told you—I told you, Noah told you, everyone told you, that contact with you could hurt Allison’s chances at a plea deal!”

“But she contacted me first!” Scott protests.

Noah takes a deep breath. “If that’s actually Allison, I’ll have to report it to the prosecutor, Scott, because it could easily be considered witness tampering. If it wasn’t her, that could be helpful for her defense to the extent that we could show that her family manipulated her.”

Scott looks incredibly panicked. “But that could put her plea deal in question!”

“Oh, my god, Scott, yes! Yes, that is the point!” Melissa says. “If it’s not Allison, you’ve been giving information to the people who want to harm you. If it is, you’ve harmed her. You should have blocked the number immediately.”

“But it’s Allison,” Scott says miserably.

“We do things for the people we love that they won’t do for themselves, when it’s to protect them,” Melissa says. “Noah, get whatever you need off Scott’s phone. Do whatever you can to block the number. Scott, I will be checking your phone, and if I find additional texts, I’ll block every single number except those in the pack.”

Noah sighs. “Social media, too.”

Melissa nods. “As soon as Noah is done, I’m going to watch you block her on every social media platform.”

Scott hunches his shoulders. “She already blocked me.”

“And you didn’t even tell Stiles that Allison was texting you?” Noah presses.

Scott shakes his head miserably. “No, I knew what he would say.”

Noah runs a hand through his hair. “I know that Stiles might not always have the best moral compass, but you should have listened to him, Scott.”

Scott nods silently.

“All right,” Noah says. “I’m going to get the information off the phone, and make some calls.”

He goes up to his office and shuts the door, not needing to hear Melissa’s lecture or remonstrances. Noah calls Tara, who has some technical proficiency with cell phone data.

“Is everything okay, sir?” she immediately asks, knowing that Noah had left the station earlier than planned.

Noah sighs. “Yes, but we have another problem. Allison Argent—or someone claiming to be her—has been texting Scott. I need a trace on the number, and I need to know if it’s actually her.”

“Did he give her any sensitive information?” Tara asks.

“He gave whoever it was enough to know or strongly suspect that Erica is part of the pack,” Noah replies, glad that he’d brought Tara and Paul in. It’s easier to explain why that’s a problem if they know the truth.

“Well, shit,” Tara replies. “Okay, hit me with the number, and I’ll see if I can run it down. When was the last text message?”

Noah checks the time stamp. “Two hours ago.”

“Any way the person on the other end might suspect that you found out?” Tara asks.

“No,” Noah replies. “Scott sent the last message, and he told her that he loved her and wanted to be with her. I’ll spare you the details.”

Noah wishes he could spare himself the details.

Tara snorts. “Oh, young love. Want me to call the prosecutor’s office?”

“Not yet,” Noah replies. “Let’s see if we can figure out whether or not it’s actually Allison.”

Tara tsks. “Makes sense. I’m not excusing her actions, but knowing that her parents are raging bigots does explain a lot.”

“Agreed,” Noah says. “I’m going to have dinner here, but I’ll be back later this evening.”

“Paul was running down a lead on Kate Argent,” Tara replies. “And before you ask, he took Dave with him.”

Although Noah might not trust Dave so much that he would bring him in on the secret—even if he’s open to the idea— he trusts him to have Paul’s back in the field. “Okay, good. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“I’ll try to have some answers for you,” Tara says.

Noah hangs up and starts to screenshot the texts. He’ll need to get the official records from the telephone company, just in case they need to use it at trial, but the screenshots will at least give them a place to start.

He also writes up a report as to what he found, when, and gave a synopsis of the content of the messages. Noah isn’t taking any chances.

Noah files his report, and then goes back downstairs. Scott and Melissa are still in the living room, and Scott has his forehead on Melissa’s shoulder as she rubs his back.

He goes into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, knowing that it’s going to be a long night again. Moira lets herself in through the backdoor. “How did it go?”

Noah shrugs, keeping his voice low. “One of my deputies is running down the phone number. Hopefully, we’ll have some answers tonight.”

Moira nods, her lips pursed. “I made some phone calls, and I have the name of a therapist for Stiles.”

Noah lets out a breath. “Okay, good. I know he needs it—hell, most of us probably do—but I’m worried about the panic attacks.”

“You’re right to be,” Moira says. “Stiles has tremendous potential that could be hampered if he doesn’t deal with his trauma.”

Noah nods. “I know it. Thank you for doing your best to soften the blow for Jackson.”

Moira just shakes her head. “That poor kid is just desperate to belong somewhere. I hope my suggestion takes root.”

Noah grimaces. “I can feel sorry for him, but I don’t appreciate the fact that he placed us in jeopardy.”

“No, of course you don’t,” Moira says pertly. “You’re the alpha. It’s your job to protect the pack, just as it’s your emissary’s job to balance duty to the pack and duty to others. That’s why they’re called the emissary.”

Noah rubs his eyes. “Well, I hope for our sake that Jackson can find some peace—and I hope it for his sake, too.”

Beyond that, though, Noah isn’t going to pay Jackson any mind, assuming he leaves the pack alone.

~~~~~

Derek parks as close to the lacrosse field as he can, and the sun is going down, although it’s not yet dark enough to provide them sufficient cover.

“I’m sorry about Scott,” Stiles blurts out.

Derek glances at him. “Don’t.”

“But—“

“Would you have told him to not talk to Allison?” Derek asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Stiles says, so quickly that Derek would have believed him even if he hadn’t already been inclined to do so.

“Then, stop apologizing for Scott being a dumbass,” Derek says. “Every pack has one.”

Stiles opens his mouth, and then quickly closes it again.

“It’s okay,” Derek says. “And to answer the question you didn’t ask, I had an idiot cousin, but the biggest dumbass was me.”

“Kate Argent isn’t your fault,” Stiles argues. “But I guess we can just keep blaming the Argents for everything.”

“That would be my view, yes,” Derek says.

“Do you think it’s dark enough now?” Stiles asks.

Derek nods. “Yeah, let’s get him out of the trunk.”

He takes Jackson’s shoulders and lets Stiles take his feet, and they put him on the bench like he sat down and fell asleep.

Before they left the house, Moira had given them explicit instructions on how to wake Jackson up in order to prevent any kind of exposure injury. As soon as they get back to the Camaro, Derek turns on the car alarm as Stiles keeps watch to make sure that Jackson wakes up.

Stiles comes jogging back to the car and slides into the passenger seat. “He’s awake. Not sure how alert he is, but he was sitting up and looking around.”

That’s good enough for Derek. “Food then?”

“Food,” Stiles agrees. “And hopefully, Dad and Mrs. McCall will be done yelling at everyone by the time we get home.”

Derek has to admit that he appreciates the fact that Stiles refers to it as “home,” because that’s how it feels to him.

“You okay?” Derek asks. “The thing with Jackson was rough.”

Stiles leans his head back with a long sigh. “I don’t know, Derek. I think Jackson is a douche of the first water, and there’s a part of me that thinks he asked for it, and he got exactly what he asked for. On the other hand, we fucked with his head, and that sucks. That was a shitty thing to do, even if we didn’t have another choice.”

Stiles pauses and says, “But I like that Moira used it to plant the thought in Jackson’s head that he already belongs.”

“Do you know them?” Derek asks.

Stiles shrugs. “Not really, but Beacon Hills isn’t that big, you know? I remember when we were little, and Jackson’s mom was definitely involved. She was fairly friendly with my mom, and my mom seemed friendly with her, which probably means that Jackson’s mom was a good person. My mom wasn’t known to pull her punches.”

“Oh, so that’s where you get it,” Derek teases.

Stiles snorts. “Dude, you’ve met my dad. I come by every bit of my sass honestly.”

Derek doesn’t reply to that. “So, where are we going?”

“Best fried chicken restaurant in the area,” Stiles says. “Five minutes outside of town. It looks like a shack, which is why it’s best to get it to go, but it’s fucking awesome.”

Derek follows the directions to what is definitely a shack. It looks like a converted shotgun house. There’s a window and tables outside, but it doesn’t look like there’s anywhere inside to sit, and no drive-through.

“What are we doing?” Derek asks.

“You have to go up to the window,” Stiles says happily. “They’re completely old school.”

Derek trails Stiles up to the window, and the woman inside leans out. “Stiles! It’s been too long. Your usual?”

“We’re feeding a crowd tonight, Lu,” Stiles says. “I need enough chicken and sides for eight people, and at least four have hollow legs.”

Next to the window, Derek can smell the food, and he’s starting to salivate. “Five. Five of us have hollow legs.”

Lu leans out the window to get a better look at him. “Hm, I don’t know you, sweetheart.”

Stiles hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Derek Hale.”

Lu nods. “Yeah, I remember the Hales. Your uncle Peter used to come here a lot. Don’t remember seeing the rest of you.”

Derek shrugs. “If I’d known this place existed, I’d have come a lot sooner. It smells delicious.”

Lu beams at him. “Your uncle had a good nose, too. And flattery will get you everywhere around here. I’ll have Dina bring it out to you when it’s ready, Stiles, and you tell your dad not to be a stranger.”

“Sure thing, Lu,” Stiles says, pulling out a credit card.

They go back to sit in the Camaro, and Derek glances over at him. “You seem to know her pretty well.”

“We used to come here once a week,” Stiles says. “When my mom was alive. And then we came more often until Dad’s cholesterol went through the roof. Since then, it’s once in a great while. But Mom knew Lu somehow.”

Derek is starting to realize that for all her current absence, Stiles’ mom has been a constant presence in his life. “How connected was your mom?”

“Very, I think,” Stiles replies. “Dad would know more than me.”

“Stiles—“

“It’s okay,” Stiles says. “You don’t have to pretend to be interested. We all have tragic backstories.”

Derek isn’t sure what to say to that. “Still.”

“Yeah, same goes for me, too,” Stiles says. “You ever want to talk about them, I’ll be happy to listen.”

Derek thinks he might take Stiles up on that offer at some point. They’re quiet until a young woman brings a large sack to the passenger window. “Good to see you again, Stiles.”

Stiles smiles. “Thanks, Dina.”

“You know we can feed a crowd, and Mom put something extra into the bag just for you,” Dina replies.

Stiles’ face lights up. “She didn’t.”

“You know she has a soft spot for you,” Dina replies. “Don’t be a stranger now.”

As Derek drives back to the Stilinski house, he asks, “What did she put into the bag.”

“Lu makes a mean pecan pie,” Stiles says. “And she knows just how much I love it, because she was the first person I proposed marriage to, just for that alone.”

Derek snorts. “It can’t be that good.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Stiles cackles, peeking into the bag. “She gave us a whole pie. Awesome!”

By the time they get back to the Stilinski house, the fireworks are apparently over. Everyone meets up in the dining room, and Stiles gets out paper plates and utensils as Derek unpacks the sack. There are two large containers of fried chicken, large containers of mashed potatoes and buttered mixed vegetables, and a smaller container of white gravy.

Derek knows why his mom hadn’t frequented the place; she hadn’t like fried food much, whereas Peter had a fondness for it.

But no one else seems to care, and Derek certainly doesn’t. He’s suddenly starving, and they fill their plates.

Eating together around the table is an important pack ritual, and Derek remembers eating with his mom and the other pack members. Things start out subdued, probably due to the events of the afternoon, but then get a bit wilder. It’s clear that Erica isn’t really used to enjoying food, and her appetite is that of a healthy, young wolf. Isaac also starts to relax, even smiling a couple of times. Scott seems to realize that having been chastised, it’s over, and Moira tells stories about various magical feats of derring-do, which may or may not be true.

These are the moments when Derek feels settled, and this is one of those moments. Even with the Argents, even with the murders, Derek feels as though they’ll be able to figure it out.

~~~~~

The next day at school, things are weird, bordering on bizarre. Jackson—well, Jackson ignores everyone other than Lydia, to whom he is completely attentive. They walk through the halls with Jackson’s arm over Lydia’s shoulders, and Lydia’s arm around his waist.

At one point, Stiles would have hated that, but he doesn’t mind so much now. He has the pack, and his crush on Lydia has diminished to a background hum. She’s pretty, and she’s smart, and Stiles would have to be dead not to be attracted to her.

But Stiles also knows that he needs to put pack first, and Lydia isn’t pack. As long as Jackson is around and she’s hung up on him, she’s never going to be pack.

“Hey, McCall!” Jackson calls out.

Scott is walking with Stiles in between classes, and he sends Stiles a panicked look.

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t know, dude. If I could explain Jackson, I would be a rich man.”

Jackson still has his left arm around Lydia as they approach, and he says, “Look, I’m sorry for being such a douche yesterday. I was out of line.”

Scott is about to say something stupid, Stiles just knows it, so he very unsubtly steps on Scott’s foot. Scott shoots him an outraged look, but says, “I appreciate that, Jackson.”

“Still going to prove I’m the better choice as lacrosse captain,” Jackson says, and then saunters away, Lydia in tow.

Scott shakes his head. “That really must have been some whammy that Moira put on him.”

Stiles shoots him a look. “That’s not what you were going to say at first, wasn’t it?”

Scott looks away. “He caught me by surprise!”

“Sure, dude,” Stiles replies. “Just remember what rule number one is.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Scott mutters. “I get it.”

Stiles is relatively certain that Scott doesn’t entirely get it, but that’s part of his charm. “Just so long as you don’t say it in front of others.”

Stiles is waiting for the other shoe to drop, honestly. It’s either going to be the Argents, or it’s going to be another dead body, and he’s just glad that they don’t have to worry about Jackson, who has apparently turned a corner.

Fine, Stiles thinks. Let Jackson be superior and a dick. It’s one less problem.

But things quiet down for a couple of days. There’s no sign of the Argents, who are either in hiding or keeping their heads down. Stiles knows that his dad’s deputies are routinely driving past the Argent house, keeping an eye on things, and there are no signs of Gerard or Kate after her escape, but also no signs of black SUVs or Allison.

Allison isn’t allowed to leave the state, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t relocated to another town, even within the jurisdiction.

Scott complains bitterly about not being able to text the person he thinks is Allison, at least until Thursday night, when his dad sits them all down. It’s a pack meeting, which is now apparently a thing.

“We’ve tracked the number, Scott,” his dad says. “I’ve asked your mom to be here because I think it’s important.”

Scott is already shaking his head. “No.”

“It wasn’t Allison,” his dad says gently. “It might have been her mom or her grandfather, but it wasn’t Allison.”

Scott stares at him. “But she said—“

“Whatever they said or did, it was abusive for an adult to say what they did to you, and lure you back in that way,” Noah says.

Scott turns a bit green at that. “I need—I need—“

He leaves, and Stiles can’t blame him. He’d seen enough of the texts to know that they’d led Scott on with racy texts, and promises of what they might do when they saw each other again.

“I need you all to promise that you won’t respond to texts or phone calls that aren’t from known numbers,” Noah says heavily. “I’m sorry, but we have to be on our guard.”

Erica shakes her head. “Yeah. No. My friends are in my phone, and everyone else gets screened.”

Isaac nods vehemently. “Yes, sir.”

His dad nods. “Boyd is still invited over this weekend assuming things stay calm, but I need you all to play it cool until I give the all clear.”

Everyone nods, and his dad says, “Stiles, I need to talk to you and Moira in my office.”

“I’ll get dinner started,” Derek offers.

He and Derek have sort of started taking turns cooking, without really talking about it. Their food is as basic as it gets—pasta, burgers, anything that’s fast and easy and doesn’t require a lot of skill.

Stiles has plans to up his game, though. Just as soon as he has the time.

“We have another dead body,” his dad says. “This time, it’s Sean Mendez.”

Stiles snaps his fingers. “I know that name. I’m sure I know that name. Give me a sec.”

Between his school assignments and other things, Stiles has done as he’d promised and worked on the connections between the victims based on public records. He grabs his murder board—a cork board with pictures and post-its and 3×5 cards—and takes it back to his dad’s office. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Stiles says, pointing to a team roster that he’d managed to obtain by bribing one of the student workers in the front office at the high school. “The only point of connection for all of them is the Beacon Hills 1996 swim team, if you include Coach Lahey. If you don’t, it gets fuzzier.”

Moira nods. “Do you have any crime scene photos?”

Noah produces a slew of them, and Moira leans in close. “Ah, hell. Do you have the lab results from the residue yet?”

Noah shakes his head. “No. They’re running more tests. Everything they’ve found so far is inconclusive.”

“You should bring Isaac up here,” Moira says. “There are a few things I can do, but the best option would be a true seeing, and that takes a focus.”

“Go down and get him,” Noah tells Stiles. “I don’t want to scare him.”

“Even the ask is going to be scary, Dad,” Stiles says. “But I’ll soften the blow as much as I can.”

Stiles heads downstairs to find Scott, Erica, and Isaac working on their homework in the dining room. “Hey, Isaac,” Stiles says, sounding as casual as possible. “We think we might have figured about a possible connection with your dad, and we’d like to get your input.”

He hopes that will be neutral enough not to freak Isaac out, and based on his response, he’s successful. “Yeah, sure,” Isaac says. “That’s cool.”

They head upstairs to his dad’s office, and as soon as Isaac sees the murder board, he stops. “Oh.”

“What?” his dad asks gently. “That seems to mean something to you.”

Isaac shakes his head. “I don’t know.” He peers at the board, moving closer. “That’s the 1996 swim team.”

“Is there anyone who might have it out for them?” Noah asks.

Isaac shakes his head, but then stops. “Oh, uh, I don’t want to get him into trouble if it’s not him.”

“We’ll do our due diligence,” Noah promises. “No one is getting arrested unless we’re very sure.”

Isaac nods slowly. “Yeah, okay. They were all part of the 1996 swim team, and I remember that my dad had them over for a party at the end of the school year. I avoided those parties, because they weren’t always—nice to me, so I invited a friend over. Matt Deahler. We were looking at comic books. He went to grab a soda, and he didn’t come back.”

Stiles thinks that Isaac is coming to a realization about what had occurred out of his sight.

“I went looking for him,” Isaac finally says. “I found him in the kitchen, and he was soaking wet, and he seemed angry, maybe upset. I don’t know. He never said what had happened, and I never asked, I guess. And then we kind of stopped hanging out except for at school sometimes.”

Noah nods. “Thank you, Isaac. That’s very helpful. Go ahead and go back to your homework.”

Isaac basically flees after that, and Stiles can’t really blame him.

“Matt Daehler,” Moira muses. “That’s a helpful place to start. If you’ll let us

have your office, I’ll show Stiles how to do a true seeing.”

Noah nods. “Sure thing. Do you need anything from me?”

“Just a quiet space if you can keep the others away,” Moira replies, starting to rummage around in her bag.

When she pulls out a large bowl that should absolutely not fit, Stiles says, “Your bag really is larger on the inside than it is on the outside.”

Moira smiles. “It is. Most mages will have a great work, something that tests all their skills. This bag was mine. I wanted to be able to travel lightly, and with his bag, I can leave at a moment’s notice and be ready for anything.”

Stiles frowns thoughtfully, wondering what he would do. Moira had mentioned the Nemeton, but Stiles would love a Bag of Holding. Or maybe some kind of teleportation device that could get members of the pack out of danger, especially if kidnapped.

“You’ll figure it out in time, and you might have more than one,” Moira says, as though reading his mind, although Stiles knows it probably isn’t hard to figure out what he’s thinking under the circumstances. “That’s likely years away. Now, go fill the bowl with water.”

“Temperature? Type of water?” Stiles asks.

“Whatever comes out of the tap will be fine,” Moira replies, and starts digging around her bag again.

Stiles fills the bowl with water from the bathroom tap, and then carries it carefully into his dad’s office. Moira has laid a cloth on the floor, and Stiles puts the bowl down in the center.

She has four shallow dishes set at the four corners of the cloth, each at a compass point—north, south, east and west. Moira hands Stiles a container of salt. “Put a line around us on the carpet.”

When Stiles hesitates, Moira says, “You own a vacuum cleaner, don’t you? We need the protection. I’d have you use mountain ash, but salt is better for certain kinds of threats.”

Stiles knows a little bit, just enough to be dangerous, after haunting a couple of forums. “You think it might be a demon?”

“I think all the werewolves are accounted for,” Moira replies. “And a true seeing won’t open us up to a threat that’s not physically present, but it might to a spiritual presence.”

“Is it easy to summon a demon?” Stiles asks, being careful to pour a thin, consistent line of salt around the area where they’ll be working.

Moira snorts. “It’s disturbingly easy, but it’s much harder to control one. They’ll do your bidding just long enough to find a way to fuck you over.”

Stiles finishes the salt line. “So noted.”

Moira inspects the line carefully, and Stiles doesn’t really get the sense that she doesn’t trust him; instead, Moira is being exceedingly careful. She grabs the salt and shores up the line in a couple of places, then invites Stiles to sit across from her at the southern point, while she takes the north.

“Most mages have a primary affinity,” Moira says. “An earth affinity can make a true seeing a little bit more difficult, depending on your secondary affinity.”

“Can someone work with all of the elements?” Stiles asks.

Moira shrugs. “It depends on your strength. Some can, and some can’t. You’ll discover that as you go along. Tonight, though, we’ll be using my magic, and water is my affinity. Earth runs a close second. I think you might be similar, just reversed.”

“Why water?” Stiles asks.

Moira smiles. “Because you, my young Padawan, are slippery. When Kate held you captive, you found a way to slip away. It might be air, but I think you’ll work well with water.”

She raises her hands and takes a deep breath. “Now, focus on the bowl.”

Stiles settles and places his hands on his knees, staring at the still water. Moira begins to murmur words in a language that Stiles doesn’t know, and there are times when he wonders if he’ll ever learn everything he needs to know.

The water begins to ripple, although there’s no air moving in his dad’s office, and the candle flames are still straight up and down. The water no longer reflects the ceiling, but instead begins to swirl.

When it clears, Stiles can see a boy his own age who looks familiar. Beacon Hills isn’t huge, and Stiles has a passing familiarity with most of the kids in his class. So, Matt Daehler is recognizable.

He’s also bare-chested, with runes painted on his chest in what looks like blood, standing just outside a ritual circle that looks a bit like the one they’re currently using.

There’s no sound, but Stiles can see the creature that forms within the circle in a large puff of smoke.

The creature looks like something out of Hellboy, but gnarlier, and Stiles recoils out of instinct. It has several mouths filled with sharp teeth, and glowing eyes of a malevolent green. It’s ugly as sin, and Stiles instinctively knows that it’s bad news.

Moira peers at the vision in the water, and then she shakes her head. “Idiot. That’s a greater imp.”

“What does that mean?” Stiles asks, leaning in closer now that the initial fear has faded.

“That means the demon generally enjoys killing people,” Moira says grimly. “He’ll follow the boy’s directions for now, but as soon as he lets his guard down, the imp will turn on him, and then probably murder as many people as he can until he’s banished.”

Stiles blinks. “That sounds…dire.”

“It’s not ideal,” Moira agrees. “But it’s not insurmountable. We’ll need to track him down, use Daehler as bait to draw the imp in, and then banish the imp.”

Stiles frowns as the vision fades. “But what about Matt? I mean, it’s not like summoning a demon is against the law.”

Moira holds up a hand and speaks words in the same language she’d started the ritual with, and then claps her hands, and the candles go out. “No, in this case, we are the law, Stiles. Summoning a demon doesn’t take a lot of skill or magic.”

Stiles hesitates. “So, what do we do?”

“We put them in a circle together,” Moira replies grimly. “The imp will take the only victim it can reach.”

Stiles grimaces, and Moira adds, “The boy’s fate has been sealed since he summoned the demon. We’re merely preventing the imp from taking other victims.”

“But why?” Stiles asks. “I mean, why would he summon a demon? That seems—kind of a lot.”

Moira takes a deep breath. “I hope we can find out, but I will tell you what I suspect. I believe he became aware of the supernatural, and he’s been planning some sort of revenge since 1996, when he was humiliated. He could see all of these people killed, and at the end of it, who gets arrested?”

“Kate Argent,” Stiles says. “But—it’s because she’s a serial killer, and she kidnapped me and Scott. Peter isn’t—and wouldn’t be—charged, even though he was responsible for some of the murders.”

“The supernatural requires us to exercise the highest moral standards, Stiles,” Moira says. “Largely because the law is not prepared to deal with it or us. If you step over the line, there will be those who will stop you.”

“In the most brutal way possible at times,” Stiles says softly.

“Often in the most brutal way possible,” Moira replies. “Yes. Do you understand?”

Stiles nods. “That’s why you came. You didn’t want to have to put me down.”

“No, I didn’t,” Moira agrees. “Agent Marsh and I are distantly related, and he said you were a good kid who was dealing with a lot.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “What are we going to do next?”

“We’re going to lay a trap, and the sooner we can do it, the better,” Moira replies. “Remember this, Stiles: there’s no sense in fighting a war on two fronts if you can help it.”

Stiles nods. “We need to end the threat from Matt Daehler, so we take care of him. That way, we can deal with the threat from the Argents.”

Moira nods approvingly. “Correct.”

“Now, we just have to convince my dad,” Stiles comments.

~~~~~

When Moira tells Noah that they know who the murderer is, how he did it, and how to stop him from killing anyone else, he’s grateful. He’s not happy with her insistence that Stiles be involved, but Noah has no problem asking Derek to drive Scott, Erica, and Isaac to the McCall house.

As far as he and Mel are concerned, Scott is on a short leash, and she’s not working that night, so the kids will be safe enough there.

Noah hopes, anyway. From what Moira has said, she needs Stiles, and Noah might need Derek as backup.

Moira lays out their findings, and what they think had happened, and Noah shakes his head. “A demon?”

“I saw it, Dad,” Stiles says.

Noah knows that he’s a werewolf. He knows there are things beyond his ken. He has a kid who can do magic, and has a special tutor as a result. He has an escaped serial killer who wants to kill werewolves.

Still, a kid who got bulled at a pool party in 1996 is so angry that he’s willing to summon a demon to kill the people he blames for that?

“What happens if you’re wrong?” Noah asks.

“Then the boy will think that some weird adults lured him into a strange place, and nothing happens,” Moira says calmly.

Noah frowns. “And one of those people is the sheriff of the county.”

“I can take care of him the way I took care of Jackson Whittemore,” Moira insists.

Stiles glances at her. “She did take care of him, Dad. Jackson actually apologized to Scott today. Granted, he did so in a really douchey way, so it’s not like he got a personality transplant, but he did apologize.”

Noah sighs and rubs his eyes, and then he glances over at Derek. “What do you think?”

“A true seeing is a true seeing,” Derek says. “Mom got one once. I don’t know much about it, but that’s what she used to determine that Laura would be the next alpha.”

Noah frowns, and Derek shrugs. “The true seeing was right; it just wasn’t complete. But these victims don’t have any connection to the supernatural that Stiles could find, and they do have a connection to this kid. Maybe there’s more to it than we know, but there’s something running around killing people, and we need to stop it.”

Noah doesn’t love the idea, and he’s pretty sure that he can’t involve Paul or Tara. What he can do is ask one of them to sit on the McCall house to protect the rest of the pack. “Okay. How soon can we do this?”

“Tonight, is my preference,” Moira replies. “The murders seem to be accelerating. If we don’t take care of this now, we risk it becoming a problem at the worst possible time.”

“Meaning during an attack by the Argents,” Noah says heavily. “Okay. I can’t disagree. I don’t think Stiles needs to be there, though.”

Moira gives him a long, pitying look. “He does. I’m sorry, Noah. In this case, he does need to be involved. In fact, Stiles is going to play a vital role.”

Noah shakes his head. “No. That’s not—that’s not possible.”

“Dad, if I can help save lives, I want to do that, and I think Moira and I have a plan that will work,” Stiles says.

Noah swears bitterly. “Fine. Let’s hear it. But if I feel as though we can get it done without Stiles, he’s going to the McCall house with the others.”

The problem is, as Moira lays out their plan, Noah believes that Stiles is necessary. Daehler isn’t going to agree to come in to talk to Noah, and he doesn’t have reasonable suspicion to bring him in. Stiles, on the other hand, can make something up, and lure Daehler into a trap.

And Stiles has a pretty good idea for how to do that.

“I’m glad you’re using your powers for good and not evil, kiddo,” Noah finally says heavily. “I’m going to ask Paul to sit on Scott’s house until this is over.”

Stiles pulls out his cellphone and smirks, narrating as he types. “You’re not the only one in town who’s capable of using magic, you know. And you’re getting sloppy. You’re going to lose control of your pet demon.”

Moira snorts. “That should get his attention.”

“What’s the next move if it doesn’t?” Noah asks, sending a text to Paul.

“We hex him,” Stiles replies. “But he’s going to meet me, if only so he can threaten to sic his pet demon on me if I don’t keep his secret.”

Noah looks up at the ceiling and prays for strength. “Can he actually do that?”

“Well,” Stiles hedges. “He can try. We’re going to build a trap.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Noah asks.

Moira smiles. “Don’t worry so much, Noah. I’ve been practicing magic twice as long as this boy has been alive, you know. I have ready-made traps that just need a little augmentation. Plus, this imp will be itching to get back at his master by now.”

Noah takes a deep breath. “Are we consigning a kid to hell?”

“He did that on his own,” Moira says. “As soon as he summoned that demon, his fate was sealed.”

Noah raises his eyebrows. “Now, Moira, I’m pretty sure you could get him out of it if you really put your mind to it.”

“No, in this case, I really couldn’t,” Moira says placidly. “He had to give the imp collateral in order to get what he wanted, and this sort of imp will only accept a soul.”

“He sold his soul to get revenge on a bunch of kids who probably don’t even remember him?” Noah mutters.

“He is the very definition of a serial killer, Dad,” Stiles reminds him. “It’s just the instrumentality of murder that’s different than the usual.”

Noah shakes his head. “I can’t believe this is my life.”

Stiles’ phone chimes with a text, and Stiles crows, “He took the bait!”

Noah plucks the phone from Stiles’ hand so he can read what Daehler has to say for himself. “You cocksucker,” Noah reads out loud. “Come and say that to my face.” He frowns at the rest of the message. “I know the location. It’s a warehouse near The Jungle where we’ve had to clear out a few illegal raves. It’s a big, open space.”

“Let me see,” Moira says. She reads the address and nods. “I’ll go now to get set up. Noah, I think you’d better stay as far away from the situation as possible. It wouldn’t do for any hunters to get the whiff of sulphur around you. And the boy might get his back up even further if he sees law enforcement.”

“I don’t like this,” Noah says bluntly. “I should be there.”

“Even a werewolf is no match for a demon, and the only thing you could do if things go wrong is put a bullet through the boy’s head,” Moira says, just as bluntly. “And we can’t afford that, either. You could explain away an animal attack, but not a bullet.”

Noah can’t allow it. “I need to be there. I understand that I won’t be much help, but this is my territory, and I need to know what’s going on.”

Moira sighs. “Okay. Fine. Don’t wear your uniform. You can drive with me. It wouldn’t do for him to see a county vehicle there either.”

Noah nods, accepting that in this scenario, Moira is the expert. He has upstairs to change into civilian clothes—jeans, work books, a henley under a flannel under a canvas coat.

He climbs into the passenger seat of Moira’s rental car, and Moira whips through town easily, like she’s lived there as long as Noah has. She parks a couple of blocks away from the warehouse, in an area that might very well result in the car being stolen.

“What will you say if the car is stolen?” Noah asks.

“I’ll say that I got lost and had no idea what a bad area of town I’d parked in,” Moira replies. “I can play the dotty old woman well.”

Noah follows her into the warehouse and watches as she stands in the center of the floor and rummages around in her bag. She comes up with a cloth pouch and shakes something out into the palm of her hand. It shimmers, the way a cobweb does with dew and fresh sunlight in the morning, and then she tosses it up into the air.

Noah is stunned as it spreads out, bright and shiny, and then settles on the floor and disappears. “What is that?”

“That’s a trap,” Moira replies. “That means the demon won’t leave this warehouse. What’s left is for Stiles to trap the boy in the circle with the demon so that neither can escape.”

Noah frowns. “And how is he supposed to do that?”

“Salt, and faith,” Moira replies. “It will be a test of his abilities, but one that I believe he will pass with flying colors.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Noah asks.

Moira glances at him. “Then I hope you’re a very good shot, Noah, and I’ll help you hide the body.”

Noah hates every single part of this plan, but he doesn’t see how there’s another choice. He’s out of his depth, and he knows it, and Agent Marsh had recommended her. “All right, I’m trusting you with Stiles’ life.”

“I’m aware of that, but you have to understand that Stiles has a larger role to play, and this will only become more true as time goes by,” Moira warns him. “Come, we need to be hidden. Keep your weapon loose.”

Noah frowns, but he does as instructed. He’s both the alpha and the sheriff of this county, and he needs to protect more than just his son.

~~~~~

Derek scowls. “I hate this.”

“Pretty sure my dad hates it more than you do,” Stiles replies. “I kinda hate it, too. But there’s a problem that needs taken care of, so that’s what we’re doing. Matt thinks of me as the school loser, the guy who can’t get a girlfriend and warms the bench at lacrosse. He’s gonna look at me and think I’m just like him, trying to get power because I don’t have it.”

Derek hears the ring of truth in his words, and he can’t disagree. Stiles has the power of the pack, and the power of his magic, the power of having a father who loves him, and of having a teacher who will instruct him.

“You have power,” Derek says.

“Yeah, that’s why you’re here,” Stiles jokes. “You’re both the muscle and the secret brains. You’re the whole picture, my dude.”

Derek wants to tell him not to call him that, but when Stiles says it, it’s like a term of affection, and he can’t. “Are you going to be okay?”

“If I’m not okay, I might need you to cuddle me during the inevitable nightmares that follow,” Stiles replies. “But let’s hope for the best.”

Derek watches as Stiles checks his pockets and finds the pouch of salt. “Okay, I think we’re good.”

“Good luck,” Derek says, feeling as though it needs to be spoken aloud.

Stiles doesn’t move right at first. “Do you know, Mom never called me Stiles. I couldn’t say my own, legal name, and neither could anyone else. I started going by Stiles in preschool when my dad suggested it to the teacher. I mean, in retrospect, it was pretty shitty of her not to try, but it’s not like I could get my mouth around it either, and my grandfather went by Stiles.”

“What did your mom call you?” Derek prods gently.

“She called me Mischief,” Stiles replies.

“Fitting,” Derek comments. “Let’s go make some mischief.”

Stiles shoots him a grin. “Yeah, let’s.”

He wanders into the warehouse, and Derek is close behind, although he keeps to the edges. Derek can’t smell anything or anyone else, and so he melts into the shadows and watches Stiles pours a pile of salt into the palm of his hand and then he tosses it up in the air.

The salt falls in a perfect circle around him, and then Stiles leaves the circle, deliberately scuffing the line.

Derek has heard the plan, and he’s not sure how it’s all going to work out, but he stays out of sight. Eventually, Matt Daehler appears, an ugly, arrogant smirk on his face.

“So, it is you,” Daehler says. “Figures. What, you want to find out how to deliver a love potion to Lydia Martin now that she’s back with Jackson? Do you want to sell your soul in order to own her?”

“I don’t like the idea of owning someone,” Stiles says. “Or controlling someone. I like my partners willing and able.”

Matt laughs loud and long. “Like you’ve had partners.”

Stiles shrugs. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I have never had a girlfriend. I’ve never had sex. I wouldn’t know what it would be like to have a willing partner, let alone an unwilling one. Then again, I also haven’t sold my soul to a demon, so I have that going for me.”

“What would you know about it?” Daehler demands.

Stiles shrugs. “I know you got bullied. I know the people you killed were assholes to you at some point. It still doesn’t explain why you’d sell your soul.”

“You have no idea what it’s like,” Daehler snaps, stepping closer even as Stiles takes a deliberate step backwards, over the broken line. “What it’s like to be nearly drowned because some assholes decided you were easy prey. You have no idea what it’s like to die and see the other side, and feel nothing.”

Stiles nods. “Yeah. You’re right. I don’t know. I have no idea what that’s like. But I do know what it’s like to be afraid, and to hurt, and to be sad. I’ve never killed anyone, though.”

“You don’t know what a rush it is!” Daehler cries. “It’s such a fucking rush! Didn’t you ever want a taste of power?”

“Got that, thanks,” Stiles says. “But just a taste is enough for me. You should have sought a family, Matt. You should have sought a pack.”

And then Stiles takes his hand out of his pocket and blows, and the salt spreads out and fills in the gap in the line. “Sorry, Matt. And I really do mean that. I’m sorry you sold your soul, I’m sorry you got fucked up by a bunch of asshole losers. You do know that they haven’t amounted to anything, right? You could have just reveled in the moral superiority of being more than what they are. But you’re never going to get that chance.”

“What are you talking about?” Daehler demands. “You have nothing.”

Stiles shrugs. “I have a spark, and you and your demon are currently trapped. I’m sorry about that, too.”

Daehler turns, probably to try and run, but whatever magic is powering the trap and the salt line won’t allow it. He bounces off an invisible barrier with a cry of pain. “You can’t do this!”

“It’s already been done,” Stiles says. “I’m afraid that our plans don’t really allow for you leaving the circle alive.”

The imp that suddenly appears behind Daehler is a horrible. It has multiple mouths and horns, and Derek can smell the sulphur. The scent is so strong that his eyes water. There’s a malevolence rolling off of it that sound Derek, and then it says in a horrible voice, “Since we’re trapped, I’ll just have to eat you.”

And then one of those many mouths swallows Daehler, and that’s the end of him.

Stiles stares, probably expecting it to have taken longer than it did, but it’s over in seconds. He shudders and turns away, his hands over his face as his shoulders shake. Derek can hear him whispering. “Fuck. Fuck. Fucking hell, fuck all of this. Fuck it sideways with a chainsaw.”

Derek is pretty sure Stiles is trying not to have a panic attack, and he takes a step towards him.

At that moment, Moira appears out of the shadows. “Stiles, when you invite a demon in, you invite the consequences that go along with it. Remember this, and take strength. You protected the pack. That’s the important thing.”

She’s not going to compliment Stiles, and she’s not going to do anything to make him feel better, but Derek is Noah’s right hand, and Stiles is going to be their emissary. Derek’s job is to look after the pack. He steps forward and pulls Stiles into a hug.

“You did what you had to do, and you did great,” Derek says into his ear. “You helped to end the threat.”

Stiles buries his face in Derek’s shoulder and starts to cry. His shoulders are shaking, and Derek can hear the barely repressed sobs.

A few moments later, Noah runs up to them, and he pulls both of them into an embrace. “Good job. You did what you had to do, son.”

Derek is hugging Stiles, and Noah is hugging them both, and It’s good.

They’ve at least defeated this threat. Now, on to the hunters.

~~~~~

Stiles is going to need a hell of a lot of therapy; he knows that. He can’t shake the fear and horror that just being in the presence of that creature had caused. It’s not dissimilar to the feeling he’d had when in the presence of the Nemeton, or whatever is buried inside.

As soon as they get home, Stiles heads straight for the shower, and he stands under the hot spray until the water cools, and he has to get out, shivering slightly.

He pulls on clean sweats for comfort, and wanders downstairs, feeling emotionally raw. No matter what Moira had said—no matter that Matt brought his end on himself—Stiles had been instrumental in causing his death.

Stiles finds the rest of the pack in the living room, apparently waiting on him. Erica is sitting on the couch, and she holds out an arm. Stiles plops down next to her, and Erica snuggles in close. “You okay, Doctor Strange?”

“I wish I could say I was,” Stiles mutters. “It really sucked.”

Isaac grimaces. “I can’t believe Matt would do that.”

“Oh, he definitely did it,” Stiles mutters. “I saw the demon myself.” He shudders at the memory, which causes Erica to snuggle closer. “Is my dad still here, or did he go to the station?”

“He went to the station,” Moira says, entering the living room with a mug in hand. “Here, drink this. You’’ll feel better.”

Stiles accept the mug and doesn’t even ask what’s in it. It smells like herbal tea of some sort, and he takes a careful sip. “Thanks.”

“It will be important for you to be around your pack tonight,” Moira says, her voice gentle. She’d been stern earlier, and Stiles thinks that’s probably partly because Moira had also been upset, but also because she wanted Stiles to take the lesson to heart. Stiles’ own actions could put him in danger, or put the people around him in danger.

Stiles has to take care with his magic. A moment’s impulse—or even a plan to take revenge years in the making—could have disastrous consequences.

It’s the same lesson that Scott has to learn. Now, more than ever, they have to think before they act.

Stiles feels a bit of a letdown because he can’t really help his dad find Kate Argent, and with Matt taken care of, it doubly feels as though as if they’re holding their collective breath.

He just wishes they knew where they’d strike—at the station? Were they going to go after his dad? After him and Scott? Flee the jurisdiction and hope to hide from the feds?

But they get through that evening, and the next morning, his dad offers Isaac the bite. “If you’re still sure,” his dad says.

“I’m sure,” Isaac says. “I’m more sure than ever. I want to help the pack, and I think I can do that better if I take the bite.”

His dad nods. “I’d prefer to wait until after the next full moon, but with everything going on, you’ll be far less vulnerable if you’re a werewolf. You know the rules.”

“Don’t talk about the pack or pack business with outsiders,” Isaac says readily. “Don’t make what we are obvious. Don’t invite anybody to join the pack without talking to you about it first.”

Noah nods, apparently satisfied. “That’s it.”

The bite is always going to be a little weird to Stiles, especially when it’s his dad biting a classmate, and it’s a little anti-climactic. After all, it takes time for the bite to kick in, but it’s clear within the first hour or so that Isaac isn’t going to reject it. They still have some time before the full moon, so it’s probably a good opportunity.

They invite Boyd over for dinner that night—pizza and wings—and a movie marathon. If the gathering has a bit of a celebratory air, Boyd doesn’t question it. He stays late enough that it’s natural to invite him to stay the night.

The next morning, his dad—who had been at the station all night—brings donuts for everyone, and they settle down to do homework. As the weekend goes on, the horror of what had happened to Daehler starts to fade. Moira had been right about Stiles needing to spend time with his pack, and by the time Saturday afternoon rolls around, he’s feeling a lot steadier.

Everyone has their homework done, and Stiles has his next magic lesson with Moira, so Scott and Isaac go back to the McCall house, while Boyd and Erica each go to their respective homes. His dad hasn’t suspended the buddy rule for the pack, but Erica’s parents are starting to make noises about seeing her, and she needs to spend some time with them. And Scott hadn’t mentioned Boyd in his texts, so he’s probably safe.

Today, Moira is teaching him about the various ritual circles they will use, while Derek watches from the sidelines. Derek has been able to enroll in some online courses, just to get his feet wet, but he’s probably only half-focused on that.

Stiles is grateful for the magic lesson, because it’s a good distraction from everything going on. He’s feeling a lot more relaxed as Moira tells him about the various types of circles, and what is absolutely necessary. Then his cellphone chimes with an incoming text.

“I thought I told you to silence that,” Moira says with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, sorry,” Stiles says, pulling his phone out. He’s going to silence it, but then he reads the text from Scott. “Oh, shit. Scott says two black SUVs just pulled up in front of his house.”

“Tell him to take Isaac and go out the window,” Moira orders. “They’re closer to the hospital than here, so they should head there, staying in public as much as possible.”

Stiles types out the message in short bursts:

go out wndw

stay in public

hspitl closer

“I’m calling the sheriff now,” Derek says.

Stiles’ heart is in his throat, and Scott texts back. out of house omg smoke

“Tell Dad they need the fire department at the McCall house, too,” Stiles says urgently.

Then something comes flying through the front window of the house, and a Molotov cocktail hits the carpet and starts to burn.

Moira curses and then waves a hand, and the fire is immediately extinguished before it can truly catch. Derek’s eyes are glowing blue, his mouth open in a snarl, and Moira looks through the window, as does Stiles, and there are another two black SUVs out front, blocking the driveway.

For a moment, the sheer insanity strikes Stiles. These asshole hunters are just running around in broad daylight attacking people. He almost laughs out loud, but then stops to think.

While the hunters clearly think of themselves as above the law, the Argents have shown at least a little bit of cunning in the past. That means, they wouldn’t be doing this unless they thought they could get something out of it.

And if Stiles were Kate Argent, he’d want the case against him to go away. That doesn’t happen unless they can eliminate witnesses and destroy evidence.

“They want to destroy the case against Kate Argent,” Stiles blurts out as the gunfire starts.

“Yes, I can see that, Stiles,” Moira says sharply. “I can’t ward off bullets, so we’ll need to get somewhere safe.”

There’s a crash from the back of the house, and Moira snaps, “Get upstairs, and go out through the window, you two.”

“What about you?” Stiles protests, but Derek has already grabbed him and is hauling him upstairs. “But Moira!”

“She can take care of herself,” Derek hisses. “They’re probably going to get a very rude awakening—and you’re the target here.”

Stiles can’t disagree with that, and he has no desire to be killed, so he allows Derek to pull him up the stairs and out through Stiles’ bedroom window. Stiles hears more gunfire, but the hunters apparently haven’t seen them, or aren’t very good shots, because none come close.

Derek jumps off the roof first, then gestures to Stiles. “Just jump! I’ll catch you.”

Stiles knows that if he tries to hang off the roof, it will take too long, and he’ll probably cut his hands open on the gutter. And somehow, over the last few weeks, he’s learned to trust Derek.

Stiles jumps, and Derek catches him easily. Stiles hears someone shout, “There they are!”

Derek grabs his wrist and they start running. Stiles feels a sting in his upper arm, and Derek’s nostrils flare.

“I’m fine,” Stiles gasps out. “Totally fine.”

“Keep running,” Derek orders.

Stiles hears the roar of an SUV behind them, and he pulls out of Derek’s grip to cut through a side yard. “Come on! I know a short cut!”

“A short cut to where?” Derek demands.

“Somewhere an SUV can’t follow,” Stiles replies, and just keeps on running.

~~~~~

Noah has been expecting the hunters to strike, but he’s surprised that they would hit the McCall house in broad daylight. He’s on the phone with Derek as Derek relays the information about Scott and Isaac being attacked when there’s a crash and the line goes dead.

He’d been in his office when the call came in, and he’s still in there when the call drops.

Noah strides out, snapping out orders to the deputies who are there and aren’t on patrol. “I need someone to go to the McCall house. Take back up, and call the fire department on the way.”

“What are we walking in on, Sheriff?” Marc asks, standing and buckling his gun belt.

“I don’t know,” Noah replies. “But Scott McCall texted my kid about armed intruders and smoke, and Derek Hale called me. I heard a crashing noise, and then the line went dead at my house, so I’m going there now.”

Tara gets up to join him. “Should I call Paul in?”

“He was up all last night,” Noah replies. “Let him sleep.”

“But sir,” Tara begins. “We need someone to stay here.”

The department isn’t big, and Noah realizes what the hunters’ play is. If Kate Argent wants the charges against her to go away, they’ll need to eliminate witnesses and destroy evidence.

Noah told Chris about the FBI’s involvement, but the hunters would have no way of knowing that a lot of the evidence has been sent to the FBI lab for processing. Most people don’t understand how that works, and he strongly suspects that the only one who might is Chris Argent, who probably isn’t involved in this mess.

“Shit, they’re going to come here next,” Noah mutters. “Stay here, Tara.”

She shakes her head. “That leaves you without back up.”

Noah grimaces and says, “Fine, call Paul. Have him meet me at my house. Call Dave, too. You’re right. It’s all hands on deck.”

Tara nods unhappily, and Noah adds, “Lock the door behind me.”

He drives too fast toward his house, and it looks like a war had broken out in his front yard. The bay window is shattered, and there are bullet holes in the siding and front door. Noah runs inside and sees two bodies in the living room. He doesn’t recognize either of them at least, and he shouts, “Stiles! Moira! Derek!”

Noah goes back towards the kitchen, still calling out, and the basement door creaks open.

Moira emerges, looking slightly disheveled, but otherwise unharmed. “I’m here.”

“Where are Stiles and Derek?” Noah demands.

“I sent them out through the upstairs window,” Moira replies. “I took care of two of them.”

“I saw the bodies,” Noah replies. He quickly radios Tara. “I need you to put a trace on Stiles’ cell phone. There was an attack at the house, and he and Derek ran.”

“I’m on it,” Tara replies. “What about you? Anybody else at the house?”

“Just Moira,” Noah says. “She’s in one piece, but I have two dead intruders.”

“Paul says he’s three minutes out,” Tara says. “I’ll let the other deputies know to be on the look out for Stiles and Derek, as well as the McCall and Lahey boys.”

“Any word from that scene?” Noah asks.

“There was a fire, but no one was home, and it was quickly put out, so there was minimal damage,” Tara assures him. “We’re working on contacting Melissa. She wasn’t at the house.”

Noah takes a deep breath. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll wait here for Dave and Paul.”

He’s pretty sure he could track Stiles by scent, but he also knows that going off alone could easily result in him being caught by the hunters.

Granted, Noah had come to the house by himself, but he’d been in his county-issued vehicle, and he’d been fairly certain he would find someone at the house.

Noah runs a hand through his hair and looks around, “Jesus, what a fucking mess. You don’t know where Stiles is?”

“He was the target, and I kept them busy,” Moira says. “Once I killed two of them, they realized how serious I was.”

Noah hates not knowing where his kid is, and he hates waiting for Paul and Dave, but he’s not an idiot. He hadn’t survived this long by going off half-cocked, no matter the provocation.

When he hears a shout from the front door, Noah stops surveying the damage and meets Paul and Dave in the living room. “Are you okay, sir?” Paul asks.

Noah nods. “Yeah, but my kid is missing. I need to find him.”

“I directed Scott and Isaac to go to the hospital,” Moira says, coming from behind him.

“It’s a place to start,” Noah says. “Dave, will you stay here with Moira? We need to contain the scene. Please get her initial statement, but they might come back. Paul, you’re with me.”

Paul nods. “Right behind you, sir.”

As they leave the house, Paul asks, “Do you think the Argents are behind this?”

“Those are the only people I know of with this much firepower, and every reason to do whatever they can to end the case against Kate Argent,” Noah says grimly, then takes a deep breath. He can vaguely catch Stiles’ scent, as well as the scent of a known werewolf.

Noah tosses his keys to Paul. “You drive.”

“You’re not going to go running off without me, are you?” Paul asks.

Noah shakes his head. “No, I know better than that.”

“That why you took off from the station without waiting for me?” Paul asks.

“This is Stiles,” Noah says. “I couldn’t wait, and I thought I’d be safe enough.”

Paul nods. “Understood.”

Paul drives slowly along the path Noah indicates, and a couple of blocks away from the house, he loses the scent. “Stop here,” he says. “I’m going to check something out.”

He gets out of the car and kneels down. He sees footsteps in the grass, faint signs of passage, and then he spots blood droplets.

Noah touches the blood and curses. He can’t be sure who it belongs to, but Stiles knows he can’t go to Scott’s house, so the hospital is the most likely option. Based on the path Noah can discern, Stiles or Derek had decided to go through others’ yards to avoid the hunters.

“Sheriff!” a woman comes hurrying out of her house.

Noah vaguely remembers herald he dredges up her name from the recesses of his memory. “Mrs. Wagner, hi.”

“I saw your boy running with another young man,” she says. She’s wearing leggings and an oversized hoodie, and she’s probably in her early thirties. “There was a black SUV following them. I called 911, but the line was busy!”

“We’ve had a major incident today,” Noah replies. “The lines were probably overwhelmed. We’ll be in touch for a formal statement soon.”

Mrs. Wagner nods, putting her hand to her mouth. “I hope your son is okay, Sheriff.”

“So do I,” Noah replies.

He gets back into the car with Paul and says, “There was blood. We need to head for the hospital.”

“Do you think that’s where he’ll go?” Paul asks.

“That’s where Moira sent Scott and Isaac,” Noah says grimly. “And it’s as good a place as any to start.”

Melissa is still working nights, so she’s not there, and when they arrive, none of the boys are there, and no one has seen them.

Noah gets a sinking feeling as they check with reception. “Sorry, Sheriff, there’s been no sign of any of them” Sherri says. Noah is quite familiar with her, as he is with a lot of the hospital staff.

“If they show up here, please call me,” Noah says, handing her his card.

Noah can’t shake the awful feeling that his world is about to come crashing down. “Let’s get back to the station. I don’t like this.”

Paul nods grimly. “Yeah, same.”

Noah takes the wheel to drive to the station, and the glass at the front of the station is shattered. “Fuck,” Noah says, unbuckling his belt and hurrying inside.

Tara is back by the evidence locker, sprawled out and unconscious. She’s bleeding from a head wound, but also from a bullet wound in the left upper chest, and there’s blood around her mouth.

Noah kneels down next to her, fumbling for a pulse, and finds a weak one. “Tara? Tara? Can you hear me?”

Her eyes flutter open. “Hey, sir,” she whispers. “Couldn’t keep them out of the evidence locker. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Noah says. “I’m sorry I left you here by yourself.”

“Not your fault,” she says, her voice starting to fade. “They used some kind of device out front. Not sure what. Sorry. Can’t—“

“Tara, this is really important,” Noah says urgently. “I can give you the bite, and it might save your life, but it might not. I don’t—“

“Do it,” she whispers. “Never minded following you.”

Noah follows his instincts and bites her shoulder right over the gunshot wound. Then, also on instinct, Noah rolls her slightly to make sure the bullet isn’t still inside her.

There’s an exit wound, so he doesn’t think they’ll have to worry about wolfsbane poisoning. Paul is on the radio to dispatch to ask for an ambulance at the station, and Noah pulls off his jacket and folds it up to put under her head.

Paul hands him a wad of paper towels from the bathroom, and Noah presses them to the wound on her shoulder.

“Ambulance is on the way, sir,” Paul says. “Sounds like they hit the McCall place and yours at about the same time, probably to draw us away. Then they hit the station.”

Noah shakes her head. “I should have known. Fuck.”

“We’re up against what seems like a small army,” Paul replies. “This isn’t your fault.”

As far as Noah is concerned, they never had a chance. He pulls out his phone and finds Agent Marsh’s number in his list of contacts.

“Sheriff Stilinski?” Marsh says immediately upon answering. “What’s wrong?”

“The Argents hit my house and the McCalls’ at the same time,” Noah says grimly. “And then they hit the station. One of my deputies is down, and my son and three others are currently missing. I don’t have the manpower to deal with this.”

“No, you don’t,” Marsh says bluntly. “I’m sending CIRG your way. It’s going to take us time to get there. I know your instinct is to look for Stiles, but I strongly recommend finding a place to hole up.”

“I can’t do that,” Noah replies. “Not until my son is safe.”

“I thought you might say that,” Marsh replies. “Look, I can’t stop you, but remember that this is what they want. They’ll kill you if they catch you.”

“I know,” Noah says. “But it’s my son.”

He hangs up and looks at Paul, hearing the wail of the ambulance. “I want every single able-bodied deputy here immediately. If they want war, that’s exactly what they’re going to get.”

~~~~~

Stiles had been right to steer them off the beaten path. As they cut through people’s yards, going over or under fences as necessary, they leave the hunters behind. The SUVs can’t follow them, and the hunters are clearly unprepared to follow on foot, which probably means they have something else planned.

Stiles stumbles and falls, gasping for air and clutching his side. “I need to stop.”

Derek looks around a little wildly, but he doesn’t see anyone, and he can’t hear their pursuers any longer. “Okay, I think we can stop for a bit.”

They’re in someone’s backyard, and judging by the boarded up windows, no one is living there. “Come on,” Derek says. He grabs Stiles’ uninjured arm and pulls him to the backdoor. “I don’t think anyone is living here.”

Stiles is still trying to catch his breath, and he doesn’t argue as Derek forces the backdoor. The door opens into a kitchen, and it’s mostly bare, with dust on every flat surface. Derek helps Stiles sit on the floor and starts looking around for anything to bandage Stiles’ arm.

“Can you take off your shirt?” Derek asks.

Stiles hisses as he takes his hoodie off. The sleeve of the red sweatshirt is bloody, and Derek sees the furrow that the bullet cut through the outside of Stiles’ right arm. He knows that Stiles is going to need more first aid than what he can provide.

Still, he can at least stop the bleeding. He finds some clean kitchen towels and rips strips off to bind the wound. Derek pulls his pain, and Stiles’ shoulders slump in relief. “Thanks, Der.” Stiles looks a little lost. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Derek admits. “Do you have your phone?”

Stiles checks his pockets and comes up empty. “It must have fallen out.”

Derek had left his phone in the Stilinksi house, so their communication is cut off. “We should go to the hospital. That’s where Scott and Isaac were heading, and you’re going to need a doctor for that arm.”

Stiles tips his head back. “Yeah, and Dad will probably look for us there eventually. But so will the hunters.”

Derek thinks through their options. Going to Erica or Boyd’s house is out, because it would just put them in more danger. If the hunters overlook them, it’s for the best. Stiles is right, the hunters will probably look for them at the hospital, and they’ve shown no hesitation about racking up collateral damage.

That doesn’t leave them a whole lot of options, but it’s not as though there are any guarantees in this life.

“We could just stay here,” Stiles says dubiously.

“We could,” Derek says. “It’s probably safer.”

“But it wouldn’t be the best thing we could do for the pack,” Stiles says quietly.

Derek shakes his head. “No, it wouldn’t be.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Then I say we go to the hospital. That’s where Scott and Isaac were heading, and Dad and Moira will assume that we’ll make our way there, too. Plus, there are a lot of things we can use at the hospital—defibrillators, sedatives, scalpels, you know. Weapons.”

“You’re a resourceful little shit,” Derek says. “All right, hospital it is.”

Derek gets to his feet, and reaches down to help Stiles up. “We can go by foot,” Derek says. “Or we can sneak back to your house and get the Camaro.”

“I’d rather have wheels,” Stiles says. “In case the hunters are driving around looking for us.”

Derek nods. “I can go, and then come back for you.”

Stiles shakes his head emphatically. “Have you ever watched a horror movie, Derek? We don’t split up.”

Derek can’t really argue with that. “Yeah, okay. We stick together.”

He doesn’t want to split up anyway; he just thought it would be faster.

They sneak back to Stiles’ house the same way they’d come, and the hunters are gone. Moira is still there, though, and as they enter through the back door, she eyes them with her hands on her hips. “Are you two okay?”

“Stiles has been shot,” Derek replies. “We thought we’d come here first, pick up the Camaro, and then head to the hospital.”

“It was a good thought, but the hunters didn’t want to risk losing you,” Moira replies. “They shot up your car and mine, too. That’s a deposit I won’t be getting back.”

Derek swears. “Seriously, again? For fuck’s sake.”

“They really have a hard-on for your car,” Stiles says, and he’s clutching his arm again. “Are you okay?” he asks Moira.

“Oh, I’m fine, but I’ve been relegated to the back of the house by the deputy your dad put out front,” Moira replies. “I think you two ought to talk to him before you concoct any harebrained schemes.”

Stiles opens his mouth to protest. “But Moira, Scott and Isaac are still out there, and my dad doesn’t have the manpower to take on all these assholes!”

Stiles’ voice brings the deputy—Dave—back to the kitchen. “Stiles, there you are!” He immediately calls over the radio, “Sir, we have your son and Derek. They came back to the house.”

“Tell them to stay put,” Noah snaps. “And tell my kid that the FBI is sending CIR. He’ll know what that means.”

Derek looks at Stiles. “Do you know what that means?”

Stiles’ expression is a cross between mutinous and relieved. “Yeah, it’s the FBI version of SWAT. It means they’re sending in the big guns.”

Dave gives Stiles a look. “So, you two are going to stay put?”

Derek nods and speaks for both of them. “Stiles is going to need a doctor. He has a bullet crease in his right arm.”

Dave nods. “I’ll call for one. You two need to shelter in place for now. As soon as we find Scott and Isaac, we’ll get them to a secure location as well.”

Derek suddenly realizes that this is over for them, at least for now. The FBI is going to send in a bunch of guys with guns, who will match the hunters’ firepower weapon for weapon. There might end up being a lot of dead bodies when this is all said and done, but he’s not going to be one of them. Neither is Stiles.

He can see the dawning realization on Stiles’ face, too. “Wait, the FBI is going to handle this?”

Moira gives both of them a look. “I told you, Stiles, there are competent adults that can handle this. You need to let them.”

“But Scott and Isaac,” Stiles says, and then trails off, the blood draining from his face.

Derek moves quickly to catch him, realizing that the adrenalin has worn off for Stiles, the promise of a continued battle having kept him going to this point.

“I’ll get that doctor,” Dave says. “Maybe get him upstairs if you can.”

Derek picks Stiles up easily. “Yeah, I’ve got him.”

“I’ll get my bag,” Moira says. “See what I can do in the meantime.”

Derek’s cell phone is upstairs in the bedroom he’s been using, and he figures he can text Scott, let him know that he and Isaac should come to the sheriff’s house if they can make it.

But it looks their part is pretty much done.

As Moira said, they actually have competent adults involved.

~~~~~

Dave’s call over the radio that Stiles had made it back home and mostly in one piece gives Noah peace of mind. Now, he just needs to make sure the rest of the kids are safe.

The ambulance has taken Tara to the hospital, and so far she’s hanging on. Noah knows that if she can survive long enough for the bite to take effect, she’ll be okay, assuming she doesn’t reject it.

His phone buzzes with a text, and he reads it with another sigh of relief.

“What is it?” Paul asks. “Are we waiting for CIR?”

“We’re waiting for CIR,” Noah confirms. “That was Melissa McCall. She was lucky enough to be out running errands, and Scott and Isaac managed to evade the hunters long enough to contact her.”

Paul lets out a sigh. “That seems like a minor miracle.”

“We need some good luck today, if we aren’t going to get killed before the FBI arrives,” Noah mutters. “They blew their wad, and for what?”

“Maybe they’re not used to dealing with competent people,” Paul hazards. “Or they thought they could take prisoners. They probably thought they could extort you.”

That rings true to Noah. The Argents had certainly thought they were above the law, that it wouldn’t apply to them.

“Who else do we have coming in?” Noah asks.

“Dave is at your house, we have two more at the McCall place, and three patrol cars out looking for the black SUVs,” Paul says.

That’s most of Noah’s department, with Tara being in the hospital, especially since he’d ordered everyone to double up. “Rhonda and Pete?”

“On their way in,” Paul replies. “They were two towns over following up on a lead on an Argent sighting.”

Noah’s cell phone buzzes again. “CIR is fifteen minutes out. Marsh put a rush on it.”

Paul nods. “Should I call everyone in?”

“No, I want them on patrol, looking for the Argents,” Noah replies. “We’ll feed information to CIR when they arrive.”

Paul’s cell phone buzzes, and he says, “That was from Cindy. They found the Argents. They’ve regrouped at the old distillery. She didn’t want to put it out on the radio in case they have our frequency.”

“Good thinking,” Noah says. “I’ll relay the information to Marsh.”

From there, he and Paul start texting those on patrol to provide support to the CIR flying in from San Francisco. The radio isn’t secure, so they rely on group texts, lights and sirens off, as they approach the old distillery.

Noah parks about a mile away, in a place where he’s going to be able to intercept the FBI CIR team, and he sees their vehicles trundling down the road. Marsh is in the lead vehicle, wearing all black, with a bulletproof vest and an automatic rifle slung across his chest.

“You know, the Argents are usually smarter than this,” he says as he gets out of the vehicle and shakes Noah’s hand. “Any other casualties?”

“My deputy is in critical but stable condition for now,” Noah replies. “Dave’s still sitting on my kid. The rest of them are safe.”

Marsh nods. “Okay, at least there’s that. I’ll be interested in knowing what the hell happened.”

“You and me both,” Noah replies. “We’ll provide support on the perimeter.”

“Appreciate it,” Marsh says.

The CIR team rolls up on the distillery while Noah and his people create a perimeter around the building. The hunters might essentially be a paramilitary organization, but they’re no match for CIR, especially since the Argents are already somewhat disorganized.

Not ten minutes later, six people come out in handcuffs, including Kate Argent, who’s spitting threats, and a grizzled old man who matches the description that Stiles and Derek had given of Gerard Argent.

Noah has to wonder what Chris and Victoria Argents’ roles had been in the whole thing. At the very least, he suspects they’d provided aid.

Gerard is silent, unlike his daughter, but he shoots a poisonous look at Noah as the FBI agents lead him away.

“Marsh,” Noah calls. “Are you taking them back to the station first?”

Marsh nods. “If that’s all right. I need to arrange transportation.”

“I’d like to talk to him,” Noah says.

Marsh shakes his head. “That’s not a good idea.”

“No recording equipment, and I won’t lay a finger on him,” Noah promises. “I just need to know what he was thinking.”

Marsh hesitates, but eventually nods. “All right. I guess I can allow it. You’re not going to have much time, though. I want to get him into federal custody in San Francisco as soon as possible.”

Noah calls the hospital on the way back to the station, and he gets confirmation that Tara is still hanging in there. Erica and Boyd are at their homes and safe. Melissa has checked into a motel with Scott and Isaac, and they’re all in one piece.

Stiles is awake and responsive, and the doctor has treated the bullet wound and given him a shot of antibiotics. Derek and Moira are just fine.

“I think you should invite Dave in on things,” Paul says once Noah has checked up on everyone. “I don’t know if he’ll go for the bite, but he’ll keep the secret.”

“The rest of the station?” Noah asks.

“We’d all follow you through hell, sir,” Paul replies. “And I think we should make this place a sanctuary.”

Noah nods. “All right. When we get Tara through her first full moon, I’ll talk to Dave. I’ll have three new wolves, and Scott isn’t known for being entirely stable. I can’t risk another right now.”

Paul nods. “That works for me.”

They arrive back at the station with the FBI cars, and the hunters are transferred into the cells. At least, everyone other than Gerard Argent, who is taken to an interrogation room.

Noah lets him stew for a bit, and then he enters the room and sits down across from Gerard, who sneers at him. “I want a lawyer.”

“Don’t let the uniform fool you,” Noah says. “I’m not here as a law enforcement officer, or the sheriff. I’m not recording this, and whatever you say isn’t going to be used against you. I’m just struggling to understand.”

“Is that right?” Gerard asks. “Well, I suppose you’ll just have to remain mystified.”

Noah leans back in his chair, and then he takes a deep breath. He smells illness, chemicals, and death. “You motherfucking hypocrite.”

Gerard looks up sharply. “You can tell?”

“You’re dying,” Noah says bluntly. “You wanted the bite to save your own life? You’re a fucking hypocrite.”

“Maybe I am,” Gerard suddenly admits. “I have to admit, when my daughter told me that the sheriff of this county was a werewolf—and a new alpha—I didn’t expect you to have much control. I thought I’d get here and put you down.”

There’s a lot that becomes clear in that moment. “You tried to subvert Scott.”

“I heard about the bodies dropping,” Gerard replies. “I came here to exert control, but by the time we knew what was happening, you’d taken care of the problem.”

“That’s kind of my job,” Noah says.

“And the omega?”

“Kind of my job, too,” Noah replies, unwilling to say more.

Gerard hums. “You were the one who found out who Scott was texting?”

“No, that was a friend of mine,” Noah admits.

“You just have all sorts of friends, don’t you?” Gerard asks. “I’m not used to dealing with the FBI.”

“No, I don’t suppose you are,” Noah says. “So, you were planning to subvert Scott, and force me to give you the bite. That plan got cut short, so you decided to go out in a blaze of glory. You didn’t even have the balls to commit suicide by cop.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Gerard says snidely. “You’re an animal.”

“I’m not the one who targeted kids,” Noah replies, getting to his feet. “Or law enforcement officers. And I’m not the one who’s going to die by inches in a prison infirmary. Good luck with that.”

He gets up and leaves Gerard cuffed to the interrogation table, meeting Marsh in the hallway. “Did you get what you were after?”

Noah shrugs. “At least I have some idea of what he wanted. Right now, though, I want to see my kid.”

“Yeah, we’ve got it here,” Marsh replies. “We’ll probably camp out for the next week or two. I think you can probably use the backup, and I can sell it as Beacon Hills as being a hotbed of domestic terrorism activity.”

“You know what? I’ll take the help,” Noah says. “At this point, I’ll take all the help I can get, especially from someone in the know.”

Marsh nods. “Tell Stiles hello for me, and I hope he has a speedy recovery. How’s Moira working out?”

“Moira made sure my kid made it out safely and took care of two hunters,” Noah replies. “She’s one of my favorite people.”

Marsh laughs. “Thought you might like her. We’ll talk soon.”

And Noah is happy to head home to check on his kid.

~~~~~

Stiles wakes up when a needle pokes his arm. “Ow,” he mutters.

“You’re fine,” Derek says soothingly. “It’s just an anesthetic so the doctor can stitch you up.”

Stiles manages to blink his eyes open. Derek is next to him with a hand resting on Stiles’ left shoulder. The woman on his other side is putting careful stitches into the wound on his arm.

Stiles feels like he might be sick, and he looks away. “I think I might throw up.”

“You’re not going to throw up,” Derek orders. “Just take deep breaths.”

Stiles focuses and does as ordered, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.

“There, that’s done,” the doctor says, wrapping gauze around his arm. “Don’t get those stitches wet, and I’ll see you in about 10 days to check on it unless you have problems before then. I’ll leave you with antibiotics.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says faintly. “Really. Appreciate the house call.”

She shakes her head. “Always You don’t remember me, do you?”

“You worked at the hospital when my mom was dying,” Stiles says bluntly. “I’m sorry I don’t remember your name, but I try not to remember a lot from that time.”

Her face goes soft with sympathy. “I can understand that. It’s Dr. Ellie.”

“Sure, I remember you,” Stiles murmurs. “You were always really nice.”

“I hope I was,” the doctor says. “Get lots of rest, Stiles.”

Stiles nods, and as soon as she leaves, Derek takes the pain again. “Go back to sleep, Stiles.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I need an update, Derek.”

“Erica and Boyd weren’t targeted and are safe,” Derek says. “Scott and Isaac got to a safe place and called Melissa, who picked them up and went to ground. Tara is in the hospital, and your dad had to bite her, but she’s expected to make a full recovery. A few of the hunters didn’t make it, but I don’t think we care.”

“We definitely do not,” Stiles says sleepily. “I know the house is a mess, but I really want the pack to be together.”

“We’ll get it figured out,” Derek promises. “Go to sleep.”

Stiles is feeling no pain, and the pack is safe, so he does just that.

The next time he wakes up, his dad is sitting next to his bed. “Dad?”

“Hey, kiddo,” his dad says. “You gave me quite a scare.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Not your fault this time,” his dad replies. “We’ll blame the Argents. You might be happy to know that the FBI has decided to investigate the unusual domestic terrorism activities around here.”

Stiles grins. “Can I make a nuisance of myself? I really want to do a ride along with the FBI.”

“We’ll see,” his dad replies. “They’ll have to agree to it first. The whole pack is here. Melissa got the night off due to the threat to Scott. She made enchiladas.”

Stiles groans. “Oh, my god, yes.”

“You want help in the shower?” Noah asks.

“Can’t get the stitches wet,” Stiles replies. “I’ll do a quick wash tonight, but I might need help washing my hair tomorrow.”

“We can do it in the sink,” his dad says, and then presses a kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry you got shot, but I’m glad you’re mostly okay.”

“Wait,” Stiles says. “What about the Argents?”

“Gerard and Kate, as well as their men, are all in custody. They’re still investigating to see if Chris, his wife, or Allison had anything to do with it, but I’m guessing Chris kept his kid out of it, and his wife seems a little too smart to get involved.”

His dad leaves him alone with that information, and Stiles goes to the bathroom, using a wet washcloth to give himself a quick wash to get off the stink of fear sweat and cordite. He splashes water on his face as best he can with his bum arm, and then starts pulling on clean clothes. Stiles manages his pants without too much trouble but is struggling with his t-shirt when there’s a rap on his door.

“Do you need some help?” Scott asks.

“I guess,” Stiles replies, his voice muffled by the cloth.

Scott’s hands are gentle as he helps guide the shirt over Stiles’ head. “Dude, I am so fucking sorry.”

Stiles stares at him. “What? What are you talking about?”

“If I hadn’t been talking to the hunters—“

“They still would have attacked us, because they’re assholes,” Stiles says firmly. “But they’re in custody, and we’re all okay.”

“You’re not,” Scott says. “You got shot!”

“Grazed,” Stiles says breezily, as though it’s no big deal, like he gets shot every day. “Hey, Scottie, all’s well that ends well, okay? We’re all safe, Dad said your mom made enchiladas. It’s a good day.”

Scott pulls him into a hug. “I was really worried.”

“You got you and Isaac to safety and called your mom,” Stiles says. “You did the right thing. We’re okay.”

Scott hugs him tightly. “Yeah, well, I’m glad you’re all right.”

When they go downstairs, it feels like a party in spite of the boarded up front window and bullet holes in the siding. Melissa has put together two pans of enchiladas, and there are chips and guacamole and salsa and a bean dip.

Erica comes over to hug him, as does Isaac, and Boyd offers a fist bump. Mrs. McCall gives him a side hug. “How’s your appetite?”

“Unaffected,” Stiles assures her. “And definitely looking forward to your enchiladas.”

“I had to take a few shortcuts, but I think they’ll be good,” Melissa says, and she also presses a kiss to his forehead.

Derek presses a hand to his shoulder and removes the lingering pain not taken care of by the local. Stiles figures the doctor had reason not to leave him with anything more potent than ibuprofen, but it doesn’t matter when he has werewolf friends.

Derek helps his dad put the leaves in the table to make room for everyone, and Stiles thinks that maybe that’s a product of his mom wanting to be able to entertain and never getting the chance, or not much of a chance.

Near dinnertime, Paul shows up and says, “Tara is going to be released from the hospital tomorrow. The doctors are saying it’s a miracle.”

Moira, who has been missing up to that point, shows up a few minutes later, just as the food is being put on the table. “I’ve found some people to help with cleansing the Nemeton.” She touches Stiles cheek and tips his chin up. “Good boy. You’re okay.”

“More than okay,” Stiles replies. “My pack is safe.”

Moira chucks him under the chin. “Just so.”

Life isn’t perfect, Stiles thinks, but it’s not terrible. He’s buzzed on werewolf mojo, and the scent of enchiladas fills the house. The pack is expanding, but that’s no bad thing either.

There’s safety in numbers, just like there’s safety in pack, and Stiles thinks the hunters might think twice before hitting them again.

But for now, Stiles thinks, they’re in charge of Beacon Hills.

---