Archive of Our Own

"I have to say, you're not really what I expected."

"Uh, likewise?" Stiles was three illegal beers into an impromptu reunion celebration and it was possible he had missed something, he supposed. But he really didn't remember striking up any kind of conversation with an imposing pirate dude. "No offense because uh, you're a good looking guy and all, but you're not really my type and kind of on the old side and-" Stiles stopped as the man's eyebrow arched, his lone eye fixed on Stiles' face. "Not that you were hitting on me," Stiles added hastily. From the table he'd just left, Stiles heard the distinctive sound of Danny and Erica cackling. Stiles hoped they choked on their beer, seriously.

His visitor seemed unmoved, save that lifted eyebrow that managed to somehow be imposing. He pushed a manilla envelope in front of Stiles. "I think we have some matters to discuss, Mr. Stilinski."

Stiles pulled the envelope open. Inside were pictures of the red suited Spider-Man, swinging between buildings like a lunatic or crouching on roofs in suspiciously posed snapshots. Stiles had spent the last two years on NYU's campus. He lived in New York, which meant he saw pictures of Spider-Man every day. Last month he'd seen a tabloid spread of Spider-Man supposedly leaving a booty call with a Kardashian. Why anyone would show up in a bar in Beacon Hills with pictures of a guy dressed like a spider, Stiles had no idea.

Or he had no idea until he saw the file he was handed, which had a lot of his information attached to it. And then it all came clear. "Dude, you think I'm Spider-Man?" That was completely cool, for about five seconds until Stiles' brain caught up to why that might be an actual thing people believed. "DANNY!" he yelled. On the one hand, Stiles had to give the guy props for creative continuance of a prank war. On the other hand -- it was completely and undeniably Danny's fault that Stiles was a second away from being assaulted by FBI, or CIA, or Blackbeard the pirate. Whoever the guy was -- Stiles' incarceration and/or death was going to be Danny's fault. "You should feel so much guilt if I die," he said as Danny finally stopped laughing and moved within earshot.

Erica followed a step behind Danny, half her attention on the basketball game playing on the TV over the bar. Stiles would resent that, but Erica did have some past evidence that said Stiles' yelling might not mean anything more dire than he fell out of bed, so he decided not to. Before she got halfway across the bar though, a low unhappy growl settled in her throat and her attention was jerked squarely away from the Lakers to the guy with the eyepatch. It was loud enough that half the bar could probably hear her, and Stiles winced, shaking his head warningly at her as she reached for his arm to try to yank him further away. "It's okay," he said, mostly to try to keep her from outing the existence of werewolves to the entire bar. She looked unconvinced, and crowded between Stiles and his visitor, pushing him back, her eyes flashing ominously gold. "Who are you?" she demanded.

The man pursed his lips and then smiled. His eye flashed a deep red, which explained Erica's growling. "My name's Nick Fury."

Danny made a strangled sound, snatching the file and pictures from Stiles. Erica was already digging for her phone to call Derek. Another man -- balding and wearing a suit that Stiles was pretty sure cost more than a semester's tuition -- stepped up to Fury's shoulder and offered him a phone. Stiles caught a brief glimpse of a twitter feed before Fury twisted it out of his eye line. "There may have been some crossed wires," the suited guy said. He reached out with a startlingly efficient speed and grabbed Erica's cell away from her, making her teeth snap and her eyes flash. Suit guy seemed unimpressed.

"Uncross them," Fury ordered. He gestured toward Erica's confiscated phone as she started to crouch, gearing for a fight. The bar patrons were beginning to give the five of them a wide, wide berth. "Give it back to her, I know who she's calling." Suit nodded and disappeared again, surrendering the phone to an outraged Erica.

"I, uh, can explain," Stiles offered. "But maybe we should cut down on the growling and eye-changing and general aura of menace in, you know, public? Unless you're going to flashy-thing the whole place . . . that's not an option, is it?"

Typically, everyone ignored him. Stiles had actually expected that and was trying to stealthily maneuver his hand into his pocket to see if he could get hold of his own phone and blind-dial Scott. Not that he didn't think Derek would step up when Erica dialed him, but back-up was always good. He stopped talking when Fury cleared his throat meaningfully, though he still tried to reach for the phone.

"It's my fault. There was . . . it was a joke," Danny said. "Stiles isn't Spider-Man. It was payback for . . . it doesn't matter, I swear he doesn't know who Spider-Man is, and neither do I."

"I photoshopped Danny onto the Home Depot gay pride float, wearing nothing but the orange smock and sent it to . . . everyone," Stiles felt the need to explain. Danny had actually gone to Pride, along with Lydia and Jackson. Stiles would have gone with them, but he'd had a paper to finish. By all accounts though, Danny had definitely had pants on, and been no where near a float. Both were facts to which Stiles had eventually admitted to in a mass emailing, so really the retaliation was out of hand, even if it had been really unflattering smock. "And I'm not sure Spider-Man's not some elaborate government attempt to divert us from like, aliens and werewolves and giant liz-" he grunted as Erica's elbow landed firmly in his side.

She glared at him and then turned away, speaking low-voiced and urgent into the phone. Which just ensured that Danny and Stiles couldn't hear her, since Fury's werewolf ears would pick up every word.

Danny grimaced. "I, uh, might have falsified a few minor things to make it look like he was Spider-Man and then sent reporters to his dorm at three in the morning. Or I tried to. Apparently that happens a lot so they kind of ignored it and then we came back here for the break, and I forgot about it."

Fury's attention fixed on Danny. (Though when Stiles tried, again, to reach for his phone, he got the lifted eyebrow and a twitch of the guy's mouth that told him to stop trying, so he clearly wasn't ignoring Stiles as much as it seemed.) "You recognize my name, and have hacked records well enough to fool my tech people." Stiles wasn't sure, but he thought he felt Danny actually squirming as Fury spoke. "I think all of us should have a chat somewhere more private." Fury looked at Erica. "Invite your friend back to Mr. Stilinski's house. We'll talk there."

"This isn't your territory," Erica said flatly. "You have no right to show up and demand anything from our Pack." She moved to try to jerk Stiles away, and Stiles could not have expressed in words how very much he did not want to be a human tug of war rope. Fury shut her down by turning Stiles away with one hand and pushing Erica away with the other. It was an effortless, almost gentle gesture that was all the more unsettling for how very easy it was for the guy. Erica bit her lip but started to move forward again until Stiles shook his head for her not to.

"I'm visiting. And while I understand the sentiment -- they are human, not your Pack," Fury said evenly. He took Stiles by the elbow, steering him toward the door. Suit turned up again and did the same to Danny, leaving Erica to follow behind, backed off from trying to help by the obvious gun holsters both men were sporting and that easy show of Alpha strength. "No offense, Agent Coulson," Fury said dryly.

"None taken. I've never really wanted to belong to a Pack," Suit replied evenly. Stiles filed the name away alongside Pirate Nick Fury's and privately added the belittlement of their place in the Pack as part of his list of grievances.

"Would it help if I said I really hate Spider-Man? That guy shut down traffic around campus for two days once, leaving his stupid webs everywhere," Stiles said. "Are you FBI? CIA? Men in Black?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D.," Danny said beneath his breath, spelling it out. "SHIELD, not strictly government affiliated." Which did nothing to explain what the acronym was for.

Fury and Suit exchanged a look, and then Stiles was being gently manhandled into a stereotypical giant black SUV, Danny pushed in behind him. "So, this is clearly all your fault," Stiles said, just so it was clear.

"You started it," Danny shot back.

Well, there was that. Stiles couldn't argue that one, even if he'd been justified by Danny's lack of sympathy for Stiles' painfully awful roommate and the trials of trying to live with him. "You know who is going to be pissed about visiting one eyed Alphas who abduct people?" he asked instead.

"Your dad?" Danny said.

"Okay, who ELSE is going to be pissed?" Stiles amended. "Assuming they get there before we're waterboarded or shot or something." Crap, that might actually be an option. "They're not going to shoot us, are they?"

Danny didn't look at all certain, and was thus not even a little comforting. "Just shut up," he said instead. Stiles waited until the car was moving and stealthily managed to finally slide the phone from his pocket. In the front seat, Coulson hit a button on the overly-complex console and Stiles' phone promptly flatlined and winked offline. Danny's head thumped hard against the headrest.
***

When you spent years as Jackson's best friend, you got used to dealing with the fallout of impulse control events. Even before Jackson went looking for a Bite, he was the sort of friend you spent a lot of time wanting to shake. Danny was just accustomed to being the one who dealt with the fallout, not the one who caused it -- youthful forays into moderately stupid hacking notwithstanding. And despite three attempts on his part to explain exactly why he was freaking out to Stiles, Stiles still wasn't quite getting it. "He's a werewolf," Stiles said, as if Danny were thick. "It's not like we haven't dealt with those all the time. We ran off a whole Pack of Alphas once. He's just one! It was a prank. They'll get over it." Stiles didn't seem entirely convinced, but he was arguing the point anyway.

Danny ran a hand over his face. He was slouched into the worn sofa in Stiles' living room, where the pair of them had been unceremoniously dumped while armed men and women in well-fitted suits secured all the entrances and Fury conferred with Coulson in the kitchen. (Stiles had complained at length that they hadn't even let him get a can of soda.) "He's not JUST a werewolf. He's the director of SHIELD" Stiles looked dubious and Danny lowered his voice again -- pointless around a wolf, but he couldn't help it. "Super secret government spy agency."

"So how do you know about it?" Stiles asked.

Danny shrugged. "I just do."

"That is actually an excellent question, Mr. Stilinski," Fury said, stepping out from the kitchen. He held a can of Dr. Pepper in his hand which he offered to Stiles, who sniffed at it dubiously before setting it pointedly down on the end table. "Mr. Mahealani, where exactly did you hear about us?"

Danny grimaced. "Online," he tried to hedge. One look at Fury's face said that wasn't going to work. "I don't know where, it's just . . . it gets around. After the clean ups in New York and New Mexico, pictures started cropping up . . ." Fury stared and Danny sighed. "Anonymous has an employee roster. They've been leaking it around." It wasn't UNTRUE, it just wasn't exactly something passed commonly around. You had to know where to look and be interested in the superhuman and/or secret agencies and weird conspiracy theories. Which Danny wasn't, except that he kind of was and got caught in rabbit holes of following information strings. Like a wikipedia loop for classified information.

Fury perched on the coffee table, folding his hands together and leaning forward. "So you just happened upon information about us online, in between lolcats and blog posts?"

"Something like that," Danny said.

Stiles was staring at Fury with narrowed eyes. "It is just me, or is it really, really unsettling to hear this guy say 'lolcats'?" he asked.

Fury ignored Stiles. Danny pinched at Stiles' knee, but Stiles just mumbled a complaint and swatted Danny's hand away. "Our records show you're at MIT, Mr. Mahealani. And according to our recovery team currently at your dorm, your desktop checks out remarkably clean. Which tells me you're a bad liar, but very good at what you do. My people are very hard to fool, Mr. Mahealani, and you did so as a prank. Consider me both impressed and annoyed."

Danny was too busy being silently unhappy about the concept of unknown SHIELD agents pawing through his computer to say anything. (Please dear god let him have dumped off all the porn before he left.) Stiles, typically, didn't suffer the same problem. If there existed a situation that would shut Stiles up entirely, Danny had yet to see it. "Impressed enough to let us go? Or for you to get out of my house," Stiles asked.

"Not quite. And you, Mr. Stilinski, are at NYU pursuing a folklore degree? Some cursory looks into both of your backgrounds find peripheral involvement in a number of different violent incidents throughout your high school careers, but not a mark on permanent records. Scrupulously clean, one might even say. And I'm sitting here with an MIT computer hacker and the son of a Sheriff." Fury smiled. "It's not so much things not adding up as them adding up all too well, boys." He reached up with one hand and a younger Agent pressed a tablet into it. Fury held it up, showing a New York Post article dated that morning, pictures of Spider-Man splashed beneath the text. "I'm convinced you're not Spider-Man, Mr. Stilinski, as we have dozens of eyewitness reports seeing him in action this morning. I'm not convinced I shouldn't be looking into the situation in Beacon Hills more closely, or that I shouldn't be concerned with what the hell is going on here."

Fury turned the tablet, flicking to something else and then turning it back to Danny. Danny stiffened as he looked at a picture of Jackson, half unzipped in a body bag. "The dead are rising in Beacon Hills," Fury said, flicking the screen to another picture, this one Peter Hale. "Yet there's an impressive body count to this town, gentlemen. I have a vested interest in ensuring it's not a continuing pattern."

"Sir," Coulson said from the kitchen. "Incoming in under a minute."

Stiles' knee knocked hard into Danny's, and Danny looked at him, watching Stiles' eyes dart pointedly toward Fury along with the slightest jerk of his chin. Danny didn't get it, but if Stiles thought they should try to tackle the Alpha with a gun, Danny and him needed to have a long conversation about planning and why Stiles wasn't as good at it as he thought he was. Stiles' eyes darted again, and Danny followed the direction finally. It wasn't Fury, it was the table Fury was on.

Danny got it, there was a weapon under the table. It was still a rotten plan, and he shook his head faintly, scowling as Stiles' mouth set into a stubborn line.

Fury stood, and Stiles tensed. Danny prepared to grab him to stop him from doing something insane, but he didn't have to. The door to the house swung open and the Agents at the door stepped back, guns leveled, as Sheriff Stilinski stepped in, lifting his hands in surrender. "Stiles?" was the first thing he said.

"I'm good," Stiles answered instantly, before amending, "I mean not entirely, since I'm held hostage in my own house, but on a relative scale-"

"Got it, Stiles," the Sheriff interrupted. He gave Stiles a long, steady look. Danny didn't know Stiles' dad that well, but he was pretty confident that look was saying sit still and if you go for that gun/knife/whatever I have stashed under the table, so help me I will murder you. Which was pretty impressively communicative for a look. It made Danny decide he might be slightly in love with the man, since Stiles was hopefully more likely to listen to a fatherly glare than Danny telling him what to do. "Now that's covered, care to explain what you're doing armed, in my house, with my son?" he asked Fury.

"Sheriff Stilinski, your son is in no danger. We merely have some questions to ask," Fury said evenly, but there was a small smile playing around his mouth, as if he was starting to find all of this amusing. Danny didn't think that made it LESS likely he was about to be thrown into a secret jail cell somewhere, but at least the man wasn't angry.

"If those are the kind of questions you're asking with a badge behind them, then I suggest we make this more formal down at the station, and you show me who you're with," the Sheriff said.

"I'm not with the FBI, Sheriff."

"CIA?"

"I'm afraid not."

"NSA?"

"Closer, but you won't find any official clearance for this. I hesitate to say we're on a need to know basis-"

"Because no one says that, ever, unless they're in an action movie," Stiles muttered.

Fury's eye cut toward him and then back to his father. "But the sentiment applies, nonetheless," he finished. "Have a seat, we won't detain you any longer than necessary." The Sheriff stood his ground and Danny winced inwardly, seeing the familiar stubborn set to his jaw. Of all things to be genetic, it had to be Stiles' insane inability to let something go. "I'm afraid it's not a request, Sheriff," Fury said, nodding toward the agents surrounding him.

"Didn't think it was," the Sheriff said. "Stiles, down!"

Danny barely had time to process that sharp command before Stiles was moving, shoving Danny to the floor and falling atop him. Time seemed to slow down as the Sheriff flung something bright and flashing to the ground.

No. Wait. Time was actually slowing down. Fury and his people were half frozen in place, moving in barely-there inches, as if battling through invisible, thick sludge. Even Danny's fall to the floor slowed, chest meeting the worn rug bit by bit instead of all at once, the bright flare of light not even fading instantly the way it should. Magic, his brain supplied. Only Fury moved at full speed, dodging back and crouching, eye flashing red. Even the Sheriff was slowed and moving in fractions.

At the edges of his vision, Danny could see other people moving though, and they weren't slowed at all. Erica crashed through the front window, Isaac and Boyd down the stairs.

Time abruptly started moving normally again. Danny's breath left in a whoosh as he finished connecting with the floor, Stiles' weight crashing down atop him. Derek came in through the kitchen, Peter behind him with Coulson held firmly in front of him, Peter's claws at his throat.

Scott was already there, yanking Stiles off Danny. Jackson did the same with Danny as Boyd and Isaac manhandled the Agents closest to the Sheriff.

The young Agent who'd been closest to Fury went for a gun, but another shot went off first. Danny peered over Jackson's shoulder as Jackson pulled him away to see the source of the shot. Chris Argent's stood with a raised rifle in the doorway, bullet having imbedded itself into the wall next to Junior Agent without touching him. Fury growled again, straightening from his defensive crouch. "Argent," he said, look of disgust on his face, fingers lengthening into claws.

"I wouldn't," Allison said from the top of the stairs, bow drawn. She spun though, startled shout catching in her throat as another arrow whizzed in through the window. It flew a spare inch past her dad's head and beyond him to sink into the bicep of the arm Peter had wrapped around Coulson. Peter let go with a howl and Coulson was abruptly whirling out of his grip. Danny could barely see the man, he moved so quickly, but Peter was suddenly stumbling back, bent double over his gut.

Derek was already moving toward the ruckus, but Coulson stopped when Fury spoke up again. "Stand down," he said. "Barton, too."

Coulson nodded stiffly, stepping back and speaking seemingly into thin air. "Stand down at ready, Barton."

Fury spread his hands. "Derek Hale, I presume?" he said to Derek, who was still red-eyed with clawed fingers. He didn't answer, but Fury's mouth quirked again. "I knew your mother."

"Most Alphas did," Derek said flatly. "Check them over," he snapped over his shoulder.

Jackson's hands slid over Danny's chest and arms, nose buried against his neck as Jackson inhaled, sniffing for blood or drugs, probably. Beside him Stiles' yelped as Scott did the same thing to him, Stiles hands swatting wildly. "Jesus, Jacks, just ask me," Danny complained, shrugging off the touch, the too-close face that made him feel awkwardly uncomfortable, despite the tense situation.

Jackson spun Danny to face him. Danny refrained from pointing out that it was rougher handling than he'd had from the secret government agents. "You okay?" Jackson asked, voice terse and angry. Which wasn't much different from his usual tone, but Danny knew him well enough to read the concern behind it.

"Did they hurt you?" Scott asked, voice softer as Stiles batted his hands away again too.

"We're fine," Danny said, giving Jackson's elbow a quick, subtle squeeze of reassurance. "Confused, and annoyed, and thinking of putting together a powerpoint about why Stiles can't possibly be Spider-Man, but fine."

Jackson snorted, the impossibility of Stiles as a vigilante superhero obvious to him. "You hate powerpoint," he said instead.

"THAT'S what you take away from this?" Stiles asked him. He ignored Jackson flipping him off. "So our intimidating, mysterious, and vicious final ally is outside getting whoever shot that arrow, right?"

Danny didn't miss the small smile on Coulson's face. If they'd HAD a final Pack member outside, Danny wasn't sure he should bet on them against arrow guy. Wait, arrows- "Oh shit, that's Hawkeye, isn't it?" He groaned at the multiple blank looks directed at him as Stiles yelped seriously?.

"Avengers Hawkeye?" Boyd asked. The blank gazes turned his way and he shrugged. "Do you people never watch youtube?"

Boyd, Danny decided, was definitely his favorite today. Stiles was his least favorite. "Yes. They're SHIELD. SHIELD was in charge of the New York cleanup, after the aliens thing, and were poking around after the lizard thing . . . and they mistakenly think that Stiles is Spider-Man."

"And that Danny is Public Enemy Hacker Numero Uno," Stiles added.

"That one is less of a mistake, I believe," Fury said. Danny tried and failed not to be flattered.

"Your coming into my territory, taking my Pack, and thinking I would stand by was a bigger one," Derek said.

Danny rolled his eyes, and decided, again, that he loved the Sheriff a little bit when he caught him doing the same thing. "Not to mention invading the home of the local law enforcement and holding his son captive," the Sheriff said.

"Sheriff, I expected you to come, and planned to reassure you once I knew you weren't armed and aiming to shoot one of my junior agents. I banked on Hale showing up too. The Argent was a surprise. Last I heard, they didn't play nice with wolves." Fury's eye flickered toward Chris again. "But I'll tell you what. You stand your Pack down, I'll send my agents out on a break, and we can have an actual conversation." Fury faced Derek head on, and then ducked and canted his head in some slight gesture of respect that Danny couldn't make anything of, but seemed to relax Derek slightly. "It's your turf, Mr. Hale."

Derek stared, muscle in his jaw ticking. "No guns," he finally said.

Fury nodded toward Allison's dad, and then at Allison. "No Argents."

Derek grunted. "Deal." He looked over at Scott. "Take your girlfriend and her dad outside."

Scott grimaced, but let go of Stiles. Danny watched Allison stare him down, Scott's expression faintly pleading. Allison rolled her shoulder and then looked at her dad, finally nodding and vaulting over the stair railing and to the floor below, backing toward the door until she, her dad, and Scott vanished. One day, Danny was going to convince the people he was friends with that they didn't actually need to be constantly limber, overly-athletic drama queens, but today was not that day.

Danny would bet every penny he had that as soon as they were outside, Scott and the Argents were going to start looking for Hawkeye. He was equally sure that Fury knew as much too. "Coulson, escort them out," Fury said. Coulson and him exchanged a glance, and Coulson looked as unhappy as Scott had (or Danny thought he did, it was hard to tell, blank as he kept his expression), but nodded finally.

"Sorry about the arm," he said to Peter, who had a hand pressed to the bleeding wound.

"If you had to shoot someone, he was the best choice," Erica said. Derek glared her into silence again, but didn't actually argue. Jackson smirked. Lydia's frequent refusal to be in the same place as Peter Hale was a decided sore spot, and Danny didn't blame her. He managed to keep from smirking too, at least.

The agents were cleared out, and Derek sent Isaac and Erica outside too. At a look from Derek, Boyd took up Scott's abandoned spot at Stiles' side and the Sheriff crossed his arms, refusing to budge from the post he took up between Stiles and Fury -- much to Stiles' distress.

"Lets start with who exactly you are and what SHIELD is, Mr. Fury," the Sheriff said.

"SHIELD is an agency that works behind the scenes to handle situations for which traditional agencies are not equipped." Fury smiled slightly. "You're the human law in a town overrun by the supernatural, Sheriff Stilinski. I'd imagine you know all about trying to do a job you're not equipped to do through no fault of your own. Our world is in peril from aliens, demi-beings, supernatural forces, and our own technology at all times. My job is to create and maintain a line of defense against those forces. To do so, we work with extraordinary people to do an extraordinary job."

"They cleaned up New York, post-aliens," Danny told the Sheriff again. "Or at least the sensitive parts they didn't want anyone to know." Rumor was some of the tech had still gotten out into the community, though. He decided not to mention that. "And work with uhhh . . . special people. Like he said."

"Like Spider-Man," Stiles said. "Okay. I get it. But Spider-Man isn't home, so you're good to go."

"Spider-Man might not be here. But you, Mr. Hale, are. You, and your growing Pack, a former Kanima, the Argents, Alan Deaton. The Alpha Pack were drawn here, the Rosana coven . . . Spider-Man was our priority, but this town is becoming a beacon . . . if you'll forgive the phrasing." From behind Danny, Jackson groaned. Danny elbowed him hard enough to make him grunt and got a poke to the ribs for his effort. "There are always reasons for these things, Mr. Hale. When places become a hub of activity -- be it alien, supernatural, or mundane -- trouble invariably follows."

"Anything that happens in Beacon Hills, we can handle," Derek said.

"With most of your Pack scattering back to school after the break, and no solid plan or line of defense or communication?" Fury looked dubious. "Considering the circumstances, you've done very well . . . after some early mishaps."

"What circumstances?" The Sheriff asked.

"The circumstances where a beta pup ended up an Alpha," Peter said, dropping his hand from the arm that had stopped bleeding. "Born Alphas are unbearably snobby about upstarts."

"I would say understandably cautious. That's why the Alpha Pack began. Most betas who take on the mantle lose control and need to be put down," Fury said.

"Derek's a good Alpha . . . I mean he needed training up, and sometimes he has less common sense than a meat mallet, and the worst possible instincts about people, and zero ability to use his feeling words, but eventually he - Ow!" Stiles looked at Boyd with a betrayed scowl, rubbing at an apparently pinched arm.

"Derek doesn't need any more help. Whatever help he needs, he gets from us. Whatever we need, we get from him. We're a family," Boyd said firmly.

"Something I doubt a lone Alpha in charge of a herd of armed humans knows much about," Peter said. He was one to talk, but it was a valid point, so Danny let it go.

Fury smiled, flashing too many teeth for Danny to be comfortable with. "And the risen dead murderer has a better idea?" he asked, almost amiable, save for the teeth. It was also a valid point, Danny decided. Mostly because Alphas other than Derek were still pretty threatening when they got toothy.

"So what, this is you warning me?" Derek asked. "Warning received. You can leave."

"A friendly warning, yes, but more than that -- an invitation." Fury looked directly at Danny. Danny tried not to appear excited as his mind immediately raced into visions of sitting behind a computer screen, playing Oracle for Captain America. Judging by Jackson's growl and the hand that tightened on his shoulder, he didn't succeed that well. "Your people seem to have some significant skills. With training, they could be an asset, as could you."

"No," Derek said.

"Erm," Danny said. Derek's eyes swung toward him and Danny squirmed slightly. "There might be some interest," he said, avoiding Derek and Jackson's eyes. He could practically feel disapproving outrage radiating from Jackson's body behind him.

Fury nodded. "Discuss it. With your permission, we'll be in town for a few days, taking the temperature of things around here." Derek scowled more deeply and Fury lifted a hand. "I keep the conventions, Mr. Hale. Provided nothing that threatens the fate of the world happens in Beacon Hills, I won't return without invitation. But if we find something, all bets are off. I don't back down to courtesy when the world hangs in the balance."

"And the world hangs in the balance that often, does it?" the Sheriff asked.

"More often than you would think, Sheriff," Fury said.

"Actually, that doesn't surprise me," the Sheriff answered. "Once your son comes to you with werewolves and magic, the world stops being strange enough to rock you."

Fury laughed. "I've shocked older, more world-weary men than you, Sheriff."

"I'll take your word for it. And now -- you can get the hell out of my house and away from my son," the Sheriff said.

Fury gave Derek that same small nod. He made a show of moving his hands slowly, and then reached into the pocket of his long black jacket, pulling out a sleek phone of a make Danny didn't immediately recognize. He held it out toward Danny. Danny shrugged off Jackson's grip to step up and take it. "The only programmed number is ours. Use it, if you need to," Fury told him.

Danny slipped the phone into his pocket for the moment and let Jackson tug him back again. He was going to have a man-to-wolf conversation with everyone later and discuss the yanking around thing though, he resolved.

Fury turned to go. But he and Derek froze suddenly, in eerie synchronicity. From outside a voice Danny hadn't heard called out. "Problem, boss. Incoming." Danny remembered the tilt of Coulson's head when he'd spoken to nothing, the way the agents had all done the same thing. Earpieces, he figured, invisible inserts. Which meant the man was speaking aloud for their benefit, not his people's.

"How many?" Derek demanded.

"Too many," the voice answered.

"Not ours," Fury said.

"Or ours," the Sheriff answered.

From outside, Danny heard the thud of feet as agents and Pack started rushing back toward the house. None of them got there before the first shot hit, and the house was suddenly thrown into chaos.
***

Living in Beacon Hills, you picked up a lot of useful skills. If you hung out around Lydia, you learned advanced math and latin (if she didn't think you were wasting your time) and how to get out of the way when she wanted something. You learned how to set broken limbs and stitch up fragile human skin from Scott and his mom, and how to practice on a living person from Stiles (who had never learned Lydia's "get out of the way" lesson that well.) You learned how to communicate without speaking from Derek, who never got any better with words, and how to use your words well from Danny, who could manage not only Jackson but even, occasionally, Lydia. You learned how to stalk from Peter (the hunting type, not the creepy kind, though an argument could be made for that too), and how to pounce from Erica, who was faster on her feet than any of them, and how to calm down a frantic innocent bystander from Isaac, who eventually somehow wound up being the most earnestly non-intimidating of them.

Basically, everyone had a lesson to teach. But the thing Boyd really took away from it all was that when it all went to hell, you soldiered through and stuck by your people. Unfortunately, it was a lesson he'd had to put into practice way too many times over the last three years.

The Stilinski house was literally exploding in chaos. Small concussive bombs made of sleek metal were coming in through the windows and throwing them all off their feet, leaving Boyd's ears ringing with the force and clatter. There were agents running back in and voices he didn't know calling out through the gunfire, but Boyd pushed himself back to his feet and narrowed his focus to what mattered -- his people.

Stiles was already climbing to his feet, and Boyd reached for him, eyes searching out Derek first. Derek was crouched down, evading a spray of bullets and snarling. "Get them," he shouted to Boyd. Another bomb came in, exploding harmlessly but close enough that Boyd's ears rang, and he couldn't make out anything else anyone was saying.

He and Derek worked well like this though, and that was all Boyd needed to hear. He knew who Derek meant already. They were all wolves, except for Stiles and Danny. Getting them out was move one.

A quick assessment saw that Jackson had already flattened himself over Danny, and was yanking him up, hauling him bodily toward the kitchen and the back door there. Jackson had Danny covered, so Boyd reached for Stiles.

Stiles flung himself out of reach, flailing long limbs and shaking his head. Boyd couldn't hear him over the ringing in his ears, but he could make out the gesture well enough, the way he pointed to a slightly stunned Sheriff who was already pulling himself to his feet and reaching for something under the cracked coffee table. There was blood on his face and arm, but Boyd couldn't pick up the too-rich scent of something deep and fatal. (He hated that he knew what that smelled like, but he did.) He still couldn't hear Stiles, but the go he was mouthing was clear enough, and Stiles was steady as he climbed back to his feet and crouched behind the sofa, look on his face frantic.

Boyd made the call and went for the older Stilinski model. He got a cuff to the shoulder and a shouted protest in his ear for his trouble, but Boyd ignored him, heading for the door behind Jackson with the Sheriff cradled in his arms, Boyd trying to cover as much of him as he could while still running. There were trees lining the backyard and a path into the woods. They had the best chance for a run that way.

His ears were starting to clear as he hit the back steps and he spared a second to spin back around, find Erica and Isaac. Isaac was healing something on his side and Erica was tucked under the stairs, looking for a path -- but they were safe. Boyd caught her eye and motioned to Stiles, and she nodded. Boyd knew his Pack, and he trusted her to take care of it.

Once outside an arrow whizzed past him. Boyd followed its path and saw a man in body armor and a visor fall, arrow shot into the narrow space between the top of the armor and the start of the helmet, directly in the throat. "Clear that way," Allison shouted, and he could only just make out the sound of her voice, his ears beginning to heal and clear, as he followed Jackson out of the fray, the Sheriff's fists beating a painful tattoo into his shoulder that Boyd ignored, save to mutter a half-hearted apology.

He ran a half mile behind Jackson and out of range of the sound of gunfire. "Jackson," he called. "Far enough." He dropped the Sheriff to the ground. "You okay?"

"The hell I am. My SON is back there! I'm-"

"I know," Boyd interrupted. "The road's that way. If you can run for it go, flag someone down. Get safe so I don't have to babysit you and can go back and help him."

The Sheriff froze, mouth pulling down at the corners and eyes darting in a way that was weirdly reminiscent of Stiles. Finally he nodded stiffly.

Jackson was less circumspect. He dumped Danny to the ground and gripped his shoulders. "Stay here," he ordered. He looked at Boyd. "I'll stay with them."

"No. Go. They need you. We're good," Danny said. "Go get the assholes shooting the place up." He looked back at the Sheriff and then added firmly. "Get Stiles." Jackson looked like he wanted to argue, but Danny sealed it by adding. "Lydia was on her way. She could show up in the middle of this."

Jackson's glare said he was aware that was blatant manipulation, but it still worked since he turned. Boyd clapped Danny on the shoulder, giving him a look that Boyd hoped Danny took as keep him with you. Danny nodded and Boyd turned, Jackson falling in behind him as they sprinted back.

They stopped well short of the house perimeter and split apart, tracking the scent of gunpowder and strangers. Boyd spun at a faint whisper of sound from above him. A thud of feet behind him came a second later. Boyd swiped with a clawed hand as he turned again, but didn't hit the guy. He backed out of reach, a bow in his hand and a quiver on his back. Boyd recognized him and stopped. "I've got this end if anyone tries to follow where you took them. Get to the west side, go in from there, get them out of the house, we're prepping an exit vehicle," Hawkeye said.

He didn't bother to wait for an answer before he was ducking away, arrow notched and aimed away from Boyd. "Betas 3 and 5 are back in action, Coulson. Sent them around the west end. Argents have three down. Count's at 20 standing still, more incoming from unknown," Boyd heard him say as he vanished.

Boyd had enemies enough without distrusting someone who was, nominally, on the same side. He took the guy at his word and went to help his friends.

A stray bullet caught him in the shoulder as he ran from the door, but Boyd pushed the pain aside. It was a graze, it would heal quickly. In the house there were three more downed men in visors and armor, and a hole blown in the west wall. Coulson had somehow gotten back inside, and had Fury up against the stairs with Erica and Isaac and Stiles. Stiles was . . . wrapped up in something. Wound all around him was some kind of white netting that Erica's claws were doing no damage to, with Stiles plainly unconscious since he wasn't flailing to try to free himself. There was more of the stuff strewn across the living room floor, as if they'd fired and missed, and Derek hovered over them all. Only Peter was separate, ducked against the wall beside the open hole, peering out.

"Scott?" Boyd asked.

"Went after the leader with the Argents, according to them," Derek said flatly with a nod toward Coulson and Fury. "Danny? The Sheriff?"

"Clear," Boyd answered. "Jackson and their guys are covering outside," Boyd said. "We need to run for it."

"They've got major explosives. They wanted to extract first, but the orders just went up to blow their way in and take whoever survives," Coulson said, tapping his ear. "Our agents can keep them occupied enough to get to the cars outside. All but one is out of commission, but my people have a clear path to that one. We keep your netted human and the injured in the middle and run for the car, then anyone that isn't in it scatters."

"I don't need protecting. Get yourself and them out," Fury bit out.

He looked sweaty and he wasn't healing. Boyd knew wolfsbane when he saw it, and judged that the guy DID need protecting. He just wasn't a priority for Boyd. "You in the middle too. We heal. You don't," he said to Coulson, who didn't argue but also didn't answer.

Derek growled, but nodded. He started to gather up Stiles, but then stopped, pushing him toward Erica instead. "If we go down, run with him," he ordered.

As plans went, Boyd thought this sucked, but there wasn't much of an option. Coulson held up a finger when they'd organized their order of go. He was in the middle, but only because he was half holding up Fury. "Count us down, Hawkeye. We go on my signal." Peter moved suddenly, switching from Boyd's left to his right, the side with his injured shoulder. Peter shrugged at Boyd's raised eyebrow and said nothing.

They couldn't hear the countdown, but they didn't really need it, or Coulson's terse now, since from outside there came the sound of gunfire and the twang of a bowstring, and then a loud explosion and wisps of smoke, obscuring the path beside the front porch. They ran for it.

With bullets flying and smoke and shouting, the brief run to the black SUV seemed longer than it was, but they made it. Erica shoved Stiles in first and doved in after him. Boyd helped Coulson push Fury into the back seat and let the other man leap for the front seat. He crouched then, turning to look. "Scott, Allison, and Jackson," he said to Derek.

"I'll get them. Go," Derek said. Boyd ignored him, and Derek growled, but gave in. "Isaac, Peter go with Erica. Protect Stiles and go get the Sheriff and Danny." Isaac hesitated, but gave in to orders that Peter didn't protest at all while Boyd and Derek both sniffed the air, trying to pick up the scent of Pack through the chaos.

Their Pack found them first. Scott sprinted into view, dragging a mutinous and bleeding Jackson. "Allison's down the drive, we can pick her-"

Scott stopped mid-sentence as a sleek and expensive SUV pulled down the dirt drive toward the house. He caught the scent before Boyd, picking Jackson up entirely and started sprinting for the car. Boyd caught on to who was driving a second later. The Sheriff and Danny, driving right back into the midst of the battle. He'd be angry, but the extra wheels were handy, especially since they were closer to Allison, who Boyd saw running that way. He ran for the car, Derek beside him. From the corner of his eye Boyd saw the door of the moving SUV Coulson was driving open, Erica and Isaac bursting out with Stiles in Isaac's arms.

Peter's eyes locked with Derek's from the SUV's backseat, and then he bowed his head in silent acknowledgement, staying where he was and yanking the door shut again. Erica and Isaac sped for the Sheriff's car, all of them scrambling in as the Sheriff spun the car with a spray of gravel and dirt. Allison was struggling to climb back out, calling for her dad. Boyd spotted him, running with a slight limp for the other SUV and caught at Allison, dragging her back in. "He's good, he's clear," he told her, and she subsided. Boyd caught a much closer flash of black leather from the corner of his eye and called out. "Pop the back and slow down."

Hawkeye vaulted into the back as soon as the Sheriff obeyed, and drew his bow as soon as he was in the SUV. The quiver on his back whirred, mechanisms moving, and then an arrow flew out. A cloud of smoke went up from where the arrow hit the crowd, obscuring the crowd of armored men Boyd made out before the smoke hid them. The smoke was green and strangely heavy this time, dissipating quickly. It was enough to spoil any answering shot, though.

"Who the hell is THAT?" the Sheriff asked.

"Hawkeye," Danny said. Boyd pulled the back door closed as Hawkeye dragged his legs inside. They were all sandwiched in, Boyd twisted to try to fit, sitting sideways across the cargo area.

"There was more room in the other ride," he told Hawkeye.

The man smiled and shrugged. "Orders were to go with the party van."

Behind them, there was a sudden loud boom that rocked along the dirt road and up through the SUV, rattling Boyd's teeth. He watched a rising spray of dingy smoke and a bright flare of flame mark the spot where the house had stood and probably no longer did.

The Sheriff groaned. Boyd refrained from asking him about homeowner's insurance. "Where'd you get the ride?" he asked instead.

Danny twisted in the front seat to look at him (though he was half staring at Hawkeye), and looked at the Sheriff appreciatively. "The Sheriff carjacked a guy," he said.

"Extenuating circumstances!" the Sheriff snapped. "Where are we going, and what the hell is wrong with my son? What is that stuff?"

Boyd leaned forward, tugging at the white netting and then frowning, feeling the stickiness and the unnatural strength. "A web," he said, taking in the criss-crossed pattern and thinking of why they'd been here to begin with.

Hawkeye leaned in to look and frowned. "Good eye," he said. "SHIELD has some of that stuff in the labs. Not quite the same, but close. This is like a cheap knockoff. Ours came from the real source."

They hit paved road and the Sheriff put the hammer down as the lot of them began to try to shuffle into some semblance of not lying all over one another. Danny twisted around to try to get a look at the healing Jackson who crawled stiffly out of Scott's lap to curl into the floor space between the front and middle seats. Allison shifted into Scott's lap instead and Erica into Isaac's as Derek pulled the still-unconscious Stiles across his knees to look at the webbing entangling him. Now that he had a clear scent, Boyd could pick up a trace of something acrid and medical on Stiles -- whatever tranq they'd shot him with was potent, but his heartbeat was steady and his breathing deep and regular. They hadn't been trying to kill him.

"Where are we going?" Boyd asked Derek quietly.

Derek shot Hawkeye a look and then tipped his head back, sighing. "The train," he said succinctly.

Boyd considered that. It was as good a place as any. If they had any intel at all on the Pack, then they'd know where everyone lived. The train was where they trained, fittingly enough, but no one had ever stumbled in aside from Pack and associates and over the years Danny and Lydia had made it reasonably secure. Giving it away to Hawkeye wasn't the best notion, but he'd saved their asses. Boyd was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Everyone switch off your phones if you have them, just in case," Danny ordered. "Someone text Lydia the all clear signal first though."

"That means you," Boyd told Jackson, who groaned but nodded, reaching for his phone as everyone else's shut off with a chorus of beeps and tones. Hawkeye didn't move, and Boyd guessed secret agent archers already were off the grids they didn't want to be on. "So what should we call you?" he asked.

"Hawkeye works," he said.

Boyd frowned. "Doesn't seem fair. You know our names."

"Fair's not really an issue," he said. But he quirked another of those barely there smiles. "Clint."

"Guess you know everybody," Boyd told him.

He nodded and the car fell silent until Allison sat up suddenly, elbowing Scott in the process, and asked in a slightly quavery rush. "Can I see your bow?"

Clint started to laugh as Scott scowled and the Sheriff snorted in amusement from the front seat.

Boyd rolled his eyes and shifted his position again, draping his arm along the back of the bench seat Erica and Isaac leaned against. He slouched down so the roof wasn't bending his spine into as painful a curve and when Erica's hand fell into his, he curled his fingers tight around hers. Isaac's closed over both of theirs a moment later and they stayed that way as Danny began to give the Sheriff directions from the front seat. "Your people going to follow us?" he asked Clint.

Clint shook his head. "Nope. We've got a clearance team coming in to clean up. They'll deploy from our fallback safehouse, not your turf."

"The whole town is our turf," Isaac said sharply.

"Not today, chief," Clint said, nodding back to the still-visible column of smoke behind them. "Neighborhood just got trashed. We're just helping clean out the squatters."

"After you brought them to town in the first place," Isaac said. Boyd uncurled his fingers to brush against the underside of Isaac's wrist before gripping Erica's hand again. Isaac subsided and Allison made a sound of vaguely excited interest as Hawkeye leaned in and showed her his bow without handing it over. Isaac's other hand touched Boyd's healing shoulder, and Boyd gave him a quick smile to say it was fine. Isaac didn't look all that reassured.
***

"Ow, damnit! Could you leave SOME of the skin behind?" Stiles complained.

"If you would hold still, maybe," Derek gritted out. Danny winced on Stiles' behalf, watching Derek, Boyd, and Erica peel back the netting bit by laborious bit. After twenty minutes of trying to break the stuff they'd given up, instead finding the net's opening and carefully working it off. It wouldn't break, but it would pull apart from itself with enough effort and care. It had been easier to work at before Stiles regained consciousness, but Danny figured that putting him out again was probably not an option. At least not yet.

"I AM," Stiles argued.

He wasn't, but Danny didn't bother arguing. He was a little sorry the Sheriff had left to check in at the Station though, since he probably had more history persuading Stiles to sit still and stop talking than anyone else. Danny just tuned out the low-grade complaining coming from him and Derek and Erica. He'd pulled out the laptop he (thankfully) had stashed away in the train and used it to get in touch with Lydia and make sure she was safe. So far, she was fine -- just pissed. Hawkeye had set out to check the perimeter practically as soon as they pulled up, and since no one was letting him wander around alone, Scott and Allison had gone with him.

Recent events had pretty much ensured Danny wasn't about to feel safe anywhere at the moment, but they were as well off as they could be. He wished that was a little more comforting than it actually was. "Lydia coming here?" Isaac asked, dropping onto the bench in front of him and leaning in to read the computer screen upside down.

"Not yet," Danny said.

"What are we doing about bow guy? Dropping him off?" Isaac asked.

Danny shrugged, glancing over at Derek and then back at the screen. "Letting Allison adopt him?"

"Or you," Isaac said with a sly grin. "He's got nice arms. Little old for you, but your type."

Danny pretended he didn't feel his cheeks heating. "Shut up." It wasn't every damn day you met a superhero, that was all. And Danny had watched pretty extensive (and classified) coverage of the New York invasion -- he didn't care what anyone said, the Avengers were definitely superheroes. "If he's got a line to SHIELD, I'll set up a video, and we can figure out what to do with them, and check on Peter and Allison's dad."

"My dad's fine," Allison said, as she came back in, Scott on her heels and Clint beside her. Danny didn't ask how she was so damn certain of that. He'd met Allison's dad too -- the guy was about as tough as you could get while still being human. Danny had been discreetly trying to find youtube footage centered more squarely on Hawkeye, but he was the least visible in pretty much every shot he'd found. The best he'd found was some grainy camera-phone shots from someone hiding in a building a half block away while all of them stood around a fallen Iron Man. And even in that one, Hulk was blocking Hawkeye half the time at the angle it was shot from. He'd gotten a good enough look to be completely sure it was definitely Hawkeye, though. "My dad knows that Alpha," Allison added.

"Should probably call him Fury. He doesn't like to advertise the werewolf part. Gets people twitchy," Clint said. He glanced over his shoulder, less at ease in the sunken station than he had been even cramped into the back of an SUV. From across the room Stiles yelped again and Clint looked over, frowning and pulling himself up to perch on the back of a bench. "Got that phone Fury gave you, right? Give him a call, Coulson'll set up your link."

Danny frowned. He didn't know the tech the phone ran on . . . but they had a SHIELD member here already. So if it gave away location, it wasn't anything they weren't going to know anyway. "Yeah, okay." He looked at the screen where another brief text from Lydia flashed, demanding answers. "Jacks, talk to your girlfriend," he said, twisting around to poke gently at the half-asleep Jackson behind him, handing over the laptop. "Convince her not to come running here yet. We might need someone mobile." The werewolves had all been cleaned up and their wounds looked at, but Jackson's wound had been deeper and taken longer to heal.

Jackson sat up carefully, testing his newly healed side and then took the computer. "Like Jackson ever wears the pants enough to tell Lydia to do anything," Isaac said. Jackson flipped him off and Isaac just grinned wider. "Between Danny and Lyd, do you even get to pick out your own underwear?" he teased.

Danny scowled at him and Isaac relented as Jackson's pale skin flushed red and he growled with a flash of too-blue eyes. Clint leaned back. "This is why I didn't go to college," he remarked. "Too many hormones on the loose."

"You worked with TONY STARK," Stiles called, waving one newly freed hand for emphasis. Boyd caught it and pinned it back down. "What? I meant he should be used to hormones! Hasn't that guy nailed like every A-Lister in Hollywood?"

"Most of the B-Listers, too," Clint said cheerfully. "If you believe the tabloids." He nodded to Danny. "Call the boss, kid."

Danny would resent being called a kid, if he wasn't too busy fighting down the grin that wanted to pop up every time he actually spoke to Hawkeye. He must not have been doing a very good job, since Allison gave him a beaming, conspirator's smile. "His quiver switches arrowheads," she told Danny. As if that were somehow more impressive than anything else. She had some seriously warped priorities. "That green smoke? Low grade radiation to make the assholes attacking us more trackable."

"Who WAS that, anyway?" Scott asked, brown eyes flickering suspiciously from Hawkeye to Allison.

"Russian, or at least Russian-led," Clint said. "Never got a clear shot of the man in charge, but I heard the orders going out."

"Would you know him if you saw him?" Scott asked, a little too carefully.

Clint paused. "Maybe, maybe not. But I could have given a better description than 'tall, Russian-speaking, good with a rifle' and go through the databases to try to match anyone likely."

Scott nodded, fidgeting slightly and giving Danny a significant look. It was the same kind of pointed look Stiles had given Danny earlier. Danny had a feeling if they'd been giving those looks to one another, they'd have understood perfectly and instantly. Danny, however, had no clue. And Clint was looking suspicious. Danny shrugged slightly at Scott to say he didn't get it. Scott sighed and then reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and handing it to Danny. "I haven't turned it back on to see, but during the fight I heard the SHIELD people talking about getting a visual. That shot Boyd took to the shoulder was from the leader, with a rifle. I got a shot with the camera before I knocked him down." He looked rueful, rubbing beneath his eye, though whatever bruise had been there was already healed over. "He hits like a freight train, but wasn't that interested in me."

Clint's eyebrows climbed and he smiled. "Quick thinking," he said. Jackson snorted derisively and Danny reached to smack him on the back of the head lightly before he could say anything else.

Danny switched the phone on and rapidly shut down everything non-essential. He nabbed the laptop back from Jackson and dug into the bag he'd kept it in for the cords, pulling off all the pictures on it to upload and then shutting it back down again. He ended up with about 80 pictures of Allison and Stiles, and one blurry shot of a man holding a rifle.

Clint moved from his perch to sink down next to Danny instead, shoulder against his and arm brushing Danny's when he moved. Danny resolutely refused to acknowledge the flutter in his stomach from the contact. He was not a teenager with a crush. He zoomed the picture in as best he could and Clint studied it. "Get on the phone to Fury, and get this shot to them," he said. "They can clean it up better than you can with an out of date back up laptop."

They could probably do it better than Danny could even with his main computer set up. Lydia and Stiles were better than Danny was with pictures. (As proved by Stiles' and his damn photoshop skills.) He didn't say that though, just reached for the phone Fury had given him, calling the lone number programmed in. "Does SHIELD make these?"

Clint shook his head, straightening. "Used to do their own. We've got an outside contractor, these days."

Danny thought about that, and then grinned. He guessed that rumor about Stark Industries going into mobile tech was true after all. Maybe he should invest or something. Or get Jackson to, since Danny didn't have Jackson's deep pockets. He sobered as the phone connected, Fury's voice ringing clearly over the line. "Mr. Mahealani, I was wondering when you'd check in."

"Yeah, it took us a while to get clear and patched up," Danny said. "I've got a laptop that's reasonably secure. I can set up a video link. We've got some info to share."

"Danny," Derek said, suddenly standing at his elbow.

Danny started, but realized what was being asked immediately. "Our people with you -- are they safe?"

"Mr. Hale and Mr. Argent are fine. Mr. Hale has elected to stay with us for the time being, and Mr. Argent was dropped off and is currently with the Sheriff." Fury paused and then added dryly. "Frankly, we're not eager to keep Hale too long, either."

Derek's mouth twitched up in a slight smile. Danny rolled his eyes. "We'd like to verify that when the link is up, just in case. Hawkeye is clear, too. He's with us."

"We're aware of his whereabouts," Fury said. Danny turned to Clint who winked. "We'll set up for a video link now."

"What about you, erm, Sir? You were injured. Did you have wolfsbane on hand? We have-"

"It's been taken care of, Mr. Mahealani. Set up the feed and relay the information needed through Hawkeye, and hand him the phone for the moment, if you would," Fury told him.

Danny hesitated, but it wasn't like they wouldn't hear what was being said, anyway. He passed the phone to Clint. "Yeah boss?"

From the other end of the line, Fury's voice came. "Agent, you'll be departing to go and pick up some reinforcements and bring them up to speed. They're arriving shortly. Will we need to arrange transport?"

"Nope. I'll handle it."

"Your hosts have been helpful, be careful not to give away their fallback position," Fury said. "We might have been the impetus, but I don't think it escaped anyone's attention that we weren't the primary target."

Danny . . . had no idea what they were talking about. He'd missed most of the fight once Jackson had carried him off. Danny had mostly been busy trying not to be sick to his stomach from the jarring ride. "Who was the target?"

Clint lifted his eyebrows, but it was Scott who answered. "They were shooting bullets at most of us. Stiles was the only one who got netted and tranquilized."

Allison blinked. "Oh . . . they were after Stiles?" Her dark brows drew together and then she caught on. "Oh!"

Danny caught on the same time she did, and promptly felt about twenty times more guilty than he had before. It was Boyd who said it though. "They didn't want Stiles, they wanted Spider-Man."

So basically, Danny had almost got them all killed. And had gotten Stiles' house demolished. He swallowed hard, avoiding looking at anyone. "They could have just wanted me, you know. I'm a valuable commodity in some circles," Stiles said.

Boyd snorted and went back to peeling off one of the last sections of netting still holding Stiles down. "Sure you are," Erica said, giving Stiles a consoling pat to the shoulder.

"They were trying to capture Spider-Man with his own webbing?" Isaac asked. "Isn't that stupid?"

"It's not exactly the same stuff, but think it's close. They probably tried to synthesize it from a sample they took, same as we did. It didn't work when SHIELD's big brains tried it, either. Might be why they're after him in the first place -- figure out how to make the real thing. There's some component to it SHIELD can't quite replicate. Probably the same for whoever was after him," Clint pointed out.

"We prefer not to speculate as to motivation at this time," Fury said evenly. Even Danny, who didn't know him at all, could read that comment as a pointed attempt to tell Hawkeye to shut up.

Clint rolled his eyes, seemingly unmoved. A moment later Fury was replaced by Coulson, who began to reel off connection details for Danny to set up the video connection with. After a brief bout of fiddling, he was looking at cam feed of Coulson, sitting behind a monitor, Fury off to the side a few feet behind. Their location was hard to tell from just the background, but from the dingy walls and general lack of furniture, Danny was guessing a warehouse. It made sense, where else were you going to hide a half dozen black SUV's and an Alpha with an eyepatch and a gun? "Scott managed to get a picture of the guy who was shooting. I'm sending it your way now," Danny told Coulson, putting aside his guilt for the moment, though he could feel Isaac and Jackson's eyes digging into him with too much perception. Isaac noticed things like that. Jackson usually had to have emotions explained via chart for him to get it, but he'd known Danny a long time. Sometimes lately, he seemed to even catch on to things Danny wished he wouldn't.

Fury drifted over to the monitor, and both of them stared at the screen as Coulson presumably opened the image. "Russian?" Fury asked.

Coulson's hands were moving, and a moment later he nodded. "Director," he said, gesturing toward the screen.

"Spoke Russian, anyway," Clint affirmed.

"We have an ID affirmed. It's a good thing we called in those reinforcements," Fury said flatly.

"Anyone want to share with us?" Scott asked, arms crossing over his chest.

"It's not something you're classified to know, Mr. McCall. And I don't generally give much of a damn about that, but in this case -- it wouldn't do you any good anyway. It's not an operative you would recognize But when we've determined the facts for sure, we'll share with you," Fury said.

Derek growled softly. Isaac glanced at him and then sighed, standing and giving Derek a light push. "Come on, Boyd and Erica are almost done unwrapping Spider-Man," he said, dragging Derek over to where Stiles was miraculously quiet as he listened in to the conversation.

"Mr. Mahealani, given time is a factor and you've shown some skill, I'm sending you some files we have yet to decrypt," Coulson said. His mouth quirked slightly. "If you get them open, you might know more than us, temporarily."

Danny grinned, and almost managed to not be hyper aware of the hand Hawkeye dropped to his shoulder before he turned away. "I'm off to find a ride," he said. "See you kids soon." Danny nodded back to him, glad both to have a break from distracting superhero presence, and something to focus on so he didn't wallow in feeling like an asshole.

"I'll come with," Allison offered, before Derek could tell anyone to tag along.

"Me too," Scott said, instant and sulky sounding.

"First one to hot-wire one of the cars in the lot down the street gets to pick the music," Clint said.

Scott blinked. "Hot-wire?" he asked weakly.

Danny looked up from the screen long enough to watch them leave. Jackson did the same, and then grunted. "That guy's a dick."

"Pot calling the kettle a dick, coming from you," Danny pointed out dryly. He looked over at Jackson. "You okay?" Jackson healed quickly, but Danny never did get used to the sight of him bleeding and in pain. Whenever it happened, Danny's mind went right back to the lacrosse field and believing Jackson was dead. It'd torn his whole world apart, right up until he found out it wasn't true. Then his world had gotten ripped right up again when he found out werewolves were real. He'd gotten used to most of it, but watching Jackson bleed was never going to be old hat.

"Good as new," Jackson said. "You think he's going to drag back more of those agent assholes here?"

"Probably going to take them to Fury. It doesn't really matter though --this place is officially not a secret, now that he knows -- oh SHIT," Danny's brain caught up with him suddenly, and he groaned loudly.

Jackson sat up, brow furrowing in concern. "What? Danny, what's wrong?" he asked, voice dropping, hand curling protectively around Danny's bicep, like he was preparing to yank him to safety. Again.

Danny thudded his head against the back of the bench. "He's going to go get REINFORCEMENTS."

"So?"

Danny didn't understand how the importance of this wasn't coming through to everyone else. (Never mind he'd only realized five seconds ago.) "He's HAWKEYE. Who backs up HAWKEYE?"

Jackson blinked, and then he rolled his eyes, not bothering to answer. His hand stayed curled around Danny's arm and Danny was too busy to think too much about it, for the moment.

Across the room Stiles suddenly bolted to his feet. "He's getting the AVENGERS!" he announced, voice rising on the word and turning it into a squeak. Stiles' legs, only just freed from the webbing, weren't ready for that kind of sudden movement and dropped out from beneath him like a wobbly foal, sending him sprawling into Boyd, who caught him with a long suffering sigh.

Derek was staring at Stiles like he was insane, but Erica started to laugh. "Dibs on hugging Captain America," she said.

Isaac smirked. "Only if you get there first."

"I hate all of you," Jackson grumbled.
***

Scott hadn't gotten all the way through it yet, so he couldn't say for sure, but he was pretty positive this day was going to end up in the top ten list of his worst days ever. He'd been attacked by kanima, werewolves, his girlfriend's family, had to sit in a six hour weekend detention with Mr. Harris, been forced to rescue Stiles from the clutches of a witch coven, and been subjected to a conversation about confused sexuality with Coach Finstock at various points in the last three years, so it was a pretty high bar to reach. But almost getting blown up and then watching Allison watch an Avenger's ass was rapidly pushing it up the ranks.

Plus he'd been in Stiles' house when it was attacked and blown up, and there was no way his mom wasn't at the hospital now, preparing for possible incoming burn and blast victims and freaking herself out when she heard WHERE the explosion came from. Scott had asked Stiles' dad to let her know he was okay -- but it wouldn't help much. Worrying was pretty much his mom's second job ever since she found out about the werewolf stuff. Her medical training and access to hospital supplies had saved their butts lots of times, but Scott hated how far she'd gotten sucked in, too. Sometimes he thought he should have gone away to school too, instead of staying close to home, but he didn't think he could handle it. Plus it wasn't like there'd been a lot of schools he could get into, and being at home meant his mom could help him with his classes and things, and Allison was here. He couldn't have made himself leave anyway.

But still. This day sucked a lot.

The Sheriff of the town was currently working on their side, so Scott knew nothing was going to come of it -- but he still felt like he wanted to duck down and hide when Hawkeye nonchalantly popped the locks on a Honda CRV with a battered rear bumper and slid in behind the wheel. Clint pulled a knife and leaned down while Allison watched avidly and a second later the car started and he grinned triumphantly.

Scott slid into the back seat, not bothering to try to claim the front. Allison would want it, and he tried to resolutely keep himself from being jealous about it, but failed.

The car doors slammed shut and Allison surprised him by sliding into the back seat beside him instead, her knee knocking against his and a wide smile flashing across her face. She reached to squeeze his thigh and then looked out the window, watching to see if anyone noticed them rolling out of the lot in their stolen car. No one seemed to care, and Scott relaxed as they hit the main roads. "So this guy at Stiles' house, you know who he is, right?" he asked Clint.

Hawkeye glanced in the rearview at them, and then shrugged. "I've got a pretty good idea."

Scott frowned, thinking back to the battle and then looking at Clint. "When exactly did that communicator in your ear stop working?" If it even had.

Allison leaned forward, peering at Hawkeye's ears. "I don't see anything," she said.

"You wouldn't," Clint said. "Not in right now, and hard to spot anyway. It got cut off on the getaway ride, just in case someone was tuned in to the channel."

Or they were communicating secretly and didn't want Scott and Allison and everyone else to know. "Where are we meeting your people?" Scott asked.

"Little patch not far off the main airstrip, or what passes for one around here," Clint glanced at him again and laughed. "If you're wondering how I knew that, no one told me, kid. SHIELD has fallback positions and entry points established for every mission, even ones that were supposed to be routine recruiting runs."

"We're not kids, you know," Allison said. "And until you guys got here, we took care of this town just fine."

Scott usually was the first one to admit when they could use a little help, and he'd been out in the middle of that attack, so he knew just how badly they would have lost if it had been just them without any fall backs or agents outside with guns, distracting some of them. But he decided not to point that out just now. He just slid his hand into Allison's and smiled when her strong fingers squeezed his tight.

"Soon as we clear out and take them with us, it's all yours again," Clint said.

"Except for all the monitoring and showing up unannounced and uninvited and keeping tabs on all of us," Allison said, smiling but flat-voiced. Scott felt a pang of guilt for his flaring jealousy and a wash of love for his girlfriend. The latter he was used to -- the former not really.

Clint just laughed, fingers fishing around behind the visor until he found a pair of battered sunglasses. He slipped them on. "You're in a werewolf town and you're from a ten-generation family of hunters that's suddenly working alongside them. Tabs were already there, you just didn't know about it."

That didn't make Scott feel any better. Allison just looked thoughtful, settling in against his side and falling quiet as they drove. Her eyes marked the road passing outside though, aware of where they were going even if she didn't let on.

The drive was maybe thirty minutes, but it felt longer. He'd rolled the windows down just enough to let the air and the scents it carried sift in to him, and by the time the car rolled to a stop, Scott wasn't at all surprised to see a familiar figure waiting for them, looking utterly unconcerned by the two SUV's and the men and women in sleek suits who stood a few feet away from her. He'd caught her scent already.

Allison didn't look surprised either, but then Lydia was her best friend. If anyone knew that Lydia would go where she wanted, when she wanted, it was Allison. "Everything okay?" Scott asked her.

"Peachy," Lydia said sweetly. "This is Agent Sitwell. He's been kind enough to lend me his phone."

"Lend is a strong word," the Agent muttered.

Lydia ignored him, sharp eyes looking carefully over Allison and then Scott. "Jackson?" she asked, when she was sure neither of them were bleeding, Scott assumed.

"Safe, healed up when we left. Danny's with him," Allison said.

Lydia already knew that, Scott could tell, because if not there would have been follow ups. It seemed like she was asking for show. Hawkeye tossed the keys casually to another Agent and clapped a hand to Sitwell's shoulder.

Scott tipped his head up, catching the faint whirring sound of rotors and turning to face the sound, Clint doing the same a few beats later. His mouth quirked up in a half smile. "Always on time," he said.

Lydia moved to stand on Allison's other side, her arm looping through Allison's. It was a friendly, comforting touch, but it was also enough of a grip to keep Allison from reaching for her bow all that easily, too. Both girls' hair blew in the breeze as a large helicopter hovered above the ground, lowering slowly. Clint stepped up as it opened, a redhead in black climbing out first, followed by a tall blond figure in red, white, and blue.

Scott grinned. Stiles was going to kill him, because that was most definitely Captain America, and the Black Widow and Scott was about to meet them. Allison squeezed his arm hard and Scott turned his grin on her, seeing her looking just as thrilled while Lydia rolled her eyes.

So maybe it made this day just a tiny bit better.

Hawkeye and the Black Widow traded a long look that Scott was pretty sure somehow brought her entirely up to speed without a single word. Captain America looked them over and frowned. Over the sound of the helicopter's slowing rotors, Scott could pick out his voice. "They're just kids," he said.

The Black Widow looked them over and then shrugged. "How old were you when you enlisted again?" she asked.

He had the grace to look slightly abashed. He stepped up, offering Scott a broad hand. "I'm Steve," he offered. Scott took his hand and he offered it to Allison and then Lydia in turn.

Clint motioned to them in turn. "Scott, Allison Argent, and the mysterious Lydia, apparently," he introduced for them. "They were just going back to their den." He pointed to the Black Widow. "Natasha, since she wouldn't have told you that." Natasha gave him a dark glare but nodded to them.

Lydia smiled sweetly. "I don't think so."

"I'm sorry?" Steve asked. It was hard to tell with the helmet thing, but Scott thought his eyebrows were probably climbing. He understood. He had that reaction to Lydia and Allison a lot.

"I don't think we're going back anywhere yet. I think we're coming with you, for the time being. I had a chat with Director Fury," Lydia said evenly. She handed Sitwell back his phone.

"I think it's best if you stay-"

"I don't think it is," Scott cut in. He squirmed a little, feeling self conscious for cutting off Captain America, but went on. "Whatever you're planning, we should be involved. It's our home, and our Pack -- people -- that are being targeted. You can't just send us to our rooms while the grown ups talk. Someone is coming after us. We have a right to know, so we can protect our own."

Steve tilted his head, faint smile on his face. He traded a look with Natasha, who shrugged minutely. It was Clint who gave in first though. "Tough kids, and they'll just sniff us out if we try to ditch them, might as well take them along," he said.

"We're not kids," Allison told him again.

"Look like it from where I'm standing," Hawkeye said.

"So stand somewhere else," Scott told him, annoyed by the dismisal. All three Avengers smiled a little, and Sitwell rolled his eyes.

Lydia cleared her throat delicately. "Besides, we have information you need."

Natasha lifted an eyebrow. "And what's that?"

"Take us where we want to go, and then maybe we'll share," Lydia answered.

Natasha seemed to weigh that, her and Lydia staring for a long moment before she relaxed, shrugging that same slight gesture of agreement. "What's the sit-rep on the targets?" she asked Hawkeye.

"Russian led," he said succinctly. Clint and Natasha traded another of those long, speaking looks before she looked away with a nod, and he added. "Military training, but not exclusively. Heavy firepower. High tech equipment."

"The Winter Soldier. Orders routed through a hub in Florida, actually. Presumably it's an inherited code name, since there's records referencing him that go back thirty years," Lydia said. Scott turned to stare at her and she shrugged, and then held up her own phone. "Danny," she told him. "As I told Agent Sitwell -- you need our help. You just don't realize it."

Captain America was frowning but Hawkeye was staring at Natasha. She stood stone-still and seemingly unaffected, but with the helicopter rotors finally still, Scott could hear the tell-tale quickened beat of her heart and smell something sad and shocked from her. She said nothing for a long moment. Clint's fingers brushed over her wrist, quick enough that Scott almost missed it. It broke her stillness though and she lifted her chin. "We're wasting time."

Clint frowned, but didn't stop her as she headed for one of the waiting SUV's. "Fury know all that?" he asked Lydia.

"Agent Coulson and I have been chatting," she said. "But we haven't gotten into the details."

Clint shook his head and then waved toward the cars. "Ladies and werewolves first."

Lydia and Allison climbed into the front seat as Natasha slid behind the wheel, leaving Scott in the back between Captain America and Hawkeye. As the doors to the SUV shut, Lydia twisted in her seat, holding up her phone and snapping a picture. "For Stiles," she said.

Scott smiled widely for the second shot and pointed at Steve, winking as the flash went off. Steve seemed used to it. Scott wondered what the odds were of him getting Steve's email address, just so he could gloat to Stiles and Danny, but still give them something so they didn't feel too badly. "You have any more intel that will help us out here?" Steve asked Lydia.

"Some. My team is still parsing the data," Lydia said. "It's slower when we have to maintain a secure line so secret government agencies don't make use of our information and then hang us out to dry."

Steve frowned. "Miss-"

"Lydia," she said, sounding more like an order than a correction.

Steve nodded, but still didn't use the name. "I promise you, we wouldn't leave you in any danger."

Because he was Captain America. Of course he wouldn't. Scott managed not to say that though as Lydia smiled again and then shrugged her slim shoulder.

The silence in the car started to seem oppressive, and Scott looked from Clint to Hawkeye and then abruptly asked. "What do aliens smell like?" Lydia and Allison both turned to give him looks and he spread his hands. "I was just wondering!"

Steve shook his head and Clint laughed. It was Natasha who said "Ozone, mostly. But sniffing them wasn't high priority."

Damnit. Scott had been wondering about that since he first saw the TV footage. Maybe Fury would know.
***

The thing that appealed to Lydia the most about werewolves was their rigid social structure. There was always a hierarchy, and once established they kept to it. Not actually being a werewolf had been a slight impediment at first, but she'd worked around it. She knew at any given moment just who she had to convince to have the rest fall in line, and who was needed to win an argument, since with a pack it wasn't the majority that mattered so much as who agreed with her. When there was a hierarchy, Lydia could always figure out how to climb to the top, claws or no. And from the top, she could effectively plan and manage the rest of the Pack.

Being sidelined while they all faced near-death experiences and forced to sit by while a government agency with a sizable suit budget took over her carefully established structure was not in the plan, and she didn't appreciate it.

But when she stepped into the appropriated space SHIELD had taken over in the middle of her town, Lydia decided that invasive or no -- there might be some merit to be had. Between Danny, Stiles, and Lydia's MIT connections, they had no shortage of tech available to them, and they made good use of it. But they didn't have holographic tables (MIT still only had four of those for student use), or a mobile surveillance wall that tapped into every feed within a hundred miles. They also didn't have enough firepower to mow down half the town, but Lydia thought that they could do without that. They had claws and fangs and magic. It usually got the job done. One day with guns in town and they had Jackson shot already -- the guns could go when SHIELD did. The rest could stay.

The SHIELD agents and costumed weirdos were bringing one another up to speed in terse acronyms and Lydia kept aware of it, but mostly ignored it in favor of scanning everything in the room. Peter was hovering close to the equipment, and Lydia arched a brow at him. He nodded minutely, silent acknowledgement that he'd seen most of it, and knew what it was. Peter had his uses. He wasn't on the same level as she or Danny were, but he was savvy enough to keep up on the rare occasions she was forced to make use of his talents.

The Alpha director was moving a little stiffly still, but she wouldn't have known how badly he'd been hurt if not for Danny's informing her and the bloodstains on his coat. He and Hawkeye both kept giving Natasha quick looks of assessment when they thought no one was looking, but Lydia picked up on it. On a computer screen to Fury's right, she saw Danny's face. He lifted a hand to wave at her when she moved into sight of the cam. He disappeared a second later, and then reappeared, hauling a cranky Jackson into frame. He was scowling at her, but it softened into an almost smile just for a second.

"Ms. Martin, I presume?" Fury asked.

Lydia blew Jackson a kiss and then waved at him to move and let Danny take over. "I take it you can use that as a display?" she asked, nodding toward the holographic table. At Fury's nod, Lydia picked up her phone, texting Send front half of the file to Danny. She saw him nod when the text came in. The man who'd identified himself as Agent Coulson stepped up, and a moment later the files Danny had decrypted were flashing up onto the display. "We found a pattern. Largely kills at long range, by sniper rifle. Those date back years. But recently the data indicates names that have gone missing, not deceased. And the order codes changed slightly." Lydia pointed to the deployment codes they'd found buried in various coded messages. "Similar, but not the same."

"I'm not, umm . . . expert or anything, but my guess is a change of allegiance. Same agent, but the one sending him out changed," Danny said over the cam. "All his targets are identified by the same three codes though."

"Kill, survey, or retain," Clint said. "What about the gamma signature shot I left, can the detectors pick up anything about where they fell back to?"

"Tracked them for about a quarter mile, and then they must have had a way to clean the signal, since they vanished," Coulson said.

Steve frowned. "Is that even possible?"

Clint shrugged. "Sure. We just don't know how."

Allison frowned, studying the target code numbers. "The recent ones are at the bottom? So there's. . ."

"53 kills," Steve said.

Scott rubbed his hand over his arm. "He's killed 53 people?"

"Impressive body count," Peter said from where he lounged, separate from the rest of them. Lydia had things to say to him, but not now, and for the moment she ignored him.

"He's been deployed to, at least. Whether or not he succeeded we don't know. There's no success or failure data that we've found yet," Danny said.

Lydia nodded. "But the dates are of interest. The earliest is clearly almost 30 years ago. But the visual pulled can't be much older than that."

"A different agent, using the same code name?" Steve asked slowly.

"No," Natasha said flatly. "He's the same." She looked at Lydia. "Show me the visual."

Lydia nodded to Danny and a moment later she was flicking through to the images. "This is what Scott snapped on his camera," she told him. "Stiles matched it up with a security cam in town to give us a view without the tacky mask." The two images were side by side, both grainy but the security cam was much clearer and lacked the face mask, giving a shot of a handsome young man in his late twenties, as far as Lydia could tell.

Lydia watched Natasha, and she saw the woman's jaw tense. But outwardly, all she did was cross her arms. "His name is James. Code named The Winter Soldier." Hawkeye caught her eye and she evaded looking fully at him, voice even. "I trained with him, briefly."

"The Red Room?" Fury asked. Natasha nodded again and Fury sighed. "We suspected there was a connection, but couldn't pin it down. Bring up the profile we have of him, Agent Coulson."

"Wait," Lydia looked away from Coulson to Steve when he spoke. Captain America wasn't a hard man to read, even with the ridiculous helmet covering half of his face. But Lydia couldn't even begin to understand what she was seeing. It looked . . . a little like anguish. She was reminded uncomfortably of being in a warehouse while Jackson died in front of her. It made her want to look away, but she couldn't. She had to be aware of all of the factors going into this -- it was the only way to keep her family safe. "That's a picture of a man you saw today?" Steve asked Scott.

Scott squinted at the display, making sure even though he already knew the answer. (It was a habit that made Lydia insane. Second guessing was so pointless.) "Yeah," he finally said. "I didn't get a great shot of his face, but that's him."

Steve stepped in closer, hand lifting as if he wanted to touch the display. Natasha stayed where she was, but her head cocked. "You know him, Cap?"

"Bucky," Steve said, soft and broken.

The room went still, as if everyone was holding their breath at the same time. Lydia looked around and realized that everyone seemed to know something she didn't, even Peter. She scowled, looking over at Danny's face on the screen, but he just shook his head. "Who is Bucky, exactly?" Lydia asked carefully.

From behind Danny, Lydia heard the distinctive sound of Stiles choking. "How have you never read a comic? You are a math geek!" he demanded, face appearing over Danny's shoulder until Danny shoved him away.

The rest of the room ignored him, and Agent Coulson frowned. "Captain, that's not possible. Private Barnes was-"

"I know what I see. If that's not Bucky, it's his clone," Steve said.

"That's actually maybe more likely," Clint muttered.

Natasha nudged an elbow into his side quickly, and tossed her hair back over her shoulder, eyes tracing the lines of the image. "His name is James," she said. "Or it was when I knew him."

"It is. He goes by Bucky," Steve said. "How is he still alive? Is this why you called us in? Without telling me?" he whirled around to face the SHIELD members of the room, and Lydia took the opportunity to look at Danny, eyebrows lifted in question. He carefully mouthed tell you later.

Coulson lifted his hands, his usually blank expression softening into appeasement. "Easy, Captain. We knew nothing about a link between Barnes and The Winter Soldier."

"But you knew Bucky was alive?" Steve demanded. The contrast between the smiling, calm man Lydia had met on the landing strip and the angry, authoritative one she was looking at now was startling. Lydia changed her mental hierarchy to move him upward. "You knew, and you kept it to yourself? How many secrets is SHIELD hiding? How many times do you think we'll still come running when we don't have the full story?"

"Take it easy, Cap. Nobody knew," Clint said, shifting from where he stood beside Natasha to take a space slightly closer to Coulson.

"No. We didn't know. That doesn't mean no one else did," Natasha said, voice flat and even and eyes on the silent Fury.

Fury cleared his throat. "No one knew, Captain, not for sure. We harbored suspicions that Barnes might have survived, after we uncovered further data on Schmidt's experiments. He hadn't surfaced in the decades you were under the ice, so we counted him dead." Fury paused and then admitted stiffly. "We didn't want to get your hopes up on a longshot, Captain."

"That wasn't your call to make," Natasha told him.

"Tash-" Clint started to say.

She cut him off. "It wasn't. There are some things that need to be known, no matter how much they hurt. It matters. Some things have to matter, Clint."

Lydia looked from one to the other. Allison was shifting uneasily from foot to foot while Scott looked like he wanted to dive between their new allies and the Alpha he didn't trust. Or maybe like he wanted to offer one of them a hug of comfort. Lydia mostly wanted the focus of the room to swing back to what was important -- getting armed assassins away from her people. "What we have on him, we can send directly to you," Lydia said to Natasha. "Not to be cruel, but I don't care who he is, so long as he and his guns and his friends are no longer here."

Natasha's mouth quirked up in a slight smile. "You know what? Direct is refreshing today."

Steve's eyes were locked on Fury, tension in every line of his strong body. It wasn't a bad look on him, Lydia couldn't help but notice. He looked away finally, jaw tight, but nodded to Lydia. "Thank you."

Werewolf packs made sense. This group didn't. There was an Alpha, but he wasn't quite their Alpha. And Lydia didn't trust agencies with acronyms and no interest in revealing the rules they played by. She rearranged her mental list again. They'd need help, but she wasn't about to trust the wolf who didn't even tell his own people everything. THAT was a habit it had taken too much time and effort to break her own wolves of. She had no interest in repeating the experience.

Fury she didn't trust. Their ability to communicate with one another, Lydia had a very low opinion of. But usefulness could be cherry picked, and she wasn't above admitting that they could use a little help. And that look on Steve's face -- what she could see of it -- and the brittle note in Natasha's voice . . . it rang bells Lydia preferred not to hear chime in her memory very often.

Lydia looked up at the sudden boom of what sounded like an incoming jet. Scott was abruptly between her and the door, Allison beside her with a drawn bow and agents swarming toward the sound, Peter snarling behind her shoulder. Lydia's eyes went toward Steve, still locked in a staring context with Fury, and then to Natasha, who sighed but looked unworried. Lydia took her cue from that and put a staying hand on Allison's arm. Steve looked away finally, mouth quirking up in a humorless smile.

Fury turned away too eye rolling. "Always an entrance," he said.

Hawkeye grinned at Coulson, whose rolling eyes mimicked his bosses', but he called out, "stand down, it's a friendly."

The doors flew open then, a figure in red and gold metal striding through, his face unmasked. "Always last to the party," Tony Stark said. He looked like he'd just come from a press conference, and Lydia had absolutely no trouble recognizing him. She wouldn't have had any trouble even if he wasn't dressed up in a robo-suit.

"Holy shit, Iron Man!" Scott blurted.

"Holy shit, seriously? Tony Stark?" Danny echoed. "Turn the screen, let me see!" Behind him Stiles' face was crowding in, and Jackson's hovered at the edge.

Lydia ignored all of them because she was staring at Tony Stark. Former CEO of Stark Industries, where she was planning to apply for internship next year. Robotics and engineering weren't her fields, but they sponsored some of the best theoretical math programs in the world, and Tony Stark's fingerprints were all over them. She clasped her hands, trying to fight back the smile that wanted to plaster itself across her face.

"She has a poster of that asshole in her dorm," Jackson muttered.

Lydia spared a moment to shoot a death glare at the screen, and he shut up, wandering away with a decided pout as Stiles railed at Scott until he obediently walked over to turn the cam where the rest of the pack could see.

"If you kept in contact Stark, you might have been here at the right time for once," Fury said.

"But then I would have to answer my phone when you call, and I have a strict policy against doing that," Tony answered. "You people are aware that your little field trip to podunk California was monitored and followed, right? Basically whatever bad guy you're having a slumber party to discuss, you pretty much issued an invitation to follow you here in the first place." Tony pointed at Fury. "This is why I advised against you trying to outsource parts of your intelligence network to non-me people, by the by. A - it doesn't actually keep me from knowing anything, and B - everyone else is less smart than I am. That's just a fact." His eyes flickered around the room, lingering on Lydia, Allison and Scott. "So who wants to fill me in? Fury and Agent Phil, hands down, I'm asking the grown ups. Or you three, if you want to give it a go." He waved vaguely toward Lydia.

Lydia managed not to bounce, reminding herself that she was not nine years old again and meeting Michelle Kwan for the first time. "A dead Russian assassin followed Director Fury here, tried to kill my Pack and in the process blew up a house, assaulted the town sheriff, shot the Director and my boyfriend, and made us have to hide in our own town," Lydia said evenly, proud of her steady voice.

"He's not Russian," Steve said.

"He was," Natasha said.

"He's not dead, either, so there's room for everyone to be wrong," Clint said.

"I'm not wrong. I'm just forced to operate from an incomplete data set," Lydia said. "I don't do wrong."

"I think I like you," Tony said.

The grin Lydia had been fighting broke through, and Allison snickered beside her. "I have files," Lydia said, pointing at the display.

"Let me at them," Tony said, walking over.

"Tony STARK and CAPTAIN AMERICA," Danny said despairingly.

Lydia watched Tony began to rapidly flick information around the display and then gave in, bouncing just once and flashing a discreet little thumbs up at the cam Scott was now obligingly pointing toward where Lydia stood beside Tony so Danny and Stiles could see.

The attention of the room at large was focused mostly on Tony, and Lydia took the opportunity to glance behind her, catching Peter's eye. Peter paced silently across the room to stand at her elbow. Lydia slipped a small slip of paper into his hand without looking at him again. He backed off again a moment later. Lydia listened, but pretended not to when a few minutes later Peter casually told Fury that he thought he'd take that offered escort back to his Pack, now. There were no other wolves in the detail, and none of the Avengers would be with him. Peter would be able to slip an Agent or two, Lydia was sure.
***

"And by Pack you mean some new, youthful slang for family, or social circle, or regular orgy partners?" Tony Stark asked, voice tinny over the speakers on Danny's laptop. "Because I'm not sure I can parse someone telling me again that werewolves exist outside of bad movies, or that Fury is a furry."

"He's an Alpha," Captain America said.

"I stand by my phrasing," Tony said. "And why are you not surprised by this?"

"You hang out with gods and a guy that turns into a giant green monster, and werewolves throw you?" Hawkeye asked.

"The god is actually an alien being, the monster is a science fair gone wrong -- or right, depending on your perspective -- and science can explain everything provided you expand your scope. Werewolves are of this world, apparently, and not science experiments. Basically, they infringe upon my world view," Tony said.

Jackson scowled, watching Lydia laugh and Danny lean in close enough to the screen that Jackson half thought he was about to lick it. "I thought this guy was supposed to be a genius. He works with an Alpha and doesn't know it?" Jackson asked.

No one paid even a little attention to him, which didn't help his mood at all. Erica was tugging on Danny's elbow, trying to get him to ask Scott to ask Captain America for an autograph, and Derek and Boyd were huddled against the wall, Boyd quietly filling Derek in on the Avengers line up, apparently, while Isaac suggested dirty things Captain America could sign for Erica. And Danny, the idiot, was blushing.

Jackson didn't see the big deal. So what if Stark was some kind of science genius and Captain America was a war hero? He regretted every time he and Danny had huddled up to read the comics as kids, now.

"How do you even know about werewolves?" Tony was asking Captain America. "Aren't you still working out microwaves and ATM's?"

"No one uses an ATM anymore," Captain America said. "And the Commandos were an integrated unit. We had an Omega with us. I just assumed you knew. Aren't you supposed to know everything?"

"He certainly thinks he does," Coulson said evenly.

Stark grimaced. "In case anyone was wondering, I hate magic. I hate the idea of it, I hate any so called proof of it, and I definitely hate that my dreams are going to be haunted by the image of Fury in a fur suit for the rest of my days. So that was your hack job?" Tony asked Danny, switching topics at breakneck speed and looking at Danny appraisingly through the screen. "Pretty impressive, even if the security you plowed through was substandard. By which I mean not my security and therefore crap." Jackson really, really hated him.

Stark paused, looking away from the camera. "Hey, Barton, is there something you want to tell me?" Jackson picked out the twang of a bow arrow, and then the thud of an arrow hitting. He could just make out a target on the edge of the space, two arrows in the dead center of it. "Have you been feathering anyone's nest? Your mom didn't have a fling with a wiseass with a bow a couple of decades back did she, mini-Hawkgirl?" he asked. "Because if so, I should buy Barton some cigars. Or birdseed."

Allison's voice was laced with dry dislike, though Jackson couldn't see her. "I don't know. She's dead. I could ask my dad, but I'm thinking not." At least Allison had the sense to know the Stark guy was a colossal asshole. No one else was on the same page as far as Jackson could tell.

"Okay, Cap, Tasha. Tell me about Barnes," Tony said, fingers flicking over the holographic display. Lydia leaned past him, and then pulled up an image he'd set aside, pointing out something he'd missed and looking delighted when he smiled at her.

Jackson glared at her profile and then caught at the back of Danny's shirt, dragging him away. Stiles promptly took his spot at the screen, calling out instructions that no one listened to as Derek and Boyd stepped up to look over his shoulders, Erica and Isaac to either side of him.

Danny swatted at Jackson's hands. "Seriously, Jacks, this dragging me around all the time thing needs to stop."

"I don't drag you around all the time. Only when people are trying to kill you and you're too slow to get out of the way," Jackson told him.

"No one was trying to kill me two seconds ago," Danny said.

Jackson had no real argument for that and just grunted. "I don't like that guy. Any of those guys. We shouldn't trust them just because they've got badges."

"I don't think they actually have badges," Danny said, eyes drifting back toward the screen.

"You know what I meant!" Jackson told him. "We should just handle this ourselves. They don't know what they hell they're doing anyway."

"They're the Avengers, Jackson. They've got some idea."

"Except for not knowing werewolves existed, or that they were about to almost get Stiles and you killed," Derek said.

"Hey, easy mistake to make, buddy, werewolves are usually made of pixels, and we almost get a lot of people killed," Stark said. "We try to make up for it by saving a whole lot of other people and hoping it balances out."

"Tony," Captain America said warningly. Tony waved him off and went back to whatever arcane things he was doing that Lydia seemed to be pitching in to help with -- enthusiastically, much to Jackson's dismay.

"You're agreeing with Derek now? We should probably record this. For posterity," Erica said.

Jackson flipped her off. Danny looked away from where his eyes had drifted back to the laptop, watching Jackson for a long moment. Jackson was almost uncomfortable under the scrutiny, but Danny finally sighed, getting that soft, exasperated look on his face that Jackson had so much familiarity with. "Jacks, we're out of our depth. We could use the help," he said. "Guns aren't really our area."

"Sheriff's son, guns are totally my area," Stiles said over his shoulder.

"Okay, guns aren't the area of everyone who is not Stiles or his dad," Danny corrected patiently.

"Or Allison's dad," Boyd said with a slight grimace.

"Or Allison's dad," Danny amended again. "Let's go with the concept over the details, okay? This isn't what we do."

He tapped Jackson on the chest though suddenly, and then smiled, motioning for Jackson to wait. He walked over, rummaging around in the messy shelves of random crap that had ended up shoved here from back in their senior year, when they all ended up finishing homework and projects here, and then returned with a battered notebook, Isaac's doodles all over the cover, and a pen. He turned his back carefully to the laptop's cam and held it up to his chest, two lines scrawled in Danny's slanted hand across the otherwise blank page.

Lydia has a plan.
Trust us?

Jackson looked up, meeting Danny's eyes. He trusted them. Jackson trusted them with anything. He didn't say that, though, just nodded once.

Danny turned the pad again, writing again before turning it back around.

Stop being a jackass. Tony Stark is a genius.
But she loves you. For some reason.

Jackson grimaced. He knew she did. Lydia had stayed with him no matter what he pulled or the crap she got dragged into, and had thrown herself into making Jackson's new life work, even after he'd dumped her, lied to her, gotten her hurt, and treated her like shit. She'd been the one who made him tell Danny, and had made sure the three of them were within driving or train distance of one another at college so Jackson didn't have to go without his best friend and his Pack at school. Lydia loved him. Jackson still didn't always know why, but he knew it was true.

That didn't mean he wanted to watch her fawn all over some jerk in a flying tin can. Jackson wasn't really all that happy about watching Danny stare at him or any of the other guys in leather suits, either.

Jackson looked over, watching as Peter slipped in from the side entrance, keeping well clear of the cameras on the laptop. Jackson frowned, and grabbed the pen.

Part of your plan?

Danny followed his gaze and then nodded, taking the pen back.

Unfortunately. Lydia has him handled.

Peter never really seemed to pay much attention to Derek, unless it suited him, and he orbited around the rest of the Pack without ever seemingly caring one way or the other about anyone. Lydia loathed him, but for whatever reason Peter seemed to listen to anything that came from Lydia. Jackson didn't trust him, but he knew him enough to have faith that he'd do what Lydia told him to.

It didn't make him much happier knowing anything hinged on Peter Hale, though.

Danny tucked the notebook under his arm and leaned in, clapping Jackson on the shoulder. "Our town, right?" he whispered. "It'll be fine."

Jackson shut his eyes, dropping his head just enough that his nose almost touched the crook of Danny's neck, breathing in the smell of him. He still smelled like sweat and acrid gunpowder and an Alpha that wasn't Jackson's -- but mostly he smelled like Danny. "You and Lydia stay out of the way," he muttered.

Danny smirked, expression clearly saying that wasn't likely as he leaned away from Jackson.

"Given the circumstances, we feel its in your best interest to move you to a secure location, Mr. Stilinski." Jackson turned to see Fury standing in front of the screen. Derek's low growl made Fury's lips curve up, and he added after a beat. "You and your Pack are allowed to accompany him and Mr. Mahealani, Mr. Hale."

Jackson waited for Stiles to protest, but he just grimaced. "Fine. But you'd better have satellite, because I'm not sacking out in the Beacon Hills Motel 6," Stiles said.

Jackson frowned, and then Danny caught his eye and winked, reaching to squeeze his wrist once. Part of the plan, Jackson guessed, subsiding before he said anything to screw it up.

"Hope no one's afraid of heights," Clint said.

Derek leaned in closer. "Scott?" he asked.

Scott looked around, and then shrugged. "It's okay. They're not going to hurt us. Captain America's with them. I think they're trustworthy."

"We're shutting down the link. We'll be mobile and at your location for pick up in twenty minutes. Mr. Stilinski, we'll alert your father that you've been safely relocated, but will keep your location confidential, for your safety and his," Coulson said. "We'll also ensure the security of any other family members," he added with a nod for Allison and Scott. "If you need to communicate with us until then, Mr. Mahealani still has his phone."

"Stark phone," Tony said. "Unparalleled security. Incredible battery power. Enviornmentally friendly components. Sexy interface. If god made phones, they would be Stark brands."

"That's my favorite thing about you, you know. The humility," Clint said as Coulson disconnected the link.

Stiles shut the computer and stretched a kink from his back, head nearly colliding with Derek's face until he shoved Stiles lightly forward again. Jackson frowned. "So anyone want to fill the rest of us in on what the hell we're doing?"

"Getting picked up by SHIELD and whisked away for vacation?" Stiles said. He pulled a face of aggravated warning though, and shook his head quickly.

Danny picked up the pen and notebook again.

Not sure if clear of bugs. Playing it safe.

Jackson scowled, but nodded. Derek glanced toward the door, searching for Peter maybe, and then back at them. "So who is Bucky?"

"The guy trying to kill us, Cap said," Erica answered.

"That part I know. But he-"

Danny cut Derek off. "Bucky was in the Captain's unit, in the war. He was his best friend."

Danny's eyes caught Jackson's, and Jackson realized he was waiting to see if Jackson remembered. "He died. Going after the Red Skull," Jackson said into the quiet.

Danny smiled, small and strange. "The Captain watched him die," Danny said. "And now he's back."

Jackson looked at him, realization hitting him. Captain America's new friends were trying to kill his best friend, to keep the guy from killing them.

Yeah. Jackson saw where that might hit Danny a little close to home.

Everyone went quiet, except for the obnoxious, steady drip of the leaky pipes. Danny finally broke it, shrugging. "Black Widow says if it's really him, he doesn't remember anyway."

"He might still remember," Boyd said quietly. "If he gets a chance to."

Only if he had a reason to remember, Jackson knew. If not, it felt easier to forget and let yourself be lost. He stayed quiet though, and let Danny nudge him into silently helping him pack some of Lydia's stored supplies into a moldy duffel bag Isaac unearthed from somewhere, careful not to say what they were doing. Boyd shadowed them on one side, Isaac on the other, blocking cameras if there were any hiding. Or at least Jackson guessed that's what they were doing. If not, they needed to learn about personal space.

His head started to turn when he caught sight of Peter creeping in close, staying almost invisible as he passed through the stacked crates and rubbish they left around between training sessions. He chose a path that was almost impossible to see from most angles. Danny's elbow caught Jackson's ribs and he shook his head just a little. Jackson took the hint and carefully looked anywhere but at Peter. Instead he stared at the tanned skin at the back of Danny's neck, focusing there as Peter slipped in and out of the room like a ghost, leaving a note behind and vanishing with a bag in his hands.
***

During her early crash courses on werewolf lore, Allison's father had taken her outside and had her talk to him while he stepped further and further away from her until the space was so wide there was no way he could hear her. And then he'd told her that a werewolf would still hear every word she said, the beat of her heart, and smell her shampoo. They'll smell a bead of sweet or the blood in your panties from three football fields away, sweetie. They're not human, they're monsters, and they can do monstrous things, Aunt Kate had said, when she had reiterated the same lesson and been cruder about it during one of her late night sessions with Allison.

Allison had taken it to heart at the time, and it had seemed invasive and strange. But years of proximity made it just part of how Scott and the others operated. There were a lot of things you just got used to, faced with enough exposure. After a while it had turned into a perk instead. Scott knew when she was afraid, Erica showed up with chocolate cake at the right time of the month and chased everyone else away if Allison wanted her to, Boyd silently handed over aspirin and massaged her shoulder when she strained it. She actually missed it, these days, when they all had more distance between them and busier lives. Most of the Pack had stuck close to home, but they still all had their own things going on. Her father would roll his eyes at her for it, but Allison liked knowing that the people around her knew her right down to her core, and would look after her the same way she would for them, even if she didn't have their senses.

So falling back on hating werewolf senses was a weird feeling. But planning a secret alternate plan right under the noses of a government secret agency that was headed up by a very alert werewolf -- it wasn't exactly easy. Even without a werewolf in the midst, it would have been a challenge. With him, it seemed impossible.

Their transport took some setting up though, and circumstances kept working in their favor. Agents rolled up on motorcycles with loud engines that covered a few quick whispered words. The Avengers (or the ones present, anyway) argued with Fury enough that Danny had been able to discreetly flash signs at the screen in archaic latin only Lydia and Boyd could presumably read. It was messy and uncertain, but they got the gist of it. Assuming Peter Hale managed to bring the cavalry -- which Allison was less sure of than anyone else. Even Lydia, who couldn't stand him, had faith in Peter's abilities. Allison mostly just remembered how he'd never been as clever at hiding as he seemed to think he was.

But they didn't have many options, aside from letting strangers take care of a threat that had almost killed them -- and there was no way Allison was doing that. They might be superheroes who saved the world, but that didn't mean they knew this town or the people in it. Allison wasn't going to sit around waiting to see who they might hurt in the process of taking care of the problem.

By the time she, Lydia, and Scott were piling into the waiting SUV's though, Allison was pretty sure that they hadn't been as stealthy as they wanted to be. (Probably because of Scott. Allison loved him with all of her heart, but Scott had to work to not give everything away with his face and his eyes, and he only managed about half of the time he tried.) But Tony Stark was giving Lydia long, calculating looks and Allison saw Natasha catch Clint by the arm while he and Allison practiced on makeshift targets and he let her try his bow. ("If you're really not his secret daughter, I think that means you're married, in the language of his people," Tony had said. Allison had pondered testing one of the non-lethal arrows on his back.)

So she thought they were found out. She was just pretty sure if they were, they were being enabled. Which meant she seriously doubted they were going to get through this thing without some party crashers, but Allison was of the opinion that might not be the worst thing possible. As long as they knew whose party it was to begin with.

Lydia seemed to know it too, and Allison watched her stop beside Stark, who was picking up an argument with Captain America seemingly mid-stream. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stark," Lydia said with her bright smile that usually managed to look more like bared teeth than anything any of the wolves managed. "I hope if I see you again, it will be in less crowded circumstances."

Tony cocked his head and then smiled back. "Ms. Martin, that I can guarantee," he said, catching her hand and making a show of kissing the back of it.

Lydia blushed. Allison rolled her eyes until Clint gave her a wink and a smile and handed over a few extra arrows and she felt her own cheeks go pink. Scott just seemed amused now, instead of the jealous pout he'd worn earlier. Allison was glad of that, she really didn't want to have to bring up his glee over meeting Captain America as proof that neither of them were immune to superheroes.

Agent Coulson was behind the wheel of the SUV they climbed into, Fury in the passenger seat. Allison leaned against the window, surreptitiously checking the door to see if it locked from the outside and then shutting it again when it didn't. It was the first lucky break they'd gotten today, aside from not dying.

The SUV rolled into motion, a second car full of agents behind them and another ahead. Allison bit her lip, watching out the window and lacing her fingers with Lydia's. There was always a chance that SHIELD would take the wrong route and their trap would be useless. But luck seemed to be with them now (twice in a row might be a record for any plan they were involved in), because they took the right road.

Allison wasn't sure right where the trigger was, so she couldn't brace for it until she heard a sudden squeal of breaks and the hollow boom of blown tires. It was the only warning they got before their ride was slamming to a stop to avoid the car ahead of it. As soon as it was still, Allison threw open the door and flung herself out, Lydia behind her. She let go of Lydia's hand as Scott scooped Lydia up into his arms, and then he was a rapid blur, running away from the scene.

Another blur of motion from the corner of her eye, and then a pair of strong arms were around her, scooping her up the same way and running for after Scott. There were Agents grabbing and Fury growling for no one to fire. In seconds though, Allison was speeded well away and she turned her head, watching over Peter Hale's shoulder as her father closed the mountain ash circle, Deaton and a few of her dad's hunters tossing in something glowing and magical that flashed, sending up pillars of rapidly expanding black smoke that smelled like sulfur, even from this distance.

She gave her father a wave before he dropped out of sight. "Allison," Peter greeted playfully, pausing long enough to look back -- making sure the plan was successful, she guessed, and then running again. The bouncing, rapid gate was making Allison more than a little sick, and she closed her eyes, not bothering to try to answer as Peter ran her to the meet up, catching up to Scott halfway there.

It was easier to get away than she'd expected, but then Allison had thought the Avengers would be there. (Or the four they'd met, anyway.) Instead they'd all hung back. And one of them had a flying suit. The smoke, mountain ash, and nose-clogging scents might keep Fury and his people sidelined temporarily -- but it wouldn't do anything about the rest of them.

"Where are we setting up?" Allison asked. Peter looked down and gave her his sharp, wry smile without answering. But that smile combined with the way they were looping around back the way they'd come was answer enough. The warehouse wasn't abandoned enough that it stood out, but it was only in use a few months of the year and was on the opposite end of the warehouse SHIELD had been using, but close enough that them circling around to backtrack that close would be unexpected. It was defensible, familiar -- but not enough that it would have their scents all over it. After Jackson's near death, her grandfather's betrayal, and everything else that happened there, none of them ever wanted to head back that way. She'd figured it would win the coin toss over the only other locations available (The Hale House -- too open, everyone else's houses were houses, and no one wanted them blown up, and the Argent's storage space was still Argent family property. No one could convince the wolves to take a stand there.

So warehouse it was.

A bumpy run and a short-term ride in a car Allison was sure was not actually Peter's to break up the scent line, and they were there, the others already waiting for them. Her dad, their people, and Stiles' dad were still out leading Fury in a wild goose chase, probably. (Or her dad was at least. Stiles' dad still had to handle actual police channels, even if he'd worked out ways around it to handle the supernatural crowds his son brought home over the years.)

Lydia twisted her hair up into a messy bun as Allison walked in. "At best, we have an hour. Lets get to work." She pointed to Stiles and smiled. "Just how tempting are you feeling, Stiles?"

Allison hid a laugh as he rolled his eyes, watching Derek grit his teeth and Erica and Scott look silently mutinous. "Delectable. As always. Not that it does me any good," Stiles said.

"Out then. Danny, ready?" Lydia asked, waltzing over to where Danny was hunched over a better laptop than the old one he'd had stashed at the station. Danny muttered an affirmative and Stiles headed for the door, Derek shadowing a few feet behind.

Scott touched her arm and Allison turned, taking in his worried expression. "I need to-"

She knew what he was going to say and just nodded, making a shooing motion. "It's okay. Go with them. Be careful." Scott always had to look after his people, and right now Stiles needed him more than she did.

"Nothing's going to happen yet. I don't think. But just in case . . ." Scott looked somewhere between guilty about leaving her, and stubbornly determined to, even though he knew Stiles would say he was fine and Scott should do something useful instead.

Allison leaned forward and kissed him. "I know. It's good, he should have some backup just in case." Derek was with him, and Derek would keep Stiles safe. But Stiles had been Scott's best friend long before he was a part of Derek's Pack, and Stiles had been in enough trouble that Scott could be mercilessly protective, over Stiles' protests. Allison understood. And really, set up wasn't Scott's strongest suit anyway. He was better on the fly, most of the time. They could handle it without him.

Scott kissed her back and then wrinkled his nose, laughing a little. "You smell like Peter," he complained.

"You smell like Lydia's perfume," Allison countered, giving him a playful shove. "Go on, before they give you the slip." Scott beamed his wide smile that never failed to make her breath catch, and then disappeared out the warehouse's side door after Stiles and Derek.

Allison followed Lydia over to watch over Danny's shoulder. Outside, Stiles and his silent, trailing entourage ranged out. They'd go about a half mile before starting back. On Danny's screen were the security feeds for every wired warehouse in the district. The cameras were all looping footage, until Stiles started his trip back, when Danny would record it and make sure the cameras all showed Stiles heading straight back to home base. "Putting him in the red hoodie might have been overkill," Allison said. "You might as well have written Spider-Man on his forehead."

Danny shrugged. "The feeds are all black and white anyway, mostly."

"Keep an eye on him, and watch the motion sensors for incoming," Lydia said.

Allison cocked an eyebrow. "We have motion sensors?"

"Someday, you should probably go through your dad's supplies more thoroughly," Lydia told her, pushing a stray strand of hair back behind her ear and then making her way over to where Jackson sat cross-legged atop a massive crate, a pile of medical beakers and several large glass jars of chemicals in front of him. He bit his lip as he carefully measured out amounts and set them aside for Lydia to finish.

Isaac and Boyd were methodically blocking off the other entrances, leaving only the one Derek, Stiles, and Scott had used open. Isaac nailed boards and pushed crates against doors and windows while Boyd set up some of her father's complicated spring traps. (Or Allison thought that's what they were at least. One of them might just be Boyd's idea, since she didn't remember one with a trip wire and a bucket. It was like a more malevolent version of a cartoon gag.)

Erica was in the back with a screwdriver and a set of heavy chains, attaching them to the forklift designed to move freight. "Need help?" Allison asked her.

Erica shook her head, curling the chains around herself and then flinging herself away, testing the strength with a flash of yellow eyes. They held firm and she gave Allison a wry smile. "If we can get him into them, he's not getting back out."

"He's like a hundred years old and looks like he's twenty-five," Allison said. "He's not human, we don't know what he can do." Or he wasn't a normal human, anyway.

Erica frowned and then nodded. "I'll get Boyd and Derek to test them, too."

If neither of them could break out, then it wasn't likely anyone could. It would have to do. Erica was faster than any of the wolves, but she didn't have the muscle Boyd had, or the Alpha prowess of Derek. "You think you can move quick enough if you're dragging them?"

Erica hesitated, considering and hefting the manacle ends once more before nodding. "Not for long, but if it works, I won't have to. Quick burst though - I can do it."

Allison reached over to squeeze her shoulder and smiled, watching as Erica moved on to laying careful lines of powder along the floor.

Everyone was busy, and at any moment they might be joined by Fury and his people, or by superheroes, or by a Russian squad of assassins. Allison's blood hummed in anticipation, every sound in the echoing warehouse seemed heightened and somehow her mind could sort them out, label them in an instant to weed out the friendly sounds while she searched for any sign of a threat.

Allison wasn't always sure what it said about her, but she loved this. Not the part where everyone she loved was in peril, but the rush of wired energy that came with preparing for something dangerous, and then the dizzy-sick rush of it while it happened. After her grandfather vanished, after her mother was dead and she'd done things it still made her sick to think about, Allison had tried to be normal. She'd tried to just go to school, think about college and dates and what was on TV every night. No more werewolf boyfriends, no more hunting or magic or weapons -- she'd just wanted to be someone average and forgettable. But it hadn't taken. She'd missed the rush of the life she'd briefly had, even with the pain it brought with it. (And she'd missed Scott, like she'd miss a limb. Something vital and hers and suddenly ripped away.)

So it hadn't taken. Now Allison knew herself better. She knew that too long spent just in classrooms or family dinners or trips to the grocery and something in her started to rebel against the normalcy. She needed a fight, sometimes, a mystery or a catastrophe. Allison needed to feel vital and tested. Scott didn't get it. Scott could happily spend the rest of his life without a single near-death experience. Allison couldn't. It never became an issue because their lives were never going to allow for calm. They would always be an Argent and a werewolf. That would never be easy.

But still, she couldn't help but feel guilty for the rush she got from this. "You seem to enjoy this more than the rest," Peter said, cutting into her thoughts.

Peter didn't fall under her mind's identification of safe, when he caught her off guard, and Allison was already whirling, reaching for the knives at her belt before she stopped herself, scowling. Peter just cocked his head, studying her. "You're more like your father than you realize," he said, amused. "Three weeks without a hunt, and he was in a bar, picking fights with bikers, at your age."

"That story doesn't usually make it into the family dinner conversations," Allison told him.

"I wouldn't think it would, no," Peter said. "I imagine there's a lot your father doesn't tell you."

There used to be. These days, they were honest with each other, most of the time, so the taunt stung less than it would have. Allison just glared, refusing to rise to the bait and ask why it was Peter thought he knew anything about her dad. "Don't you have a job to do?" she asked.

"The pups have it well covered. No one will have any more use for me until they need people to bleed, or someone to do something none of them want to do themselves," Peter answered.

That wasn't untrue, but that didn't mean Allison had any sympathy. "You like the blood better than they do."

"But not better than you, maybe?" Peter smiled, flash of sharp teeth and wolf-blue eyes. "Such an Argent. I should be worried they let you around fire."

A flash of her Aunt Kate's face crossed Allison's mind, then the pictures in the old journals of Derek's family. It was a reminder of why Allison worried about how much she needed this rush, and not a welcome one.

Peter didn't give her a chance to answer, just melted away. Allison drew a shaky breath and then she circled the space with its carefully arranged crates and pointedly placed barricades, finding the best vantage point and then climbing up into the scaffolding, setting up a perch. She took out the arrows Hawkeye had given her, examining them, testing the weight. She'd thought they might have been a message, at first, and then a tracker. But now she found the hollow center on the heads, the wide blunted point that would make for shallow wounds. She shook her head and climbed down again. Erica and Lydia stood shoulder to shoulder now, surveying Erica's handiwork. "The Avengers definitely know what we're up to," Allison told Lydia without preamble. "And my job just got a little easier."

She showed Lydia the arrows and Erica dug into a pocket of her jeans, coming up with two tiny vials of pale purple liquid. "Deaton only had enough for two shots," she said. "Don't miss."

Allison transferred the vials' contents carefully into the small well inside the arrowheads, and then shut them again, testing the weight once more. She nodded. "I won't." The slight liquid weight made the difference, making the arrow feel almost like a solid head. She could hit a target with them. Even a moving one.

"I know you won't," Lydia said. "Here, get the rest ready." She handed over a jar of something noxious smelling and chemical. Allison drew out five more arrows and carefully dipped the heads of each one in the chemicals until it was thoroughly soaked. "We're about ready. Stiles' is on his way back in," Lydia said, looking around critically. Her eyes fell on Peter, who was slouching beside the doorway, looking out. "Can you handle this?" she asked him abruptly.

He shrugged carelessly, but the line of his back was taut and his eyes still glowed. "It's not me you need to worry about, princess."

"He can handle it," Boyd said, materializing beside Lydia and speaking evenly but with a veiled warning that seemed to just amuse Peter.

Allison hoped he was right. Running through a warehouse on fire was a lot to ask of a guy who'd lost his whole family in flames. "We've got incoming," Danny said suddenly, as his laptop beeped. "Motion sensors on the south, half mile out."

"Get Stiles-" Lydia cut off and Stiles came back in before she could call for him. She relaxed just a little when he came back into sight and gave him a nod. "Set the shielding now."

Derek and Scott bounded in after him and Stiles nodded, awkward and nervous. But his hands were steady as he pulled a small pouch and a slab of white chalk from his pockets. The white chalk lines were already drawn along the edges of the building and he sealed them off, then sprinkled a sparkling red powder atop the spot where they joined, murmuring something Allison couldn't make out. There was a flash of something bright and reddish that swirled around the building and then settled. Stiles nodded, circles beneath his eyes abruptly apparent. "Good to go."

Jackson started handing out bottles to each of them. The bottles were plainly a collection of whatever plastic they'd had on hand to empty out. Allison's was a plastic Sprite bottle that was probably originally Danny's, since he was the only one who drank it. The liquid in all of them was faintly metallic, thick, and looked absolutely like something Allison in no way wanted to drink. She grimaced, knowing she would have to anyway.

"We're set," Lydia said, nodding to Derek and Allison.

"Okay, everyone knows where they're meant to be. Remember no one moves without the first signal. Erica, stick close to the back. You're sure the chains are set?" Derek asked, taking over as Lydia walked back toward the crates, letting Jackson help her climb up to a good height and then carefully starting to hand her up the makeshift bombs the two of them had been prepping. Danny climbed up beside her on his own, laptop under his arm and reopened promptly when he was settled.

"I had Boyd test them, give them a yank too if there's time, but I think they're solid," Erica said.

Derek nodded. "Boyd and Isaac, you're on the first entrance team."

"Make sure it's not a friendly," Stiles said. "Because I'm pretty sure us killing off Hawkeye or something would put us on some pretty major shitlists."

"And no one drink down their magic sludge until I give the second signal," Allison added.

"Magic sludge. 27 different components, two charms, and a consult from Dr. Magic, and you call it sludge," Stiles complained.

Allison ignored him and finished. "Stiles, you're up with me, and if you try to get down on the ground level, I'll waste one of those tranqs on you, I swear."

"Or I'll throw you out of a window," Derek grumbled.

"Like that would help anything?" Scott said. "The point is to protect him."

"Like Derek wouldn't protect Stiles?" Isaac muttered. His breath escaped in a sudden whoosh as Boyd's elbow landed in his ribs.

Allison shot him a look and shared a roll of her eyes with Boyd before she turned, escaping up to her perch, bow drawn and prepped and a zippo safely tucked in her pocket, bottle of magic sludge in her belt.

Stiles climbed up beside her with a boost from Erica before she loped toward her assigned spot. He held the old crossbow of hers she'd taught him how to use last summer, and a crate with a few of Lydia's bombs and some magic components Allison only vaguely recognized. "We're going to owe Deaton a million dollars for all of these supplies we took, aren't we?"

"Nah. A lot of it was mine. I was stockpiling in a few places, we hit the stashes on the way when we got Danny's good laptop and some other stuff," Stiles said. He looked at Allison as she drew her bow. "This isn't just to protect me, is it? Because-"

"Stiles, it is absolutely to protect you. But not JUST you. They know who we are, we'd all be in danger now. So no heroic sacrifice ideas, okay?" Allison interrupted. "That's not what we're doing."

"He was Captain America's best friend," Stiles said quietly, eying the bow like he wasn't quite sure she wouldn't use it to punch a hole in someone's throat.

That was the thing, wasn't it? If it was her friends or a stranger, then she would. Allison knew that. But it wasn't the plan. "We're going to give him back to the Captain, then."

From the wrong way there came a loud, distinctive sound of jets. Allison was already turning, but relaxed slightly, sighing. "It's not-" she started to say.

And then the room exploded inward with a cavernous boom and a half dozen men dropped down, well away from any of their traps, with a direct line to where Allison and Stiles perched. Stiles swore and Allison drew an arrow and aimed.
***

"Stiles, move!" Allison yelled as she took another shot, one of the incoming army of armored men going down with an arrow neatly tucked into the break of his armor. Stiles dodged away as best he could on their precarious perch, evading the grappling hook that came down onto the railing instead. The railing started to pull away, making the planks beneath them unstable. Allison shifted her balance, cat-like and quick, and managed to even it out long enough that she could turn, look past Stiles and then mutter something that sounded uncomfortably like sorry.

Then she pushed him off.

Stiles flailed his arms, trying to grab for a hold but he lost it. He tipped backwards with a sickening lurch and dropping toward the floor, where a Scott waited with familiar, steady arms. Scott looked up at Allison, and Stiles saw her wave him off, hefting the supplies Stiles had left and jumping to another rafter to take aim again.

Scott sped around the edges of the chaos, not letting Stiles go despite Stiles' protests. He pushed Stiles up onto the relative safety of Danny and Lydia's perch. Stiles had run out of crossbow bolts before his fall and the three of them pressed in close, feeling mutually helpless as war broke out all around them. Their careful plan wasn't so much ruined as rapidly being reassessed, since Lydia hadn't figured on a roof entrance.

The Russian jackasses were carrying guns, but hadn't risked aiming at Stiles and Allison. The wolves weren't so lucky, and Stiles could see traces of blood on almost all of them. Derek, Jackson, and Boyd were in the thick of it, trying to herd them toward the right parts of the warehouse while Isaac and Peter covered Allison, and the three of them. Stiles couldn't see Erica, but knew it must be killing her to hang back and hope to god the plan came back together.

Stiles really hated admitting when they needed help. But he would really be fine with Fury busting in here right about now. Or Allison's dad with his sharpshooting assholes. Or-

Stiles' head jerked around as a red and gold figure blasted through the opened hole in the roof, carrying Hawkeye, whom he dropped in the rafters near Allison. Iron Man flew down, blasting very literally through the incoming team, bowling them out of the way. "Open the front door, kids," he called, voice tinny through the suit. "We brought housewarming gifts."

Stiles turned back to the door and saw that the line of soldiers battering against the shielding that moved them in slow motion was being (slowly) interrupted by Captain America. He hesitated and glanced at Lydia. "Take it down. Put it back up if you can," she ordered, voice a little shaky. There was a trace of blood on her cheek. Stiles didn't think it was hers.

Okay, that was the plan then. The shield only slowed them down, and with enough bodies in its orbit, it would have stopped working eventually anyway. It had just been a stalling tactic. The problem was, to take it down early Stiles had to touch it. And once he did, there would be guys with guns moving at full speed a foot from his nose.

He gripped his crossbow and jumped down, walking over and crouching beside the chalkline, closing his eyes. Magic was a weird thing. It could make you feel powerful and unstoppable, when it worked . . . but sometimes it could drain you so low you didn't want to get out of bed for a week. Stiles still barely knew what he was doing, but he was the only one with a knack for it, so he tried to learn.

The thing about it though was that you had to believe and focus, and Stiles wasn't good at either of those things, on his best day. In a warehouse full of snarling wolves and bullet-shooting bad guys -- it wasn't really a good bet he could buckle down for some magic-ing.

Scott had run off to tackle a pair of men who'd managed to pin Isaac in a corner, and Stiles wished he was there to have Stiles' back. Stiles walked over, crouching down and shutting his eyes, trying to will out the noise, the pumping adrenaline, the fear of death and feel the power of the spell instead, the energy he'd put into it so that he could pull it back into himself.

The other thing about magic, the one he'd never tell anyone because it was the only thing he could do, the one thing he had to offer, was that Stiles hated it. He hated feeling that rush of power and wondering what would happen if it went wrong. But he gritted his teeth and slowly began to pull at the thread that held the shield together.

When it gave way, the power rushed back through him, sending him reeling. The slow-moving line of encroaching assassins who'd been battling through abruptly became a teeming, confused mass crowding into the door. The first two shouted and then reached for him. Stiles lifted the crossbow he still held, jamming one in the face. A repulser beam shot by him, sending the second one flying, and then a third before Iron Man was distracted.

Derek was abruptly there, between Stiles and the others, jerking him away and physically shielding him, eyes red and fangs out, claws digging too-hard into Stiles' arm as Derek dragged him out of reach and then pushed him down into a crouch, leaning over him as bullets rang out at the entrance Stiles had just cleared. A second later Captain America was bounding through, scattering men out of his way, Chris Argent and the Black Widow on his heels. She had two guns in her hands and casually elbowed a man in the face as he tried to get up. Chris held his rifle and started making a bee-line toward where Hawkeye and Allison were peppering people with arrows.

Captain America and the Black Widow were efficient, both checking on him and the others with quick, measuring glances, but they were looking for someone, and it showed.

Tony Stark settled beside Stiles with a heavy clank of metal. "Where do you want them?" he called to Lydia. Stiles wondered why, exactly, Tony Stark seemed to already know that Lydia was in charge. Then again, it usually didn't take long for anyone to meet Lydia and know she called the shots.

"Move them toward the south end," Lydia answered.

Stiles felt like his skin wanted to peel off and explode outward from magic swirling around beneath it. Derek was still pushing down on him, and it felt like the only thing keeping him together. His head hurt and his nose was running red with blood, but he drew a deep breath, pulling it together. "Here," he said, pulling out his unused bottle of potion and pushing it at the Black Widow. "If you see everyone else drink this, drink it too." Stiles turned to tell Danny or Lydia to hand theirs over, but Danny was already down, pushing a bottle at Steve. "Get this one to Allison's dad," he said, giving Derek the third. Three little humans in a warehouse they were about to turn into the world's most literal hothouse, with no protection. It wasn't the best mix, but they only had so much to go around and Lydia, Danny, and Stiles were the three not allowed in the middle of the mess. It made sense. They could make for the door when the flames went up.

Stiles pushed and Derek got off of him finally. The chaos of the battle was still there, but it was starting to look ordered -- controlled. The way it had been SUPPOSED to go to begin with. "Go," he told Derek. "I'm fine. Go help."

Derek hesitated, but finally nodded stiffly, loping back into the fray. "Fury's people have the perimeter shut down, or they will. What we've got is all we have, once the rest of the ones on the roof drop in," Captain America said. "Has anyone had a visual on-"

"No," Stiles said. He could taste blood in his mouth, ash on his tongue. Everything pulsed too close to the surface and he bit down on his tongue to center himself, dug the tip of the bloodied crossbow into his thigh for the same reason. "We haven't seen him."

He heard a snarl and saw Derek yanking Boyd out of the line of fire, an arrow striking the shooter a second later. The line of men at the entrance he'd opened had stopped, but there still seemed to be more. Where were they coming from? If SHIELD had the perimeter then the incoming should be cut off, and the guy in charge should be here somewhere. If he wasn't, then they were screwed and all of this was for nothing. Something wasn't right. They hadn't been exactly planning on killing everyone, but no one was playing that careful, either. There were a few injured men around, but not that many. There weren't enough bodies on the ground, and the numbers weren't going down.

Stiles watched a man with an arrow directly between his shoulder-blades drop to the ground. He twitched, and then went still, a little flash of light coming from somewhere around his neck. And then he disappeared. "Oh shit," Stiles breathed. "There's a portal. They're coming in through a portal. They are literally dropping in from the sky. He'd assumed they were dropping in from the roof after climbing up there, not that they were just materializing. What the hell did you do to stop the flow of incoming when they came from no where?

Captain America scowled. "Tony, get up there, see what you can find out. Get eyes back on top and see if you can spot B . . . the Winter Soldier." He looked at Stiles. "You guys had a plan?"

"Get that potion to Chris Argent. Then we can show you," Stiles said with more confidence then he actually felt. He thought of the pulsing feel of magic, and how potent it had been. No wonder. His petty little shields weren't the only game in town. He was picking up a lot of reverb from whatever that portal was made of.

Captain America pushed him firmly back out of the way and Danny reached to snag Stiles' hand, trying to pull him up and out of the line of fire. "You three -- as soon as this entrance is clear and you've pulled the trigger, you get out and go to Fury," he ordered.

Right. Run out to safety and leave everyone inside. That was gonna happen. Stiles didn't bother to answer, and neither did Lydia or Danny. None of them were budging until they had to, and they were sure there was nothing else they could do.

Despite the dropping newcomers and the numbers against them, the tide began to shift, and suddenly Stiles was looking at a room arranged more or less the way they'd originally planned it to be. "Allison!" he yelled. She was out of range and there was too much noise to be heard, but Danny pulled out his phone, dialing Allison's. It wasn't exactly impressively subtle, as signals went, but they'd figured by this point they had nothing to lose by switching their phones on.

Stiles heard the faint sound of Allison's ringtone, and then a second later she was looking over at him. He waved and nodded frantically. Her mouth firmed into a line and then she called out something to Hawkeye. A second later she was taking careful aim, a flicker of something burning at the edges of her arrow. It flew straight through the melee on the ground and caught the edge of the first fuse, lighting the small signal fire.

Stiles watched as around the space, his people hurriedly chugged their potions, one by one. And then his eyes found Derek, who stood frozen in place, staring at the fire with a look on his face that made Stiles want to run in and drag him bodily from the room. When he looked at Peter, he saw almost the same look, though Peter was still wolfed out and making a half hearted attempt to down a bad guy.

He started to yell for Derek to drink already, when abruptly he felt himself being yanked backward by something thin and strong. It happened fast enough that he was still reeling, his head too-full and too-strange from the magic to keep up with the sudden motion.

Allison was setting off the second fire trap, and the flames were herding the enemy men toward Boyd's traps, toward the back, thinning them and separating along the carefully laid lines of chemicals and magic. The potion gave all of the Pack who'd taken it a strange black shimmer, protecting them from the flames as they darted in and out of them without worry. Derek still stood, no shimmer, not a muscle moving. And Stiles couldn't do a damn thing because he was held by an arm strong as freaking stone and being hauled away, through the growing maze of flame. He struggled, but couldn't get even an inch free. When he turned his head he saw brown hair and a mask. Something was glowing around the guy's neck, but Stiles couldn't twist enough to see it.

The fire was growing and there were people screaming, yelling above the noise. A flame licked up the side, toward Stiles and his captor. Stiles felt him suck in a breath, heard a single shuddering gasp of pain and then he twisted away, following the open path toward the back of the warehouse with Stiles held against his side effortlessly. The fire barely seemed to throw the guy, but it was twisting closer to Stiles too, and he was really not in a hurry to be set on fire. The plan might have gone rapidly to shit at the start, but it was doing its job now, pushing them back toward the waiting trap -- if it was still waiting. If Erica hadn't gotten dragged into a fight elsewhere.

And if the guy didn't go up in flames and take Stiles with him on the way.

Stiles' eyes were watering and it was hard to breathe, let alone yell. He wasn't sure anyone, even werewolves, could hear him over the noise anyway. Stiles tried to ram an elbow into his captor's belly, but it didn't even get him a satisfying grunt, armored as the man was. Stiles just ended up with a bruised elbow to go with his imminent third degree burns.

But even putting aside the burning, there was something wrong. Because the bodies had been disappearing, and there was a portal somewhere. Where exactly was Russian Asshole taking him? There was no exit strategy on this side, he had to know that.

Stiles twisted hard and managed to get himself turned slightly, if not free. His eyes locked on the glowing thing around the guy's neck. An amulet. If there was one thing years of immersion in the supernatural AND modern TV had taught him -- it was that amulets were always bad. It glowed the same color Stiles had seen when the bodies of the injured men vanished. That was the link.

They were almost to the back of the warehouse and Stiles felt like he was actually on fire, though he was pretty sure that wasn't the case. He couldn't see where the others were, what was happening, whether or not he was about to be rescued or zapped away by weird magic.

He tried to twist one arm free, but didn't get a lucky break until his captor did the same thing, holding on with one arm while the other reached for the flashing amulet at his throat. Stiles felt his shoulder scream in pain from how hard he twisted it, but he managed to get one hand free. He reached, yanking the amulet by the chain and pulling it free just as the man's fingers started to close around it. Startlingly blue eyes met his as the guy attempting to kidnap him finally actually looked at him. Stiles was let go, just for a fraction of a second, and then that impossibly strong hand was wrapping into his shirt and jacket, lifting him up off the ground and dangling him as the man's free hand reached to take the amulet back, pressing Stiles' back threateningly close to the flames.

Stiles' breath caught in his chest and he started to throw the damned thing and just hope to hell it broke or someone on team werewolf caught it when a blur of speed, red eyes, and fangs was abruptly there. His claws tore into the Winter Soldier's shoulder, but Derek didn't even try to do anything else to the guy, just used the moment's distraction to pry Stiles away, and then he was gripping Stiles, shoving something into his mouth. It took Stiles' brain -- fire-heated and magic-scrambled -- a second to catch up to what it was he was being made to guzzle down. The potion. DEREK'S potion, which would keep him from burning. He tried to push it away, but had no choice but to gulp and barely had swallowed when Derek was spinning to face the man, but jerked back instead as a bullet lodged into his shoulder. Derek lunged forward anyway, but somehow, impossibly, the man dodged and flung his arm out, throwing Derek away. Directly into the fire.

"Derek!" Stiles yelled, stumbling to his feet and trying to run for Derek. He was snagged, again, and when he was forcibly twisted away from the burning Derek, Stiles saw a shimmering green oval of a portal. Through the fires he saw another the same color elsewhere, and he was being dragged directly toward it. "No, let GO," he yelled, battering at the man as best he could. It did no good. Stiles still held the amulet in his hand and he tried to break it against the guy's vest, but it wouldn't work.

Suddenly Stiles was spinning, the grip loosening, and he heard the clank of metal above the roar of flame. A tall, strong body drew him away and Stiles caught sight of an arrow, directly imbedded in the side of the Winter Soldier's neck, Erica securing chains around him as he slowed. He rallied against the tranquilizer, trying to twist free of the chains before they tightened, but the Black Widow was there, fist flying into his face and backing him steadily into the chains.

The body holding him let him go and Captain America followed the Black Widow and the captive Winter Soldier. Erica had the chains fastened and then she sprinted away, diving into the driver's seat of the forklift. She threw it into gear as someone lobbed one of the explosive bombs at the wall in front of it, weakening it enough for the forklift to smash through, the Winter Soldier firmly secured to the back and rapidly drooping from the tranquilizer shot.

Stiles hit the ground when Steve let him go and started for Derek, only to see Peter doing the same thing, Scott a few steps behind him. All of them were too late as three armed men with charred armor and skin locked their hands around Derek, dragging him toward the portal. Stiles stopped, and then closed his eyes and smashed the amulet down onto the floor.

Peter surged forward to grab for Derek as the portal began to waver. Two more men dove through the narrowing oval behind him, shoving Peter through with them.

Stiles' energy and mind were already attuned to magic, and whatever was driving the portal flared out, rebounding against him. It was an explosion of energy and force -- physical and mental -- and it blew Stiles back, sending him into the fire he was now safe from, but onto something sharp and wooden that he wasn't. Stiles felt it stab into him, but the pain was almost dull compared to the agony in his head. He forced his eyes open to see the portal shrinking in smaller and smaller. A roar of engines flew past him as Iron Man tried to get there in time. Instead the portal collapsed in, drawing him through too. He vanished, the same way Peter had . . . the same way Derek had.

"Stiles!" Erica's voice sounded dim and far away but Stiles felt her hands on him, pulling him off of whatever was shoved through his side and picking him up. With the Winter Soldier secure and the portals closed, someone must have given the signal to Danny to turn the building's systems back on, because the sprinklers abruptly came on, raining cool drops of water down on Stiles' heated skin. Erica yelled for Scott, and Stiles saw Scott's face go scrunched and pale with worry just before he blacked out.
***

Erica dropped her head into her hands, then jerked it back up just as quickly. She could still smell ash and charred flesh and magic and gunpowder and blood on her clothes, her skin. It churned her stomach and she itched for a shower and a nice nap somewhere on the ground. Instead she was miles in the air, waiting outside a medical lab to hear about Stiles. "He'll be fine," Agent Coulson had said with a wry smile Erica didn't understand, and hadn't really cared to. "Trust me, they've seen worse."

They probably had, but the worse had never been Stiles, and it had never been her fault. If she had just gotten there faster, none of this would have happened.

She rubbed her hand over her eyes and stiffened as Isaac's arm dropped over her shoulder, squeezing. "It's not your fault," he said, as if he'd known what she was thinking.

She shrugged, but settled in against his side finally. Erica looked across the room to where Allison was drawn into a tight ball, nestled in against Scott's side with tear tracks running down her face. "Maybe we should have just let them take care of it," Erica said quietly. "Look what a mess we made of it." Derek, Peter, and Allison's dad all dragged through some portal to god knows where, Tony Stark with them, Stiles hurt. Not to mention how many people they set on fire and the injuries the rest of them had already healed. (Though she really didn't care much about the people on fire. They came to her town, nearly killed them, and Erica just didn't have a lot of sympathy. Her and the wolf side of her were in accord in their eye for an eye philosophy when it came to people she loved.)

"Maybe," Isaac admitted. "But this is what we do. We protect each other, and our town and I don't think any of us could just let strangers handle it and still sleep at night, not anymore."

He had a point, but Erica didn't acknowledge that. "So if it's not our fault, who do we get to blame?"

"The guys who did it?" Isaac suggested.

"You mean the guy Captain America and the Black Widow wouldn't let any of us near once we caught him?" Erica snarled softly. "He did this-"

"They don't think it's his fault," Lydia said suddenly from where she sat on Allison's other side with Jackson. Jackson was looking at the floor, where Danny sat by his feet playing with a tablet SHIELD had handed him, but Erica could see the flush on Jackson's cheeks, the shame in the slump of his shoulders. "Someone else was giving orders, and he's brainwashed." Lydia didn't say it, but the look on her face and the fierce note in her voice said that if anyone should understand what that meant, it was all of them. Erica did, for the most part. Forgiving Jackson had been a lot easier than forgiving Allison, in the end. He hadn't known what he was doing. Allison had.

"Or someone wants them to THINK he is," Isaac said.

"THEY want to think he is," Boyd said quietly. "They don't want their friend to be gone. Maybe he is, maybe he's not. Either way, we're not getting close to him right now."

"They want to send us home," Danny said. "Once Stiles is cleared."

Allison looked up, scowling. "They have MY dad. And Derek. We're not just going to go sit by the phone and wait."

"And Peter," Scott said. Lydia grimaced and Scott sighed. "I know he's not exactly . . . he helped us. And you didn't see how hard he tried to get Derek out. In the middle of a fire. That can't have been easy for him."

"Considering how much he owes Derek, me, and the rest of us, I think us getting him out when we get the others is reward enough," Lydia said. Erica agreed, for the most part. But Peter was canny -- they usually needed his help more than they liked to admit.

"So what do we do when they try to dump us off at home?" Erica said. "And how do we find them?"

"I have an idea," Danny said. "But we need some serious tech."

"We're in a flying military city. I don't think TECH is a problem," Erica reminded him. "Just getting them to let us use it."

"Tech I can get you," a voice said from the hall. Clint walked around the corner, giving Allison's shoulder a squeeze and then dropping down to sit on a chair midway between the sides of the room. "I've got some connections, and like goldie there said -- we've got tech. They've got your people, and one of ours. We try to leave you out you'll only get in the way. And way I see it, you've got more of a right to be there than we do. But everyone needs to be on the same page. Working together's a better plan."

Scott sat up a little, eying Clint. "It seems like that's Fury's call, and he's not likely to make it."

Clint smiled. "I don't always make the same call as Fury. And I can get him to see things my way. No more plans alone, no more running off, and no more secrets and we can help each other."

"No more secrets?" Jackson asked dubiously. "Aren't you assholes the guys who keep EVERYTHING secret?"

"We're working on trust issues amongst our own. And werewolf or not -- you've got more of a handle on the magic part of this than Fury and us do," Clint said.

Scott looked across the room, trading a long look with Boyd and then over at Lydia, who shrugged delicately. Scott tapped his fingers against his knee and then stood, gently disengaging from Allison. "Okay, so no secrets -- what's the plan so far on your end?"

"So far, the plan is Tasha, Steve, an empty room, and a Russian they need to bring around." Clint held up his hand. "And don't ask to talk to him -- no one's getting near him until they're done."

Scott paused, frowning, and Lydia spoke up. "Then we get to listen in. Wherever command base is, that's where we are."

"Right. I'll see what I can do." Clint leveled a look at Danny. "So what are you planning?"

"I think if I can get a look at Stark's systems, I can track his suit. It's got a hook up to his AI, and I don't think anyone's going to get a line in on that, but I might be able to work around from the side enough to get an idea," Danny said, voice catching a little.

"If not, we've got a magic expert we want to send the busted amulet to, to see if he can get anything out of it," Scott said. "And we get access to Stiles."

"Deal on that one. Better if someone's there with them, anyway," Clint said. Something in his expression flickered for a moment, but Erica couldn't name it before it was gone again. "Come on, I can get you in there now, he's sleeping it off."

They trooped in after him and Erica found herself on Stiles' left side. He lay on his stomach to keep the puncture in his back from the broken railing clear. It was bandaged and there was an IV drip in his arm, but Erica could smell that he was healing. There were chemicals and ash still, but no sweet-sick smell of death beneath it. Stiles looked too pale though, and she squeezed his hand gently as he slept. "I'll stay with him," she volunteered. Not like she could do any good elsewhere, anyway. She was speed and sass and claws. Computers and interrogation rooms weren't where she belonged. Most of the time, Erica wasn't really sure WHERE she belonged, except in her Pack and with Boyd and Isaac, but now that was all upended and out of whack and she wanted to stay with Stiles, so she was there when he woke up. Because neither of them liked to admit it, but they both liked things to stay the same and be counted on more than they admitted, and Erica didn't want him to be alone when he realized part of their self-made, dysfunctional family was missing.

Scott agreed and Clint motioned for them to leave as Erica pulled a chair up from the other room to sit. Danny handed her a tablet to use while she sat. Scott hovered while the others left and then leaned in, hugging her tight briefly. "Keep an eye on him, okay?" He squeezed her. "You got the chains on that guy. Without you, Stiles might be the one gone, and we might not have any way to find him. It'll be okay."

He wasn't her Alpha, but he was the closest thing she had here, and Erica hugged him back and nuzzled into his neck and then settled in to wait while the others went to plan.

It was another half hour before Stiles blinked away, heavy-eyed and foggy. Erica told him where he was, and that he was safe, and he drifted off to sleep again. A doctor came through, checking on him and promising he was doing well.

The next time Stiles woke, he was clearer. She held him gently down when he tried to sit up and answered his questions. Yes, Scott was safe, yes, they caught the guy. Erica watched his face and knew exactly when he remembered. "Derek? I saw him, the portal-"

"We don't know where he is. The second portal pulled Allison's dad through, too," Erica said. "But we're going to find him. Iron Man went through with them. Danny thinks he might be able to track Iron Man's suit well enough to find a general location." She squeezed Stiles' hand. "We'll get them. We'll find him, Stiles." Stiles tried to sit up again, but winced, and Erica growled. "You're hurt. Stay down."

"You'll get them," Stiles said, flat and pained.

Erica's didn't know what he meant at first, but then her eyes slid to the bulk of his bandaged side beneath the thin hospital gown and she knew. "You're hurt. You have to stay in bed." Which meant he couldn't go with them to rescue anyone. It was safer that way, but no one had ever been able to convince Stiles -- or Danny -- to stay out of the line of fire when something was going down.

"Because I don't heal," Stiles said. "This whole thing was my fault, and I'm going to have to lie in bed while you guys go save the guy who set himself on fire like an idiot to try to save me." He shut his eyes. "I don't want to be the one left behind."

"It's not your fault," Erica said, but it felt empty. She felt the same way about Stiles lying there in this bed. Just saying it wasn't your fault didn't make it stop feeling as if it were.

"I'm going with you," Stiles said.

"There isn't a magic spell to fix you up. You have a hole in your side, Stiles. You can't just-"

"There is," he interrupted. "There's a magic spell that will make me heal."

Erica had no idea what he meant until Stiles' eyes opened and locked on her arm, where her sleeve was torn through and bloodied and her arm had been sliced open a few hours earlier. Now it was smooth and unmarred. She caught on. "Derek's not-"

"Fury is," Stiles said. "It just has to be an Alpha."

But then Derek wouldn't be Stiles' Alpha. "You didn't want it, Stiles. And you're already weak. The Bite could kill you."

"It won't," Stiles said. He looked at her, and Erica knew Stiles' stubborn expressions. She'd gotten infuriatingly familiar with them during the brief and disastrous three months they'd dated. That wasn't how he was looking at her. Stiles looked tired instead, worn down and worried and pleading. "Help me convince Fury." It was almost begging, or as close as Stiles got.

Erica swallowed. "This will be over in a week, Stiles. We'll have Derek and Peter back, and no more guns or superheroes. Everything could go back to normal. But it will never go back to the way it was for you if you're a werewolf."

"You love it," Stiles said. "You love being a wolf. Isaac loves it, Boyd loves it. Even Scott loves it most of the time now. I'm tired of being weak."

"You're not weak. You're just human," Erica said softly. "It's not a bad thing."

"It is now. Today it's a bad thing." Stiles mouth firmed, stubborn expression finally showing itself. "I'll convince him myself if you don't help me."

He would, too. Stiles was making the choice for all the wrong reasons . . . but how right had Erica's reasons been at first? Or Isaac's or Boyd's? Erica knew what it was like to feel weak and left behind and not be able to stand it anymore. "Scott won't want you to," she said. She didn't agree to help him. But she didn't have to, Stiles knew her pretty well too, and he knew when she was giving in.

Stiles smiled tiredly. "So we'll tell him later."

"Better to beg forgiveness," Erica quoted, leaving off the second half. Stiles very rarely asked for permission anyway.

"Right," Stiles said. "Hey, do I have a thing? A button for pain meds?" Erica picked it up off the bedside rolling table and pressed the little remote into his hand. He pressed enthusiastically and after a few moments his face softened. "Yeah, that's the good stuff," he muttered. Half-opened eyes fixed on her again. "You'll get Fury?"

"I'll get him," Erica promised. She waited until Stiles drifted off again, and then leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead before stepping out of the little room, flagging down a nurse to ask where to find Nick Fury.