Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 Prologue

 Stiles hooked his messenger bag over his shoulder as he walked down the street towards his apartment, his other hand holding the cell phone to his ear while he talked to his father, “Dad, we’ve been over this like...  a million times,” it was hard to keep the frustration out of his voice, but they had this same conversation, literally, almost every time they spoke lately.  Seriously.

“I know that, but you never give me a decent reason as to why you won’t come home for your summer break,” his father sounded just as frustrated with him.

“I told you I have a job,” he looked both ways then crossed the street, jogging a bit at the end to avoid getting hit by a driver who clearly didn’t understand the concept of pedestrian right-of-way.  Stepping onto the sidewalk he added, “I’ll get more hours during the summer because I won’t have classes to work around.”

“You chose Berkley because you got a full scholarship so you wouldn’t have to work Stiles, and could focus on school!”

That wasn’t completely true.  

Well, the part about getting the full scholarship was true.  

But he chose Berkley because it meant his father wouldn’t have to pay a dime for it.  He didn’t want to add any more financial burdens to the man’s shoulders after years of it during high school.  While they didn’t talk about it, Stiles was sure his dad was still paying for hospital bills from those tests and brain scans during junior year.  Not to mention when the Sheriff got shot...

Of course he never told his father that was the real reason because he knew the man would tell him not to worry about it and that they’d have figured out a way.  The thing was... they wouldn’t have.  What would have happened is his father would have over extended himself and be paying bills till he ended up in the grave.  Stiles couldn’t live with that.  Besides, it wasn’t so bad - he liked Berkley and it was a great school with all the programs he was interested in.  And another reason had been because it wasn’t too far from home. 

“Dad, I need money to pay rent for my apartment and for food.” 

“An apartment you didn’t need to rent when the dorms were perfectly fine.”

Stiles rolled his eyes.  Two years was long enough in the dorms and this was an old discussion that didn’t need repeating, “Sure, if I never wanted any privacy.”

“You could have gone to the library--”

“Dad!” he immediately regretted snapping at his father, so he took a deep breath and tried again, straining to keep his voice even, “Look, I don’t see what the big deal is.  You can come visit me here like you did before.  If I come home you’ll be working shifts most of the time anyway, right?  This way, you can take off for a few days and we’ll have actual time together.  It’ll be more fun.  Besides, there’s nothing to do in Beacon Hills.”  It was all perfectly logical and he didn’t understand why his father wasn’t getting it.

“Stiles...” his dad’s voice softened, “Don’t you want to see your friends?”

Sometimes he wished the man wasn’t so perceptive, “I talk to them all the time.”

“But you don’t see them.”

“We Skype.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Just about...”

He heard his father sigh over the line and had to stop himself from doing it as well.  “Did something happen?  I mean, since the last time you were here...  I don’t know, you’ve been pulling away.”

“I’m not pulling away Dad...” I’m avoiding.  There was a difference.

“You know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I know,” But not about this.  The last thing Stiles wanted to do was relive the moment out loud that seemed to have itself on repeat in his brain, skipping over and over like a bad recording.

“Stiles... it isn’t a good idea.  I can’t do this with you,” his eyes were full of pity...

Stiles shuddered and tried to focus on his father’s voice to push aside the memory, even though his chest tightened and his heart stuttered.  

“Son, I can’t force you to tell me anything... But just know anytime you want...”

“I do know Dad.  I do,” he rubbed the center of his chest and paused at the corner across the street from his apartment building, “Look, I’m almost home and...” He smelled gasoline.

His brows came together as he looked around, people passing by him, talking and oblivious.  The smell though was intense and made him gag.

“Stiles?” his father called to him through the phone.

He brought the back of his hand up to his nose, wanting to block out the scent.  Didn’t anyone else smell it?  How was no one else aware this?  Why were they all ignoring it?  Stiles turned, trying to locate the source, but he couldn’t see anything strange... no trucks or power and gas employees.  Lightheaded from the stench he was sure if someone caused a spark, the whole world would blow up.  

Of course, thinking that way, he shouldn’t really have been surprised when that’s exactly what happened.

The world exploded in a huge flash of light and sound.  

The last thing Stiles heard was his father calling his name from far away and then there was just silence.

Chapter Text

4 Months Later

“I have missed your lasagna Mom,” Scott said, taking another serving and plopping it on his plate.  

Melissa McCall chuckled as she passed the salad bowl to him, “Make sure to have some greens with that,” she shook her head, watching as her son piled the food on.  It was always questionable whether or not his appetite was growing-boy related or werewolf-related.  Either way, she was sure her son had a bottomless pit of a stomach.

Kira offered the Sheriff some wine, “Can I pour for you, Sheriff Stilinski?” 

“Oh, no dear, I’m on shift in an hour or so,” he smiled and shook his head, “Still can’t get over you kids being of legal drinking age.” 

“Tell me about it,” Melissa sighed.

“We can vote, we can drink, we can even do laundry!” Scott smirked.

“Well, I do the laundry,” Kira corrected, smirking back.

Before his Mom could scold him, Scott quickly injected, “I do the dishes!”

“Good!” Melissa pat his cheek, “Then you shouldn’t mind doing the dishes after dinner tonight.”

His mouth opened to protest, but he wisely decided to clamp it shut and accept his fate when his mother gave him her ‘Mom’ look. Deftly she continued the conversation, “So, how’s Liam liking college?  Big change from high school I bet.”

“He sounded good the last time I spoke to him.  He’s just trying to balance lacrosse with his school work, like always.” Trying to be a good Alpha, Scott kept close contact with Liam - calling him at least once a week if not more.  He had done so while the younger pack member had still been in high school.  Moving to Fresno to attend the University of California with Kira didn’t mean losing his pack. “Getting the lacrosse scholarship to go to Cal State was great, but he’s looking to go pro and that’s a lot of pressure.  He doesn’t want to blow it.  I’ve tried my best to make sure he knows to dial down the werewolf stuff when he plays.  Last thing we want is to draw attention to some super athlete and I know how easy it is to fall into depending on all the wolfy superpowers.”

“Well, for his father’s sake, I hope he gets a degree.” 

“I made sure he knew it was important.”

“I think it’s great that you’re still looking out for him.” His mother smiled, pride reflected in her eyes.

Scott shrugged, “I’m his Alpha.”

“I think it’s more than you just being his Alpha,” the Sheriff raised an eyebrow.

The young man smiled softly, gazing down at his plate as he took in the warmth that the compliment gave him.  It really wasn’t easy to keep the ties strong with everyone, especially when the pack was spread out so much.  Danny was going to NYU in New York and Lydia was at MIT in Boston and of course, Isaac was still in France.

“No word from Malia?” Melissa asked before taking a sip of her water.

“Not really...” he sighed, but no one expected differently at this point.

After graduation, Malia’s father, Henry Tate, had moved them both to Nevada for a fresh start since she had no plans to go to college or university.  Most likely because she had barely graduated and was still getting her feet under her about being a human rather than a coyote.  Derek had offered to set her up so she could stay in Beacon Hills, they were family after all, but Malia refused, saying she really had nothing to keep her staying there.  Her birth father, Peter, was still a nut job, more interested in playing mind games than connecting with his daughter and after things in Mexico, her relationship with Stiles sort of... drifted.  When Scott had asked Stiles about it, his best friend had said, “We just don’t love each other... I mean, we like each other, yeah, but it’s not like you and Kira.  Neither of us see it going anywhere so why keep trying to make something happen that isn’t going to?”  They remained friends till graduation when everyone went to pursue the next stage of their lives.  

Scott did his best to keep in touch with Malia.  Derek heard from her more, but it was sporadic.  All he knew was that she was doing okay and that’s all he could ask for.  

Kira placed a hand on Scott’s knee and gave it a gentle squeeze of support.  His dark eyes rose to gaze at her with affection.  He was eternally grateful for Kira in his life.  She kept him grounded in a strange way - kept him from feeling too down on himself and helped lift him when he felt like things were too hard to handle.  He was pretty sure he wouldn’t have gotten through the news about Stiles without her. 

“So how’s school going son?” the Sheriff asked, poking at some of the salad that he obviously forced himself to put on his plate - still trying to keep a healthy diet even without Stiles there to badger him about it.  

“It’s all right.  Harder than I thought it would be,” Scott shrugged, “I’m lucky I had so much experience working with Deaton at the Animal Clinic.”  

“It’s only going to get harder as you go on... You sure you want to keep pursuing your dreams of being a Veterinarian?” his mother asked, her brow rising, “I mean, there are other things you can do.” She was supportive of her son’s career choice but she always felt obligated to give him options when he complained.

“No,” he shook his head, “I really want to be a Vet.  I saw Deaton today and he reassured me that I have a job waiting for me at the clinic and besides, I want to come back to Beacon Hills.”  Scott didn’t have to tell them that he felt connected to the town, to the land.  He always planned on coming back to Beacon Hills in one way or another.  “And I like working with animals.”

“What about you Kira?  How’s school?  And how are your parents?” the Sheriff asked.

“School is good--”

“Kira is amazing!” Scott gushed, “I mean, you should see what she’s doing.”

The young woman rolled her eyes as she blushed a bit, “I’m not amazing, but I am doing good in school.  I really like my classes.” It had worked out pretty well that her parents returned to New York City so her father could go back to teaching in NYU.  Mr. Yukimura had actually gotten in touch with Danny and had sort of adopted the young man to look after him.  Danny was pretty self-sufficient, but being far from home was always rough and having someone who knew about the weirdness of Beacon Hills was nice.  “They keep suggesting I move to New York after I graduate, where my degree in Interior Design will be appreciated.  But I don’t want to.  I’d rather stay here.  Besides, the only reason I’m studying Interior Design in the first place is because they wanted me to do something other than be ‘an artist’ which they think isn’t a real career.  They didn’t think it was a good use of my time.” She sighed and fidgeted, “Sorry.” Kira winced then tried to give a smile, but it was clear she was uncomfortable.

Melissa reached over to take the young woman’s hand, squeezing it while offering a smile, “Good parents only want what’s best for their children.  That doesn’t mean they always know what that is.”  

The Sheriff grunted softly in agreement, but his eyes were down on his plate.  Scott gazed at the man quietly, noticing how many more age lines marked the areas around his eyes and mouth - the more visible grays in his hair.  Certainly they were all normal signs of growing older, but it bothered him to see how things had worn on the Sheriff who had become a sort of father to him - more of one than his own.  

Speaking of which... 

“So... Dad wants to come and see us for Thanksgiving,” he wrinkled his nose.

“Oh,” his mother blinked, “Well, honey, that’s up to you and Kira.  You know you’re always welcome here if you want.”

“Well, we have the apartment,” Kira gestured between herself and her boyfriend, “And we um, thought maybe you could come and stay with us and have Thanksgiving with us too.  My parents will be visiting to spend the holiday, but they’ll be staying in a hotel.”

“I really can’t afford a hotel,” Melissa protested.

“We have the pullout couch,” Scott said, leaning forward a bit eagerly.  He’d gotten the couch so that any time any of his friends wanted to visit, there would be place for them - that there’d be no excuse for them to stay away or not to stay at all.  

The nurse chuckled, “And if I’m on the pullout couch, that means your father can’t use it and would have to get a hotel room instead?” One brow rose in judgement while she crossed her arms on the table.

It was amazing how perceptive his mother could be.  Scott was sure that in another life, the woman was a detective, because nothing got past her.  “Well... yeah.  But I want you there too!  I hate the thought of not seeing you for Thanksgiving.  We haven’t missed one yet!”

“I don’t know...”

“Aw come on!  You don’t get out to Fresno all that often.  You won’t have to cook.  Kira and I will do it all.  We’ll even take the pullout couch so you can have our bed!  And there’s this great spa that Kira’s been dying to take you to.”

Kira nodded eagerly, “Oh it’s great!  They do this thing with rocks and they have this awesome facial!”

“Okay, okay!” Melissa held up her hands, relenting, “I’m out numbered here!  All right.  I’ll make sure I get the days off for Thanksgiving and come out to Fresno.  But you make sure you tell your Father.  No blindsiding him at the last minute.”  Then, as if realizing the Sheriff was there, her expression softened sadly, “Oh, I’m sorry... I mean, we didn’t talk about it...”

The man held up his hand to stop her, “No, no... It’s fine Melissa.  You guys’ll have a great time.” He shrugged, “Most of the time I have a shift on Thanksgiving anyway.  That’s why Stiles usually ended up at your house for dinner...” his voice trailed off and his focus on his food grew more intent.

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the table with no one knowing what to say.  Well, actually Scott had questions to ask, but it felt impossible to get them past his lips.

“Um...” Kira, as always, was the one to try to break the awkward - whether it ended up more or less awkward afterward was always the question, “So, how are things with the Recovery Center?” 

Scott gave her a silent shake of his head, unsure if that was a good topic to go to, but Kira only made a helpless face and shrugged. 

“Now that place...  God what a headache.” the Sheriff groaned, rubbing his forehead, “Mrs. Wakowski calls every other day, sure that one of those ‘Sentinel people’ is spying on her through her window.  Greenberg has been over there to assure that no one is spying on her so much, he can probably drive the route with his eyes closed.  The mayor might be thrilled about the revenue and jobs that place brings in, but she doesn’t have to deal with them.”

Over a year ago, The Sentinel Recovery Center had been built on the edge of The Preserve.  There were only three in the entire United States (the others were in New York and Kansas) and so it had brought some public attention to the town, as well as job opportunities.  The mayor and town council were all for it when they’d been approached by the Sentinel Institute, knowing how much it could bring to Beacon Hills.  There were also a lot of people unhappy about having Feral or Zoned-out Sentinels in their city limits, no matter that the purpose of the Recovery Center was to help and heal those same Sentinels.  Most considered it no better than Eichen House.  

“Is it really that bad?” Kira asked, having never met a Sentinel or Guide before, “It’s like a hospital isn’t it... Are they weird or something?”

“On their own, Sentinels are fine.  It’s just when they are on official business.”

Melissa added, “The Sentinels almost have carte blanch when it comes to policing themselves.  Even when we got a Sentinel related injury at the hospital, as soon as the S.I. guys came in, we got pushed aside and no longer in charge of care.”

It happened all over the United States.  There weren’t that many Sentinels and even fewer Guide and their abilities and skills were extremely valuable, so the government felt that the best ones to handle their affairs were other Sentinels and Guides.  The situation could definitely step on some toes when conflicts arose.  

“But nothing... supernatural has come up has it?” Scott asked hesitantly, “I mean, with Sentinels around...” his dark eyes trailed from the Sheriff to his mother.  The Sentinels would probably be able to figure out whether something was a ‘normal’ death or due to some supernatural creature or magic, right?  Scott wasn’t really sure how it all worked out with people who had heightened senses and what they could identify.  Granted, as a werewolf he had better hearing, eyesight and smell, but some Sentinels had heightened touch and taste as well - which, okay.  Weird?  But it would be a whole other problem if they started sensing shifters and wendigos, which would blow up into a whole other situation.

The Sheriff shook his head, “No, nothing outside of an Omega or two wandering through.  Certainly nothing we haven’t been able to handle.  We would have called you otherwise.  To be honest, I suspect the Recovery Center is the reason.  Having Sentinels wandering around might actually be a deterrent.”

Scott nodded but deep down he didn’t think that was the reason.  After all, having a whole family of famous Hunters like the Argents residing in Beacon Hills hadn’t stopped things from getting bloody.  

“Derek working as a consultant has helped a bit, as well as having Parrish on this side of the wall of normalcy,” the Sheriff sighed, “But nothing has gone on that you two need to worry about.” His blue eyes fell on the young couple, “So, don’t.  Just focus on your studies.”

“Ugh...” Scott groaned as he remembered, “After we get back tomorrow, I have a test to study for.”

Just then the Sheriff’s phone buzzed and he winced apologetically to Melissa.  The woman was too aware of his job to really be angry, so she gestured for him to pick up.  He slid his thumb across the screen and answered, “Stilinski.”

There was no privacy when you had a werewolf in the room and Scott had no intention of spying on anyone, but he could hear most of what was being said.  Apparently there had been a Feral Sentinel on a back route that had being reported by some residents and was now in the hold at the station.  The Sheriff sighed and nodded, “All right, I’m on my way.” He shut off his phone and looked up at the others, “I have to head in.  Sorry Melissa.”

“No problem,” she smiled softly, “Want me to pack up some food for you to go?”

“Don’t go to any trouble,” he smiled back and rose from the table.  The Sheriff faced Kira and Scott, “You two, drive safe.  It’s been good to see you...”

“Bye!” Kira chirped, looking like she wanted to get up and at least give him a hug, but the man was already heading out the door to the cruiser parked on the street.  She pouted a bit, “That sucks that he has to go in.  Can’t they handle it without him?”

“He insists on handling all Sentinel business that comes through the station,” Melissa explained.

“Does... he talk about Stiles?” Scott asked, his voice low and hesitant.  For him, it was the elephant in the room, but he didn’t dare bring it up if the Sheriff didn’t.

His mother shrugged, “Sometimes, but he was never the type to talk about his feelings.  Even after Claudia passed away,” her eyes gentle as she regarded her son.

Scott nodded slightly, “I really miss him,” he swallowed hard.

She reached over and wrapped an arm around her son’s shoulder, pulling him close, “We all do sweetie.”

Chapter Text

Question 1: What’s the good thing about Monsters?

Answer: Killing them makes you a hero.

Question 2: What’s the bad thing about Sentinels running through the forest growling and trying to rip your throat out with blunt teeth?

Answer: Killing them makes you a murderer.

Which leaves you covered in dirt and debris and wrestling in the woods with someone who should just have normal human strength but apparently got some weird burst of crazy adrenaline.  It might not have been so bad except for the absolute pain and misery rolling off the guy like early morning fog.  

That and the screaming.  

The Sentinel hadn’t stopped since he first laid eyes on Derek.

This wasn’t the first Feral Sentinel Derek had come across since the Recovery Center had gone up - sadly it probably wouldn’t be the last.  So he knew the drill - Knew what was going on with the guy and how he was suffering; trapped inside his own head with this senses blowing up like fireworks.  In Derek’s own mind, it was probably a lot like how he felt when the wolf’s bane poison had been running through his blood stream, amplified to 100.  Deaton had agreed that was probably the best comparison when they’d talked about it after the first Feral Sentinel had wandered through Beacon Hills.  

The Ferals didn’t mean any harm to anyone.  They just lost touch with who they were and where they were.  With their senses flaring, everything was a threat.  

Knowing all that though didn’t make dealing with them easier or more pleasant.

The Sentinel growled from beneath Derek when he managed to roll them and get on top, using his weight to pin the man down.  Numerous scratches, bites, and bruises littered the werewolf’s body, but he wasn’t worried about all the little injuries that would heal quickly.  His hands scrambled to grasp at the Sentinel’s wrists, hoping to keep them down and at least stop from getting punched or scratched again, but the guy was fast, managing to land a hit to Derek’s chin.  His eyesight jarred for a second and it gave the Feral enough time to turn aside and get out from under where he’d been.  

With a tired roll of his eyes, Derek stumbled up to his feet and gave chase as the Sentinel started running.  Thankfully, the man didn’t have super speed, giving the werewolf the advantage.  With a grunt Derek tackled the man to the ground from behind and then quickly sat on him, making sure the Sentinel got no leverage to buck him off or grab at him.  He planted his hand between the guy’s shoulder blades to keep him in place and then reached into the back pocket of his jeans for the pair of handcuffs the Sheriff pretended Derek didn’t have.  Legally, there was no reason that he should be cuffing the Sentinel - certainly not as a consultant to the Sheriff’s department - but no one had to know Derek was the one that had caught him.

When he had the Sentinel’s wrists safely locked in the metal bracelets, Derek curled his fingers in the guy’s blonde hair to lift his head up, and then, with only a bit of remorse, he punched him dead in the face.  It had the desired effect of knocking the man out - cutting off his screaming and leaving the forest in almost blissful silence.  Derek considered it a mercy punch.

Leaning back, he caught his breath - it wouldn’t take long, but he just wanted a moment to recover before he made a phone call to Parrish for the pick up. 

When he felt a bit more himself, he pushed off, standing to look about and make sure there was no one wandering around to cause any more trouble.  He probably should have thought of that before the fighting started, but he’d been a bit too preoccupied with the screaming and overwhelming sense pain.  The scent of the Sentinel’s misery had practically choked him.  Reaching into his other pocket, he slid out his cell phone at the same time that he brushed off the errant leaves and dirt from his jeans.  Noticing the time, he frowned.  There was no way to sneak in a visit with Scott now.  The Alpha was only in town for a short time and was leaving in the morning.  He sighed and called the deputy.

“Hey Derek,” Jordan Parrish’s voice was expectant, “Did you find him?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “It was a Sentinel.  You can come and get him.”  When the calls had come into the station about a strange man wandering around, Parrish called Derek, then picked him up and drove out to look into it.  The deputy had waited in his cruiser while Derek investigated, just in case it was something not human.  Of course, as far as Derek was concerned, the Sentinels sat on the very edge of human with their abilities.  

“All right,” the young man said, “How far in are you?”

“North of you... about half a mile.”

“On my way,” the phone disconnected and Derek slid it back into his pocket.  

Derek leaned against one of the trees and crossed his arms, all too aware that the other down side to this was that this was going to end up cutting the Sheriff’s dinner with Melissa, Scott and Kira short too.

**********************

“Want me to get you a coffee?” Parrish asked from where he was sitting at his desk, the paperwork spread out on the surface, while Derek leaned against it with his eyes on the closed door of the Sheriff’s office.  

Without removing his gaze from the door Derek asked, “Is it from the break room?” 

“Yes?”

“Then no.” Derek could always claim his ‘werewolf’ senses were too sensitive for the strong coffee - Parrish couldn’t detect lies - but the truth was that stuff was like tar and he had no idea how any of the officers managed to choke it down.  

He heard a huff of a chuckle from the officer, “You know, you aren’t going to make them come out any sooner by staring at the door.”

“I’m listening in.” 

“Oh...  What are they saying?”

Derek couldn’t help himself and glared at Parrish over his shoulder.  He couldn’t hear anything if the guy didn’t stop talking!

The deputy put his hands up in surrender, “Right, I’ll just go get some coffee then.” 

While Parrish went to do that, Derek returned his attention to the Sheriff’s office.  The blinds had even been drawn closed so no one could peek in at the Sentinel Institute guys that were in there with Stilinski.  Of course that didn’t stop any of the other officers in the station from glancing repeatedly at the shut door.  

After they’d brought the Feral Sentinel in and gotten him locked up in one of the cells, Parrish had called the Sheriff.  It was about fifteen minutes later that Stilinski had arrived at the station and placed a call to the Recovery Center to inform them of the situation, only to be told that a S.I. team was already on its way... Which meant someone else at the station had already called S.I. about the Sentinel since it hadn’t been Parrish or Derek.  It irritated him because Sheriff Stilinski had specifically told everyone that no one was to directly call S.I. unless he ordered them to do so.  The man preferred to be their only point of contact with the police. 

Someone had gone behind the Sheriff’s back, and it wasn’t the first time.  It left Stilinski having to scramble a bit to avoid being blind-sided.  On top of that, having S.I. in the building put everyone on edge.  

Derek listened to the conversation going on in the office, his eyes lowered so he looked like he was just waiting for the Sheriff to come out.

“...Now, while we appreciate everything you’ve done--”  The voice was only on the edge of polite.  From the pulsing of heartbeats, there were five people in the room, including Stilinski.  Derek had missed their arrival when he’d been in the bathroom washing up from the tussle in the woods.

“What we’ve done is clean up after you... Again.”  That was the Sheriff.

A deep, patient sigh, “Yes, as I was saying... While we do appreciate everything you and your officers have done in keeping this situation from becoming more complicated, we think it was unnecessary for there to be the amount of force used on Mr. Valentini.”

“Complicated?” Derek worried for a moment about Stilinski’s blood pressure as he heard his heart rate pick up, “Do you know what could have happened if there had been a jogger that came across Mr. Valentini?  There are running paths all near where he was!  What if he’d come across a family?  Or Children?  And you’re worried about a bruised jaw?”

“Mr. Stilinski--”

“Sheriff.”

“Pardon?”

“Sheriff Stilinski.”

“Yes... Sheriff Stilinski, I do understand.”

“See, I don’t think you do Mr. Ecks.  You only have to worry about your precious Sentinels, but I have to worry about a whole town!  It is my responsibility and that of the officers on the other side of that door, to keep the people of Beacon Hills safe.  And I can’t do that when there are crazed super humans running around wild!”

“This was a simple accident and I can assure you it was an isolated incident.”

“What about the last time?”

“That was not an escaped resident.”

“But my officers had to deal with it!

Mr. Ecks grew offended from the sound of it, “It’s part of your job to--”

“Don’t start telling me what my job is.”

“You’re here to handle this sort of thing!”

“No, you’re supposed to handle this sort of thing, but you aren’t!”

“Now Mr. Stilinski!”

“Sheriff Stilinski!”

“That isn’t important right now!”

“Like hell it isn’t!”  And now both men were starting to yell.  Derek was ready to step in there, privacy be damned.

“Gentlemen,” A third person finally spoke up - a woman.  Her voice calm and even, “I think what Mr. Ecks is trying to say is that the S.I. is concerned about the treatment of Sentinels who aren’t in their right mind...  We are all aware that our presence here in Beacon Hills, by some of the residents isn’t... welcome.  We are just hoping that no one is taking out their opinions, on Mr. Valentini’s face, Sheriff Stilinski.”

“I can assure you that none of my people would ever dare use excessive force.  I can personally speak for the men that brought Mr. Valentini in, and I am sure they only did what was necessary to restrain the him.”  Stilinski sounded calmer, his heartbeat going at a more respectable rate.

“I’m very relieved to hear that,” Mr. Ecks said stiffly, giving Derek the impression that the man was only partially placated, but wasn’t going to push it.

“And,” the woman continued, “I believe that what the Sheriff is trying to get across, is that he is concerned about relations between the S.I. and the public of Beacon Hills Mr. Ecks.  And that he works extremely hard, and his first priority is serving and protecting the residents of this town. In that vein, he would probably appreciate some leeway from the S.I. when he or his officers are forced to deal with situations like Mr. Valentini.” Derek smirked.  Whoever she was, she was deflating the tensions.

“Of course...” Mr. Ecks conceded, “I assure you, the S.I. appreciates all your efforts and the courtesy you have extended to it and the Recovery Center.”

“Thank you,” The Sheriff murmured.

There was the sound of shuffling, chairs moving, “Now... Perhaps it would be for the best if we collected Mr. Valentini from your cell?” Mr. Ecks was back to a ‘polite’ tone.

“Actually, I’d like to talk about setting up a better protocol for dealing with escaped patients from the Recovery Center.  As we both seem to agree that we want the citizens of Beacon Hills safe and want relations between the RC and the town to remain positive.” Derek was sure he heard the whisper of sarcasm in there.

 There was a long pause before Mr. Ecks spoke again, “While I do agree that we should do so, I think its best if we got Mr. Valentini to the Recovery Center as soon as possible.  We can discuss protocols at a more opportune time.  Ms. Nolan, please come along...”

Parrish walked up then, holding two paper cups of coffee to join Derek in leaning against his desk.  He handed one of them to the werewolf who absently took it,  “Did I miss anything?”

“Well--”

Just then the door opened and two Sentinels walked out, easily identified by the slim black suit jackets with leather sleeves that most Sentinels wore.  They weren’t smiling or putting on any type of friendly expression on their face - unlike the shorter man with glasses and sandy blonde hair who had a fake smile.  Mr. Ecks perhaps?  The glasses suggested that he wasn’t a Sentinel, but you could never be sure. He might not have heightened eyesight but other heightened senses and he was wearing a black jacket like the others, though he could also be a Guide.  Few non-Guides or non-Sentinels worked in the S.I. or at the Recovery Center.  “The cell is this way,” and the voice was definitely that of the man they were referring to as Mr. Ecks.  

The last person was the woman in gray and she was stepping out backwards as the Sheriff came out with her.  

“Sorry about all of this Sheriff Stilinski,” she was saying, “I know you and your men are doing your best.”

He sighed, “Don’t worry about it...” then Stilinski’s eyes flicked up at Derek, obviously sensing the werewolf’s stare.  

Feeling like he got caught doing something, Derek hastily took a gulp of his coffee and then immediately regretted it as the foul dark liquid went down his throat.  He coughed and looked down at what he was drinking in disgust.  Tar.  Goddammit.

By the time he was looking up again, the woman was following Mr. Ecks and the Sentinels down the hall to the jail cells, the Sheriff following behind them giving a call to Deputy Greenberg to get the paperwork for the Sentinel’s release.  

As the younger man rushed off to do as he’d been ordered, Derek observed, “She’s a Guide.”

“Hmmm?” Parrish asked, moving around to sit back down at his desk.

He flicked his chin towards the hallway the small group had gone down, “The woman with them.  She’s a Guide.  Her scent’s natural with no perfume or anything.”

“Is that important?” 

Derek shrugged, “Guides at the Recovery Center work with Sentinels who have screwed up senses so they don’t want to overpower them with any weird smells or scents that might set them off or make things worse.  They use unscented soaps and natural items to make sure they are as... bland as possible.”

The deputy nodded, pursing his lips before he said, “Makes sense.”  He looked over his shoulder before saying, “They always bring a Guide when they pick up a Sentinel.  At least one to help keep the guy calm.” Pausing for only a moment, he leaned forward to whisper, “So what went on in there?”

“Sounded a lot like a bit of posturing mostly.  They were concerned about excessive force.” Derek kept his voice low.  Parrish and Stilinski were the only ones on the force that knew Derek was a werewolf and he wanted to keep it that way.  Sure, some of his abilities could get passed off as those of a Sentinel, but considering they weren’t universally loved, even if they were acknowledged, Derek wasn’t too eager to be identified as one of them. “But what bothers me, is someone called the S.I. in before you called the Sheriff.”

“Yeah,” the youthful features turned as he frowned, “Which means what?  We have a mole?” Parrish gazed around, keeping his movements casual.  He was all too painfully aware that some of his fellow officers could be paid off to commit murder if the price was right.  “What’s the point?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t know what they could gain by undermining the Sheriff or going behind him to work with the S.I. office at the Center.”

Further conversation stopped as the group they were talking about trooped back from the cells.  Mr. Valentini, the Feral Sentinel, was between the two Sentinels with Mr. Ecks leading the way towards the front doors.  The woman was walking behind them, her hand on Mr. Valentini’s back and he could hear her voice softly whispering words to him about being calm and that everything was fine.  It obviously worked from the half lidded gaze currently happening on the face of a man who hours before had been trying to claw Derek’s eyes out.  The Sheriff was walking behind the group at a more sedate pace.  When they were at the front desk he paused to watch them leave and as soon as the door shut, it felt like there was a collective exhale from the entire station.  

The Sheriff wiped his face and spun on his heel before marching back towards them, “Who the hell called them before I got here?” he growled.

*******************

Derek’s relationship with the Sheriff had changed over the years.  From being hunted by the older man, to working with him... it had been a very strange journey.  Derek liked to think they might have managed to become friends of a sort, but even if they weren’t, there was definitely respect between them.  That respect he had for Sheriff Stilinski was a part of the reason he was pissed off about the ‘mole’ in the station.  He still couldn’t figure out an angle on it and that led to him being frustrated.  

Knowing the other was in the same boat, Derek suggested they get a beer to relax and the Sheriff agreed.  Which is how they ended up at Ozzie’s, which was a decent bar - meaning it was clean - with a karaoke night on Saturdays, and was always good to the Beacon Hill’s police force.  It was appreciatively quiet at the late hour, because Derek didn’t feel like trying to shout a conversation.  The two men sat at the bar, taking one corner so they were catty-corner to each other instead of sitting side by side.

Derek’s pale eyes took in the tired form of the older man and felt guilty.  The Sheriff had the look of a man carrying a lot of weight, but unable to unload it anywhere.  Usually, he bore it better, but after days like this, the cracks tended to show.  

“I’ll tell ya Derek,” Stilinski said, tapping the bottom of his beer bottle on the worn wooden bar top, “I really wanted to punch that Ecks guy right in the face.”

Derek gave a chuff of humor, “I don’t think anyone would have blamed you.  He sounded like a weasel.”

“So you were listening in on all that?” the Sheriff lifted a brow, confirming his suspicion.

He nodded, seeing no point in denying it, “Most of it.”

“I know you and Parrish did the best you could to bring that Sentinel down quickly...” he frowned and shook his head, “It felt like he was looking for something to pin on us.  Some transgression.”

“But why?  Even if he did, what would happen?”

The Sheriff shrugged, “I might lose my job.  Maybe some others.  In this case, Jordan.  But then a new Sheriff would be elected and new deputies.” He drank a swig of beer then added, “I don’t know the man well enough for him to have a personal vendetta against me.”

Derek grew quiet in thought, wanting to give the other some sort of answer to the situation.  Instead he tried to adjust the conversation, “I once talked to Deaton about it.  Asked him if something was drawing the Sentinels here... He said he had his suspicions, but that’s all they were.” Mr. Valentini might have been an escaped patient of the Recovery Center, but others had wandered into Beacon Hills. “It can’t be the Nemeton.”

“Why not?” Stilinski asked, “It is a beacon... right?”

“For the supernatural... Other werewolves and creatures.  Sentinels, even Feral ones, are still humans.  They’re closer to drug addicts going through a bad trip than supernatural creatures.  They shouldn’t sense the Nemeton.  At least,” he shrugged, “That’s my understanding of it.”

“No, it sounds right,” the Sheriff conceded before he rubbed his forehead, “Damn Sentinels.”

Derek glanced over at him, but didn’t respond.  He suspected the comment was not addressed to the ones from today, or in the Recovery Center.  “They really got to you?” 

“Me?” the blue eyes blinked, “Oh,” he must have seen the concern in Derek’s eyes, “I’m fine.” He waved off the look of worry, “Trust me, this stuff is a cake walk compared to what I had to deal with when Stiles was in high school.” A smile lit his features, but was brief, as if he wasn’t going to allow himself to take pleasure in any memory of the past.  

There was no helping the small smile on Derek’s lips though.  He dropped his head, keeping the soft grin to himself for the moment.  After a time he nodded saying, “It’s almost a miracle they got through all that.”

“Yeah...” Stilinski agreed, though there was no hiding the shadow of bitterness in his tone.

“By the way, how’s Scott?”

The Sheriff’s expression brightened to a degree, “Sounds like he’s doing well.  Handling his classes and being an ‘adult’.  He and Kira are still together, and I’ll tell you, if he doesn’t end up marrying that girl, I may end up shooting him,” he smirked, then added, “He plans on coming back to Beacon Hills after he gets his degree.”

“He’s mentioned that...” Derek’s eyes trailed over the older man’s expression, “You don’t believe him?”

“No, I believe him.  I just don’t know if that’s the best thing for him.”

“Scott’s an Alpha.  This is where his pack... was,” he wondered, not for the first time, if anyone else would return, “He feels a tie to it.”

“Yeah, but... I don’t know if it’s healthy for him to come back here.”

The werewolf’s brows furrowed, “Do you not want him to come back?”

“To be honest?” he met Derek’s eyes and the younger man nodded for the other to continue, “No, I don’t.” Before the question of ‘why’ could be asked, the Sheriff continued, “Those kids finally got out of this place.  They moved on and away.  They got out.  They should stay the hell out and try to have normal lives.”

Derek nearly laughed, “Normal?  Scott’s a werewolf, Kira’s a kitsune...  Lydia’s a banshee.  I think normal isn’t in the cards for them.”

“But it should be!  They should all be able to have a chance to worry about the same stupid problems everyone else has... Like what’s for dinner, should they get a cat or a dog, and what schools to send their kids to.  Not whether some mouthless assassin is going to come and stab them in the chest with an axe!” he whispered the last sentence harshly.  

“But things aren’t the same as when they were in high school.”

“No, I suppose they aren’t,” he sighed again, getting lost in the his own thoughts for a while.  

Derek watched him quietly and held back from asking the Sheriff how he was doing.  It itched in the back of his throat, but he couldn’t form the question...  The truth was, he was too afraid of the answer.

“So,” Stilinski shifted a bit on the bar stool, “What about you?”

“You know already.”

“I know you spend your time at the station working, and I know you’re renovating that warehouse you live in.”

The younger man shrugged, “That’s pretty much it.” Over a year ago he had decided that he needed to do something with the building he had invested in or it wasn’t going to give much of a return.  The previous owners had already started converting the warehouse into lofts, but hadn’t finished since the market had bottomed out on real estate.  His own loft was the most finished and after Scott and the others left for college, he worked on it some more, making it more livable.  It was hard work but it kept him busy and his mind focused.  When he felt finished enough (because he realized that he honestly would never feel like it was done), he started on one of the other spaces and kept going.  The plan was to eventually be able to rent out the lofts.  

“Son,” Stilinski’s voice was soft, “That’s work...  That’s not,” he searched for the right words, “A life.”

Derek shrugged, lowering his eyes.

Realizing what he said, the Sheriff leaned over and clasped Derek’s shoulder, “Ignore an old man...  I’m just tired, I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.  It’s been a long day.”

Before Derek could assure the older man that he hadn’t said anything wrong, one of the other patron’s of Ozzie’s walked up.  “Hey Sheriff...”

Stilinski looked over his shoulder and recognized him, “Hey Rufus, good to see you.” He turned around on his bar stool, setting the empty beer bottle on the bar top so he could extend his hand in greeting, “How are you?”

Rufus accepted it in a handshake, “Aw, you know.  Same old, same old... Just a few more creaks and aches, but the same.”

After a chuckle of understanding, the Sheriff said, “I hear ya.”

“So,” Rufus hedged, “I, uh, heard there was a bit of a problem with some of those Sentinel guys today?”

Derek could see the Sheriff’s body stiffen and tension shoot through him, “Oh?” It was amazing how fast news spread through the town.

“Yeah, something about some crazed Sentinel running through the woods?”

Keeping a semi-pleasant smile on his face, the officer shrugged it off, “Nothing to worry about.  Everything was handled.”

Rufus didn’t appear very placated by that, “A lot of people put calls in about it.  I don’t know if that’s nothing to worry about.”

Keeping his demeanor calm, Stilinski tried to play it off, “You’re right, people did call, which is exactly what you should do when you see someone acting strangely.  Officers were sent out to investigate, the man was apprehended and brought down to the station.  After the Sentinel Institute was called they, took him to the Recovery Center.  All very boring.” 

“And how many escapees of that Center does that make?”

“Rufus... don’t make this into a bigger deal than it is.”

“Sheriff, I know you have to play nice with them, but having these... Sentinels around and their Guides...  Crazy ones at that.  It doesn’t make me feel safe.  Doesn’t make my family feel safe.  These people have powers... They can listen in to your house and you’d never know--”

“You have nothing to fear.  They’re just people.  Normal people like you and me.”

“They aren’t normal Sheriff!” Rufus snapped, “They’re some sort of freaks of nature and they don’t belong here!”

Now Stilinski was standing up, “You need to calm down here Rufus... That kind of talk can get ugly real fast.  We don’t need people getting riled up...”

“Look, now I know after what happened to your boy--”

But whatever the man was going to say was cut off when he was grabbed by the collar by a very angry looking Sheriff.  Derek was up and off his stool, but he didn’t want to step in, not sure if he’d be helping or hurting the situation.  Stilinski tightened his grip in the other man’s shirt and Derek was afraid he’d end up punching Rufus.  Everyone in the bar had gone quiet, watching the scene unfold, but no one made a move.  After a few tense heartbeats, the Sheriff’s fingers unfurled, releasing the man with a light push, his blue eyes glaring into the other’s darker ones, “Go home Rufus,” he ordered, his voice holding no leeway.

Getting the hint that he crossed the line, Rufus nodded and stumbled his way to the door, clearly shaken by the interaction.  The way the Sheriff’s heart was beating in his chest, Derek was sure the older man was shaken as well.

He placed a hand on Stilinski’s shoulder and quietly said, “I’ll drive you home...”

In the dark, the two men were silent as Derek drove down the familiar streets and roads of Beacon Hills.  It held a strange combination of annoyance and comfort that little would change in the town, no matter what happened in its history.  It was why things like the Hale House fire were still gossiped about.  To this day, Derek couldn’t walk into one of the stores without someone murmuring, “He’s that Derek Hale...”  

It also meant that when the Sheriff went through town, the folks who had known the Stilinski family for years would watch him and then turn to each other and whisper, “Did you hear what happened to his son?”  The Sheriff may not have werewolf hearing, but Derek was pretty sure he was aware of them talking.  It was probably the same thing he and Stiles had to endure after Claudia had passed away...  When a person was no longer anything more than what had happened to them - A walking tragedy for others to measure their own life against and to, Thank god, they didn’t have to endure the same.

Derek wanted to offer words of comfort, but to bring it up would be to acknowledge it was happening and once they did, he knew it would become awkward between them.  He liked to think that they silently understood each other and offered each other support in their own ways.  Besides, talking was not his strong suit.  That was always what Stiles did best.

He parked his car in front of the Stilinski house and said, “Listen, if you need me to come in tomorrow...”

“Nah, I think we can put off going over old cases.” Most of Derek’s consulting consisted of reviewing old case files to see if the unsolved ones were actually supernatural in nature or not.  The Sheriff had started doing it on his own years before, which had led to the discovery of Malia, but he hadn’t had time to continue, what with Agent McCall coming in and all the horrors of the Nogitsune happening.  “I’d like to try for a normal shift tomorrow, but if anything comes up, I’ll call you.”

“All right... Have a good night...”

“You too, son...” The Sheriff gave him a nod and then shifted out of the car, closing the door behind him.  

Derek watched the man head up the driveway towards the dark house.  It bothered him that Stilinski spent so much time alone there...  He knew what it was like to return to an empty home - How cold it could feel, how it made getting up in the morning harder, and bothering to make meals seem meaningless.  If Stiles were there, he’d make sure his father was ready for work, bring him a healthy lunch - not caring about how much the older man grumbled - and cover him with a blanket if he fell asleep watching television.

But Stiles wasn’t going to come home and Derek was too aware of that fact.

Chapter Text

One Year Later

“Congratulations!” they cheered as one, glasses clinking together over the table, spilling a bit of beer and mixed drinks on the surface.  In between the smiles and laughter, they all took a drink, eyes bright and cheeks pink.  It was Saturday night at Ozzie’s and they were celebrating graduating after weeks of parties and ceremonies across the country.  It felt big to all of them, but the terror and fear of what was next was being ignored in the face of having this moment together and sharing it. 

Lydia wiped the corner of her mouth delicately with her finger tip and set the martini glass, now empty of its Cosmopolitan, on the table and announced, “Next round is on me!”

Danny laughed, eyes twinkling, “You’d think you’d want to save money.  Considering this is only a rest stop before you go back to school.”

She rolled her eyes, her perfectly-done red lips smirking, “You know money isn’t a problem with my Dad feeling guilty about leaving Mom and me in the lurch financially.  Besides,” she shrugged, “I got plenty of scholarships to get my bachelor’s.  He can step up and cover my continuing education.”

Scott groaned, “I’m going to be paying back student loans till I’m dead,” his shoulder slumped.

“Don’t worry,” Kira wrapped her arm around his shoulders and gave a squeeze, “You’ll be fine.  You have a job waiting for you right out of school and we can stay with your Mom to save money.  She already offered.”

He winced, “Do you really want to do that after waiting for me to finish getting my degree?”

The young woman rolled her dark eyes affectionately, “Scott, I said I would before!” The encouraging smile she gifted him set his heart skipping. “I’m in it with you.”

“Oh my god,” Lydia groaned dramatically, “You two are adorably gross.”

“You’re just jealous,” Danny teased, nudging her in the shoulder with his.  

“Please... I have no time for romantic entanglements,” which was probably true.  Between a full course load at school and already working getting her science papers published, Lydia Martin didn’t have a lot of free time to socialize.  

Scott envied her brains.  Things that took forever for him to learn seemed to come so simply to her...  even if he knew it wasn’t really always easy for her.  More than a few times, he’d had frantic calls at strange hours because when Lydia got upset, her concept of different time zones apparently went out the window.  But the young woman needed to vent and verbally vomit whatever problem she was trying to work through and so turned to Scott who was always ready to sit and nod his head obediently - even though he had no idea what she was talking about.  Eventually she’d get the mental knot untied and calm down, thank him for listening, apologize when she realized what time it was and then log off Skype or end the call.  Waking up groggy the next morning he’d slog through his classes or his job at the grocery store, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.  It made him feel warm inside that she turned to him like that.  

He’d asked Derek about it one time, wondering if the warm feeling was because he was an Alpha.  Derek had assured him it was normal and yes, part of it was his Alpha status and feeling like he was leading them, comforting them, and keeping them safe in his own way.  Of course the man said that it was also just part of Scott’s personality.  Scott wasn’t sure he appreciated the term ‘Mother Hen’ being applied to him, but Derek insisted he meant it in a good way.

Liam whined slightly, “Can I please have a drink that’s not soda?”

“You, young man,” Danny said, pointing to the young werewolf, “Are underage.  And I will not be providing alcohol to a minor in a bar where the local police like to hang out.”

“Ugh!  You guys are no fun!”

“Careful Liam,” Lydia said as she slid out of the booth, “You don’t want to make your Alpha send you home early for bad behavior,” she ruffled his dark blond hair playfully before strutting her heels to the bar to place an order for the next round.  

“Seriously?”

Scott nodded, “You’re too young to drink.” Outside of being Liam’s Alpha, Scott felt responsible for the younger man.  Granted, with his werewolf metabolism, the alcohol wasn’t going to do a thing to Liam, but no one else in the bar would know that.  They’d only see an underage kid drinking illegally.  “Besides, it’s not as much fun when you really can’t get affected by it.”

Danny grinned, his dimples as charming as ever, “That sort of sucks for you guys.”

“Nah,” Kira chirped, “It actually helped!  In school, while everyone else was trying to get over hangovers, we were fine.  Besides, Scott won more than a few drinking contests.”

“Hey, you weren’t supposed to say anything about that!” Scott’s eyes were wide, “I’m trying to set a good example!” he leaned forward to look at Liam sternly, “Don’t you pull anything like that.”

The youngest member of the pack gave an exasperated, “Yes sir...” his expression a mix of annoyance and affection.  

Scott flopped back in his seat, “Terrible Alpha...”

As always, Kira was there to pick him back up.  She poked him in the side, saying, “Are not,” making him squirm before kissing him.  It was really hard to stay upset around her.

Liam gave the huff of a child embarrassed by their parents before turning his attention back to Danny, “So, now that you graduated, what are you going to do?”  

Danny set his elbows on the table, crossing his arms to lean on them, “Well, I’ve already got some job offers which is awesome, but I think I’ve already made my choice of where I’m going to work.”

“Really,” Scott said grinning, “Where?”

“Riot Games.  They’re--”

“I know who they are!  That’s awesome!” the young man leaned forward eagerly, “Does that mean you’ll be able to get us some free games?” 

The other shook his head, “I didn’t even start working there yet!” he chuckled, “Give me a month and we’ll see.  You mooch.”  

It was no surprise to Scott that Danny managed to get a job so fast.  He was really smart and computer savvy.  It had been more of a surprise learning that Danny was fully aware of werewolves and all the supernatural craziness in Beacon Hills.  

During senior year they had been trying to figure out where Lydia was as some Hunter had grabbed her from school.  He and Stiles were arguing about it when Danny shoved Scott’s shoulder and shouted, “You’re a werewolf dumb ass!  You can track her by smell!”  They were too concerned about Lydia to do anything about it then, but later on, they asked him how he knew.  Danny’s first response was a shrug like it was nothing, “It’s Beacon Hills.  There are ley lines running under here... And that has always attracted the supernatural.  My Mom is psychic and she said there was some sort of source here... like a well along the ley lines.  I’ve known about all this since I was little.” He added, “I did a paper on it... the ley lines follow the telluric currents under the town...” he frowned, “I have no idea where that paper got to though.”  He looked at Scott and crossed his arms, “Besides, you guys are really loud when you talk about all this stuff.  Seriously.”  After that, it was like Danny was part of the pack, hanging out with them more and getting involved in the supernatural business when necessary.  

Lydia returned to the table and gracefully slid back into the booth, her perfectly coiffed red locks bouncing along her shoulders, “Drinks are on the way.  What did I miss?” her green eyes flit over the others’ faces as she settled in.

“I just told them about the job at Riot Games,” Danny explained, “And Scott is already looking for swag.”

“What’s the point of knowing someone working for a game company if I can’t mooch?” he teased. “But seriously, you’ll be in Santa Monica, which is on this side of the country, so we’ll at least be able to see you from time to time.”

The waitress came by and handed out the ordered drinks from a tray then went to go back to the bar.  Scott lifted up his beer and asked, “So how about Jackson?  What’s he doing?”

“He really isn’t sure,” Danny shrugged before sipping his drink, “He thought about going pro in lacrosse, but then realized it would be a lot of pressure and opted out.  He just wants to do something he can do without any stress and I told him, good luck with that.  It’s almost impossible not to have some stress...  He just... he doesn’t want it to be like high school.  I think he is looking to see if he can get started at Davidson Consulting which is some company over there.  He should do well, considering how charismatic he can be when he puts his mind to it.”

Scott tried not to snort.  Jackson was a douche bag most of time in high school and Scott hadn’t been sad that he had left after the whole Kanima incident, even if he did feel badly for him at the time.  Danny had kept in touch with him - they were best friends after all - and had gone over to London during Junior year to do a study abroad program.  During the visit, Danny had even managed to get Isaac, who was in France, connected with Jackson, knowing they were both alone in foreign countries and probably could use a friend.  And Jackson could use a connection with another werewolf.  Isaac and Jackson would never be BFFs, but Scott knew they appreciated familiar faces.  Lydia had also kept in touch with her ex-boyfriend, but had made it clear to Jackson and everyone else, that she had no interest in getting back together with him.  

“Charismatic and now he speaks French,” Lydia smirked, “Double trouble.”

“Mr. 'I’m Everybody’s Type’?” Danny laughed, “Of course he learned French.  And now he has to compete with Isaac Lahey of the glass sharp cheekbones and the cherubic features.”

Since Allison’s death, Isaac had decided to stay in Paris.  In his mind, there was nothing left for him in Beacon Hills.  His pack was gone, his family was in graves and Allison’s death left him feeling bereft.  Chris Argent had been kind enough to set him up in his residence in Paris where he and Allison had gone after her mother’s death.  Isaac started attending art school and was pursuing that, unsure yet where it would take him, but he was happy.  It seemed the life style there suited him and he and Kira talked from time to time about art and techniques - getting into arguments over using a computer versus traditional mediums.

“To Jackson Whittemore and Isaac Lahey!” Scott toasted, lifting his beer up, “While they may not be here, they’re still with us!” The others echoed him and clinked their glasses to his before taking a drink. 

The conversation eased into general news and future plans.  Liam talked about his classes and playing lacrosse which led to stories about high school games and Coach Finstock’s (who was still coaching lacrosse and teaching Economics at Beacon Hill High School) ‘coachisms’ as they called them.  Which led to them repeating word for word, Coach’s championship pre-game speech which was basically the speech from “Independence Day”.  There was a lot of laughter and a few more drinks, less for Lydia and Danny who couldn’t hold their alcohol like Scott and Kira, as the night wore on.  

And through it all, they managed to avoid bringing up Stiles even once.

*************************

The Sheriff was tired, but he knew that if he didn’t get through this now, it would drag on.  After listening for a while to Mr. Ecks ramble on about how he felt things should be, he simply pointed to the man, “You I don’t like,” then he pointed to the young woman seated next to Mr. Ecks, Samantha Nolan, “You, I like.  We can keep you.”  He’d worked with her before when they’d had Sentinels that needed to be taken to the Recovery Center and she had a good habit of being able to ease tensions between the Sheriff and Mr. Ecks.  

The Guide looked appropriately surprised by his commentary, but Mr. Ecks heaved a dramatic sigh before pinching the bridge of his sharp nose beneath his glasses, “Sheriff, Ms. Nolan is at the Recovery Center to serve as a Guide.  She is neither qualified nor in a position that would allow her to direct or institute policies.  If this was the reason you requested a meeting with her, then I’ll end this right now.” His hand dropped and he lifted his eyes towards the Sheriff, “I’m the head of the facility.  I am the one you deal with... Whether you like me or not.”

“True, but I think that someone in your position is simply too busy making sure there are no problems with any more escapee Sentinels and Feral or Zoned Sentinels.” Stilinski pat his hand on the pile of files that were set to his left side on his desk - the files were all related to Sentinels and the Recovery Center.  “I mean, you’ve been so busy that it took months for you to be able to meet with me for the specific purpose of creating a procedure for dealing with Sentinel issues.” Unfortunately, it hadn’t stopped the calls from going out to the Center before official calls could be made by him.  Someone was still working as some sort of mole for the Recovery Center and the Sheriff was no closer to figuring it out.  He definitely suspected Mr. Ecks was involved, but he had no proof and still no real motive. “I’m sure you would rather focus your attention on maintaining positive PR so that the people in this town see the Recovery Center as a boon to Beacon Hills, rather than a danger.”

“Well, I know there have been some situations...”

“Then you have to agree that things are rather shaky now between the town and the Center and rather than have you sitting here in my lovely office conversing over policy or signing paperwork with me, your time would be better served dealing with issues at the Recovery Center.  Don’t you think?”

The man fidgeted in his chair and frowned, thin lips pulling at the sides, “I don’t need to be at the Center full time to do that.”

“Oh, but I think you do,” The Sheriff calmly clasped his hands on the desk, “See, we’ve had way too many reports and while the Mayor absolutely loves having the Sentinels here, she sees the way her voters might not share that viewpoint if the escape Sentinels and Ferals continue to be a problem.  Or, god forbid, harm one of her constituents.  So I think it might be better if you remained focused on that, while we figure out a way to deal with the things you let through the cracks.”

“Sheriff--”

“Mr. Ecks,” the young woman, Samantha sighed, obviously picking up on the mood of things, “I would be very happy to work with the Beacon Hills police force.  I believe the Sheriff and I are acquainted enough from previous meetings to be able to work well together.  And I will of course bring any questions or policies to your attention and approval.” her expression was as soft as the gray clothes she always wore for work.

“See?” Stilinski grinned, “We’re all agreed.” he opened his hands and gestured to the people in the room.

“We are not all agreed!” Mr. Ecks protested, “I’ve approved nothing and I won’t be strong armed into doing anything.”

“Well then maybe I should recommend to the Mayor that a more qualified person might be better suited to running the Recovery Center.  See if we can find someone who can get a lock on this whole thing.” He grinned politely.

“You wouldn’t...”

Stilinski just leveled him with a glare.  He wasn’t playing games anymore.

“Fine,” the man adjusted his glasses, “You’ve made your play.  You win.”

Ms. Nolan had been his choice because he liked her personality and she had a way of handling situations that gave him confidence in her abilities to do the job.  “There now, that wasn’t so bad.”

“If that’s all settled then?” Mr. Ecks said, obviously not amused as he rose from his chair.

“As of right now it is.”

“Good.  Then we’ll be going...” the two Sentinels that had been silently standing by the door moved to step out of the Sheriff’s office.  Mr. Ecks paused at the entry, “Mr. Stilinski... your position is an elected one too... isn’t it?” then he grinned and turned on his heel, following the two men in black jackets.

Ms. Nolan was up and reached over to shake the Sheriff’s hand quickly, “Thank you for thinking of me for the position,” she then added with a whisper, “Sorry about...  all that.”

“No problem,” he smiled back at her before walking her towards the door to his office, “Hopefully I haven’t put you in a bad spot with him.”

She shook her head, “I don’t think so, but he’s... well... him.” The Guide shrugged and waved before moving to catch up with the three other men.  

Stilinski leaned against the door jamb, crossing his arms as he watched them cut across the bullpen.  He didn’t have a problem letting Mr. Ecks know he didn’t like him.  Lord knew the Head of the Center had made his feelings clear about the Sheriff.  And he didn’t worry too much about the little power play.  It was important that Mr. Ecks know that he was starting to skate on thin ice and that his support system in the Mayor wasn’t as strong as he thought.  Something had to change before the complaints from townsfolk turned ugly.  It was already getting pretty rough with the phone calls and random charges some people were bringing in.  Most of it was just nonsense and fear mongering, but it took time and resources to deal with and it wasn’t like there was no other crime going on in Beacon Hills.  And god help him if something supernatural decided to rear its ugly head into the picture right now, because he wasn’t sure he could handle that on top of everything else.

With a sigh he returned to his desk and sat down.  He’d been putting off some phone calls because of other business, but he’d put them off long enough.  Pulling up the numbers he’d searched for previously, he dialed up the Captain of the precinct that had the New York City Recovery Center.

*************************

Scott stood in the doorway of a loft in the building with his mouth open in sort of shock.

It was a mess.

The dust was heavy in the air and there was a thin layer of pale sooty sediment on everything.  A half wall was barely left standing and the debris of it was scattered all over the place, like someone had smashed through it.  And then Derek was stepping out carrying a sledge hammer in his gloved hands and Scott figured that his thoughts were pretty accurate as to what had happened.  The man was covered in cement dust, giving him, his tank top, jeans and work boots, a sort of grey hue.  Derek slid the safety goggles up and blinked, “Scott,” His mouth parted into a grin and Scott would have been surprised if he hadn’t gotten used to the former Alpha’s less aggressive demeanor in the last few years.  

“Hey Derek!” Carefully, he walked further in, stepping over small piles of broken bricks, “Wow... I mean...” he gestured to the destruction around him, chuckling.

The smile was still there, though maybe a bit self depreciating, “Yeah... Doesn’t look too good, but trust me,  It will when I’m done.” He looked around the space, as if seeing what it was going to look like, then held his hand out in greeting.  Realizing he had a work glove on, Derek quickly yanked it off and went to clasp Scott’s hand, “It’s good to see you.”

“Same,” the younger man grinned clasping the offered hand, “Sorry you couldn’t make it to the graduation,” 

“I would have been there if they hadn’t screwed up the wood order.  I had to be here to accept it or they would have sent it back and there wasn’t any more left so someone else would have gotten it--”

“Dude,” Scott said, interrupting him, “It’s fine.  Really.” And it was, “It’s not a big deal.  I mean, I still have to go back so you can try again when I get my degree.”

Derek huffed, “Can’t believe you’re going for a degree.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I am a very good student.”

The older man lifted one of his dark brows in silent judgement.

“Okay, maybe in high school that might not have been true, but there were extenuating circumstances. And look,” he tilted his chin up and spread his hands out, “I even used a good SAT word in that sentence...  Extenuating...  To make an offense seem less serious or more forgivable.”

At that, Derek did chuckle, “Come on, I’ll show you one of the finished lofts.” he gestured for the Alpha to follow him out.  They walked down the hall and the older man slid open the metal door to reveal a large space with smooth dark hardwood floors.  Derek flicked a switch on the side near the entry and the lights all came on.  The walls were still brick, but seemed less cold with the warm track and cable lighting systems through out.  Across was a set of large windows, cleaned and allowing the view of the evening sky to come through.  The kitchen was an open model having a large island with a sink in it and stainless steel appliances, farmhouse light fixtures and lighting under the cabinets.  Without furniture, it appeared sparse, but the potential for a really nice place was visible.  The ceiling was high and a set of metal stairs led up to another level which had a simple rail setting on a loft overhang so there was another room up there.  “There’s a bathroom up there too,” Derek said when he saw Scott looking up, “I figure its a good place for a bedroom or an office for whoever would want to live here.”

“Wow... It’s...  It’s really nice Derek.” Scott was sort of blown away.  He knew Derek was renovating and Melissa had mentioned that it looked good, but he hadn’t been able to get to the building on his previous visits home.

Derek smiled, pleased with the Alpha’s reaction, “I just started the other loft...  Gotta tear it down to build it up.” he sighed, “This one was sort of a test run.” 

“Not your loft?”

“Nah... that happened slowly over time.” Derek shrugged, “I wanted a basic floor plan to work with and my loft is nearly the whole top floor.  I was thinking of maybe expanding this one, but I’m not sure.  Depends on what the new renters might want.”

“This is really amazing...  You’ll rent these spaces out fast.”

He nodded and gestured for Scott to follow him out.  Derek shut the lights off and shut the door before leading them up to his own space.  To say it had changed since Scott had been in high school would be an understatement.  Most of the floor was the same dark hardwood that he saw in the loft he’d been shown, with large carpets laid out on top of it.  There was wire and recessed lighting through out, making it warmer and brighter than it used to be.  Like downstairs, the windows were clean, allowing a view, though there was a long set of dark curtains hanging on either side.  A kitchen was set on the left hand side with stainless steel appliances, black granite countertops and modern cherrywood cabinets.  In front of that was the table that Scott remembered, but now there were chairs around it, making it a dining room table.  The spiral stairs were still there, leading up to more rooms, but Scott wasn’t going to go snooping up there.

On the right, the hole in the wall was gone, broken open and revealing more space, where a sturdy and large table was set up along with a desk, which Scott figured was Derek’s work area since he could see some blueprints spread out and a bunch of notebooks and flooring samples.  In the main center area beneath the sky light, was a leather couch and a big chest that was serving as a coffee table.  Across from it was a low entertainment center table with an actual flat screen television on top of it.  There were also two comfortable chairs on either side of the couch.  Book shelves ran along the left and right wall and there were books on them, but also a few framed pictures.  To the right of the large window, the bed was still there, but it looked more permanent now, with light fixtures set on either side and night stands.

Everything seemed more permanent and less... temporary.  It was nice.  “It... looks great Derek!”

Derek chuckled, probably sensing Scott’s surprise.  “Certainly beats the old station.”  He walked into the kitchen and washed his hands, doing his best to clean off his arms and then offered Scott a seat at the large kitchen island which had a set of four cushioned stools.  After the young man sat down, Derek asked, “Get you something to drink?”

“Uh... yeah... Water’s fine.”

After tossing a water bottle he retrieved from the refrigerator, which Scott easily caught, Derek took one for himself then leaned against the counter.  “So, Deaton have you working at the clinic yet?”

“Not yet.  I start in a week though,” Scott said, “I wanted to have a break after school.” He broke open the seal on his bottle and took a swig of the cool water, “It’ll be interesting to see how I can apply what I’ve learned in school to the actual job.” He tilted his head, “I guess I don’t have to ask what you’ve been up to.”

Derek reached up and brushed his hair, dust slowly fell out of it to the floor and he frowned at it slightly before saying, “Well, I wish I could spend more time here working on the lofts, but there’s been some problems with the RC, so I’m at the station or helping out with that.”

“Yeah, the Sheriff mentioned that.”

“We’ve had a few more Sentinel issues.  Escapes from the center...  And there are more people voicing their discomfort about having a Recovery Center here.”

“Does this happen at the other two Recovery Centers?”  Scott asked, confused.  

“The one in Kansas is far enough away from any residents that I guess it never comes up if there are issues.  And in New York... Well, they don’t say anything, but it’s New York.  Another strange person wandering the streets could easily go unnoticed.”

Scott’s brows knit as he looked over the dark surface of the counter, “It seems strange that this is happening now.  I mean... was this an issue before the RC opened here?”

“I don’t know, but that’s something to check out.  Unfortunately, getting information from the S.I. is pretty much like pulling teeth, even for the Sheriff.” He broke open the seal of the cap and took a long few gulps of water.

After a small time of silence, Scott took a deep breath and said, “Speaking of Stilinski... I’ve... been wanting to talk to you.  For a long while now actually,”  Derek set the bottle down on the counter, his fingers still wrapped around it as his brow’s furrowed.  The tilt of his head was a silent go ahead to Scott.  “Did... did something happen between you and Stiles?” The Alpha’s dark eyes rose to meet the pale hazel eyes of the Beta’s.

“What do you mean?” Derek asked, tension clear in the set of his shoulders, which told Scott that there had been something.

“Did something happen the last time Stiles came home sophomore year?  He went back to Berkley early during the winter break with practically no explanation and never came back to Beacon Hills to visit.”

“Why do you think I had anything to do with it?”

“I don’t know.  That’s why I’m asking.  I mean, I know the fire at the distillery freaked everyone out, but we’ve been through worse.  It shouldn’t have made Stiles stop visiting.” Scott’s blunt fingernail worried at the water bottle label.  

“But I was?” Derek frowned.

“Derek,” Scott sighed, “I’m just asking...  You know.  You have to know how he felt about you.”

The man clenched his jaw and turned his head away, his eyes growing distant, “Yeah.  I know.”

“So, did something happen?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Nothing at all?” Scott frowned, hearing the slight uptick in Derek’s heartbeat.

Derek growled in some frustration, “Nothing I’m going to talk about with you, Scott!”

“So something did happen!  What did you do, Derek?”  Now Scott was getting up from the stool.

“I’m not discussing this with you!” the older man glared at him, “What happened was between me and Stiles.”

Scott slammed the counter top with his fist, crushing the water bottle in his hand and forcing it to explode water all over his arm, the counter and the floor.  The young man ignored it as his eyes shifted to Alpha red, “The hell it is Derek!  That’s my best friend!”

“Then you should have asked him about it!” he snarled back, his own eyes turning bright blue in response.

“I did ask him!” Scott was shouting, coming around the island to where Derek was standing, “I asked him all the time, but he always had some bullshit reason, like work or school!”

Derek didn’t back down, “Then take the hint, Scott!  If he wanted you to know, he would have told you!”

“Did you do something to him?  Did you threaten him or something?  I swear to god, Derek--” 

“Is that what you think?  I’d threaten him?”

Scott scoffed, “You did it all the time!”

“Oh my god!” He threw his water bottle into the wall, where it cracked, sending a burst of what was left of the water, shooting out, “How long am I going to be apologizing for that!  Do I get to remind you that you accused me of murder?  That I was a wanted man because of you?  I still have a god damn police record!”

“That was a mistake!” Scott shouted, feeling like this was a conversation they had before...  Like they were repeating history and falling into some old pattern that he thought they had stepped out of by now.  He took a deep breath and stepped back, letting his eyes bleed out the red to return to the dark brown he was born with.  “Derek,” he said softly, “I just want to know what happened.”

Sensing the energy dying down, the aggression easing out between them, Derek’s eyes shifted from blue to hazel again and his body relaxed.  He looked over Scott, and the young man tried to put as much earnest desire for the truth in his gaze.  The older man rested back against the counter and sighed, “What happened is between me and Stiles... like I said,” before Scott could protest, Derek added, “But... what happened... What I did was for the best.  Was for him.  I just wanted him to be happy and that wasn’t going to happen with me.”

“You broke his heart, didn’t you.” 

It wasn’t a question.

Derek didn’t answer, but his expression, pained, eyes on the floor, was confirmation enough.  

“Thanks for telling me,” Scott said softly, and he meant it.  The older, more sensible part of him was telling him that Derek wasn’t someone who had a good past history with his love life and probably wasn’t the best choice for a relationship.  And maybe Derek knew that and had tried to save his best friend from being hurt, which led to unintentionally hurting Stiles in the process.  The other part of him wanted to punch Derek in the face for his best friend’s honor - that part was still pissed off at Derek for hurting Stiles - hurting Stiles so much that he wouldn’t return to Beacon Hills.  

“Scott...”

The young man shook his head, “I really should go.  I think I need to go.” He turned and headed towards the loft door, telling himself not to look back because he was pretty sure of what he’d see.  Except when he got to the sliding door, he did glance back and he’d been right.  Derek’s back was curled forward, hands gripping the counter, his head weighed down with more regret to add to the pile of regrets he carried.  Softly, Scott said, “I just need time Derek,” knowing the werewolf would hear him, “We’re...  I’m still your friend.”  Then he was leaving, heading down to his car to drive home where Kira’s kind words and bright spirit would cheer him up.

Chapter Text

2 1/2 Years Ago

Derek pulled into the parking area outside of his building and turned off the engine.  Winter break had started which meant the pack would be returning to Beacon Hills for the holiday, and he decided to do some grocery shopping in preparation. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen anyone - he kept an eye on Liam, making sure he got through his full moons - and Stiles came back fairly often from Berkley to visit his Dad on weekends.  Stiles insisted he wasn’t homesick, but rather that he was coming back to presumably check in to make sure his Dad was sticking to his diet.  Derek didn’t mind it.  In fact, he enjoyed the weekend visits and the dinners at the Stilinski home that usually happened during those times.  Scott came back with Kira to see his Mom, but also to check and see that things in Beacon Hills were still peaceful.  All of the pack were going on their second year of college and doing so without the heavy chains of the past violence still tied to them - they were adjusting to this new reality, the freedom they now could have away from Beacon Hills.  

Lydia and Danny were going to be back in a few days and Kira mentioned Isaac might fly back from Paris - though that wasn’t set in stone yet.  While pondering on whether or not to call Cora to see if she could come for a visit too, he stepped out of his vehicle and turned back to reach in to grab the two bags on the passenger seat.  Before he clutched the handles, he paused.  The sensation of something being very wrong slid up his back.  Releasing his hold on the groceries he straightened and put his back to the side of his SUV to examine the lot around him, cast in the blue light of night.  There wasn’t anyone or anything visible, but he could feel it, like fingers trailing up the back of his neck.

Then the feeling of something connecting, locking into place...  a sickening sensation.  

Eyes darting to the ground he saw it now... a line of ash circling where he usually parked his SUV.  Someone had completed the circle and he was trapped in it.  Derek looked up in time to see men step out of shadows, the silhouettes of guns and rifles with them before they were illuminated by the lamp on the building.  

Hunters.  

Derek turned, his intention to get right back into his vehicle and drive the hell out of there - the wheels would break the circle well enough for him to get away.  Gun fire exploded around him sending him ducking down to the ground instead.  Above his head, bullets pierced the metal of the car repeatedly, eventually leading to the loud burst of the tires being blown out to hiss out air before flattening.  The windows were shattered, sending shards of glass raining down on him like hail.  Derek flinched as he huddled down, waiting for the moment one of the small projectiles would tear into him, tensing for the anticipation of the pain... But it never came.

As immediately as it all started, it ended, leaving a weighted silence in its wake.  

Confused and catching his breath, Derek lowered his arms as he crouched, glaring at the surrounding Hunters who all shared smug expressions outside the circle of ash.  Their weapons were pointed to the ground once more, not at him.  A glance back at the shredded remains of his vehicle told him it would be useless to drive now, leaving him with no where to duck to and no way to escape.  If he survived this, he’d definitely have to get a new car...  Absently, his brain brought up the question of whether his insurance would even cover extensive gun fire damage.

Turning his attention back to the Hunters he clenched his teeth.  What were they waiting for?  He was clearly trapped.  They could take him down with a single wolf’s bane laced bullet.  Hell, they had enough fire power to tear him apart more than he could heal.  

Rising to his feet he snarled, “What do you want?  If you’re here to kill me, then just do it already!”  

Scott would find his body and he’d know by the bullets that it was Hunters.  They’d call Chris and they’d deal with these bastards.  The pack was smart and had handled worse things and Derek was not afraid to die...  A part of him was always waiting for it... maybe looking forward to it.

“Ah Derek...  So eager to die are you?”

The voice was painfully familiar, making his stomach drop and his mouth go dry.  His eyes darted among the gathered men, to see if what he was afraid of was true, till they landed on the shape of a man that Derek had never wanted to see again.  Even as the bastard walked into the light, Derek couldn’t help the widening of his eyes - like some part of him was convinced his senses were lying, “Gerard...” he breathed.

The old man smiled like a grandfather watching his grandchildren opening presents on Christmas morning, “You don’t seem terribly happy to see me Derek.”

“You’re... supposed to be dead.” 

Gerard Argent chuckled, “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated...”

Derek frowned, “That’s a misquote of Mark Twain...” he said absently while his body went on alert, his teeth itching and his fingertips tingling as he tried to spot a way out of the situation.  If Gerard was here and alive, it would mean definite trouble for Scott and the others.  How long had he been in Beacon Hills, planning and plotting before making this move now?  How was he going to get word to Scott?

Argent tilted his head and nodded, mouth pulling at the corners thoughtfully before he strolled along the edge of the mountain ash ring, “And here I thought you were just a stupid beast...”

“And here I thought you were rotting away from the inside...”  Except there were no signs of the poison in Gerard’s body.  None of the black bile was leaking from his nose or mouth like it had been when he’d last seen him.  

“I got better.” 

“Chris said--”

“That imbecile knows what I want him to know!” A sneer curved the old man’s lips, “It was easy enough to have my ‘care’ facility inform him that I died and fool him into thinking that.  As much as he protests the fact, I am still his father and his sentimentality prevented him from investigating too much further into my death after all my suffering.” He smirked, “When he heard the news, I believe he said something about me finally 'being at rest'.”

“But...” He got no scent of illness from Gerard... no trace of the cancer or the remains of the wolf’s bane. 

“I’m feeling much better now, no thanks to McCall,” he sniffed, bitterness lacing his tone, “Actually, it’s you I should be thanking Derek, because it was your Bite that did eventually cure me,” he smiled and Derek thought he was going to be sick when he saw the man’s eyes shift from brown to the bright blue of a werewolf. 

The Bite had taken in the end.

Gerard continued, “I really do owe you a debt of gratitude about the whole thing, though I am sorry you are no longer an Alpha.  That would have made all of this a lot easier.  Instead, I’ll just have to kill McCall and deal with the rest of his little pack!” he spit the last word out like it was poison.

“You won’t touch them!” Derek roared, fear for the others making him shift, head snapping up as his teeth sharpened and claws flicked from the tips of his fingers. He couldn’t let Gerard harm them.  

Ignoring Derek’s outburst, the old man snarled “And I’ll finish what my daughter started, Hale!  You’ll finally pay for your crimes against my family.”  He looked to the other Hunters, “Do it...”

Small canisters were rolled into the ring of mountain ash and Derek had a second to notice them starting to hiss before they popped open and a purple hued cloud exploded out of them.  Tilting his head back, Derek could only hope that Scott was in town or one of the others would hear as he let out a desperate roaring howl that echoed through the clear night air.  The howl was long and loud, calling to those who were not his pack, but who were perhaps, his friends.  Then he was inhaling the smoke that was engulfing him. Wolf’s bane clogged his lungs.  

Gagging, the edges of Derek’s awareness immediately began to grow fuzzy, his body falling back against the side of his vehicle, having a second of something solid against him.  He tried to rally up, pushing from the SUV, but there was no strength in his limbs.  Sliding down the car, his vision faded and his body succumbed to the poison.  

The world came back to him in pieces...

Cold cement under his cheek.  

Burning at his wrists.  

Old, stale air... distantly familiar.  

Pounding behind his eyes, throbbing through his head.  

Nausea. 

Heartbeats.  

Humans.  

Hunters.  

Werewolf.  

Gerard.

Derek’s eyes opened with a start then immediately winced closed under the bright overhead lights.

He tried to bring his hand up to cover his eyes, but the movement was stopped by heavy metal shackles.  Squinting his eyes open, he saw his wrists were in thick cuffs and wrapped in ropes of wolf’s bane.  That would explain the burning.  The skin around the ropes was red and blistered, which meant he had probably been there for a while.  Using his elbows, he managed to get himself upright to his knees and was immediately rewarded with regret as the nausea swam from his gut and up to his throat.  After swallowing hard, he breathed through his mouth till the sensation passed and he could think straighter.  Chains, about two and a half feet in length, kept him from having too much mobility, or getting up from his knees.  They were attached to a metal plate that was bolted down into the cement.  Clearly this wasn’t a chain that was just done by happenstance or just happened to be there.  This was set up and planned...  His body was jittery and weak from the wolf’s bane so he had trouble gathering his strength to try and yank the plate out of the cement...  Something he’d have been able to do otherwise.  Till the poison wore off from his system, he couldn’t break free - He couldn’t even try and shift to his full wolf form. 

“Welcome back to the world of the living, Derek,” Argent stepped into his line of sight.

The pleased expression on Gerard’s face did nothing to ease the werewolf, but anything he wanted to say was lost in his addled mind which throbbed in pain with every heartbeat.  The most he could manage was to glare up at Argent in hatred.

“Ohhhh...” Gerard chuckled, “I suspect if looks could kill, I’d be a very dead man right now.” He walked closer, but maintained a safe distance from Derek, “Fortunately for me, I don’t have to worry about that sort of thing.  You barely had any decent abilities as an Alpha so as a Beta, I doubt you are any real threat.  To be honest, it didn’t come as any great surprise to learn you weren’t an Alpha anymore.” The man spread his hands out, “Imagine my shock though, to hear that Scott McCall had managed to become one, all on his own!” The old man grinned.

Derek rolled his eyes, not in the mood for posturing.  And as for any insults thrown at him or people pointing out his shortcomings, Derek could beat himself up just fine on his own.  There was a list he kept in his heart of his failings.

Instead of paying Argent attention, he turned his gaze to his surroundings, trying to figure out where he was.  His eyes adjusted to the light well enough that aspects of the space came into focus and recognition slowly came to him.  

Gerard must have noticed, “Ah, figured out where you are, did you?”

They were in the distillery.  

This was where, so many years ago, Deucalian had come to meet with Gerard at an attempt at peace talks between the werewolves and the hunters - where Gerard had double-crossed the packs and blinded Deucalian.

“We’ve come full circle...” Argent said when he noticed how things came together in Derek’s head, “And I’ve come back to tie up all the loose ends.  I’m going to end all of this where it began.  Once and for all.”

“You... mean,” Derek panted out, drawing words slowly through clenched teeth, “What... you started!” 

“Yes, what I started.  And what I’ll finish!  I’ll kill McCall and become the new Alpha.  After that, it will be easy enough to destroy the rest of them... removing any unsavory elements from the board.”

“You’re a Hunter!  How can you... be a werewolf... and a Hunter?”

Gerard’s shark grin became more disturbing as his teeth sharpened, “What’s that saying?  Be careful hunting monsters?” he chuckled deeply,  “All those years, all that time... I had no idea of the opportunity I was missing by not getting the Bite.  When I wanted it for a cure to my cancer, I was thinking too small.  You see, we can do so much more to cleanse the world of vermin like yourself, if we had your speed and strength, as well as our other skills with weapons.  Once I become an Alpha, I’ll give the rest of my men the Bite and the advantage will be ours.  Oh, we’ll still have a few humans to handle the wolf’s bane and such, but there won’t be anymore werewolves hiding among the sheep when we can smell you mutts out.  We’ll drive you and your kind to ground and destroy you all!” he laughed in sick glee, “Like I said... full circle Derek!”

“You’re insane!” the werewolf growled.

The humor drained from Gerard, “And you’re a corpse.” He gestured towards the other Hunters who had been waiting patiently around him.  While they moved about the distillery carrying large red cans, Argent watched and spoke, “As I said, I’m tying up all loose ends Derek... And part of that is finishing what Kate started by ending the Hale blood line.  Time for Beacon Hills to have a clean slate!”

Derek was allowed only a heartbeat of confusion before the scent of gasoline from the cans the Hunters had hit his nose.  They started pouring the clear liquid along the floor and splashing it against the walls of the distillery and then the old tanks and debris.  Realization came in a jolt, sending his heartbeat racing.

“That’s right Derek...” Gerard cooed, obviously hearing the other werewolf’s speeding heart, “You’ll finally get to join your family again.  You’ll be able to know what their final moments were like.  I’m sure you’ve imagined it hundreds of times.  Had dreams about it... Wondering what they felt... What their last thoughts were... Now you’ll get to know.  The way I see it, you should be thanking me.”

Frantically, Derek began pulling on the chains, trying to break them, pull the plate out, or break the shackles.  Blood trickled down his hands as blisters were burst and scraped open.  The pain of the wolf’s bane didn’t matter anymore in the light of the panic that was overtaking him.  His heart was thundering in his chest.  He couldn’t die.  Not like this.

Not like his nightmares.

Not like his family...

Please not like them...

Gerard turned and walked towards the open door of the distillery, followed by his Hunters who tossed the cans aside now that they were empty.  When everyone was out, he pulled a lighter from his pocket, flicking it open to awaken the tiny flame, then tossed it inside to the nearest puddle of gasoline.  “Goodbye Derek.  Give my regards to your mother.”  The gasoline ignited and the door was pulled shut, revealing the swirling cuts made in the metal door - a symbol of revenge.

The fire quickly crawled across the floor and started climbing the walls, rapidly overtaking everywhere the gas had been poured.  Derek watched in horror - the flames were swallowing the world around him hungrily.  He was surrounded and going to drown in burning heat.

Time meant nothing to him - had it been a few minutes or a few hours?  

All that mattered was his frenetic attempts at getting free.  His body was trembling, like the bones inside were about to shatter.  The air wouldn’t go down his throat right.  It tasted like charred wood.  His chest grew tight, unable to take in a breath. 

Not like this... Not like this... Not like this...

Derek’s arms screamed in pain, but there was no give.  His own heart pounding was thundering in his ears, blending with the strange squealing noise of the building being consumed by the fire.  Metal twisted and melted, wood creaked and groaned out death moans.  The smell of things burning filled his nose.  It was the scent of his nightmares, what made him flinch from bonfires and fireplaces. 

Eyes stinging, all he could see were walls of flame growing ever closer, feel the heat painfully tightening his skin.  Sparks and debris fell around him like snowflakes, burning him through his clothing when they landed on him - sending him skittering to try to avoid them.  Animal instinct had him panicked, yanking on chains that wouldn’t give, ignoring the sharp agony of his wrists breaking.  

Terror.  Smoke.  Fear.  Pain.  Fire.  

I’m going to die like my family.  There’s no one to save me.

...Perhaps its for the best.

*************************

2 1/2 Years Later

Derek awoke with a start, his heart stuttering in his chest.  He was breathing hard with the ghost of ash and smoke on his tongue.  After taking a deep cleansing breath he swallowed and tried to reorient himself.  

The familiar ceiling of his loft was a comfort.  It was a quick reminder that he was safe and the fire - at least the one he had dreamt of - was years ago.  Groaning softly, Derek rubbed his face, wanting to wipe away the memories of that night.  

Before being trapped in the distillery, he could only imagine what had happened to his family - what it was like to be surrounded by fire... to feel it lick at your skin, to draw smoke into your lungs instead of air...  to be trapped and know you were going to die. 

Now he knew.  He had clear vision of what suffering his loved ones had gone through.  It gave his nightmares a sharper edge that he hadn’t had before - New night terrors to wake up from.  It made him anxious and his skin feel itchy.

Derek hadn’t gone out from his building since Scott had visited him over a week ago.  They obviously hadn’t spoken since their disastrous conversation either.  Just thinking about it made him cringe and feel sort of sick to his stomach.  The Sheriff had called a few days before, asking if he had time to stop by the station to look at their ‘X-Files’ as he called them, but Derek gave the excuse of being in the middle of some renovations that needed to be finished and asking if they could do it another time.  If the older Stilinski suspected him of lying, he had the good grace to keep it to himself and let it go.  “All right, let me know when you’re free,” the man said lightly before disconnecting the call, releasing Derek back into his solitude.

It hadn’t been a complete lie really.  Derek had thrown himself into his work, tearing down walls and beams then ripping up old flooring for days till that loft was completely gutted.  But all his mind seemed able to bring up, no matter how hard he worked, was that day almost 3 years ago when everything had changed between him and Stiles and it all got twisted and wrong.  Derek had managed to push it down in the pit of his existence with all the other bad memories that he had so many of - honestly, he wondered how he managed to maintain any sanity - and then Scott had to come and dredge everything up, asking questions Derek didn’t want to answer and making him think of things he would be happy to forget.

And all of it because of that bastard Gerard, who should have been dead.  

They should have known no one really dies in Beacon Hills...

With a sigh, Derek sat up and glared at the cheery sunshine now illuminating his home.  If he was up, then he was going to feel like a productive part of the world.  Determined, he hauled himself out of bed and grabbed the first clothes he found on the floor.  He had pushed everything down into the pit before and he could do it again... rebuild himself and be a real live boy once more.

When he was reaching for his tool belt, his cell phone rang.  Sighing he picked it up from his bedside table and glanced at the screen to see it was the Sheriff calling before he answered, “Hello?”

“Derek?” the man’s voice was distracted.

“Sheriff...” 

 “So I think I’ve found something... I’d like you to come down to the station if you can so I can show it to you.”

His initial response was to put the Sheriff off, but after the nightmare, perhaps getting out of the house was a good idea, “All right, I’ll be there shortly.”

*************************

“You’ve been quiet for the last few days, Scott,” Alan Deaton’s voice was as even and as calm as it usually was while the man leaned over to examine the eyes of an old beagle sitting on the table with an ophthalmoscope.  The dog didn’t seem to mind the small light shining in its eye, but then, it had been pretty laid back about everything.  Scott was stroking its back, the rhythm of it and the feel of the smooth fur was soothing.  When Deaton straightened up he had a slight smile on his lips, “I would have thought a week or so off from school would have been enough.”

“Oh,” Scott shook his head, “No.  I mean, no, it was fine.  I had enough time off,” he stammered, “Sorry.” 

Deaton absently stroked the beagle’s head, “Something on your mind?”

The young man sighed deeply, “Just... some things I found out after I got home.”

This made the vet tilt his head, concern knitting his brow, “Anything you want to talk about?”

He shook his head.  There was no way Scott was going to discuss Stiles and Derek with his boss.  He wanted to talk to somebody about it, but it wasn’t his place to do it - Not even with Kira.  He’d tried to talk about what happened at Derek’s the week before, but the best he could do was give some roundabout explanation about something that happened years ago - it ended up being more confusing than helpful.  And Kira, bless her, simply said that she was there for him.  “Just a situation from years ago,” he said to the Emissary, “Nothing I can really do anything about now.”

“Ah, well...  The past is pretty much set in stone,” Deaton nodded, setting the ophthalmoscope on the table.  He picked up an otoscope and flipped one of the long floppy ears of the beagle over so he could gently set the more pointed end in to examine the dog’s ears, “But it can be hard not to turn those stones over.”

Scott snorted, “Yeah...” 

Deaton checked the other ear and then asked, “Is that all that’s bothering you?”

After a moment of thinking about it, Scott answered, “No, not really.  To be honest, I’m a bit concerned.”

“About?” 

“Well, that it’s so quiet here?”

After setting the otoscope down, he removed his plastic gloves, “I’m guessing you aren’t referring to the Animal Clinic.”

“I keep waiting for a phone call or some emergency to pop up, but nothing happens.  Have things really quieted down that much?”

“For the most part, yes.  Granted, after you and the others left for college, there was some clean up that required the Sheriff, Deputy Parrish, and Derek to take a hand in things, but they were taken care of.  I’ve done my best to make sure there are wards placed around town to alert us to any dangers so we don’t have any unpleasant surprises.  And the Nemeton is still... active... so I don’t doubt that things are being drawn to it and will continue to be so till it is set back to slumbering like it was before.”

“But if they’re being drawn into it, why haven’t we noticed?” Scott asked, “Is it creatures like that Wendigo family that was like, doing things in their house that no one knew about?”

“That I don’t know.  Derek does check the Preserve to make sure there is nothing hiding in there, waiting to strike and the Sheriff keeps an eye out for any unusual deaths or disappearances.  Other than that, there isn’t much we can do.  I can assure you, Scott, we are being vigilant.”

“I’m not accusing you guys of not doing your job,” Scott quickly said, glad that Deaton had taken on his Emissary-like role to become more of a protector of Beacon Hills than just a witness to what was going on.  Till Scott could come back and take on his Alpha mantle more properly, he trusted the adults of their small group to keep things safe, “It’s just... I’m not used to this.  It makes me nervous that it’s so quiet.”

Deaton nodded in understanding, “Waiting for the other shoe to drop?”  

Scott nodded with a self-depreciating smile.  “Regression to the mean and all that...”

“Well, that’s perfectly normal.  Considering how things developed after you were bitten, it would be foolish to relax.  But don’t go looking for trouble.  Life tends to fulfill our expectations... Just not in ways we always like.”

“Is that sort of like saying be careful what you wish for?” 

“Pretty much.”

“Trust me, I am not wishing for problems!” Scott ruffled the beagle’s ears, “Right, Brewster?”  The dog lifted its soulful brown eyes towards him and licked at his face.  “Bleh!” he squeezed his eyes shut and playfully made a face.

The older man was smiling softly, before turning to put some of his medical instruments away, “I can tell you that things in town haven’t been quiet, but it isn’t from the supernatural element.”

Scott stroked the beagle’s head, “You mean the Sentinels?”

Deaton nodded, “There’s been a lot of unrest since the Center went up.  Granted, there is a high percentage of townsfolk who have been more than happy with it coming here.  There were some new jobs and an influx of new people, meaning more money for businesses.  Plus very good PR.  But there are enough people who don’t trust the Sentinels or even the Guides.”  He sighed and crossed his arms as he gazed sadly at Scott, “People can be so afraid of what they don’t understand...”

“Well, wouldn’t you be?  I mean, we are talking about superhumans.”

“Scott, you’re a werewolf.  Shouldn’t they be scared of you?” he smirked, raising his brow.

Realizing what he said, he blushed slightly, “But I wouldn’t hurt anyone!  I mean, I’m not out there killing people.”

“It doesn’t have to be about killing,” he looked pensive for a moment before asking, “What do you remember about the McCarthy hearings?”

“Um,” Scott frowned as he tried to pull it up from his memories, “That was... when they were doing those trials because of Communism?”

Deaton nodded, “During the 1950’s there was fear that Communists somehow would take over and couldn’t be trusted.  The Government investigated millions of U.S. citizens, asking what books or magazines they read, what unions they belonged to and whether or not they went to church.  People, like actors and writers were blacklisted because of alleged political beliefs.  Teachers, lawyers and others lost their jobs for the same reason.  And books that were considered too close to Communism were banned, like Robin Hood and The Grapes of Wrath,”  Scott nodded, following along, “One of the worst things was that it made people paranoid.  They couldn’t trust their neighbor, their friends or their coworkers... Sometimes even their own family members.  Anyone could be a Communist and you never knew... because they looked just like everyone else.” Deaton gazed expectantly at the younger man.

“So... you’re saying people are scared of Sentinels because... you can’t tell if one is right next to you.”

“Right... And worse, a Sentinel can spy on you, use their abilities to find out information about you or harm you and you’d never know.”

“But, they also do a lot of good, I mean, we all know about that guy up in Cascade...”

“That’s why most people aren’t scared of them,” Deaton agreed, “But not everyone thinks like that.  They think all Sentinels are basically waiting to take over the world, even though all of them are serving as protectors.  Logic usually doesn’t come into play when there is fear and paranoia.”

Scott nodded thoughtfully.  He was always afraid when he revealed the truth about himself to people.  The reactions were usually pretty bad at first, but so far, it had been with people who knew him and cared about him.  Eventually, they realized that he was still just Scott... no matter that he was a werewolf.  Of course if someone didn’t know him, he could see how they’d easily be afraid of someone with super strength, and speed, along with sharp claws and teeth.  

He never told anyone about it, but when the Benefactor had been sending hit men, Scott had nearly lost it during a battle to protect Satomi’s surviving pack members, nearly killing one of the bounty hunters... And Scott and scared himself with the monster he could be.  He couldn’t deny that he was thankful that no one had seen him in that moment.  It had made him question his own monster...  And that people were right to fear it...

“I do have a theory as to why we haven’t had much in the way of supernatural creatures coming in.  At least not like when the Nemeton was first awoken.”  Deaton’s voice pulled Scott out of his reverie.

“Yeah?”

“And it’s a simple reason too.”

“What’s that?”

“You.”

Scott’s head jerked back slightly, “Me?”

Deaton smiled softly, “Scott, you’re a True Alpha.  On top of that, you’ve led a group that has either dispatched or stopped any and all threats that have come to Beacon Hills.  I believe you’ve built up quite the reputation.”

“Really?”

“Well,” the man chuckled, “They don’t know you like I do,” he teased, “But yes, really.  Before, the Hale family reputation kept the territory safe... Simply by their name after years of maintaining and securing their territory.” There had been a shadow of sadness in Deaton’s words, then he added softly, “Now, it’s your name.”

To say Scott was a little blown away by that was an understatement.  After all, he hadn’t done anything in pursuit of a reputation.  He was just trying to keep his family and loved ones safe.  Still, it made him smile and feel proud... and also a little terrified.  “How am I supposed to keep up that reputation?  What if I can’t?”

“You’ll do what you’ve always done...  You’ll do your best,” the Emissary assured, “Besides, you have allies now.”

“I do?”

“Satomi and her pack are still around, Scott, and they’ve gained a few more members.  She will fall under your leadership if ever you need her.  And there are other supernatural beings here, but they aren’t causing harm as they pass through or stay in Beacon Hills for a bit.  Some are here because they know they’ll be safe.”

That offered a sense of relief to the young man, “That’s good to know, because I still have to finish school.”

Deaton nodded, “I think things will keep for a while longer without you here.  Now, if you will be so kind as to take Brewster to wait in the kennels for Mrs. Lanz to come pick him up?” 

Scott grinned and nodded before hefting the large beagle up off the table, startling it up from the nap it had started to fall into.  It gave a slight ‘Baroo’ sound of a bark in surprise but calmed in the werewolf’s arms as he set him down.  Brewster happily followed Scott out of the examination room, leaving Deaton to finish cleaning up and putting things away.  

As he settled the dog in a kennel, Scott thought about what Deaton said.  Yes, he did feel relief that the threats to Beacon Hills were gone, but there was something underneath it all that bothered him.  It was an itch he couldn’t scratch, the thing in the peripheral of his vision that he couldn’t look directly at...  

He sighed.  It was Beacon Hills and whether he wanted it to or not, that other shoe was going to drop... probably like a guillotine.

Chapter Text

Stilinski was looking at a map pinned to the wall behind his desk with his arms crossed when he noticed Derek entering his office.  He frowned when he took in the sight of the werewolf, brows creasing, “You look like hell, kid.”

It always amused Derek that the Sheriff referred to him as ‘kid’, but he accepted it as a term of endearment rather than an insult, “I didn’t sleep well last night.”  He never mentioned the nightmares about Gerard to anyone and had no plans to begin doing so.  

“Yeah, I’ve had more than a few of those nights myself,” was all Stilinski said and left it at that.  They both had their ghosts after all.  He waved Derek to come in further, “Close the door.”

Derek did so and joined the Sheriff’s side to get the man’s view of the large map and noticed small yellow and red tacks were dispersed on it in a design.  Thin pieces of string connected some of the yellow tacks to red tacks, “This is a map of the Preserve,” he realized.

“Yup,” the Sheriff gestured towards the red tacks, “And these are Sentinels.”

There were about 12 or so by Derek’s quick count, “Each of these mark are where they’ve been found?”

The other answered with a nod, “Red ones are for where they were apprehended.  The yellow ones are where they were first reported.” The Sheriff gave a slight jerk of his chin towards the wall, “You’ll see there are fewer yellow ones because some of the captured Sentinels were escapees from the Recovery Center which reported them missing, not citizens spotting someone being weird or acting strangely.  Also, a few were just Zoned out, not Feral...  Anyway, I used the string to show movement from where the reported ones were to where they were found by you or my officers,” he waved a hand to the map, “You notice anything?”

Derek’s eyes trailed over the tacks and how they were spread and the strings leading from yellow to red.  Noting the differences, he frowned slightly, “The distance between yellow to red suggests they are moving towards something.” The yellows were usually on the outskirts of the Preserve, but the reds were further in.  Clearly the Sentinels were heading in a direction.  

“Yes,” the Sheriff agreed, “All heading further into the Preserve.  The question is why.”

“To get away from danger?” 

With a slight shake of his head, Stilinski said, “I don’t think so,” Using his pointer finger he trailed a string to its red tack then pointed to a place deep in the Preserve, “All the string leads to a definite direction.  No matter where they are spotted, they move into the forest and to the same area, and I suspect they are heading here.” He placed his finger on the map and tapped, “And take a guess as to what, exactly, is there.”

Derek tilted his head, and then said flatly in realization, “The Nemeton.” He looked at the Sheriff, “They’re being drawn to the Nemeton?”

“That’s what I suspect,” Stilinski crossed his arms before sighing, “I just wanted someone else to say that out loud so I didn’t think I was being paranoid.” He shrugged, “I can't just deny the evidence here,” the Sheriff turned towards Derek, “Which is why we’re going to go talk to Deaton.”

*************************

Entering the familiar structure of the Animal Clinic set Derek on edge.  He wasn’t looking forward to seeing Scott, because he still hadn’t processed through their ‘talk’, but he wanted to know what Deaton would have to say about the Sheriff’s findings.  Of course, Scott would be working today and would be the one who entered the front lobby to greet them.  “What’s going on?” he asked, eyes flicking between the two men.

The Sheriff put his hand on his hips, “We need to speak to Deaton.”

 “Um... Is everything all right?” the young man tensed, brows furrowing.

“Everything is fine Scott,” the Sheriff assured, “I just need to ask Alan some questions.”

Deaton entered through the door leading to the exam rooms, curiosity clear on his face as he took in the sight of their visitors, “Sheriff, Derek,” he nodded to them in greeting, “Good to see you.”

“Alan, any chance you have a moment to talk?"

The Emissary smiled, “Certainly.  Come on in back.”  Scott lifted up the counter so the Sheriff and Derek could walk into the back of the clinic, then lowered it behind them to follow the older men to Deaton’s familiar office.  “So what can I do for you today?”

The Sheriff rested his hands on his belt, “Well, as you know, the Recovery Center here in Beacon Hills is the only one that has an issue with Feral Sentinels running around.  Neither Kansas police, nor New York police have the problems we’re having.”

Scott and Deaton exchanged a look before the vet asked, “And do you have any idea as to why?”

“Now that’s something I was hoping you might help with... Because right now, all signs point to the Nemeton.”

Dark eyes widening, Scott asked, “The Nemeton?” He glanced from Deaton to Derek and then to the Sheriff, “Why do you think it’s the Nemeton?”

Derek answered, “The Sheriff has a map of the Preserve posted and he has the position of the Sentinels marked.  They’re clearly moving in the same direction.  Towards the Nemeton.”

“Is that even possible?” the Sheriff asked the Emissary.

“That’s a good question.”

“Do you have a good answer?” 

“I don’t know if it’s anything you’ll want to hear.”

“Try me,” the Sheriff crossed his arms.

Scott walked over to one of the stools to sit down, his eyes drifting over to Derek and the older man tried not to look as uncomfortable as he felt under the other’s gaze.  Luckily he didn’t have to dwell on it too long because there was something more important being discussed.  

Deaton nodded, “Are you familiar with the concept of ley lines?”

“Can’t say that I am.” 

“Ley lines are a network of natural energy that flows over the earth, made up of electric waves,” Deaton explained, “Scientifically, they’re known as telluric currents.” Scott nodded in agreement, remembering when they were trying to track the Darach's sacrifices. “Ancient peoples and some more... spiritual people, believe that you can draw power from the pathways of these currents.”

“Drawn like how?” the Sheriff asked, “Like electricity from a wall?”

The Veterinarian’s lips quirked in humor, “A bit.  Yes.  That might be a good way to look at it.  People have often been attracted to the ley lines, like a magnetic pull.  Though they usually aren’t even aware of it.”

“Danny said something about the ley lines once,” Scott mused. “Years ago when we found out he knew about werewolves.  His mother told him that ley lines follow the telluric currents under the town and always attract the supernatural.  That they were a power source.”

Derek tilted his head, “I’m guessing ancient people thought it was some sort of magic.”

“Correct,” Deaton nodded his head once.

“Do the ley lines connect to the Nemeton?” Derek asked.

“Ley lines intersect all over the earth, like strings criss crossing each other.  Where the lines intersect, there is a ball... a stronger point of energy.  These... nodes, if you will, were considered great sources of power.  They became important landmarks.  It is believed Stonehenge is on top of intersecting ley lines.”

The Sheriff furrowed his brow, “So the Nemeton is on one of these... ley line nodes. Is one of these ley line nodes.”

“Yes.  The ley line nodes tended to become places ancient people used as points of connection to the other world.”

“Like WiFi hotspots,” Scott provided happily.

Deaton chuckled, “Sort of, yes.  The locations became sacred and many times a place where rituals or sacrifices were held.  The Nemeton is one such place - a node on the telluric currents... so the pull to it is stronger.” 

The Sheriff rubbed his forehead, “I feel like we’re walking some thin line of science and magic here.”

“That would be a very accurate assessment,” Deaton agreed. “Some people are more sensitive to the presence of ley lines.  Considering Sentinels have heightened senses, it would make sense for them to be more sensitive to the pull.  They’d feel the ley lines strongly, no matter what senses they had, though they could easily ignore it.  The Nemeton is an amplified ley line node, so its draw is stronger.”

“So, what you’re saying is,” Stilinski said slowly, “The Sentinels are drawn here because of this... magnetic pull of the Nemeton.”

Deaton nodded.

“But why now?” Derek asked, “And why only Feral Sentinels or Zoned-out ones?  The Nemeton was woken up about 5 years ago...we certainly would have noticed them.”

“That is something I am not sure of...”

“But you have a theory,” the Sheriff said, raising a brow like he already knew.

The Emissary sighed, “I think something very definite has happened that changed Beacon Hills.”

Scott shook his head slightly, “Nothing’s changed.  You said it’s been quiet...”

“All of this started when one thing happened to change Beacon Hills.” Deaton’s dark eyes took in the other three men in the room.  

The Alpha was the one that said it, his shoulders dropping, “The Recovery Center.”

“Unfortunately, that doesn’t give me a solution that I can use,” the Sheriff said ruefully.

The front bell rang to announce a person entering the Animal Clinic and Scott hopped up from the stool, “I’ll see who it is...” before heading up front.

The Sheriff was looking half annoyed and half thoughtful and Derek couldn’t blame him - he was feeling the same way.  The information about the Nemeton was only partially helpful, but it didn’t offer a solution.  Derek figured it would only mean more scouting for him and Jordan when they could, to see if they could spot Sentinels before townsfolk did...  But, that was just sticking a finger in the damn, not fixing the leak. 

“I wish I could have been more help.  I’m afraid when things involve the Nemeton, we’re all left with a lot of question marks,” Deaton said as he escorted them towards the lobby.

“Yeah, another mystery...  Like we don’t get enough of those,” Stilinski sighed sarcastically before they spotted the young woman at the front counter talking to Scott. “Ms. Nolan, what brings you here?” He lifted the counter gate and Derek followed him through to the other side while Deaton went to Scott’s side.

The young woman smiled in greeting, “Hey Sheriff Stilinski.”  She gestured towards the box that sat on the counter, “I found some kittens and their mother behind the insurance office down town.  She’s not looking too good.” Her gray eyes flicked inside the box where tiny mews trickled out.

They drew closer and the Sheriff introduced her, “This is Samantha Nolan.  She’s a Guide at the Recovery Center and working as a liaison.” He smirked, “If anyone is responsible for my sanity it might be her.”

“I doubt that, but glad I can help.”

"You keep Ecks out of the station, that's enough." He bowed his head towards Scott, “The kittens are in good hands with Scott and Dr. Deaton here.” Then he said, “And this is Derek Hale, a consultant for the sheriff’s office.”

She smiled in greeting but her brows furrowed slightly - most likely wondering what the Sheriff and a consultant to the sheriff’s office was doing at the Animal Clinic, but she didn’t say anything.  Then Derek saw recognition flicker across her eyes... “I think I’ve seen you at the station,” she nodded at him.  

Derek managed a mumble of a greeting, but he was feeling eager to get back to home.  It had been an uncomfortable meeting with Scott there - the memory of their confrontation in his apartment still pulling at him like a needy toddler.  Being between the Alpha and the Sheriff only made Derek feel worse, like he was hiding something from everyone.  

Turning her attention back to the vet she asked, “You think they’ll be okay?” 

Alan was looking inside the box at the mother who did appear lethargic, “I’m thinking it’s a case of dehydration.  She should be fine with some liquids in her,” he smiled gently at the dark haired woman. 

“Oh good...” she let out a breath of relief.

Scott smiled, “Were you interested in taking one of the kittens home once they’re able to be weaned?”

Her face dropped, “I’d love to, but I can’t.  I can’t have any animal hair on me or any scents of one on me.  As it is, I’ll have to shower at the Center and borrow some clothes from there.  But, can you give me a call and let me know how they’re doing?” she pulled a card from the pocket of her long gray jacket and handed it to Scott.

The young man nodded in understanding and took the card, “Not a problem.”

Alan lifted the box up, “I’m going to get these guys set up in the back.  It was nice to meet you Ms. Nolan,” he gave a gentle smile before he carried the box towards the back exam rooms.  For Derek it was always a strange thing to see Alan being the simple veterinarian again, tending sick animals instead of being the enigmatic Emissary.

“You too Dr. Deaton... Thank you,” Her gray eyes moved towards Scott, “And thank you as well,” she darted a glance to the clock, “I better get going.  I’m already running late for work.” 

“I’ll give you a ride over to the Center,” The Sheriff said, pulling his keys out of his pocket before giving a wave to everyone.

She gave a relieved huff, “Thank you, that’d be great!  There’s something I wanted to talk to you about anyway...”

Then they were gone with the little jingling of the overhead bell on the door, leaving the two werewolves alone in the waiting room.  A heavy silence followed and it was clear to Derek that neither of them knew what to say to each other.  Derek finally decided to end the stand-off, “Guess I’ll see you...”  He turned and headed towards the door.

“Derek...”

He paused, clenching his jaw and trying not to let his shoulders hunch up as he waited for more reprimands and accusations he wasn’t ready to deal with, but would still listen to.  Slowly, he rotated back around so his pale eyes could meet the other’s dark ones.

There was no anger in Scott’s eyes - though maybe some resignation, “What happened between you and Stiles... You don’t have to give me details.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

The young man rolled his eyes, “Look.  I just,” he sighed deeply, “Did you... feel anything for him?”

Frowning further, Derek had to stop himself from snarling that it wasn’t any of Scott’s business, but that wasn’t going to make things better.  The anger wasn’t supposed to be him anymore.  It wasn’t his anchor anymore.  Right?  But putting things into words had never been his forte’ either - his eyes dropped to the floor.

Clearly taking the silence as an answer, Scott sighed again, like he expected it, “Derek, I get it.  I do.  Your history and everything...”

Derek flinched, wishing his past wasn’t such common knowledge.  It was a luxury he couldn’t possess.

Scott went on, “You were worried about Stiles...  That it would be bad for him to be involved with you...  But look... what ever happened between you two, that’s in the past...”

Crossing his arms like he could protect himself from this whole conversation, Derek gave a slight shrug.  

“How long are you going to punish yourself?”

“I’m not punishing myself.” he snapped - his response more of an instinct.

“You sure about that?” Before Derek could argue, Scott put his hands up, “Look, it’s really not my business.  But, just... Maybe you shouldn’t keep yourself from living a bit?” his expression was earnest and Derek could see the same look in those dark eyes that he saw in his mother’s long ago when she was worried about him. “Stiles once said something to me and I’m going to tell it to you...” he gave a small smile in memory before saying, “It’s okay to want something for yourself once in a while...  You’re still only human.”

 *************************

Deaton was not a man who could ignore a mystery when it was presented to him.  Perhaps it was because he was raised to be an Emissary, or perhaps it was a personality quirk, but since it had served him well over the years, he chose to follow the questions where they led him.  

The meeting with Derek, the Sheriff and Scott at the clinic had been unexpected, but he had managed to keep them from finding out the truth.  Years of working with werewolves had given the Emissary the skills he needed to work around their natural lie-detecting abilities.  You never outright lie... you just avoid speaking the lie and keep to simple and smaller truths.  

It was true that the ley lines and the Nemeton were draws to the supernatural...  It was part of what made Beacon Hills unique.  But the strength of that pull was not strong enough to be the real reason for the Sentinels to be heading towards the Nemeton in their Feral and Zoned-Out states.  He’d suggested it and misled the others, because he didn’t have answers yet.  There was no point in drawing them into something... Especially Scott who had other things like school to think about.   

So, what had changed?  Was it really just the presence of the Recovery Center or was it just the Nemeton itself?  

These questions were what brought him out to the Preserve to see for himself.

Walking through the forest, he trod the familiar path that would take him to the Nemeton.  No one else would be able to follow it and some part of him thought that the remains of the great tree somehow kept people from finding it.  He often wondered if the Nemeton was sentient, but the idea was too big, and in truth, too scary to contemplate for too long.

When the line of trees broke, he found himself in the old clearing and noting that little had changed from the last time he’d been here years ago.  The massive cut tree trunk with its heavy roots were still there, spanning a much larger area than any normal tree stump would.  The ground had cracks in the earth - remains of Jennifer Blake’s magic - that still broke the surface, and not too far was the caved in cellar where Chris Argent, Sheriff Stilinski and Melissa McCall had been held before their children saved them.  

Deaton stood, gazing at the Nemeton, keeping some distance between himself and the remains of the ancient tree, taking in the power he sensed there and the history it carried deep inside.

So many of the changes in Scott McCall’s young life had been a direct result of the Nemeton’s awakening... which in turn had begun because of the wish of a boy to end the suffering of someone he loved...  The Nemeton seemed to take more tears than blood as a sacrifice for its long existence.  The man didn’t doubt that there would be more of both in its future.

Shaking his head, he brushed aside his memories and focused on the here and now.  The Nemeton was still awake and it was still a power source - The ley lines flowed beneath him and converged at the tree’s remains.  The flow hadn’t changed, but something definitely felt different.  Moving closer to the tree, he knelt down and placed his hands over it, careful not to actually touch the wood.

The ‘beacon’ as the pack tended to call it was still active, still putting out a call that was a magical flame to moths, but... it felt different.  Like someone had changed the sound to a different frequency - shifted what was being called.  His eyes widened.

Supernatural creatures were no longer being called to it.  

Were... Sentinels? 

“I was wondering when you’d show up here.”

Alan smiled to himself before saying, “I wasn’t sure if you were still around,” he rose to his feet and turned his head towards the young woman, “Since I haven’t heard from you in years Marin.”

Marin Morrell was standing near the line of trees around the clearing, her dark hair long and straight - perhaps a little shorter - hanging neatly across her shoulders.  A small smile hinted upon her lips, “Since Scott and his pack graduated from high school, I didn’t feel it was necessary to remain on staff as a Guidance Counselor, but I still work at Eichen House.” Her shoulder lifted once in a careless shrug, “I haven’t had much need to get involved in... outside activities.”

“You haven’t found a new pack?”

Her brow twitched up, “I’ve found that when you have been known to be the Emissary of the Demon Wolf, other packs aren’t very eager to work with you.”

There was little to say to that.  While he cared about his sister, her sense of maintaining the balance could be considered... extreme.  Alan was all too aware that Scott didn’t trust her and not just because she worked with Deucalian.  The young man still held some anger when she’d been so ready to kill Stiles while he was possessed by the Nogitsune rather than focusing on helping him - in the name of maintaining the balance.  The veterinarian never mentioned to Scott, that while he was more willing to try other avenues, see other paths, if they hadn’t been able to cure Stiles, he would have taken steps to kill the Nogitsune himself.  Thankfully, that hadn’t been necessary. 

But Marin was always more single minded when it came to such situations.

“So,” he said, “By your presence here, can I guess that you know something about what’s going on?”

“Not exactly,” she sauntered closer, her eyes on the Nemeton. “I have just felt... like something changed with it.  The power is still there, but it has shifted in some way... Started a little over 2 years ago.”

Mentally he noted, that was around the time the Recovery Center opened.  He frowned thoughtfully, “If there was another Darach, we would have sensed it.”

“Possibly,” Marin agreed, “But whoever manipulated the Nemeton and now trying to use the power of it would have to remain in the territory to access it.”  Her eyes trailed over the surrounding forest, “Do you think this is connected to the Sentinel’s presence here.”

Nodding he said, “I suspect as much.  I think this might be what’s causing them to go Feral when they get close enough.”

“You’re saying Beacon Hills is driving Sentinels crazy?”

“No, not crazy, but...perhaps giving some sort of feedback, triggering a Sentinel’s senses so they get amplified or out of their control.” 

“But there isn’t any way to prove that without a willing participant,” her brow rose in question.

“Certainly not without tipping our hand and sharing our suspicions with the S.I., which I’m not ready to do.” Deaton sighed, his dark eyes falling upon her, “If you’ve known something was wrong here, or was different, why didn’t tell me about it sooner?”

Again, her lips pulled into a small smile, “Would you have trusted me?”

While he would have liked to have told her that he would have, Alan found he couldn’t do that.  

After a few moments of silence, Marin asked, “Are you going to tell Scott?”

The man didn’t answer right away...  He weighed his options silently, trying to see the many pathways that split ahead of them based on single actions - trying to follow them to their conclusions.  Finally he said softly, “No.” 

“How can you be so sure I won’t tell him?”

“Because he doesn’t trust you either,” he turned and headed back towards the path that would lead him out of the forest.

*************************

Two Weeks Later

“Thank you to everyone in advance for being here... even though you didn’t really have a choice,” The young woman in soft gray clothes smiled and was rewarded with a few chuckles.  “I appreciate your time and attention here and I’ll do my best to make it as painless as possible.” The Sheriff made the meeting mandatory to all personnel and officers, only giving an exception to those on scheduled patrol or were off for personal reasons.  The gathering was held in the bullpen of the sheriff’s station and the officers were sitting at their desks, in extra chairs or leaning against walls or desks. 

“My name is Samantha Nolan.  You’ve probably have seen me around the station before.  For those that don’t know, I am working with Sheriff Stilinski as a liaison between the police and the Recovery Center.  I’ve been a full service Guide for about six years and I’ve been working at the Recovery Center since it opened two years ago.”

Derek stood next to the Sheriff at his office door, eyes on the gathered officers.  In the back of his mind he was trying to identify who might be the one who was calling the RC before the Sheriff did.  When asked, Ms. Nolan had told them that she was notified by the Center about calls coming in regarding Sentinel situations, but had no idea who was making those calls.  No names were given.  The Sheriff didn’t want to give Samantha the reason for his questions because he didn’t want to tip off anyone who might be involved.  They were no closer to solving that mystery.

Behind her, a rolling blackboard was set up with neat handwriting on it:

     Sentinel Classifications:

          Omega: Most common.  Any Sentinel with one heightened sense.

          Beta: Any Sentinel with more than one heightened sense.  2 - 4

          Alpha: Rare. Any Sentinel with all five senses heightened.

“Today, I’m here to discuss Sentinels.  Some of you might already know a lot of this information, so I’ll ask you to bear with me as I go over the basics.  And if there are any questions, just go ahead and raise your hand.” After taking a deep breath she went on, “The Sentinel Institute in Cascade, Washington defines a Sentinel as any individual who has one of their senses heightened beyond normal human parameters.”

Deputy Greenberg raised his hand, “What’s normal?”

“Not you, Greenberg!” someone from the back shouted, which was followed by some good natured chuckles around the room.

Samantha smiled politely, “The S.I. has a series of tests to assess potential candidates.  They evaluate all the senses for, well... sensitivity in different environments and situations and then determine whether the person falls into one of the three categories listed here,” her hand rose to gesture towards the blackboard behind her. “There are many unidentified Omegas out in the world, working in jobs where their particular sense is a boon.  Like an Omega with a heightened sense of smell being employed in a perfume company, or one with heightened eyesight functioning as a sniper in the military.

“Omegas are most common, followed by Betas.  Alphas are the rarest, making up only about 10 to 15 percent of the Sentinels.   While the S.I. highly values them, they are also the most popular in the media. I’m sure many of you are familiar with the show based on the first known Sentinel, James Ellison.”

There were a few nods and grunts of recognition at the mention of the name.  Even Derek knew of the show since it had a level of popularity, though most people liked to play it off as sci-fi rather than biographical.

“Most Sentinels come On-line during puberty, as if it wasn’t a difficult enough time to deal with,” she smirked. “And if the person is lucky, the changes they are going through are recognized for what they are and are able to get the help and training they need at the Sentinel Institute.”

Parrish raised his hand, “And what if they aren’t lucky?”

Samantha’s expression shifted for a moment before she managed a sad smile, “There is a special unit of S.I. staff that travel all over the country visiting hospitals and mental institutions to find those that have been placed there due to misunderstandings.  Usually, they are misdiagnosed with forms of schizophrenia,” When she noted some confused gazes, she added, “Like hearing voices or smelling strange things.  The patients aren’t experiencing hallucinations, but are hearing actual things or smelling actual smells those around them can’t.  As you can imagine, coming On-line can be frightening for anyone, but being hospitalized can add to the anxiety and fear.  Luckily, staff at such facilities are becoming more educated about Sentinels and will call S.I. to come and confirm.  Now, having said all of that, some Sentinels can come On-line at almost any age.  Some as old as seventy-six and others as young as ten, though there are only a few documented cases of such extremes.”

Derek had grown up with his werewolf senses, even as he was aware that they weren’t at the same level of the Sentinels, he had never known anything different.  He couldn’t fully imagine suddenly having those sorts of abilities.  He’d spoken to Scott about it once - the change and what it felt like - since the True Alpha had no idea what was happening to him after he was Bitten.  It was different with Erica, Isaac and Boyd who had walked in with awareness, accepting the offer of the Bite.  Scott had explained that it was frightening to have all his senses awaken like that and not understand what was happening, and part of him had wondered if he’d been losing his mind.  

Deputy Wyatt, an officer Derek didn’t work with, but who tended to be loud, raised his hand, “What makes ‘em Feral?”

The young woman appeared to be expecting the question, “I’m sure a lot of you would like the answer to that.” There were noises of agreement around the room, “And I really wish there was a simple straight answer I could give to you.  A Sentinel can become Feral from almost any sort of trauma... physical or emotional.  It could be a car accident, a sudden loss of a loved one...  Whatever might make any person lose control of their emotional state.  That’s where the Recovery Center comes in.  Guides can work with those Sentinels and get them balanced again, help them gain control.  I should mention though, that Sentinels who have lost their Bonded Guide are the most challenging.  Some never recover from the loss.”  

The Guide lifted her hands in a placating gesture, “You should keep in mind, Feral Sentinels are not rabid animals like the name suggests and even if they might seem to be acting that way.  They are just in extreme... well... pain.  They have no control over their sensory input.  At its best, it’s disorienting and at its worst, it’s excruciating.”  She paused as she traced her gaze over the officers, “To best try to give you something relatable... I’m sure most of you have been in a dark room or space when suddenly a light shines in your eyes?” There were a few nods from the officers, “You’re normal response is to just close your eyes to block the light.  Imagine if you couldn’t?  Sentinels can’t block out anything.”

Her eyes lifted briefly towards the overhead lights before she continued, “We can hear everything happening around us...  The rustling of paper, the officer chewing gum, the buzzing of the florescent lights...  But for most of us, our brains filter the noises to a functional level.  The brain allows us to focus on certain sounds and noises so we don’t get bombarded.  Even if you get a blast of sound or feedback, you can cover your ears and the noise usually stops.  Not for Sentinels.  The filtering system is gone.  Those with heightened hearing get all of it and at levels that would make any of us want to rip our ears off,” Samantha shrugged helplessly, “It’s why we are always preaching a gentle hand to you.  Ferals are confused, hurt and mostly scared.”

“And violent...” Jordan muttered.

Nodding her head, Samantha conceded, “Yes, unfortunately.  A Feral Sentinel may blindly attack because they can’t identify what’s going on.  And I’ve spoken with the Sheriff about it in the hopes that we can make it easier on you deputies.  We’re going to start trying sedatives, rather than just apprehending.  Hopefully that will cut down on the amount of cuts and bruises some of you officers have suffered.”

There were some relieved sighs and mutterings around the room.  Derek certainly appreciated being able to sedate a Feral, rather than having to tackle them to get them in cuffs.

Wyatt asked, “Can Sentinels read minds?”

After chuckling in good humor she answered, “No.  That’s a common misconception.  They might be able to read body language better with their heightened sense, but any shyster who pretends to be a psychic can do that too.  Sentinels just have an advantage at reading people.”

“What exactly is the Bond?” Greeberg called out.

“That’s a little hard to answer.  The Bond is something Guides and Sentinels experience.  It is a connection between a specific Guide and Sentinel, and is very special.  To tell you the truth, there really is no scientific explanation I can give you at the moment.  The Institute is still trying to figure out how it fully works.  For some it is like meeting a person you’ve always known, like you were waiting for them all your life.  Some Bonds are stronger than others, but each is unique.  Some say they can read each other’s minds, but that isn’t normally the case.  Once you are Bonded, it is for life.  Being away from your Bonded partner can be difficult... some resulting in sickness.  They are stronger together and I should add that Bonded Sentinels do not go Feral and rarely Zone.  Their Guide keeps them balanced and in control.”

Wyatt chuckled, “You Bonded, Ms. Nolan?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Do Guides and Sentinels date?” he added.

The young woman pursed her lips as she tilted her head slightly before saying, “While it is never forbidden by the S.I. for Guides and Sentinels to live their lives as they wish, which includes dating, it is... strongly frowned upon.  There are fewer Guides than Sentinels, and we are... in high demand.  As I said, Bonded Sentinels don’t go Feral as we are their equalizers... Their anchors if you will.”

Derek’s brow quirked up at the phrase and he wondered if there was a werewolf in the S.I. coming up with these names and phrases to use... Alphas, Omegas... Anchors...

“When a Guide Bonds, they are expected to go with the Sentinel to where ever that Sentinel is assigned or works.  You can imagine the emotional difficulty of having a person you’re in a relationship with, leave to be with someone else.”

Wyatt followed up with, “So... do you date Ms. Nolan?”

Politely she said, “I haven’t, no.”

“Do you wanna?”

The Sheriff rolled his eyes as a few wolf whistles and laughs bounced around, “All right Wyatt, keep it on topic or we’ll have a special presentation of proper workplace behavior just for you!”

“Yes sir...” the deputy said - properly chastised.  Derek noticed the grateful look Samantha gave the Sheriff.

Greenberg piped up, “What about Zoned-out Sentinels...”

“Zoning usually occurs when a Sentinel gets too focused on something...  A sound, a smell...  The same way you might get a whiff of something rotting in your fridge and follow it to find it, a Sentinel is doing the same, but they step over a line of focus.  It is suddenly all their mind can pay attention to.  The closest idea might be a sort of seizure.”

“If we come across a Zoned Sentinel, what are we supposed to do?”

“Get them to a safe place and if you can, talk to them to try to get their attention.  Sometimes it isn’t difficult to break them of their focus.  But if you can’t, we Guides can pull them out of it.  The sedatives should not be used on a Zoned Sentinel.  Just handle them carefully.”

There were a few more questions and more information that Derek was already aware of, talking about the basics of Sentinels and such.  While Samantha answered a rather invasive question about what it was like to feel emotions, Derek turned to the Sheriff to whisper, “Hope this helps.”

Stilinski whispered back, “She hoped that having this sort of presentation might help relations between the station and the Center... Give the officers a chance to ask questions and see that she and the others were really harmless.” 

“Do they really have no idea what’s causing the Ferals?”

At this the Sheriff sighed, “That’s what they’re saying.  At the very least, Ms. Nolan doesn’t know.  But off the record?” he glanced at her, “She said the Recovery Center staff is aware there is in fact a problem here in Beacon Hills that has not been encountered in the other two Centers...  They just have no clue why that is or how to deal with it.”

Derek frowned slightly, “I feel like we’re looking at all of this the wrong way.”

“We need to get enough perspective and distance to see the greater picture.  We just haven’t stepped back far enough yet.”

*************************

One Month Later

“I think we could use a break,” The Sheriff’s voice broke the silence as he rubbed his eyes.  He and Derek were in his office, file boxes opened and at their feet with more files spread out on the desk between them.  All of them were what Stilinski had called ‘The X-files” - unsolved and cold cases - that he wanted to look back on with fresh, supernaturally opened, eyes.  Together they had figured out some of them and Derek identified a few as werewolf issues - packs trying to cause problems - but Talia had handled those.  Technically, the Sheriff couldn’t close all of them because there was no concrete proof he could provide, but there was a still a weight off his shoulders when he had answers.  

The process was usually slow going.  It wasn’t always obvious that there was anything supernatural and some of the cases were simply normal ones that couldn’t be solved.  You had to be patient and look for the clues carefully - the wording of witnesses and how the report was written.  It could be arduous.

The Sheriff had Derek looking over a particular ‘X-file’ that had been bugging him for a while.  In 1999, there was a report of a teenager, possibly age 16, who had been exhibiting erratic behavior.  There had been multiple sightings of him in or around the Preserve, but no ID could be made since the physical descriptions were too vague to make a positive identification.  It didn’t appear to be a local youth.  A family had been hiking through the Preserve and their young daughter had wandered off.  She apparently came across the unidentified teen and he broke her arm (luckily nothing worse had happened).  After that, there were no more sightings and the boy was never found - not even a body.  

Derek looked up from the notebook he was writing in, the file open right next to it.  For the last few hours he’d been making a timeline on the lined paper of the events from the case, trying to piece together the crime and his memories at the time.  “That might be a good idea,” he agreed, setting his pen down on the notebook as he leaned back, “I think I might be getting a headache.”  He stretched his arms over his head, “And you need better chairs in here.” It was his common complaint every time he had to sit in the office.

“Not in the budget,” Stilinski countered as always. “Come on, I’ll buy you a coffee,” he rose from his chair and came around the desk to clasp Derek’s shoulder.

“That’s in the budget?”

“It is today...  Come on.”

The werewolf huffed softly then followed the other man out and down the street.  The August days were hot, but not oppressive yet, “Scott and Kira coming back for Thanksgiving?”

The Sheriff nodded his head, “Yeah.  His Dad will be there too.”

“...His Dad?” Derek was well aware of Scott’s relationship with his Father.  It had only marginally improved since the man had returned while Scott was in high school.  The pack had talks back then about revealing the truth regarding the whole werewolf thing to Agent McCall, but it always got shot down in the end.  Scott was convinced his father wouldn’t handle the news well and would probably lock them all up.  Rafael McCall was still sure that the Oni that stabbed him was just some guy in a Halloween mask.  It was amazing what people could convince themselves of.

“Yeah...” Stilinski smirked, “Should be interesting.”

Derek didn’t try to hide his own grin before he said, “ You know, I vaguely remember some of this case...”  

“I’m not surprised.  It was all over the local news,” The Sheriff squinted, “I was only a deputy then... I was sure we’d get something... some hint or clue of who he was and where he’d gone off to.  Even did house searches... But either that kid hid really well, or he got out of Dodge fast.”

“I was like... 13 I think? Maybe 12.” Derek frowned, thinking back on the timeline he’d been working on.  He hadn’t met Paige yet, but he had been focused on basketball and his friends and all the stupid things kids his age thought were so important.  The shifting hadn’t started, though anger and emotional outbursts seemed right on track as puberty took over.  He and his parents butted heads more often than not, and he was constantly looking for ways to get out of the house and away from his family.  It took him a long time to gaze back at that time and not blame himself for being the way he was.  There was no way he could know what was to come, that he would lose them all - that he had just been a teenager, being a teenager.  Forgiveness for himself, at least for that, had been very slow and it didn’t stop the ache whenever he thought of his parents, siblings, and family - he figured it never would.  Not that he wanted the ache to stop.  He was actually afraid that one day he’d feel nothing... and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know who he’d become for that to happen.

“Do you recall anything your parents might have said about it?  Considering your house was right on the edge of the Preserve.”

Derek nodded, “I know I was told not to go out into the woods,” and he’d been angry about it too.

“And this teenager... you didn’t know him and he wasn’t a...” he gestured vaguely towards Derek.

“A werewolf?” He shook his head, “No... I don’t think so?” His thick brows furrowed.

They reached the coffee shop and as the Sheriff opened the door he said, “Maybe some caffeine will jog your memory.” He slapped the werewolf on the back and allowed him to enter first.  

He could only hope that was the case as he entered ‘Perks and Recreation’ coffee shop - a local favorite. 

“Good afternoon, Sheriff!” chirped the woman behind the counter, “What are you doing here?”

The older man smiled amiably, “Not here on business, Maureen.”

“In that case, what can I do ya for?”

“Two large coffees.  One light, and one light and sweet,” he turned to look over the muffins piled artfully on a cake plate with a large glass dome over it, “And make ‘em hot.”

“You got it,” she nodded and went to prepare the coffee, her eyes lingering on Derek who was generally used to the attention.  

It was unwanted attention to say the least.  People - women or men - looking at him like something to own... to devour.  Kate might have been the first, but she wasn’t the last...  Mostly he ignored it and sometimes, yes, he used it for his own ends.  All of it was part of the human condition and the interaction of the species, but there were times he wished his body could show the scars he had suffered over the years, so that maybe when people looked at him, he could feel like they were really seeing him.

While he waited for the coffee with the Sheriff, his mind wandered over the case.  The Argents might have been in the area by then and he made a mental note to give Chris a call at some point to see if he had some information.

Talia and the other adults in the family went to look into it, he felt certain, though the details were hazy in his memory.  He had still been too young to be caught in the loop of pack politics and besides, Laura was the one being groomed to be Alpha.  One memory did bubble up to the surface though... one he wouldn’t have bothered with if he hadn’t been focusing.

The Sheriff was handing Derek his coffee, and then the two men were walking out of the air-conditioned environment and back into the warm sunshine.

“So I think I remember something about the case...” he didn’t wait for the other to respond before continuing, “I remember Peter sitting in the kitchen looking disturbed.  My Mother and Father were there too with a few of the other adults, but I specifically remember Peter because normally he always looked kind of smug, as if he was the smartest person in the room.  This time... he was, well... stunned.  I asked him what was wrong and he said something like, ‘Evolution never stops... And one day, you won’t be the predator anymore...’.  My Mom told him to shut up and stop trying to scare me, then sent me up to my room to bed.  But I could hear them arguing.” He frowned, “I just can’t recall all the words though... At the time it didn’t seem important.”

The Sheriff didn’t say anything for a while, simply walking at Derek’s side and sipping his coffee.  Finally he asked, “Do you think he was referring to the teenager or to something else being in the woods?”

“I don’t know...” he shook his head before rubbing the spot between his eyes, feeling the frustration that comes when you have something just on the tip of your memories that you just can’t grasp.

“Don’t force it.  It’ll come to you when you least expect it.  We’ll go back and work on that timeline some more.  Maybe something will fall into place.”  They walked in silence for a while more, each lost in their own thoughts before the Sheriff spoke again, “I ever tell you what I used to tell Stiles?  About patterns?”

“I... don’t think so.” The man rarely ever mentioned his son’s name or spoke of him nowadays.  

“I feel like this cold case is part of something larger... The first step in a pattern...  The current situation with the Sentinels is the second step...”

“And the third?”

“Well, that I haven’t seen yet.  Right now, all I got is that this is all a coincidence.”

Chapter Text

 2 1/2 Years Ago 

"Goodbye, Derek.  Give my regards to your mother.”  The gasoline ignited and the door was pulled shut, revealing the swirling cuts made in the metal door - a symbol of revenge.

The fire quickly crawled across the floor and started climbing the walls, rapidly overtaking everywhere the gas had been poured.  Derek watched in horror - the flames were swallowing the world around him hungrily.  He was surrounded and going to drown in burning heat.

Time meant nothing to him - had it been a few minutes or a few hours?  

All that mattered was his frenetic attempts at getting free.  His body was trembling, like the bones inside were about to shatter.  The air wouldn’t go down his throat right.  It tasted like charred wood.  His chest grew tight, unable to take in a breath. 

Not like this... Not like this... Not like this...

Derek’s arms screamed in pain, but there was no give.  His own heart pounding was thundering in his ears, blending with the strange squealing noise of the building being consumed by the fire.  Metal twisted  and melted, wood creaked and groaned out death moans.  The smell of things burning filled his nose.  It was the scent of his nightmares, what made him flinch from bonfires and fireplaces.  Eyes stinging all he could see were walls of flame growing ever closer, feel the heat painfully tightening his skin.  Sparks and debris fell around him like snowflakes, burning his skin through his clothing when they landed on him - sending him skittering to try to avoid them.  Animal instinct had him panicked, yanking on chains that wouldn’t give, ignoring the sharp agony of his wrists breaking.  

Terror.  Smoke.  Fear.  Pain.  Fire.  

I’m going to die like my family.  There’s no one to save me.

...Perhaps its for the best.

*************************

The next thing Derek was aware of was agony.  

Fire, tracing over his flesh, in his lungs, his mouth.  

He was burning away to cinders and he just wanted it all to end...

*************************

The world came back to him through the sound of a desperate voice. 

“Derek!” 

It was far away.  Miles...  Years...  Lifetimes.

“Derek, please!” 

He could follow it, but if he did, he knew what was waiting for him.  The Fire. The ghost that had haunted him since his home had been made into a blackened husk.  It was poised, ready to claim him and consume him to nothing.  Ashes to blow away.

“God Derek, don’t you do this to me!  Come on!”

The pain was waiting for him.  It would hurt so badly.  He knew it.  Here, in the dark, he was safe.  Well, as safe as he could be.  If he stayed here, he’d end up like Peter, locked away... far away...  But... he’d be safe.

“Derek, you come back to me!  I need you!”

Need?

Need.

He was needed.  

************************

Air.  He sucked it in desperately.  Felt it like a million pieces of glass cutting its way down his throat and into his lungs, filling them, bringing soot and smoke with it.  His body rejected the poisoned breath, sending it back up with violent hacking coughs that rattled his body, waking up his limbs with jolts and jerks.  There was too much of everything - a world in revolt.  The sound was too loud, the light was too bright and always the smell of smoke that had plagued his nightmares.  His skin was on fire, the twisting agony of it making him want to crawl out of his flesh and hide away in the darkness again.  

Why did they need him?  Everything hurt!  Everything was torment!  Why did they want him here?

He wept...  

“Derek... I’m here...”

*************************

Awareness came again and his lungs expanded more easily than before, taking in the air and releasing it with ease.  There was a distant memory of burnt flesh on his skin, but it was growing further away as his body healed.  His face still felt tight and pulled, as did many places on his body, but there was also the cool night air, soothing him.  A hand touched his cheek and his eyes startled open, “Shhh... Easy Derek... It’s just me.”  His vision was blurry at first, but it came into focus slowly, forming familiar shapes that came together to form a picture.

“St--“ his throat closed up suddenly and he coughed.  The edge of pain ached in his chest.

“Easy...  Easy... Yeah... It’s me.” His features had been pinched and tight, but now relaxed, his lips pulling up a bit. “Scared the hell out of me...” His hand stroked Derek’s face, brushed back some sweat dampened hair.

Confused, Derek looked around.  The night sky spread overhead, a blanket of blue-black pierced with pinpoints of light.  He was laying on the ground.  

“Dad and I pulled you out of the fire,” Stiles answered the unspoken questions that had been playing in Derek’s eyes, “Dragged your heavy ass as far as I could from the distillery.”  The young man’s face was sweaty and dirty, his clothes sooted.

“Fire--” he croaked.

“Right now, Beacon Hills’ finest are handling that.” He lifted his hand to show his cell phone, “I’ve been keeping Dad up to date on things.”

Derek closed his eyes and nodded, acknowledging that he had heard the young man.  “The chains...?”

“Uh... I saw some, but... Were you in them?”

The werewolf’s brows furrowed as he gazed up at Stiles, “Yes.”

“Dude,” he shrugged and shook his head, “I...” he made a face, “I think... your hands were broken... You must have... uh, done that to get out of them.  Did... you not notice you broke them? I thought it was just... I didn’t know.”

He shook his head in answer.  The whole thing was a blur of noise screaming in his head.  Too loud... Too loud...  His heart rate started to speed up and his chest constricted, cutting off the precious air from his lungs.

“Hey, hey...” Stiles sat up straighter, “No, no, no... Don’t do that.  You’re fine now.  Don’t think about it.” His eyes widened, “Breath in through your nose with me... 1...  2...  Breathe out through your mouth... 1...  2... Match your breath with mine... Breathe in...  1...  2...  Breathe out... 1... 2...  Now Breath in... 1... 2... 3... 4...  And out... 1... 2... 3... 4...”

Derek did as he was told, focusing on the young man’s face, the pale skin and beauty marks, the upturned nose and the brown eyes with their unkept arch of brows over them.  They were familiar and safe.  Safe was what he wanted.  What he needed.  He was safe with Stiles...  Always safe with him...

It didn’t take long for him to breathe on his own, but he felt shaky.  Carefully, he slid his arms back and pushed himself up onto his elbows so he was no longer laying down.  He dragged his eyes down along his body, noticing he was naked with a jacket over his lap.  The skin he could see was an angry red, some few areas still transforming from the warped state of burnt flesh to the more normal smooth surface as it healed.  

“What happened?  Who did this to you?  Was it Hunters?”

“Gerard...” speaking was easier now.  It didn’t feel like a knife was shoved in his throat every time he tried to say something.

“What?” Stiles gawped, “Are you serious?”

He nodded tiredly.

“Shit.” The young man got up and started pacing, “He locked you up in there!?” 

Instead of answering, Derek simply watched the other run his hands through his hair - already a mess - before jumping to his feet.  “He was going to... God Derek!” Whatever else Stiles meant to say was lost in some random rambling where every other word was a curse.  Finally he stopped and pulled out his phone, “I’ve gotta call Scott--”

“No!” Derek shouted and Stiles stopped opening his contacts to stare at him in confusion, “Don’t... Gerard... wants to...  to kill him.” He swallowed hard, sitting up and panting through the words, “Scott’s safer... in Fresno.” The last thing he wanted was for Scott to be put in danger... As an Alpha, Scott had proven himself time and time again... and he was good person.  An actual good person.  

For a moment, he thought Stiles was going to agree with him, the young man looking off in the distance where the distillery was releasing huge black clouds of smoke, but then he said, “No, I’ve... I’ve gotta tell him.”

“Stiles!”

“No, Derek, listen,” he strode over and knelt next to him, “If Gerard is after Scott, we already know he isn’t above threatening the people Scott loves.  If Scott doesn’t come here, then Gerard’ll just grab Melissa, or maybe he’ll go to Fresno.  I call him and warn him, then he comes in prepared and ready.  We can get Melissa to safety and do something rather than waiting for Gerard to do something worse than what he’s already done.”

It made sense, he had to admit it.  So he just nodded and listened as Stiles began making his calls.  He barely registered the conversation with Scott... then Liam and Melissa.  The last person was his Dad.  

Derek was exhausted.  It was pulling at him with tiny hooks, but the fear was pumping his blood too quickly through his veins, making it almost impossible to think of any sleep.  Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and then lifted shaky hands to cover his face.  He knew he was keeping everything at bay and it was all waiting to pounce on him and drag him down.  

Time still made no impact on him, so he had no idea how long he sat like that, till someone touched his shoulder, making him jump and drop his hands to see Stiles’ worried face.

“If you can stand, Dad is going to meet us down the road.”

Derek wearily nodded and pushed himself up to his feet, feeling his body sway.  Stiles was there, putting steadying hands on his shoulder to keep him upright and tying the jacket around his waist for modesty’s sake.  When he felt he could manage it, Derek took a step, Stiles staying beside him.  Everything ached - muscles, joints, even his skin, but he muddled through it, walking carefully where he was gently directed.  His limbs were trembly and unsure - like they weren’t really attached to his body.  

When the road came into view, Stiles jogged ahead to wave down his Father’s cruiser.  After parking the cruiser, Sheriff Stilinski headed to the trunk and pulled out a blanket which he carefully set over the werewolf’s shoulders, “There you go son...  Stiles, go open the back door for him.” The young man obliged, then stepped back so his Father could help Derek get in.  Once they’d settled him in the car, the Sheriff gestured for Stiles to sit in the passenger’s side and then got behind the wheel to drive off.

“Where are we going?” Derek asked softly, gazing at the Stilinski men in the front seat through the grating. 

The Sheriff answered, “We’re taking you home.  To our house.  I have some clothes that might work for you.  Once I drop you off, I’ll have to head out again because of the fire...  Now Stiles said it was Gerard that did this?”

Derek nodded, then realized the man might not see it, “Yes...” it was hard to lift his eyes, so he just stared at his lap where his hands were sitting limply.  Everything smelled like smoke...

“Damn it...” he growled, “Stiles, call Argent.  He needs to get his ass back here A.S.A.P.  I don’t care where he is or what he’s doing.  You tell him that!” The Sheriff was definitely furious from the tone of his voice, “Argent said Gerard was dead!  If I find out that he had any idea his psychopath of a father was alive, I will personally shoot out both his kneecaps.”

Stiles hit the number, but Derek could hear it go to voice mail.  The teenager sighed then left a message, “Hey Chris... it’s Stiles.  Yeah, so...  Your Dad is here.  All alive and not dead.  Let me make that more clear.  Gerard is alive, in Beacon Hills and wants to kill Scott.”

“He’s a werewolf,” Derek muttered.

“Wait... what?” He could feel Stiles eyes on him. 

“He’s a werewolf,” he repeated louder, “Wants t’be an Alpha...”

“Oh crap.  And he’s a werewolf!  Oh god.  If he kills Scott he’ll be a crazy Alpha werewolf and my best friend will be dead!  I swear to god Chris, if you don’t call me back soon, I’m going to hunt you down and... No, my Dad will hunt you down and freaking... Shoot your kneecaps!  I don’t know... Just get here!  Call!”  He flicked his phone off and dropped it aggressively onto the seat beside him.  “Are you serious?  A werewolf?”

“It’s how he survived the cancer...  The Bite took...”

This time the Sheriff huffed, “Great.  Just what we need.  Gerard with werewolf powers.  All right... here’s what we’re doing...”

Whatever else was said, Derek didn’t hear it.

*************************

The next thing he knew, someone was shaking his shoulder gently, calling his name, “Derek, son, we’re here.” Derek opened his eyes, not even realizing he’d been out.  Blinking blearily, he woke himself up more, his body more achy than before he got in the cruiser.  He braced his hands on the door frame to pull himself out, suppressing the groan that grew from the soles of his feet.  “There ya go,” the Sheriff encouraged, “Take your time.  Stiles is already in the house getting some clothes for you.”

“I’m... I’ll be fine.” Derek said softly, even if his body felt jittery. 

“I know,” he nodded, walking abreast of the werewolf, “But just humor an old man here.”

The werewolf’s lip twitched and he said nothing more, choosing instead to focus on walking up the steps and into the Stilinski house.  

Stiles was just running down the stairs, passing the last few with a jump, folded clothes in his arms.  “I found some sweats Dad.”  He extended them towards Derek, voice softening as he said, “You can change in there,” he tilted his head in the direction of the bathroom.  

Derek nodded his head, not wanting to gaze into the sympathetic brown eyes that were staring back at him, like Stiles was trying to diagnose him cell by cell.  It made everything harder to push aside and forget.  Of everyone, Stiles knew the most about him - Dark secrets of his past that he wished no one knew about and had hoped no one would ever learn.  When Stiles looked at him the way he was now, Derek felt too bare and exposed.  Instinct made his shoulders curl up and hunch, like he could hide somehow from the weight of the gaze.  Sensing the discomfort he was causing, the young man broke his eyes away and turned towards his Dad, “So... you’re heading back out now?”

The Sheriff nodded, “They’ll need me there to deal with the aftermath of the fire... the investigation.  I could probably spin this as a bunch of kids messing around and it getting out of hand.  It’s a pretty well known hangout for teenagers...  Lots of empty beer bottles and cans to keep that story solid.” He frowned, “But I’m more concerned about Gerard running around...”

Derek shuffled down the hall, letting the voices wash over him.  He flicked on the bathroom switch and full body flinched against the bright lights, his heart stuttering in flashes of fire.  The lack of heat and pain made him ease, the memory shuffling back into his brain.  There was no fire.  It was just the overhead light in the bathroom.  He was safe.  

He could still hear the Stilinskis talking through the door he closed behind him.

“Melissa is still on duty at the hospital, but I already sent Parrish over there to keep an eye on her.”

“Yeah... That should be fine,” Stiles said.

“What about the others?”

“Scott texted.  He’s on the road with Kira, and he’ll get here as soon as he can.” Stiles huffed out a frustrated sigh, “Liam is heading to the hospital to his dad, but has his phone close in case anything happens.  I don’t know if Gerard is aware of him, but who knows.  Lydia’s flight doesn’t leave Boston till tomorrow and with the winter storms on the east coast, she won't be able to get anything earlier... But I feel better knowing she’s no where near here right now.  And Danny isn’t scheduled to leave till Tuesday.  I haven’t told him anything about Gerard yet.  No point till it’s necessary.”

“Any word back from Chris?”

“Nothing yet...”

“Damn it...” The Sheriff swore, “He’s the one person we need to be in this right now.  It’s his damn father...  And if Gerard lays another hand on you--”

“Dad, I’ll be fine.  You need to get going.”

“All right... Just, lock up behind me.  You hear anything... Anything--”

“I know, I’ll call you.  Now go.  Beacon Hills needs you.” 

Derek stood in the bathroom, listening as the front door opened then closed, followed by the clicking of locks.  Stiles’ footsteps passed down the hallway, pausing at the bathroom door, then moved on.  It was clear that the younger Stilinski was locking up the rest of the house... windows and the doors, then he headed back up the stairs... Derek tracked him by sound to his bedroom.  Dresser drawers creaked open and slammed closed so the werewolf guessed Stiles was changing his clothes.  

After letting the blanket fall, he untied the jacket from his waist and folded it, guessing his clothes had burned away in the fire.  The mirror over the sink teased and taunted him, but he didn’t give into the urge to see what he looked like.  After Paige’s death, he took no enjoyment in seeing his reflection, because all he could see was the guilt of his own actions staring back at him.  It only got worse as the years passed and his mistakes piled up like leaves in the fall.  

Besides he couldn’t imagine that he was worth seeing at the moment.

Washing his face and hands, he let the cool water run off, watching the dirty remains swirl in the sink.  When he thought he was clean enough he shut the faucet off and sighed.

The clothes Stiles gave him were a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt.  They were soft, well worn, and comfortable - just what he needed.  Derek decided to leave his feet bare instead of using the socks he was given.  There was something about feeling the cool tile under his soles that made him feel more... grounded.  After gathering the folded blanket, his hand grasped the door knob to leave the bathroom.  He abruptly gasped for air, his chest feeling like steel bars were clasped around him, preventing him from inhaling enough to breathe.  With a jerk, he released the doorknob, his hand shaking and his vision dimming.

“Hey Derek... I’m going to make some coffee,” Stiles called,  “If you want any, let me know.  Or tea... whatever.  Or maybe you want something cold, not hot.  Crap... You know what I mean...”

His chest eased, the air returning and the shaking fading to something more manageable.  He was safe with Stiles.  

Derek took a deep breath, then another, and exited the confines of the bathroom.  He set the blanket on the bottom steps, then followed the sound of Stiles’ heartbeat towards the kitchen.  The young man was just clicking on the coffee machine, before he reached to the overhead cabinet to get some mugs.  He saw Derek and managed a small smile, “Well, they fit okay...  I figured they’d be loose enough to work.” Lifting the mugs slightly he asked, “So... did you want anything?”

“Tea is fine.” 

“Right,” Stiles nodded, setting the mugs on the counter.  Reaching back up into the cabinet he pulled down some different colored boxes, “Um... I’ve got English Breakfast, Earl Grey, some weird herbal stuff I got when I was uh... having trouble sleeping,” he glanced up at Derek self consciously.  There was no point in specifying the time he was referring to.  “And this uh rooibos stuff?  I think its decaf.”

“The English Breakfast is fine.”

Derek remained in the doorway while Stiles got the tea kettle on the stove and turned the burner on.  While Stiles chose a teabag to drop into one of the mugs he asked, “Milk or sugar in that?  Both?”

“Plain is fine.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and set his hands on his hips, “Tea is fine... English Breakfast is fine... plain is fine... Everything is fine... Derek... Come on,” his voice was soft though, not accusing or angry... more like a gentle nudge to encourage conversation.

Only that’s really the last thing Derek wanted to do.  

“Derek... are you okay?”

“I’m...” he stalled - The words I’m fine dying on his tongue, burning away in tiny embers.  His jaw clenched as he swallowed hard, trying to figure out what he wanted to say... how he could say it.  “I’ll be... okay.”  

And then those eyes were on him, the color of honey whiskey and opening him up so that there was nothing to hide and nothing to hide behind.  It was too much.  Stepping back from the kitchen entryway, Derek retreated into the living room.  He sat down on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees and clasping his hands between them.   

Derek had been through so many different hells... different tortures... different pains... and out the other side.  He’d come to a realization after speaking with his Mother’s spirit that he had survived everything for a reason.  He was alive for a reason.  Even if he never saw it and didn’t understand it.  He had eventually found a peace within himself...  It was part of a lot of changes he’d gone through in that time...  a lot of lessons.  It had led to his evolving and he thought it had washed away so much of the past that clung to him.

But it didn’t matter now.  Because in the back of his head was the screaming and the smoke and the burning...  His hands were jittery again.

“Hey Derek...”

He lifted his head to see Stiles standing next to him in front of the couch, holding out a mug, his expression soft.  Derek reached up and accepted it, quickly getting his fingers around the handle.  Stiles sat down next to him, but kept a good distance between them.  He noted that the youth had his own mug, holding it by the handle and resting it on his knee, the scent of coffee wafting from it.  The silence passed between them, marked by the ticking of the second hand of the clock on the wall till finally Stiles blurted, “I’m sorry.” The coffee in his cup sloshed dangerously close to the edge.  The way that he puffed out his cheeks, like he was holding his breath made Derek think that there was a lot more that Stiles actually wanted to say, but was holding it all back.

Derek was sure there was plenty Stiles could say.  If there was one thing the other was not shy of, it was words, but he was clearly holding back in deference to him.  “How did your tests go?” he asked.

This obviously wasn’t what Stiles was expected as he let out a noisy puff of air which transformed into a humorless chuckle, “I’m pretty sure I aced ‘em.”

“That’s good.”

Stiles glanced over at him, then smirked, “Yeah well... it’s amazing how much studying you get done when you aren’t running around in the middle of the night after werewolves.”

Huffing softly, Derek nodded, letting the silence flow back in between them, the quiet less stressful than it was previously.  

*************************

His senses felt wide open, hyper aware of the house, every creak and moan, each tap of the pipes - the night noises outside, cars passing on the street, the trees swaying in the breeze, branches scratching against the siding.  It was why he was able to pick out the sounds that didn’t fit in all of that - Footsteps crunching leaves, the clicks of weapons unlocking, leather stretching.

“Stiles.” 

“Hmm?”

“Call your Dad.  Now.”

“What?” Confused as Stiles was, he leaned forward and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Hunters.” Derek sat up, setting his untouched cup of tea on the coffee table. 

“Crap,” his fingers fumbled on the screen as he got up.

That’s when the window broke, something flying through to bounce along the floor onto the living room, smoke trailing out of it.  Recognizing it immediately, the werewolf was up, “Stiles, move!” he shoved the boy ahead.

Limbs flailing, Stiles scrambled to do what he was told, heading towards the front door.  Purple smoke exploded out of the bomb, quickly filling the living room behind them.

Stiles reached the front door and swung it open, only to be stopped by the tall figure of a man holding a gun aimed right at him.  With a yelp, Stiles jumped back, arms flying up instinctually as his body gave off a flair of fear.  Derek didn’t stop, shifting to his beta form as he tackled the man through the door and down the porch steps.  They tumbled along the grass for a bit, but the werewolf used the momentum to toss the Hunter into a tree, knocking him out.  More men came out of the night shadows and Derek had to keep moving, rolling to his feet and running, while gunfire followed each step to send small explosions of dirt behind his bare feet.

He managed to get into a shadowy patch, making it impossible to be seen and giving him space to circle around to take down another Hunter with a punch to the throat and then slamming him on the back of the head to knock him out.  After taking down two more, he noticed the light on the porch was blocked.  He glanced up to see a Hunter standing on the porch, searching the lawn and the surrounding trees for him.  The man didn’t notice Stiles stepping out of the house and swinging his baseball bat into his unprotected head.  The Hunter fell senseless to the porch floor, except now Stiles was in clear view and a perfect target.

“Get down!” Derek yelled, spotting a Hunter taking aim with a rifle at Stiles.  He ran and knocked the weapon off target.  The bullet blasted the porch post near Stiles’ head, sending wooden splinters and pieces flying and the young man threw himself backwards to the floor.  Derek backed off a step then grabbed the Hunter by the jacket he was wearing to ram him into a tree then punch him out.  There was no time to wait - he had to keep moving or they’d take him down - or worse, Stiles.

“Stiles go!  Get out of here!” he shouted, running to take down another Hunter.  This one tried to slam him with a baton, the electricity charging the air, but Derek was ready for it.  He blocked using his forearm, knocking aside the man’s wrist before punching him, feeling the nose break under his knuckles.  Then he turned the weapon on the Hunter, sending his body shuddering to the ground.

In the shadows, he heard the bullets tearing into the trees, the ground at his feet, but he was too fast for human reflexes with the shadows making him hard to pin down.  Derek could only hope that Stiles would be smart enough to get in his jeep and drive the hell away.  He ran towards the back of the house, trying to draw the Hunters with him and away from the younger man.  It was all he could do in the moment.  

Just as he rounded the edge of the house to the backyard, something slammed into him, sending him flying.  Twisting his body, Derek landed in a crouch, growling and eyes flashing as they darted to spot what hit him.  

He was met with a growl in return and the hunched form of Gerard in his own beta form, blue eyes flaring and teeth bared, “Not the only wolf in the woods tonight Derek!” he grinned before going in for another attack.  

Derek ducked out of the way of the other’s swipe at him and slashed his claws across Gerard’s chest, then he elbowed the old man in the face.  While Argent was a werewolf, he wasn’t young and not as used to his abilities - Derek had been a werewolf all his life and was well versed in fighting as one now.  Both clawed hands dug into Gerard’s chest to lift him up before slamming him down into the ground, forcing blood to cough up out of the old man’s mouth. 

Gerard started laughing, blood staining his sharp teeth, “You forgot... I’m not alone.”

Eyes widening, the werewolf remembered the other Hunters.  He had a second to rise to his feet before the burning sharp pain of a bullet tearing through his leg sent him crashing to the grass.  Groaning, he clutched his thigh, but there was no time to waste.  Derek scrambled to his feet, to keep moving and another bullet pierced his left shoulder before a third shot through his calf.  His body wasn’t healing fast enough and he collapsed to the ground.  Breathing through the burning in his muscles, he started clawing his way across the grass to find a way to escape the Hunters and Gerard who was now getting up and laughing.  Get up and run.  Get up!  Reaching a tree, he used it to get to his feet, but a bullet tore through his gut, sending him tumbling down again.

“You must be a cat, Derek!” Argent chuckled, brushing off his clothes after he got his feet under him.  

Derek wasn’t interested in the bastard’s monologue, but two Hunters were now stepping from the trees, guns in hand.  He growled, pissed off that they’d managed to get the best of him... again... but he was relieved that Stiles had gotten away... He took comfort in that as the pain ate at him like acid.  He’d managed to keep Stiles safe... and that was something he could hold on to.

He pushed himself so he was on his back, huffing through the agony of his wounds and staring at the sky till Gerard was leaning over him, features human again.  Using a white handkerchief, he wiped the blood from his mouth, “My intention was to take care of the Sheriff, but imagine my surprise when I found you, alive and well!” his eyes trailed to the bleeding bullet holes, “Mostly well, I suppose.”

Blood was seeping out of him, Derek could feel it warm on his skin, “Your plan...” he panted, “Won’t work...  Scott...  Scott knows you’re here...” He felt some distant regret that the Sheriff’s clothes were stained.

“Doesn’t matter.  Even if I have to go through those he loves.  Maybe that little beta of his...  Liam is it?” he pulled his shirt away from his body, looking at the blood there and frowning a bit before sighing, “Pull him up.  Stevens, get the gasoline.  We’re not letting this go on chance again.”

The Hunter yanked Derek up by his left arm, making him gasp out, then held him so he was on his knees.  The other one brought over a gas canister.  The stink of gasoline flooded his nose as he was splashed with the foul smelling liquid.  Familiar terror crawled up his body.  “Just shoot me! Kill me!” Panic laced his voice. “Why this?”

“Why?” the old man sneered, “Because you destroyed my family!  It was because of you and your family that Victoria and Chris came back here.  And from the moment they stepped over the county line, they signed their death certificates... Victoria, my daughter, my granddaughter!” He leaned in, “You should have died with your family Derek and for all your sins, you’ll burn the way you were intended to!”

After setting down the gasoline tank, the Hunter pulled out a match book.  There was little Derek could do to stop it.  But Stiles got away...  He gave a weak smile of relief, his head hanging weakly.

“Stop!” the familiar voice made him inwardly groan and turn to see the one person he didn’t want to.

Gerard slowly turned his head, a sick smile spreading across his face, “Mister Stilinski!  What a pleasure!”

Stiles was standing by the house, his arms raised up before him and a gun clutched in his hands.  His face was a mask of determination, “Step away from him Gerard, you crazy fuck,” he ordered through clenched teeth.

“Stiles... Run!” Why didn’t he get away while he could?

“Now now, we don’t want him running away,” Gerard purred. “History is repeating itself Mister Stilinski.  Here you are, trying to save your werewolf friend, threatening me...  Didn’t work too well for you the last time.”

“Except this time I have a gun,” Stiles pointed out, tilting his head slightly while he flicked the gun up before re-aiming it at Argent, “So I think I have the advantage.” His eyes flicked to the Hunters, “You two dipshits... Let him go.  Now.  Unless you want to see me aerate your boss here.”

Gerard smiled indulgently and nodded to his men, “Go ahead.  Let him go,” The Hunters did so and stepped back from Derek, who now swayed on his knees before he caught himself on his good arm wincing.

“Get out of here... Stiles...” he pleaded, knowing this couldn’t end well.  Gerard was too pleased.

“Not gonna happen Derek!” the young man replanted his feet to steady himself.  

“Oh, don’t be afraid Derek,” Gerard chuckled, “This boy isn’t going to shoot anyone.  He’s no killer.  All he’s good for, all he’s ever been good for... is bait.” The old man shrugged his shoulders, “The little boy who tries to act so smart and brave.  Didn’t Derek tell you?  I’m not human anymore...”

“Yeah, he told me,” his voice sounding bored. “Wolf’s Bane bullets baby,” he smirked.

“Very clever...” Argent smiled and turned fully towards Stiles, “You know my dear boy, you’d be amazed at how different it is on this side.  How much better my senses are.  My sense of smell alone,” he tapped the side of his nose, “Why, that alone is worth the price of admission.  And do you know what I can smell right now?”

“The stench of your own self importance?” Stiles asked drolly.

“No...  I can smell the fetid stink of your own fear.”

The young man swallowed hard.

“That’s right Mister Stilinski, for all your bluster, you are rank with your own terror.  You’re nothing but a scared little boy, holding daddy’s gun and pretending to be a man!” he spat in disgust, “Trying to prove you can run with the wolves...  Do you want to know what it really takes to kill a man?”

“A desire to shut them the hell up?”

“It takes will,” Gerard sneered, “Let me show you what that is.” From under his jacket, behind his back, he pulled a gun out of a hidden holster and with his supernatural reflexes, shot the two Hunters in quick succession.  Derek flung his arm up over his head as the men fell on either side of him.  He saw Stiles staggering back, eyes wide and mouth open in shock then slowly, the young man turned his stunned gaze back at Gerard, who now had the gun aimed at Derek. “That, Mister Stilinski, is will.  That is conviction.  Something you don’t have.”  He paused, “Do you know what I have in this gun?  Aconite laced bullets.  I’ll hit his heart.  I won’t miss.  And he’ll die painfully.  Maybe the spark will ignite the gasoline...  Shall we find out?  Shall we have another example of conviction?”

Stiles shook his head, lifting the gun up again to aim it at the old man, but Derek could see quaking in his arms. “Run... Go Stiles!” Derek cried, not wanting Stiles to see this happening - to witness his death.  

Gerard’s pitiless gaze was directed towards Derek, “Watch him burn Mister Stilinski!”

“NO!” Stiles shouted and the world exploded with the sound of a gunshot.

A bullet impacted into Gerard’s skull, sending his body into a stuttering halt, his fingers clenching to fire his gun.  The shot went wide, narrowly missing Derek.  

Slowly, the old man’s feet staggered back, signals still trying to travel back and forth through his limbs, till his legs gave out and he flopped to the ground.  

Derek stared at Gerard, his eyes wide and mouth open, almost mirroring the surprised expression on the dead man’s face.  The silence swooped in, like water filling a tank, leaving the werewolf near breathless.  

“F-f-fuck you Gerard,” Stiles’ voice was quivering and when Derek managed to pull his eyes from Argent’s body he could see the young man’s shaking hands, rattling the gun he was barely holding on to now.  Stiles was struggling to breathe, his heart rate accelerating.  His arms dropped, the pistol tangling in his trembling fingers before tumbling to his feet. The brown eyes near rolled up in his head as he stumbled backwards, mouth gasping for air that wasn’t getting through to his lungs.  

Stiles collapsed to the ground into a sitting position, his breath hitching higher and higher.  Derek dragged himself over by his arms, trying to get to the young man who was pale and shaking.

“Stiles!” the werewolf shouted, “Come on... Breathe... Remember?  I’m here with you.  Follow my breath, right?  1... 2... 3... 4... Breathe in.  1... 2... 3... 4... Breathe out...” Derek repeated it till he could tell Stiles had caught on, eyes trying to focus on the older man through it, and slowly, painstakingly tried to breathe with him.  The younger man’s hands clutched weakly at Derek, like he was trying to hold on to something, anything, solid.  Tears trailed down Stiles’ cheeks and his limbs were still trembling, but he followed the breathing pattern till he was finally breathing on his own - coming out the other side of the panic attack.  

Derek felt a wave of relief, “You okay?” he stroked Stiles’ hair.

The young man nodded, muttering, “E-e-everything smells li-like gasoline...”

It was a vile smell, but considering his clothes were soaked in the stuff, he couldn’t do anything about it, “Sorry...” His eyes trailed over the pale features, feeling the weight of Stiles in his arms, alive and breathing.

Brown eyes met Derek’s, “D-did he hit you?”

Derek shook his head.

“You were shot... You’re bleeding...”

“Regular bullets...” The Hunters hadn’t expected Derek to be there in the first place, “They hurt, but I’m healing.  I’ll live.” It actually hurt like hell, but he wasn’t going to say anything about it just then.

Stiles nodded as he sat up, his eyes falling upon the body of Gerard.  He gave a full body shudder, “Oh god... I-I-I killed him.” Derek could hear the anxious breathing starting, “Oh god... I-I-I k-k-killed him.” Tears fell from his eyes, his hands jittering again, “What... My Dad... I...”

“Stiles--”

“STILES!” The Sheriff’s voice barked from the house.

“Oh god...”

“STILES!”

“We’re he-re!” Stiles’ voice broke and he tried again, “Here Dad!

A second later, the Sheriff was out the back door, eyes wide, looking for his son.  As soon as he spotted them on the lawn, he was at his side, “Stiles, Christ, are you okay?” He pulled his son into his arms, hugging him close.  In return, Stiles clung to his father, clutching the man’s shirt desperately.  “God kiddo... there was a report of gunfire... and I saw those men and the window and I thought...” Stilinski shook his head and simply held to his son.  He pulled back suddenly, “Are you hurt?  Did they hurt you?” his pale eyes darted over Stiles’ face and body, searching for injury.

“N-no Dad...”

The Sheriff nodded in relief, cupping Stiles cheek for a moment, obviously in gratitude before he spotted Gerard’s body.  His eyes widened, “What happened?”

“I-I-I,” Stiles voice was unsteady, “He...  uh... I didn’t...

Derek snatched up the pistol from the ground, wrapping his fingers around it, “I shot him.”

Chapter Text

2 Years and 10 Months Later 

The cold case about the boy in the woods was haunting the back Derek’s mind.  Mostly, it was the jarred memory of Peter and the man’s expression as he sat at the kitchen table.  It replayed over and over in his mind, but there was never anymore to come of it.

When he wasn’t working on the loft or helping at the station, he was sitting at his desk, hunched over his laptop, searching for any reports or articles about the John Doe teenager.  Unfortunately, there really wasn’t much.  It had been in 1999 and the internet had been a different animal back then, so it was a rather fruitless search.  The newspaper articles at the library were just as helpful - all vague and bone thin because John Doe was unidentified and the little girl whose arm was broken, was a minor.  The police report he’d already read at the station had more information.

What bothered Derek from the file was that the teen’s reported behavior reminded him very much of a Feral Sentinel, but he had no way to prove his theory.  The S.I. hadn’t existed in 1999 and with no name for the boy, there was no way to track him anyway.

Whenever he wasn’t thinking about the case of John Doe, he was on phone yelling about getting the wrong item, or trying to get plumbing to work correctly, and dealing with suppliers who apparently thought that ‘the upcoming holiday season’ was a legitimate reason to not have the things he needed for his projects.  

“Look, weather makes it hard for trucks to bring supplies through,” the man on the other end of the phone drawled.

“I’ve kept note of the weather, there’s no reason for it to be late.  Now, I’ve paid for the tiles and I expect them to arrive on time, or I will come down there and speak to you personally... And you Do.  Not.  Want.  That!” he growled.

“Uh... okay... um, checking right now and... Hey!  It looks like they’ll be here tomorrow.  Right on time.” 

“Good.”

“Geez man, get some Christmas spirit... or some anger therapy.”

“It’s not Christmas and I don’t need a therapist.  I just need my damn tiles!” he ended the call and huffed out his frustration.  

Then he paused and frowned.  He didn’t need a therapist... he needed an Emissary.  

Instead of calling, Derek took his chances and went to the Animal Clinic.  There were a few people in the waiting room and their startled expressions at his abrupt entrance changed to annoyance when he ignored them to walk into the back.  It was easy to find Deaton in an examination room where the vet was standing at the metal table with a large cat on it who began hissing at the werewolf.  

Furrowing his brow at the cat’s changed mood, Deaton looked up to see Derek.  His brows rose, “Derek?” His eyes darted towards the door, probably wondering if the Sheriff, Jordan or maybe Scott was with him.  

“It’s just me,” Derek said, “I need to ask you some questions.”

“Well, I’m with a patient right now,” he jerked his head towards the cat that continued to hiss and spit.

“It won’t take long,” the younger man insisted, “I just need to know if you remember that teenager who had gone running through the Preserve years ago... In 1999?”

Sighing as he realized that Derek was not going to leave, the vet lifted the cat up and set him into the carrier that was on the counter.  After closing the door he said, “I vaguely recall some of the news stories.  A little girl got attacked?  Why do you ask?”

“What did Talia tell you about it?”

Now the man looked confused, making a slight face, “Why would she tell me about it?”

Derek’s mouth pulled back before he rolled his eyes, “Because you were her Emissary.  She would tell you about something strange that she had to deal with, right?  She’d consult with you.  Or at least mention it, wouldn’t she?”

“Yes, but...” Deaton held his hands out a little helplessly, “There was no reason for her to.  It wasn’t anything supernatural as far as I know.  And if it was, she never talked to me about it.”

He could hear no lie.  No change in the man’s heartbeat or see any signs of trying to cause deceit.  “So you don’t know anything about it...”

The vet shook his head slightly, “Just... what I heard on the news, like everyone else.” His head tilted, “Why the sudden interest now?”

Derek didn’t feel like explaining it as questions began rolling through his head, “I’m helping the Sheriff with some cold cases, that’s all.  Thanks...” then he was out the door, passing by the people in the lobby and exiting the clinic.  Why wouldn’t his mother talk to Deaton about John Doe?  He clearly remembered her and the other adults going out to the forest to investigate, and Peter...  They had to have suspected there was something strange and it would have made sense to talk to the Emissary.  Closing the door to his car he settled in the drivers seat and glared at the wheel.  Maybe his memories were wrong?  

************************

One Month Later

“They broke up about last month,” Derek sighed into the phone, answering Chris’ question about how Scott and Kira were.

“What?” 

He could understand the reaction.  He’d felt just as surprised by it when Melissa told him.  “Apparently she and Scott have been fighting a lot since he started school again this year.  I don’t know the details, but Kira moved to New York and is staying with her parents.”  It was sort of heartbreaking really.  Scott and Kira had been so happy together - they were like an adorable pair of puppies.

“I’m really sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah...” Derek agreed, then asked, “So how’s Isaac doing?”

“Good...  He’s sold a few pieces so I can only assume he’s doing all right.  Though I admit I don’t understand all of his art.  He says it's all groundbreaking and meaningful so...” There was real warmth in Chris’ tone and Derek was glad that Argent had taken Isaac in, becoming a father figure to the young man.  

“I can hear you!” Isaac’s familiar voice called in the background.

Chris chuckled, breathing out the word, “Werewolves...” before saying louder, “Then stop listening in!  Don’t you have work or something?”

“Yeah!  Hi Derek!”

Derek huffed out a laugh, “Hi Isaac.”

“Derek says--” 

“I heard him!  See you later!” a door shut and Derek could only assume the young man had left.

“He sounds good.”

“He is...” and there was definite affection there.

It had taken Isaac a long time to recover from Allison’s death.  His life had been a series of losses and she had been the last straw for him in the end.  Chris, going through the same thing, was probably the best person to help - well, they helped each other.   

“So, I got your message...”

“I figured that’s why you were calling...” The situation had happened a few years before all the issues Gerard and his Hunters made with the local wolf packs had begun, but it didn’t mean the Argents hadn’t been in the area.  It wasn’t a complete stretch that there might have been some connections between Gerard and John Doe...  Considering how Gerard tended to be a long term planner.

“Personally, I don’t know anything about what happened.  I wasn’t aware of all of my father’s... politics at the time.  Allison was still a child and Victoria and I were only peripherally involved in Hunter business as we focused on her.”  There was a long pause and Derek didn’t push.  While he had no love-loss with Victoria, it was still Chris’ wife and he lost her, along with his daughter.  Losing your whole family was something, sadly, he and Argent shared...  Honestly, it was nothing Derek would wish on anyone.  

When Chris spoke again, it was after clearing his throat, “But I checked my father’s journals and I didn’t see anything that sounded like what happened with that boy.  I tried to ask around as best I could.  As you can guess, I’m not necessarily welcomed with open arms by Gerard’s old friends and allies.”

“I can imagine.”

“Those that are still alive and were willing to talk all said the same thing.  If they even knew about some crazed teenager running through Beacon Hills, none of them knew anything about the cause or what happened to the boy.  I could guess that they might be lying, but I don’t see a reason for it.  They were pretty open about killing anything, no matter what age, if they suspected it was something supernatural, innocent or not.”

After sighing, Derek leaned back against his couch, “I was afraid that might be the case”

“There are a limited number of people who would know anything and some of them--”

“Are gone now.” Like his mother.

“Have you thought of asking Deucalian?”

“Since he paid to have Peter and me rescued from the Calaveras, he’s been in the wind.” Chris gave a thoughtful grunt, but remained quiet, making Derek wonder what he was thinking.  “You have something to add?”

“Well... just that there is another person you could ask...”

*************************

The next day Derek felt ill as he stepped into the room, the door closing behind him.  The sound of the locks sliding into place made him shudder.  He hated being in this place with its antiseptic smells and scents of misery... of violence.  He had wanted to put this off, but that would only make it worse...  Eichen House held the only person alive who might have actually seen or knew something and he had to talk to them.

“It’s not my birthday or Christmas,” the voice was syrupy sweet, dripping poisoned honey.

Derek lifted his eyes up and squared his shoulders, “Hello Peter.”

On the other side of the room, separated from Derek by a thick glass wall, his Uncle sat on a metal framed bed, his back against the white wall.  Peter rolled his head towards his nephew, opening his eyes as a slow smile spread across his handsome face like oil on cement, “Well, it must be a very special occasion if you’re here to see me.  Tell me Derek, to what do I owe this honor?”

Clenching his jaw, Derek reminded himself of his reasons for being in the deep subterranean ‘supernatural creature jail’ of Eichen House.  He had to keep those in sight or he’d end up getting into a twisted game with his uncle he didn’t want to play.  “I just have a few questions.”

“Just a few?” Peter play-pouted, “Not a social visit then.”  He’d been in this prison since Mexico, when he tried to kill Scott to retake his Alpha status.  His mind might not have become more stable, but he’d retained his aptly named ‘devilish good looks’ as he aged and he knew it.  “Very well,” he sighed dramatically before gesturing for his nephew to speak, “Ask away...” he closed his eyes and folded his hands over his chest - listening.

“When I was... around twelve, there was a teenager that had been running through the woods, not far from the house actually.  He attacked a girl... broke her arm.  Do you remember that?”

Peter didn’t move, staying silent for a while till he answered, “I seem to recall something about it.  And...?”

Derek stepped further into the room, “Did my parents deal with him?”

“You mean, my sister and brother-in-law?” he asked, like it needed clarifying.

“Yes.”

“Hmmm,” he steepled his fingers on his chest, tapping his finger tips thoughtfully before gracefully getting to his feet, wearing his soft shirt and pants like they were fashionable,  “Yes, I do believe Talia went into the Preserve to investigate.”

“She thought it was a supernatural intruder.”

Peter hummed in agreement before turning away to stroll towards the neat pile of books that was against the back wall, “You know, I could really use some new reading material.  These paperbacks... I’ve been through them so many times they’re falling apart.”

“What did she find?  Did she come across him?”

He sighed, giving a shrug with a roll of his shoulders, “Yes.”

When no further information was forthcoming, Derek had to dig his fingers into his palm in a fist to keep from snarling.  Taking a deep breath he asked, “And what happened?”

“Oh... you know... nothing of note,” he waved it off, “Now about these books--”

“I remember you that night Peter.  You were sitting at the kitchen table looking like your world view had been shaken.”

Peter glanced over his shoulder, one brow lifting as he sneered, “You remember through the eyes of a child.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that something happened.”

“It wasn’t important.  But my book collection could use some refreshing.”

“Screw your books Peter!” Derek snarled, hating that he was getting annoyed but unable to help it.  Peter just brought the worst out of him, “You said, ‘Evolution never stops... And one day, you won’t be the predator anymore...’ Tell me what happened.”

Now his Uncle turned face stony, “You want to know what happened?  I’ll tell you...” Then he smiled, “If you promise to get me some new books.  Something more interesting than the played out bodice-rippers they give me here.  Something with a bit more meat on its bones...”

“Fine... I’ll get you books.”

“Good ones.”

“Yes, good ones.” 

“There,” he held his arms out, “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

“Peter...”

“Yes, I know... You want information.  This isn’t a social call.  You have questions.” He sighed and crossed his arms, “Yes, Talia went out into the woods... All the adults did.  We suspected that it was an Omega.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“No.  It was just a normal teenager.  Well... not normal,” he tilted his head slightly as his brow twerked up, “He was terrified when we surrounded him, barely coherent and confused.  He started rambling...”

“What did he say?”

“At first none of it made sense, but slowly we started to realize that he was picking up our thoughts... Whatever errant thought or feeling we had, he would tell us.  And the longer we stood around him, the more intimate things he revealed.” 

“A mind reader?”

“I suppose... but he was none of the species of mind reading creatures we knew of.  His scent was definitely human.  Nothing strange or supernatural to him.”

“Mind readers aren’t unheard of.”

“Please!” Peter snorted, “Those people on TV? You and I both know they’re fakes.  But this kid, he was blabbering nonstop, like he couldn’t help himself.  Your Father knocked him out and we found his wallet with some high school ID.  They managed to get him home somehow, I don’t know.  I was sent back to the house to wait for them to return.”

“But what happened to him?”

He shrugged, “I was told he was, ‘taken care of’,” he used quotation fingers, “That’s all.”

Derek thought it over for a bit, mulling over the information and how it connected with what he already knew and suspected.  He gazed up at Peter, “So what had you so spooked?”

“You were right when you said my world view was shaken... Do you know why?” Derek shook his head in answer, so Peter continued, “Because I saw the future that night.  It was proof that Humans could evolve.  And if they could evolve into something more powerful, how would we stand against them?  We’d lose our advantages.  I had recommended that we kill the boy and make it look like an animal attack, but Talia insisted we get him home where he would be safe and cared for.  She didn’t see the danger he presented.  She didn’t see that there would be a new world order.  And werewolves?  We wouldn’t be at the top of it...”

“What are you saying?”

“You said you had a few questions... I’ve answered more than a few,” he turned away.  

“Peter!”

“Remember when you get my books, make sure they’re paperbacks or they won’t let me have them...”

“I’m not done!”

Peter’s head tilted, “And no stories that are too violent.  They’ll worry if I get too stimulated.”

Derek suddenly growled, “Is that all that happened?”  

His uncle paused, then turned around slowly, his smirk curling his lip and his eyes twinkling with glee, “Why exactly are you so interested in all of this?  It happened years ago.”

“I suspect it has something to do with the Nemeton, but I don’t know how.”

“Ooooo... now that is an interesting subject.” He walked towards the glass wall, “Why does it matter now?”

“I’m doing research for a friend.”

“Li-ar...” he sang, “You should know better.”

Derek frowned, “I just want to know...”

“And I want to know why.”

“It’s important.”

“To you... not to me...”

“Peter...” he growled.

His uncle shrugged before he spun on his heel to walk back to his book pile.  After snatching one of the paperbacks up he said, “It’s been a lovely visit Derek.  I do hope you’ll come again.” Then crossed to his bed to sit down.  

“Peter--”

“Now I’m very tired...  And I have nothing more to say to you Derek.”

*************************

“...And we’ve gotten more patrols through the recovery ward, so I’m hoping that is helping keep the escapees from, well... escaping,” Samantha said with a sort of smile as she looked over the paperwork before her.  She, Derek, and the Sheriff were in his office, meeting for a Sentinel update. “I can only hope it’s worked since there haven’t been any recently.”

The Sheriff nodded before casting a glance up at Derek who was leaning against the wall and listening, “Well, the last situation was that Zoned-out Sentinel last month, so it looks like it,” his eyes traced over the paper in front of him.  Samantha hadn’t had a problem with Derek’s presence as she already knew he was a consultant for the sheriff’s department.  

After meeting with Peter, Derek had called the Sheriff to tell him some of what his Uncle had said.  Stilinski certainly had no love for the eldest living Hale, but what he said did open up some avenues to investigate.  First, they now knew John Doe was human - which both narrowed down and widened the scope of possible explanations for what happened.  Second, Derek felt he could cross off Feral Sentinel from his suspicions since they couldn’t read minds.  He still felt the Nemeton was involved, but perhaps, since it wasn’t a Sentinel... it was a Guide?  The Sheriff wasn’t sure if there were Feral Guides, but he did know they had someone they could at least ask... which led to Derek sitting in on the current meeting a week later.

Both men were still doubtful about Peter’s story because if there was one thing they knew, the man could twist the past when he retold it...  but it was a lead they didn’t have before.

She smiled and straightened up her papers, tapping them on the desk’s surface, “Well then, I guess that’s everything we had to cover?”

The man sighed and nodded, “I do have a few questions that I’m hoping you can answer.”

“Sure.” she leaned back in the chair and Derek perked up - this was, after all, the point of the meeting as far as he was concerned.

“Now,” the Sheriff set his elbows on his desk, “This is just out of curiosity...  I know you said Sentinels cannot read minds, but can Guides when they aren’t Bonded?”

Her gray eyes widened a bit, before taking a moment to check that the door was actually closed before her eyes fell on Derek, “I...” her voice faltered.

“You can trust him not to speak to anyone about this,” the Sheriff assured.

Derek nodded his head, his eyes meeting hers steadily.

The Guide frowned slightly before she sighed, “I’ve come to trust you,” she said to Stilinski, “But you have to understand that this is not something we like to discuss outside of the Sentinel Institute.” The young woman worried her bottom lip for a bit, obviously trying to decide what to say.  Derek could scent the nervousness and anxiousness coming off of her and he was becoming convinced that she was going to lie or just not answer, but then her gray eyes rose, “I don’t want to cause any panic so I’m trusting you will be discrete...  And I’m only telling you because I want to continue to have trust between us...” Samantha took a deep breath and continued, “There are Guides that can read minds... so to speak,” then she added quickly, “But only a very very very small number.  I believe on record there are only four and they all work inside the Sentinel Institute in Cascade.  They don’t work outside of it or in the public.”

“Those are the ones you know of though.”

She nodded, “The S.I. investigates all,” she lifted her hands up to make quotation fingers, “psychics, to make sure they are not Guides.  They take that very seriously.  Obviously if people knew that there were mind reading Guides running rampant, they’d be more paranoid and upset than they already are.”

“So, not all Guides are mind readers...”

“No... You know that there are three classes of Sentinels.”

“Omega, Beta and Alpha.” Derek answered, once again amused by the titles. 

“It’s the same with Guides.  Omega Guides can sense emotions to a certain degree, but it becomes a stronger ability to their Bonded Sentinel.” She placed a hand on her own chest, “I’m a Beta.  Betas, like me are more... attuned to emotions.  We aren’t mind readers by any stretch of the imagination, but sometimes I think people believe it.  On the other side of that, we are able to... influence other people’s emotions to a degree.”

“You control people’s emotions?” Derek suddenly felt exposed.

“No!” she shook her head, “No, not like you mean! It’s more that we... uh... influence...  Encourage.  If someone is really pissed off at me, I can’t make them suddenly be happy with me.  I can’t make someone love me.  The most I can do is gently push someone into the direction of the emotion they already really want.  With Feral Sentinels... they want to be calm and at ease.  It’s easy to push them towards that temporarily till we can get them to a safe place.”

“Okay...” Stilinski nodded, taking in the information, “I really wish I could say that was the weirdest or strangest thing I’ve ever heard or dealt with, but,” the Sheriff shrugged, “So... These mind readers are Alphas?”

“Like I said, there are only four at the Institute.  Most Guides are Omegas.”

“Is it possible for a Guide to become Feral, the way Sentinels do?”

The young woman frowned, “I... haven’t heard of it happening before.” She shrugged, her eyes dropping to the desk, “While it is very difficult for Guides, mostly Betas, when they come online,” her fingers fiddled with the sleeve of her jacket, “They don’t get overwhelmed the way Sentinels do,” Samantha lifted her head up, “I’ve never heard of a Feral Guide ever existing.”

The meeting had been on Monday and it was on Thursday that the three of them were together again, only this time in the parking lot of the station, away from everyone else.  Derek had dirt smudged over his clothes and the Sheriff was livid.  

“I don’t know what to tell you Sheriff...” Samantha said helplessly, “honestly!  I only know that the Recovery Center’s front desk receives a call that a Feral Sentinel has been taken in to custody by the Sheriff’s department and an RC unit needs to be dispatched immediately.” Her gray eyes darted between the two men, “Before, Mr. Ecks would be immediately notified and the call would be forwarded to him.  Now that I’m serving as the liaison, I get notified of the call.  Though Mr. Ecks still gets forwarded the call as per our agreement when I took the position.” She worried her lip before shrugging, “Is... there something wrong?  This isn’t the first time you’ve asked me about this.”

Derek had spent the morning scouting through the forest - something he started doing every other morning  since the meeting with Deaton about five months ago.  It was a preventative measure, but he hoped that by doing it they could cut down the possibility of civilians spotting Feral Sentinels and further causing unrest among the townsfolk.  This morning he’d found a Feral wandering around confused and covering his nose and crying.  There’d been a slight tussle in the dirt, but Derek had managed to sedate the guy before either of them had gotten hurt.  He had called Parrish and before driving back to the station, the deputy called in - reporting he was bringing in a Feral.  The Sheriff hadn’t made the call to the Recovery Center, but Samantha had walked in with a Guide and two Sentinels, ready to take the Sentinel about ten minutes later - just as Derek and Parrish arrived at the station.  

The Sheriff glanced over at Derek and the werewolf shrugged, so Stilinski said, “Those calls are not authorized.”

Eyes widening, Samantha gaped for a moment, “But... they have to be.  They’ve all been true.  I know they are declaring themselves as being with the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department.”

“Except that I have a standing order that no one is to contact the Recovery Center.  I am supposed to be making those calls to you.  But almost every time, a call has already been placed and a unit is on it’s way if not already here.”

“I...” Her mouth opened and closed again, “What?” The dark arches of brows knitted, “Who's doing it then?”

Derek snorted, “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

“I...” the Guide tapped her chin twice, “I could see about getting the recordings?  We record all the phone calls for security and legal reasons.” She wrinkled her nose and looked at the two men hopefully.

The Sheriff’s mouth pulled into a grin, “Well now... That would be a great help.”

“I’m not promising anything...” she amended, “I don’t know if they’ll let me have them.”

“Anything is better than nothing,” Derek nodded.

*************************

Leaving Perks and Recreation a few days later, Derek was thinking of the fittings he needed for the sink he was currently installing at the building and the prices he’d seen online.  He wanted to get as many orders in before Thanksgiving because then it would be impossible to get orders done properly.  Focused on his mental list, it was understandable that he didn’t initially notice the young woman before she said, “Hello, Derek,”

The scent and sound of her voice was immediately recognizable as he stopped and turned to see her behind him on the sidewalk, “Ms. Morrell,” he responded by way of greeting, not minding that his face expressed how less than thrilled he was to see her.  The last time he’d actually seen her was when she had basically locked him and Scott in a bank vault with a feral Cora and Boyd.  It hadn’t endeared her to him in the least.  “What are you doing here?”

Her brow arched, obviously sensing his mood and not moving closer to him.  With a careless shrug she answered, “Simple curiosity.”

Inhaling a deep breath as he rolled his eyes he huffed, “Do you Emissaries practice being vague?”

The woman’s dark eyes narrowed, “Fine, I’ll be direct.  Have you been to the Nemeton?”

Derek shook his head. “Why?”

“So you haven’t noticed anything about it?”

“Noticed what?”

Marin crossed her arms, “Someone has changed it and the power has shifted.”

He took a few steps towards her, “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said.”

Derek frowned, “And why should I trust anything you have to say?”

She gave a slight snort and shook her head, “You don’t have to trust me, but why don’t you ask Deaton about it? He is the Emissary, isn’t he?  If anyone would know about the Nemeton, it would be him... right?”

Derek found the Emissary in his office at his desk, looking over some papers.  In lieu of a greeting he barked out, “Did you know?”

Startled, the vet jumped slightly, “Derek! Know what?”

Striding across the room he stopped, letting the desk remain between them, “About the Nemeton.  We talked about it before, but you never said anything about it changing! The shift in its power? ”

Deaton set his pen down on the table and seemed to collect himself, “Shortly after we discussed the ley lines, I investigated the Nemeton because I was curious.” He set his hands on the table, “I became aware of it then.  The beacon is no longer calling the supernatural... but it is calling... something.”

“That was months ago!  And you never thought to mention it?” Derek snapped, “Does Scott know?”

After a pause, the vet shook his head, “No, I haven’t told him.”

“You’re his Emissary!  It’s your job to keep him informed about things like this!” 

“Except that I have no answers as to why the Nemeton is different or what is happening with it, let alone a solution.  Just like I have no way to put the Nemeton back to sleep... even if it can be put back into hibernation.”

Derek shook his head, “He should still know.  This is his territory and he needs to be told!”

Deaton rose from his desk, “He’s also a student in a school miles away!” 

“That’s no excuse!”

“It’s not an excuse.  It’s a reason.” He came around the desk to face Derek, “Scott is getting a degree right now.  He needs to focus on that so he can pass his tests and graduate from school.  What do you think will happen if I tell him what’s happening here?”

Sighing, the werewolf said, “He’d drop everything and come back to Beacon Hills.”

“I’m his Emissary, you’re right, and part of my job is disseminating information to the Alpha I serve as I see fit based on the larger picture.  And right now?  It’s more important that Scott finish school because he may be a True Alpha, but he’s also a young man who has to some how live in a normal world.” He shrugged and crossed his arms, “Now, if you agree with that or not, that’s up to you.  Till I can find a reason for what’s happened with the Nemeton or a solution to it, I am not mentioning it to Scott.” He sighed, “He deserves this time to help himself before he is forced into helping everyone else...”

Derek’s upper lip twitched like he wanted to snarl, but he just looked away.  It was true.  If Scott knew, he’d drop everything at school and be on his way to Beacon Hills to get caught up in it... probably destroying his academic career.  Reluctantly, he nodded, “Fine... I won’t tell him.  For now.  But he’ll have to be told eventually Deaton.”

“Agreed.”

“And I’m telling the Sheriff.  He was right about the Sentinels being drawn to the Nemeton.  Someone is behind this...  Which means we can find them and stop them.”

*************************

These days, Derek was generally frustrated and about as far from the holiday spirit as a person could be.  

He’d shared his new information with the Sheriff, and the man agreed to keep the news from Scott - which wasn’t a hard sell considering Stilinski would be happier if Scott never got involved with the strange and supernatural ever again - before investigating the staff of the Recovery Center.  The hope was that a connection could be made between any staff and the history of Beacon Hills and maybe give them a lead.  Unfortunately, few had been in Beacon Hills before the opening of the RC and certainly none back in 1999...  Which was a hope that Derek had.  Those that were residents didn’t have any record and from Deaton’s side, none appeared to have any connections with the supernatural, the Nemeton, ley lines, or magic of any sort.  They kept an eye out, but nothing led to anything.

He had a sneaking suspicion that what happened in 1999 was connected to what was happening now - even with his Feral Guide idea essentially being shot down, but the hunch wasn’t tying to anything solid.

Derek was going to blame that frustration as the reason he agreed to go out to Ozzie’s with Parrish on a Saturday night to ‘blow off some steam and have fun’.

They were sitting at a table, sharing a pitcher of beer, well away from the Karaoke stage.  Jordan wearing a nice shirt and jeans while Derek had on his typical Henley and jeans - which had a few paint splatters on them.  The deputy expressed some dismay at the werewolf’s attire, but remained optimistic about their chances meeting nice young women.  Derek was less enthusiastic. 

His last actual relationship had been with Braeden and while it hadn’t been terrible, he was hesitant to even put the title of ‘relationship’ on it. 

There’d been attraction between them, obviously, and some respect.  She’d gotten him through a lot of his temporary time as a human... Giving him some skills to defend himself and re-evaluate who he was when he wasn’t a werewolf anymore.  He’d thought at one point, early on, that things could grow between them since they both cared about each other, but over time, once the pack had left Beacon Hills for college and things were calm, he realized something - Braeden was too drawn to her work and the adrenaline rush that went along with it.  She was always looking for another job to take on and would leave him for days and weeks on end.  Eventually, she’d return, with a paycheck in hand and maybe a new injury that was healing.  While she recovered, Braeden enjoyed his company in and out of bed, but then it was off to another job.  He’d told her that she didn’t have to work for money - he had enough for them to live comfortably on, but the bounty hunter would simply toss off a glib comment about having expensive tastes before heading out the door.  Some part of him, a nasty little imp in his brain, would wonder if she would ever collect a bounty on him if the offer was good enough, even after all they’d been through.

The time that Braeden was away grew longer and the time she spent with him in Beacon Hills grew shorter.  It didn’t really come as a surprise to him when months passed by without a real word from her outside of a text letting him know she was alive.  They never officially ‘broke up’ because they had never officially ‘been together’.  It all just sort of died out like a neglected flower that wilted to brown dust.

There was no heartbreak about it, but he missed the physical connection with someone.  

Braeden was the healthiest relationship he’d had and he thought that was probably kind of sad. Derek wondered if he was good with being with her because he knew, deep down, it was never going to turn into anything.

There’d only been one moment since where there’d been a possibility for something...  

“You can’t do this with me?  Are you fucking kidding me?” Anger and hurt reflected in his eyes...

“Hey, I think someone is checking you out Derek,” Jordan nudged him with his foot, “Your 3 o’clock...” there was a playful smile on his lips, like he was amused.

Derek turned his head to where Jordan had indicated and saw the woman he was pointing out.  The young lady in question dropped her eyes down shyly before gazing back up at him in question.  A part of him was curious and interested - a physical desire crawling through him - but the rest of him just couldn’t muster the energy to be excited.  He knew it wouldn’t go anywhere and wouldn’t lead to anything and he was never a one-night stand kind of guy.  She didn’t look like a one-night stand kind of girl and she deserved better.  “You know what?  I’m... not feeling too well.  I think I’m going to head home.”  

Jordan leaned back, his face full of concern, “You okay?” He was obviously all too aware that werewolves didn’t get sick and if Derek was saying he wasn’t feeling well, it was probably serious.

“It’s the full moon tomorrow,” he added, “While I don’t get pulled by it, it can cause some... stress.”

If the deputy knew he was lying, he didn’t call him on it.  Instead he said, “No problem.  Get some rest Derek.  I’ll see you.”

The werewolf nodded and walked across the old wood floor towards the exit, passing the young woman without looking at her, and went home alone.

*************************

Derek didn’t want to be there.  Not again.  But he decided that Peter had more information to give and he would get it.  This time when he entered the large room, Peter was sitting on the bed, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped between them, like he’d been waiting.  Lifting his head up he smiled, “Hello Derek...  Did you bring me more books?”

He’d sent some after the last visit just to keep his word, “No.”

“Ah... I see... More questions I take it?” his brow rose before he let his expression grow bored, “Honestly, I don’t know what you expect to learn.”

“I want to know who the teenager was and why my Mother told no one about him, not even Deaton.”

Peter smiled slowly, “My sister...” he gave a humorless chuckle, “She was good with secrets, wasn’t she...”  

“You said they found an I.D...  Did you see the name on it?”

“I did.”

“What was it?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why not?  What possible motivation could you have to not telling me?”

His uncle rose from the bed and strolled across the room, his hand gesticulating vaguely, “Because I don’t want to,” he paused and faced his nephew, “Because I don’t have to.  You’re not my Alpha, Derek.  I don’t have to listen to you.  That’s how this works now.”

“So just to spite me?”

“Don’t be so self centered!” Peter snorted, “It’s about your mother... and her not listening to me.”

“About what?”

“About the changes that were coming and that stupid boy that was a sign of them.” He curled his lip, “Do you know what happens when you’re not at the top of the food chain Derek?” Peter paused and tilted his head, “You become part of the cattle.  Nothing but prey,” he pointed towards the door, “Those Sentinels can do what we can do.  Now where exactly do you think that will leave us?”

Derek shook his head, “They’re just people--”

“They’re not just people!” he shouted, “They’re the enemy!  Can you imagine what will happen when they start hunting us down?  They’ll be worse than the Hunters!” Peter shook his head, “We’re all in danger and I warned Talia, over and over, but did she listen to me?  No... She had more important things to do, like grooming Laura to become an Alpha,” he growled, “And then of course there was you and your little love drama with Paige.” Peter sneered in disdain, “Talia had to help her little baby boy...”

Derek’s fists clenched and he felt the sharp sting of his claws piercing his palm.

“Then that pompous ass Deucalian rekindled a war between werewolves and Hunters, leading to battle lines having to be drawn between the Alpha pack and Argent...  All of Talia’s attention was diverted from what was staring her right in the face!  That Sentinels are the future and they will destroy us...  And of course... then came the fire.” He bleakly laughed, “Imagine my surprise when I woke up after years of being trapped in my own head to find Laura had become the Hale Alpha,” Peter shook his head and gazed up at the ceiling, like he was looking for answers, “A child!  What would she know about leading a pack?”

Derek’s eyes were wide as he listened, hurt and anger roiling in his chest, “You have no right to talk about Laura, not after you killed her!”

Peter suddenly slammed against the glass, his fist pounding it, “And you killed our family!” he snarled, “You did that Derek.  Not me!”

Paling, Derek stepped back a few paces, his heart loud in his own ears, the grief leaping upon him and choking.

Easing away from the glass, Peter snorted, a brief flash of regret in his eyes at the pain he just caused before he sighed, “I was trying to make us strong again.  To gather what was left of us to prepare to face the threat no one else could see.”  The older man turned around and walked back to his bed to ease down and sit upon it.  He appeared calmer, “Now we’re all left in the hands of Scott McCall... for as much as that counts.”

The two Hales remained quiet in the following heartbeats.  The elder done speaking and the younger at a loss for words.  Derek felt like he’d been punched in the gut - There was never escaping the truth of his past, no matter how far he managed to get.

“You know...” Peter said softly, breaking the silence, “That boy knew what we were.”

Lifting his pale eyes, Derek asked, “What?”

The man turned his head to gaze at his nephew and in his Uncle’s eyes, Derek saw actual worry and possibly fear, “The teenager.  He knew we were werewolves.  In his ramblings he revealed it, like he couldn’t even stop himself from saying it.  I told Talia she should kill him.  That he’d tell others and they’d come after us, but she said she wouldn’t murder a child.”

“It would have been wrong,” Derek protested, feeling defensive of his mother.

Peter gave a small snort of derision, eyes rolling closed as he shook his head, “You were never meant to be an Alpha Derek...  Never could make the tough decisions.”

“I slashed your throat didn’t I?”

His uncle gave a self satisfied grin while his blue eyes flared open, “And yet, here I am.  And do you know why?  Because I was always the smart one and I should have been the one to be the Alpha, not Talia.” 

Taking a deep breath, Derek tried to find his center again.  Peter was always able to get under his skin and push and pull him, “And yet, you’re there and I’m here... And I’m leaving.” he spun on his heel and headed towards the door.

“Wait.”

Sure he would regret it, Derek stopped, but he didn’t turn around.

There was a heartbeat of silence and then Peter said, “Billy Clark.  That was the boy’s name.”

*************************

Derek called the Sheriff and gave him the name.  He took it upon himself to try and research the name Billy Clark on the internet - and it was worse than trying to find a needle in a haystack.  He might as well have been trying to find John Smith.  

Not used to researching like this, he decided to go through each link in the hopes that one of them would be one he could use.  It was better to focus on that rather than some of the other things that Peter had said.  For Derek, it was always easier to believe the fire had twisted his uncle into who he’d become... Peter had been his friend as much as his relative and the idea the man had always been two-faced and conniving and none of them had realized it...?  Better to push those thoughts away.

It was while he was caught up in his research that Scott came to visit him.  Derek waved a weary hand towards him when the young man opened the loft door.  Scott grinned but his expression faltered slightly at the disheveled man sitting at the table, “You don’t look so good.”

Wryly, Derek said, “Thanks...”

“What are you doing?”

“Just some research, nothing important.” He closed his laptop and gave his attention to the young man, “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing much.  Just inviting you over for Christmas.”

“Oh...well--”

“Jordan told me you bailed at the bar.” Scott blurted, then winced.

“I see.”

“Derek, look, I know about...” he shrugged, “Jennifer and Braeden, but you can’t let all that hold you back.  You need to get back out there... There’s someone--” 

“It’s better for me to just focus on what I can work on and deal with,” Derek said flatly.  “I can build the lofts.  I can help you with protecting Beacon Hills.  I can work with the Sheriff.  The rest... isn’t important.” He was tired of people thinking he could only be happy with someone.  Not when he knew otherwise.

“Yes it is, Derek!” Scott insisted, “Seriously!  You can’t become a creepy hermit.” He gestured towards the door, “You need to go out into the world and start dating again.  Start meeting people!  We can go out together...  I mean, you and I, we can hit a bar, hang out.  See if we meet someone.” Derek could see that Scott was actually excited by the whole idea, “Though you should shower because you kind of stink man.  I mean, how can you expect to meet your future partner wearing your work clothes--”

“Scott,” Derek barked tiredly, stopping the eager gushing, “I have my life and it’s fine!  And you know what?  Not every relationship is a fairy tale!  God, you’d think you’d get that!” The anger was a familiar old friend and it wrapped around him, “I don’t get the happy ending!  Okay?  You want to pretend everything is a freaking romantic comedy all the time, then fine!” he sneered, “But I won’t.  I can’t.”

The young man stood there, hurt playing in his eyes before the softness shuttered, “Maybe I am a fool for believing in the fairy tales.” His voice hardened, “But, I’m out there, living and trying!  Yeah, I fail and it hurts and it sucks - Trust me, I know - But I’d rather do that than end up bitter and alone!”  He spun on his heel and stormed out of the loft, ignoring Derek’s attempts to call him back.

Covering his face, Derek leaned back in his chair, groaning.

*************************

The call to Scott to apologize a few days later was appropriately awkward and as uncomfortable as Derek suspected it would be.  While he felt justified in his anger, he also knew it wasn’t right to take it out on the Alpha who was only trying to help him.  Scott being Scott, forgave Derek on the following condition: He had to come to the McCall house Christmas Eve for a holiday gathering.  Reluctantly, Derek agreed.

When Christmas came, Derek dressed in a button down shirt and dark jeans, bringing a container of blueberry cobbler that he made from a recipe he remembered his mother liked.  It wasn’t supposed to be a big dinner or anything, just the pack getting together before they were all pulled by familial obligations and traditions over the holiday season.  Derek could smell the scents of other baked goods and the familiar scents of Scott’s pack from within the McCall residence as he walked up to the front door.

The door opened before he could knock and Scott stood there grinning widely, “Derek!  I wasn’t sure you would actually come.”

“It was part of our agreement.”

“Yeah... well,” he shrugged, “Wasn’t sure you’d actually do it.” His eyes dropped towards the cobbler, “Did you make that?” his grin grew wider as he stepped back to allow the older man to enter the house.

The door was closed behind him and Derek stepped in further to see Melissa, Jordan, Lydia, Danny, Liam and Mason, were all sitting in the living room while the table was laden with what everyone had brought.  Derek was greeted as he carried his cobbler to the table and then someone was putting a mug of hot cider in his hands.  As conversations continued, he listened to what everyone was doing, taking it in around him.  Liam and Mason were in their Senior year of college - Liam was being scouted by a few of the pro lacrosse teams.  Danny was still working at Riot Games, but had been promoted to project manager on one of their bigger titles.  Lydia was breezing through her classes as she pursued her Master’s and she already had a lot of job offers that were tempting her to drop her studies.  Scott complained about his classes, saying he couldn’t wait till he finally got his degree and he was sort of seeing a girl he met at a coffee shop named Jamie, but it was too soon to know if it would become something.  

Being with a pack like this brought on so many memories of the holidays at the Hale house a lifetime ago that Derek found he needed to step back from it all for a few moments.  Exiting to the porch he gazed up at the night sky and sighed...  feeling the melancholy flow through him.

Inside Scott’s cell phone rang...

“Sco-ott...” Melissa sang in warning.

“Just a second!” Scott defended.

His mother harumphed, but apparently didn’t stop him, “Tell Jamie I said hi.”

Derek smiled to himself as Scott pick up his cell , “Hey good lookin’!” the young Alpha chirped.  The distant voice on the other end greeted him in return, laughing - but it definitely wasn’t Jamie.  Scott’s voice rang in disbelief, “Stiles?”

Chapter Text

Two Years Ago 

Stiles was not someone who faced his problems head on.  Rather, he avoided them, waiting till they disappeared on their own - even though he knew he should deal with the crazy, horrible, nightmarish and fantastical things he faced, he never did.  Instead, he shoved it all down into his gut like it was over flowing dirty laundry that he had no intention of ever washing and got on with his life.  As far as coping mechanisms went, it was shoddy and bound to fall apart.  It was also extremely unhealthy - and he’d be the first to admit that - and it rarely worked in his favor and tended to actually blow up in his face in rather horrific, but spectacular fashions.

And then, one day, everything literally did explode.

As in, an actual explosion happened, a few blocks away from where he was standing, sending his frail human body flying backwards from the force of it, and skittering along the sidewalk.

It was probably some sort of undocumented miracle that Stiles did not have permanent brain damage from the amount of times he hit his head in his life.  He was either blessed or had an abnormally strong skull that prevented his precious squishy brain from deciding that certain neural connections just weren’t worth keeping anymore.  On the up side though, being unconscious meant peaceful ignorance of what was happening around you - a dark void where you didn’t hear or feel anything - time slipping by as you blissfully floated along.  But then, eventually, you have to wake up.

And he did. 

Stiles was sure he got caught in another explosion when awareness came.

His eardrums burst in a cacophony of sound that sent his body arching like it was electrocuted.  His skin was flaying off his body and everything smelled like it was burning in acid.  Opening his eyes was a horror.  Light blasted in white fire.  From the way his throat felt torn apart he was sure he was screaming, but he couldn’t hear it with the havoc of discord ripping through his brain.  Confusion and fear and god EVERYTHING HURT!  Pain clasped his arms, weights on his chest set his limbs spasming, rough sandpaper on his flesh as he tried to escape it - any of it, all of it.  

A piercing needle and then blessed darkness wrapped him in soft cottony silence once more.

The next time his consciousness dragged him to wakefulness, nothing had changed, except that the drugs were still coursing through his body, so there was a strange dissociation.  He closed his lids against the piercing blast of light that was like flames burning away his eye balls.  There was rough cement on his skin, scraping the tender surface of his form, leaving it all raw and open wound feeling.  The taste in his mouth made him want to vomit or hack.  And the noise!  Relentless pounding in his ears - a nail being hammered into his skull so he could barely think a single coherent thought...  There was no respite from any thing, no place to turn to in search of peace or comfort.  It was torture!

Some part of him - perhaps animal instinct - wanted escape.  Run Run Run Run Run...  Rolling his body in some direction, forcing his limbs to move through the haze of agony, he flailed his arm forward, hitting something.  He dared not open his eyes - terrified of the consequences of doing so.  Clenching his teeth, he tried to get himself closer to it, managing to get his chest over the bar? Rail? Pipe?  His arm reached forward, searching, the air like microscopic nails scratching at his skin.  Swallowing a sob he waved his arm, fingers searching for something... anything?  A wall?  Another bar?  There was nothing... Leaning over further, he extended his arm down desperately but there was just... air.  Suddenly, something yanked out of his arm, a chunk of flesh and he screamed as the pain tore up to his brain - the sound of his own agony ripping through his ears.  Losing his balance he went over the bar, into the abyss -

Stiles had no time to catch his breath before he hit a hard surface, cracking against it, knocking the air from his lungs.  Chemicals burned up his nose when he tried to pull breath in and it pushed him over an edge from nausea to vomiting.  He threw up bile, liquid thorns along his throat, snot and tears running down his face, choking himself on clogged air.  

An incessant klaxon pounded into his skull... an alarm?  The screaming of a suffering wild animal... him?   Then a bang and an earthquake of noise rushing towards him.  Claws dug into his arms, pulling, yanking.  “NO!!” the cry was hurled from him before it fell apart into incoherent words and sounds.  The creatures were squawking so loudly, yelling at him.  A piercing pain and then there was beautiful nothing once more.  Stiles fell into it thankfully, wrapping himself into it and pushing everything else away.

The world drifted into dreams.  They weren’t always pleasant and most times they were disturbing visions that he couldn’t fit together.  There were times Stiles was sure he was sort of awake, but it was like being surrounded by water - his vision blurry with muted sound.  

An active part of his brain - the one that usually helped him figure out a Plan B or C to everyone else’s Plan A (which hardly ever worked and if they would just listen to him in the first place, Plans B or C wouldn’t even be needed thank you very much), told him he needed to escape from where ever he was.  Obviously he’d been captured by someone, but who?  For how long?  By now his Dad had to be aware he was gone... Scott too.  They’d be looking for him.  What did his captors want from him?  Why were they torturing him?  

But the lucid functioning would drift and he’d be sent somewhere else, his mind following a thread, a child chasing after a firefly...

He dreamt of waking up, the world a place of fire and sharp edges that would have him screaming and scrambling to return to the darkness.  Something would send him back to the nothing and if he could talk, he’d have thanked whatever did it.

He dreamt of his father speaking to him.  The words warped and blended into sounds, but he didn’t care.  It was the sound of his father’s voice and it made him feel safe.  Memories of bedtime stories, shared laughter, and strong arms cradling him.  His father’s tone was assured and comforting most times... sometimes worried.  Sometimes sad.  Stiles didn’t like those times because he couldn’t do anything to help his father and he always felt responsible for making him sad.  He wanted to apologize for whatever he did this time... Wanted to promise he would do better... he’d be better... 

He dreamt of lights flashing in his eyes, shooting torment through them straight to his brain.  He dreamt of a hammer clanging against an anvil in his ears.  He dreamt of chemicals, blood, and tears.  

He dreamt of home...  his house in Beacon Hills where pictures of his mother hung on the walls, smiling a smile that his own was an echo of, brown eyes the shade of honey.  Where there was a dent in the hall upstairs from when he tripped and smashed his elbow.  Where his room was always a mess, no matter how many times he tried to organize it because he’d lose focus on the task at hand and start researching how dustballs were formed.  Where the kitchen was the color of yellow butter, warm and inviting and the place where he and his father shared so many meals.  Where there was a worn out couch that was the best place for naps and a blanket perfect for curling up in.

He dreamt of Scott...  His best friend who always believed in him.  Who knew him better than anyone and would always have his back.  Who was goofy and sweet and always meant well.  Who sometimes forgot what was important, but somehow always made his way back.  Who tried to kill him once.  Who had a crooked smile.  Who was loyal and strong in ways that Stiles knew he could never be, but that was okay, because Scott was.  Who he was sometimes jealous of, even if he never said it out loud.  Who would go to hell and back for him if he had to.  Who he’d die for.

He dreamt of his friends...  the myriad colors of them... Here and gone.  Strawberry blond hair, a sharp tongue and gentle embrace...  Blonde locks with a killer smile in leather...  Calm confidence, a silent smile, bleeding in water...  A cocky grin under tousled curls and a scarf...  A blue eyed coyote who held him close and let him go...  A fox who was a sparkling unicorn of hope and intentions...  Dimpled cheeks of a protector with a sword in her gut...

He dreamt of Derek...  That asshole.

After a lifetime, Stiles became aware of the world outside his own head.  He was muzzy - which didn’t make sense really because he’d been sleeping.  Weren’t you supposed to feel better after sleeping?  

Sounds were muffled, like there was cotton in his ears, but he didn’t feel anything stuffed in them.  When he hesitantly lifted his lids, there was no bright lights, no distress.  The air was clean.  His body was cradled in a wonderful... softness.  Like he was laying on kittens.  Was he laying on kittens?  Was that a thing?

It was all blessedly wonderful...

Had they come for him?  His friends?  Was he saved?  

He turned his head to slowly take in his surroundings.  He was not laying on kittens, but he was in what looked like a hospital bed, sheets and blankets over his lower body, his chest covered by a gray shirt.  It had to be the softest shirt he’d ever worn in his life.  Maybe they used kitten fur to make it?  There were wires coming out of him but whatever they were hooked to was behind him, out of his line of sight.  The room’s lights were hidden and set to low, illuminating just enough to see, but no brighter.  Stiles didn’t focus on them too long as he felt his eyes watering with the beginning of pain.  In the back of his throat... the taste of saline?  An I.V. then... 

The walls were bare, a thick carpet was on the floor, and there was no furniture.  It was hard to make out any colors in the dim light, so he didn’t try.  Besides, it was the best he had felt in a long time, even if he was still a little drugged.  His arms had some scratches that were mostly healed.  Was it from the explosion or something else?  Was it from his torture?  Some part of him remembered a piece of his arm being torn out?  Was that real?  Checking he noticed his arms were whole, no scars or wounds.  What had happened?

A low beep sounded, almost too low to hear, like it was far away.

Stiles looked around, trying to see around his bed, “Who’s--?” the sound of his own voice slammed into his ears like a fist and he covered them, swallowing a whimper.  Slowly he lowered his shaking hands, but when no further pain came, he dropped them to his side, huffing silently in discomfort.  What the hell?  His head throbbed with a headache, which he felt through his ears and eyes, even his skin, but it was manageable.

The beep sounded again and he realized it was coming from a large pouch attached to the side of the bed.  Cautiously, he peeked inside the pouch, made of the same material as his shirt.  There was a tablet.  After looking around the room again, he slid the tablet out and set it on his lap with trembling hands.  The tablet itself was encased in a soft cover as well, leaving only the black screen open.  Not sure what else to do, he slid his finger along the glass surface, waking it up - noting that it felt like ice on his skin.  Like the lights in the room, the brightness of the screen was set to super low, which Stiles appreciated.  He could still see everything fine and what appeared to be a chat window of some sort, with a blinker and a keyboard.  

Suddenly the blinker moved, spelling out words, “Hello Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles’ mouth went dry and he swallowed hard, feeling his heartbeat quicken - hearing it quicken.  It made his headache pound more.  Okay.  Deep quiet breath.  So... they knew who he was.  This was not surprising.  He was not surprised.  This was fine.  This might be a way to get some answers to the millions of questions piling up in his now active brain.

He typed, “who r u”

“My name is Divya.” popped up on the screen under his question. 

Okay... He had a name now.  No one he knew though. “where am i” Best to go with the basics.

“You are at the Sentinel Institute in Cascade, Washington.”

That didn’t make much sense, “why”

“You came Online.  We suspect triggered by the gasoline explosion.  You suffered some head trauma which might have activated you.”

Stiles swallowed again, reaching up to touch his head and felt a soft bandage there.  He wondered how badly he’d been hurt.  Then he realized what she’d said, “online  what do u mean”  Why was he at the Sentinel Institute?

“Mr. Stilinski, you are a Sentinel.”

His hands dropped the pad like it had just burned him and he nearly started cursing when he remembered what happened the last time he spoke.  Opening and closing his mouth, he grew frustrated and then clenched his teeth.  

Of course he knew what Sentinels were and all about the Sentinel Institute - he’d done research on them as soon as he heard about the Recovery Center being built in Beacon Hills.  He might have looked into it sooner, except he was too preoccupied with supernatural dangers to look into the super human people.  There were plenty of papers and research available online and he had read the first case study of a Sentinel - a police officer on the Cascade force named Jim Ellison - written by Blair Sandburg who was actually Ellison’s Guide.  It was all ground breaking and interesting and through Sandburg’s research, the discovery of more Sentinels had been made.  Eventually this led to the Sentinel Institute being created - a place where Sentinels could train to control their senses and possibly contribute to the world.  They worked closely with the government, but were not under its jurisdiction.  

Picking up the tablet, he stared at the blinking cursor.  Okay.  “not a sentinel” he typed aggressively.  Sentinels came Online during puberty.  Stiles was now in his twenties...  way too old to come Online.

“There will have to be tests.” the tablet responded, “To assess your senses and abilities, but you are a Sentinel Mr. Stilinski.”

“i am too old”

“While most Sentinels do come Online at a younger age, it is not unheard of.  Trauma can affect how a Sentinel comes Online.  Either halting it, accelerating it, or activating it.”

Stiles frowned, tapping his finger on the screen.  So... He was apparently a Sentinel - and he quickly shuffled that little fact to the side for the moment - he was at the S.I. in Washington.  “what happened 2 me”

There was a bit of time before the answer appeared on the tablet, “You were taken to the hospital for treatment after a truck exploded due to a gasoline leak.  Which apparently triggered your senses.  Upon awakening, you were over stimulated causing painful reactions.” Stiles didn’t want to correct her that ‘painful reactions’ was a damn understatement, “You were sedated when the doctor recognized the symptoms and then transferred from Berkley Medical Center to our facility here.”

“my senses are out of whack”

“Yes.  Imagine a computer booting up with all its programs and applications all at once.”

Great.  It explained his memories - how everything had hurt... “am i stuck like this forever”

“No.  That’s why you’re here.  We will work with you to dial down your senses so you can control them and live a normal life again Mr. Stilinski.”

He snorted humorlessly, then winced at the pain it caused in his ears.  If this woman had any idea that normal had left his life, taking everything and the kitchen sink with it years ago, she’d understand why he found that comment amusing.  The fact that he was a Sentinel was only another notch in the ‘My Fucked Up Life’ list.

“We can help you Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles wanted to laugh bitterly, but he reigned himself in and just typed, “stiles” in irritation.

“Excuse me?”

“stiles   my name   mr stilinski is my father” Realization clutched him, “does my father know” God, the man must be so worried about him!  He’d been on the phone when the explosion happened!

“Yes.  He is fully aware of your presence here and your current condition.”

“i want to talk to him”

There was hesitation and no answer coming quickly.  

He typed again, “i want to talk to my father”

“I’m sorry Stiles.  At this moment, we do not recommend that.  Not till you are able to control your sensory input.”

“i can talk to him through the tablet like you”

“Stiles, you came Online rather violently.  We are concerned that your emotional state could trigger a Feral reaction at this delicate time.  To that end, we want to keep you calm and at ease.”

“then let me talk to him”  Now he was getting agitated.  Was he a prisoner?  “u cant keep me here against my will”

“We aren’t.  I swear.  Listen.  I will do what I can to get you in contact with your father.  If I promise to do that, will you promise to remain calm and let us help you?”

He frowned, not liking the deal at all, but he really had no choice in the matter.  “fine” Playing along for now would have to do till he could get out or get more information.  

“Thank you Stiles.”

“tired  going to sleep” he shoved the pad to the side of him so it lay on the blankets.  Guessing that they had a camera on him somewhere in the room, he wasn’t worried about them wondering what happened to him if he stopped responding.  Rolling to his side he rested his head gently on the pillow feeling it ache distantly and gazed into the gray world he was in.  There was a lot to digest and the brief flurry of activity had tired him out.  

Closing his eyes, he went over the conversation with the person who said her name was Divya.  Assuming everything she said was true, his memories after the explosion were no longer so confusing.  

But why hadn’t he come Online sooner than this?  Lord knew he had enough traumatic experiences in his life up until now.  Hell, Stiles could fill a book with them!  His pre-teen years, when a Sentinel usually woke up... that was around the time of his Mother’s death.  Why the hell didn’t he come Online then?

Figures that he would become some cool super human after he left Beacon Hills - the real life Hellmouth minus the Buffy.  His life...  Seriously.

Stiles just wanted to speak to his dad... tell him not to worry and that everything would be all right - that he wasn’t leaving him all alone...  He drifted off to sleep, thinking about his father sitting in that big house with no one to look after him.

**************************

Stiles assumed it had been almost a week since he first woke up in what Divya told him they called a “Dark Room”.  Time was hard to tell when it was the same low lighting every day and no windows.   

While he had slept at some point, they had removed wires and tubes from his body, suggesting he’d been drugged since he had no memory of it happening.  They’d also put in a simple table and two chairs in the room.

He’d explored the room as much as he’d been able to and found a seaming of a door.  There was no knob or anything so he had no way to open it from this side of the room.  At the bottom, there was a slot that would open and a tray of food was pushed through gently, before the slot would close soundlessly once more.  It was all simple foods, soft without much flavor and served at room temperature.

The bathroom had been an odd experience.  A flat handle would push the door inward and slide to the side rather than open and close like a normal door - and it slid silently on its tracks.  Like the main room, the lights were low, coming on slowly by some sensor when he entered, but by now he could see almost perfectly.  He couldn’t adjust the temperature for the water in the sink - set at room temperature - not too hot or cold.  Same thing for the small personal shower with its glass door.  The water pressure was low too, which he appreciated, because even at the level it was at now, it sometimes hurt, pelting his skin like a million stones raining on him.  Luckily the towels were super soft - fluffy cloud soft.  He made a mental note of finding out where the hell S.I. got them, because everyone was going to get them for Christmas!  

The worst was actually using the toilet...  Stiles never thought he’d find the sound of peeing painful, but there was just no way to make it bearable.  And of course, his senses were heightened, including his nose, so, the smell was... Well - some things were better not dwelt upon and he learned to hold his breath.  The flushing system was more a suction then normal, so everything was gone fast... thankfully.

The bandage was gone, but Stiles could feel a small thin line of scarring at the back of his head, almost hidden by hair.  It still hurt when he touched it, but he could feel each thread of the stitch and edge of his skin - it was unsettling.  Luckily there hadn’t appeared to be any permanent damage - outside of the whole coming Online thing.

Clean gray soft clothes were in a small set of drawers in the bathroom and there was a chute for dirty laundry.

Stiles felt like a boring hamster.

Discomfort and pain were at a near constant low level.  Every little sound making him flinch, though it was clear they tried to make it as quiet as possible.  Sensations on his skin that weren’t the cloth they provided, hurt like someone had taken a metal file to his flesh.  He learned the hard way to not absently scratch his arm or rub his neck.  At least his eyes weren’t subjected to anything with the dim lights and the air was scent free...  It was just everything else that was tormenting.  Sometimes he thought he could hear his own body functioning - not just his own heartbeat, but his lungs expanding and expelling air, his blood flowing, his stomach digesting, his limbs creaking...  

And there was this flittering thing he kept seeing out of the corner of his eye that disappeared whenever he turned to look...  A dark feathery flutter or movement.  It wasn’t painful and he wasn’t scared of it - it was just annoying, like the weird squiggles that float in your eye.  He never mentioned it because it wasn’t something he saw all the time, just when he was lost daydreaming, so he thought it was from being tired.

The only thing that kept him from going completely crazy was talking with Divya on the tablet.  She answered all his questions, but there was a limit, considering that she kept telling him that they’d have to wait and see after his tests to really move forward.  He’d learned that she was a Guide - not his Guide, but a Guide - assigned to aide him through his recovery.  She got him digital versions of books that he could read on the tablet, which helped alleviate some of his boredom, but no games were allowed.  Over stimulation and Zoning were real concerns.  Also, no internet - which was like the worst thing...  No news, no contact with anyone, no mindless diversions via Google...  It was torture! 

And every day he reminded Divya of her promise to speak to his Dad.

*************************

The woman who came in was dark skinned with very short hair, wearing a gray dress, tights and slipper like shoes, holding a tablet.  The only color on her was a red woven bracelet on her right wrist, the color glaring after so many days in the Dark Room.  She seemed to be aware of it and immediately pushed the bracelet up under the long gray sleeve of her dress, hiding it.  She smiled and lifted her tablet up, indicating that Stiles should do the same.  

Crossing to his bed, he picked it up and she started typing one handed, silently.  “hello stiles  i am divya”

Finally being able to see someone - anyone - was great so he smiled and waved a hand at her, in brief greeting.  When she began typing again, he looked down at his tablet.

“today we will be testing you to confirm your sentinel status”

Stiles’ heart rate picked up making him wince at the sound and his mouth went dry.  He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous... considering that if he didn’t pass they’d let him go home... But deep down he already knew the truth - he was a Sentinel.  

At this point, all they’d be testing for was to see what senses were heightened - whether he was an Omega (which he guessed wasn’t the case because he knew more than one sense was fucked up), a Beta (which was more likely), or an Alpha (which was cool and scary at the same time).  He nodded at her.  He’d had over a week to adjust to this and he was ready.

Divya smiled in return and slipped the tablet into the pocket of her dress before stepping up to the door and waiting for it to open to let her out.  Instead of just leaving, she turned towards Stiles and waited for him to join her.  Wiping his hands on his legs he took a deep breath and exhaled quietly before joining her and then following her out of the Dark Room - leaving the comfort of the dark, gray space.

*************************

Stiles was an Alpha. 

The irony was not lost on him.

He wanted to laugh.

What kind of cosmic joke was his life?  Really?

Divya had looked at him funny, and he figured his expression must have been confusing.  He waved it off and gestured towards her tablet so she could finish explaining things. They were sitting at the table in his room the day after the tests. The woman nodded, “We are very excited to have you here with us.  Alpha sentinels are extremely rare.  But it will mean more extensive training to control your abilities.”  

The testing had taken all day with only short breaks for meals and the bathroom. By the end of it, he was just tired...  On top of that he was feeling antsy and focus was difficult when he was this tired - while he didn’t need his Adderall like he used to, when he was overworked or stressed, he found it helped - and he hadn’t been taking it since the explosion.  And that damn fluttering in the corner of his eyes was starting again.

“now what” He asked, typing into the tablet.

“Now we begin working with you to get your senses under control.”

“will that get me out of here” 

Divya smiled and nodded her head, “First, I have a surprise for you.” 

Stiles raised his brows in curiosity.  When Divya held her hand out, he handed his tablet to her, not hiding the confusion in his expression.  She quickly tapped a few things then adjusted the back of the tablet so it was set on a easel.  Smiling, she then turned the screen to face Stiles and what he saw there made his eyes widen as his face split into a grin - It was his Dad!

Divya gestured towards his screen and indicated he should type on the keyboard.  Stiles started typing and his screen changed so that the keyboard remained, the chat window was up and a small screen in screen live video took up the top - his own face in the smaller inset screen in the left corner.  His father grew alert, looking at the screen and Stiles guessed that the man saw his face.  He saw his dad’s mouth moving, saying his name, his face breaking into a relieved grin, as he reached forward and pulled the screen closer.  His dad started talking, but Stiles shook his head before typing, “use chat  no sound”

Understanding crossed the Sheriff’s face and he started typing - thankfully the man had gotten better than the hunt and peck style of typing he used to do, “Hey kid.  How are you?  They treating you ok?”

“i am good  how r u” It was so mundane, when all Stiles wanted to do was yell in joy and start rambling at his father about everything that had happened, rattle off the list of questions in his head.  There was frustration, but he wasn’t going to give in to it.  Not when he had the chance to talk to his Dad.  Feeling the tears forming in his eyes, he wiped them away before they started falling, not minding the rug burn sensation on his cheeks from it.  Divya was still sitting across from him, but she was turned away, looking at her own tablet.  He appreciated the ‘privacy’ she was offering. 

“Good.  Miss you.” The Sheriff’s eyes were misty so Stiles knew he wasn’t alone in the emotional reunion.

“miss u 2” He had so much he wanted to say, but his fingers were too shaky to type it fast enough. “apparently i am a sentinel”

His father chuckled - even without sound he could hear it. “So they tell me.  Only you kid.”

Stiles ducked his head shyly before biting his lip, “sorry”

Immediately the Sheriff shook his head, “Stiles no.  Nothing to be sorry about.” his eyes were focused on the screen - on Stiles’ image - and the young man was familiar with that intense look.  “Don’t apologize for this.  I’m sorry we didn’t know sooner.  That you had to suffer at hospital.”

“u were there” So that hadn’t been a dream...

The Sheriff nodded and his expression was sad, “Couldn’t help you.  They tell me you are better now?”

He nodded, “want 2 see you”

His father sighed, “I know kiddo.  Me too.  But till you get a handle on this, it isn’t safe.”

It was Stiles’ turn to sigh, “i know”

They spoke for a little bit more, the Sheriff assuring Stiles that he was watching what he ate and was taking care of himself.  There wasn’t much news from Beacon Hills now - all was quiet on the western front so to speak.  Stiles suspected there was more, but his father wasn’t sharing it.  As long as the man was okay, Stiles didn’t care though.  After an hour or so, the Sheriff typed in, “They told me I won’t be able to talk to you after this till training is done.  You can’t have any distractions.”

“dont see why  im fine” he typed aggressively.

“Stiles.  You didn’t see yourself in hospital.” the haunted gaze in the Sheriff’s eyes made Stiles’ stomach clench and again, the guilt ate at him, “If they can help you, let them.  Do what you have to.  Then you come home.  I won’t let them keep my only son from me.”  Stiles could practically hear his father’s voice - speaking to him, assuring him, comforting him.

He frowned, wanting to protest, but his father’s expression became stern so he simply nodded.  

“All right.  I have to go.  We’ll keep in touch somehow.  We’ll work it out.  Don’t worry.”

“ok”

The Sheriff sat there, gazing at him before he mouthed the words, “I love you son.”

Stiles mouthed the words back and wished he could at least hug his father and have that comfort. Then the screen went black and the image of his father was gone.  Feeling more depressed than he had before, he rested his head in his arm, using his other hand to push away the tablet - his silent way of saying he was not talking anymore and was done for the day.  Divya got the message and quietly rose from the table and left.

*************************

10 Months Later

“You need to imagine a dial”

“I am!” Stiles shouted in frustration, wanting to pull his hair out.  How many times was she going to say the same thing over and over again?  At this point he was willing to tell her she could shove her dial up where the sun didn’t shine.

His tactile senses had been tackled first, though he still thought it was cool that he was able to feel words printed on a page and read them out loud.  Showering felt a whole lot better now that the water wasn’t painful - and they increased the water pressure so he wasn’t under a weak flow.  Now that he had control, it actually felt really good - like a massage.  

Smell was a weird one.  That snuck up on him from time to time and he wondered if it was something werewolves dealt with - being able to smell people.  He was still getting the hang of focusing it, but it was strange to know that Divya had come into contact with a rose at some point because the scent still lingered on her hand, even though he knew she washed them.  He had no idea how much information could be taken in through a person’s sense of smell!  It was distracting since there was so much... smell in the world.

Hearing had taken a while.  If he wasn’t careful, he would get caught up listening to Divya’s heartbeat...  the sound of blood rushing through her veins, her swallowing saliva...  It was hard to pull back once he got focused and he understood why he was being kept isolated before being allowed to be in contact with people.  Now that he was gaining control, focus was hard to keep - worse than when his ADHD acted up.  He’d Zoned a few times and had to be pulled out of it, but at least now he could hear Divya speak and they could talk rather than typing on a keyboard.  

“Fuck!” Stiles cursed, his eyes still shut tightly, his hands on his hips as his head dropped.  Finally, he started taking a series of deep breaths to get his emotions under wraps.  

They’d been working for hours now, getting him to the point that he could handle normal light in a room without having any pain, but it was being difficult.  The process usually started with a sort of meditation and then imagining a dial powered all the way up.  Slowly, he had to visualize turning the dial down, turning his senses down with it.  He could control it however he wanted.  Eventually, it would be second nature to him to do it, but right now it took concentration and focus.  

“You can do this Stiles.  You just need to calm down.” Divya seemed to have infinite patience with him through all of his training.  Never raising her voice or yelling back at him, no matter how many times he snapped at her or got frustrated.  Stiles didn’t know if this was how all Guides were, or if she was going for Sainthood.

“All right...” He dropped his arms, shaking them out before lifting his head.  Taking deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth he got his heartbeat going regularly again - and how weird was it that he could hear his own heartbeat?  When he felt pretty stable there, he brought his dial up to mind.  He imagined turning it up and turning it down, practically feeling it at his fingertips.  Slowly... he turned the dial lower.  Putting all his belief in it happening and being real.  When he got it almost to zero, he took a deep breath and then let it out, his lids lifting at the same time.  The light was irritating, but not painful - the same way it would be if you were in the dark and stepped out into sunlight.  It was just a moment and Stiles blinked it away.  The first thing he saw was Divya standing across from him, a smile on her face.  They were in the training room and the lights were up and he was looking at her.  He could see her skin was a cinnamon color, her hair was black, but a flat black.  Her eyes were a dark brown, almost black, with a lighter ring around the edges, a fine severe line that separated it from the eggy white that was cut through with thin red lines of blood vessels--

Stiles jerked back hard - He was focusing too much and that danced around the border to Zoning.  

And then he lost it.  Pain shot through his eyeballs like needles and he hunched over, shutting his eyes as his hands covered them, crying out in shock.  

“Stiles?” and the sound of her voice bombarded his eardrums - his hearing getting blown.

Quickly he tried to relax again, to dial down his hearing - he could only deal with pain in one part of him at a time.  He held up a hand, palm facing towards her so she wouldn’t come closer and wouldn’t say anything.  It took a few moments before he regained control of himself and straightened.  “Okay...” he murmured, keeping his eyes closed.

“Well, it was a start.”

Stiles nodded, “Let’s try it again.”

“We can stop for today if--”

“Nope.  Let’s try it again.”

*************************

6 Months Later

Now that Stiles had better control over his abilities, he was allowed to mingle with other Sentinels and Guides in the facility from time to time - mostly using the cafeteria.  He was just another trainee among all the pre-teens and teenagers - all caught up in either thinking it was all amazing and cool or being withdrawn and wanting to go home.  He did note there were a few older ones - his age or much older and he felt marginally better about his ‘late blooming’.  

Having five senses to deal with, his free time was limited - each sense required a different process and practice.  And since getting involved too deeply with other trainees was a possible emotional strain, his supervisors weren’t that eager about his spending a lot of time with the others - especially as an Alpha that came Online late.  Stiles was used to being more isolated from his years growing up in Beacon Hills (Scott was his best and only friend for a very long time), so he didn’t mind it so much.

“You’re control is getting better.” Divya smiled as she rose from the table after another practice.

Shifting a bit, Stiles frowned, “Um...  So, I have a pretty good handle on things, right?”  

She paused, her brows furrowing at his turn of mood, “...Yes.  You seem to be doing well.  Why?”

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck and hoped that whatever came out of his mouth wasn’t weird, “Okay, it’s nothing big and it isn’t serious.” He moved his arms so he was leaning on his elbows on the table, “I’m just mentioning it because everyone goes on about telling you if something is weird or strange and this seems to fall in that sort of a category.  But it doesn’t hurt and it’s not bad so--”

“Stiles,” Divya clipped out, settling back into her chair across from him.

“Right.  So.  Uh, I’ve been seeing this uh... thing,” he fluttered his fingers by the side of his face, “In my peripheral vision.”

“What sort of thing?”

“I don’t know.  Every time I try to look directly at, I can’t see it,” he furrowed his brows, his shoulders shifting in a shrug.

As expected, Divya retained her calm demeanor so he didn’t get nervous... yet.  “Stiles, I want you to relax and keep your gaze straight ahead, okay?”

“Uh... suuuuure,” he extended the word as he settled more in his seat and did as she asked.

“Do you see it now?”

Relaxing his gaze, he let his vision sort of blur and go out of focus.   After a few moments, there it was, the black shaped... thing.  “Yeah...” he started to turn his head on instinct.

“No,” she said, “Keep yourself still.”

“Okay...  It sounds like you know what it is.”

“Relax...”

He did so and this time, the thing in his peripheral moved.  It fluttered and he was sure it was... becoming clearer...  “Uh, Divya..”

Her voice was still calm, “It’s okay.  Nothing bad will happen.”

His arms stretched out straight on the table, his right fingers clutching his left thumb and rubbing it to expend some of the nervousness that was trailing up his back as he watched the dark thing start to become... some thing...  It moved in a familiar way... hopping.  It was hopping.  Coming into focus and “Holy shit.  Divya... It’s a bird.  There’s a bird.  A raven!  What the hell?”  Now he couldn’t help it. He turned his head to look, and this time, it wasn’t just empty space but a faded see-through raven sitting on the bed before it slowly dissolved from his view.  Stiles gaped, his mouth dropping open before he turned his head back towards Divya, “What the hell was that?”

Divya smiled, clearly pleased.

“You’re smiling.  Why are you smiling?  I’m hallucinating!”

She shook her head, “You aren’t hallucinating Stiles.  As with everything else, you’re just being you.” She reached over and pat his hand, “It’s nothing bad.  What you saw is your Spirit Animal.”

“My... Spirit Animal...” he repeated flatly.

“Yes... All Guides and Sentinels have one.  Many don’t see it until they are Bonded, when both Animals seem to... accept one another.  They can be anything from a mouse to a tiger.  And while they don’t interact with the real world, some believe they are guides.”

“I’ve never heard of them before.”

She sighed, “You wouldn’t have.  The S.I. strictly forbids discussion of them in the public sector for fear that people will misinterpret what they are.  There are enough issues with people believing Sentinels are some sort of mutant... the last thing we want to do is add a sort of,” her hand rotated in a vague gesture,” hocus pocus or new age mumbo jumbo.  Especially as S.I. is not sure what the Spirit Animals are.  You have to understand there is a lot the S.I. itself doesn’t know about Sentinels, Stiles... Half information or half truths being disseminated among the masses wouldn’t help anyone.” She pat his hand again, “All you need to know is that there’s nothing wrong with you.  You’ve just seen your Spirit Animal early...  Even those that see them without the Bonding usually don’t till after a few years.  It is believed it is because a Sentinel is more...comfortable with their abilities.  Omegas rarely get to see them unless they’ve Bonded.  So there might be a correlation between abilities.”

“Sooo...” he blinked, glancing back to where he had seen the bird, “You have one too?” He knew Divya was Bonded.

“Yes, I do.”

“What is it?”

Her dark lips quirked in a smirk, “It’s a little rude to ask... just so you understand the etiquette.  Some find it to be a very personal thing.  Especially those who haven’t seen theirs.”

“Oh,” he gulped, thinking he insulted her, “Sorry, I didn’t--”

“No, it’s okay.  I don’t mind.  This isn’t something we thought to worry about with you...” She shook her head, “Should’ve known better, right?  Mine is a actually a python.”

“Wow... that’s... cool,” he looked around, “Would I be able to see it?”

“Probably not.  You’ll see your Bonded Guide’s animal when the time is right.  Only a special few Guides can see other people’s Spirit Animals.” Her head tilted, “So... you saw a raven?”

“That’s what it looked like...” he furrowed his brow, “Figured if I had a Spirit Animal it would be a fox...” he muttered.

“Why a fox?”

Stiles shook his head, pushing memories of a dark fox away, “Nothing, just... nothing.”

“I should tell you, a raven suits you.  Both are very clever...  more clever than people realize.”

He worried his lip as he thought about it for a while, not sure at the moment how to compartmentalize this new information.  “So, I have a Spirit Raven now?  That’s a good thing, right?”

“It’s not good or bad.  It just is.  Like your coming Online later in life.”

“I could have used it sooner...” he mumbled.

Divya smiled in understanding, “Everyone is different Stiles.  They develop differently.  Sometimes trauma can wake us up, or keep us sleeping.  Did anything happen to you that might have been...” She took a deep breath, “Traumatic?”

He huffed humorlessly.  Did she have enough time to listen to the list?  Stiles just shook his head and looked away.  There was no way in hell he was going to have a discussion about his high school years where everything went sideways the night he had the brilliant idea to go see a dead body.  And let’s not forget the more brilliant idea to convince his best friend to go with him.  “There’s nothing I can think of,” he said instead.

“From our records, I saw that your mother--”

“Nope!” he popped the ‘p’, “Not going there.” 

The woman nodded, “Well, the why’s don’t matter at this point.”

“So I have to keep taking my Adderall,” Stiles frowned, changing the subject.  A couple of months ago, they started him back on his medication and he found his control was better.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” he sighed.  

“Did you want a different answer?”

Stiles sat back in his chair, “Yeah... I mean, I know I take a lower dosage now, but I was sort of hoping to cut if off completely.”

“I understand not wanting to have to medicate yourself, but considering you are Online now, you losing focus or getting distracted because of your ADHD could be detrimental.” Her voice was patient as always, “Perhaps when you are Bonded, maybe it can be revisited.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hand, “So is that like, a big thing?  Bonding?  Everyone talks about it like it’s the best thing since curly fries.” He nodded his head towards the red woven bracelet on her wrist - a sign, she was Bonded, “So, what’s it like?  Tell me all about the magic,” his eyes widened comically as his free hand waggled at her.

Divya smirked, “Okay, first of all, it isn’t like some Disney movie.” She crossed her arms, “But if I had to compare it to something, I suppose the closest thing would be sort of like finding your true love.”

“Seriously?” he raised a brow.

She shrugged, “Look, I can’t tell you what it’s like for everyone.  If you asked someone like... Greg what it was like bonding with Adam?  It would probably be different.”

“Because they’re men?”

“No, because they are different people.  Though a Bond between two people of the same sexual identity who identify as straight can be a test of the relationship...” She sighed, “My experience of Bonding with Tammy was life changing.” A smile pulled at her lips, like she couldn’t help it, “It felt right... It felt like coming home.  It felt like everything I had been waiting for had finally happened.  But it wasn’t love.”

“So you don’t love her?” Stiles had met Tammy weeks ago and saw her around the facility from time to time and when she was with Divya, they appeared like a couple who loved each other.

A shy smile curled the corner of her lips, “I didn’t say that.  I do love her.  And she loves me, but that came later,” her smile dropped a little, “And not all Bonded couples fall in love or love each other.  Some are just very good friends.  I don’t think any Bond pair is the same.”

“Are there ones that hate each other?  I mean, they can’t all be perfect, right?”

“There are those that are not compatible as people, even if they are perfect Bond pairs.  Those are... regrettable.”  

“What if you never Bond?”

“Well, no one really knows what happens to someone who hasn’t Bonded.  It hasn’t exactly happened yet that we know of.  Even the older Sentinels and Guides... it could still happen.  Obviously if someone dies that would mean their partner might never Bond, but it’s possible that if someone’s supposed Bond partner dies, another person becomes suitable for Bonding?” Divya shrugged before brushing aside her dark bangs from her brow, “I’m sure there is a Bond mate for everyone though...even with the current shortage of Guides.  To me it just means we haven’t found them yet.”

“I don’t know... I don’t think I want to Bond,” he ran his finger over a minute scratch on the table surface, “Being connected to someone... it sounds good in theory, but it’s like suddenly this whole person that’s suddenly tied to you against their will.  And since I’m a Sentinel, I’m supposed to make the decisions about our lives.  I mean, I’d be controlling their life.  The Guide would have to do what I wanted, right?” Stiles didn’t like people making decisions about his life - he couldn’t imagine someone else would either.

Divya tilted her head slightly as she gazed to the left, “True... to an extent.  Sentinels tend to direct what the pair are going to be doing and where they go,” then she leaned forward, “But keep in mind Stiles, while it might be standard for Sentinels to take charge of the relationship of the Bond, it doesn’t have to be that way.  And I have a feeling, if you Bond, it won’t be a normal one...  You don’t seem to follow any standards of behavior.”

He laughed loudly then said, “I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

Popping up from her chair, she scooped up her tablet, “Good, it was intended as one.  Now, you need some rest.  You have more tests tomorrow.”

*************************

2 Months Later

The first time he had a panic attack after the explosion was during a real life experience test.  They had a false environment room where different stimuli were injected -  noise,  smells, flashing lights.  He was fine till the scent of gasoline...  His heart beat began accelerating and his chest constricting, his breaths becoming short.  Stiles tried to fight it, but his own blood pumping through his veins became loud in his ears and he suddenly was terrified that he’d be deafened by it till it simply stopped.  The test was immediately halted as his legs folded beneath him, sending him crashing to the floor and gasping for air like a fish stranded on land.  

There was the thundering of footsteps and noises that some part of him identified as voices, but they became lost in the beating of his heart which was too fast... too fast... and there was no air - a knot was tying tighter and tighter in his chest, his breathing happening in short, quick gasps.  Divya’s voice finally seeped into his consciousness as his vision dimmed to a pinpoint of light.  Desperately he clung to it till he could focus on the life line it offered.  “... iles...  ...eathe....  Stiles...  focus...  listen to my voice...  I’m here.  I’m here next to you.  You aren’t alone, I’m here.  Can you hear me?”

He managed a nod even though he felt lightheaded and dizzy.

“We’re going to breathe now...  In through our noses... one, two, three...  out through our mouths... one, two, three...” She repeated the phrases over and over till he was doing it with her.    

Eventually he was breathing on his own and his heart rate was back to normal, but his body was jittery.  

The room was set in low lights, quiet and still, and Divya was sitting on the floor next to him.  She looked worried, though there was a smile of relief on her lips.

“... What happened?”

“Why don’t you tell me?  Was it an anxiety attack?  A panic attack?”

He nodded and pushed himself up into a sitting position, “What were the stimuli?”

“You were meant to be experiencing walking by a gas station.  Garage noises, people talking, birds.  Light settings were for dusk with air set at autumn temperatures in Vermont.  Scents were soil, decomposing leaves, oil, smoke from a backfiring car, gasoline and some cheap aftershave.”

“Gasoline.  It was the gasoline.” Stiles murmured.  

Divya was silent for a bit, obviously taking in the way he was hunched on the floor before gently saying, “Perhaps because of the experience you had coming Online...  It might be connected to that trauma.” Her head tilted, “Unless the gasoline smell is from another experience?”

Stiles shook his head.  It was a lie.  He knew exactly why gasoline bothered him, but he wasn’t going to discuss it.  His Spirit Raven sat not too far from him, its dark eyes regarding him gently - like it knew.  Divya gazed at him silently, then simply announced, “All right.  Enough for today.  I think you could use a break.”

*************************

“Have you given any thought to what you’ll do once you are cleared by the Institute,” Divya asked a week later as they walked to the cafeteria.  

“Some... I’m still not sure yet.” The truth was, he had come to find being in the S.I. rather comforting.  Leaving to go back out into the real world was not that attractive.  If it wasn’t for missing his Dad and his friends, he would be happy to remain cut off in the soft, simple world he was in now.  “There’s a lot of recruiters who are pretending to not be recruiters, being all buddy-buddy with me to chat about all these amazing," he made quotation fingers, "'Opportunities'."

The older woman chuckled, “Alpha Sentinels are a commodity.”

“Everyone wants the awesome,” he gestured to himself, “But there is only so much Stiles to go around.”

This made her laugh again before saying, “You could finish school?”

He frowned, “I don’t know.  I think I was only going because it was what you’re supposed to do... You know?  Go to high school, graduate, go to college, graduate, get a job, get married, have kids...” he waved a hand in a random direction. “I’d like to have a degree... I mean, it’d be nice to have it.  Something to show my father.  I know he’d want me to finish,” he smirked, “You know, in case this whole Sentinel thing doesn’t work out.”

“We could contact your university, make arrangements.  You simply have to let us know what you want to do. We offer that to all the young Sentinels and Guides.”

“In return for...?”

Divya blushed slightly, “Well, they’d probably want some assurance that you’d be coming back into the S.I. in some capacity...”

“Hmmm...”

It’s not like Stiles was against it or anything because yeah, it would be cool to help people, but he had laid out things for himself before this happened.  Okay, maybe he didn’t have everything planned out, but still... It was the principle of the thing.   And Stiles always hated when control was taken out of his hands.  If he did join S.I., it would be his informed choice and because he wanted to. 

“While no one will actually kick you out, they’ll be pestering you to do something with your gifts.”

Stiles sighed and slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans.  Another added bonus of gaining control over his abilities had been real clothes, though he still kept wearing the shirts because they were amazingly soft.  

“Oh,” Divya perked up, “You’ve been approved for your first solo excursion outside the Institute.”

“You mean I have to go out on the street on my own?”

“I’ll be there,” she corrected, “Well, you’ll have an earpiece and I’ll be listening.  We’ll have a monitor on you to keep track of your vitals and if anything happens, there will be a team there in seconds.  You have nothing to worry about.”

“Except a panic attack.”

“Stiles, we talked about that,” Divya brushed her long bangs from her brow, “We know what set it off and you are now aware of it.  That means it won’t take you by surprise and you’ll be better able to handle it.  While gasoline isn’t a common smell, it isn’t... uncommon either.  If you want, we can work on making you nose blind to it.”

“Nose blind,” he repeated flatly.

“Yes.  It’s not something Sentinels do often, but in some cases, if there is a particularly strong reaction to a certain stimuli, they can make their senses blind to it so that it won’t trigger them.  It’s only used in extreme cases, which I’m not sure this is, but if you are very worried about it, then we can work on it.” Her tone of voice suggested she wasn’t really behind the idea.

“Nah... I’ll be fine.” Stiles wasn’t sure he’d be fine, but he would pretend.  Years of ‘being fine’ in the Beacon Hills fun-factory of monsters trained him for that.  Besides, if he could survive Jackson ‘The Asshat’ Whittemore being a murderous lizard, then he could handle the smell of gasoline.  He could handle this.

*************************

He was wrong.  He could not handle this.

Stiles found himself standing on the busy morning rush hour streets of Cascade, huddling in his jacket and trying not to scream.  There were too many people bustling around him and the air was polluted with exhaust and smoke, chatting and perfume, soaps and noise.  Standing like a rock in the river of hustling people, he closed his eyes and attempted to dial everything down.  Buffeted by shoulders and bags, his heartbeat ratcheted up and he grew more and more anxious.  

“Stiles, it’s okay.  We did this the other day.” Divya’s voice was in his ear, calm and patient.

She was right.  They did.  But she’d been standing next to him - a buffer.  He could focus on her instead of the barely controlled chaos around him right now.  

“Relax,” she urged, “You can do this.”

He shook his head, keeping his eyes squeezed shut tightly, his shoulders hunched up and his hands curled into fists in his jacket pockets.  His mind scrambled to use his training to gain control of the situation, but instead, he remembered a conversation with Scott years ago - Scott was telling Stiles about confronting his Dad, Agent McCall, after he found out the man was there to remove the Sheriff from his position in Beacon Hills.  Scott said he’d been so pissed off at his Dad that he almost wolfed out on him - which Stiles was touched by “Aww buddy, you almost ripped your Dad’s face off for me!” - and Melissa had to pull him into the other room.  She told him that he had to find his anchor, but since he and Allison had broken up, Scott didn’t have her anymore.  Then Melissa told him, “Be your own anchor.” 

Those words echoed through Stiles’ mind now.

“Be your own anchor,” He muttered to himself.  Right.  He could do that.  

“What was that Stiles?”

Instead of answering, he focused on the thought over and over.  Be your own anchor...  Be your own anchor...  Be your own anchor...  The choas grew less - it didn’t go away, but it did get to a normal and manageable level.  Slowly, his honey brown eyes opened and he took a large relaxing breath.

“You there Stiles?”

“Yeah...” he breathed, “I’m here.”  Then a wide smile parted his lips.  He could do this. 

************************

3 Months Later

“If you’re sure this is what you want to do?” Divya asked as she sat with Stiles in his room.  He’d just told her that he wanted to join the Sentinel Investigative team and work out in the field.  It was as close to using his Criminology studies as possible within the S.I. and there was enough down time that he could get a degree through Berkley as well.  

“Yeah,” So often Scott and the others were worried about the frail human being among them that he had to hang back or was left to feel helpless.  Being an Investigator at crime scenes,  being able to use his abilities...  Not being a liability...  “It’s what I want... Plus I get to travel.  Dillon told me Investigators get to go all around the world.” 

“You’ll be leaving almost immediately then.” 

Stiles nodded, scratching absently at the table surface.  He’d been cleared a few weeks ago as an active Sentinel and since then, the different recruiters for different departments within the S.I. had been coming at him a bit more aggressively.  He had done his research - as always - also asking S.I. people about what they did and how they liked it.  Most were fairly happy with what they were doing and it wasn’t like you couldn’t change departments or jobs if you found you hated your position.  

Divya leaned back in her chair, “So you won’t be visiting your Father in Beacon Hills before you go?”

He shrugged, feeling like a kid who got caught doing something.  “I’m going to call him and he can come and see me here in Cascade.  I spoke to Stevenson and he said it was no problem to have my Dad here, now that I was cleared.”

“That’s not my point.  Don’t you want to go home?  It’s the holidays.  You don’t want to see your friends?  It’s been about 2 years of isolation for you.”

It had been, outside of a quick Skype session with his Dad once in a while.  Not being able to speak to the others was sort of a godsend since he wasn’t sure what to say to them about what happened to him.  But he hadn’t wanted to go back to Beacon Hills before the explosion, and now that he was stable again, he felt the same way.  There were too many memories and things he’d rather forget sitting in Beacon Hills and yes, maybe he was a coward, but he was worried about facing them now after so much time.  Besides, he was an adult and he didn’t have to do things he didn’t want to do (and yes, that sounded childish in his head).

She seemed to concede, “All right...”

“What about you?  Going home for the holidays?”

“I will be,” Divya smiled, “And now that you have ‘graduated’ I’ll be assigned another Online Sentinel when I come back.  As of this moment, we’re just two colleagues.”

He made a face, “That sounds so clinical.”

“What would you call us?”

“Friends, of course!” he grinned and when she chuckled, he needled, “Come on... Admit it.  You’re going to miss this gorgeous mug of mine!  And all my pearls of wisdom.”

“I will!” her eyes glittered, “Who else will tell me the movies I should watch to be a fulfilled human being.” 

“Hey, those were legitimate suggestions.  The fact that you still haven’t see the first Avengers film is a travesty.  I’m willing to concede on the second and third of the original Spiderman films, but not seeing Avengers is just...  wrong,” he flailed his arms out. “Promise me.  Promise me you will see it.  For me?  Let me know that my time here hasn’t been in vain.”

“Oh god Stiles, you drama queen!  Yes, I will do my best to see it.  I promise!  You do know you were here for more important reasons than to expand my cinema experiences.”

“Fate brought me here to you,” Stiles said in mock seriousness, “The universe knew of a need and I came here so that I might fulfill my purpose.  I can move on now.” 

“You’re such a weirdo,” she sighed good naturedly.

“But you love me, right?”

“Lord help me... I do.” 

Stiles smirked, “I grow on people.  Like a fungus.”

“Now there’s an image.” Divya chuckled then sighed, “You should still think about going home for the holidays.  You can start training after, you know.”

“Maybe.  I’ll think about it.” It was a lie and maybe she knew it, but these types of lies harmed no one else, but him.

************************

Stiles hung up on his father with a smile on his face.  It had been great to talk to him.  The man was ecstatic to hear that Stiles was finally done and ready to go back out into the world - he was less happy about Stiles going into work that would take him around the world to investigate threats and help solve crimes.  While Dillon might have played it down, there was real danger in the work he was doing and his father knew it - there was no bullshitting the Sheriff.  He tried to placate his dad by telling him he would be getting his degree from Berkley, focusing on Criminology and English Literature on top of getting some awesome skills from the S.I. during his time with them.  Being a bit traditional, his dad was glad he’d have a degree to ‘fall back on’, even though that type of thinking really didn’t apply anymore.

His father grew less unhappy when Stiles mentioned a visit to Cascade on the S.I.’s dime to spend New Years together in the city.  He could hear the question that wasn’t asked “Why don’t you come down here?” but considering that was the last conversation they had before the explosion, neither of them were eager to repeat it - As if by doing so, they might be jinxing things.  

The Sheriff filled him in on some of the news in town.  Things were still pretty quiet - no monsters of the week showing up.  Then there was a call on the other line and Stiles realized his father was at the station.  They did some quick goodbyes, Stiles promising to email him the info for plane tickets for his trip to Cascade and also another call soon before he hung up.

With so many going home to visit family and celebrate the holidays, the S.I. was quiet, with mostly a skeleton crew on staff - Stiles equated it to Hogwarts during Christmas.  He missed Divya and had been feeling pretty lonely, wandering the halls with nothing much to do now that his tests and training were over.  At least now he had access to the internet...  But found he really hadn’t missed too much in the world - things were still pretty screwed up out there.

He tapped his fingers on the desk, debating as he stared at his phone.  It was Christmas Eve and he figured everyone would be hanging out with their families.  

His eyes fell on the raven that he found himself seeing more often than not nowadays.  The Spirit Animal never did anything but tilt its head left and right and hop around or flutter, but he sort of liked having it around.  It regarded him quietly and Stiles could feel its silent judgement.

“Screw it...” he made the call and listened to the ringing, his heart pounding in his chest with nerves.  “If this goes badly,” he whispered harshly to the raven, “I’ll blame you.” 

After a few second that felt a lot longer, he heard the familiar voice chirp out, “Hey good lookin’!”

The unexpected greeting had him laughing, “Hey handsome!”

“Stiles?” Scott near shrieked in disbelief.  Stiles could easily imagine his best friend’s face, all wide eyed and mouth gaping.  “Oh my god!  Stiles!”

“Yeah, who’d you think it was?  Kira?”

“I... uh...” now he heard hesitation, “Yeah, no... uh we broke up.”

“What!” Stiles shouted - it was his turn to be wide eyed and having his jaw drop, “I’m out of it for a while and you two break up?  What the hell Scott?”

“Dude...” It was clear that the other young man was out of sorts, having some emotional whiplash from the situation.

It was understandable - this was a lot to handle, so Stiles decided to be merciful, “All right, we’re dealing with that later.  How are you doing?  You’re at home right?”

“Yeah--“

“Did you say Stiles?” Liam called from the background and Stiles marveled at how clearly he could hear the young man over the phone.

“Puppy!” Stiles yelled gleefully.

“Oh god, don’t call me that!”

Scott was laughing, excited and happy, “Everyone is here... Uh, hold on.” The sound of more voices filled the air.  He wiped a sweaty hand on his leg and tried to keep his heartbeat steady.

Lydia’s strident tone shot through the phone, “Stiles!  That’s Stiles on the phone?  Let me talk to him!”

“Oh god, no Scott!  Don’t!” Stiles was terrified of whatever scolding would come from her.

There was a bit of noise, which he assumed was Scott dodging the red head and then he said, “I’ll put the call on speaker phone Lydia!  Here...”

The sound changed and he could hear everyone moving around... The rustle of their clothes, their breathing, their heartbeats...  “Hey everybody!” he greeted cheerfully, feeling awkward and nervous about his reception from the pack.

There was a chaotic chorus of warm greetings returned and he heard Melissa, Lydia, Jordan, Danny, Liam and Mason.  He sighed with the weight of memories before refocusing on the present.  “Uh, how’s it going?”

“What?” Lydia asked with a huff, “Stiles, what’s going on with you?”

“Well, I’m cleared now.  I mean... I’m all done with my training.  So... it’s official.”

“You’re a Sentinel,” Jordan said.

“Yup... Even have a little card and everything,” he swallowed hard.

“Are there secret handshakes too?” Scott teased.

“I’d tell you, but if I did, I’d have to kill you.” he joked back, suddenly feeling so homesick he was surprised he didn’t drown from it.

“That’s so cool!” Liam said, “You’re like an X-Man now.”

It was Melissa who asked, “You’re okay though...?”

There was a warmth around his heart from the question.  She wasn’t his mom and would never replace her, but Melissa was as close to a mother as he had...  And she always asked Stiles if he was okay... worried about him, “Yeah... I’m good.  No lasting damage from the... uh... explosion.”

“What level are you?” Lydia asked.

Leave it to her to want to know that.  No nonsense.  He figured she had already read all of the science papers and research on Sentinels and probably understood it all better than the experts at the Institute.  Still... he had been literally dying to say the following... giving it an appropriate amount of dramatic pause, before saying in a deep voice, “I’m the Alpha now.”

The silence that followed was broken by, “Seriously?” Scott snorted, clearly not sure if it was true or if his best friend was making a lame joke.

“Seriously,” Stiles smirked.

“An Alpha level Sentinel...” Mason’s voice held some awe.

“Stiles,” Lydia breathed, “Do you know how rare that is?”

“Ugh... yes Lydia... I know.” It was how everyone responded to learning his Alpha level status, “But it doesn’t really mean anything.”  A part of him hated how being an Alpha level was what defined him to the people around him now.  Like there was nothing else special or worthwhile about him but that.  He didn’t want his friends to see him differently too, “I’m still me.”

Lydia seemed to understand because she said, “Of course you are.  Nothing will change you, Stiles.”

“Dude...” Scott laughed, “That’s so cool!  You’re an Alpha!” Stiles could always count on Scott to embrace things with the appropriate amount of gravitas... “We’re Alpha brothers now!”

“Do you have X-ray vision?” Liam asked.

“That’s not real,” Danny’s eye roll could practically be heard.

“Danny’s right Liam.  But I probably have better sight than you.”

“All your senses should actually be better than a werewolf’s,” Lydia observed.

“Whoa,” Scott marveled, “You always beat me at Call of Duty before... How bad are you gonna beat me with enhanced senses?”

“I’ll dial it down for ya Scotty buddy.  Wouldn’t want to beat you too badly.”

“So,” Danny interjected, “When are you coming back?  It’s not the same without you here, Stiles.”

“Oh yeah...  Well--”

A door opened and closed distantly and then Liam said, “Hey Derek, Stiles is on the phone!”

Derek was there.  Standing in the room with them...

“He’s an Alpha Sentinel!” Scott’s voice was sort of breathless, “Can you believe it?”

“Yeah...,” Stiles tried to insert some enthusiasm into his voice.  “Um, so, guys... Listen, I gotta go.” He didn’t want to hear Derek’s voice.  He didn’t want to know how the other was doing or what was going on with him.  

“But we just started talking!” Scott protested and Stiles was sure there were puppy eyes happening.  Thank god this was a phone call and not a Skype - he’d never been able deny Scott’s puppy eyes.

“I know, but you know how it is... Lots of Sentinel business to take care of here.  But I miss you guys and it’s so great hearing your voices.  I’ll call you all soon now that I’m cleared!  I promise.  Okay?” he was gripping his knee tight enough to whiten his finger tips, “Uh, Scott can you take me off speaker?”

“Sure,” He heard the sound change, narrowing as the phone was switched off from the speaker set up and then it was only Scott, “It’s great to hear your voice again man...  I’ve missed you.”

Behind his best friend, he heard the others still calling out farewells and various sweet goodbyes (along with a “You better call,” from Lydia).  Stiles swallowed hard, tears stinging his eyes, “I’ve missed you too, buddy.  And we’ll talk again soon. I promise.”

“Yeah, no more not talking for years on end.  I mean it.  It... was... well...”

“Same here...” He smiled softly, “Merry Christmas Scott.”

“Happy Chanukah Stiles.”

He chuckled, “Thanks Scott,” then he clicked the phone off, wanting to end the call before it dragged on too much longer and Scott asked if he was going to come visit.  It was there... silent between them... and he didn’t have an answer.  Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his chest, trying to loosen the tightness he felt there.  

Derek...  That asshole.

Chapter Text

New Year’s Eve was not something Derek normally paid attention to since returning to Beacon Hills.  The last time he was really aware of it was when he lived in New York with Laura and the whole city would celebrate it.  You could hear the cheer at midnight from Times Square no matter where you were.

For Derek, it was generally just another reminder of another year passing and that there were nothing left of some people but ghosts.

But his feelings on the matter didn’t mean much when it was pretty near impossible to refuse Melissa’s invitation, which is how he found himself at the McCall residence a week after Christmas Eve, knocking on the door on New Year’s Eve.  She greeted him at the door with a smile, looking lovely with her hair up, wearing a deep blue dress that was a change from the scrubs he usually saw her in.  He barely managed a smile before the woman pulled him into a warm hug, making him feel awkward for a heartbeat before he relaxed into it with a huff of humor.  It struck him, in that brief moment, that Talia would have loved Melissa - both were such strong women.

When they parted she grinned, “Come in, come in...  Tonight we get to be grown-ups.”

Derek noticed a few of the other people inside were wearing party hats and blowing tiny horns as they laughed and giggled.  The werewolf turned his head to lift a single brow in question and judgement at her.

“Hey, we don’t stop being kids because we grow old.  We grow old because we stop being kids,” Melissa playfully scolded before giving a gentle shove to his shoulder, “Now, go get something to drink, relax, and have fun.”

The other guests had obviously been there for a while from what he could tell - they were all looking comfortable and at ease.  It was mostly staff from the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, doctors and nurses that Melissa worked with.  Lydia had gone to spend New Year’s with her father and Danny returned home to Santa Monica.  Parrish was covering shifts for the Sheriff who was currently up in Cascade with Stiles.

After Christmas, Stiles had kept his word about keeping in touch, calling everyone and talking to them - all except Derek of course, but then, he didn’t really expect a phone call.  It changed everything in the pack...  Before Christmas Eve, barely a word was spoken about Stiles, not even by his father.  The Sheriff had always played his cards close to his chest, so it wasn’t strange for him to keep his feelings to himself.  The others though, Scott, Lydia... for them, Stiles was a dear friend and being unable to communicate with him left them in a state of impotency - helpless and worried.  It was better to talk about anything and everything but speculation about Stiles and memories of him like he was dead.  Speaking about him made it more obvious he wasn’t there to fill in the spaces.

Now, it seemed like all they could talk about was Stiles - like they were finally allowed to again.

It was why he’d been avoiding them for the last six days.

When night fully settled and the noise of conversation had gotten too loud to be pleasant, Derek found Scott sitting alone in the dying grass of the backyard.  Easing down next to him, he handed Scott a beer, fully aware it wouldn’t get the young man drunk, but it was something they could do quietly together.  The Alpha accepted the bottle with a nod and Derek could scent the sadness rolling off of the young man.  

After drinking for a few minutes under the star strewn sky, Scott blurted, “I screwed it all up!”

Derek didn’t respond.  Instead he sat and continued tilting back his beer to allow the other to have room to speak.

“I feel like I should have seen it coming,” Scott ran his hand through his dark hair, “Or should have stopped it, or maybe...” he pulled his knees up to rest his elbows on them, his hand swinging the bottle back and forth in a pendulum movement in the area between his knees, “Maybe I did see it and I just chose to let it fall apart... I suppose it doesn’t matter, cause in the end, I hurt Kira and she left.”

The older man sighed, “Scott, if there’s one thing I know about you...  you don’t hurt the people you love on purpose.”

“Maybe...” 

“You’re a good person.  Trust me on that,” Derek averred.

“Even so.  It’s over now.”

“It’s not all over.  Tomorrow you’ll start over again like everyone else does, with a chance to fix things and do better.  That’s how this all works.”  Derek internally frowned, wondering if he should attempt to take his own advice.  But he didn’t see how he could fix the things that were broken...

Scott gave his crooked smile, “You sound like Ben Kenobi or something.”

“Finally saw Star Wars?”

Letting his head fall back Scott said, “Yeah.  Figured I owed it to him to finally watch them. Don’t tell him though.  I want to surprise him.”

After taking one last swig of his beer, the werewolf nodded, agreeing to keep it to himself, though he didn’t see when he’d be talking to Stiles ever again.  “You didn’t watch the prequels did you?”

“Of course not.  He’d be more upset by that than if I hadn’t seen any of them.” Scott set the empty bottle down beside him before easing backwards to lay on the ground and stare up at the stars.

The quiet resettled around them with only the murmur of distant voices humming in the background. 

It was in that silence that Scott whispered, “He’s not coming back...”

From the house and throughout the neighborhood, hundreds of voices lifted in cheers of celebration as the clock struck midnight.  A few heartbeats later, fireworks began exploding in the sky, the sound loud and thundering in Derek’s chest.  The bright lights blossomed in the dark, bursting in different colors and then slowly fell, fizzling away...

*************************

2 weeks later

Stiles was flopped on the table like a rag doll, his head resting on the smooth surface in front of the open laptop, “I’m so broken...” his voice was a hoarse groan.  It was 5 a.m. and he was tired on top of being sore.  

Kira wrinkled her nose in a wince of sympathy from the screen through the Skype connection, “Well, you are trying to squeeze a lot into a short amount of time.” 

Being up this early wasn’t necessarily his choice, but with the time difference and schedules, this was the only time they could find to talk.  “My Berkley studies are fine.  Even the stuff for the Investigative Unit is pretty easy.  Just procedure and rules,” he muttered, his face smushed against the table, “It’s the physical training that’s killing me.  Every part of me aches.  Places I didn’t know existed ache.  The back of my knees hurt Kira.  How can the back of my knees hurt?” he whined plaintively.

She pursed her lips, “I would have thought that lacrosse practice would have prepared you for this.”

He lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at her, “I’d give anything for one of Coach’s suicide runs right now.”

“You can always transfer if it gets too hard, right?”

Plopping his head into his palm, propping it up while he was still half lying on the table, he made a face, “Yeah, but I don’t want to.” His studies and training had begun the day after his father had left Cascade to return to Beacon Hills.  “I want to see this through.  Maybe be able to keep up with all you badasses for once.”

“That never really seemed to be a problem for you Stiles...” She tilted her head and smiled affectionately.

“True.  I am fairly amazing,” he twitched his brows up before grinning, “So what about you?  How’s the Big Apple?”  He’d kept his promise and spoken to everyone in the pack after Christmas Eve.  Lydia had questioned him left and right about being a Sentinel - which he expected - and he had a hard time not sharing everything with her.  There were things he wasn’t supposed to talk about and she seemed to sense when he was hedging about certain subjects.  Thankfully it was on the phone where it was a little easier to dodge her questions.  Danny was more laid back and Stiles had been able to just let the guy talk about all the cool stuff he was working on.  Liam and Mason were only interested in all the cool things he could do and it was easy enough to do some ‘party tricks’ like listening to their heartbeats or identifying instruments in a song they were listening to.  Most of his calls were to Scott, catching up and reconnecting.

Kira shrugged, her smiling dropping a bit, “It’s okay... You know.”

“Noooo,” he dragged the word out, shaking his head as he kept it resting in his hand, “I don’t know.  I’ve never been.  What, it’s not exciting to be in the city?  There’s all those Broadway shows, museums... clubs.”

“Stiles,” she huffed, “I’m living with my parents.  Not exactly a party.”

“So, move out?  You’re working.”

The young woman rolled her dark eyes and sighed, “Finding affordable housing is nearly impossible here.  I can’t get anything on my salary.”

“You could always get another job.”

“That’s even harder than finding an apartment!  I was lucky to get the one I did.  And I’m pretty sure I only got it because my boss’s niece was in one of my Dad’s classes at NYU.”

He sat up a bit more, “Well, at least you’re doing interior design...”

Again she sighed, “I’m pretty much a gopher,” her graceful hand that had wielded many a weapon with ease, brushed her long pony tail back over her shoulder. “All I do is get her coffee, walk her dog and pick up her dry cleaning.  She says I’m not ready yet and need more time learning.  But like, how can I do that when I’m busy walking her purse dog and picking up its poop?”

“Purse dog?” Stiles frowned.  

“Don’t get me wrong,” she went on, “I love dogs, but... it looks really weird!” Kira made odd gestures around her face, “Its nose is like thin and short and it can’t keep its tongue in its mouth and its green!  Though to be fair, I think that’s because my boss has its hair dyed.” She shook her head, her eyes gazing off screen, “... So weird.”

“Kira,” Stiles softened his voice, becoming more serious, “Was it really so bad?”

There was no reason to clarify what he was referring to.  Her lids lowered as her expression became more sad and wistful.  After a few breaths, she lifted her lashes to meet his eyes, “I didn’t want to leave him.”

“Then why did you?” Stiles had pestered Scott about the break up, trying to get details on what happened, but the guy was vague.  He just kept saying he screwed things up.  Stiles suspected Scott was too embarrassed to tell him more or to try to contact Kira, but it was really clear that the Alpha missed his kitsune.  Jamie, the coffee shop girl lasted only a few weeks because even she could see Scott was still hung up on his ex.

“You weren’t there Stiles,” Kira saw what must have been a stricken expression on his face because she immediately shook her head, “No, no, no!  I mean.  I wasn’t--I didn’t mean it was your fault or anything, or accusing you!  It’s just that you didn’t see him.” She winced at her choice of words before trying again, “After we returned to Fresno so Scott could start his graduate studies, things were fine.  At first.  I was working full time and yeah, it was a crappy job, but I didn’t mind.  I mean, we’d talked about it before graduation and I thought we had it all figured out.  I was going to work and we’d live off my salary so he could focus on school.  It would be a struggle, but you know,” with a shrug she let the sentence dangle.

“Scott did something stupid and self-sacrificing... right?” He had a sneaking suspicion about what Scott did, because while the guy was sweet, he wasn’t big on anyone ‘carrying’ him.

“He got a part time job at night,” Kira answered, “With his classes, study groups, homework and everything, it meant we barely saw each other and when we did, he was exhausted.  I kept telling him he should quit because he was doing too much, but he just got mad, like I insulted him or something.  We started arguing... mostly stupid stuff at first, but then almost every conversation became an argument.” Her fingers traced idly over the edge of her laptop - a distraction from thinking too much about what she was saying, “I know it was just stress and exhaustion, but we were almost constantly fighting when we would actually get to see each other.”

Stiles winced, but didn’t interrupt her.

“Then, like he realized what he was doing, he started cutting himself off, like that would solve the problem.  As soon as there was even the possibility of things getting heated, he would just stop and refuse to talk anymore.” Kira’s eyes were wet and he guessed she’d done a lot of crying over this, “Scott wouldn’t talk to me anymore and I just couldn’t deal with that.  The yelling was better than him just walking away.  So... I walked away instead.” Her shoulders lifted, then dropped in a helpless shrug.

There was no helping the deep sigh that shuddered through Stiles.  Inwardly, he was rolling his eyes at his best friend’s behavior, because yeah, the guy was being stupidly sweet and caring in his own stupid way.  He was sure memories of Rafael and Melissa’s fights were haunting Scott and the guy had always said he didn’t want to have a relationship like his parents - and he didn’t want to turn into his father.  So, to avoid it, instead of yelling, he clearly chose to walk away, thinking that was a better way to handle the situation.

Returning his attention to Kira who was looking all sorts of miserable, he asked, “Do you still care about him?”

“Stiles!” her whole body perked up, “How can you ask me that?  Of course I do!  I always will.”

“Okay,” he licked his lips before holding her gaze, “Do you still love him?”

Now Kira squirmed and her nose wrinkled like she couldn’t help admitting it, “Yeah... Yeah I do.”

“Right,” Stiles slapped his hand on the table assertively, “That settles it.  Don’t worry, I got this.”

“Really?” her eyes glittered with some real life for the first time during the conversation.

“Yup,” he gave a wink and a nod.

Kira’s face lit up beautifully, “Thanks Stiles.  I just... I didn’t know what to do... And maybe I shouldn’t have left, but there was no one to talk to about it and--”

“Hey, don’t worry.  Trust me, Scott’s torn up about it and you both care about each other and both love each other so we should be able to get you two crazy kids back together.” He didn’t add that there should be someone in their messed up pack of friends who was with the person they loved.

*************************

“So, you’ve gotten a break in the case?” Derek’s voice was calm, but his body was tense, revealing more of how eager he was for news.  He’d closed the door to the sheriff’s office, leaving them privacy to talk.

When the Sheriff returned to Beacon Hills, he and Derek had done a search for anyone by the name of Billy Clark, but there was no one in Beacon County by that name.  They even expanded into the surrounding counties, only to come up with nothing.  It had been frustrating to say the least - on top of which, the Sheriff had to focus on catching up on files and paperwork that had been left waiting for him, putting a hold on things till he got caught up.  As much as he wanted the cold case solved, he couldn’t neglect the rest of his responsibilities.

Smiling, he turned the computer screen so Derek could see it, “Meet Mr. and Mrs. Clark.”

The image was of a couple smiling as they stood outside of what must of been their house, arms around each other’s waists to pose for the photograph.  Derek’s green eyes darted over the picture before he frowned over his shoulder at the Sheriff, “I don’t get it.  Is that man Billy Clark?”

Stilinski lifted his mug of coffee and took a sip before he nodded at the computer, “Ken and Michelle Clark are the parents of one, Billy Clark,” he explained before setting the mug down on his desk. “Since we weren’t getting any information on our search, I tried to look at this differently...  I mean, Billy was a teenager, right?  Basically a kid who was running around the Preserve for days as far as we know.  If it was my kid, I’d be worried sick about him.”

“Assuming they didn’t have any idea what was going on with him,” Derek interjected.

“Hey, Stiles was running around with you for what, a year or so before I found out?” the werewolf winced, clearly still feeling a bit of guilt for the secrets they had all kept, “And I only found out because I was captured to be some god damn sacrifice,” he shook his head in memory. “It’s sad that I’m almost thankful that happened, otherwise, I’d have had no idea what my son was up to.  I was half convinced the kid was doing drugs.”

Thinking about Stiles, it was hard for the Sheriff to fight back the gentle smile that threatened to form on his lips.  He and Stiles had probably spent a good ten or fifteen minutes just hugging in the airport when he’d arrived in Cascade.  Part of it had been the joy at seeing each other again - obviously - but for the Sheriff, he was just so thankful and glad to have real and solid proof in his arms that his boy was alive and well, he didn’t want to let go.

Seeing Stiles in the Berkley hospital after the explosion had been a sort of small personal purgatory.  The image of his son, pale and lying in bed with bandages on his head, bruises and cuts mottling his body with wires and tubes sticking out of him... It had been a horrible echo of Claudia.  The unwelcome helplessness, worry and fear, had all been too terribly familiar.  And to be left sitting and talking to the boy who was way too quiet, felt like he was saying goodbye to someone he loved... again.

That was till Stiles woke up screaming in agony, writhing like his body was on fire.  It had been terrifying.  The only way to stop it was to sedate him and keep him that way because even the slightest amount of awareness left his son in pain.  

Due to the Stilinski family’s medical history, the doctors wanted to cover their bases, so they ordered an MRI.  The Sheriff had to quietly suffer that nightmare once more - His wife... the Nogitsune...  he just wanted to wake up from it and find Stiles peacefully asleep up in his bedroom in Beacon Hills - Safe.  The MRI machine clanged over and over, scanning as Stilinski stood, his arms crossed and face blank, while inside he was crumbling.  “This is part of the price,” he thought to himself at the time, “for being a parent.”

His relief was immense when the scans showed no signs of deterioration, but they did show something else.  There were parts of Stiles’ brain that were lit up like Christmas trees - not only active, but intensely so.  That’s when the Sentinel Institute was called in and explained what they believed was happening.  They told him that they had special rooms where Stiles’ body could find some peace from the overload of input and then they would get him on the path to recovery.  There really wasn’t a choice, was there?

He watched them take his boy away, promises of helping him, healing him, on their lips.

In the end, even all the calls and Skyping hadn’t made him feel settled like holding his son in his arms did.  That’s when he really knew Stiles was okay.  Then of course, the kid opened his mouth and didn’t stop talking - his eyes, so like Claudia’s, were bright and excited while his arms gesticulated like they functioned separately from his body.  Stiles was still Stiles, Alpha Sentinel or not.

Returning his attention back to the situation at hand he said, “Parents don’t always have a clue what their kids are up to, but they would sure as hell notice if their son was gone for more than a day.”

“So you thought they filed a Missing Person’s report?” 

He nodded, “Of course imagine my surprise when Billy Clark didn’t come up, but his parents did.”

Derek leaned forward, “Wait, his parents are listed as Missing Persons?”

“Yup,” the Sheriff, “According to the report, Billy Clark was found by neighbors sitting on the front steps of his home in San Benito County.  The house was locked up tight.  The windows, the doors... everything.  All from the outside.  Their car was gone.”

“San Benito is no where close to here.”

“Last anyone knows about the Clarks is that they were set to go on vacation about a month before Billy was found. We can guess that they passed through Beacon Hills...  Maybe drove through?  But what happened between then and when your family found him is anyone’s guess.”

“The car wasn’t found either I take it?”

“Nope.  Ken was a manager at the local gas station and Michelle was the receptionist at an insurance company.  Not the types to scream suspicious activity.  No leads on any suspects or where the Clarks might be and no bodies fitting their descriptions have been found.”

“Great,” Derek observed flatly.  He rubbed his lower lip thoughtfully, “What about Billy?  They had to have questioned him.”

“Billy,” the Sheriff picked up a print out from the desk, “Was non-responsive when he was found.  He was taken to the hospital for a psych eval...  When he did finally talk, he said he didn’t have any memory of what happened or how he got home or where his parents were.”

The werewolf frowned, “So he says.”

“So he says,” the Sheriff agreed, “But Billy was a minor at the time and there wasn’t a lot they could do to force him to answer.  The psychologist evaluating Billy confirmed that the boy was suffering from memory loss as a way to deal with what was probably an extremely traumatic experience and wasn’t faking it.  He exhibited all the signs and then Child Protective Services took over and he was pulled into the system.”

“So he was in foster care?”

“No, he ended up in relative placement.  Legal custody was given to out of state relatives.”

“Can we track him down then?”

Now the Sheriff sighed deeply, “Well, his case was transferred to another CPS caseworker and that’s where it gets hazy.  I put in a request to be put in contact with them.  We have an open case so we have grounds to be able to find Billy Clark, it’s just a matter of some red tape and paperwork.”

The werewolf frowned, “So there’s nothing you can do?”

It always bothered the Sheriff that people thought he had carte’ blanch as a police officer to do whatever the hell he felt like when it came to getting information - like his computer just delivered everything to him on a silver platter because he typed in what he wanted.  It wasn’t true at all - or else closing cases would be a lot easier for him.  There were still procedures he had to follow and the law was there for a reason.  Being a sheriff didn’t give him a magic wand to wave, no matter what people believed or saw on television. 

“I put in a request... Like I said.  We’re dealing with a long space of time from the crime to now, on top of crossing county lines and possibly state lines.  There’s a lot of paperwork and chains to follow.  So... we’ll have to wait.”

And no one had to tell Stilinski how hard it was to sit and wait. 

************************* 

3 weeks later 

“I see a vantage point from here,” Stiles squinted, letting his eyes focus into the distance where there was a copse of trees, “Right there, the branches break up enough.  And it’s an easy climb.  The shooter would have a clear shot with a sniper rifle from there.”

The lead detective in charge of the investigation tried to see what Stiles did, but obviously couldn’t, squinting hard, “All right,” he finally said before directing some of his team to go where Stiles had pointed.  One of the other Sentinel Investigative Unit members went with them to make sure evidence wasn’t missed.

“Good eyes, Stilinski,” Their team leader, Ramon called, using his tablet to make some notations.  It could have been notes on the investigation or on Stiles’ performance.  There was no way to know.  Ramon wasn’t forthcoming with that sort of information, letting his trainees succeed or fail on their own during actual field work.

The nine person team of Stiles’ unit were currently working a crime scene with the Seattle Police Department.  It was a training session as much of an opportunity to gain real world experience.  This meant not only being out at the scene, but going over police reports, crime scene photos and of course, gathering evidence.  Certainly the Sentinels could have done that all on their own, but the court systems were still shaky on allowing Sentinel testimony in court.  Everything they did had to have a second test or record by the regular crime scene investigators to ‘double check’ it.  Testifying that you could hear a person lie, or could see a tiny speck of blood on their sleeve didn’t really hold up in court.  It might as well have been regulated to hearsay.

Stiles was grateful for the years of shadowing his father on cases, since it gave him experience and an inside knowledge of police procedure.  He had an easier time talking to officers and wasn’t too squeamish when things were a bit gory.  Of course, whether he could chalk that up to having seen crime scene photos or his time dealing with the results of gruesome monster killings was always in question.

Currently, other members of the SIU were working in different areas, concentrating their abilities where they would work best.  This had been a multiple shooting and there were three dead bodies.  The victims were identified as criminals and it was most likely a hit from another criminal group.  It was just a matter of gathering evidence at this point.  SIU wouldn’t be involved in the investigation once this part was done.  Stiles found that frustrating because he knew they could be further help, but for now, he would focus on just doing what he was supposed to do to help the police.

It was not easy.  A few of the officers were less than thrilled to have to work with a bunch of ‘freaks’ and obviously had no problem vocalizing it.  They knew that at least a few of the Sentinels had enhanced hearing and rather than deter them from their mutterings, it seemed to spur them on - they clearly didn’t care they could be heard.  

Thanks to high school, Stiles was used to this sort of behavior... People talking about him behind his back.  He had just thought that once he was out of high school, this would have stopped - he didn’t realize it was all just practice for the real world.  The only difference was, back then, he could only guess what people said about him, now he could hear them clearly.

Then he heard one of Seattle’s finest make a comment about Shay’s ass and he frowned.  Turning around he snapped, “Hey!” he caught the officer’s attention, “Maybe you want to keep your eyes on where you’re walking rather than on her ass!” he gestured to where the man was standing.

The two policemen who’d been whispering both glanced down in confusion.

“”You’re standing on evidence!  Those are possible shoe prints your stomping on, genius.”

Both officers immediately jumped back, stumbling and nearly falling into the mud, trying not to step on any more shoe prints.  

Stiles waited till they gained their footing before pretending to look more closely, “Oh... geez.  My mistake.  Sorry guys.  Those aren’t shoe prints...  You weren’t doing anything wrong.”  When they started cursing and complaining, Stiles shrugged innocently, “I’m still training.” There was no remorse in his voice at all.  

The activity was enough that a detective called the officers over to give them something useful to do and Stiles watched them storm off with a sense of satisfaction.  When he turned around, Shay was smiling at him in appreciation.

“Thanks, Stiles.”

“No problem.  They were being gross.  And we’re in the middle of a bloody crime scene, so, you know, they have to be working really hard at being grosser than shot up bodies.”

Shay was a Guide, Bonded to Ramon.  The two of them weren’t in love or anything like Divya and Tammy were.  In fact, he got the sense that they were pretty indifferent to each other.  “Well, Ramon wouldn’t say anything... He’d be too worried about stepping on toes or it not being professional,” her thin lips pulled into a frown.

“I’m sure he would have said something if he saw them ogling you,” he didn’t know why he felt like he had to defend the guy, but Ramon was team leader and trainer and Stiles didn’t hate him.

“Maybe,” she shrugged before kneeling down by a box on the ground that held evidence bags and containers.

Stiles worried his lip for a moment before he stepped closer to her, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she pulled out a few bags.

“Do you like being in the SIU?  I mean, if you weren’t Bonded, would you still be in the Unit?”

Shay paused, her sharp bright eyes darting to the ground while she thought about the question.  Slowly, her head tilted, “Well, I probably wouldn’t be allowed to even be in the SIU if I wasn’t Bonded.  It’s too dangerous.” There was a certain amount of risk in SIU and the Sentinel Institute wouldn’t put any UnBonded Guides in harm's way.  They were too precious a commodity for that to happen.  “But, no,” she answered, “I wouldn’t be in the SIU if not for Ramon.  It’s not really what I wanted to be doing.” After standing up, she brushed her knees off, “But since that’s where he is, that’s where I am.” The Guide gave him a brief smile, “I better go get these to Brian.” 

Stiles watched her walk over to the other man, his mind on what she’d said.  It had confirmed his suspicions regarding Shay, who never looked happy to be out in the field or dealing with the crime scenes.  It was the price of being a Guide...  Once she signed on with the Sentinels and Bonded, the choice was not really hers any more.  It made him more certain that he didn’t want to Bond.  It sucked that Shay had to be where she wasn’t happy, even if it was for the better health and well being of the Bonded Pair.  Sentinels were needed in the world and once you Bonded, you couldn’t be apart from each other.  

He personally knew what it was like to have your choices taken from you - to not have a say in what was happening to you or what you were doing...

“Everyone has one, but no one can lose it...  What is it?” 

Stiles shuddered.  The last thing he wanted was to do something like that to someone else.

“Hey,” Justin’s familiar husky voice broke him out of his thoughts, “You okay?  I was worried for a moment you were Zoning.”

After shaking his head, he said with a half grin, “Nope... Just thinking.” His cheeks grew lightly pink at having been caught daydreaming.

“So that was what smelled like burning,” the Beta Sentinel said in mock surprise.

Stiles shoved the other guy playfully, “Dick.”

“No, Justin.  My name is Justin.” He clutched Stiles’ shoulder, play acting his worry, “Seriously, you okay?”

“Oh my god!” he rolled his eyes, “Shut up.” Stiles laughed, glad that Justin was on his team.  The guy was really relaxed and kept things from getting too heavy.  It was a nice reprieve considering what they had to deal with sometimes - on top of the training and studying which could weigh you down.  And he had an easy, pleasant smile.

Both of of them sobered though when Shay came jogging up, her features pale and her eyes wide.  Justin asked, “What is it?” 

“Ramon... he just got a call.” she swallowed, “There was... there was an accident.”

Stiles became alert, “Where?” his initial thought was his father or his friends, his mind racing before he could stop it.

“In Detroit...  An SIU team.  There was an explosion.”

“What?” Stiles asked, feeling some relief that it wasn’t in Beacon Hills, but immediately, his head was filled with worry for the SIU.  He had come to know a few people in the department after all.

“Yeah,” Shay nodded, “Five are... they’re dead.”

Chapter Text

4 weeks later, March 

Derek was walking from the supermarket carrying his bag of groceries, his mind on the wiring he’d have to do in the lofts. It kept his head occupied while he was in the market because there were so many places in there where his sense of smell was assaulted with chemicals and assorted perfumes - and that wasn’t including the people all around him who were smelling of different soaps and colognes.  The only relief was the fresh produce section where he could just take in the scents of fruits and vegetables.  Even if he didn’t buy any it was a respite from the unnatural smells that were so concentrated in the store.  People who weren’t werewolves didn’t understand the sometimes not so subtle layer that scents laid over the input of the world.  And it wasn’t like he could turn it off.  That was like trying to not hear or see.  

It was another thing he’d simply grown up with, but Scott had to learn how to adjust to the new information and his brain had to start a whole new sorting system.  He idly wondered if Stiles did too...

Reaching his SUV he caught the flash of red and blue lights against the vehicle’s dark surface.  Turning his head, a frown marring his features, he searched around for the source.  Quickly he spotted police cruisers across the street, parked behind a sedan with a small crowd of bystanders.  After putting his bags into the car, he gave in to his curiosity to cross the road, wondering if it was anything serious. He moved among the people gathered, listening to them talking so he could piece the story of the events from their comments.

“She just walked out in the street...”

“... he was speeding...”

“...Thank god the deputy pulled her just in time!”

“A Sentinel... one of those crazy ones...”

Puzzling together what he could, he managed to get it into a narrative...  A Sentinel walked into the street and Jared Stewart, who’d been speeding, almost hit her.  A deputy managed to pull her out of the way at the last minute, saving her life.   

All in all, it meant more Sentinel trouble and he wondered if he should step in and offer to help.  Moving closer, he tried to see who the deputy ‘hero’ was... Wondering if it was Parrish or Robbins...

“Greenberg?” Derek gaped, unable to keep his shock hidden.  The guy was still relatively new on the force and generally the sort you trusted more with paperwork than with firearms.  The werewolf had to admit he was a little impressed.  Apparently years of high school lacrosse had helped the guy’s reflexes when it came to yanking women out of the way of speeding cars.

His attention was pulled by Mr. Stewart, the driver, who was standing near his car, getting louder and louder in his complaints about ‘crazy’ Sentinels running into the street.  Deputy Wyatt was there attempting to calm him down, but didn’t appear to be making any headway on that front.

Mr. Stewart shouted, “She’s crazy!  Just standing there in the street!” he pushed past Wyatt and grabbed the arm of the Sentinel, a woman, who was sitting on the sidewalk, staring blankly at the sky.  He shook her, yelling, “Are you deaf or something?”

“Hey!” Greenberg rushed over, separating Mr. Stewart from the woman, “Get off of her and step back!” he put himself between them. “She’s Zoned-out!  She can’t help it!”

“So because some crazy Sentinel bitch--”

“That’s enough!” Sheriff Stilinski barked as he strode up, bringing everything to a halt, “I don’t want to add assault to the list of charges.” He pat Greenberg’s shoulder to have him move aside, and then took his place.  Blue eyes as hard as diamonds, the Sheriff stared down the driver, “Now, Mr. Stewart.  I hope the tickets Deputy Greenberg has taken the time to write up will remind you to maintain the proper speed limits while driving through town.” His voice was calm and steady in an attempt to let the air out of the situation.

With a sneer, Mr. Stewart waved the tickets he was holding at the woman who was still gazing up at the sky, “Yeah, well, maybe if she hadn’t jumped out in front of my car--”

“Sir,” The Sheriff interrupted, “I have multiple eye witness statements that say the woman was standing in the road... Unmoving.  Had you been going the correct speed limit on the curve, you would have easily seen her and had plenty of time to break or turn to avoid hitting her.  As it was, you were going too fast and the tire marks on the road suggest hard breaking and swerving.  If she hadn’t been pulled out of the way in time, she’d be dead, and I’d be arresting you on charges of manslaughter.” The dark picture the Sheriff was painting, was his attempt to get the driver to realize how much worse this could all be for him.  Derek hoped the guy got the hint and shut up.

Mr. Stewart didn’t get the hint.

“So what?  They get to do what they want?  You not gonna do anything about that?”

After rubbing his face in frustration, Stilinski glared at the other man, stepping closer so they were practically toe to toe, “You know what I’m gonna do?  I’m gonna start thinking that maybe, instead of letting this go with a few tickets, I might drag you down to the station to formally charge you with reckless endangerment,” He set his hands on his belt, fingers near the pocket holding his handcuffs,” That’s a felony.  And if you’re convicted, which I’m betting you probably will be, you can get some jail time.  So... the question I put to you, Mr. Stewart, is what are you gonna do?” He leaned forward, allowing his figure and uniform to intimidate the other man.

Finally, the driver got it, paling and sweat popping out all over him, even in the cooler temperatures, “Um... I’m gonna take my tickets and go home.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” the Sheriff smiled sarcastically.  

Mr. Stewart scrambled to get around his car so he could get in and drive off - before the officer changed his mind - and at the proper speed limit.  Once he was gone, Stilinski turned around to address Greenberg who was now crouched down next to the Zoned woman,” How we doing over here?”

“Okay,” the young man answered, squinting up, “Though I think we’ll be better now that the S.I. team’s here,” he nodded towards the street and when Derek looked, he saw the familiar gray van with the S.I. logo printed on its side.  It parked and out stepped Samantha, along with a few other staff members.  The young woman in her usual gray clothing, walked over to where the Zoned Sentinel, Greenberg and Stilinski were standing.  Wyatt headed back to his vehicle to radio the station that the S.I. team had arrived while the other three spoke.

“How long has she been like this?” Samantha asked, kneeling down beside the other woman.  

“Not sure,” Greenberg sighed, pulling a notebook from his pocket and flipping a few pages, “Witnesses said they saw her walking into the road a few minutes before Mr. Stewart almost hit her.  They hadn’t initially thought anything because they had believed she was just crossing the street.  So... that was about an hour and a half ago?” The young man shut the pad and sighed, “She must have been Zoned before then?”

“Probably,” Samantha sighed.  Another Guide and two Sentinels stood to the side, watching quietly as Samantha tilted her head left and right.  Derek guessed she was trying to get a read on the Zoned woman...  He’d never seen her do this before.  “She’s calm...  I don’t think this was brought on by anything traumatic.  Okay,” She gazed up towards the other Guide with them, “Let’s take her to the van Ryan...”

The other Guide nodded and eased the Sentinel to her feet before escorting her gently into the van.  The Zoned woman didn’t fight, but her eyes were still on the sky, focused on something else intensely.  Derek managed to get ahead of the gathered gawkers, though some were heading away now that the excitement was mostly over.  While the small crowd dispersed, there was no missing the whispered comments about the Sentinels and the danger they posed to the community.  Frowning, he approached the officers and Guide.

“Oh, hey Derek,” Stilinski gave a weary smile, “Didn’t see you here.”

“I was just across the street and saw the commotion.  Wanted to see if my help was needed, but it looks like Greenberg had it under control.”

The younger deputy rubbed the back of his neck, obviously not used to getting complimented, “It was nothing.  Just doing my job...  I was in the right place at the right time.”

Stilinski smiled, “Well, you did good kid,” he accompanied the praise with a clasp of the deputy’s shoulder.

“Yeah Greenberg, nice job!” Wyatt said, joining them, “Now you get to have the special honor of doing the paperwork.” He gave the younger man a hard slap on the back which nearly sent Greenberg stumbling into the street.  “Thought it would be a pretty quiet day patrolling, but not today... right?” Wyatt clutched the other deputy’s shoulder and led him back to their cruiser.

After the deputies left to return to the station, the Sheriff gave a tired sigh, “So, another Sentinel...” 

Samantha brushed some hair behind her ear, “I’m glad he was there to help her.  I can’t imagine how bad it would have been if she’d been hit by a car...” Her eyes darted from Stilinski to Derek, “We still got a call previous to yours though.”

“Damn it,” the older man swore, rubbing the top of his head.

“I need to go and get her back to the Recovery Center,” the young woman sighed, “I’m sure we’ll get it figured it out Sheriff... See you later... Take care Mr. Hale.”

Stilinski crossed his arms as the van pulled away to head back to the Recovery Center, “This could have ended worse...”

Derek nodded, “But I don’t think the Sentinels earned any fans today.”

“The natives getting restless?” he asked, his eyes sharply taking in some of the remaining bystanders who were talking to each other.

The werewolf nodded again, “Definitely... I’m not hearing a lot of sympathy.”

The Sheriff sighed, “I better head back then... I’m sure there will be more than a few complaints that suddenly pop up after this.”

*************************

2 weeks later

Running had a way of clarifying Stiles’ thoughts that few other methods could - possibly better than any of the meditation techniques that Divya had taught him.  Maybe it was the simple expelling of energy or having to focus on the rhythm of his breathing or pacing...  Or perhaps it was the fresh early morning air in the park.  Whatever the reason, Stiles was able to let his mind go down whatever tracks it needed - usually it managed to find answers to questions or solutions to problems without a lot of over thinking... Which Stiles tended to do most of the time otherwise.  

Currently, his mind was on the accident in Detroit that took out that SIU team.

It was weeks ago and everyone agreed it was an accident, so he didn’t even know why it was still bothering him.  He’d read the report over and over till he could see it in his sleep...  The SIU team had entered the apartment of a suspected bomber.  The bomb squad had already done a sweep and finding nothing suspicious had okayed the room.  Apparently they missed an explosive device set under the floor.  The Sentinels hadn’t detected them either, but it’s possible that the materials in the apartment mislead their senses - it was a way they could have missed the scents that should have alerted them...  But Stiles still felt like there was more to it.

Ramon told him he was over thinking it and needed to concentrate on his studies and training - especially on his firing range scores which weren’t as good as they should be.

The pathway turned and he continued to follow it, letting the faint smells from a bakery one block over get his mind from rolling into frustration.  It was one of the many advantages of running through the Gilbreth Memorial Park which was set in the middle of Cascade a few blocks from the Sentinel Institute - he could choose to narrow his senses down or expand them to experience something else.  It was a beautiful green growing park in the center of the city, so the options of sensory input were pretty varied.

He let the fresh bread scent go, shifting his thoughts to other things... and felt thankful that Scott and finally gotten his shit together.  After talking to Kira in January, he’d immediately called his best friend and demanded he spill it about what happened.  There was a lot of hemming and hawing and repeated attempts at changing the subject till Scott finally told Stiles his side.  A lot of talking was involved, not like that was a problem for Stiles, and a lot of listening, which he always did for Scott.

And... it was pretty much as Stiles had suspected.

Scott was too stupidly noble.

He was trying to do the ‘right thing’ by taking some of the burden off Kira by taking the part time job.  It hadn’t felt right to him that she was the sole person working and supporting them, even though they agreed to it.  And then they were fighting and all Scott saw were his parents arguing and he was so scared that they were becoming just like them that he pulled back, hoping that by avoiding fighting, things would just settle down.  Of course, that wasn’t what happened.  

Stiles knew the situation couldn’t be rushed.  There were still hurt feelings and fear about it all, but he kept encouraging Scott to talk to the one person he needed to - Kira.  It took a week or two of Stiles not taking any excuses from his best friend, or even talking to him about anything else till he called her.  The guy could face a Berserker, but calling the woman he loved had him sweating bullets!

Seriously.

One of their conversations had barely even been real sentences.

“Stiles...”

“Hey Scott.”

“Yeah, uh--”

“Call her.”

“I don’t--”

“You do.”

“She--”

“Do it.”

“I--”

“No.”

“But--”

“Nope.”

“You--”

“Scott.”

“Dude...”

“Dude.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Okay...”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

“Thanks...”

“No problem.”

Later in the day, he’d gotten a text from Kira with a happy face emoji.

Stiles didn’t ask for details, just sent a happy face right back to her.  

They were talking now and that was the most important thing.  If they were doing that, then they could work it out.  Neither shared information about how it was going exactly - Scott said he didn’t want to jinx anything and Kira was the same way, but they got dreamy puppy eyes when ever the other was mentioned while talking on Skype with him, so he figured it was going well.

Jogging to a stop, he panted as he bent over, bracing his hands on his thighs. Sweat dampened his hair, trails of it trickling down his brow to fall off the tip of his nose.  A water bottle was shoved into his line of sight, and Stiles accepted it with a puffed out, “Thanks,” before he stood up straight to break the cap seal.  Justin smiled before he drank from his own bottle.  Stiles gulped down the cool water, his other hand on his hip as he slowly recovered from the run.

Both he and Justin were wearing the body fitting S.I. issued running gear and for once in his life, Stiles felt like he was filling it out well.  He might have complained about the physical training SIU required, but he had to admire the results.  

“Can’t believe you beat me... Again,” Justin wiped his mouth against his sleeve.  His teammate had recently taken up running with Stiles and no matter how many times they started off side by side, Stiles managed to pull ahead and beat him to their agreed stopping point.  It wasn’t like he was trying to beat Justin... he just did.  

He didn’t mention that running away from horrible monsters that wanted to kill him probably helped make him fleet of foot...  Instead, he grinned, “Lacrosse in high school and just natural skill.” 

“That natural skill also the reason you get the high scores, man?” he pushed his dark blond hair back from his brow.

“What can I say?  Always an over-achiever...” Especially when he had been in an unspoken competition with a certain strawberry blond genius in the form of Lydia Martin during his high school years.  “Seriously though,” he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, “I’m not that great...  Just doing what I gotta do.” He very judiciously avoided thinking about the papers for his Berkley classes that he had to work on tomorrow.

“Man Stiles, you’re a shoe-in for team leader once we graduate from training.”

Stiles coughed out a laugh, “I doubt it.  Not unless I get my weapon skills up.  My range scores suck big time.” His eyes trailed over the trees and landscaping that blocked out most of Cascade’s cityscape from view.  

“I can work with you on that,” Justin shrugged, “My scores are in the top five.  Probably the only thing I’m better at than you.” He smirked, “I don’t get it though, your dad’s a sheriff, right?” After Stiles nodded, Justin went on, “I figure you’d have some gun range time... What, your dad didn’t want you playing with guns or something?”

“...Or something,” he huffed, “But yeah, I’d like the help.  Maybe after the procedure test this afternoon?”

Justin grinned, tossing his empty bottle into a nearby recycling bin, “Sure.  After, we can get some coffee and you can tell me all the answers I got wrong on the test.” He checked his watch, “All right.  I gotta hit the showers.  I’m offending myself with this smell,” he pulled a face playfully before he started walking backwards, “Meet you at the shooting range... about three?”

“Right,” Stiles nodded and waved at him, watching the other man continue walking backwards before turning around at the split in the walkway and heading back to the S.I. building.  

Plopping himself on a nearby bench Stiles rolled the now empty water bottle between his palms, listening to the early morning bird song bouncing back and forth in the trees overhead.  The world was becoming painted in pink and peach as the sun started rising, breaking through the spaces of the buildings surrounding the park.  He watched it quietly, thinking on how different it was from the sunrises in Beacon Hills.

*************************

2 weeks later, April

Derek was at the Farmer’s Market picking up some locally grown vegetables and enjoying the actual pleasant scent of growing things around him.  The supermarket was fine, but there was nothing like fresh grown fruits and vegetables...  Just as he was looking over some beefsteak tomatoes, a shout jerked his attention.

“Get out of here you fucking freak!”

At the end of the aisle of stalls one man punched another right in the jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground.  “We don’t want your kind here!” The guy who threw the punch kicked the man on the ground.  A few other people started moving forward, to help the guy kicking or the one down, Derek had no idea, but he noticed some pulling out cellphones to record it.  

After running down the aisle, he swept up behind the man and grabbed his arm to pull him back.  The man glared up at Derek and swung wide at him.  Moving quickly, the werewolf easily blocked the blow, capturing the fist in his palm.  His other hand clutched the man’s wrist then pivoted, twisting the arm behind the guy’s back and spinning him away from the person on the ground.  The guy cried out in pain and surprise, but Derek was well trained in dealing with the frail bodies of humans and knew how much pressure to apply.  “That’s enough!” he growled.

“Let me go!” the guy yelled, struggling, though getting no where against werewolf strength. 

Instead of letting him go, Derek squeezed harder, “Give it a rest!  You need to calm down!”

“I don’t want those freaks in my town, around my children!  Goddam Sentinels!”

“Did he attack you?”

“No, but it doesn’t matter, does it?  He’s got super senses!  He’s just one of those damn freaks!”

“You punched an unarmed man who didn’t attack you!  You don’t think maybe you’re the problem?” Instead of dealing with him further, he turned his head towards the Sentinel, wearing the familiar S.I. jacket, now trying to sit up.  His lip was split, blood dribbling from his chin.  Someone from the crowd was at least kind enough to help the young man sit up straight and gathered his vegetables to put back in his bag. “You okay?”

The Sentinel nodded, but he was obviously shaken.  He winced as he tried to get up on his own, and Derek suspected the guy had a few bruised ribs from the kicks he’s gotten. “Thanks...” he murmured.

“The police should be here soon.” one of the farmers behind a stall called out, holding up his phone to indicate he’d called them.

“They should be kicking these freaks out of here!” the original attacker shouted.

Deputies Greenberg and Jones eventually showed up, spotting Derek quickly.  Bystanders started talking all at once, excited to share their version of events, some even shoving their phones forward to show the videos they took - though it was most likely after they’d already posted it on their Facebook pages and Youtube.  Derek released the man to Greenberg and the guy started yelling about pressing charges against him for assault.  If it wasn’t so ludicrous, Derek would have laughed.  Greenberg was kind enough to explain that he was being arrested for assault so he might want to handle one thing at a time.  The Sentinel, his name apparently Brian, was dabbing at his lip with a napkin someone gave him.  He gave a nod to Derek and then was going off with the officers to give his statement.

Walking back to where he dropped his shopping basket, Derek could hear that most people around were feeling for the Sentinel, but there was a disturbing amount of those commenting that were in favor of the attack.  It made his stomach turn and only proved that werewolves and other supernaturals should remain hidden from humans.  If this was how they reacted to Sentinels and Guides who were human, then how badly would they react to things that weren’t?

In the end, Brian didn’t press charges against the man who assaulted him, choosing to not escalate the problem further.  Derek wasn’t sure if that was a good idea or not, but it wasn’t his decision to make.

*************************

1 week later

“So, you want to explain to me, why I’m hearing about this now?” The Sheriff had his I-am-not-amused face on as he glared at Stiles on the screen during their Skype chat.  Normally they spoke once or twice a week, but his father had texted him that they needed to talk.  Stiles had worried something was wrong and had arranged a call as soon as he could.  He was right to worry - for himself, judging by his dad’s expression.

His shoulders hunched up as he winced, nose squinching  as he flicked a nail against the edge of one of the laptop keys, “Because... I didn’t think it was important...?”

“An explosion took out one of the SIU teams and you didn’t think it was important?”

The younger man rolled his eyes as his arms flung out to fall on the desk’s surface, “Dad, it was months ago and it was an accident!” there was no way he was going to discuss the nagging thoughts he had about that explosion with his father now.  It would only make his dad angrier and more worried, “I was no where near it, and perfectly safe.  I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“If it wasn’t a big deal, and you knew about it, I would have rather heard about it from you than in passing from the Recovery Center liaison... You don’t have to protect me from worrying about you.  I’m going to do that anyway.”

They didn’t talk about the whole, ‘lying to keep Dad safe’ situation, but it had done some damage in their relationship.  His father said he understood why Stiles had kept things secret during that first year after Scott had gotten turned into a werewolf, but it didn’t mean he was happy about it.  While they rebuilt a lot of trust, there might always be that tiny crack that could never be repaired between them - but they were trying.

With a soft sigh, Stiles leaned forward, “I wasn’t keeping it from you.  Honest,” one shoulder jerked in a shrug, “I really didn’t think it was a big deal.  I mean, I’m still training for SIU and working on small, safe cases in Washington state now and again with the local cops. I wouldn’t be any where near anything that dangerous.” The ‘yet’ was kept silent.  There was no reason to remind his dad that eventually, he would be out there in the field.  It sucked that he still worried his father, even after his Sentinel issues had stabilized and he was away from the Beacon Hills craziness.  Of course that wasn’t going to stop a man from worrying about his son.  Stiles was sure that even if he was an accountant in the middle of a corn field in Missouri, his dad would still be calling with concern in his voice.  To be fair though, he still worried about his dad...

The Sheriff leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, “Okay...  Outside of that, how’s it going over there if you aren’t in danger or getting in trouble?” a slight tweak of his lip let Stiles know his dad wasn’t really upset anymore.  

Feeling some relief, he rested his elbows on the table and plopped his chin in his palm, “Oh, you know... School work, classes, running every day...  Training, studying...”

“So, no different than high school?” the older man smirked.

After a bark of a laugh, he grinned, “Apparently my teachers were right.  High school did prepare me for the real world!”

“Now that is a depressing thought,” The Sheriff chuckled.

Still smiling, Stiles said, “Seriously though, it’s good.  I’m doing really well... my scores are good.”

“What about the gun range?”

“Much better.  Justin helped me out with that a lot.  He got me to relax and not tense up so much.” He felt his cheeks heat up but tried to play it off.  Of course, his father was too damn observant...

“So, things going well between you too?” his brow rose in question.

Suppressing an embarrassed groan, he said, “Yeah... but it’s like, too early to really call it anything.” Stiles scratched absently at the corner of his desk, “We’re not rushing and just... you know...” he shrugged, still feeling the blush on his face.  

Taking pity on him, his father smiled, “That’s good.  No need to rush.  And you know, later on... if you decide...  You know to be safe--”

“Oh my god!  No!” his eyes bugged out before he slapped his hands over his ears, “Just... no!”

This got a good laugh from his dad, “Just want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself kiddo.”

Seeing an opening, Stiles went for it, “Speaking of taking care of yourself... Dad.” He narrowed his eyes.

“I’m eating healthy,” his father now rolled his eyes as he held up his hands to forestall any scolding or nagging that might be aimed at him.  Reaching over off screen, he lifted up a tupperware container showing off a salad with a fork stuck in it that he was in the middle of eating, featuring dark greens and cherry tomatoes, “You have successfully corrupted the entire station into watching what I eat.” He frowned rather grumpily, “I can’t even look at a donut in the break room without getting reminded by one of the deputies about how you’d feel about me eating it.”

Stiles didn’t even try to hide his self-satisfied grin.  Secretly, the young man was very pleased that others had taken up the cause.  He had worked very hard at convincing every person in the station before he left for Berkley, that the Sheriff’s health was in their best interest... And it would keep Stiles from badgering them about it.  It was a necessary evil.  “Well... speaking of the station,” he rubbed his chin, “When were you going to tell me about that mole problem you’ve been having?”

“Who told you?” the Sheriff asked harshly, his eyes darting up to look through his office window into the bull pen as if he could spot the ‘traitor’.

“I have my sources...  You did encourage me to keep in touch with my friends after all.”  It was Parrish, but Stiles wasn’t going to give the man up.

“Is this some way to make me regret giving you advice so I stop doing it?”

“I would never...” Stiles protested in feigned innocence, hand placed dramatically over his heart.

“Yeah right...”

“No changing the subject.”

“Aw hell...” The older man’s eyes drew up to the ceiling as if an answer to dealing with his overly clever son was written there.  Returning his gaze to the screen he said, “That’s nothing you have to deal with or worry about.”

“Right, because us saying don’t worry to each other has worked out so well for us so far?” he smirked, “So lay it on me.  My source was cagey on the details.”

“That’s because they weren’t supposed to mention it to you in the first place,” Stilinski grumbled, but he did tell Stiles the situation about the mole.  When he was done and had answered a few questions Stiles asked, he said, “So, there you have it.  The voice recordings we got weren’t helpful because the voice calling was muffled, though we’re pretty sure it is a man’s voice.  But nothing identifiable.  And I don’t think I can justify a warrant for everyone’s cell phones to trace calls.”

Stiles pursed his lips and rubbed his chin as he clearly mulled it over, his mind spinning with thoughts.  “So, they’re just giving the Center a heads up before you can report the incident?”

“Pretty much...  It’s like a... pre-warning system is in place.  There’s nothing to be gained from what I can see.  The Head of the Recovery Center and the liaison still get the notification when I call in.  I recently put in a request that they only respond to calls that come directly from me, but the other calls still take place,” he rubbed his face, “I wish I could look at the Center’s phone records, but I have no reason to request them.  Even if I did, I’d rouse suspicion and might chase off the mystery caller...”

“Not enough evidence...” Stiles mused, wishing he could see the right angle on the situation.  Usually, if you could figure out what a person gained from something, you could work backwards to see who benefits and then form a list of suspects.  They didn’t even have that.

“If I could catch whoever it was in the act, that would be something.  No way to deny it then... But if it’s as I suspect and one of the deputies, who do I trust?” he gave a huff of frustration, “Too bad I don’t have Sentinel super hearing...”

The idea came to Stiles immediately and he nearly laughed.  Instead he slapped his hand to his brow, “Oh my god!  Dad!  You don’t need Sentinels!  You have a whole bunch of--” he knew his calls and internet weren’t monitored and his room was sound proof in the institute, but he was still hesitant about saying the word ‘werewolf’ out loud.  So he curled his fingers into mock claws and gave a “Grrrr...” His hands dropped into his lap, “A whole bunch of them... Uh... like next month or something when school let’s out for the summer.  You can like, I don’t know,” he splayed out his arms, “Set up a sting operation or something!” Stiles seriously wondered how his loved ones survived without him. “Pretend there’s a Sentinel situation thingy and whoever is there making the calls, have the... uh... guys... positioned around the station.  The mole should do their thing and you’ll be able to catch them red handed.”

The Sheriff frowned thoughtfully before his brows rose up, “That... just might work,” his eyes brightened when they gazed up at Stiles, “Good idea kiddo!”

“Don’t sound so surprised.  I have good ideas all the time!”

At that his father merely gave him a wry smile.

“I do!”

“Like the brilliant idea to drag Scott into the woods to see a dead body?”

Stiles’ mouth gaped open, head dropping forward, but he had no argument against that - Why did he have to bring that up? “Yeah well... they can’t all be brilliant.  It’s about percentages!  Of course there are going to be a few bad apples in the bunch!” he sputtered, before crossing his arms to avoid pouting.  From the amused expression on his father’s face, he suspected he was failing.  “Besides, you didn’t have a better plan!”

“It is a good plan Stiles,” The Sheriff said softly in assurance, “I’ll see what I can do to put it together as soon as possible.  Scott should be coming down from Fresno then,” he smiled, “Speaking of Scott...  Melissa wants me to give you a heads up that you are getting a care package featuring some chocolate walnut cookies that you love.”

“What?” All pouting was pushed aside in the face of chocolate walnut cookies, “I love those!”

“She knows... that’s why she’s sending them.  As a... thank you.”

He wrinkled his nose up, furrowing his brow, “For what?”

“Well, Kira is flying here next month... And will be moving back in with Scott.”

It was hard to hide that he knew that already.  Both Scott and Kira had separately informed him of that fact, “Oh, that’s great!” he grinned.

“Yeah... Don’t pretend like you didn’t know.  Melissa suspected from the start you had meddled in that and she’s very glad you did.  So... cookies.”

“Consider me meddling material if the reward is cookies.”

The man sighed, “You did good kid...  But... just be choosey about what you meddle in.”

“I’m always careful--” he stopped himself as his father’s left brow started to slowly inch upward, “Right.. I’ll be careful.” 

“All right... I better get back to work.  Talk to you this weekend?”

“Yup!” he nodded.

The Sheriff paused, “...It was Parrish who told you about the mole, wasn’t it.”

“No,” Stiles frowned, wondering if he had said anything that revealed that.

“As I suspected.”

“Wait...  I didn’t say it was!”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Ugh!” he threw his head back, accepting the defeat, “How?”

“I’m a police officer son, it’s what I do...  Love you...”

“Love you too, Dad.”  

*************************

4 weeks later, May

Tension traveled up Derek’s back, sending itchy tingles down his arm and to his fingers and he had to force his claws to remain sheathed.  It was like he was preparing to hunt, which was probably an appropriate mentality  considering the situation.  

A week ago, the Sheriff had called him and asked if he’d be available to help with something and Derek had agreed with no idea what the man wanted.  He’d apparently already spoken to Scott and Liam as well, because when he showed up early this morning at the station, both the young men were already in the office.  That’s when the Sheriff shared Stiles’ plan to capture the mole in the station.  

It was a good plan.  

It didn’t mean that Derek was at ease about it.  

These were people he had been around and worked with.  While in the back of his mind, he had known there was someone disobeying orders and calling the Recovery Center, it was an abstract thought...  Now, here they were, trying to trap a person he’d possibly spoken to, someone who had been trusted.  

Currently, the three werewolves were stationed at different points in the building, creating a triangle in the hopes to get the best coverage and hopefully catch the person in the act.  Liam was sitting in one of the chairs by the front desk, pretending to use his phone.  Derek knew the young man was eager to help, glad to put his skills to use for the pack.  The young Beta had grown a lot in his years since getting the Bite...  The anger issues that plagued him in his youth seemed to have gotten phased out and he was successfully handling the balance of powers and skills in his lacrosse matches.  

Scott was in the bathroom near the holding cells and he was feeling some of the nerves that Derek was because he understood what this was really about.  While the Alpha didn’t know the other deputies, he grasped what this meant to the Sheriff - finding the person who was working against him for some reason. Kira had come with Scott back to Beacon Hills for the visit and the difference in Scott was palpable now that they were back together.  The couple were a combined scent of contentment and nervousness - they were happy to be together but still trying to feel each other out. Derek had to admit that he was glad for Scott’s presence because while he never acknowledged the younger man as his Alpha, having the other there was a bit calming.  And he needed that.  

Every time the radio crackled, Derek tensed from his position in the station bull pen, standing while he pretended to be looking over a file.  

The Sheriff was in his office, working as normal but Derek could smell his anxiousness, hear the pounding of his heart.  

Then there was the call in.  Parrish’s voice.  “Calling dispatch this is 614... copy?”

“614, this is dispatch.  Go ahead.”

“I have suspicious activity on Howe and Central.  Going to investigate.”

“Copy 614.  Do you require back up?”

“Negative dispatch.  Code Eleven.”

“Copy.”

Time passed and Derek’s eyes trailed over the other officers in the bull pen.  No one was acting any different than any other day.  Finally Parrish’s voice came back on the radio.

“Dispatch, this is 614, copy?”

“614, this is dispatch.  Go ahead.”

“I have a Code Black and I’m returning to the station.”

“Copy 614.”

Code Black was the Beacon County code for Sentinel capture.

A phone call was immediately put in to the Sheriff, notifying him of the situation - as per protocol.  Then he heard a cell phone, the electronic blips of the phone being dialing of another call being made.  

“Thank you for calling the Sentinel Institute Recovery Center.  How may I help you?” A young man’s voice answered after a few rings.

“This is the Beacon County Sheriff’s office.  We have a Code Black currently en route to the station and require a team sent over for recovery.”

Derek had trouble recognizing the voice right off as they were muffling it somehow, but he tracked it by sound easily enough.  His eyes darted in the direction of the call, moving through the bull pen till he reached the desk of the person speaking.

“I’ll notify Mr. Ecks and Miss Nolan immediately.”

He was seeing it happening, but he couldn’t believe it.  

The call ended and the deputy slipped his cell phone back into his back pocket before he went back to filing paperwork, like nothing had happened.  Derek swallowed hard, his eyes spotting Scott who had walked up from the back and was sharing his look of disbelief, but it meant the Alpha had identified the same person making the call.  Liam walked up from the front and joined the two other werewolves before they walked over to the Sheriff’s office.  The older man was making some phone calls, presumably to Samantha at the R.C. to cancel the team and then to notify Parrish to call back in.

Derek heard the radio call in and Parrish talking about there being some sort of mistake and that there was no Code Black.  The Sheriff clasped his hands on his desk, his expression grim and expectant as he gazed at the werewolves.  “So, did it work?”  There was always a chance that the whole thing might have failed...  He suspected that Stilinski was half hoping that was the case.

After taking a deep breath, Derek nodded.

While they expected it, the reality was difficult - more so for the Sheriff.  These were his deputies and co-workers after all...  His posture and scent was a mix of sadness and anger, a blending of disappointment that was sour and sharp smelling.  Stilinski took his own deep breath and nodded, bracing himself, “Who is it?”

Scott was the one who answered, feeling his own surprise and anger, “Greenberg.”

Chapter Text

There were times that the Sheriff liked his job, felt good about it, and what he did.  Most of the days were a a blur of paperwork and investigations as he kept his head down and pushed forward, but there were moments when he lifted his head up and could have a chance to breathe - to take it in and feel his good days... 

Like the day he apprehended a thief and was able to return Mrs. Espinosa’s wedding ring; giving the woman back a little peace of mind.  Or when he got 5 year old, Ian Schultz, who was lost in the park, back home to his parents and could see the relief/joy in their eyes as they hugged him tightly.  Or the first day he came home wearing his sheriff’s badge on his chest and Claudia greeted him with a kiss, a hug and then whispered, “There’s my guy...” against his cheek before Stiles ran up into his arms, awe in his eyes, asking if he’d caught any bad guys.

The good days were what kept him putting his head down and pushing forward.

Today was not a good day.

They had caught the bad guy, but it didn’t feel like they had.  There was no sense of accomplishment here...  Just weary disappointment.

Derek stood outside the Sheriff’s office, visible through the large window looking out at the bullpen.  He was staying close to serve as a lie detector of sorts, but also in case he was needed, since they had no idea how this would go.  Stilinski appreciated his presence as moral support as much as physical backup, because at the moment, the weight of his title was feeling particularly heavy - his awareness of it rather acute. 

In all his years as the sheriff, he had never really considered that this situation would come up - even with the supernatural as an added complication to his life.  Granted, there had been Deputy Haig, but there was no love loss there.  He hadn’t really liked the man before he tried to set Jordan on fire during all the bloody business with the Dead Pool, but at least then there had been a clear motive - a direct reasoning behind that betrayal of trust in the Beacon County Sheriff’s office.  While it had certainly disgusted him, he could grasp the motive of greed.

This?

He didn’t get it.

And now he sat in his office gazing at a young man who was about the same age as his own son, who had been considered a little brother by many of the officers in the station.  Who tried harder than most to prove himself capable and worthy of his uniform.  Who took the ribbing and joking with a bashful smile or a good-natured roll of his eyes.  Who always managed to spill a little bit of coffee on his uniform every day and had it clean at the start of his next shift.  Who was looking unsure and nervous because his boss had not said anything to him since calling him into his office and asking him to shut the door before he took a seat five minutes ago.

The Sheriff took a deep bracing breath before he drew himself up straight in his chair, “Deputy Greenberg, do you have any idea why I called you in here?”

The break in the silence mildly startled the young man who shook his head, “No, sir.”

“There has been an issue here in the station,” his tone was conversational... easy, “Someone has been disobeying a direct order, which I gave, by calling in Code Blacks to the Recovery Center.  They are putting in calls, reporting and requesting teams before I can contact them and keep control of the situation.  Before I am even properly notified, I have S.I. teams on route to the station,” he narrowed his eyes, “You see where that could be a problem.  Right?”

Greenberg nodded, eyes focused on the Sheriff.

“About an hour ago, Deputy Parrish called a Code Black into the station.”

“Yes, sir,” his brow knitted momentarily in confusion.

“It was a false alarm of course,” the Sheriff’s watched Greenberg for any changes in his expression or posture that might be a tell... but there was only expectation and bewilderment, “But that’s not what I called you in here for.”

“Sir?”

“We set up a false Code Black in the hopes of catching the person responsible for making the calls to the Center.”

“Oh...” the deputy said softly, but remained sitting, as if waiting for more information.  The Sheriff kept his full scrutiny on the young man, saying nothing, and allowing the deputy time to think it through.  Finally, it seemed to sink in, “Oh!  Sir, you don’t think--”

Lifting up his hand, he stopped the other from stammering a bunch of denials.  When Greenberg simply gazed up at him, wide eyed and mute, the Sheriff rose from his chair, “You see, I have a witness that heard the phone call being made from your cell phone.  By you.”  Truthfully, there was no way he could have Derek as a reliable witness if it came down to it.  He was standing too far away to have really heard the phone call and if pressed, a prosecutor would be able to prove that, since ‘werewolf hearing’ was non-admissible in court.  It was a gambit really, but the stretch of truth being used here to get some sort of confession or explanation wasn’t going to cause him to lose much sleep.

“Sir, no.  I mean, why would I?” the deputy shook his head, his eyes roaming around the office helplessly.

The Sheriff glanced up at Derek who met his eyes through the windows.  The werewolf shook his head slightly, his brow furrowed.  A lie perhaps...?  Or not the entire truth.

“Son,” he came around the desk and leaned back against it, bringing himself closer, his body language relaxed, but using the height difference to his advantage. “The best thing you can do here?  Is to tell the truth,” his gaze was earnest. “Now, since you made that call from your cell phone, I’m betting that if I were to take a look at your recent call list, I’d find the Recovery Center number on there.”

Greenberg swallowed hard, but said nothing, his eyes still holding no guile.

“I could get a warrant and check your phone records,” his expression softened, “But I’d like to avoid going through all that trouble when I can simply look at your phone now...  Avoid a lot of unnecessary red tape.”  Again, he was exaggerating.  It was possible he might not be able to get a warrant, but he hoped Greenberg would make this all easier by cooperating. “Do you mind if I look at your phone?”

“Um...  yeah...  Okay,” the deputy pulled his cell out from his back pocket and handed it over.

The Sheriff was momentarily confused by the compliance.  His first thought was that Greenberg had erased the listing history, hiding what he’d done... or maybe he was innocent?  Had Derek and Scott been wrong?  Through the window, he saw Derek’s expression was just as confused as the Sheriff was feeling.

With a frown on his face, Stilinski opened up the call history list and the very first number was an out-going call to the Recovery Center.

It was as he expected, but it didn’t make him feel better.

He sighed deeply before he glanced up at Derek.  He gave a brief nod to the werewolf to let him know he found what he was looking for, then turned his attention to the deputy who was sitting and waiting while chewing his bottom lip nervously.  The young man was anxious, but not the way a guilty man might be.

Turning the cell phone, he showed the screen and its glaring evidence to Greenberg, “That is the number for the Recovery Center at the top of your call list.  It’s the last call you made.  An hour ago when the Code Black was radioed in.”

The young man went white, staring at the screen, his eyes darting over it like he’d never seen it before.  He shook his head, mouth moving to try and form words his brain wasn’t providing.

Setting the phone down on the desk the Sheriff said, “I’m pretty damn sure if I check your phone records, they’ll correspond with the Code Black calls to the Recovery Center... that I didn’t make.” He crossed his arms over his chest, “It will answer a lot of questions for me except one... Why?  Why would you be doing this, son?  What could you have possibly gained from disobeying a direct order and undermining me?  All you were doing was reporting Code Black calls that I would have done anyway! What the hell could have motivated you to do that?”

Greenberg’s mouth moving soundlessly, his eyes darted like he was trying to find a reason for it himself.  Finally he shrugged, “I don’t know!” he croaked out.

“You don’t know?” Anger laced the question.  “What the hell kind of answer is that, deputy?”

“I don’t know!” he shouted back, desperation in his voice.  

He looked back up at Derek who gave a short nod, but his own expression was baffled.  Whether it was the truth or not, Greenberg believed it.  

The deputy was still going on, “I don’t know why I did it!  I wouldn’t-- I mean,” he ran his hands through his hair, “I don’t understand!” Greenberg leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he held his head, “I don’t know why...” he muttered miserably.

An uncomfortable tingle ran up through the Sheriff’s spine as he looked down at the young man, near curled up in the chair in front of him.  Something was wrong here, but he didn’t know what it was.  Not yet at least.  After a time he sighed, “Here’s what’s going to happen...  You’re going to hand over your badge and your side arm.  You’re going to go out to your desk and gather your things.  And then you’re going to go home.”

Greenberg’s head lifted, his expression horrified, “I’m fired?”

“No,” the Sheriff answered, though the ‘not yet’ remained unsaid, “You’re suspended until further notice.”

His eyes dropped as he nodded, “Yes, sir...”

Stilinski couldn’t tell what was going on in Greenberg’s mind.  He felt no closer to the answers he wanted, or needed for that matter.  Certainly he’d be gathering evidence... building whatever case he had, for all the good it would do.  

*************************

“There are fingerprints here,” Stiles said before waving over an officer to tell him, “On the tab,” he pointed to the soda can that sat among a bunch of other empties, “Different than the others,” his hand gestured vaguely to the pile.

“Got it,” The officer wrote down some notes in a small pad before forensics moved in to take the prints with their kit.

Eventually, they would have found the different prints, after all the evidence was taken back to the lab and checked, but this would speed up things considerably.  That was part of the purpose of the SIU - it was just a matter of getting more law enforcement on the band wagon.  Stiles was all for using the tools at your disposal, but he also understood the jurisdictional pissing contests that happened too.  

Sighing, he typed his findings into the tablet he was using to keep track of his progress so he could be ‘graded’, before sending it off to Ramon who was outside at the little SIU command center.  Once the tablet beeped confirmation, he moved on to the next area he was supposed to be investigating in the warehouse.  There had been a party some college students had thrown in the empty space, but a corpse turning up had put an end to the good times and was the reason they were in there now, looking for evidence.

Tilting his head, Stiles caught a sound in the wall.  Frowning thoughtfully he focused his hearing to make a better identification and to block out the noise around him in the echoing building.

“You hear them too?” the voice was accented and musical.  

He lifted his brow in question at Andrea, a Beta Sentinel on the team, who had joined him, “Hmmm?” 

“The rats.  In the wall,” her flat nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Oh, no,” he shook his head, “I mean, yeah, I hear them, but that wasn’t what I was listening to.”

“No?” she used the back of her surgically gloved hand to wipe a loose wisp of hair from her cheek.

“There’s electricity running through the wires in the wall.  I can hear it,” he knocked his knuckle against the cracked plaster, “This building is supposed to be closed.  Abandoned.  The electricity should have been shut off.  Someone is paying the bill.”

Her brown eyes grew big, “Oh yeah... Wow...”

Stiles quickly typed into his tablet, “And forensics should capture some of those rats.  They might have ingested some of the corpse... have some evidence in their stomachs or crapped it out in some corner of the warehouse,” he added that in to his notes.

“Jeez Stiles,” the shorter woman laughed, “You should be leading this investigation!”

“Don’t say that too loudly!  The lead investigator is already pretty pissy about our training happening on his case.” His eyes were drawn to the man he was talking about.  He reminded Stiles of a shorter, rounder version of Rafael McCall.  

She chuckled, “Yeah well... leave something for the rest of us!” 

A small electronic beep trilled from his tablet, notifying him that it was time for his break, “You’re in luck,” he smirked, waggling his brows, “I’ll be back.” With a smile he left Andrea to head out of the large building to where Shay and Ramon were stationed at a small folding table that had their equipment on it to monitor the SIU team.  He handed his tablet to Shay after logging his work and then pulled off his gloves to toss them into a plastic bag that had the wrinkled remains of other gloves. 

“Good job Stilinski,” Ramon said absently as he looked over his own screen.

“Thanks...” he nodded, though it was questionable whether Ramon actually heard him.  Shay rolled her eyes and shook her head for Stiles' benefit.  After slipping off the protective shoe ‘booties’ and tossing those, he gave her a ‘what can you do?’ sort of shrug.  

Police cruisers and vans were parked at the edges of the property along with the gray S.I. van he and the team had arrived in.  He started heading towards it when he spotted Justin working at the back of the warehouse with another of his team members.  Tempted as he was to call out a greeting, he decided against it.  Justin was working and this was being monitored.  There was no reason to distract him when it looked like he was really focused.

When he got to the van, he climbed inside and slid the door shut to give himself some privacy.  He clambered towards the back row before dropping down in the seats so he could call back Scott who had left him a message earlier that had him feeling disturbed.

“Hey Stiles!” Scott greeted.

“Yo Scottie, what up?”

“You... got my message?” some of the pep dropped out of his friend’s voice.

“Yeah, dude, what the hell?” his arm flung out, gesturing even if no one could see it, ”Is it true?  It was Greenberg?”

“Your dad didn’t tell you anything yet?”

“He left me a message telling me that the plan worked and he’d call me tonight about it,” he shrugged, picking at a seam on the headrest of the seat in front of him, “I guess he wanted to let me down easy about it or something...”

“Well, I wish someone had let me down easy!  I can’t believe it and I was there, and heard him with my own ears... saw it with my own eyes.”

Stiles let his mind think back to the Greenberg he’d known in high school since he didn’t really know much about ‘Deputy Greenberg’.  The guy had never been particularly bright - at least never making honor roll - and had certainly never been the Coach’s favorite... but still...  It was hard to reconcile.  He knew him. “It’s so weird...” he wondered what his father was going to...  Greenberg would be suspended for sure.

“I know.  The thing is...” Scott’s voice caught as he hedged, “I... I think there’s more going on than just Greenberg.”

“What do you mean?” he sat up a bit more.

“I feel like there’s stuff they’re not telling me.”

Stiles frowned, “Who’s not?”

“Deaton and Derek.  Your dad.”

“You think they’re keeping secrets from you?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Well, he would have liked to have been able argue against that, but he really couldn’t.  History proved otherwise and Alan Deaton, of all of them, was a cagey bastard when he wanted be, “But you’re the Alpha and all that.  They’re supposed to be keeping you informed of all things mysterious in Beacon Hills.”

“I know that Stiles,” he could practically hear the eye roll Scott just served, “But I don’t think they are.”

“Are they lying to you?” Stiles couldn’t imagine his father out and out lying, but who knew?  Not when everyone was trying to figure out what the greater good was.

“No,” Scott answered quickly before he added, “At least, not in any way I can tell.”

“So... sin of omission?” he let his head drop back to stare at the van’s ceiling, “Sounds about right.  My dad only told me about the mole, well... Greenberg, I guess, because I called him out on it.  I bet if you confronted him he’d tell you.”

After a few moments of silence, Scott sighed, “No... You know what?  It’s fine.  I mean, the truth is... I don’t think I want to know if something more serious is happening,” then he groaned and there was the sound of something thumping softly.  Most likely Scott’s head hitting the pillow on his bed, “I’m a terrible Alpha.” 

Stiles snorted, “Dude, no you’re not.  You’re a great Alpha.  I get it man... The phrase, ‘ignorance is bliss’ exists for a reason.  You’d feel obligated to get involved if you knew something was wrong.” He smiled in understanding, “It’s not like you have nothing else going on with school and stuff.  And you’re trying to work things out with Kira...”  

The werewolf sighed again and it was a more contented sound - practically a purr.  Stiles knew immediately that his best friend was thinking of the kitsune.  “Yeah... Kira...  It’s really good Stiles.” A goofy grin was probably on the guy’s face at this very moment, “Having her here, knowing she’s coming back to Fresno with me...  We have some stuff to still work out, but I really think we’re going to be fine.  I should have called her sooner.”

“You should always listen to me.”

“But your ideas are usually terrible.”

Stiles was completely offended and knew his expression reflected that as he squawked, “Not true!”

“Right,” Scott laughed, “Only some of them.”

“They’re better than yours!”

“Okay, that’s true,” he snickered before asking in a sing-song voice, “Soooo, how’s Justin...?”

“Oh god!” Stiles rolled his eyes. Why did everyone have to keep asking how Justin was when they talked on the phone?  And how did everyone know about him already?  He’d only told his Dad and Scott and now the entire pack knew - making him suspect that they had gossip sessions like busy-body old ladies who had nothing else to do but discuss his love life!  Danny had been the worst, asking him all sorts of probing questions that he knew the guy wasn’t really interested in knowing, and was only asking to make Stiles mentally squirm.  Seriously, the worst. “Fine.  We’re fine.  We’re all fine here now, thank you.  How are you?” 

“You do not get to quote Star Wars at me to avoid answering the question!” 

“What?” Stiles jumped up in his seat, flailing, “Dude!  You saw it?”

“Yup!”  Scott laughed, obviously pleased with himself.

Turning, Stiles fell onto his back on the long seat, in shock that his best friend had finally seen Star Wars, and had correctly identified a quote from it.  He felt proud.  This was how parents felt when their babies took their first step - he was sure of it, “I might shed a tear... My little Scottie is growing up!”

“Shut up,” Scott said with no heat in it, “Now come on... I tell you all about Kira.”

“Yeah well, I don’t ask.”

“Stiles...”

“Scott...” he mimicked before he sighed, “Seriously, there’s nothing much to talk about.” His eyes were drawn to the Raven now sitting on the head rest above him, rustling its wings before folding them smoothly to its sides.  “I like him and he likes me.  It’s not like, my first love or anything.  That honor will always belong to the unsinkable Lydia Martin...”

“I know,” his friend’s voice was soft and Stiles could hear the hesitance, like Scott was holding something back.  

He frowned, turning his head towards the Spirit Animal that was regarding him quietly with its black marble eyes.  Stiles lifted his hand up towards the Raven, and it bent its head to rub its bill against his finger.  He had only recently started to try to touch the Spirit Animal and even though he could see the touching, he didn’t feel it. It was more akin to someone running their hand over your arm, nearly touching, but never making contact... like you could feel the magnetic field of them brushing against yours.  Stiles wondered if other Sentinels and Guides experienced it, but he was sort of afraid to ask anyone. Refocusing on the conversation he said, “Spit it out, Scottie.”

“It’s just since--” there was a hitch, “Malia.”

That wasn’t what he was going to say.  

A frustrated breath huffed from his lips, “I’ve dated people since Malia you know.” One foot swung back and forth from where it hung off the seat as he felt a need to move to offset his annoyance, “Things with Justin are good.  I mean, we aren’t serious about anything yet.  Not with our qualifying tests and my Berkley classes.  I can’t afford to focus on anything more so... It’s fine.  Where we are now, it’s fine.”  They’d at least moved up to kissing.  Granted, it was mostly greeting and parting kisses, with a few in between, but they counted as kisses.  And they were holding hands, “Besides, having relationships in the S.I. is...”

“Complicated?”

“Ugh no... It’s not a Facebook status.  It’s more... People keep them quiet if they aren’t Bonded ones.  Not that it’s bad, but the Bonds are really important in the S.I. and relationships outside of that can be sort of complex anyway.”  Besides, Justin didn’t seem like he was in a rush to do anything.  He was as laid back about things between them as he was about everything else.  Of course, Stiles wasn’t pushing either.  

Sure there might be some unresolved sexual tension, but that’s what porn and alone time was for...   High school had been a period of time in which he’d become well versed in the fine and ancient art of self-gratification before losing his virginity and he was putting that training to good use...  And that was... fine.

The Raven squawked, as if it had read his thoughts and he whispered harshly at it, “You be quiet!”

“What?” Scott asked, confused.

“Sorry, nothing...” he shook his head, feeling stupid for talking to, what basically amounted to, an imaginary animal, “Listen, my break is almost up...  I’ll have to get back to my field test soon.”

“Is it an interesting case?”

After sitting up, Stiles stretched, “Awww, come on man, you know the rules.”

“Yeah, yeah... You tell me and you gotta kill me.”

“With extreme prejudice!” he teased in a deep voice.

“Jackass.”

“You kiss Kira with that mouth?”

“You’re horrible and I hate you.”

“Hate you too buddy,” Stiles chirped affectionately.

*************************

1 week later

It said something about his life that Derek was thankful for the simplicity of hunting down a Wendigo through the woods.

“Okay,” The Sheriff sighed into his cell before he slid his phone into his pocket.  He shifted his flashlight into his now empty hand so his right hand was able to better grip his weapon, “Scott said the rest of the search party is heading in the other direction.”

Derek nodded, “I heard,” he was a few feet away from the Sheriff.  

“Right...” Stilinski sighed with a shake of his head as he flicked the safety off his gun and swung the light around, having it held at the height of his shoulder. “You hear anything else?”

“Just... the things you’d expect to.” The night cast the world in shades of blue as he opened up his senses.  He grasped the multiple scents and sounds that added a myriad of other colors to his world.  With ease he sifted through the scents - cataloging what was natural and what was not, what was old and what was fresh.  His ears heard the normal sounds of the woods - night creatures, breezes through the branches, insects humming...  Even the rustle of the Sheriff’s clothes with his elevated heartbeat and slightly heavier breathing.  Nothing to be alarmed about - It was within the normal parameters for a man his age tromping through the woods.  

It had really been dumb luck that the Wendigo had been uncovered in the first place.  Its van had been pulled over for a broken tail light and while running the plates, the deputy was alerted to the APB out on the vehicle in connection with some missing persons cases a few counties over.  The officer called for back up, but when it arrived, they found the deputy bleeding out and an abandoned refrigerated van filled with butchered human body parts.  If it hadn’t been pulled over, chances are, no one would have been the wiser, and the cannibalistic monster would have continued on to where ever it had been going.  

“God this week...” Stilinski sighed as he ducked under a low hanging branch, moving the light around so he wouldn’t trip on unseen roots as they moved deeper into the Preserve.

“Have... things with Greenberg gotten settled?” Derek asked, his eyes scanning the woods as he continued trying to get the trail.  The last thing they needed was the Wendigo doubling back and getting behind them.  

The Sheriff coughed out a humorless chuckle, “As settled as they’re going to get.” He paused in his walking and Derek was taken by the sense of age that seemed to blanket him for a moment. “The calls from Greenberg’s phone all matched up with the Code Black calls and correspond to incoming calls to the Recovery Center.”

“So... that’s it then.”

“Yeah...” the word was breathed out slowly before he huffed in frustration, “That boy sat in that interrogation room and didn’t even ask for a union rep or any kind of legal representation...”

“He hadn’t been lying.” Derek had sat behind the mirrored glass while Greenberg was officially questioned, trying to catch any change in the deputy’s heartbeat, a flick of a breath, or a twitch in his eyes.  “Either he was telling the truth, convinced he was telling the truth, or really good at lying,” he glanced over at the Sheriff.

“And with all that, he gave us nothing.  No reason.  No motive.  Just a lot of ‘I don’t know’s.  Over and over again.”

The scent of frustration, sour and bitter... a yellow and greenish color... was strong enough to taste as it rolled off the Sheriff.  “The evidence is there.  Sometimes... we don’t get to know why,” Derek said softly.

“True.  Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”  Stilinski shook his head, “ There’s more to this, I’m certain of it, but unless Greenberg gives up any more information, we’ve got nothing.  Not even an accomplice.”

“You think there’s another person?”

“Damn sure of it,” the Sheriff growled, “Someone had to put him up to this.  I can’t imagine that boy took it upon himself to just start calling the Recovery Center like that.”

Derek sighed, stepping around a sapling as they both started walking again, “So what happens now?”

“Well,” he adjusted his hold on his flashlight to rub one of his eyes, “Greenberg will stay on suspension and then will eventually be terminated.  We get nothing, except to be short one deputy.”

“You’ve been worse off before,” the younger man pointed out.  There was no reason be specific about when.  Between Matt Daehler with the Kanima, and then the Oni and the Nogitsune, the sheriff’s department had been a victim of attrition.  It took a few years before they were rebuilt to a full staff again, but they had managed it.  Losing one deputy wouldn’t harm them.  

The Sheriff frowned, “The whole situation...” he looked at Derek, “Who benefits?”

Before Derek could even think of an answer, his ears caught a sound beyond the light of the Sheriff’s flashlight.  It was the noise of a misstep - A foot sliding on wet leaves followed by an intake of breath.  The werewolf held up a hand to silence the Sheriff who quieted, knowing Derek must have heard something.  Sifting through the scents, he got ravenous hunger and... sweat.  Fresh.  It was the Wendigo.

He glanced at Stilinski and nodded, once for confirmation before he ran off to tackle the cannibal and prevent it from getting away.  His ears caught a whispered curse from the Sheriff and then the noise of the older man trying to follow.  Refocusing his attention, Derek zeroed in on his prey, ducking his head under branches and leaping over brambles as his instincts guided him.  

The rush of movement ahead told him the Wendigo was now running, alerted to Derek, so the werewolf spent no energy in trying to be silent.  Now it was a full on chase.  The trees and bushes of the Preserve offered some difficulty in navigating around so he couldn’t flat out run, but it didn’t slow him down too much.  It certainly didn’t keep him from gaining.  

He finally spotted the Wendigo  as it tried to scramble up an incline.  Sensing the werewolf had closed in, the creature turned, its silvery eyes shimmering before it hissed out through rows sharp teeth - making a total disconcerting picture.  Derek didn’t stop.  Instead he let momentum bring him in to tackle the Wendigo and drag him to the ground. 

Rotten breath choked Derek and he had to fight the urge to gag.

They were tangled and sliding down the incline on their sides, leaves, debris, and who the hell knew what else, scraping along their bodes. When they finally came to a stop, Derek tried to roll to get on top, gain some advantage on the thing that was snapping and biting at him.  

Werewolf healing was all well and good, but he had no desire to feel those teeth rip into him.

Getting his feet under him, he clutched the Wendigos shirt and hauled him up from the ground to throw him into a tree.  There was the harsh sound of the impact and bits of bark exploded off the tree before the Wendigo landed with a groan.  Unfortunately, that didn’t slow it down.

Lifting it’s head up, it growled and charged, moving faster than Derek expected after taking such a hit.  

“Shit,” was all he managed before he was trying to use his limbs to keep distance between the Wendigo’s teeth and claws and his own vital spots.  

Fully shifting, he rolled them over, clutching the Wendigo’s throat as his other hand snatched a wrist to pin down.  He knew he just had to keep it from running till the Sheriff could catch up.  If he killed it, there’d be claw marks to explain and even Derek knew the ‘wild animal’ fall back couldn’t hold up for every death in Beacon Hills they had to hide.  

It slashed with its free hand, raking claws down Derek’s face and leaving lines of fire.  His head snapped to the side from the force of the blow, blood splattering on the leaves. 

He couldn’t see out of one eye and he wasn’t sure if his ear was still attached to his head, but he didn’t let go.  Releasing the Wendigo’s wrist, Derek curled his hand into a fist and punched, shocking the creature for a moment.  Taking advantage he did it again, and again.  And if he got some satisfaction out of hearing his knuckles cracking its jaw, no one had to know.

“Derek!” the Sheriff’s voice rang through the woods, breaking him out of his daze and he pulled back.

The creature blinked blearily, then shoved at Derek who was off balance due to the burning agony of his injured face.  He toppled a bit, catching himself on his hands but the Wendigo was up.

The scent of the Sheriff - aftershave, coffee, gun oil, mixed with what essentially was him - was too close.  The Wendigo would go for him.  Would tear him apart.   

Half blindly, he stumbled to his feet to give chase and grabbed the creature from behind.  Quickly he got his arms under the Wendigo’s armpits to clasp his hands behind its neck - locking it there as it flailed and struggled to get away.  It snapped at the air and kicked back into his legs.  

When Stilinski finally came around the trees and spotted them, he slid to a halt, eyes widening.

“Shoot him!” Derek growled, the words slurred from his torn lips.

The Sheriff lifted his weapon and aimed as the Wendigo continued to struggle.  The man was clearly trying to do his best while using the flashlight at the same time, bathing the two in pale light and irritating Derek’s one good eye.  “Damn it Derek, I can’t get a clear shot.  I’ll hit you too!”

“I’ll be fine!  Just do it!” 

The Wendigo slammed his head back into Derek’s nose, breaking it and causing his arms to shudder.  His fingers unlocked and the creature was pushing away.  “No!” he tried to make a grab for it because it was going straight for the Sheriff.  Derek could barely see, between blood and that damn flashlight that was blinding him.  And he knew with horrific certainty, in between his own frantic heartbeats, that he wasn’t going to be fast enough.

I’m sorry Stiles...

The crack of a gun speared through the night air.  

The Wendigo jerked, staggered back a few steps, then fell to the ground.  A blossoming darkness was forming on its shirt over his heart where the Sheriff’s bullet had pierced.  Derek’s stared at the creature, listening to the its heart struggling to pump blood through its veins, but only managing to sluggishly push it through the bullet hole.  The Wendigo’s breath came fast in panic and realization before it finally gave a wheeze of air and died.

Slowly, the werewolf brought his gaze up towards the Sheriff, who was now lowering his gun with a grim expression.  When the man’s eyes met Derek’s he gave an exhale of relief, but then there was concern, “Jesus, Derek...” Holstering his gun, he strode over to grab the werewolf’s arm.  Stilinski held the uninjured side of Derek's head, examining the slashes and the state of his nose.  

Although blood was coating his lower face and it was all he could smell or taste now, there was something comforting and settling about the strong hand on his arm. “I’ll... heal...” he breathed, just thankful the older man was alive and safe.

The Sheriff used the flashlight to check out the damage and winced, “Yeah?  Well you look like hell right now, son.”  

Derek could feel the slashes slowly knitting closed and his nose cracking back into place in a slow and agonizingly painful process, but he had no desire to know what it looked like.  Stilinski’s facial expressions were clear that it was pretty bad.

The Sheriff’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out to answer, “Scott....”

“Are you okay?  I heard a gunshot!”

After assurances from the Sheriff that they were fine, it didn’t take long for Scott to appear with Jordan in tow, both of them taking in the sight of the dead Wendigo.  “Wow...  Good shot!” Scott grinned up at Stilinski, clearly impressed.  

“You didn’t think I was just a pretty face,” the older man said before pulling his radio out to make a call into the station. 

Scott walked over to Derek and made a face, “Dude... he got you good...”

Derek forced himself not to throw a glare at the younger man for stating the obvious - it was more effort than he wanted to make and since was still blind in one eye, he was sure the effect would be lost.  Instead, he sighed and nodded.  

Realizing what he said, Scott had the good sense to look embarrassed for a heartbeat or two, “Sorry...  You okay?  Do you need...?” he lifted his hand up, hovering it over Derek’s arm in a silent offer to relieve the pain.

“No...  I’m okay,” Things between them were better, back to where they were before the confrontation over Stiles, but Derek wasn’t comfortable with the other taking his pain.

“All right...” Scott conceded and stepped back, “If you need it though,” he shrugged, leaving the offer open.  They stood together quietly while the Sheriff continued talking on his radio and Jordan hovered over the Wendigo’s body like it might get up any second, which, considering this was Beacon Hills, wasn’t all that crazy.  

Scott took a deep breath and then sighed it out before frowning.  “Do... you smell that?”

Most of his sense of smell was overcome by the scent of his own blood, so Derek shook his head, “No, what?” 

Scott’s brows furrowed and he looked disgusted, “I don’t know...  it’s... old...” he walked up the incline that Derek recalled the Wendigo had been clamoring up when he’d first spotted him.  “This way...”

Silently, Derek followed, trying to use his own senses to try and pick up what the other was clearly scenting.  Slowly, it came to him.  Decay... rot... decomposition...

Scott was ahead at the top of the incline staring at a patch of ground, probably getting the same smells as he was.  Joining the younger man, his eyes found what the other was looking at.

There was a mound of dirt that was different than the area around it... Leaves and forest debris weren’t spread on it the same way... mushrooms grew in a circle, but... no where else.  

The scent of death.

“We’d better tell the Sheriff,” Derek said, suspecting what was under that dirt.

In the morning, the police dug up five bodies.  

All of them had threes signs of death: A blow to the head, a sliced throat, and strangulation marks.  

Three fold death.

Chapter Text

Scott was supposed to be relaxing and reconnecting with Kira.  That was the purpose of spending the day with her at the Annual Sunflower Festival.

The festival was held every June, when school was out and the days were warm but not oppressively hot yet.  The downtown area of Beacon Hills was closed off to traffic so stalls and booths could be set up all along main street, featuring artists, crafts, locally grown items, and food vendors.  

He should have been enjoying the jazz band that was currently on the small stage erected in the very center of town, where people sat listening while small children bounced and danced about.  He should have been talking to Kira about how he hadn’t been to the festival in years - specifically since he’d been bitten by Peter Hale and the idea of eating deep fried foods and looking at hand made pottery seemed silly in the face of monsters and mad men trying to kill you and your loved ones. 

He should have been having a good time.

Instead, all he could think about was the meeting he’d had with Deaton, Derek, Jordan and the Sheriff when they told him all about what had been going on in Beacon Hills...  

“What the hell do you mean, you knew about this?” Scott asked Deaton angrily as they stood in an examination room of the Animal Clinic.  It was a few days after the Wendigo and they were discussing the findings regarding the cause of death of the bodies found in the woods.

Alan had retained his calm demeanor, unruffled by the Alpha’s anger, “I had suspected something had changed in the Nemeton and confirmed it about a year ago--”

“A year?” his eyes widened in disbelief.  How had they not said anything to him for that long?  How could they keep this a secret?  

The Sheriff spoke up, his tone gentle, trying to ease the tension, “Scott, you have to understand... We felt you had more important things to worry about.  Especially when you couldn’t have done anything about this.”

“We felt it was better to wait to tell you later,” Deaton gave a slight shrug, “After you had graduated.”

“You decided,” Scott huffed, “Is that how this goes now?”

The veterinarian’s gaze hardened, “Yes.  As a matter of fact, it is.” Before Scott could draw a breath to protest, he continued, “When we both accepted that I would serve as your Emissary, we both knew that I would have to make decisions about what I told you and what I didn’t.  It is up to me to determine what is important for the Alpha to know.”

It was clear that he wasn’t going to get any sign of contrition or apology from his Emissary, but that didn’t mean he agreed with it, “Fine,” the young man conceded, “But this?  This was important!  You should have told me!”

“Scott, we had no information about how or why the Nemeton had been adjusted.  Let alone who had done it.  What was I supposed to tell you?  That there might be danger?  That something might be happening?  What good would have that done?  You’d have just worried and been needlessly distracted.”

“That there was danger--”

“From the Sentinels,” the Sheriff interrupted, “Who are, last I checked, human, and fall under my jurisdiction.”

“Except now we have five dead bodies!” Scott shouted, “killed the way Jenni--“ his eyes darted towards Derek who flinched slightly.  He lowered his voice a bit, “The way the Darach sacrificed her victims.”

Deaton nodded, “Yes, which is the first proof we have that someone very actively tapped into the Nemeton...”

“Hey,” Kira knocked her shoulder into his, “You’ve gotten all ‘grrr’ face,” her nose wrinkled as she gave a small fake growl.

“Oh,” he startled and relaxed his face, “Sorry... My eyes weren’t all Alpha’d out were they?” His hand went up to touch his ear, half expecting to feel it pointed.

“No, you’re fine.  I meant normal ‘grrr’ face, not Alpha ‘grrr’ face...” She tilted her head, “You just looked really serious.”

“Yeah.  Sorry.  Just thinking,” he shook his head, wondering how much to tell her.  After meeting with Deaton, he’d gone home and talked to Kira about some of what he’d learned, but hadn’t gone into details.  

Scott knew it was hypocritical of him to keep things from Kira, but they were supposed to be working through their relationship.  How could they do that if they were focused on outside problems - like possible psychotic Darachs.

Things between he and Kira were good, but not solid - they were still tentative in a way they hadn’t been in a long time.  They were still too... polite.

It was part of the reason he had brought her to the Sunflower Festival.  It was something fun to do outside of the house and would be a way to reconnect.  Something... normal.  Now that was ruined, more than a little bit, by the fact that there were five dead people in the morgue who had been sacrificed to do something with the Nemeton. 

“You... don’t think this is connected to Greenberg?” Scott asked, trying to keep a clear head instead of focusing on the fact they’d been sitting on this for a year.  It wasn’t going to help anything at the moment, though he was going to have a discussion with them in the near future about how keeping things from each other had caused a lot of problems in the past.  That seemed to be a lesson they had to be taught over and over again.

“Are you suggesting that Greenberg is the Darach?” Derek asked, his dark brows rising as he lifted his head.

“I don’t know if he’s the Darach, but... you don’t have to be a Darach to sacrifice to the Nemeton, do you?” Scott looked over at Deaton for confirmation.

The Emissary’s expression was thoughtful before he shook his head, “No, I don’t think so.  If you know what you’re doing, you don’t have to be a Druid or Darach, specifically, to tap into the Nemeton’s power.  It will accept the sacrifice from who ever gives it.”

“Oh god...” the Jordan paled, “You don’t really think he did this, do you Scott?”

“I don’t know!” he snapped, “I just found out about all of this!  I brought him up because he was the mole.  If he’s been reporting the Sentinel issues, maybe he’s connected to this and drawing them to the Nemeton.”

“I...” Stilinski shook his head, “I can’t.  I don’t want to think he did it.  Disobeying orders is one thing, but murder?” His expression was half disbelief and half horror at the idea.  “We’ll have to wait and see what more forensics finds.  They estimate that the victims have been dead for a few years at least, based on the state of the bodies versus rate of decomposition.” It was clear to Scott that the man didn’t want to contemplate having a murderer in his station for years, working among his officers.  The Sheriff was already upset over the Greenberg situation before the bodies were found.

“A couple of years?” Deaton asked, head tilting slightly.

“Yeah... about 3 years or so?” 

“Which is about how long the Recovery Center has been here,” the veterinarian sighed.

Derek crossed his arms, “We can’t jump to conclusions.”

“So far, all signs are pointing to the Recovery Center,” the Sheriff stood up from where he’d been leaning against wall, “If it doesn’t have to do with that place, I’ll swear off bacon for the rest of my life.” 

“You do know there might be more victims,” Deaton mentioned, his eyes on the lawman with some sympathy.

“Yeah, I know,” Stilinski’s shoulders dropped slightly, “I’ve got cadaver dogs working the area to see if there are more burial sites.  I’ll let you know if they find anyone else...”

“Include me in that!” Scott said, not caring that his tone was more of an order than a request, “I don’t want to be out of the loop anymore.  No more surprises.”

“Scott, you have school--”

“And I’m going to finish!  But my Mom is here!  You’re here!” he gestured to the Sheriff, “All of you!  People I care about are here!  I’m the Alpha!  If something happens, it falls on me to protect my family and my friends.  I can’t do that if I don’t know what’s going on.” He looked at the other men, breathing a little hard with emotion as his hands curled into fists.  His attention went to Stilinski, “You can’t do your job if you don’t have all the information, right?  Well, it’s no different for me!  Remember how it felt when you found out about all the supernatural stuff after the fact?  I bet the first thought you had was how things could have been different if only you’d known.” 

The Sheriff appeared about to argue, but then gave a huff and shook his head, “Honestly, my first thought was that I was going to kill Stiles for keeping it all a secret...” he gave a slight smirk before he relented, “But yeah, that was one of the first thoughts I had.” 

Taking a deep breath the Alpha said very clearly, “From now on, I want to be told what’s going on.” And he wouldn’t have been surprised if his eyes had shifted to red.

Kira squeezed his hand, drawing him out of his thoughts and he glanced over at her.  Her dark eyes traced over his face, reflecting worry as the scent of anxiousness drifted off of her.  Above them, banners flapped in the light breeze from lamp posts and people walked around them, unaware of dead bodies or monsters in the woods.

Deep down, Scott acknowledged that some of his anger at the older members of the pack was really at himself because he had suspected something was going on - hadn’t he said as much to Stiles? - but he’d chosen to ignore it and try to keep his head in the sand.  He hadn’t wanted to know and they hadn’t wanted him to know.  They were technically fulfilling his desires.  If he was being completely honest, he was angry that he couldn’t remain ignorant anymore.  Now that he knew, there was no way he could ignore it.

“It’s okay to want things for yourself...”  Stiles’ voice echoed in his head.

Immediately, he softened his features, realizing he must have been frowning again.  Taking a deep breath he smiled gently before bringing their linked fingers up to his lips so he could press a kiss to her knuckles.  “I’m here...” he murmured and Kira relaxed, easing next to him,  “Sorry.” 

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you or are we going to ignore it for the day?” she asked with no malice or accusation in her tone.

He winced slightly, knowing that he’d have to tell her.  This wasn’t something he should keep from her and if she found out he tried, she’d be angry.  But he really just wanted to have this day with her...  Scott straightened and said, “It has nothing to do with you,” then added quickly, “Or us!” When she nodded, he continued, “I promise, I’ll talk to you about it later...  I just really want to have this... today.  You and me.  Okay?”

Kira’s head tilted slightly, her eyes drifting over his face while she considered his words.  Finally she nodded, “Okay...” her free hand cupped his cheek, “Then you should be here with me instead of where ever you’re going in your head.”

Relieved, Scott nodded  in agreement, “I’m here.  Totally.  This is us.  You and me and nothing else.” He smiled, really feeling it as he said it.  Looking at her, his heart felt lighter, like whatever else was going on wasn’t so terrible.  Even just knowing he was going to talk to her later about the bodies they found and the Nemeton made him less stressed, because she’d tell him it was all going to be fine - and he’d believe her.  

Her lips curled up, “Now, how about you show me where those amazing, to-die-for funnel cakes are.”

Grinning, he gently pulled her into a walk, “They’re soooo good.  Stiles used to eat so many of them that he’d get sick to his stomach.”

“You didn’t get sick?”

“I did... I just never actually threw up.”

“Ugh!  Gross!” she laughed.

Once he relaxed, the morning was pretty excellent.  They did try the funnel cake and it was really good, though Scott noticed that it wasn’t as good as he remembered, making him wonder about how colored his memories of his childhood were.  Still Kira was smiling as she ate pieces of the funnel cake, licking powdered sugar from her lips - laughing when he managed to get some on his nose.  

They tried samples from the food stands, shared flavored ices, watched a potter throw a vase on a spinning wheel and listened to some good jazz - playfully dancing in front of the stage.  Scott didn’t let himself over think anything, just allowed it all to happen and be with the woman who he loved.  There weren’t any awkward pauses between their words or moments of being unsure with each other.  It was... easy.  

By the afternoon, Scott’s cheeks were aching from smiling so much.

It really should haven’t have been a surprise when everything went to hell in just a few heartbeats.

They were stepping away from a stall of a pet portrait painter, their fingers tangled together comfortably while Kira gushed over how cute the Shiba Inu pictures were, when a soft voice called out hesitantly, “Scott?”

Turning his head, he saw a young woman, dark hair pulled back into a pony tail, smiling at him and looking familiar.  Scott mentally rifled through his memory to figure out where he knew her from when it suddenly came to him, “Box of kittens!”

Kira crinkled her nose in confusion, “What?”

The woman furrowed her brow, gazing at him strangely till she nodded in realization, “Yes,” she smiled faintly, “That was me.”

“Kira, this is.... uh...” Scott winced slightly, “Samantha Nolan?”  When she nodded in confirmation, he continued, “She’s a liaison with the Recovery Center.  She found a mother cat and some kittens that were in danger to the clinic.”

At this, Kira’s expression shifted to understanding, “Oh, hello,” she smiled.

“This is my girlfriend, Kira.”

Samantha shook the other young woman’s hand, “It’s lovely to meet you.”

Scott looked Samantha over, noticing she was wearing a simple summer top and a pair of jeans.  His brows furrowed, “You’re not wearing...” then he shook his head, realizing it wasn’t his business, “Never mind...”

As if sensing what he was referring to, Samantha supplied, “My grey clothes?” she shrugged, “I’m not actually on duty today.  It’s not like being a nun,” her tone was amused, “I don’t have to wear my Guide clothes all the time if I don’t feel like it.” Her eyes shifted over to a nearby table which had a banner on the front of it, featuring the Sentinel Institute logo on it.  “I’m here for the festival, but I wanted to check on the Recovery Center table.  The Sheriff and I thought it might be a good idea.  Well... I thought it would be a good idea and he didn’t disagree.  I figured getting the right information out to people would be a way to get them to see Sentinels as... not so bad?” 

Scott glanced over at the table in question.  There were glossy flyers and brochures on display and two Guides in grey standing behind it.  He noted that people passing by were only giving the display periphery glances and seemed to be avoiding it.  Even those that appeared interested gave off a nervous vibe about approaching. “Uh... well it looks nice.”

Samantha sighed, obviously seeing what he did, “Yeah... Thanks.” There was no denying that the table wasn’t very popular.  She returned her gaze back at the couple, “I figure if only a few people pick up a flyer, that’s some sort of progress... right?” 

As always, Kira tried to inject some hope, “Hey, I’m sure people are just distracted by all the other stuff going on,” she plastered a cheerful smile on her face.  Scott felt a surge of affection for her.

“That sounds a lot better than everyone hates Sentinels,” Samantha chuckled, her mood obviously lifting a little.  

“We don’t want your kind here!”  

The three of them turned to the table to see a man, standing a few feet away from the table, glaring at the Guides who appeared startled.  He had a few friends with him who were sharing his unfriendly expression.  Scott noted the beer bottle in the man’s hand and the slightly glassy eyes.  

Great.

One of the Guides, obviously used to this, said, “We’re sorry you feel that way, sir...”

“Yeah?” the man sneered, “Then get out of here!” His arm swung wide, gesturing with the brown glass bottle, “No one wants you here!”

Samantha cast an apologetic look to Scott and Kira, then stepped over to put herself between the table and the small group.  She smiled politely, her expression calm, “Sir, I’m really sorry.  We don’t want to upset anyone or cause any problems.” Her gaze traveled over the small gathering of the man and his friends who were all probably a little buzzed, “Adrian and Nari are here, just like everyone else, to enjoy the festival.”

The man narrowed his eyes at Samantha, like he was sizing her up before he spit out, “You’re one of them?” He waved his free hand at her clothes, “You trying to hide or something?”

She blinked like she just remembered what she was wearing, “No!” Unconsciously, she took a step back, “I wasn’t on duty.  We only wear that when we’re... I mean.” The young woman took a deep breath, “Look, we don’t want any trouble--”

“Then you should get the fuck out of here, you freaks!”

Scott frowned, feeling a nervous anger and took a few steps forward, “Hey, back off!”

The man turned on him, “What, you one of these freaks too?”

Samantha quickly stepped forward, “No, he’s not,” she looked over at Scott and shook her head at him, silently telling him to keep back. 

The male Guide, Adrian, darted around the table, picking up a flyer from the surface as he did so, “Here, if you’ll just take a look at this...  You’ll see--”

The man slapped the Guide’s hand away, “Keep your bullshit propaganda to yourself!”

“It’s not--”

Now another man started shouting, “You don’t think we don’t see what you’re trying to do?  Think you can fool us?”

Scott noticed more people were gathering, drawn by the loud voices, and it didn’t look like they were disagreeing with what was being said.  He gripped Kira’s hand tighter, but didn’t leave.  He wanted to say more, only now he wasn’t sure if it would help or not.  It wasn’t like he was unaware of the anti-Recovery Center sentiment in town, but seeing it first hand like this was disturbing and scary.

Samantha was trying again, “We aren’t trying to fool anyone.”

“Oh yeah?” He shoved her shoulder, “Then what are you doing wearing normal clothes?  Trying to hide what you are?”

“Hey!” the Sheriff’s voice carried over as he strode up to the table and placed himself firmly between the man and Samantha.  Nari, the young woman had also come around the table and was standing next to Samantha and Adrian, probably feeling better now that an officer of the law was there, “What the hell is going on here?” Stilinski asked, his hands on his hips, near his belt.

“I’ll tell you what the hell is going on!” the man shouted, “These freaks are ruining the festival!”

“From what I can see here, the only one ruining the festival is you.  Now, you can go on and enjoy the festival or we can continue this conversation in private.”

The guy looked at his friends, “See?  He’s protecting them!  They probably have control over you!” The others agreed.

“Yeah, got the fucking police in their pockets!”

“Freak lover!”

The Sheriff was clearly pissed off, but kept calm, “I’m going to ask you to move along once more...  And then I’m going to have to start with charging you for disorderly conduct.”

“This is bullshit Sheriff!”

“You can’t allow this!  They’re a danger to our children!”

More people were joining the small group, becoming more of a crowd.  With their numbers growing, obviously they got braver in voicing their opinions.  

“We want the freaks gone!”

“Get out of Beacon Hills!”

Stilinski pulled his radio from his shoulder, “This is Stilinski, I’m going to need more deputies over to booth #56 near 2nd Avenue.” He turned his attention back to the crowd, “I’m going to ask you all to move along!” 

“You can’t keep protecting them!”

“What about us?”

“God never intended these abominations!”

“You’re supposed to be protecting us from monsters like them!”

Whatever else was said was now lost in voices yelling back and forth.  The Sheriff was doing his best to keep things civil, but the group of townsfolk seemed to be getting larger and rowdier.  Some deputies came jogging up, standing near the Sheriff while Samantha, Adrian and Nari were trying to keep silent, worry clear on their features.  The things being said by the townsfolk grew more vicious and threatening - even by those that were now defending the Guides.  

It made Scott sick.

Kira moved closer, “Scott, maybe we should--”

Whatever she was going to say was cut off at the sound of something solidly hitting something else.  The Sheriff stumbled back and this time there were shouts and people started pushing, like the punch had set them all off.  The deputies were shoving back and everything was suddenly a chaotic jumble of bodies and voices.  Scott turned to Kira, unsure of what to do... This was supposed to be a nice normal day for them.  A way for him to make things up to her.

“We should help,” Kira said simply.

He gazed into her eyes, trying to determine if she meant it, but then she just shrugged, giving him a helpless smile.  It silently said everything that needed to be.  

Together they rushed towards the table, squeezing around to get to Stilinski who was holding a hand over his right eye while shouting orders to his officers and into his radio.  Samantha was turned towards the other two guides, using her body to shield them from garbage being thrown at them while they huddled behind the officers.  More of Beacon Hills’ finest showed up, but it only seemed to serve to make the crowd louder and more aggressive. 

“Sheriff!”

The man turned and frowned, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“We’re here to help.”

“This is police business!”

Suddenly a man came bursting through, stumbling towards Kira who had no time to move.  Two strong arms yanked her out of the way and the man collided into the table, sending it crashing to the ground, flyers and brochures scattering off into the street.  Derek made sure Kira was steady on her feet before releasing her from where he held her in safety from the attack. 

“Oh my god, thank you!” she gasped.

The older man nodded and turned to the Sheriff, “What do you need?”

Scott was shocked that Derek was there.  Had he been at the Festival?  Had the Sheriff called him?

“We have to get Samantha and the other Guides out of here!  Maybe it’ll help calm things down,” the Sheriff frowned, his eyes darting towards the crowd.

“Fucking freak bitch!” someone snarled before grabbing Samantha’s arm and pulling her away from the other Guides. 

She struggled, her grey eyes large and terrified, before she was yanked into the small mob.  “Samantha!” Derek swore and started pushing to get through to her.  

Scott’s adrenaline was running.  Without thinking, he followed after Derek, ignoring Kira’s cry of his name.  Everything was loud and bright around him.  His heart was pounding in his chest and he couldn’t tell how much of this was him or what he was getting from the small mob.  It was strange and disorienting to be unable to rely on his werewolf senses.  There was too much noise to hear anything properly and the scents were drowned under the heated anger and terror that was laying over everything like a blanket.  Part of him just wanted to curl up in a ball on the ground with his head covered. 

Then the air was split with the crack of a gunshot that left silence in its wake for a heartbeat before the noise of screams and panic filled in the vacuum.  

“No!” He recognized Samantha’s horrified voice.

Deputies were shouting, “Shots fired!  Shots fired!”

The shoving grew more violent as people tried to get away.  He was lost in an onslaught of bodies till he finally got to Derek and he practically clung to the man as a life line, “Derek!  Are you--”

“I’m fine!” he said through clenched teeth, “Help her!”

Scott glanced down to where Derek was clutching his side.  The scent of blood tickled sickly at the Alpha’s nose, “Shit, Derek!”

“Help, Samantha!  He knocked her down!” 

Realizing the danger with all these people running around, Scott quickly started pushing, buffeted by bodies and careening between them.  Scared that she was going to get trampled, he pushed back.  He nearly stepped on her himself when he came upon her, curled up with her arms over her head on the street, trying to protect herself from feet that stampeded around her.  She was unconscious when he scooped her up into his arms, blood pouring from a gash on her temple.

“Scott!” Parrish was suddenly there, somehow managing to keep calm in the face of all this.  “Come on!” he had Derek’s arm draped over his shoulders, concealing the bullet wound between the press of their bodies.  Now that the mass of people lost their focus, the deputies were gaining control.  It was like the gunshot had let the air out of the balloon somehow.  When they were out of the center of the chaos, Parrish unhooked Derek’s arm from his shoulders, “Here, give her to me.  You need to get Derek out of here before someone sees he’s been shot.  Get him somewhere safe!”

Right.  Werewolf.  It would be hard to explain away a fully healed bullet wound if anyone saw it. “What about Kira?  The Sheriff?”

“They’re fine.  They’re getting the Guides out of here.”  The deputy lifted Samantha out of Scott’s arms, moving her so her head was set against his shoulder, “There’s an ambulance with some EMT’s at the first aid station.  I’ll take her over there.” Jordan jerked his head, “Now, go!”

Scott took over walking Derek and nodded, helping the other werewolf past the remaining frantic townsfolk.  It was fairly easy to get by them, considering everyone was more worried about themselves.  He was so focused on getting them away, that he missed Derek talking to him, “Scott.  Scott!  Set me down here...”

Blinking, the young man realized they were behind the coffee shop, near the dumpsters where no one would see them.  Gently, he lowered Derek to the ground, setting his back against the wall.  After crouching down he leaned over to try and get a better look the other man.  He flinched at the bloody wound that was revealed when Derek lifted his shaking hand up, the palm and fingers stained red.  Scott could smell the pain.

Derek panted, “It’s... It’s okay... Just a normal bullet.”

It said something about their lives that it being ‘just a normal bullet’ was good news.  “Did it go through?”

“No... Gotta dig it out.  So it can heal faster.”

“Let me,” Scott said, “I’m almost a medical professional.”

“You’re in school... to be a vet.” Derek said flatly.

With a slight curl of the corner of his lip, Scott shrugged, “Close enough, right?  Besides, I have a better vantage point.”  He glanced up at Derek before he let his claws grow, “I’ll try to do this as fast as I can.”  Then he was digging in.

Derek’s body jerked and his head fell back as he clenched his teeth tightly against the pain.  Scott tried not to check on him, tried not to let his mind realize what he was doing.  It wasn’t going to do any good to think about how he was hurting him - he had to keep going and finish what he started so the wound could heal.  After he finally felt his claw scrap against metal he nearly heaved a breath of relief.  “Got it...” he muttered.  Again, he worked fast, but not too fast, thankful for the years of practice he had with Deaton and his schooling.  When he got the bullet out, both he and Derek sagged where they were.  

“Thanks...” Derek’s voice was thin.  

“No problem...” He pocketed the bullet and breathed out slowly.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Scott hoped Derek had actually spent the day doing something fun, rather than lurking in shadows waiting for danger to appear.  While their relationship tended to be complicated to say the least, Scott just wanted the guy to be happy.  After Mexico, when he’d evolved, it seemed like that had happened.  Derek looked like he was on the road to finding peace - some happiness of some sort.  Then there was the fire at the distillery and something had shifted...  It was the situation with Stiles - he knew.  Both of them had come out of the other side of that changed.

*************************

Derek had no idea how long he and Scott sat behind Perks and Recreation.  The sun was just dipping down behind the horizon, leaving a bright glow on the edges of the trees.  Lights from the emergency vehicles on the street sent blue and red flashes bouncing off glass windows, the crackle of radios making static in the air.  

Scott was texting and keeping them both updated on what was going on with everyone else.  It appeared that the situation hadn’t escalated beyond the festival and everyone was relatively safe.  The Guides had been safely transported back to the Recovery Center.  Parrish was still on scene, handling clean up and damage control while the Sheriff was at the hospital getting statements.  There were only a few bumps and bruises to be reported except for Samantha who needed stitches for the gash on her head and had a cracked rib - probably from someone hitting her while she was on the ground.  All in all... it could have been worse.

After he finished texting, Scott leaned back against the wall next to Derek, “Kira’s on her way.  I told her where we were.”

Wordlessly, the werewolf nodded.  His wound was fully healed, leaving him in bloody clothes and feeling weary.  He felt a little shaky from the adrenaline drop now that they were sitting in relative peace and quiet.

They sat in silence for a while longer before Scott shook his head, “What the hell happened?” his voice was rough.

“Things got out of control,” Derek answered.

“But.  This isn’t...  I mean,” he gestured vaguely towards the street, “This is Beacon Hills.  These people aren’t like that.  Everything shifted so fast!  All those normal people turned into... I don’t know!”

“Monsters.”

The younger man dropped his hands into his lap and breathed out, “Yeah...”

Derek sighed, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think anyone started out wanting that.  Mostly, I think, people are afraid, and when they get afraid, they don’t think clearly.  They react without thought.  And when they are in a group, it’s like they feed off of each other.” Rolling his head he looked at Scott.

The Alpha nodded, “I get it... I do.  I just... I never thought people here would turn into a mob like that.  All they needed were some pitchforks and torches.” He rubbed his face, “Deaton said something about fear in regards to the Sentinels...  It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him, but I guess I just didn’t think it could be this bad.”

“Don’t underestimate the power of fear on a group...”  Derek couldn’t help but think of the Hunters like Gerard who never saw werewolves as anything more than monsters to destroy - even when he was looking to them for a cure.  Obviously he wasn’t the only person to think that way, or else he wouldn’t have gotten such a large group of Hunters following him.  Kate certainly was a believer.  

He had never understood her total belief that he and his family were dangerous.  Especially after they’d spent time together.  Sure, she was seducing him and using him, but had he really seemed to be so horrible?  Had she not seen anything worthwhile in him that redeemed him and his family in her eyes?  Had he done nothing to show her he was anything other than an animal to put down?

Sometimes he had wondered if he had done things differently... if he’d somehow been able to convince her that werewolves weren’t monsters, she might have had a change of heart.  It was one of the many things that had haunted him... was part of the guilt he carried.  It was only after she was still so hateful and violent after becoming a shifter herself that he let that go.  He realized that there was nothing he could have done to change Kate’s mind about him.  

At least it was one thing he could release from his conscious.

Scott was sliding his thumb along the glass surface of his phone, gazing at it blindly. “Did I ever tell you about when my Mom first found out I was a werewolf?” 

Derek blinked and then shook his head, “No.”  He only knew Melissa had found out from context of conversations around him.

“It was when Matt had attacked the station with Jacks-- the Kanima.” They all tried not to refer to the Kanima as Jackson...  Wanting to keep the creature and the teenager separate because it really hadn’t been his fault that he’d turned into it.  “My Mom saw me... wolfed out.  And when I looked in her eyes, you know what I saw in them?”

He suspected, but he answered, “No.”

“Fear,” The young man swallowed hard, “She was afraid of me.” His brows furrowed as he focused hard on the phone like it was important, but it was clear all he was seeing was his mother’s face, “I think she was even... repulsed...”

Being born a werewolf, Derek had never had to deal with that.  His mother always accepted him - would have accepted him had he been born human instead of werewolf.  Even after Paige...  She had taken him in her arms and held him when he was sure she would gaze at him in horror.  It was yet another hurdle Scott had to cross that Derek didn’t.  It was yet another reminder of why the young man had never looked at the Bite as a gift.  “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah...” He huffed, “She wouldn’t talk to me.  Wouldn’t look at me for days.”

“What changed?”

“I don’t know?” Scott shook his head, “We never really talked about it specifically.  Too much other stuff happened and we were all just rolling with it.” He shrugged, “But that fear she had...  I mean, if a mother could feel that for her son, I guess it isn’t such a leap to see how people could be afraid of Sentinels and Guides... Who they don’t know.”

“We fear what we don’t understand,” Derek sighed.

“But shouldn’t we try to understand first?”

“That was the intention of the Sentinel Institute having a table.  Samantha wanted to spread awareness and facts about Sentinels and Guides and the RC.  But sometimes it’s just easier to be afraid.  It’s... comfortable.  Familiar.  It’s what you know.”

“That’s stupid.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“Scott!” Kira’s voice broke their conversation as she came running behind the shop, looking around.  When she spun and spotted them, she barely gave Scott time to get up before she was hugging him.

“You okay?” he asked, wrapping his arms tightly about her.

“Yeah, just glad that’s over.  That was so... crazy!”

Derek pushed up from the ground, ignoring the bittersweet taste in his mouth as he watched them embracing.  Overall, he was glad the two of them were back together.  The warm happiness that emanated from them was like caramel and sunshine and he felt his mouth curl up in the corners - but it was a reminder of something he didn’t have.

Kira pulled away first and turned her attention to Derek, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.  What’s going on out there?”

“It’s quieter.  Just clean up I think.  There are news reporters and Jordan is talking to them, trying to downplay the whole thing.  A few people got arrested, but... I don’t think the Sheriff is too keen on having them serve jail time.”

“What?” Scott squawked, “Why not?”

“Because if he arrests people and has them prosecuted and put in jail, it will reinforce anger towards the RC... and perpetuate the idea that he is playing favorites.” Derek answered, too aware of the delicate dance the Sheriff was doing.

“But that’s ridiculous!”

He shrugged, “He’s trying to keep the peace as best he can.  You just saw how well common sense and logic played out here today Scott!”

“But--”

“Scott!” Derek swallowed and shook his head, “This isn’t your problem.  Don’t make it yours.  You have enough to worry about.  The Sheriff, Jordan... Me.  We’re handling it.” He set a hand on the Alpha’s shoulder, “Don’t take this on too.”

The younger man gazed at him quietly for a while and then his shoulders dropped slightly before he nodded, “Okay.”  Derek didn’t want to read into it, but he definitely sensed some relief from Scott, like he was being let off the hook or something.  

“How’s the Sheriff?” Derek asked.

Kira gave a slight smirk, “Fine.  Just really pissed off.”

Derek’s cell phone chirped and he pulled it out of his pocket, “Speaking of...” He slid his thumb across the screen and answered, “Sheriff?”

“Derek...  Are you all healed up?”

“Yes.”

“Good.  I need you to come down to the hospital.”

Scott frowned slightly, obviously hearing the conversation.  Derek was sure his expression matched the younger man’s, “Why?  What’s wrong?”

There was a heavy sigh, “Samantha saw you get shot.” 

Chapter Text

Driving to Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, Derek was feeling a little bit nervous about what he would be dealing with once he arrived.  He and the pack had hidden a lot over the years from the ‘normal’ townsfolk - Kanimas, Demon Wolves, and Deadpools, just to name a few.  With every danger or monster, there had been a lot of deaths, and most had been attributed to wild animal attacks (it was surprising that mountain lions hadn’t been hunted into extinction considering how much blame they’d gotten).  Others had been cited as accidents, crazy people, or whatever could be scrounged together that might make sense.  The public, for the most part, bought whatever reasons or stories were given to let the horrors go - glad to remain hiding under their blanket of ignorance.

And in the center of all of it was the Sheriff, who had to somehow tie all the loose ends to close the cases. 

It made Derek feel badly for him, because Stilinski was constantly trying to keep things under control.  To make the craziness all appear normal, he had to walk the razor’s edge of lies and legality on behalf of the pack - covering things up and hiding or creating evidence.  Granted, it was for the best that he did so, because people would probably freak out if they knew the truth about what was happening.  

If they nearly started a riot over Guides at an innocent Sunflower Festival, Derek couldn’t imagine the chaos that would ensue over Banshees and Werewolves.

Still, no matter what the justification, it had to be hard for the Sheriff.  He was a man of the law - an honest one at that - and every time he had to bend the rules, or smudge the paperwork, it had to chip at him a little bit.  And since the night that Peter had killed Laura, there had been a lot to whittle down the man’s sense of justice.

After parking his car in the lot, Derek jogged over to the entrance to the hospital, ignoring the front desk to head up directly to the room number that the Sheriff had told him.  Upon exiting the elevator, he was greeted by Stilinski and he had to wince at the sight of the shiner the man was sporting, courtesy of whoever threw that first punch at the festival.

There was no missing the werewolf’s expression as they walked to Samantha’s room.  The Sheriff smirked in self depreciation, “Yeah, I look like I went a round with Holyfield and lost,” he gingerly touched his cheek where the bruise was turning dark purple. “Scott go home?”

Derek nodded, “This isn’t supernatural after all...” He didn’t mention that Scott was sort of shaken up by the events of the day.  

The Sheriff raise a brow, taking in Derek’s appearance, “You changed?”

“I figured I better wash up and get some clean clothes.”

He hummed in agreement, “Probably a good idea,” his eyes flicked towards the closed door to Samantha’s room, “She’s still convinced you’re in a gutter somewhere, bleeding to death.” 

“Couldn’t you have just told her I was fine?”

“What the hell do you think I’ve been doing?” Stilinski whispered harshly as a group of nurses passed by, “But she won’t let it go.  I can’t blame her since she did actually see you get shot.  I’m just hoping that if she sees you now,” he waved a hand at Derek’s gut, “Not bleeding, she’ll think it was a trick of the eye or stress or something.”

While Derek agreed with the reasoning of deceiving her, it didn’t sit well with him.  Samantha had helped them out when they needed it - given them information that would probably get her in trouble for sharing.  It might be a necessary evil to convince her she had been seeing things, but it made him uncomfortable.

Sensing his mood, the Sheriff stepped in front of him, “Look, I know,” his voice was soft with understanding, “I don’t like it any better than you do.  But what’s our alternative here?  Do we tell her you’re a,” he whispered, “Werewolf?”

Derek huffed and shook his head.  If it was just him, he was prepared to deal with whatever fallout would occur should his secret get out.  That wasn’t the case though, and things would definitely spill over onto Scott and the rest of the pack - putting them in danger.  In the end, it wasn’t just his secret to tell...  That’s assuming she would have believed them in the first place.  “All right,” he sighed out.

Stilinski nodded and gripped Derek’s shoulder briefly, before leading him into the room.

The sterile and chemically cleaned rooms of hospitals did nothing to relax or ease Derek in the slightest.  All it did was make him think of all the times he had sat in one of those rooms, waiting for someone to wake up... for them not to die...  He briefly wondered how the Sheriff managed it, being in hospitals after the death of his wife and after Stiles.  

He chalked it up to yet another thing the older man had to bear on his shoulders.

Looking around he noted the room was fairly standard, with two beds, pale painted walls and a white tiled floor.  Samantha was the only occupant and she was wearing a hospital gown as she lay propped up in the bed.  A doctor stood next to her, writing something down in her files. “The Sheriff should return shortly,” he murmured absently, not bothering to look up.

“So you’ve said,” she groused, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Samantha?” The Sheriff closed the door behind them, obviously unsure how this little meeting was going to go.  Privacy was probably a good idea.

She turned to see them both and her gray eyes widened, “Derek!” she scrambled to sit up, flinching in pain.  There was a white bandage over her brow and there was mottled bruising on her cheek along with scrapes on her chin.  

He held up his hands as he approached the bed, silently encouraging her to remain still, remembering the Sheriff mentioning a broken rib, “Hey... Don’t move too much.”

Samantha ignored that, focusing on his body instead.  Her eyes darted over him, obviously trying to see a bullet wound or evidence of it somewhere. “You’re... here,” her words faded out as her gaze drifted up to his face, clearly feeling lost and confused.

Derek silently assured himself this was all necessary before saying, “The Sheriff called and told me you were worried about me.  That you thought I was hurt?”

Her brows furrowed, but she answered with a nod, “Yes, I saw it!  I mean, I saw you get shot,” she pointed to his side where the bullet had been, “Right there.”

Casting a quick glance to the Sheriff, Derek lifted the bottom of the dark Henley he was wearing so he could reveal the smooth, unmarred skin beneath, “Here?”

The young woman’s mouth dropped open before she leaned back to shake her head, “No!  I mean, yes, but I saw it!  I could swear...” her voice grew thready, “You were shot...”

“Miss Nolan,” the doctor cut in, “You suffered a head wound.  It’s only natural--”

“I hit my head after the gunshot!” she snapped at him before returning her stunned attention to Derek as he lowered his shirt. “I swear, I saw it.  I saw your face...  I saw you grab your side!” her eyes traced over him, “Those aren’t the same clothes, but I know what I saw!”

“There were a lot of people around us and I got elbowed more than a few times in the ribs,” Derek explained, his voice gentle.

Her hands flopped helplessly upon the bed, “I swear... I saw it.” Observing her reaction, Derek scented a trickle of fear going through her.  It made him curious about where it stemmed from, whether she was afraid of him or afraid of something about herself...    

Before he could focus more upon the emotion, Stilinski stepped closer, “Samantha, you just saw for yourself, he’s fine.  You just thought you saw something tonight and that’s natural.  It can happen sometimes when you’re in a high stress situation.  Your adrenaline is pumping and you’re not thinking straight so your brain creates narratives.  You can see, Derek didn’t get shot.”

Samantha’s eyes slowly narrowed on the Sheriff, “You’re lying.”

“What?” his brows lifted.

“You’re lying to me,” she repeated, sitting up again.

“Really, Miss Nolan,” the doctor huffed impatiently, “You just saw proof that this man wasn’t shot.  Unless he can magically heal from a bullet wound, the Sheriff is not lying.”

“I can see Derek’s fine!  I’m not blind, okay?  But that doesn’t change the fact that he-- That you,” She turned to glare at the Sheriff, “Are lying to me!” Her tone was accusatory, but there was no disguising the hurt.

Stilinski took a deep breath, “Samantha...”

“No, just don’t.  I don’t know why you’re doing this...  Why you’re lying to me, but I can sense it.”

The doctor put a hand upon her shoulder, trying to get her attention, “You need to calm down.  You have a head injury, you’re hurt, you’ve had a stressful day, and you’re not in your right mind at the moment--”

“Don’t you dare!” she shoved his hand off, “Don’t you dare tell me I’m crazy or something.  I know when someone is lying to me!”  Samantha’s gaze was pleading when it returned to the Sheriff, “Why would you lie to me when it isn’t necessary?  I don’t understand,” her voice held all the betrayal she was feeling.

“Samantha... I’m... not.”

Derek could see this all falling apart.  Samantha might not know what the lie was, but if she could sense the Sheriff was lying, there would be no way to get around it or convince her otherwise.  He also knew this stress was definitely not good for her in her current condition, “Samantha,” he put his hand over hers, “Look at me...” The young woman did so, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.  He could feel the trembling of her hand beneath his palm - could scent the anger and frustration, along with the underlying fizzy ribbon of fear.  There was so much going on here, but he didn’t have time to deal with it all, “Listen to me...  I’m not hurt.  I’m okay.  There’s no bullet wound in me, right?”  None of what he said were lies, but he hated skating the truth.

“Yes, but...”

“I know...  I know you’re sure you saw something today, but you can see that I’m fine.” He kept his voice calm and even, silently urging her to calm down as well, to believe him.

“Yes,” her voice was small.

“Okay,” his thumb traced over her hand.

“I’m not crazy,” she suddenly insisted in a whisper.

“No one is saying you are,” he shot an annoyed scowl at the doctor who stepped back from the bed, clearly done with all of this, “We just want you to be okay and to not be worried about me anymore.”

After taking a deep, shaky breath, she nodded, calming more, though the fear was still jittering through her like after-shocks.  Samantha leaned back against the pillows, wincing in pain as she did so.  Derek instinctually wanted to draw the pain from her, but refrained, all too aware that it would cause more harm than good.  “I’m sorry,” she muttered miserably.

“It’s fine,” he assured, letting his thumb slide over her hand one more time before pulling away.

“It’s been a tough day for everyone,” the Sheriff added, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m sure you could use some rest now...”

“Mr. Stilinski!” a sharp voice cut through the room as the door was opened without a knock.

Derek rolled his eyes so hard, his head moved with it.  Could things get any worse?

With barely concealed irritation, the older man pinched the bridge of his nose, “Sheriff Stilinski!” He turned to face Mr. Ecks, who was, as always, escorted by two Sentinels and wearing a sour expression.  

Striding across the room, Mr. Ecks pushed his glasses up his nose to sniff dismissively, “Yes, of course.” His eyes flicked towards Derek before he crossed his arms.

“Sir?” Samantha asked, her brows furrowed, “I thought you were still in Europe.”

“I was,” he nodded, “Till I heard what happened and immediately returned.”

“She was lucky,” the Sheriff offered, “It could have been worse.”

Mr. Ecks snorted, “Lucky?  My question is, why was it as bad as it was in the first place?”

“My deputies and I handled it.  We got control of the situation, I assure you.”

The Head of the Recovery Center waved a hand at Stilinski, indicating the black eye, “Yes, I can see how well it was handled,” he huffed.  “I want to know why it happened at all?  Where were the police when this started?  When I approved this ridiculous idea, I had assumed that my people would be offered some sort of protection or at least support!”

“Mr. Ecks, I promise, the Sheriff did everything he could...” Samantha tried to sit up.

“Miss Nolan, you and I will discuss this later,” he raised a brow silently ordering her to be quiet.  She bit her lip and sat back.

Aggravated, Derek near growled, “Sir, I can promise, the Sheriff and his men did everything they could to keep Miss Nolan and the other Guides safe!” He hadn’t intended to say anything, but the guy was seriously annoying - like a mosquito buzzing in your ear.

Slowly, Mr. Ecks turned his attention on Derek and somehow, even though he was shorter, managed to look down his nose at him, “And who are you?”

“Derek,” The Sheriff sighed before doing the introductions, “This is William Ecks, Head of the West Coast Recovery Center.  Mr. Ecks, this is Derek Hale.  He works as a consultant with the Beacon County Sheriff’s office from time to time.” He added, “Mr. Hale helped us at the festival today.”

Mr. Ecks’ eyes widened a fraction, along with a slight twitch in his heartbeat, as he looked Derek up and down.  It felt like some sort of recognition, but Derek wasn’t sure how to take it.  “Derek Hale?” Mr. Ecks repeated, like the name was a bad taste on his tongue.

Derek felt his stomach tense, unsure where this was going.  His past was fairly sordid and stories regarding it could be about anything, “Yes.”

Mr. Ecks pursed his lips after a beat of silence, “I seem to remember seeing you around the station...  And while what happened to your family was a tragedy, I don’t know that it erases the fact you have a police record.” His brows rose, “I’m not entirely comfortable with an accused murderer being a consultant with the police who are supposed to be protecting and serving the public.”

It wasn’t unexpected, but it still made something inside Derek crumble a bit.  It wasn’t so much that Mr. Ecks was judging him, but that his life was such public knowledge.  Yes, of course, this irritating little man would know his history - the collective minds of the people who lived in Beacon Hills all knew it.  People talked about his life, and thanks to his werewolf hearing, he even had the ‘privilege’ of knowing exactly what was being said about him instead of having to guess - like most subjects of gossip did.  

He never mentioned it, but he really hated that everyone felt like it was okay to talk about his tragedies like it was their own in some way - like they had the right to it.

“Those charges were dropped,” Stilinski explained before narrowing his eyes, “And luckily, your opinion and comfort don’t really have much pull as to who the department chooses to accept help from, Mr. Ecks.”

The smile they were treated with, was anything but kind, his shrug was careless “No, I suppose they don’t.  But,” he continued, “I do have control over how the Recovery Center and its employees are handled.” There was an uncomfortable pleasure in the man’s voice, “That being said, I will be immediately removing Miss Nolan from her position as liaison with the Sheriff’s department and resuming my responsibilities in that regard.”

“What?” Samantha sat up again in shock.

The Sheriff stepped forward, “You can’t blame her for what happened!”

“Oh, I don’t.” Mr. Ecks assured, “I blame you.  You were responsible for the safety of my people, and in that you clearly failed.  I encouraged Miss Nolan’s pursuit of educating the public with the understanding that it would be with your cooperation... with your protection.  I was under the impression that things were in capable hands so that I could leave Beacon Hills to conduct necessary business and meetings.  Instead, I get a call about my Guides being attacked, at a small town fair of all places, forcing me to return here immediately!” He leveled a hard stare at the Sheriff, daring him to argue the point before he snorted, “Clearly, there were many mistakes made in all of this.  The first being that I allowed you to bully me into giving Miss Nolan the position and responsibility of liaison when you clearly had no way to protect her or any of my other employees should the situation call for it.”

Flustered by how Mr. Ecks was painting this, Derek near shouted, “You can’t really--”

“Oh, I can Mr. Hale!  As the Sheriff was kind enough to remind me, I am in charge of the Recovery Center and everyone who works in it.  Not you or,” he tilted his head towards Stilinski, “You.  And trust me when I tell you that I’ll be bringing up this debacle with the mayor.  Perhaps this is the push needed to have you fired.”

Samantha looked horrified, “Mr. Ecks, please...” 

“Fired?” The Sheriff’s snapped.

“For negligence and incompetence.  Both of which were proven spectacularly with the events of today.  I expect it shouldn’t be too hard to prove my case.  Wasn’t there an investigation conducted previously due to your history of failure already?” he sneered, eyes sliding up distastefully upon the Sheriff, “Now, if you’ll excuse us.  Miss Nolan and I need to have a conversation that requires some privacy.  Good day Mr. Hale, Mr. Stilinski.” 

“That’s Sheriff--”

The doctor had clearly had enough, “Gentlemen!” When their attention was on him, he continued, “There are entirely too many people in this room!”

“I don’t think I’m leaving her with him!”

“This is now a Sentinel issue,” Mr. Ecks corrected, lifting his brows.

Derek knew that the Sentinels policed themselves and the Sheriff’s jurisdiction now stopped at the door - the way the FBI could step in on investigations that local police had been handling and take over everything.  If Stilinski tried to force it, he’d be in more trouble than he already, possibly was.

The doctor was obviously eager to have some peace and quiet return to his hospital and stepped in quickly, “Sheriff, if you’ll wait outside...?”

Taking the opening, and hoping to keep things from getting worse, Derek set a hand on the Sheriff’s shoulder and gave a very gentle nudge to the door.  As the older man set his jaw and started reluctantly leaving, Derek looked over his shoulder to give Samantha a gentle smile, “We’ll see you soon,” hating how lost she looked.

“Okay...” was her brittle response, then she was blocked from view by Mr. Ecks and the two Sentinels.

Once they were out in the hall, the door closed behind them, Stilinski leaned against the opposite wall and rubbed his face - only to flinch when his fingers scraped across his black eye, “Damn it!” he snarled, dropping his hands immediately, “I cannot believe how badly that all went.”

“Which part?” Derek huffed before he crossed his arms, sort of recovering from the stress that had filled the room - from the heightened heartbeats, the shifting scents... the space had been filled with stress signals.  He only noticed the difference now that he was out in the hall where it wasn’t as bad.

“I’d start with the part with Samantha...”

“You were trying to protect her...  That was the point of lying to her.”

The Sheriff rolled his eyes, “And that went spectacularly.  How did she know I was lying?”

Derek tilted his head thoughtfully, “I think it has to do with her being a Guide.” His brows furrowed slightly, “She mentioned being better able to read people at that talk she gave at the station,” he jerked his chin at the other man, “Or she knows you really well from working with you.  It’s her job to gauge people so she can probably read you really well by now.”

With a slight nod, the man appeared to concede to the idea, “Makes sense I suppose, but then, why didn’t she catch you?”

“I didn’t lie,” he shrugged, “I didn’t tell the whole truth, but I never directly lied to her.  You forget, I grew up in a family of people who could hear a lie.  You learn pretty quickly to work around that.”

“Sounds like a useful skill.”

“It’s been necessary from time to time...”

Stilinski sighed deeply, his eyes trailing back to the door and he looked worn out.  “You’d think I’d be better at lying after all this time dealing with...” he gestured vaguely, “All the stuff we deal with...”

Derek’s gaze dropped to the floor as he felt his lips twitch, “Well,” he lifted his head to meet the Sheriff’s eyes, “I’m actually glad you’re not.  You’re an honest man and... I think that’s a good thing.”

The older man’s eyes widened a bit before he gave a grateful smile.  Then he smirked, “Well, I think it’s easy to come across as honest when I’ve had Stiles and his shenanigans to be compared to...  And he’s the only person that could make me use the word shenanigans with complete seriousness.”

Before Derek could debate too long on asking how Stiles was doing, Mr. Ecks exited Samantha’s room, followed by his two Sentinels.  One of them stayed by the door, obviously acting as a guard while the other escorted Mr. Ecks, who pointedly ignored Derek and Stilinski, as he made his way to the elevators.  It was clear that neither of them would be allowed back in to see Samantha, judging by how the Sentinel was eyeing them - like he was daring them to try.  

The doctor came out of the room, noticed the two men standing nearby and gave them a polite nod.  He turned to depart but was stopped before he got too far by the Sheriff catching up to him to ask, “Is she all right?”

“She’s resting now,” the doctor answered as he paused, “But, I can’t say this has all been very restful for her...  She’s still agitated and confused about the series of events from today,” he gave a slight shrug, “If not for the head injury, I might have considered calling for a consult.”

“A consult?” Derek tilted his head slightly.

He hummed an affirmative, “With someone from the psych department for a possible fifty one fifty.”

Stilinski wrinkled his nose, “Would that really be necessary?”

“Oh, no.  Not now.  I don’t think so,” the doctor gave them a distracted smile as he glanced at his chart, “I really believe this is all stress related.  With some rest and recovery, she’ll be able to look back on the events and see things more clearly.  She’ll be fine.  Now, if you’ll excuse me?” he turned and walked away.

Grimacing, Derek turned back to the Sheriff who was staring at the door with a pinched expression while rubbing the back of his neck.  “What’s a fifty one fifty?”

“Section fifty one fifty,” the man made a face, “gives permission to involuntarily confine a person suspected of having a mental disorder where they might be a danger to themselves or others.”

“What?  Samantha isn’t crazy!”

“I know that!” the Sheriff snapped, “I wouldn’t have done that to her, but the doctor could have ordered it if he thought it was necessary,” he crossed his arms, discomfort in every line of his body.  Considering there was no fifty one fifty to worry about, Derek wondered why the man was still obviously unhappy.

“Is there something else?”

Clearly he was caught in some sort of mental argument that made the rhythm of him tangled with discord.  Finally, Stilinski rubbed his cheek harshly, “It’s about Samantha... I wouldn’t normally mention it because, technically, the record was sealed but--”  His phone rang loudly, causing the disapproving attention of the nurses down the previously quiet hallway, “Damn it,” he pulled his cell out and answered, “Stilinski...”  Derek could hear the voice of Jordan on the other end, telling the Sheriff he was needed at the station.  

The Sheriff left, muttering apologies about having to go and leaving Derek to frown, wondering what Stilinski was going to say.

*************************

The face off with Mr. Ecks at the hospital left the Sheriff feeling angry and frustrated - which is how he usually felt after talking to the man - so when he’d arrived at the station and had to run a gauntlet of reporters waiting there, he was left exhausted, both mentally and physically.  And after entering the building he was bombarded with messages, phone calls on hold, questions, and deputies.  

Gathering himself up, he gave his instructions and orders to the staff, taking their reports and questions while maintaining his even, calm and authoritative tone, when all he wanted to do was go to his office, lock the door and shut his eyes for a week.  

When he could, hours later, he did finally go to his office, but all he did there was handle more phone calls - The longest being with the mayor who was demanding answers for such a P.R. nightmare.  It was clear that Mr. Ecks had carried through with his threat to call her, but the Sheriff felt like he had managed to explain his side of things and assure her he had done everything he could, and by the book.  Elected official or not, if he didn’t have the support of the mayor’s office, his life and job would be ten times more difficult.  And at this moment, he couldn’t afford that.  He was left unsure on where he and the mayor stood, but he felt pretty confident he wasn’t getting fired... at least not today.

After, there was more talking with deputies, most of whom weren’t well versed in dealing with this sort of situation.  

Sometimes he forgot how many of them were sort of new - hired and assigned to replace those men and women on the force that had been lost during Stiles’ years in high school.  Stilinski tried not to think too often about those deputies who he’d joined the department with, who were no longer there.

These officers hadn’t had reporters crowding outside the station, calling in or trying to get in, or trying to get ‘insider information’ before.  While training was pretty extensive about how to handle things, it was always different when you were actually faced with the reality.  He gave them clear orders that no one was to speak to the media, no matter what.  Everything was to be handled with a ‘No comment’, or ‘I’m not at liberty to say at this moment,’ should they have to say something.  And he made it clear that the first person to leak out anything would be immediately fired on the spot - no questions asked.  Deputy Parrish had given a very brief statement on site at the fair and that was all those sharks circling around outside were going to get till the Sheriff was ready to say more.

And as far as his statement, he was going to put that off for as long as he was able to.  He hated having to talk to reporters because they were always ready to take his words out of context and paint things worse than what they were.  Certainly, he’d gotten better at dealing with them - years of unexplained deaths, mutilated bodies and mysterious creature sightings over the years and developed that skill... Fortunately or unfortunately depending on how you looked at it.  But it didn’t make the moment, with all those eyes on him, cameras in his face, and lights blasting his eyes, any more fun.

It was already 1 p.m. by the time he closed the door to his office and was left alone.  He was drained.  He had been going since the festival had started yesterday at 8 a.m. and if he had any more coffee, he’d end up being more jittery than awake.  There’d be no going home just yet though.  

He still had reports to go through and he had to compile his statement to give to the press, setting up the timeline of events and the outcome, while at the same time assuring the public that this was an isolated incident, and without getting people riled up because the Guides were involved.  The Sheriff knew some people would assume that the Recovery Center people were somehow at fault for the events of yesterday.  He only hoped that not pressing charges against those arrested on site would keep people from getting too pissed.  There’d be hell to pay later, he was sure, when Mr. Ecks found out about that, but that was a worry for another day.

While he contemplated whether or not he should get makeup to cover his black eye before going on camera, the phone on his desk rang and he picked it up before thinking about whether it was a good idea or not.  “Stilinski,” he answered tersely.

“Dad!” the voice was familiar and in it’s own way, welcome.

With a slight chuckle, the Sheriff teased, “And hello to you too.”

Stiles huffed indignantly before asking, “Are you okay?”

Frowning slightly, the man asked, “Why?”

“Why?  Dad, are you serious?” his son sounded like he was half choking on his words, “Don’t pretend like you don’t know.  I mean, were you not planning on telling me?”

“Tell you what?”

“About what?  How about telling me you were assaulted?  That you were in the hospital!”

It came together in his head quickly, “Stiles, listen--”

“I mean, you call me up to scold me about not telling you about a bombing that happened to a whole other investigative group, that was in another country mind you, but then you end up in the hospital because of some riot at the Sunflower Festival, and seriously, the Sunflower Festival?  What the hell is going on when you can’t be safe at the festival for sunflowers?  And why wouldn’t anyone notify me that my Dad got hurt and why are there--”

“STILES!” He pinched the bridge of his nose, realizing that if Stiles was hearing about this in Washington State, then that meant this story was probably going national... Most likely because of the Sentinel/Guide angle more than because he was in the hospital or the Sunflower Festival had been interrupted.  It explained why there were more news reporters than usual waiting outside the station.  After taking a deep breath he said, “I’m fine.  I’m sporting a black eye and that’s it.”

“You’re not saying that to make me feel better, are you?  Because I have ways of finding out the truth!”

Of that, the man had no doubt, “No, it’s the truth.  Some jerk got in a lucky punch, that’s all.  I was at the hospital getting statements and checking in on Miss Nolan.”

“Oh...” Stiles breathed out and Stilinski could hear the relief exhaled with the small word, “Thank god... I was freaking out here.”

“I’m sorry about that son,” he really didn’t want to worry Stiles and he could guess that the boy had been letting his imagination go wild with what happened.  “I promise, I’m fine.  Just tired.”

“What happened to Miss Nolan?” Stiles hadn’t met her, but in their conversations since she’d become liaison, he’d heard about her enough from his father.  

Stilinski explained the whole thing to Stiles of how things went down.  It was actually helpful in getting his thoughts organized for what he was going to be telling the press later on.  When he was done, his son swore softly, “Shit Dad... I didn’t know things were so bad with the Sentinels.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s nothing we can’t handle Stiles.  You don’t need to worry about it.”

“It’s clearly something I need to worry about if people are getting hurt over it.  What if someone gets like...  stabbed or shot next time?”

He debated telling Stiles that had already happened and clearly, he had been silent too long because his son, who was too damn perceptive for his own good, must have sensed he was keeping something back.

“Dad...  did something more happen?”

“I wasn’t going to tell you because it wasn’t necessary to.  I don’t want you blowing this up further.”

“Just so you know, that isn’t making me feel better.”

“Okay... well, I told you Scott and Derek were both there and they went after Samantha when she was grabbed and the gun went off...  Someone did get hit.”

“Who was it?”

The Sheriff knew damn well that there was something complicated with Derek and Stiles’ relationship.  He didn’t know what it was, because neither of them were talking about it and a part of him actually didn’t want to know.  Since the whole ‘the supernatural world is real’ revelation, Stilinski had felt like he knew too damn much and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss being in the dark.  He figured, that when either of them were ready, they’d tell him.  Till then, he’d treat them like adults and not pry into their affairs.  That didn’t mean he wasn’t hesitant about telling Stiles who had been shot.

“It was Derek.”

There was silence on the other end of the line and he wished he could see Stiles’ face so he could gauge his son’s reaction.  Sure he could infer a lot from the lack of sound, but if he saw the young man’s expression, he felt like he might gain an insight into what exactly was going on in his boy’s head.  “Stiles?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” was the croaked response before Stiles cleared his throat and repeated, “Yeah, uh... Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.  It was a regular bullet.  He healed up fine.”

“Oh.  Okay... That’s uh... good...”

The timing was terrible, but perhaps now was the moment to pry a little bit?  “Stiles... what--”

“So this all sounds pretty bad from where I’m sitting, Dad,” Stiles interrupted, obviously wanting to steer the conversation - probably sensing what his father was going to start asking about.  Damn perceptive kid...

“I’m handling it...”

Stiles half groaned and half sighed and Stilinski could imagine the eye roll, “I don’t doubt it, but I know you’re hiding things.  This sort of thing doesn’t suddenly happen out of the blue.  I mean... is this connected to what happened with Greenberg?  Scott said he felt like you and Deaton were hiding things...”

The Sheriff winced, “Scott told you that?”

“Yeah... Best friends and all that.  We talk.  Are you?  Are you hiding things from him?” his voice grew quiet at the end.

Sighing deeply, Stilinski relented internally, “Not anymore.  Not after a Wendigo came running through Beacon Hills.”

“A Wendigo?”

“It’s a long story...” 

“I got nothing but time right now.”

“Stiles...” the Sheriff frowned, rubbing his eyes, “I appreciate your insatiable curiosity, but to be honest, it’s not any of your business!” 

*************************

“Not any of my business?” Stiles shouted, affronted.  He paced around his room, hand on his hip, “Shits going down in Beacon Hills and it’s,” he mimicked his father’s tone, “Not any of my business?”  He was still feeling a shaky adrenaline drop from learning that Derek was okay after being shot.  His brain had supplied a myriad of images of Derek laying in the street, bleeding and in pain... dying alone...  It shouldn’t have shocked him as much to hear it in the first place, but there was no stopping his stupid body’s reactions.    

“Repeating it won’t make it less true.” 

Shaking his head, Stiles choked back the harsher words on his tongue.  Running a hand through his hair he said, “It is my business!  You’re my father, Scott’s my best friend!  Beacon Hills is my home!” His voice had gotten louder at the end.  

“And you left!” his father shouted.

Stiles felt like he’d been slapped.  Swallowing hard, he took an involuntary step back, even though he was alone in his room - like he could back away from his father’s words.  His leaving was one of many things he and his father didn’t mention and it felt like as the years had gone on, that list of ‘things we don’t talk about’ had gotten longer and longer.  “I... I didn’t leave...” he murmured weakly, knowing it sounded pretty pathetic.

“Son...” the Sheriff exhaled a long sigh, “You did.  And you’ve kept the reasons for it to yourself.”

“You know I’m busy with training!” he flung his arm out, gesturing to the building he was in.

“You left before you became a Sentinel, Stiles!” the Sheriff snapped angrily, “You want to try to convince yourself otherwise, that’s fine, but you’ve been gone a long time!  You were gone before that explosion, before any of this started.  And I’ll tell you, I didn’t like it, but I accepted it.  The same way I accepted that you lied to me about the things that happened after Scott was bitten.  The way I accepted that you still hid things from me... that you still lied to me after I knew!”

“I was trying to protect you!”

“And I’m trying to protect you!” he paused obviously trying to regain his temper.  Stiles could hear his heartbeat slowing in the silence over the line, “Look, I don’t want to fight with you, but your life isn’t here anymore Stiles.  You aren’t a part of Beacon Hills, and the monsters, both real and human, aren’t your concern.  Not anymore.” 

Stiles’ legs gave out, sending him collapsing to sit on his bed.  There was a shivering weakness moving through him that left him breathless and unable to form words to protest.  It shouldn’t have been a surprise to hear the truth said to him like this.  Hadn’t he made it clear he didn’t want to go home?  Every conversation with his friends had been a dance in avoidance of the subject or an offering of excuses, both real and made-up.  But... to have his Dad tell him... What had he expected?  Had he thought he was so smooth about it that he had managed to hide what he was doing?  He wondered how many times his friends wanted to say something to him, but restrained themselves.

His father must have sensed his mood because he said, “Stiles, I love you.  You know that.”

“Yeah Dad...” Stiles said softly, finding an odd amount of comfort in knowing that with everything, his father still didn’t hate him, “I love you too...” 

“Son... this isn’t your fight here.” 

“Yeah...” he breathed out, “Yeah... You’re right.” He suddenly felt alone, his eyes stinging as he rubbed his leg.  It was childish to feel like he was being kicked out when he was the one that stayed away.   

The man sighed again on the phone, “But...”

“But?” Stiles sniffled.

“There might be something you can help me with...”

Frowning, the young man tilted his head, “What?”

“A cold case I’ve been working on.”

“Oh?” Stiles gave a slight chuckle, wiping at his eyes.

“Have you ever heard of a Feral Guide?”

Chapter Text

Janet Galen - Beta Sentinel: Bonded...  Age 24... >click<

Brandon Cho - Omega Sentinel: Bonded...  Age 18... >click<

Patrick Andreescu - Omega Guide: Bonded...  Age 72... >click<

Ahmad Garg - Beta Sentinel: Unbonded...  Age 34... >click<

Sonya Khamdamova - Beta Guide: Bonded...  Age 36... >click<

Daniel Stanley - Omega Sentinel: Unbonded...  Age 55... >click<

Stiles clicked through the profiles of the Sentinel Institute, flicking his gaze over the names and pictures, reading the statuses.

Kevin Bak - Omega Guide: Unbonded... Age 16... >click<

Sara Marsh - Beta Sentinel:  Bonded...  Age 62... >click<

The phone call with his father hadn’t gone on much further after he explained the case regarding Billy Clark.  The goodbyes were a little stilted and awkward.

It was as if the glimpse of the discussion that they’d been putting off for years had been put an halt on the conversation, like neither of them wanted to examine it further.  Deep down, it frightened Stiles that they never really got into it outside of these little bursts.  What if the reason they never confronted each other was they both knew it would end things between them?  

Swallowing hard, he refocused his attention on the screen.

Luna Rodriguez - Alpha Sentinel: Bonded...  Age 28... >click<

He knew that was why he didn’t tell his father the truth about what happened the night Gerard Argent was killed...  That he was really the one to shoot Gerard and not Derek.  It scared him to imagine how his father would look at him once he knew and he just couldn’t handle it - seeing the look in the man’s eyes.  It was easier to ignore the truth about that night and really, to forget everything that happened afterward when he wasn’t there in Beacon Hills.  It was also easier for his father too, who clearly suspected there was so much more than what was being said.  When his dad visited, they could get lost in the time together, acting like everything was normal... or at least as normal as was possible when you lived in a world where there were werewolves and crazed Hunters.  

Mark Mimikos - Omega Sentinel: Bonded... Age 54... >click<

“...your life isn’t here anymore, Stiles...”

That had hurt.  More than it should have, because it wasn’t like he didn’t know he’d distanced himself from Beacon Hills and the people in it.  Maybe he thought he’d been slick about it or something... had somehow fooled them into thinking he wasn’t really trying to stay away, had convinced them he was just so busy with his life in college and later with the Sentinels.  And yeah, maybe he fooled himself with the comforting lie that he’d go back one day to see Scott, Kira and the others... That he’d return and carry on like everything was still fine.

Stiles wiped at his eyes, silently blaming the sudden dampness in them on staring at the computer screen for hours on end.  He told himself that he really should look away and rest them on something through the window, but he didn’t.  Instead, he kept scrolling through the profiles.

Esteban Molina - Omega Guide: Unbonded... Age 19... >click<

Almost all the bad things that had happened to Stiles, had happened in Beacon Hills.  Why would he want to ever return there again?  

Besides, Derek was there and he was the last person Stiles wanted to see and clearly, his Dad was spending a lot of time with him.  

And what the hell was that about?  

He could imagine them at sheriff’s station, talking over files and drinking that shitty coffee...  All buddy-buddy like some bad Syfy series: The Sheriff and Wolf-Cop - When criminals strike, they’re on the hunt!

Did they talk about him?  Did his dad give Derek the latest news about his son in Cascade?  Did Derek smile like he was glad to hear it or did he put on that blank face when he didn’t want to reveal any emotions... though his eyes always betrayed too much.  Did Derek pretend he cared?  Or maybe they never brought him up at all?  

Shit.  Was that worse?  

What was better - talking about him and pretending everything was fine or never talking about him at all?

He aggressively clicked through the next few profiles.  It was better to focus on what he was doing, than to let his mind wander and try to contemplate the image of Derek standing with his father in the Sheriff’s office as they looked over cases together...  like partners...  or friends.  

Scott Marsh - Omega Sentinel: Unbonded...  Age 33... >click<

“Stiles...”

There hadn’t been much Stiles could tell his father about Feral Guides.  As far as he knew, there weren’t any.  If there were, it wasn’t anything that was discussed at his level of clearance in the S.I. and no records of it in the files he had access to.  Samantha Nolan was technically higher up on the S.I. food chain and if she didn’t know anything, there was nothing Stiles could give his father about it.   

Still, if Billy Clark was a Guide like his father suspected, he should be in the S.I. files.  The first thing Stiles did was look up Billy Clark, but there was no one in the records by that name - not that he found - so that left him doing it the hard way...  Checking profiles to see if any of them fit the right age Billy Clark would be now.  After all the guy easily could have changed his name and it was certainly possible for him to no longer identify as male.  There were too many possibilities.  So far he had a short list of names on a piece of paper next to his laptop that he could send his father, but he wasn’t sure any of them really would be the mysterious ‘Billy Clark’.  

Rae Herring - Beta Guide: Bonded...  Age 36... >click<

“Stiles.”

No one could accuse him of not being thorough.

On top of that, he made plans to meet up with Divya for coffee so he could ask her.  She might know about Feral Guides and if not that, then maybe she’d have information on the Alpha Guides.  

James J. Ellison - Alpha Sentinel: Bonded... Age 56... >click<

Stiles wasn’t blind to the fact that the Sheriff had asked for help with the Billy Clark case to throw him a bone.  It was probably his way of keeping a hand out to his son - to let him know the door to home was never going to be completely closed to him.  Regardless of how the conversation had left him feeling, he appreciated the gesture for what it was and was grateful for it.  

“Stiles!”

Someone grabbed his shoulder, which sent Stiles spinning around in his chair, flailing, “Holy Shit!” His heartbeat ratcheted before his eyes focused enough to identify his assailant as Justin, who’s expression was a mix of concern and humor.  Clutching a hand over his heart he took a recovering breath, “Jesus Christ, Justin... You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Justin looked contrite when he said, “I’m sorry, but I did knock on your door.  You didn’t answer and it wasn’t locked, so I peeked in to see if you were napping.”

“Oh...” Stiles blinked and glanced at the open door.  The rooms were soundproofed for privacy, so Justin wouldn’t have really heard the music blasting from his laptop, which would have normally been a give-away that he was in his room anywhere else.  And Justin had found Stiles napping more than once.

“I called your name, but you didn’t respond,” Justin continued, “I was half afraid you were Zoning.”

“Uh, no...” He swallowed hard, now realizing how dry his mouth was, “Sorry, just really focused.” Reaching over he turned off the music from his laptop.

“So I gather,” Justin smirked, then leaned over to kiss Stiles’ lips briefly before sitting down on the edge of his bed, “Homework?” his hand gestured towards the still open laptop.

“Yeah...” he rubbed the back of his neck before shutting the laptop closed.  He didn’t really worry about being ‘caught’ doing something, since the profiles weren’t classified or anything to S.I. staff, but he didn’t want to explain why he was looking at them.  After shoving the list of names into a notebook and pushing that back, Stiles took a deep breath then exhaled as he faced Justin again, “So, what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you were free.”

Frowning slightly, Stiles asked, “Foooor....?” he drew the word out.

Justin rolled his eyes, “I don’t know.  Coffee, lunch?” he shrugged, “We’ve been so busy with training and you’re always studying,” he nodded towards the piles of books on the desk, “I feel like I never see you outside of classes or the field.”

Stiles felt a sting of guilt over that.  Training did keep both of them occupied - especially with their field work added in.  On top of that, Stiles had the Berkley courses he was trying to finish so he could line up his graduating with finishing his SIU training.  So yeah, he was almost always busy with something and he often put Justin off with excuses of work and studying when the other suggested going out or spending time together. “I’m sorry...”

“Stiles, I get it,” Justin assured softly, “I’m busy too.  Neither of us want to screw up our SIU status here.  We agreed that always comes first.  I’m not mad at you for that or anything... I’d just like to see you outside of the building sometimes.”

He gave a slight embarrassed smirk, “Yeah...” They had been on a few dates, but not many - mostly to see a movie or grab a quick bite somewhere.  And once the date was over, it was back to the books.  Stiles half wondered how many times it had been really necessary to cut the dates short to go do homework...  It wasn’t like he needed to work so hard...  Mentally, he shook himself, not willing to examine that too deeply.

“Soooo...” Justin drawled.

Stiles furrowed his brow, “So?” 

The other young man rolled his eyes again before he smirked, “So, you want to go get some lunch?  You look like you’re free now.”

“Yeah...Uh...”

“Yeah?” the other’s eyes lit up.

That’s when a buzzing sound from the bed behind Justin caught both of their attention.  Stiles recalled that he turned set his phone to vibrate so he wouldn’t be disturbed.  “Hold that thought,” he said to Justin as he rose from the chair to grab his cell from it’s nest of blankets to see who was calling him.  “Shit...” It was Divya, and the outside world crashed into his brain.  He was supposed to meet her for lunch!  There were already a few missed calls from her.  God, what time was it?  It was like high school all over again, when he’d spend all night on his computer researching!

Sliding his thumb across the screen he answered, “Hello?”

“Stiles, I have two scenarios... you tell me which one I’m right about... One, you were attacked by rabid dogs and only now have just recovered enough to pick up, or two, you were so focused or busy with something, that you didn’t hear your phone ringing.” 

Stiles wrinkled his nose, wincing as he answered in a sort of squeak, “Two?”  It was scary how well Divya knew him.

There was a good natured chuckle, “Right... I’m in the lobby,” then she hung up.

He groaned and rubbed his forehead before turning to Justin who was gazing expectantly at him.  With an embarrassed smile he said, “So, about lunch...”

Justin sighed, “You’re not free,” his shoulders dropped a bit.

“Yeah, I sort of have an S.I. meeting...” Obviously, it wasn’t a lie - not completely.  Divya worked for the S.I. and questions about Sentinels and Guides was S.I. business...  Years of dealing with werewolves who could read a lie and a father who could detect one from a mile away had Stiles pretty well trained in how to skirt around them.  It was helpful now that he worked with people who were also pretty adept at reading tells... Though Justin wasn’t necessarily looking for lies from Stiles.  Justin trusted him.

He could smell, what he had learned was, the smell of disappointment... sour and heavy.  He wished he wasn’t so familiar with that scent from Justin.

With a nod, Justin rose from the bed, “Okay...  I guess I’ll see you in forensics tomorrow morning then...?” 

“Definitely.  With bells on... or whatever,” Stiles assured, feeling crappy for being such  shitty... well... boyfriend?  Is that what they were?  Maybe that was part of the problem here.  Stiles didn’t even really know if they were boyfriends or not.  

God I suck...

“Of course with bells... because you’re a ding-a-ling.”

Stiles groaned at the horrible joke, “Dude, that wasn’t even worthy of being called a ‘dad-joke’.  Seriously.” Though the feel in the room lightened, he couldn’t help the weight of guilt he felt in his chest.

Justin laughed softly, “Consider it payback for not having lunch with me today,” then he leaned over and kissed Stiles’ cheek, “See you...”

He sighed, “Later...” watching Justin leave his room.  When the door closed, he hung his head back and stared at the ceiling, groaning, “God, I suck at this with him...” 

After meeting up with Divya in the lobby a few minutes later, he suggested they take a walk outside as they talked and offered to buy her a coffee.  Stiles didn’t want to have their discussion in the S.I. building where it might be overheard - especially as he didn’t know how Divya would react to the questions he had, and the coffee was to soften her up in case this got uncomfortable.  He was already starting off on the wrong foot by being late, having apologized repeatedly for it.

“So how is your training going?  I’m hearing good things about you,” Divya said before taking a sip of her latte from its large to-go cup.  

“Really?  You hear things about me?” Stiles asked, his brows lifting in disbelief, walking side by side with her into Gilbreth Memorial Park.  It was somewhat crowded with people enjoying the nice weather and the sunshine.  He figured that with all the noise, it would cover up their conversation, making it one of many that no one would pay attention to.  Neither of them were wearing S.I. uniforms or clothing.  They were just two people enjoying coffee in the park in the lovely June weather.

“Of course,” She shrugged carelessly, “Just because I’m not working with you anymore doesn’t mean I don’t care.” The young woman smiled, “I keep track.”

“Awww... cause I’m your favorite Alpha,” he tilted his head, and batted his eye lashes at her playfully.

“You’re something all right,” The woman teased with a grin before raising a brow, “Okay.  So, what is it you wanted to talk about that we couldn’t discuss in the Institute?  We haven’t spoken in a while and I suspect it must be something you don’t want anyone to overhear.  Which makes me think that it’s probably something we shouldn’t be discussing.”

Stiles playfully acted offended, “I don’t think you know me well enough to make such an accurate statement.” 

Divya simply gave him her ‘no-bull-shitting-me’ look.

He glanced around, wishing he could remember how he had formed the questions in his head earlier, but his short conversation with Justin had thrown him off.  Fiddling with the edge of the coffee sleeve he asked, “Okay, so.  I was wondering if you knew anything about Feral Guides.”

She stopped walking to stare at him for a moment, causing him to pause and turn to face her, not sure what to expect as far as reactions.  After a few slightly uneven heartbeats - and yes, he was going to be listening to her heartbeat for this conversation - the rhythm grew smooth again and she huffed with an eye roll, “I swear, of all the things I entertained you wanting to talk about, that wasn’t on the list.”  Then she continued walking again.

“You had a list?” he asked, jumping into step to join her easy stride.

“Stiles...  Why in the world would you be asking about Feral Guides?”

“Just curious?” Again, not exactly a lie.  Since the conversation with his father he had grown curious about the possibility of Feral Guide existing and if they were anything like Feral Sentinels.

“Of course...” she huffed, before gesturing towards an empty bench for them to sit on.  When they were both settled, she began, “You should first know that Feral Guides aren’t something that happens the same way it does with Feral Sentinels.  I mean, all Sentinels have the possibility of becoming Feral for a number of different reasons.”  When Stiles nodded, she continued, “That being said,” she sighed and squirmed slightly on the bench, “Omega Guides don’t become Feral and Beta Guides don’t really become Feral.”

“What do you mean... don’t really?  Are there... phases of Feral?”

“What I mean is... with Beta Guides... when they come Online, it can be disorienting and stressful.  Omega Guides are too low level in their abilities.  They rarely, if ever, sense emotions as Beta Guides do.  But Beta Guides, when they come Online, are suddenly aware of other people’s emotions.  That can vary, depending on how powerful they are.  Because of this sudden openness to other’s emotions, they may... respond badly.  Freak out, so to speak.  So you might call them Feral, but it would be a sort of misnomer.”  

“Yeah but, wouldn’t that mean you could tell how people felt?  That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Imagine if you started feeling emotions and you had no way of knowing if they were yours or not,” Divya tilted her head, “We depend on our feelings a lot.  It helps us form decisions and make choices.  What if you couldn’t discern if you were happy because you were happy, or if someone near you was happy?  Or sad?  You’d question yourself and everything around you.  You couldn’t trust your own reactions.” She took a deep breath before saying, “Sentinels aren’t the only reason we send S.I. teams to mental institutions.”

Stiles swallowed, thinking about it before he nodded in understanding.  Putting it that way, it sounded pretty bad.

“They can grow confused and scared...” Divya went on, “Couple that with all this happening during puberty when things are already isolating and partly terrifying already...  Who do you tell when it happens to you?  Wouldn’t they consider you crazy or just being dramatic or emotional?  A ‘typical’ teenager blowing things out of proportion?” Her dark eyes trailed over to where some kids were squealing as they chased each other, “We suspect some of them are suicides, but we have no way of knowing how many Guides we have lost when they’ve come Online.”

“Shit...” he whispered before biting on the edge of the plastic lid in thought.  For Beta Guides to go through that, well... it sucked, to put it mildly.  But it didn’t necessarily help with his father’s investigation.  Unless Billy Clark was a Beta Guide, but that didn’t explain everything.  “What about... Alpha Guides?” he asked, glancing over at her.

Again, Divya seemed to shift uncomfortably.  While Samantha Nolan had apparently told the Sheriff about Alpha Guides, it wasn’t something talked about often.  There were no rules specifically stating that it was classified or not to be spoken about in S.I.... it was more... frowned upon.  “Stiles... Sentinels aren’t usually so interested in Guides...”

“I suppose they don’t think about them much outside of the Bond,” he shrugged, “But to be fair, no one really tells us much about them, besides how they help us.  Even you didn’t tell me very much.  We are taught to respect our Guides, to cherish them and protect them.  To keep them safe.” Stiles threw his hand up, “Like they’re a pet or something and not a person.” It had bothered him since he first learned about them.  “I read about Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg, and it wasn’t like that for them.  They were partners...  Switching who was in charge as the situation needed it, but it’s not like that now.”

Her dark eyes softened, “Guides are few, and important.  And those two,” she said, referring to Ellison and Sandburg, “Were really the first modern Sentinel and Guide.  They had no idea what they were doing.  Most of it was based on Mr. Sandburg’s studies of ancient tribes and their ‘Sentinels’ who would protect the village.  I don’t think you can count their relationship as a proper Sentinel and Guide Bond.”

“Why not?” he huffed, “It worked didn’t it?”

“It did, but circumstances have changed.  The S.I. is aware of things Ellison and Sandburg weren’t.  I’m sure even they’d concede that.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned back, letting his long legs flop out before him as he slouched - his body language screaming ‘annoyance’.   Stiles understood, but it didn’t mean he agreed with it.  “So, if Guides are so important to us, why don’t they make us really learn about them?  Wouldn’t it make the Bond better?

If Divya agreed with him or not, it was hard to tell.  The same way during their training, she kept her cards close to her chest, keeping his focus on his own feelings and thoughts.  Still, if he focused on her, he could see the way her jaw clenched a bit and the tension around her eyes.  “Because it’s not important.”

“Not important?” He sat up, nearly losing his coffee cup, “That’s bullshit Divya, and you know it!”

She turned to look at him, “Stiles, it isn’t important.  Not in making the Bond work.  S.I. is focused on getting Sentinels out in the world, in the public, doing good work... Keeping them true to their initial reason for existence... As protectors.  That means making sure they can be in a healthy Bond and focused on their jobs.  Guides are at a disadvantage because they do not possess heightened senses...  They are vulnerable and there are so few of us.”

“But there are real differences between the Guides, right?”

“Yes, but the S.I. has determined that the classifications don’t matter much in the Bond connection.”

Sitting forward, Stiles leaned his elbows on his knees, clasping his t0-go cup between them.  There was no point in arguing further - he wasn’t going to get anywhere and they were getting off topic.  Looking over his shoulder, he asked, “So... what can you tell me about Alpha Guides?”

“What do you want to know about them?”

“Are there Feral ones?”

Divya rolled her eyes and huffed.

“What?  If the S.I. didn’t want us talking about Alpha Guides at all, then they would have a rule set in place for that.” 

She turned her body towards him, “If they made a specific rule about not speaking about Alpha Guides, then the S.I. is acknowledging they exist.  That isn’t something the S.I. wants to do.  That way, if something happens, it’s simple enough for the Sentinel Institute to explain that they never had, in fact, denied the existence of Alpha Guides.”

“Plausible deniability?”

“It’s necessary,” Divya agreed, “Having people reading your mind and able to implant things into it?  People will panic... worse than they do now about Sentinels.”

“So...  there are Alpha Guides in the Sentinel Institute now,” he eased back onto the bench.

“Yes... “she answered, “...Four...” 

Her heartbeat didn’t necessarily falter, but the pause in her words suggested there was something she wasn’t saying.  “Four?  Only four?” he pressed.

Her brows furrowed and she made a face - half annoyance and half frustration.  Stiles was very familiar with the expression - having been the cause of it in many faces over the years.  It didn’t worry him because it was usually the precursor to things going his way.  Finally she muttered, “There had been five.”

“What happened to the fifth one?” Stiles asked eagerly, finding a thread and instinctively grabbing for it, like unraveling a sweater.  

“That’s not really important.”

“Then why not tell me?” he lifted his brows and gave a smirk.

Divya gave an exasperated sigh, “He isn’t an Alpha Guide anymore,” she tapped a fingernail against her cup.  

“How does that happen?” 

Her brow lifted, “It was a broken Bond.”

“A... broken Bond...?” he swallowed hard, well aware of the stories of what happened to the survivors of severed Bonds.  They only happened in death and those left behind were... well... broken.  But he hadn’t heard of them just... not being a Guide or Sentinel anymore.

“It was his Sentinel who died.  It was tragic,” Divya frowned like there was a bad taste in her mouth.  Stiles imagined that anyone in a Bonded situation would fear losing their other half.  No one really liked to dwell on it very much - regulating such thoughts and fears into whispered gossip in the hallway like it was a scary story told around a campfire.  “His Sentinel committed suicide.”

Stiles sat back in his seat, the air rushing out of him.  Divya sat quietly beside him, letting him absorb the information, turning away from him to give him some space.  For his part, Stiles tumbled his thoughts through his brain, trying to connect dots as best he could.  “I... I thought that once you’re in the S.I., that wouldn’t happen...” he was suddenly thinking about himself... if that was something he would be driven to do if circumstances shifted like that for him.

“Things happen...” Divya murmured softly before rolling back her shoulders, “The Alpha Guide was... devastated.  His brain shut down.  It was a surprise to everyone when he awoke from the coma, but he wasn’t the same...  No longer a Guide in any capacity or form.  Not even an Omega.  It was like that part of his brain turned off... amputated itself.”

“God...” Stiles rubbed his chin, “That happens?” Sure, he had been warned about the dangers of being a Sentinel, but your ability amputating itself hadn’t been brought up before.

Divya shrugged slightly, “Not often, but yes.”

“And they tested him?”

“Of course.  He was extremely well cared for and tested repeatedly, just in case there was some trace of his abilities... but,” she shook her head, “There was nothing left.  A few years passed and he slowly recovered and S.I. decided to keep him on.  Most don’t know what exactly happened or the circumstances of his Bond breaking...  My position allows me certain privileged information...”

“Is it secret?”

“No... it’s just not something that’s spoken about.  S.I. doesn’t like having gossip and rumors running around and no one likes discussing broken Bonds and the after effects of it.  If the person survives that is.  The fact he survived...” she shook her head, “As an Alpha Guide?  It was nothing short of a miracle.”

“But he stayed with S.I....?”

“Where else would he go?  He was classified as a Guide.  All his records would state that he was one.  His civilian life would never really be normal.  S.I. felt it was better to keep him in the fold, give him a safe comforting place to recover and live.  And he did.  It took a while, but he worked very hard to get back on his feet.”

“But I never found anyone listed as an Alpha Guide, let alone someone who is no longer an Alpha Guide.”

“You won’t.  Alpha Guides are not listed openly.  Fear is a terrible thing Stiles...  The four others are in the S.I...” She smirked, “And no, I don’t know who they are.  I only know about the fifth one because he was in recovery.”

“So... if there are Alpha Guides... are there Feral Guides?”

Divya’s brows furrowed, “I’ve... never heard of one before.  But then, I don’t know.  Normally, Guides, when the Bond is broken, die or go into a coma... they don’t become Feral...”

“But there is a difference with Alphas,” he drew closer to her, “They can control and influence thoughts,” his brain started clicking things in place, “I would imagine that if sensing people’s emotions would be overwhelming, then sensing their emotions and thoughts would be as well...  Would be ten times worse really, ” He frowned, “I’d guess an Alpha Guide coming Online would be pretty horrible...  Flooded with the thoughts and feelings around you and no way to control them...  That might be considered going Feral I suppose...  Like the Beta Guides do.”  He sighed, feeling like he had put together some things, but there wasn’t enough information to really go on.  “This fifth Alpha Guide... Was his name, Billy Clark?”

“No.  Why?” Her brows knit.

“Just curious...  Do you know anyone by that name?”

Divya shook her head, “Doesn’t sound familiar, no.”

Stiles sighed and nodded.  At least he could confirm that it was possible that Billy Clark was a ‘Feral’ Guide as well as an Alpha Guide, but not much more.  He certainly couldn’t find Billy Clark directly through S.I....  For now.

“Why all this interest?” 

“Like I said, just curious...” he smiled with a careless shrug, “I don’t like not knowing things.

Chapter Text

When Derek was little, the Hale family did not go to the Fourth of July celebrations in Beacon Hills.  When he asked his mother why, she explained that the fireworks were too loud and there were too many people.  Instead, they had a big barbecue in the back yard with games and more food than anyone could ever eat, leaving them with left overs for days.  After the sun set, they’d toast marshmallows over the fire pit and watch the distant fireworks while lying on blankets in the yard. 

Upon reaching the age of fourteen, Talia allowed him to go into town to hang out with his friends, putting a certain amount of trust in him and giving him some personal responsibility.  Being with those friends though, had been more about posturing and ‘being cool’ than watching the spectacle of fireworks flashing in the night sky.  And if it got to be too loud to his sensitive ears, then it was simple enough to encourage the group to go somewhere else since fireworks were ‘for little kids’. 

Now that he was older, he had absolutely no desire to see the fireworks.  They were incredibly loud and the flashes of lights were too bright.  They caused his heartbeat to start racing, his palms to get sweaty and he’d be overcome with a desire to run - panic electrifying his limbs.  If Derek examined it, he could probably tie the reaction to more than a few traumas in his life, but it was just easier to avoid them all together...  See them from a distance where he could pretend they were a show on the television and do his best to ignore it.

That was difficult considering the Fourth of July was a holiday the town of Beacon Hills went all out for.  It was the sort of event that people liked to think was a ‘reminder of simpler times’ and united everyone in a certain amount of town pride.  And of course, the town was eager to overcompensate after the fiasco of the Sunflower Festival last month, so perhaps they did overdo it with a full day of festivities:  A town picnic, the high school band playing, pony rides for children and a bunch of other events that would lead up to the big finale of fireworks after the sun set.

While his Fourth of July plans were to stay at home and lose himself in a book with his headphones on, other people seemed to have a different idea.  Scott in particular.  The Alpha was much more invested in contacting him - calling or dropping by - since the Sunflower Festival... Or maybe it was after the Wendigo.  The visits or calls were never long, just a brief greeting and chat.  Derek actually didn’t mind it terribly much.

Of course it also meant that Scott pestered him into being social and being with people. 

It was how he now found himself walking up the steps to the McCall house once again, hearing guests talking and laughing.  Most of the sound came from the back yard where he guessed a lot of the party was taking place - classic rock music playing.  The air was thick with the scent of cooking meat - hamburgers and hotdogs on the grill - along with the gentler and sweeter scent of lilac bushes on the side of the house and the neighbor’s roses. 

He stood at the door for a few moments, debating on turning around and leaving, trying not to be nauseated by the smell of meat cooking on a fire - the memories and sensations that were itching at his brain and at his skin.  No one seemed to have noticed him arriving, so no one would see him go...  But he’d have days of Scott asking him why he didn’t show up, mixing between disappointed Alpha and sad puppy.  It was just easier to spend an hour or so making an appearance and then returning home to the book sitting on his nightstand.

He could do this.

Scott had told him just to come in when he arrived, so Derek did so, pushing everything down inside to enter the house.  There were a few off duty medical staff and deputies milling about who he gave a nod to, before moving to the door that led to back yard.  The setting sun was casting a rose colored light on everything and everyone, and for a moment, he was caught in the memory of his family barbecue - the noise and laughter.  He shook his head slightly to refocus on the here and now, shooing away the ghosts.

He quickly spotted the familiar faces of McCall’s pack - Lydia, Danny, Liam, Mason, Kira, Parrish, and of course Scott and his mom, Melissa.  The Sheriff was in his uniform, suggesting he was on call and/or was going to have to work tonight.  Considering how things went last month, he probably had a lot more days on duty than off lately.

The Recovery Center was keeping quiet and staying away from everything to do with the Beacon Hills’ Fourth of July celebration.  The RC staff were either at the Center for the night or whatever homes they slept in.  It was a precaution as no one wanted a repeat of the Sunflower Festival. 

After setting his bowl on the picnic table with all the rest of the food, Derek had a heartbeat to turn around, before he was wrapped in a hug by Melissa.  She was smiling so brightly, you’d have thought he had brought her the winning lottery ticket.  His confusion must have shown on his face because she gave his arm a light pat, saying, “I’m really glad you’re here.  It’s... It’s good.” Then she was gone before he had a chance to ask what she meant, called away to show someone where the ice for drinks was.

Before anyone else could nab his attention, he grabbed a bottle of root beer and managed to sneak away from most of the party to a quieter area of the yard.  Easing down to the ground he leaned back against a tree to listen to the thrum of conversations, music, laughter, and heartbeats.  It sent a bittersweet sensation through him, especially after Melissa’s hug, which didn’t just feel like the embrace of a friend happy to see you... It was a mother’s embrace and it made him ache inside. 

Years had passed and Derek had been sure that at some point the loss wouldn’t really hurt anymore, that he’d outgrow it somehow, but it only dulled a little, becoming sharper on the important days.  He wondered if Cora had the same problem.  They didn’t talk about it very much and certainly not the circumstances of their family’s death.  The two of them were still relearning each other, trying to fit back together as siblings, and their conversations still had too many awkward pauses when they got too close to emotional land mines.  And there were a lot of those, so asking her if she still had the gaping wound of loss in her heart was probably not a good idea.

“Hey...” Scott’s voice was soft as he approached, either sensing Derek’s mood or not wanting to startle him.

Derek nodded a greeting towards him.

The younger man smiled, “Glad you came...” he paused, tilting his head slightly, “You okay?”

“I’m good,” And he was, even though his thoughts were a bit maudlin.

Scott took a few steps closer before he sat down next to Derek, “You uh...” he shrugged awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure how to handle what he wanted to say, “Just smelled a little sad.” It was always a little weird to Scott to talk about his werewolf senses and using them.

Derek’s lip twitched up a bit as he dropped his eyes, “Just... missing people.”

“...oh...” Scott whispered and then was silent as he obviously didn’t know what to say.

Not wanting to make it a bigger deal than it was, he said, “It’s okay.  Just, things like this.  Family gatherings... pack gatherings...  They make me remember.”

The Alpha winced now, “Oh, yeah... I’m sorry.  I didn’t even think about that.  This must really be hard for you.”

Scott looked like he was about to go into a very uncomfortable verbal apology cycle, so Derek cut in, “It’s really fine.  It’s good.  I... like being around them,” he nodded his head towards the area where Kira, Lydia, Danny, Liam and Mason were talking.

The younger man glanced at where Derek gestured and an affectionate smile graced his features as he took in the sight of his pack.  There was pride and love mixed in that gaze and Derek recognized it from the look his mother would get sometimes when she regarded her family.  Scott turned back to him, “You know...  You’re always welcome with us.”

Inwardly he squirmed, feeling a sense of discomfort at what Scott was saying, “Yeah...” he nodded, though he didn’t feel the agreement.  Part of him really wanted to just accept being in Scott’s pack, a member of that... family. But the larger part of him told him that was a bad idea, that he was a bad idea and that his past experiences were a constant reminder of that.  He swallowed hard and shifted the conversation, “So... how are things with Kira?”

Scott paused, recognizing the change in subject for what it was “It’s good,” he shrugged slightly, “At least, I think it is.” Scratching his cheek he said, “I hope it is.  I mean.  It’s better.”

“I’m glad.” Derek let himself relax into a warm smile, pleased that Scott and Kira were working things out.  They were a living romantic comedy and deserved the happy ending.

“Uh, yeah...” Scott hedged, his brows furrowing slightly.  Derek scented a few emotions from him that he didn’t have time to decipher when the young Alpha sighed, “I realized that, I should probably, you know... maybe talk to someone.”  He glanced up at Derek’s confused expression, “I mean... I am.  I did,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “A therapist.”

Derek’s brow rose at the confession.

He nodded slightly to himself, “It’s been good.  It helps.  Has helped,” he gestured at the space between himself and Kira who was laughing with Lydia, “with us. With me.”

“That’s... good,” Derek said sincerely. 

“I was worried it would.  I don’t know.  Mean I was crazy, or weak or something.  That people would judge me for it.” His fingers pulled at the thread of his jeans at his knees, “Especially since I’m supposed to be the Alpha and all that...”

“Admitting you need help isn’t a weakness,” he assured, “It takes a strong person to know when they need help and to ask for it.” It had been a mistake when he’d been Alpha, that he’d confused strength with showing no weakness and had focused on power.  If he’d asked for help then perhaps--

“Thanks.” Scott broke him from his thoughts, a crooked smile brightening his features before he grew quiet.  The two werewolves sat in silence, the party going on around them for a few minutes before the young man hedged, “I was thinking that...” and now a slight fear scent drifted off Scott, “After everything you’ve been through...  You might want to do that too.  Talk to someone I mean.  Not me,” he quickly amended, “but like, a therapist.”

Derek scoffed, “And what am I supposed to tell them?  How I dated a Darach that was responsible for sacrificing innocent people to a tree stump?” he couldn’t help the bite in his voice.

“No,” Scott answered softly, not responding to the snappish tone, “You could tell them that a woman you trusted betrayed that trust.  You could talk about things without having to bring up any supernatural stuff.  I think you’ve been through enough without even touching on werewolves and kanimas.  Things normal humans would have a hard time dealing with.”

He wanted to snap again, but his heart wasn’t in it.  Besides, Scott was looking at him so earnestly that it was hard to hold on to the energy to do it.  “I... don’t...” Derek clenched his jaw, “Maybe.”

“Admitting you need help isn’t a weakness,” Scott shrugged innocently.

This did earn the young man a slight glare and raised brow, but then Derek shook his head and gave a huff of humor, “Very sneaky, True Alpha.”

“Maybe I’m gaining wisdom with age,” he grinned before he grew serious again, “It might help.  I mean, I can’t force you to go... 

“You’re not my Alpha...”

“No... but... I’m your friend.” His dark eyes were sincere, “Just think about it.  Okay?”

After swallowing hard, Derek murmured, “Yeah... okay.”

A pair of white wedge heeled sandals stepped into Derek’s line of sight, “All right you two,” Lydia announced, looking perfectly done in her green summer dress, “Enough with your dark and brooding,” her hand fluttered towards them, “werewolf bonding session.” Her disapproval shifted to a grin, “Come be sociable.”

Derek exchanged pleasantries with everyone, listening to the latest goings on in their lives and finding he didn’t have to pretend to be interested.  Derek had first met them and they’d been kids... and now... they were adults.  Real people with real lives.

Danny was doing extremely well at his job, Lydia was still crushing it at school, Mason was starting an internship at a graphic design company in a few days, and Liam was becoming quite the star on the Lacrosse team.  Derek gave Liam a few pointers from his past experience on the high school basketball team, on how to hold back his abilities, so he wouldn’t draw undue attention. 

Mason laughed at Liam’s difficulties, “He’s just like ‘Dash’.”

Derek furrowed his brows, “Dash?”

“Yeah,” Mason grinned, eyes flicking from Liam to the older man, “You know, like, Dash, from The Incredibles?  The Pixar movie?”

“Oh...” he blinked.

Liam straightened up, “You haven’t seen it?”

Derek shook his head, feeling a bit lost.  There was a long period of time for him, that he was completely disconnected from modern pop culture - unaware of what was going on with movies or television or social media.  It had initially started after Paige’s death, and he never felt the need to catch up.

“Oh my god!” Mason gushed, “You totally have to see it the first chance you get, Derek!” Then he and Liam fell into quoting the movie at him, laughing at punchlines he didn’t get.

After Mason started shouting, “Honey, where’s my super suit?” The Sheriff slapped a hand on Derek’s shoulder, “Hey son, could I get your help with the burgers?” Stilinski lifted his brows in question and Derek took the rescue that was offered, gratefully, leaving the two young men to their animated movie discussion.

When they were standing next to the grill, meat patties and hot dogs were sizzling on it.  Derek moved out of the way of the smoke though the smell was still getting to him.  He frowned and swallowed hard, not wanting to make a big deal of it, even though all he wanted to do was run, or maybe curl up over himself. 

Stilinski frowned slightly, “You okay, son?”

Derek nodded but could feel his palms growing sweaty, his face turned away.

“Scott, you want to take over the grill?” the Sheriff waved for the young man to come over then handed him the tongs he’d been using.  When Scott had things under control, Stilinski clasped a hand on Derek’s shoulder and led him away from the grilling meat.  They ended up near the drinks table and the older man poured himself some lemonade, “So, how are things going at the building?”

Grateful for more reasons he could count, Derek answered, “Good,” actually happy to be on the safe and comfortable subject of his renovations.

He and the sheriff had already had a long discussion last week in his office about Billy Clark and the information Stiles had shared with his father.  It wasn’t much... just more evidence of their suspicions.  The Sheriff was running the names from the list his son compiled of possible Sentinel staff, but that would take a little while since he had to do that in what free time he had available.

There was still a lot of red tape involving the Child Welfare Services in Colorado that were preventing them from moving forward in finding out where Billy Clark had ended up.  The files were still paper, not digitized yet, so Derek figured that was part of the hold up.  People liked to assume that living in a modern age meant that government services could just press a button and up popped all the information you needed on the screen.  That wasn’t the case in a lot of places since that required time and money - something Child Welfare Services lacked all over the country.  As the Sheriff liked to remind him, “Real life police work doesn’t get solved in an hour with commercial breaks.”

Derek talked about the loft he just finished gutting and the one he was almost done renovating.  He mentioned the difficulty he was having with some permits and the Sheriff was kind enough to give him some advice on who to talk to to help him out.  They fell into an easy conversation that had nothing to do with supernatural creatures, Sentinels or Nemetons.

Parrish joined them to hand a beer to Derek.  Stilinski lifted a brow and Jordan grinned, “With all due respect sir, you’re going on duty later.  No alcohol for you.  Besides, I don’t think beer is on your pre-approved Stiles diet.”

The older man gave a put upon sigh, “I swear to god...  That boy... Even when he’s not here!”  He shook his head, rolling his eyes, but there was affection behind his words.

  Derek said nothing, focusing on drinking from the bottle of beer rather than ask, “Speaking of Stiles, how is he doing?” and wishing, not for the first time, that he could actually get a buzz from alcohol.  Jordan took a gulp of his already started beer, then said, “I left the paperwork on those bodies on your desk for you.”

The Sheriff grunted in acknowledgement, before taking a sip of his drink.  He glanced at Derek, “The cadaver dogs found another mass grave,” he kept his voice low so that the other people around them wouldn’t hear, “Three more bodies.  All killed the same way.”

“More sacrifices...” Derek murmured, lowering his eyes in thought.  There would probably be more, if this was anything like Jennifer--Julie’s sacrifices.  He swallowed hard, fighting off the shudder that threatened to shiver up his spine with the echo of embarrassment, hurt, and anger that clung to his memories of her.  Jordan nodded in answer, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.  While he hadn’t started working at the station till after the situation with the Alpha pack and the Darach, he had heard about them from Scott and the pack. 

“Have you at least been able to identify the bodies?” Derek asked, wondering if the dead victims had families waiting for them to come home... if there were people waiting for a knock on their door.

The deputy nodded, “Some of them...  The others had their teeth smashed and their finger tips cut off.”

When Derek’s head tilted, Stilinski supplied, “No dental records.  No fingerprints.”

“No way to identify them,” the werewolf swallowed a gulp of beer, finding it tasted like ash on his tongue.

“We can,” Jordan said, then added in a more sure voice, “We will.  It’ll just take longer.” He slid a hand into the pocket of his jeans, “We were able to identify three of them.  They were homeless.  Deputy Wyatt recognized them as part of that group of transients that hung out at the underpass a few years ago.  No one was going to really miss them or report them missing.” He took a swig of his beer, making a face, “The others... it’ll take a while before we get their names.”

The Sheriff near growled, “And I’m sure we’ll be finding another grave, if not more.”

Virgins, Warriors, Healers, Philosophers and Guardians.  Three of each.  Fifteen.  They only found eight.  “How long had they been buried?”

“Coroner estimated that with the rate of decomposition, etcetera...” Stilinski gestured vaguely, rolling his wrist, “Between two and a half to three years,” his mouth twitched.

“About the same time that the Recovery Center came to Beacon Hills,” Jordan shook his head, “Everything leads back to the Recovery Center.”  Derek sensed that this wasn’t the first time Parrish had brought that point up to the Sheriff.

“Coincidence,” Stilinski pointed his finger at the deputy with the hand still holding the cup, “We have no proof except timing.”

“Didn’t you tell me that once is an incidence, twice is a coincidence... and three’s a--”

“Pattern.  Yes.  I know what I said, Parrish.” He squinted slightly, “Don’t go quoting me, to me.” After finishing up his lemonade, he continued, “I don’t want us closing off any other trails of investigation by just focusing on the Recovery Center.  It shouldn’t be an easy go-to for every damn thing that happens...  Not everything is because of the Nemeton and not everything is because of the Recovery Center.  There are people... a person, behind those deaths.  And we’ll find the evidence that will lead to them.”

“Fine,” the deputy conceded, “Then how about we look into one of the people working at the Recovery Center... who’s been there since it opened?” his brow rose in a clear challenge as he set his empty beer bottle on the nearby table.

Derek lifted his chin towards Jordan, “Sounds like you have a name in mind.”

Crossing his arms, he said, “I do,” his eyes darted toward the Sheriff, then back to Derek, “Samantha Nolan.”

Both the older men snapped, “What?” in immediate response.

“Look, I know you both think she’s great, but she’s been there since day one.  She has as much access as anyone else there!”

“She also helped us when we needed it,” Stilinski pointed out, “or did you forget that?”

“No, I didn’t,” he edged a bit next to Derek, as if looking for some back up on this idea, but the werewolf had nothing to offer.  Jordan lowered his arms using his hands to gesture as he spoke, “But what if she wasn’t really helping?  What if she was just pretending to help?  It would be easy enough to feed us false information, or tell us just enough to keep us off her trail.  She even had access to the station!”

“Parrish...”

“Sheriff, I’ve been thinking a lot about this.”

“I know that you have.”

“What about Greenberg?”

“What about him?” Stilinski asked.

“You told me that Samantha said Beta Guides could influence emotions.”

Derek shook his head, “Only to push a person towards emotions they already wanted to feel.  She can’t make people feel things just because she wants them to.”

“So she says...” Parrish raised a brow, “What if she was lying about that?  What if she pushed Greenberg into making those calls?  He can’t give a clear answer as to why he did it, even though there’s proof he did it, right in front of his face...  What if it was because she made him?” his head tilted slightly, waiting for their argument.

“Derek would have known if she was lying.”

“If she can influence feelings, there’s no reason to believe that she couldn’t lie without you knowing.  I’m sure she’s had plenty of practice.”

When Stilinski looked at him, Derek just shrugged, unable to refute what the deputy was saying, “It’s... possible.”

The older man rubbed his forehead in frustration, “Look, that’s a good theory and all, but what’s her motivation?  Why would she do all this?”

Jordan opened his mouth to answer, then faltered. “That?  I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I feel it in my gut.”

“Your gut?” the Sheriff lifted a brow in judgement.

The deputy gave a slightly bashful shrug, “Yeah, you know... I’ll have to trust my gut if I’m going to be Sheriff one day.”

“Sheriff?  Really?” Both of Stilinski’s brows rose now.  He gave a chuff of humor, “Well, till that day comes, we’re not going to arrest anyone based on your gut.” He checked his watch, “My shift starts soon, so before I lose my job to Deputy Parrish here, I better get on my way.” The man smiled at them both, “Parrish,” he turned to the young man, “While I appreciate your instincts, you’re forgetting, my son is a Sentinel.  He’s confirmed the abilities of Beta Guides.  The Sentinel Institute is very precise in categorizing their staff.  If Samantha was able to control people, I doubt she’d be allowed to do the work she does.” He clasped Jordan’s shoulder and gave a nod to Derek, “You boys stay out of trouble...”

After he left, Parrish shook his head slightly, obviously a little frustrated.  Derek rolled his eyes, “Okay, out with it.”

“What?”

“You seriously believe Samantha is the one who killed those people?”

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t,” he shrugged and crossed his arms.

“Well, maybe you’d think differently if...” he looked around, making sure no one was close enough to hear them before he leaned over and whispered, “If you knew what I knew.”

Derek twerked up one dark brow in judgement, widening his eyes slightly to encourage Parrish to give him more than that.

The deputy huffed, “All right,” he motioned for Derek to move further away from the others at the party for more privacy, “Look, the Sheriff wouldn’t want me sharing this, but it’s not like we haven’t crossed that line with you before.  Besides, you’re pretty deep in this already.”

“Jordan...”

“I was doing background checks on the employees of the Recovery Center.” At Derek’s slightly surprised expression, Jordan rolled his eyes, “The Sheriff knew about it.  He asked me to.  I think it had to do with your Billy Clark case,” he waved it off, “The thing is, Samantha Nolan has a record.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Derek frowned, knowing full well that a police record wasn’t a sign of guilt.

“Well, the records were sealed because she was seventeen at the time.”

“Then how did you see them?  Don’t you need a court order to do that?”

“There are ways around that.  Calls you can make,” he shrugged, obviously feeling a little bit put on the spot, “Calling the officers involved in the case...”

“Right,” Derek said, “And the Sheriff was okay with that?”

“He made the calls, before he had her brought in to be the liaison.”

The werewolf wasn’t surprised.  The Sheriff wasn’t stupid. “He wouldn’t put someone dangerous in that position.”

“What if she made him?  What if she... pushed him into liking her?  Believing her?  Like she probably did with Greenberg.” As he spoke, it was clear he was warming more to this idea, “If she can do that, you can’t trust anyone who trusts her.”

Derek scoffed, “You make it sound like she’s some sort of mind controlling super villain.”

The deputy sighed, “Look, that’s not like, the craziest thing in the world considering where we live.  All I know is that she has a real record with a real crime she was guilty of.”  He leaned in closer, “Assault with a deadly weapon... and she was institutionalized.”

Chapter Text

Derek managed to leave Scott’s house before the fireworks started.  They began exploding in the sky just as he got back to his loft and he could hear them through the walls as a muffled noise in the distance.  As soon as he shut the door, a bone rattling shudder went through his body.

He took a deep breath to settle himself, trying to let in the familiar and comforting scents of his home chase away the smell of smoke and cooking meat - which was too close to the smell of burning flesh.  It only worked a little bit.

Without turning the lights on, he made his weary way across the loft, slipping out of his clothes as he did so.  When he reached the bathroom, he flicked on the light switch then flinched from the sudden bright illumination.  Derek’s limbs grew shaky as the edge of panic crawled along his skin.  Quickly, he got the shower started and barely waited till the water was no longer freezing before jumping under the spray with a shocked gasp.  As soon as the water was a bit warmer, he started scrubbing himself clean, using soap and shampoo to rid his body of the scents that lingered on him from the barbecue - Regretfully, that also meant the scents of Scott and the pack, but he would sacrifice that to be rid of charcoal and smoke.

With skin red from scrubbing and the hot water all used up, Derek finally shut off the water with a metallic squeak of the faucet.  His body felt heavy, and if he’d been tired before, he was absolutely drained now.  He snatched a towel from a hook to give a cursory run of it over his body to dry off, just so he wouldn’t drip water all over the floor, then shuffled out towards his bed and the soft nest of blankets and pillows waiting there.

He was asleep before he even realized his eyes closed.

To say the nightmares weren’t expected would be a lie, but that didn’t make them any more pleasant to experience.  They forced his heart to stutter in his chest and his lungs to falter before his eyes would burst open and he’d gasp awake.  No matter how many times he tried to roll over to sleep, he would become trapped in the nightmares whose phantasmal sensations would linger on his body like scars: Flames licking his flesh to the bone...  Kate beneath him, her fingernails scratching his skin till it tore away...  Jennifer’s lips brushing his with poison... Paige’s blood drenching his hands and filling his mouth...   Even the dreams of his family became nightmares, because when he dreamt of them, things felt real - their faces weren’t so faded in memory like they were when he was awake - and every time he became aware that they weren’t actually alive, reality crashed in and he lost them all over again.

In the morning, he was achy and stretched thin, so he decided to remain in bed, ignoring work he needed to do on the lofts and any calls or texts his phone alerted him to.  The only time he crawled out of bed was to relieve himself in the bathroom or to gulp water from the faucet.  The rest of the time he stared at the windows or ceiling till he fell into fitful sleep - more times than not, waking up from a nightmare.

It was two days later that he finally felt more balanced and had actually gotten more than five hours of sleep, he rose out from under the blankets to pad into the bathroom to shower.  Washing away the nightmares and lingering stress made him feel better and his appetite made itself known with a rumble in his belly. 

Scott’s suggestion of a therapist was not a bad idea, Derek knew that.  After all, he wasn’t blind.  None of this was healthy and he was aware that he hadn’t been okay in a really long time.

He just felt... uneasy about it.

Going to a therapist or any professional, meant putting his trust in a stranger and if there was one thing Derek knew, was that he had enough issues with trust.  He didn’t need a therapist to tell him that.

But maybe that was what he needed...  Perhaps it was better to talk to someone who didn’t know him, had no investment in his life, and wanted nothing except his payment for the hour in their office?  At least he’d know why they had anything to do with him.  They’d be a sort of... emotional hooker - a stranger you paid to listen to you bitch and moan about your life and you left money for them on the table afterward, no ties... just a business transaction.

Would a therapist be insulted if he thought of them that way?  Maybe not.  They were probably aware of it and didn’t care, since they got paid no matter what you thought of them.

The werewolf ran his hands through his hair under the spray of the shower to try and get his head untangled.  None of his personal worries mattered at the moment.  There were things he had to care take of first, like going to pay Samantha Nolan a visit.  Derek hadn’t forgotten what Jordan had brought up about her at the barbecue and while he didn’t want to believe she was dangerous, that sort of thinking had gotten him and the rest of the pack in trouble before.

After all, there were legitimate reasons for Derek’s trust issues.

Finding Samantha wasn’t difficult.  He had her scent from all the time he’d spent around her while working with her and the Sheriff.  The fact that she rarely wore anything to mask her scent due to her job as a Guide, also made it easy to identify her specific aroma.  Derek tracked her to Perks and Recreation, sitting in the back, writing notes on the papers that were set with an open folder on the table, a mug of coffee half finished beside them.  She was looking much better than the last time he’d seen her, which had been in the hospital room before Mr. Ecks burst in.  There were a few lingering bruises remaining on her face, yellowed and probably only visible to him because he knew to look for them.

At his approach, her gray eyes lifted and brightened in the light from the front windows.  After a flicker of recognition, she smiled, clearly pleasantly surprised to see him, “Derek!”  Her gaze drifted up and down, assessing, and her expression shifted with some confusion and concern when he stopped next to her table. “Is... everything all right?” Obviously she sensed the vibe he was giving off.

For a moment, guilt nibbled at him for not visiting her since she was released from the hospital.  Since she wasn’t a liaison with the sheriff’s department any longer, they hadn’t crossed paths, but he hadn’t gone out of his way to try and see her.  He’d given himself the excuse that he didn’t want to get Samantha in further trouble with Mr. Ecks, but he knew that was flimsy.  The truth was more that he didn’t want her to have a reason to examine him or anything about him further, and possibly find out he was something more than just human.  And then, of course,  the more time passed, the easier it was to just not stop by to see her or contact her.

Instead of answering her question, he asked, “Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Oh...” Her eyes darted to the chair across from her, “Sure,” she gestured towards the vacant seat before she began collecting the papers that had been spread on the table to tap them into a neater pile.  “Sorry, I was just doing some paperwork.”

“You’re back working at the Center?” Derek asked, settling into the chair.

Samantha nodded, “Started last week, though they don’t have me doing anything strenuous.  So, mostly paperwork,” she slipped the papers back into the folder before flipping it closed.  She rolled her eyes, “Boring, but it’s necessary.  And I’ll be doing that for a few more weeks.” Her nose wrinkled, “It’s not like I over exert myself normally, but sometimes with the Feral Sentinels it can get a little physical.  The last thing I need is to get kicked in the ribs... again.”

Derek nodded his head, but didn’t respond - he was too caught up in trying to figure out how to confront her about his suspicions.  Suddenly he had no idea why he thought this was a good idea.  He wasn’t good with words or subtlety.  His only hope was that by talking to her in a public space, he could mitigate any reaction she might have, but that was all he had in his favor.

The Guide must have sensed his hesitation, because she tilted her head, “Sooo, I’m kind of guessing that you didn’t just happen by here to see how I’m doing...”

“No, I’m not.”

“Okay,” her brows furrowed and he scented discomfort mixed with the grayish-blue of sadness, “Then why are you here?”

After taking a deep breath, he said, “I have some questions.”

“About...?”

“Your reaction at the hospital.” Okay, that hadn’t been where he was initially going, but now that he said it, he realized he was actually curious about it.  It was as  good a place as any to start, even if it was doing so awkwardly.

“My reaction...?” She shrugged in confusion, “What do you mean?”

His eyes dropped to the table as his brows knit.  “It was something I noticed at the time, but it didn’t make sense to me.”

Samantha huffed, “To be honest, Derek, you’re not making a lot of sense either right now.” She leaned forward a bit to speak softer, “I mean, I get it.  I was freaking out and being weird.  I know...  But I was convinced you were shot,” her tone became defensive and he could practically feel her hackles going up, “Considering I was so sure of that, I don’t think my reaction was so strange.”

There it was again... that same tiny ribbon of emotion he sensed in the hospital room, threading through her feelings.  He shook his head at her, “I didn’t recognize it correctly at the time... I mean, I did, but there was so much else going on... but your reaction...  You were afraid.”

“Derek--”

“You weren’t afraid that I was shot.  I had already shown you I was fine,” he waved a hand up as if brushing that aside, “That wasn’t what scared you.  You were afraid of being accused of being crazy.”

The young woman settled back in her chair, crossing her arms, “This is ridiculous.  Anyone would be afraid of that.  You were all looking at me like I was... Talking to me like I was!”

“Well, considering the circumstances, I can understand why you’d worry.”

Her gray eyes narrowed, “What do you mean?  Considering what circumstances?”

“Considering you were institutionalized.”

Her heart beat stuttered and there was a shudder in her breathing.  “What?”  She swallowed, “I...  How did you--?” Samantha shook her head, “How did you find out about that?”

“I think the better question should be, what are you doing here in Beacon Hills?”

“What?” the shift obviously threw her, “I’m here to work at the Recovery Center.  What do you think I’m here for?  Why would you be bringing any of this up?”

He leaned forward, some primal part of him moving towards the weakness he was sensing, “All I know is that there are dead bodies out in the woods... That none of the issues we’ve been having with the Sentinels began until the Recovery Center came to Beacon Hills...  Till you came to Beacon Hills!”

“Bodies?” her eyes widened in disbelief, “Do you think--  You think I--”  She choked slightly, “Are you kidding me?”

“You have a history of violent crime, Samantha, you’ve been institutionalized.  What am I supposed to think?”

“I’ve worked with you!  You know me!  How could you even think I have anything to do with any of that?”

It was hard to judge whether or not she was telling the truth based on her heartbeat since it was fast and she was clearly stressed.  But so far, she hadn’t directly answered any questions or accusations with anything but more questions. “I don’t know you outside of what you’ve shown to me.  That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I don’t believe this...” She scrambled to gather up her folder and pen from the table.

“You were working with the sheriff’s department,” Derek continued, wanting to corner her into telling the truth or revealing something, “You had access!”

Samantha didn’t respond as she rose to her feet to snatch her messenger bag from where it hung on the back of her chair.  After shoving her belongings inside haphazardly, she turned on him, “You’re insane!”  Derek snapped his hand out and grabbed her wrist, halting her from storming off.  She glared at him, “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to find out the truth, Samantha.  And I’ll find it out, whether you want me to or not!”

Samantha leaned in close to whisper harshly at him, “I don’t know how you got access to my records, but you had no right!” She yanked her wrist from his hold, saying a little louder, “And the truth is, you’re an asshole,” then she spun on her heal and strode towards the front doors, leaving the acrid scent of stress and anger in her wake.

*************************

August

There was something about heat that seemed to bring out the worst in people.

A few weeks after the 4th of July, the good will of town pride seemed to twist and warp into paranoia.  Anti-Sentinel propaganda began showing up all over Beacon Hills - posters and flyers talking about the dangers of the Recovery Center and Sentinels in general - posted on community boards, telephone poles and just about any place you looked.  Calls came into the Sheriff’s station with complaints and false reports that had the deputies running all over the county to deal with situations that really didn’t require them to be there for. 

People stood outside of grocery stores and shops, handing out pamphlets claiming the Sentinels were a danger to the children, that ‘they are among us’, like they were in some sort of bad sci-fi B-movie.  On top of that, they started harassing the Guides.

Because of their gray, natural fiber clothing, the Guides were easy enough to identify and once that happened, people gave them a hard time while they were out trying to live normal lives.  So far, it was only shouting at the Recovery Center employees, mildly bullying them to get out of Beacon Hills and telling them that their kind weren’t wanted.  It was sad that it was such a unifying dislike as well.  Apparently, hate of the Sentinels and Guides, crossed all lines of race and religion. 

As the Sheriff said, “Nothing brings people together like hating someone else.”

Since he wasn’t an actual officer, there wasn’t much Derek could do to help the Sheriff or his deputies to deal with the situation.  The most he could manage was making people, who didn’t hate Sentinels or the Center, feel more comfortable in stepping forward to defend a harassed Guide.  Derek would put himself between the aggressors and the victim which made others feel brave enough to do so too.  Once that happened, the protester backed down, going back to whatever they were doing.  The Guides were thankful, but it wasn’t making the overall situation better.

Then someone vandalized the Recovery Center walls.  In black spray paint, they’d written, “Freaks” and “Monsters” and “Get out” along with some other colorful words, on the tall brick walls that surrounded the building.  Mr. Ecks freaked out on the Sheriff’s office about security, demanding there be some sort of police protection put in place, as if they should have foreseen this happening. 

Security cameras were set up on all the walls by the RC and Stilinski had a detail pass by the Center regularly as well as a car stationed there during shift changes - just in case.  Mr. Ecks complained that it wasn’t enough, but Stilinski only had so many people to currently spare.  Besides, he still worried that more police presence would only escalate the situation.   

Last month’s meeting Derek had with Samantha Nolan still wasn’t sitting well with him.  She had never denied anything or given him answers one way or the other - which meant she was really innocent or just a good liar... Or perhaps a better title would have been ‘avoider of truth’.  She’d have done well in a werewolf household.

Since he hadn’t gotten a phone call from Stilinski chewing him out, he guessed that she hadn’t reported Derek or complained to the Sheriff about him.  He interpreted that to mean she didn’t want to create a situation... Which could also mean that she had something to hide after all.  Derek wanted to trust his gut on things, because a part of him was shouting in his head that this was ridiculous and that Samantha was no danger to anyone, but he had trouble believing his instincts.  They’d lead him astray before. 

He’d tried to follow her a few times after she left work or when she left her apartment on her bike, but she only went to and from the Recovery Center or to the grocery store for basic shopping.  She didn’t go back to Perks and Recreation the times he trailed her, but he didn’t expect it to be a place she’d be eager to go to after what happened last time.

Following her was preferable to working on the lofts in the summer heat, but after finding that pursuit fruitless, he turned back to the physical labor waiting for him.  It was still the best way for Derek to let his mind focus on the things he could fix and control.

At the moment, a sink he was attempting to install was doing a damn good job of proving he had no control over it, because it had a leak somewhere and he was having a hell of a time finding the source.  With a frustrated growl he tried to tighten a hex nut and almost stripped it.  Realizing he better stop before he ripped the entire sink out in frustration, he pushed out from under the cabinet and gracelessly tossed the wrench into his tool box.  Wiping the sweat off his face with the bottom of his shirt, he tried to relax and shake off his irritation. 

The heat was getting to him, making him short tempered like everyone else in Beacon Hills.  Werewolf physiology allowed them to handle higher or lower temperatures better than humans, but there was a point where it would bother them and be more than they could deal with. 

Derek could have tried to work on the ‘x-files’ with the Sheriff, but the man was too busy with the Sentinel cases and keeping Beacon Hills balanced to be working on cold cases.  They were still waiting to hear back from Social Services in Colorado, but neither of them were pushing to find Billy Clark at the moment.  It just... didn’t seem important in the face of the more pressing matter of dead bodies in the forest and the current Sentinel-hate.  Besides, the heat didn’t make Stilinski any less short tempered than anyone else.

A radio on the counter was playing music, serving as some background noise as he worked.  His ear caught the change as a British woman began reporting the news.  Not really caring about how the world was burning or destroying itself, he only gave it half an ear as he reached for his bottle of water next to it.  Gulping down the tepid water though, a few words caught his attention.  “...SIU trainees are dead...”

Derek spun around, and immediately turned up the volume while his stomach dropped.

“... area has been closed off and investigators, both from local police and the Sentinel Institute, are combing through the rubble in search for clues as to the cause of the massive explosion.  While no civilians were harmed, there is no evidence at this time that suggests that this was a Sentinel directed attack.  S.I. representative Donald Reeves also told reporters that there is no proof that this explosion is in any way connected to the explosion a few months ago in February which left five Sentinels dead and two requiring medical care.  Those two, a Guide and a Sentinel, are both still in recovery.  Mr. Reeves could not comment on whether this will affect future attempts to integrate more SI units with law enforcement teams.  We’ll bring you more information as this story develops...  Meanwhile, state representative Jensen--”  Derek clicked off the radio and immediately scrabbled to retrieve his cell phone from the counter top. 

The phone rang a few times before the Sheriff picked up, “Derek?”

“Is Stiles okay?” Derek’s limbs felt shaky.

Stilinski sighed, “I take it you heard the news then...  Yes, he’s fine.  It wasn’t his team.  He was no where near it.”

The werewolf nearly collapsed to the floor with relief, but managed to keep his feet under him, “That’s...” he swallowed hard, “That’s good to hear.”

“He called me...  Tried to get me before I heard it from the news myself.  Which I’m grateful for.  I called Scott--  I’m sorry I didn’t call you... I didn’t think--”

“No,” Derek interrupted, “no, I understand.  I wouldn’t have... expected you to call me about it.  I just... I was listening to the radio and heard it on the news.  I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”

The silence that followed felt heavy between them and he could practically hear the wheels turning in Stilinski’s head.  It put him on edge, because he knew the Sheriff wasn’t stupid - he could put things together - but he wasn’t ready to have any sort of discussion with the man regarding Stiles.  He didn’t know if he ever would be.

Finally the weighted quiet was cut by the older man’s voice, “Listen, while I have you on the phone, I’m wondering if you could do a favor for me.”

Gratefully he muttered, “Oh?”

“Yeah... Though it might be asking a lot.”

“I’m happy to help you out.  You know that.

“I do,” Derek could practically hear Stilinski rubbing the back of his neck as he hesitated, “but I’m not sure how comfortable you’ll feel doing this, considering what happened at the hospital.  The thing is, I’m concerned and I’d rather not deal with this situation after the fact when it’ll be too late.”

Frowning, the werewolf turned to lean his hip against the counter, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Samantha Nolan.”

For the second time in the last 10 minutes, Derek felt his stomach drop, wondering if the Sheriff knew he confronted her or worse, that she’d done something and he hadn’t stopped her when he had the chance, “What about her?”

“She’s afraid that someone’s following her.”

He was sure that she hadn’t spotted him when he’d trailed her, but it had been a few weeks since he’d done so.  Furrowing his brows he asked, “Does she know who it is?”

“No, but with the recent anti-Sentinel feelings going around, I’m worried.  I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop here and I don’t want it to be her.  I’d put a protective detail on her, but that would only deter whoever it is following her.”

“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“Normally, I’d say yes, but if we chase them off, then I don’t get a chance to identify them.  I suspect that this anti-Sentinel stuff is more organized than just a few scared, uneducated townsfolk, and if we can figure out who’s leading them we can maybe get to them - At the very least keep a better eye on them and stop things before they can escalate... Because I do believe they will.”

“Okay... What do you want me to do?”

“Can you... keep an eye on her?”

“You want me to follow her.” he said flatly.

The Sheriff sighed, “I know you have better things to do, but...”

“No, it’s okay.  I don’t mind.” Derek rubbed his temple, feeling like he was lying to the man in some way.  Following her would only serve his purposes in keeping track of her and trying to prove if she was involved or not, but it felt deceptive to be accepting the favor the Sheriff was asking of him. 

“Thanks, Derek, I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah... It’s no problem...”

2 Weeks Later

There was a problem.

In that, there was no problem.

He’d been following Samantha to and from work, staying for a few hours after she got home to make sure nothing happened, then headed home to get some sleep before waking up to do the same thing the next day.  There was nothing strange about her home or the area she resided in.  She lived in a corner apartment over a store that housed an insurance agency (which was open from 9 - 6 Monday through Friday and 9 - 7 on Saturday), downtown on the main street of Beacon Hills, with only one neighboring apartment that shared a wall with hers.  Samantha rode a bike to and from work unless she got a ride with a co-worker who shared a shift with her, and she walked to the small grocery store two blocks over for her food shopping.

Downtown Beacon Hills had a lot of shops, restaurants and a few bars, so people were frequently walking past her apartment building.  It was almost impossible to know if someone was looking at her place because they were casing it for a possible break in, or if they were just looking at it because it happened to be where they looked.  He didn’t catch anyone following her - or who looked like they were stalking her.

There had been no sign of anything or anyone odd or strange and that was a problem.  Because Derek figured he was going to have to explain that Samantha’s paranoia was probably because he was the one following her.

On top of that, the heat wasn’t helping.  Nightfall didn’t cool anything off and the only reason he didn’t mentally complain about the warm night breezes was that they were better than when the air was still and suffocating.  He felt disillusioned by cop shows that portrayed ‘stake-outs’ as a lot more interesting and fun - This was more boring and miserable. 

Tonight didn’t look like it was going to be any different than the previous nights as he trailed at a respectable distance from Samantha down the street.  She was carrying a bag of take out from the new Thai place that had opened up (Pho soup, pad Thai and a curry if he’d caught the scent right), and a reusable bag holding eggs from the grocery store. 

Derek was debating if he wanted to try the Thai take out after he was finished for the night as Samantha passed by a bar with large glass double doors.  Two men and a young woman stepped out of the bar and got into step behind her.  Normally, he wouldn’t have paid it any mind, thinking they were one of the few others out on the hot summer night - There was no logical reason to think they meant any harm.  But there was an... intention... in their stride, and unlike pedestrians they passed, they didn’t talk to each other, weren’t laughing like other people were.

Picking up the pace to get closer, Derek debated if he should notify the Sheriff.  There was still a possibility that he was calling this wrong...  With how busy the sheriff department had been, a false alarm wouldn’t help, and he was already questioning the trust Stilinski put in him regarding this situation - feeling off about not telling the man about confronting Samantha last month...  With a small curl of his lip, he decided against calling.

The three of them caught up to Samantha... and then started to pass by her.   Derek breathed a sigh of relief.  Whatever their intent was, it apparently was not the Guide, who was now trying to juggle the bags so she could fish her keys out of her pocket...

Suddenly the three people crowded her and were herding her into a narrow alley between two buildings.  He caught sight of Samantha’s startled expression and felt, more than heard, the soft gasp of surprise and fear that left her lips before she was taken out of view.

Without a second thought, Derek started running, dodging the other pedestrians on the sidewalk who were oblivious to what just happened.  He skidded to stop at the entrance to the alley before stepping quickly and cautiously in. His eyes adjusted easily to the darker space and he saw that another man was now there - probably waiting in the alley for them - and they were surrounding Samantha out of view of the street.  One of them pushed the Guide up against the wall roughly as she spoke, “Just take my wallet, it’s right in my pocket!  Just take it--”

“Shut up you fucking freak!”

“Please...” Whatever Samantha was going to say, died on her lips when the flash of a blade came into view. 

None of them noticed Derek moving up towards them, so he took advantage of the surprise by grabbing the closest man in front of him and tossing him aside into the opposite alley wall.  He kept moving, knowing he had to let the momentum of surprise keep him ahead of them.  Stepping in further, he snatched the wrist of the hand holding the blade and twisted.  The guy who’d been brandishing it, cried out as his shoulder was wrenched painfully.  Turning, Derek held on and put himself between the remaining two and Samantha before yelling at her, “Run!  Get out of here!”

He was rewarded with the sound of her feet heading towards the opening of the alley and, he hoped, home to lock her doors.  While keeping his grip on the guy who had dropped the knife, Derek kept his eyes on the woman and the other man...?  The werewolf narrowed his eyes.  There was something... different about him.  His scent wasn’t human.  What the hell?

“Who-- Who the hell are you?” the guy stammered through the pain of having his arm wrenched uncomfortably by a werewolf.

When he started struggling, Derek spun him around and then pinned him face first against the wall.  “A concerned citizen,” he growled.

“Do you know who she was?” the woman gestured towards the alley entrance - obviously referring to Samantha.

“Do you know what he is?” he retorted, jerking his chin towards the non-human who was now standing there, glaring at Derek.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, clearly confused, “That woman is one of those Sentinel freaks!  You want that sort of monster in your town?”

“There are worse monsters,” Derek snarled, letting her know exactly who he was referring to.

“We’re normal!” the man protested with his face against the wall, “Not some sort of abomination--”

Annoyed, Derek pulled the guy from the bricks and flipped him over onto his back, then snapped a punch to knock him out.  When he straightened, his eyes flicked toward the woman who was starting to pull a knife out of the sheath hidden under her jacket.  “I’m an equal opportunity kind of guy.  I have no problems with punching you.”

Her eyes widened but she paused, clearly debating her chances. 

“And I’m pretty sure the cops will be here soon,” he added.

That seemed to decide her.  Her fingers slid from the weapon and she put her hands up before she backed away, giving Derek a lot of space.  When she got far enough, she turned and ran, leaving the two men on the ground unconscious, and the two non-humans to face each other.

This wasn’t another werewolf...  It also wasn’t a Kanima or Wendigo...  He was sure it was a shifter, but it wasn’t one he’d crossed paths with before.  Whatever the man was he definitely wasn’t happy with Derek’s interference.  The creature’s eyes bled into black, so his pupils and irises were no longer visible in the obsidian pools.  Obviously, with no humans around, there was no reason to pretend to be one.

“You’re a fool,” the shifter sneered, “defending those freaks of nature.”

Derek’s brow lifted in an are-you-serious gesture before his eyes flicked over the creature before him.

“You think they’re going to appreciate you defending them?  Protecting them?  After they learn what you are?  We aren’t at opposite ends here... we’re the same,” the other shifter continued, “We have a common enemy!  We should be working together to keep Beacon Hills safe for our kind, Hale!”

Derek blinked at the other using his name, “Not like this.”

“I would hope you’d see reason... considering your past history.”

“And I know from history that this isn’t reason.  It’s just creating another problem!”

“It won’t take long for them to figure out there are supernatural creatures here!  And what will they do then?  They’ll hunt us down!” the man shouted, “We have to get them before they get us!”

“That’s how wars are started!” Derek shouted back, all too aware how that sort of thinking worked out. “It doesn’t end!”

“That’s only because those Hunters were sloppy.  If they’d done their job right, there would have been no Hale pack left to worry about.”

Derek couldn’t help the anger that electrocuted through his limbs.  His eyes flared bright blue as his teeth dropped to sharp points and his claws curved from his finger tips in the beta shift. 

“If you won’t listen to reason, then you’re just in the way!” The man rolled his shoulders and small barbs burst through the back of his shirt down his spine and long claws curled from his fingers.  From his outer forearms, three large pointed stinger-protrusions appeared, growing to curve downward.  He roared, showing off rows of nasty sharp teeth before lunging for the werewolf. 

Derek barely had time to brace for the attack before his throat was clutched in a clawed hand and he was slammed hard enough into the wall to crack the bricks and send up dust and debris.  Pain shot through his head and back, but he didn’t have time for it because the shifter’s free arm was swinging up to slice at him.  Derek blocked, grabbing between the large barbs as he strained against his constricted airway.  They were both locked in the moment, the shifter splitting his struggles between choking the werewolf and pressing his arm to cut with his stingers.  Derek could scent something strange from the barbs and suspected it was a poison - if he was lucky, it might only paralyze him like Kanima venom, but he doubted it.

The creature was strong, stronger than Derek, and they both knew it.  Eventually, he was going to either strangle the werewolf, or cut him, winning the fight one way or another.  That didn’t mean, Derek was defenseless.  Reaching up with his free hand, he raked his claws down the man’s face before he slammed his heel down into the other’s instep.

With a hiss of pain, the shifter released, stumbling a bit as his hand went to his bloodied face.  Derek gracelessly shoved him away to create some space between them and try to plan his next move.  He was going to lose in a straight up strength match so he had to be faster... and smarter. 

The man recovered from his initial shock and charged at Derek again.  The werewolf turned and ran back towards the wall, using his speed and reflexes to run up the surface so he could back flip over the other.  Landing behind him, Derek turned and grabbed a garbage can, then threw it at the shifter, knocking him in the head. 

Derek had learned that there was no fighting fair when you were struggling to survive, so he wasn’t going to give an inch until the guy went down.  Gaining an opening, he leapt up and clasped his hands together so he could slam them into the back of the creature’s neck, forcing him to the ground.   

Of course, the other shifter played by the same rules. 

His hand shot out and clutched Derek’s ankle, yanking and making the werewolf crash down, cracking his jaw.  As the taste of blood filled his mouth, he was pulled back along the ground, the other shifter moving to loom over him.  Claws slashed down and Derek barely managed to catch the man’s wrists to prevent getting ripped open.  Shifting as he struggled, the werewolf rocked his body and pushed with this feet till he rolled them over and then tossed the man into the wall with another spin of their bodies.  Scrambling over, he dropped onto his knees on the creature’s chest, crushing out the air in his lungs, before he started punching him over and over again.  Derek didn’t stop till the shifter’s body fell lax beneath him.

Derek was breathing hard as he knelt there on the stranger, listening for a heartbeat from him.  He heard it and was satisfied that he hadn’t killed the shifter - maybe it was Scott’s influence, but he didn’t see a reason to kill the man when he just wanted to be safe...  even if he was going about it the wrong way.  Derek understood intentions and how good ones could turn bad.

Staggering to his feet, he spit the taste of blood from his mouth, then wiped at his lips with the back of his hand, careful of his claws.  He’d have to figure out what to do with the shifter quickly, because there’d be a lot of explaining to do once the police showed up.  It was possible to talk his way out of knocking out two guys who had tried to hurt an innocent person, but the claw marks and bloody mess of the shifter was a whole other problem.  While he started trying to put together something plausible, he turned to check on the two humans who were still laying unconscious a couple of feet away.  That’s when he found himself facing Samantha standing at the end of the alley, her gray eyes wide in terror as she held her cellphone clutched in both hands to her chest.

Distantly, the sound of police sirens wailed in the summer air.

Chapter Text

The summer heat pressed upon them while the police sirens whined plaintively through the night.  Derek didn’t move, barely even drawing a breath into his lungs.  He knew he should do something, but he was afraid to break the brittle moment that locked them motionless in the alley.

Samantha’s heart was pounding inside the cage of her ribs, the sound of it fluttered against his ears as the bitter scent of her fear and confusion filled his nose.  Her breath came out in hard, rapid pants, dancing on the edge of panic while her wide eyes remained locked on his.  She was clutching her cell phone to her chest like some sort of talisman so tightly, her fingers were white. 

Derek couldn’t imagine what she was thinking.  Whatever she had seen, however long she had been standing there before he saw her, she had clearly seen enough to be freaked out.  She had most likely witnessed him shifted into what she could only guess was a monster, and after everything that happened between them, she was terrified of him.  She probably thought he would kill her.

He swallowed hard, unsure what to do.  Anyone else would have been saying something comforting right now - would have had the right words on their tongue to assure her that there was nothing to be afraid of.  Unfortunately, words weren’t what he was best at.  History had proven that fact over and over again.

A feeling of deja vu washed over him.

He was bleeding still, the claw marks barely starting to heal.  The smell of his own blood and sweat filled his senses.  He felt exhausted and drained, hardly able to think properly outside of trying to make sure everyone was safe.  Isaac and Scott were standing there, gazing down at him expectantly, “There’s a teacher...  I’ll take care of her...  Get them out of here.”  The words passed between his lips through heavy breaths, the effort to form them obvious, but the teens merely nodded in recognition of his orders.

For the moment, they had listened to him.  No back talk.  No arguments.  Like they respected him as an Alpha... acting like betas in a pack.  Or perhaps they just knew he was exhausted and didn’t want to put him through anything more. 

The two young men quickly went into action, lifting Boyd and Cora... his sister... alive?  He couldn’t even give himself over to the thought of that new reality - couldn’t face it just yet or allow himself the indulgence.

He would have done things so differently if he could go back.  Maybe he and Cora should have just gotten out of Beacon Hills sooner... maybe things wouldn’t be so awkward between them now... maybe so much could have been avoided...

He dragged himself to his feet and slowly... painfully... walked through the basement to where the woman’s scent was; her heartbeat rhythmically thumping. 

If he’d been paying better attention, perhaps he would have noticed that her heartbeat hadn’t been frantic with fear.  That her scent, while worried, was not laced with the sweat of terror... But he wasn’t thinking clearly.

He opened the door to the storage area where she huddled, hiding behind some shelves.  He knew he was covered in blood, his shirt torn and stained, but he kept approaching with his eyes lowered, attempting to look harmless.  All he wanted was for her to not be afraid - to not fear him. 

He silently offered his hand to her and she reached up to him to carefully slide her hand into his.  Once there, he tightened his hold of it, giving her an anchor, lending her his strength as he helped her stand.  Her brown eyes darted towards his when she gained her feet, something like gratitude and discovery in them.  As if she was standing before her savior. 

He often wondered if that was when it had begun...  If that was when she’d started magically bending his heart towards her, instead of later on in his loft after the failed attack on the Alpha pack, when he was bleeding out and unable to heal.

Derek had felt good then, standing there before her.  Strong.  Like he’d done something right.  Like he had actually saved someone for once.  Then she smiled, lips lifting tentatively, a little awkward and unsure.  Jennifer---

No.  She was never Jennifer Blake.  She was always Julie Baccari.

“...just a little bit of history repeating...”

Derek mentally shook himself of the memories crowding his mind as his eyes kept hold of Samantha’s, tethering them both where they stood in stunned silence. 

This wasn’t Julie.  It wasn’t the same.  It wouldn’t be the same.

Swallowing hard, he took a step towards her and Samantha startled into movement, shuffling back and clutching her phone tighter. He immediately froze in place and held his hands up to show he wouldn’t hurt her, only relaxing when she did so - or at least didn’t look like she was going to bolt or scream.

Derek licked his lips, “Okay...” he said softly, keeping his hands up, “okay...”  His eyes flicked down as he listened for the sirens.  The police cruiser was closer, the sirens louder.  “Samantha, I know you’re scared and confused, and I have no right to ask this of you, but... I’m asking you to trust me.”

Samantha’s eyes fell on the two men who were laying unconscious on the ground, tightening and loosening her hold on the phone as she worried her lower lip.  She shook her head, but if it was in disbelief or disagreement, he couldn’t tell.  Her emotions were jumping all over the place, the scents all bitter and acrid.

The police car’s engine caught Derek’s ear and he nearly fell over with relief at the familiar thrum that marked the Sheriff’s cruiser as the one that was now racing down the street.  Feeling more confident he continued, “It will be okay... I promise you Samantha... Believe me...” He stepped forward tentatively once more, keeping his hands up and his body relaxed. “Please...” he added softly.  She remained still, not retreating from him, but her eyes were still a bit wide, like a nervous doe.  Derek tried to present himself as unthreatening as possible as he heard the cruiser pull over to a stop and park not too far away.  The police lights flashed against the wall and the siren blipped to a stop.

“Samantha!” Stilinski’s hoarse cry broke the night’s brief silence, concern and worry woven through it.

“We’re here!” Derek called back, keeping his eyes locked on Samantha’s, watching her and wondering how she’d react now.

“Derek?”

“In the alley!”

The man’s footsteps jogged down the sidewalk with Parrish’s lighter steps quickly following till they reached the mouth of the alley way.  “There you are!” The Sheriff only paused at the entrance for a moment before quickly coming to their side, “Samantha...” his hand hovered over her shoulder for a heartbeat, then settled gently, “Are you okay?”  He looked her over, searching for injuries.

She finally broke her gaze from Derek’s to turn to the Sheriff so she could nod mutely.

The older man gave a smile of relief before he took in her shaken appearance.  “You’re safe now... All right?”  Again she nodded and said nothing and Derek could tell she was afraid to say a word in his presence.  When the Sheriff turned towards the younger man, his eyes grew wide at the state of the him, “What happened?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Jordan said, “Looks like you made this an easy night for me, Derek.”

They turned to where the Deputy was kneeling down to handcuff the two men, carefully pulling their arms back to clap the metal bracelets on their wrists.  Derek frowned and said, “We have a bit of a problem.”

The Sheriff furrowed his brows. “Everything appears to be handled, son.”

After shaking his head, Derek decided to show him rather than tell him and gestured for Stilinski to follow him further into the alley.  The Sheriff did so, only after giving Samantha’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, saying to Jordan, “Stay with her...” He walked over to where the werewolf was standing and when his pale eyes set upon the unconscious and bloody man who had spikes coming from his arms and back, he groaned, “You have got to be kidding me.”

Derek shrugged awkwardly, “ I don’t know what he is, but he was working with the humans that attacked Samantha.  And they definitely were after her for being a Guide, like you were worried about.  I saw those two guys and a woman, push her into the alley and one of them pulled a knife on her.  He,” Derek nodded to the man laying there, “was waiting here in the alley for them to bring her in.  I stopped the humans and the woman ran off.  Then I dealt with him...”

“Well, that’s just great,” the older man shook his head in disbelief.  His eyes suddenly widened with realization as he looked at Derek, “Wait, did Samantha see you and this... thing... fighting?”

“I’m pretty sure she saw me shifted,” he admitted uncomfortably.

Stilinski mentally swore a blue streak. “She saw you, fully shifted with the,” he gestured towards his own face, whispering, “the hair and claws?”  At Derek’s nod, the older man rolled his eyes to the dark sky above, obviously silently praying for strength and help from anyone watching over him. 

“I don’t know exactly what she saw, but she saw enough.”

After taking a deep breath, Stilinski glared at the shifter on the ground.  His eyes flicked back and forth and Derek figured the man was trying to calculate the situation and figure out what to do.  “All right...” he murmured, as if coming to some conclusion.  He looked at Derek, “Is your car nearby?”

“It’s not too far.”

“Get it.  Now.  I have back up coming and they can’t see this and there’s no way in hell I’m putting an unknown creature in my holding cell.” 

“But what about Samantha?”

“We’ll deal with that later.  Go!”

Derek took off without another word.  He could understand the Sheriff’s concern about having the stranger in the station.  Without knowing what he was or what he could do, they could be putting a lot of lives in danger by having him in the station.  But then, what were they going to do with the guy?  And what were they going to do with Samantha? 

Putting aside those questions, he focused himself on the task at hand.  Luckily, it was a hot, late, weeknight, which meant the streets were virtually empty.  That meant getting the SUV and driving back didn’t take more than a few minutes of time.  After throwing the car in park, he stepped out to see Stilinski striding up from his cruiser, a canister in his hand, “Hurry up and get that guy.  We’re putting him in your car.”

Derek barely gave a nod of acknowledgement before running to do what he was told.  His werewolf ears heard the distant sirens of the approaching back up and he knew time was short.  He hefted up the unconscious body and set it over his shoulder, wary of the sharp points on the man’s forearms before carrying him to his car.  The Sheriff had the back hatch open already, so Derek just rolled the man carefully inside. 

The older man opened the canister he had in hand and the scent that wafted out immediately made the werewolf’s lip curl as the very core of him wanted to move away from it.

It was mountain ash.

Carefully, the Sheriff poured a line of the dark powder all the way around the shifter’s body, essentially trapping him in the back of the SUV.  When the line was connected, Derek felt a push of the magic press against him, making his body tense up.  Probably sensing the werewolf’s response, Stilinski closed the canister and explained, “Deaton thought I might need more than just Argent’s wolfsbane bullets in my arsenal of goodies.” He gave the canister a little shake. “Never thought I’d need it though.” 

He called over Jordan and had Derek give him the keys to the car so the deputy could drive it around the block, out of sight.

“But what are we going to do with him?” Jordan asked.

“One thing at a time, deputy.” Stilinski admonished.  The younger man took the hint to just do what he was told and got in the SUV. 

As soon as the car was driving off, Derek said, “I don’t think the humans knew what he was.”

“At this point, it doesn’t matter.  We have a bigger problem.”

“Bigger?” Derek asked, unsure how much worse this could be. 

“As soon as we report Miss Nolan was the victim, it’ll send a red flag up to the SI.  They’ll send a team down to investigate, essentially removing me from the case and taking over.  The Sentinels police their own and they will lock out my entire department to do it.  It’s what happened after the Sunflower Festival, though it was easy enough to show that was just drunken stupidity... And since Miss Nolan never got a good look at her attacker that day, there was no one to press charges against... But this time?  We have two men under arrest who I can’t let go.  The Sentinels will question them and that may lead to sunshine there,” he gestured towards Derek’s car that was turning round the corner. “And then?” He shook his head, leaving the ending unsaid.

Derek frowned.  There’d be no way to hide anything then.  His eyes widened in the realization that the very thing the shifter had been worried about - the Sentinels knowing about supernatural creatures - would come to pass. 

Stilinski rubbed his face before he rolled back his shoulder and nodded, having come to some silent decision, “All right...  This is how we’ll have to play this,” he pointed at Derek, “they attacked you, not Samantha.  It will be a simple mugging that got turned back on the robbers.  Samantha was walking by and saw what was happening and called for help.”

“But... if she called 9-1-1, they’ll have her voice on record saying otherwise.”

“She didn’t call 9-1-1,” Stilinski’s scent soured, “She called me on my cell.”

The werewolf swallowed hard and nodded, realizing that they’d have to get Samantha to lie - convince her it was in her best interest.  He frowned, thinking on how the relationship with the young woman had twisted and gone so wrong.  It was as if as soon as she’d gotten involved with Beacon Hills, her life had become tainted by it. 

The Sheriff made a vague gesture towards Derek’s red stained shirt. “As far as all this blood...  Nose bleed will work well enough and the ensuing fight should explain the rest.”  The older man sighed heavily.  It was clear that the Sheriff found all of this distasteful.  His scent and body language all told the story of his feelings on it... of hating having to lie yet again and twist justice for the sake of protecting people he cared about.  Derek knew that what they were doing, was for the best, and he believed the Sheriff knew that too, but neither of them liked it. 

Samantha wasn’t the only one who Beacon Hills had tainted.

“All right... Let’s talk to her,” Stilinski muttered wearily.

Samantha was standing at the mouth of the alley, still clutching her phone, and Derek was sure she wasn’t even aware she was doing it.  Still, she wasn’t frantic or running off screaming into the night, so he figured that was progress of some sort.  Her eyes drew up at their approach and she desperately asked, “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?  What the hell happened?  And what is he?” she pointed accusingly towards Derek.

The Sheriff lifted his hands up in an innocent gesture, his features softening, “Samantha, I know this is a lot to deal with.  Trust me on that.  But we don’t have time right now to explain it all to you.”

“Then explain one thing!  Anything!  You just took that man away!” She flung her arm towards where the SUV had been before looking at Derek, “Do you know what he is?”  She shook her head, “I’m not crazy, I saw him turn into something!”

“I know.” Stilinski said calmly, and his admission must have surprised her because she jerked her head towards him and stilled.  Having her attention he continued, “And I’ll explain everything to you, I promise, but right now, I’m going your going to have to be patient and wait on that...  Because I’m going to ask something of you.  Something I don’t want to ask of you, but I don’t really have a choice.”  The police siren could be heard by human ears so they only had a few minutes before more deputies showed up.  They didn’t have a lot of time left.  “I’m going to have to ask you to lie to the officers or anyone who asks what happened tonight.”

“Wh... what?” her gray eyes flicked between the two men, hesitant and fearful.

The Sheriff took a deep breath before diving into his explanation, “If we report this as an attack on you, the SI will send a unit to investigate and they’ll uncover all of this,” he gestured towards the alley, “All that you saw...  It will... complicate things and put a lot of good and innocent people in danger... Some of whom I care about a great deal.  If the Sentinels get involved, I’m afraid those people will get hurt and I won’t be able to help them.” He sighed, “I can’t make you lie, Samantha, all I can do is ask you to trust me.”

The young woman swallowed hard and her eyes, damp with unshed tears, bounced around the alley, from the handcuffed men on the ground, to where the shifter had been laying, then back to the two men standing near her.  She worried her lower lip for a few moments, then let out a shuddering breath, “Wh-what do I say?” She wiped at her eyes with the palm of the hand not clutching the phone, “What do I tell them?”

With a relieved drop of his shoulders, the Sheriff answered, “That it was Derek who was attacked.”

Her gaze snapped towards the older man as her brow furrowed, “Derek?”

He nodded, “Yes.  Derek was pulled into the alley by some people who were trying to rob him and you were walking by when you saw it happen.  That’s when you called me for help.”

“I... um... Okay.”

“Do you think you can do that?” he asked gently.

“Y-yeah...” She nodded, still clearly shaken.  Derek felt like they were taking advantage of her state of mind, but he knew they had no choice. “But... what about them?” she nodded towards the men on the ground who were starting to come awake, groggily groaning as they realized they were handcuffed.

“Don’t worry about them.  I’ll talk to them.  Just remember, Derek was attacked, you saw it, and you called me.  If anyone asks, that’s all you say right now.  Deputy Parrish and I will deal with the paperwork and everything else.”

“Okay... I called you... a-all right.”

“Now, I need to deal with them, will you be okay?

The young woman nodded, but more out of a knee-jerk response rather than really feeling that she would be all right. 

Stilinski moved over to kneel down next to the two men who immediately started protesting upon sight of the badge, rambling about being innocent of whatever they were being accused and arrested for.  After giving them only a few seconds to flap their gums, Stilinski held up a hand to silence them. “Shut it.  I know exactly what happened and I know exactly why, so don’t bother denying it.  I have a witness and evidence,” he tilted his head toward the knife that one of them had dropped during the fight, “that will prove you’re anything, but innocent.”

The two men clamped their mouths shut and gazed at the man warily.

Having their attention, the Sheriff continued, “Now, let me play this out for you two in simple words so you understand.  If I report this as a crime against a Recovery Center employee, the Sentinel Institute in Seattle will follow procedure and send down a unit to investigate.  That means, Sentinels will take over the case.  The Sentinels will make inquiries and they’ll interrogate you.  Then they’ll interrogate your friends and family...  Then they’ll find the rest of your little anti-Sentinel buddies and interrogate them.  Do you know what happens then?  More Sentinels will come to Beacon Hills because they’ll find a larger issue than you two and will want to handle it. You can see where I’m going with this, right?”

Derek knew the older man was bluffing his way through the story, but he was amazed at how even and easy the Sheriff’s demeanor was - His years of service, experience and training were showing in how he was handling them.

“Considering your opinions of Sentinels, I’m guessing that the last thing you’ll want is more of them here in town... bringing in exactly what you hate so much...  But then, maybe you won’t mind because you’ll probably be serving time in jail for assault... possibly for attempted manslaughter.” He gave a friendly smile as the men gawped at him.

“But, we didn’t--“

“Before you start talking again, I suggest you let me finish, because I have a proposition for you.  We are going to report this as an attempted robbery of Mr. Hale, who soundly kicked your asses.  You will plead guilty to those charges.  And if you gentleman are feeling chatty, you’ll give us the names of some of your good buddies who helped plan this little crime and then perhaps we’ll drop the attempted assault with a deadly weapon charges.” His pale eyes regarded the two low lives for a few moments, “Now, I think that’s a rather fair deal, but I’ll understand if you two need some time to think about it.”

They made sounds of eager agreement, which Derek hoped meant they would take the offered deal.  There was no reason for the men to not do what the Sheriff said - it would only make things worse for them in the long run.  The fact it would also make things worse for him, Scott and the others, was something that nibbled at the back of his mind. 

The noise of the approaching cruiser’s siren was loud and blaring, making Derek wince. Turning back to the young woman, he saw Samantha was leaning against the wall and hugging herself as she stared at the ground, worrying her lower lip. 

“Samantha...” he said softly as he approached her.

“Don’t,” she whispered back, shaking her head, “just don’t.”

The police sirens shut off when the cruiser screeched to a halt.  Car doors squealed open then slammed shut, replacing the brief silence with police scanner static crackling in the air.  Deputy Wyatt and Cordova were intercepted by Jordan who began explaining the situation very briefly with, “We have two suspects already handcuffed,” but nothing more.  Another car pulled up with Deputy Clark and Williams. 

The Sheriff rose, dragging the two men to their feet to lead them out onto the street.  As he passed by Derek, he murmured, “All right, let’s see how good at acting we all are.” Then he was reading the two men their rights and placing them under arrest officially.

The next minutes were a blur to the werewolf.  He brushed off any need for medical attention and allowed Stilinski to do almost all of the talking.  The deputies, taking everything at face value, followed the Sheriff’s lead, putting the suspects into the back of their cruiser.  Jordan escorted Samantha to the Sheriff’s car, setting her in the back and out of view, since the multiple cop cars and lights flashing, had drawn people out onto the street to see what was going on with morbid curiosity.  All of them were trying to get a peek at the victims or suspects - probably hoping to catch sight of a dead body or at least some blood - something to gossip about. 

Derek was always uncomfortable at the aftermath of crime scenes when there were people around, circling like sharks at the scent of blood.  The blue and red lights flashing and the whispered murmurs of intrusiveness, like it was a reality show, rather than reality, made him feel ill, never mind how many times he’d been suspected of the criminal activity that started it all.  It made his limbs itchy with the desire to run or just disappear from view.

“All right,” the Sheriff said, “I’ve got the statements from Mr. Hale and Ms. Nolan.  Anyone come forward?”

Cordova shook his head, “No one apparently saw anything... Mostly, I think they spoke up to find out why police cars were here.”

“Makes it even more scary,” Wyatt added, his eyes flicking towards Derek. “Those two guys could have robbed and killed him and no one would have known anything had happened...  His body could have been down that alley for days.”

“Thank goodness for small favors,” Stilinski agreed. “All right, take the two suspects to the station.  Get them processed and checked into their rooms for the night.  They can stew till morning and I’ll question them then.  Get the knife in the evidence locker.  No comments to the press.” The man paused to settle his gaze on the two deputies for a heartbeat, “I see anything in the news, I won’t be a happy man.”

“Yes sir,” Wyatt nodded, as did Cordova before they moved to get into their patrol car to transport their prisoners and evidence back to the station.

While the car pulled out, the Sheriff turned to the few people still gathered and waved them off, “All right, nothing more to see here!  It’s hot and late, and I’m sure you’d rather be in air conditioning than sweating out here for nothing!”  While his tone was cordial, there was a clear order in there, and the handful of lookie-loos that had been draw out, slowly dispersed - returning to their apartments or where ever they had come from.  He walked over to Deputy Clark and the young woman stood up straighter, “See if you can get these people off the streets and away from the crime scene.  I’m releasing Mr. Hale to go home.”

“Yes, sir...” she nodded and waved over Deputy Williams so they could encourage the stragglers to leave.

When she was out of ear shot, the older man told Derek, “Call Deaton and tell him to meet us at the Animal Clinic.  He might be able to tell us what our new friend is.  Depending on how things go with Samantha, this may get complicated.”

Derek lifted his brow, silently saying Oh really?

Stilinski conceded, “Okay, more complicated.  Still, I’d like to have something figured out for now.  And have him call Scott to join us.  The kid wanted to know what was going on and this definitely falls under Alpha business.” He sighed again, “Get going, son.  We’ll see you there.”

Derek nodded and cast a brief glance to Samantha, sitting in the back of the Sheriff’s cruiser.  She had barely spoken since the rest of the deputies had arrived, only responding with brief answers or nods and shakes of her head.  When he reached his car, he was pleased to see the stranger was still out, but he was sure that wouldn’t last much longer.  After turning on his engine, he called the Emissary.  It took a few rings before the man picked up, answering in his usual calm demeanor, despite the late hour, “Hello Derek, how can I help you?”

“I don’t have time to give you the whole story, but... I’ve got a shifter that I’ll be bringing to the Animal Clinic.  Not a werewolf.  I... we don’t know what he is.  He attacked Samantha Nolan, a Guide from the Recovery Center.”

“A Guide?”

“Yeah... He was going on about the Sentinels finding out about supernatural creatures and them hunting us down.”

“I see.”

“The Sheriff will be coming a bit later, but I’m bringing the were-creature.  We’ll have to keep him... contained somehow.  And call Scott.”

“Hmmm,” Deaton hummed before saying, “very well.  I’ll see you shortly.” Then he hung up as if they hadn’t just spoken about a potentially dangerous creature being delivered to his front door.  Derek pocketed his cell phone, wondering how his mother put up with Deaton as her Emissary.  Talia was certainly more patient than he ever was, which was just another reason she was such a great Alpha. 

Shifting out of park, he turned out onto the street and drove to the clinic.  He kept his speed balanced on the edge of the speed limit, wanting to get there as fast as he could, but not needing any of the other police officers pulling him over.  A ticket wasn’t a big deal, but he had no way to explain the unconscious body in the back of his SUV...  And even the Sheriff would have his work cut out for him trying to clear that up.  The drive was difficult because the mountain ash was like a pressure on the back of his neck, making him feel uncomfortable and edgy.

When he arrived at the back of the Animal Clinic, Deaton was waiting by the open doors for him.  He quickly parked the back of his vehicle as close to the doors as he could.  The breathing of the shifter had changed and he knew the guy was starting the slow crawl towards consciousness.  The Emissary had already lifted the hatch and broken the mountain ash line by the time Derek ran back there and the werewolf gave a brief thought to how he was going to have to clean out the ash and get his car detailed before he’d be able to drive it comfortably again.

Quickly he hefted the large man over his shoulder and carried him into the clinic, feeling the body start to move and the shifter groan in protest.  Deaton directed him into an examination room where another dark glittering circle of mountain ash was waiting on the floor to be sealed.  Derek barely got the man into the circle before a clawed hand swiped at his neck. 

“Now, Deaton!” he shouted, jumping back out of the way as the breeze of claws tickled his skin.  The vet quickly threw a pouch at the circle which puffed open, revealing more mountain ash which slid into place to seal the circle.  The were-creature slammed up against the force of the ash, trapped in the magical containment. 

As the shifter started banging violently against the ‘wall’, Derek relaxed and released a deep breath before giving the Emissary a nod in thanks.  The darker skinned man simply smiled back like it was nothing, but Derek could scent the contented relief he felt. 

Now that they had him contained, the vet turned his attention to the were-creature, moving cautiously closer towards the circle before walking around it.  His dark eyes trailed over the man, who shifted back to his human form and watched him in return.  The were-creature said nothing, but it was clear he was angry from his clenched jaw and his flexing fists.  After making two turns around the shifter, Deaton finally stood before him with his arms crossed, his expression inscrutable.

“Deaton?”

The Emissary didn’t respond, so Derek decided to leave him to his examination so he could go to the bathroom to wash off the blood - some of which wasn’t even his.  Tiredly, he took off his ruined shirt, then washed the blood from his face, neck, chest and arms as best he could in the small space.  Drying off using paper towels wasn’t ideal, but he’d worked with worse, and he was just glad not to have blood stains sticking and flaking on his skin.  The shirt was a lost cause, so he threw it away and ambled out to his SUV where he had an extra change of clothes.

Right as he was pulling a new shirt on over his head, the Sheriff’s cruiser pulled up to park next to him.  He wasn’t surprised to see Stilinski not looking happy, but he wasn’t prepared for the anger rolling off of him when the driver’s side door opened.  What the hell had happened after he left? 

Jordan exited, his eyes avoiding Derek’s as he went to let Samantha out of the back of the police car, the uncomfortable scent of embarrassment and guilt wafting from him.  Derek frowned, trying to piece together what his senses were telling him and figure out what was going on.  He opened his mouth to ask the Sheriff, who was now striding up to him, but before he could form a single word, the older man said, “After I get Samantha settled inside, you, Jordan and I are going to talk.”

Derek blinked and stepped back, his own heartbeat ratcheting up from the look in the Sheriff’s eyes, “Talk about what?” he furrowed his brows, not bothering to hide his confusion.

Stilinski growled out, “About accusing people of murder!”

Chapter Text

During high school, Scott had gotten used to phone calls in the middle of the night.  It wasn’t till college that he started to remember what a full night of sleep felt like; enough that he missed it when he had finals and had to juggle work and school.  If you asked him, Scott would say he preferred losing sleep by staying up late to try and study for a test, rather than the jolt of worry/fear/adrenaline that came with being woken up out of a sound sleep by the ring of his phone.  But he was the True Alpha and he didn’t always have the luxury of choice.

When Ann Wilson began belting out “Magic Man” by Heart (the ring tone Stiles set for Alan Deaton’s number) from his cell phone, in the middle of the night, he startled awake.  He was practically on his feet - going on automatic before his brain was actually functioning when he answered, “Deaton?  Yes, what?” His eyes weren’t even open yet.

“Scott,” the vet’s voice was smooth and low-key - which was deceptive, since that didn’t mean this wasn’t an emergency, “I need you to meet me here at the clinic as soon as possible.”

Scratching his head, he tried not to yawn, “The clinic? Why?” Behind him, he heard Kira moving around on the bed.  They were sleeping in his old bedroom at his mother’s house, and he was thankful his Mom was at work so he didn’t have to feel guilty about waking her up too.

“There’s a situation here that I believe falls under the purview of, pack business.”

Waking up more at that information, he felt his brain align itself with coherent thoughts, “Oh.  Um, okay.”

“I’ll explain more when you get here.” Deaton then hung up, leaving Scott standing there to review the brief conversation.

After processing what his boss said, he quickly dropped the phone onto the bed and started scrambling for clothes to wear.

“Scott?” Kira asked, now sitting up in bed, blinking adorably in the dark room, “What’s going on?”

Practically hopping as he pulled on some jeans, he huffed, “That was Deaton.  He wants me to meet him at the clinic.” 

“Now?” she asked, checking to see the time on the digital clock on the night stand.

He snatched a shirt from the floor, “Yup,” then pulled it on over his head.

“But... do you have to go?”

Scott stopped fiddling with his shirt to turn his attention to her.  He could scent her worry - bitter in the otherwise quiet and familiar space.  He sighed and crawled across the bed to kneel next to her, “Yeah, I do.  I can’t very well yell at them about keeping me out of the loop and then not show up when they call me about pack business, can I?”

“I suppose not...”

He knew she was concerned about him getting caught up in Beacon Hills problems when they were planning on leaving in a few weeks to return to Fresno.  If things were chaotic here, it would be hard for him to focus on his classes and grades.  He couldn’t blame her for the concern - in high school, he nearly failed sophomore year because of all the chaos after he had gotten Bitten.  Scott literally couldn’t afford to fail his classes now.

Wanting to reassure her, he gave her a crooked smile, “Don’t worry.  Whatever it is, we’ll handle it, and I’ll come right back.  You’ll barely notice I’m gone.”

The Kitsune pouted slightly, “Not true.” Then she perked up, her brows lifting, “Should I come with you?”

It was tempting to say yes.

Their relationship was good - not where it had been, or where Scott wanted it to be, but it was good.  More time was required for them to keep working through the issues that had broken them apart, and both of them were committed to doing that.  And while they initially bonded in high school with life and death situations, Scott didn’t want their current relationship to progress with that. 

He wanted them to be together based on real love, and interest in who the other person was.  If they fell into old patterns of fighting monsters and trying not-to-die, he wasn’t sure that would happen.  Besides, this would hopefully just be a simple issue that would take him a few hours and they’d be back to snuggling in bed.  “No, you stay here.  I don’t even know what’s going on yet, so no point in dragging you out of bed too.” He kissed her cheek, “If we need you, I’ll call you.”

Kira tilted her head, screwing her mouth to the side as she contemplated what he said, then with a small smile she shrugged, “Fine, but don’t be a hero.  You call me if you need me.  And I definitely want to hear about it when you get back.  Okay?  I’m pack and as you said, this is pack business, right?”

Scott’s mouth widened into a grin, “I will bore you with all the details.” Leaning forward he gave her lips a quick peck, tempted to say I love you, but knowing it wasn’t the right time to say it.  “When I get back,” he promised.  Then he quickly slid off the bed to slip on his shoes, before grabbing his phone and keys to rush out the door.

When he pulled his motorbike behind the Animal Clinic, he was a little surprised to see the Sheriff’s cruiser and Derek’s SUV already parked there.  He shut off the engine and walked the bike up to Derek’s vehicle where he used his foot to shove down the kick stand.  After he removed his helmet, his senses shifted to the late summer night which was becoming the early summer morning, and smelled three familiar scents.  Over that though, was the strong scent of anger and the damp scent of embarrassment.  Confused, Scott set his helmet on the seat of his bike and approached the back entrance.

He walked between the cars with a greeting ready on his lips, but was stopped by Sheriff Stilinski’s voice snarling out, “What the hell were you thinking!”

Scott dropped back behind the cruiser to peak around where the Sheriff, Derek and Jordan were standing, illuminated by the overhead building lights.  The tension in the air was almost more choking than the heat.

In the time he had known him, it had been rare that Scott ever witnessed Sheriff Stilinski angry - really angry.  Sure, Stiles pissed him off from time to time, but that was always mixed with worry, love, and fear for his only child.  In fact, most of the times he had seen Stilinski angry, it was because his loved ones were in danger.  That being said, the few occasions that he had witnessed Stiles’ father really lose it, he knew that he never, ever, ever, wanted to be on the receiving end of it. 

“I cannot believe you’d do that, Derek!”

The young man’s eyes widened in surprise.  He blinked, gaze darting from one man to the other.  Derek was standing, shoulders hunched, arms crossed and jaw clenched - his expression carefully kept blank as he met the Sheriff’s eyes with his own.  For all that he was unmoving, Scott could hear the rapid beating of his heart and smell the scent of embarrassment, laced with sadness and frustration.  As if feeling the weight of his scrutiny, Derek’s gaze flicked over at the Alpha.  There was a brief flash of vulnerability in his hazel eyes, like he’d been caught, before they shuttered and returned to looking at the Sheriff.

Jordan was standing off to the side, eyes on the ground and quiet, and avoiding moving so he didn’t draw attention to himself.  It was obvious that he wasn’t in the clear of... whatever was going on. 

Scott figured the Sheriff was too focused on being pissed off to have heard him ride up on his bike or notice he was there.  He felt uncomfortable and awkward listening in, but now that he was there hiding, he really couldn’t just leave.  Did he just stand up and walk up to them?  Did he interrupt?  What was he supposed to do?

“You know what?” Stilinski continued, “I don’t give a damn what you were thinking!  Because there is no excuse that you can give me that would make this forgivable!”

“Sir,” Jordan finally found his voice, “we were just concerned.  After what happened--”

The Sheriff rounded on the deputy, “Do you think I’m stupid?  Do you think this is my first day on the job?” He tugged on the badge on his chest, showing it to the younger man, “You think I got this out of a god damn cereal box?” Jordan swallowed hard, wisely remaining silent.  “I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve known how to shave, Parrish!  Of course I did a background check on her!  I legally obtained her records!  And I spoke to Samantha about her past and she explained to me what happened... To my satisfaction!”

“We didn’t... I didn’t know...” Jordan admitted softly.

“It wasn’t for you to know!  Until higher powers than you decide otherwise, I am the Sheriff!  You had no legal right to look at those records or delve into any of that information!”

Jordan gazed up at his boss, regret etched on his face, “I’m so sorry, sir.  I just... I was trying to follow my gut.”

“Following your instinct is a good thing, but you have to investigate those feelings.  Get facts to back them up!  You’re not some kid.  You’re an officer of the law and there’s protocol to follow.  What you did?  I should be putting you on probation, or suspension... or firing you for misconduct!  But if I do that, word will get out and Ecks will hear what you did and probably use it against us!” He spread his arms out, “With everything going on, and Ecks looking for any excuse to get me fired, and you practically hand him my head on a silver platter!”

The older man ran his hand through his hair in frustration and worry, “Do you have any idea how you’ve jeopardized your career?  My career?  The entire department?”

Jordan protested, “If anyone finds out, then I’ll just take the blame.  It was all me!”

“Really?  How do you think it will look that I can’t keep the people working for me in line and serving under the letter of the law?  They’ll say have no idea what’s going on with my own deputies or my department!  Maybe they’ll start looking closer at all the cases I’ve had to smudge and fix to hide all the strange crap that I’ve been dealing with since Stiles was in high school!  And they have plenty of evidence that I can’t keep the damn sheriff’s department under control!  How many deaths have happened... how many officers killed, in the sheriff’s station, since I’ve been elected?” 

Scott hadn’t been aware how much the Sheriff carried the weight of the loss of all the officers over the years due to the supernatural insanity that plagued Beacon Hills since Peter woke up from his coma.  He should have known...  should have considered it.  He knew it was unfair for the man to blame himself for things he couldn’t prevent, but he also understood the guilt all too well.

“That wasn’t your fault...” the deputy tried weakly.

“That doesn’t matter!  That’s not what they’ll care about!  It certainly won’t be what Ecks will care about if he presents my incompetence to the Mayor and City Council!  You have put me in a horrible situation, deputy!”  Stilinski shook his head in disappointment, “After Greenberg... I can’t have people in my department I can’t count on, Parrish.”

The deputy’s eyes widened as he paled, “You can count on me!  I swear!  I’ll do whatever I can to regain your trust.”  Jordan audibly swallowed before dropping his eyes to the ground.

“You will be on desk duty, doing paper work till I can figure out something worse for you to do...” The older man rubbed his face in frustration, “And you will have a hell of a lot to do before you’re anywhere near my good graces again.”

Jordan nodded silently.

Stilinski appeared placated enough to turn his attention back to Derek, who hadn’t moved an inch. “I was going to tell you about Samantha the day of the Sunflower Festival, outside of her room in the hospital, but I got called away before we could talk.  If you had bothered to tell me you were going to confront her in that damn coffee shop - of all places - I would have explained it to you then!  But no, instead of coming to me first, you took it upon yourself, with no authority, to barge in there, ignore her civil rights, and accuse her of murder!”

Oh shit...  Scott could feel himself pale. 

“You’re both damn lucky she didn’t report you and make a stink about violation of her privacy.  Those records were sealed and even if you didn’t see them, you acted like you did!”  He flung an arm towards Jordan, “He has the very flimsy excuse of the uniform, but you?  You’re a consultant!  Not even really an official one!  You can’t go... playacting like some god damn cowboy around town, Derek!  And for the life of me, I can’t fathom why you would do this!  Why you wouldn’t talk to me first!”

The older man walked closer to Derek, voice cast low so the deputy wouldn’t hear, but thanks to his werewolf senses, Scott could, “I don’t know, maybe after the whole thing with shooting Gerard...  dodging the law so much...  you thought it didn’t matter...  But I thought we had a relationship built on trust.  That there was mutual respect between us.” Stilinski frowned, “Clearly I was wrong and I don’t know you as well as I thought I did... hoped I did.”  The anger seeped out of him, disappointment rushing in to fill the void left behind.  And Scott knew if he could sense it, it was a sure bet that Derek could too.  “If there isn’t trust and respect between us, then I’m not sure how the hell we can continue to work together...”

He heard Derek’s heart stutter in his chest and Scott’s own chest tightened in sympathy.

Looking spent, the Sheriff turned around, took a deep breath, and then released it slowly.  He tiredly ran his hand over his face before pulling himself together. “All right.  Let’s go inside and see what we can salvage of this mess.” 

Knowing he’d be spotted when the Sheriff walked to the door, Scott figured he’d better make an appearance.  Hoping he’d come across as ‘just arriving’, he strolled around the car and smiled at Stilinski who was startled by the young werewolf, “Scott...”

“Um.  Hey,” the Alpha said, trying for nonchalant. “Deaton called me?  He didn’t tell me why though.”

The older man gave a humored huff as he shook his head, obviously not surprised at the veterinarian’s secretive behavior.  “He’s inside.  We have a bit of a situation.”

“What kind of situation?”

The Sheriff gestured towards the clinic, “Best we talk about it inside.” He clasped Scott’s shoulder then let go when he opened the door and went inside, a subdued Jordan followed after with a brief nod in greeting.

Derek remained where he was, still as a statue with his eyes on the ground.  Scott stepped forward to approach him, words of comfort and consolation at the ready.  The older werewolf must have sensed it, because he gave a minute shake of his head before striding purposefully past him to enter the clinic.  The Alpha stood there, fidgeting slightly and wondering exactly what had led to the blow-up there in the parking lot, but not sure he really wanted to know.  “Ignorance is bliss...” he muttered, entering the clinic.

Deaton met him outside of his office, greeting him with a brief nod, “Scott.”

“Hey... Uh, So... what happened?  Why did you call me?”  He looked at the other men gathered in the hallway with him.  Their expressions and scents were all over the place, so he wasn’t getting anything specific from them that would offer a clue.

“You remember Miss Nolan?  Samantha?” The Sheriff asked.

Scott nodded, “Yes?”

Deaton sighed, “It seems Miss Nolan had the rather unfortunate experience of being attacked earlier tonight.”

The young man’s eyes widened, “Oh god, again?  Is she okay?” The word ‘attacked’ could mean anything, and Scott had a pretty good imagination - not that he needed one considering all the very real, terrible things he had seen in his short life.  He wondered briefly if this was related to what Stilinski had been yelling about outside.

Sensing his worry, the Sheriff put a comforting hand on the young man’s arm, “She’s fine.  At least, she’s not hurt.  Derek stopped them before anything serious happened.”

The Emissary added, “Though there was an unfortunate side effect of his heroic rescue,” his tone was half accusatory as his eyes fell on Derek.

In response, the werewolf clenched his jaw, turning his attention to a spot on the wall, rather than the gathered pack.  Again, the Sheriff was the one to explain, “Apparently Samantha saw Derek in his werewolf form.”

The Alpha looked over at Derek who simply gave a single nod in confirmation of the statement. 

“She saw the teeth and claws and everything?” Scott’s heartbeat sped up in slight panic.  Being discovered was bad enough, but Samantha Nolan was connected with the Recovery Center and the Sentinels!  They’d dodged the bullet, so to speak, at the Sunflower Festival when she witnessed Derek get shot, however there was no way to make up some lie about seeing him wolfed out. “That’s why you called me.”

“That’s part of it,” Deaton answered, “Thankfully, she as agreed to keep it a secret. 

“Okay...” Scott felt a huge amount of relief hearing that, but... “You said that was part of it... which means... there’s more?”

“The other issue has to do with who Derek was fighting... Another shapeshifter.”

“Shapeshifter?” Scott’s brow knit as his head tilted at the specific use of the word, “Another werewolf?”

“No,” he shook his head, “A shifter, yes.  But not a werewolf.”

“And not a Kanima, Kitsune, or were-coyote,” Jordan added.

“So...” The young man’s dark eyes trailed over the others, “What is it?”

“We don’t know yet,” Deaton admitted with a slight grimace.  If Scott knew anything about his boss, it was that the man did not like not knowing things.  “And worse, he is rather... adamant about removing the Sentinel presence from Beacon Hills.”

“So wait... this, uh... shifter... is part of the anti-Sentinel people?”

“Perhaps it’s best if you see for yourself... He’s in examination room 2.”

The Sheriff indicated towards the door to the vet’s office, “I’m going to see to Miss Nolan.  She’s still a bit shaken up by all of this.”

“She’s here?” Scott frowned inwardly at himself.  He hadn’t even noticed she was there, though now that he was aware, he could hear the steady thump of her heart and smell the faint trace of her scent in the hallway... tinted with stress.  He tried to forgive himself for missing it, since the four men’s emotions had been heavily weighing the air and he’d been distracted by the scene in the parking lot.

“We thought it’d be best to bring her here to explain everything.  I haven’t had a chance to really talk to her about this.” The Sheriff sighed and then gestured to the exam room, “First things first...  Best you talk to our new friend in there.” After giving Scott an encouraging nod, he turned and walked into Deaton’s office, closing the door behind him.

Deaton opened the door to Exam Room 2 for the young Alpha to enter, allowing him to go first.  The room’s tables had been pushed up against the walls, leaving a large central area to be occupied by a man Scott didn’t recognize.  The stranger was sitting on the smooth cement surface of the floor, trapped in a circle of mountain ash. 

Upon seeing Scott, the man sneered, “So, the True Alpha graces me with his presence.”

The young man paused, “You know who I am?”

“Scott McCall.  True Alpha.  In charge of what’s left of what was once, the Hale pack,” the man answered, his lip twitching when his brown eyes pegged Derek, like he was daring him to say something.  He turned his head back to Scott, “We all know who you are.”

“We?”

“The other supernatural creatures that reside in this territory.”

“And who are you?”

When the man didn’t appear to be eager to answer, Jordan, who was just stepping into the exam room did so, “This pocketful of sunshine here has been anything but helpful in telling us about himself.“

“Why the hell should I tell you Sentinel-lovers anything?” The shifter slammed his fist against the invisible barrier of the ash.

“We can get his prints,” the deputy continued, acting oblivious to the other man’s outburst, “And we can run those down at the station.  We also have those two buddies of his, humans, cooling their heels in some cells.  I’m pretty sure they’ll be more than happy to give us the information we want.  Spending the night in jail tends to make people chatty.  So,” he turned and smiled pleasantly at the shifter, “we really don’t need you to say a word.”

“So what?” he rose to his feet, “What are you going to do?  Arrest me?” He grinned, letting his teeth lengthen and sharpen, “Trust me, that’ll be a mistake... Or maybe you’ll keep me trapped in this mountain ash forever?” He glared at Deaton and snorted, “I’ll get out eventually, and when I do, I’ll finish what I started!”

“That’s quite enough, Mr. Berkow,” the voice was not raised, but there was definite threat and power behind the words.  The others turned to see, Alpha Satomi Ito enter the room, pride and nobility in her every step. 

With her dark hair, threaded with a bit of silver, pulled back in a bun and her clothes dark and simple as always - Satomi Ito wore her power comfortably... easily.  Scott was technically the same as her - an Alpha - but she carried it with a regal quality untainted by nervousness and insecurity.  He wondered if it was something he would gain over time, as he grew further into the mantel of leader, since he knew Satomi was a bitten werewolf like he was. 

The elder Japanese woman turned and smiled kindly upon Scott, “Alpha McCall.”

Scott immediately straightened and nodded his head respectfully towards her, “Alpha Satomi,” he replied in greeting. “I’m surprised to see you here.”  He was also surprised to see that she didn’t look like she had aged a day since he last saw her. 

“When your Emissary realized he had an unknown shapeshifter to deal with, he called me to see if I might be able to identify him.”

“And... can you?”

“Yes,” she walked past the small group of men to circle the mountain ash ring, her dark eyes taking in the stranger in the center, giving away nothing. “His name is Mel Berkow,” she said as she came around to rejoin Scott at his side.

The name meant nothing to the young man.  “Is he part of your pack?”

The older woman made a bit of a face, “No.  His kind do not run in packs.  They tend towards a more solitary existence.  Where werewolves form packs for safety and security, his move alone, keeping to very small family units.  Once the young are old enough, they strike out on their own.”

“You know what he is,” Deaton lifted a brow.

“Yes.  He is a Girtablilu.”

“Ah...” the Emissary’s countenance shifted to scholarly interest.

At the blank expressions of the others, Satomi elaborated, “A were-scorpion.”

Scott’s jaw dropped before he echoed, “A were-scorpion?”

“The Girtablilu are Sumerian in origin and extremely rare.” Deaton stepped closer to the circle to get a better look, now that he knew what he was looking at, “Generally, they are only violent when threatened.”

“I am being threatened!” Berkow shouted, “All of us are!  Those Sentinels are a threat to all of us!”

Scott protested, “You’re the one who’s attacking innocent people!”

“I’m trying to keep our kind safe!” His teeth receded to their more human appearance, “Those Sentinels are dangerous!  What do you think will happen when they discover us?  How safe do you think we’ll be?  Those innocent people will be worse than the Hunters!  It’ll be a witch hunt!” Berkow sneered as he raked his eyes over Scott, “And what do you care about those freaks anyway?  You’re not even here.”

The words stung, and he was sure that Derek and Satomi would hear the slight flip of his heart.  Scott couldn’t argue with the fact that he was away - that he hadn’t been in Beacon Hills longer than a few months since starting school, but... it didn’t mean he didn’t care about the territory.  He did!  He just... couldn’t be involved as much as he used to be.  Not right now anyway.  Scott swallowed hard and wondered if maybe he wasn’t the one who should be handling this.  Maybe Satomi should be doing all the talking...

“You think I’m the only one who feels this way?”

“He’s correct Scott,” Satomi sighed and for a moment the young Alpha thought she was agreeing to Berkow’s comment about him not being there... That she would tell him he didn’t have a right to speak up because he was away from Beacon Hills so much.  Instead, she continued, “There are others.  Others who have voiced concerns over the presence of Sentinels.”

Scott clenched his fists, frustrated with himself.  He forced himself to focus on what was going on here and now - His own insecurities were not going to help.  Whether he was out of town or not, this was his territory and he had made vows to keep it safe.  Everyone had encouraged him to go to school and create a life, because having everything revolve around Beacon Hills wasn’t healthy.  No one here was judging him... but himself... and maybe Mel Berkow, but he didn’t count.

If she sensed his inner turmoil, Satomi ignored it and said softly, “I’ve handled such concerns in my own pack.  They fear a repeat of what happened with the Benefactor... Of outsiders being given the right to kill our kind.  The memories are still fresh and the losses still sting.” Sadness washed over her for a few heartbeats before it receded, leaving her standing sure and proud once more. 

Scott was painfully aware that Satomi’s pack had suffered great losses due to the mercenaries unleashed by the Benefactor... Meredith...  Jordan shifted uncomfortably behind him, the deputy’s scent turning acrid - most likely with his own memories of his fellow officer attempting to burn him alive for money.  They still weren’t sure what supernatural creature Jordan was, but simply for what he might be, he’d been targeted for death.  Next to him, Derek stood stoically.  Scott didn’t have to think hard about what he had suffered because of what he and his family were. 

Derek, Jordan, Satomi and many others had been harmed in some way by humans who decided that supernatural creatures were dangerous, and better off dead.  Would the Sentinels listen to reason?  Or would they expose everything to the world and take part in what would, as Berkow said, be a witch hunt?

“We can’t just wait for them to do something,” Berkow said, emboldened by Satomi’s words, “Let me ask you something... If you had the chance to kill Hitler, before he came into power, would you?”

“What?” Scott’s mouth gaped open.  The very idea was too overwhelming to contemplate.

“This is our chance to do that!” Berkow said eagerly, “We can stop it before our own holocaust!  Because that’s what this will be if we don’t!”

He could see it.  The sense and logic of taking out the enemy before it comes into power to take you out, but...

Scott swallowed hard.  He knew he was young and naive about a lot of things - that he’d made mistakes in the past because he was trying to hold on to an ideal that didn’t work in real world situations.  Being a werewolf had been a hard enough adjustment, but he had tried to do what was right.  He still screwed up.  Sometimes in ways that made it hard for him to think about.  His eyes trailed over to Derek, remembering how betrayed the man had looked when he’d been made to bite Gerard Argent against his will.  The memory still curdled in his gut.

Then he became a True Alpha. 

If the bite had been the gift he didn’t want, then becoming a True Alpha was the surprise party he didn’t need.

The True Alpha... a shapeshifter who rises to the status of Alpha based solely on the strength and purity of character and sheer force of will...  True Alphas are rare, only appearing once in a 100 years...

How the hell was he supposed to live up to that?

Everyone always expected something of him, when all he had wanted to do was make it through high school with some decent grades and as few social fatalities as possible.

Scott took a deep breath and let it out.  He might be naive and he might make mistakes, but deep down, he knew, he couldn’t let hate and fear dictate what happened.  That was what Gerard Argent did.  He killed werewolves and other supernatural creatures who’d never harmed anyone or anything, just on the idea that they could or would.  How many innocent families had he destroyed like the Hales? 

“I get that you’re afraid,” he gazed earnestly at Berkow, “But this is madness!  Get them before they get you?  And just what do you think is going to happen if you actually kill a Sentinel or Guide?”

“We’d scare them off!” he snarled, “Get them to close up shop and leave Beacon Hills!”

“No you won’t!” Jordan shouted back. “Attacking any Recovery Center employees causes the SI to send Sentinels to investigate the crime since they police themselves!”

Berkow frowned, “What are you talking about?”

Scott rolled his eyes, “Whenever there is a crime that involves The Sentinels, they come in like the FBI and take over the investigation, pushing out local law enforcement.”

“And as they interrogate people, they’ll eventually get your name,” Derek added angrily, “When they come to question you, what will you do?  Under scrutiny, they might sense you aren’t human.  Maybe you’ll give yourself away...  Then, you’ll have accomplished exactly what you were afraid of happening!” he growled.

“What if they discover others accidentally through the investigation, or through you?” Scott asked, “We have no proof they wouldn’t report it to the government.”

“It will be the witch hunt you were so afraid of then,” Satomi joined in, her voice carrying the weight of her own history, “Pitchforks and torches.  People coming for us in the night to drag us from our homes.  If we’re lucky, perhaps they will only lock us away.” She closed her eyes for a moment, as if collecting herself before her dark eyes opened, “All because you wanted to ‘get them’ before they get you.”

“You... you have no proof it will go down that way.  You’re making that up,” Berkow was forcing bravado, but Scott could see the cracks in his thinking.  He was questioning his actions.

“If you can hear our heartbeats, you know we aren’t lying.  They’ll come and you’ll have endangered everyone.” The young man could feel Berkow’s doubt, that he was teetering.  With the others out there who thought like the were-scorpion, he had to make sure he handled this correctly.

Scott approached the circle, “You don’t want to believe us?  Fine.  But unprovoked violence, only causes more violence.” He sighed, “If you know me, like you say you do, then you know I have worked really hard to keep the peace here.” He drew up to his full height, “I can’t have those staying within my territory, under my protection, doing anything to damage the stability and peace...  Or putting others in danger by their actions.”

“Are you... banishing me?” the were-scorpion asked, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“Not unless you force me to.  This is a warning, to you and all the others.” He glanced at the adults in the room before meeting Berkow’s eyes, “Now, I’m willing to meet those that feel the same as you do.  I’ll explain the risks to them and tell them the same thing I’m telling you now.”

“And what’s that?”

“If you are unhappy with the Recovery Center being here in Beacon Hills, you are free to leave.  Violence of any kind against innocent people, will not be tolerated.”

The man smirked, “And you’re gonna enforce that?” His eyes traveled over Scott like he didn’t think he could do it.  It made his hackles rise, but Scott didn’t take the bait.

“My pack and I will help him enforce it,” Satomi stepped up beside Scott, “And I know of others who will do the same.”

“As do I,” Deaton added.  His brow lifted in curiosity, “Tell me, Mr. Berkow, are you willing to begin a war among your own kind?  Are your friends?  Because that is what will happen.”

The shifter drew back from the barrier, his eyes bouncing from the Emissary, to the True Alpha and then to Alpha Satomi.  Obviously he was trying to sense if they were bluffing, but they weren’t - At least Scott wasn’t.  The last thing he wanted was a war in Beacon Hills, but he’d go through it if necessary.

Derek stepped closer to Scott and he could feel the other werewolf’s strength of presence.  Even if the man wasn’t really a part of his pack, he knew Derek would have his back.  Having the support of Derek and the others was a comfort, and encouraging, considering most of the time, he felt like a kid playing at being an adult. 

After a while, Berkow finally said quietly, “Okay... I... understand.  I’ll tell the others, but we need guarantees.”

“What kind of guarantees?”

He frowned, “That you’ll keep us safe.”

Scott furrowed his brow, “I can’t promise that sort of thing.  Not to anyone.” There had been too many times that sort of promise had been broken because things happened that he couldn’t control.  When the man snorted in disdain, he quickly said, “But I can promise to do my best!  If anything happens, I’ll do everything in my power to keep everyone safe.” 

The man didn’t seem impressed, but he huffed out a sigh, “I guess that’ll have to do.”

With a nod from Scott, Deaton knelt down beside the circle of mountain ash.  With a swipe of his hands, the particles forming the line broke apart and scattered.  There was an immediate release of pressure in the room that Scott hadn’t realized was there, like his ears popping hours after having been swimming.  The were-scorpion took an experimental step forward and when it was clear he was actually free, Berkow walked up to face off against Scott, their eyes locking.  The younger man could feel the force of the shifter’s presence, his power pressing against him like a wall in a show of strength - the way a man will squeeze another man’s in a handshake. 

It was a pissing contest. 

Scott didn’t flinch or blink as he let his own power manifest itself in return.  While he may not always feel like an adult, he wasn’t about to let this guy try to intimidate him.  He’d had years of practice dealing with bullies from high school.

His eyes shifted to red and he unveiled the aura of a True Alpha to the larger man.

Stunned, eyes going round, Berkow stepped back in deference to the Alpha.  With what was probably grudging respect, he held out his hand, which Scott gratefully accepted, the red in his eyes bleeding out to the return of their natural dark brown.

“What about the Guide?”

“What do you mean?” Scott asked.

“Well...” the man crossed his arms, “We attacked that Guide.  You said that meant the SI would send people.  Aren’t we already screwed here?” There was regret and worry, laced with deep down fear in him.

“They won’t know, because as far as anyone is concerned, you and your friends didn’t attack her,” Jordan said with a smirk. “The police report will say your friends were involved in a failed mugging of Derek Hale.”

The shifter scoffed, “And what about the Guide?  She won’t say anything?”

“Actually, she won’t.  She’s agreed it would be for the best to keep the SI, out of this,” then he added with a raised brow, “for the time being.” Jordan let the words hang there before continuing, “As of right now, you are not mentioned in the report at all.”

“I... thank you,” he murmured in surprise. 

“It’s in the best interest of everyone that we keep this an isolated incident.  We’re very lucky that she’s a reasonable person,” Jordan crossed his arms.

“I’ll speak with the others...  Try to talk some sense into them,” Berkow assured, appearing to realize what he’d narrowly avoided happening.  He turned to Scott, “But you know, that will only go so far.”

“I’m just asking for patience and level-headed thinking.”

The man smirked, “That’s not something we’re all known for.”

Scott nodded in agreement, then honestly replied, “I’m asking for patience, but I’ll use force if necessary.”

Laughter burst out of the were-scorpion before his mouth broadened into a grin, “A good leader knows when both patience and force are necessary.”  His eyes went to Satomi, “Perhaps there is more to this Alpha than we thought.”

The older woman treated him to a serene smile in return, as if this was no surprise to her. 

To Scott he said, “I’m putting a lot of trust in you, Alpha McCall...  I’ll speak to the others and let you know their answer.”

“Allow me to see you out, Mr. Berkow,” Satomi offered, gesturing towards the door, “As you were unconscious upon arrival.”

The man’s expression grew a little sour as he glanced at Derek, then nodded and followed her out of the room.  When he was gone, the remaining four men collectively relaxed and the tension leaked out of the space. 

“Well,” Jordan broke the silence, “That could have gone worse.”

Scott gave a nervous chuckle in agreement.

Deaton placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled, “I think you handled that rather well.  All we can do now, is wait to see if Mr. Berkow keeps his word and the others listen to him.”

Derek was standing quietly, his gaze distant before he asked, “Did you mean what you said?”

“About what?”

“Will you really go to war against those supernaturals?  For the Sentinels?”

The weight of the question suddenly hit him.  It was one thing to say it - and he meant it when he told Berkow - but the reality of it really happening...?  Their fights previous to this with small groups and one on one would be nothing compared to a large battle, with innocents getting caught in the way.  It would get pretty ugly.  But...   No.  He would do it.  Because there was a larger picture here and it would go beyond Beacon Hills.  Feeling his conviction, he answered, “I’ll fight to keep people safe.  Sentinel or not.  I hope it won’t become a war, because the bigger this gets, the more likelihood that we’ll draw public attention, but I’ll do everything I can to stop them if I have to.”  His head tilted a bit, “Why?”

Derek shrugged, his expression hard to read, though the scent of him wasn’t anxious... “I just wanted to be sure that you understood the stakes.”

The young Alpha coughed out a humored scoff, “It’s Beacon Hills.  The stakes are always high.”

The Emissary sighed, “Well.  That’s one issue dealt with,” he nodded towards the door, “Now, for the other.”

When they entered Deaton’s office, the Sheriff and Samantha were sitting next to the desk.  Stilinski glanced up, taking in the sight of the men entering, “How’d it go?  Everyone in one piece?”

“Went as well as we could have hoped,” The Emissary answered as he walked in.

Leaning forward, Samantha’s heart rate picked up a bit, “Does that mean he isn’t going to try and hurt me again?”

Jordan offered her a reassuring smile, “I think we convinced him that it’ll be in his best interest to leave all the RC staff alone.”

She slumped back in her chair, “I... guess that’s good.”

“Don’t worry,” Scott waited till her gray eyes met his dark ones, “We’re going to do everything we can to make sure nothing happens to you or anyone at the Center...  At least from non-human threats.” He couldn’t speak for the humans in the anti-Sentinel group.

Samantha nodded before sitting up straight, “Since... you brought that up,” she gazed curiously at Derek, “Werewolves are real...”

Jordan moved to lean against a counter, “So are were-scorpions apparently.”

The Sheriff’s head perked up as he frowned, “Were-what now?”

“Were-scorpions... Our new friend, Mel Berkow is a were-scorpion.”

“A Girtablilu, to be exact,” Deaton corrected absently as he set about putting away the canisters of mountain ash.

“Lovely...” the Sheriff said flatly.

“Wait... what?” Samantha turned to the Sheriff, “You only told me about werewolves!” 

The man rubbed the back of his neck, wincing, “I didn’t have time to go into more detail, it’s... complicated.”

Scott approached Samantha carefully, “There’s a bit more to it than just werewolves.”

Her gray eyes scrutinized the young man, “The Sheriff said, your an Alpha.  Like... the werewolf in charge?”

He nodded and slowly shifted to his beta form, gauging her response so he could shift back quickly if necessary.  Samantha’s eyes widened as she sucked in a breath, her heartbeat kicking up in a human’s instinctual response, but the fear subsided as he remained unmoving to give her time to get used to it.  When he shifted back he gave her a small smile.

She breathed out, “Ok... yeah... I was sure what I saw was real, but it just didn’t seem real... You know?”

He chuckled, “Yeah, I know.  There are still some days I don’t believe it’s real.”

The young woman worried her lip for a moment, “So, now what?” she looked over the gathered men and Scott sensed her becoming anxious, the pace of her heartbeat quickening.  He didn’t understand why till he realized she was probably afraid they were going to threaten her or something.  After all, she was a woman alone in a room full of men - even without the supernatural part, the situation would make a woman nervous.

The Sheriff also picked up on it, because he reached over to take her hand, “Hey,” he said softly so she turned towards him, “Don’t worry.” He gave a self-depreciating smile, “You’re part of a very exclusive club now.  You just happened to join it the hard way.”

Jordan smirked, “I think that’s the only way you can join it,”

Scott saw the tension leave Samantha’s body as she gave a small laugh.  Her hands were trembling, but he was pleased to hear her heartbeat slow down.

“You know,” Deaton interjected, drawing everyone’s attention, “There is an upside to this.”

“There is?” The Alpha asked.

“If you take into account our theories regarding the Sentinel situation here in Beacon Hills, yes.  Consider that one of our problems with those theories was being unable to discuss them with someone who works at the Recovery Center...  Someone who might have some insight we did not have.” He gave a serene smile and nodded towards Samantha, “Now, we do.”

“Do you think it’s... safe for us to do that?” Jordan asked before casting a nervous glance to the Sheriff who was frowning at him.  “We still don’t really know... I m-mean.  Um.” He stammered to a halt under Stilinski’s glare.

“You still think I killed those people?” Samantha’s fingers curled into fists as she realized what the deputy was alluding to.

“I know you didn’t,” The Sheriff assured gently.

The picture became clearer for Scott now regarding the scene in the parking lot earlier, and what led to it.

If Samantha was the murderer of the victims they found in the Preserve, then including her in their little circle would only give her an edge and possibly give her more information to continue with whatever her plan was.  He shivered as the memory of Jennifer Blake, came unbidden to his mind - how she had manipulated everyone, particularly Derek - no wonder the man had confronted her...

Samantha’s hands were trembling again as she covered her face, “I don’t know how to convince you I didn’t do it.”

The stress of the day was getting to her, Scott could feel it vibrating from her, but there was no skip in her heart and no signs of a lie in her words.  He knelt down next to her and set a hand on her knee to draw her attention.  When she peeked out from between her fingers, he said earnestly, “I believe you.”

She gave a small tremulous smile in appreciation and whispered,“I’m sorry...” her hands dropped into her lap, “I’m really not handling this well.”

He grinned “Hey, you’re handling this pretty well, considering.” His Mom, hadn’t spoken to him for days after the first time she saw him shifted... and he thought of her as one of the strongest women he’d ever known. “This is a lot to handle, and everyone deals with it differently.”

Taking a moment, he turned over the situation in his mind.  Deaton was right.  Samantha could help them out... a lot.  However, even if she wasn’t the murderer, she could still report all of this to the Sentinels, putting them all in danger.  This was an opportunity, as much as it was a risk.

He glanced up at Stilinski.  The man was keeping his expression professional so he could be supportive of Samantha, but it was clear he trusted her.  Jordan wasn’t saying anything one way or the other - he probably didn’t want to get himself in more trouble with the Sheriff - however, it was obvious he wasn’t fully onboard with bringing the Guide into the inner circle.  Derek was...

Well, he was closed off.  He was back against the wall, his arms crossed and eyes firmly on the floor, holding himself so still, Scott could practically sense the creak of his bones.  Aware of the True Alpha’s attention, the werewolf lifted his hazel eyes up.  They gazed across the office till Derek gave a barely perceptible nod, giving his own opinion on the matter.

With a deep breath, Scott turned his head to look over his shoulder at Deaton.  “Go ahead.”

What was that saying?  Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

The Emissary stepped forward, like he already knew what Scott would say.  His lips lifted in a small smile, “Miss Nolan, what do you know about telluric currents?”