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Scott entered Deaton’s clinic and immediately spotted Theo leaning against the far wall.

The room was dark with most of the lights turned off.

Only the dull gleam of moonlight—filtered in through the high window—lit up the place, casting long and uneven shadows across the room.

Scott crossed the space and leaned partially against the empty operating table, its surface cluttered with only scattered medical supplies.  

He glanced down at them for a second, putting a reminder at the back of his mind to clean it up before the start of the next work day.

“Hey,” Scott finally said, lifting his gaze to Theo. “You said you wanted to talk. About what?”

Theo didn’t answer right away.

Instead, a flicker of expressions crossed his face—uncertainty, calculation, something almost like regret—before his features smoothed into something blank.

“It can wait,” Theo said slowly, hesitation threading through his voice..

Scott frowned.

“If something is wrong, you should say it,” he told him. “We can’t keep doing this. We've all got to start talking to each other again.”

A flurry of thoughts appeared in his mind.

He thought about how Malia had become more distant lately—sharper and quieter.

He knew it was because of the Desert Wolf hanging over her like a shadow.

He thought about how Stiles had barely looked him in the eye for the past week.

Every near-missed glance felt so much like a punch to the gut or the ribs. 

But there hadn’t been time.

Not with everything piling up all at once.

And Liam—

Liam had been spending more time with Hayden recently.

Watching them hang out tugged at something in Scott’s chest—a mirror of who he used to be—sneaking out just to see Allison a few years ago.

When he was reckless with his heart, always ready to make enemies as long as it brought him more chances to get a few more stolen minutes with her.

He was caught in a spiral of memories that he didn’t realize he’d drifted, until a voice pulled him back.

“This might not be the best place to start, Scott.”

Scott lifted his gaze from the spot on the floor that he was previously staring at, and met Theo’s gaze.

And suddenly, with the space and the silence pressing in around them, a thought surfaced in his mind—quiet, unexpected, and unwelcomed.

Everything had started when Theo showed up.

He didn’t know why, but now that he had time to think about it…

Scott shook his head, as if he could physically dislodge the idea and try getting rid of his thoughts.

“Why,” Scott tilted his head slightly, studying him. “You think I’m going to be angry?”

Theo’s mouth pulled downward, subtle but unmistakable, like he was forcing something back.

“Not with me…” he replied.

Scott’s eyebrows knitted together, “Theo…”

Theo didn’t look at him.

“You can talk to me,” Scott continued, his voice softer now. “Is this about the Dread Doctors?”

Theo didn’t reply, but his jaw tightened.

He looked away, his gaze drifted to the side—fixed on something that Scott couldn’t see.

“Open the glove compartment,” Theo told him.

Scott paused.

Something in Theo’s tone—flat and resigned—made his chest tighten.

Scott stared at him for a moment.

Then, he slowly followed Theo’s line of sight and crossed the room. 

He pulled the drawer open, scanning the contents inside within a split second. 

Scott froze.

Among the scattered items inside, sat a wrench.

Not just any wrench.

The metal was darkened near the end, looking like it was covered with rust—until his nose caught the scent.

Blood.

Dried and old.

His breath hitched. 

A voice continued from behind him.

“It belonged to Stiles,” Theo’s said quietly, but his voice echoed throughout the room. “He dropped it at the school.”

Scott’s brows drew together, his grip tightening on the drawer.

He swallowed, then asked in a low voice, “Dropped it… when?”

Theo didn’t hesitate.

“When he killed Donovan.” 

The words detonated in Scott’s head.

Sirens filled up his mind. Screams. Fragments of memories he had been avoiding.

His thoughts started going back to the past few days.

Stiles’ shaking hands, his hollow eyes, the way he wouldn’t meet Scott’s gaze.

All of it snapped into place with sickening clarity.

It all made sense.

Too much sense.

Scott straightened slowly, forcing his breathing to stay even.

He pretended he didn’t understand.

He can’t fall apart. 

Not now.

Not here.

Not in front of Theo.

He turned, his expression carefully measured—confusion layered over control.

“What are you talking about?” Scott asked.

His tone was questioning and doubtful.

But it was controlled.

And too calm.

Theo shrugged, too casual for the moment, as if he didn’t care, “You know he hurt his shoulder, right?” he said. “You smelled the blood.”

Scott gave a short nod, “That was the Jeep…”

He frowned, forcing the explanation into place, almost like he was trying to make it fit. 

“Stiles said the Jeep’s hood fell on him,” Scott finished.

“No, no, no.” Theo shook his head quickly, his voice tipping into something sharper—almost frantic. 

“That was Donovan,” he said. “He was with Stiles at the library.”

His hands lifted briefly, then dropped restlessly.

The inner corners of his eyebrows pulled upwards. “I only saw the end of it. And when I saw what Stiles was doing…”

His voice cracked. “I couldn’t stop him.”

Alarms rang in Scott’s head yet again.

Convincing wouldn’t work.

Slowly and carefully, he turned away.

Theo would probably mistake it for denial.

For refusal to believe in his words.

But Scott needed the space.

He needed to look anywhere else. 

His fists clenched at his sides.

His eyes burned, flickering into a deep crimson red.

Not from anger.

Not from betrayal.

But from panic.

If he let go now, the animal inside Scott would turn around and kill Theo without hesitation.

That would solve everything.

That way, no one would be able to report Stiles.

That way, there would be no witnesses.

There would be no questions.

And he could just pretend that he never knew.

The thought settled in him far too easily.

And that scared him more than anything else.

But still—at the same time, there was a sting beneath it all. A quiet and unexpected hurt.

About the fact that Stiles hadn’t told him any of it.

But then again… Scott knew why.

Knowing how he had been acting for years.

The way he had forced himself into something rigid. 

Moral. 

Clean.

Afraid of becoming Peter. Of becoming Deucalion.

Afraid of what power would turn him into if he ever stopped holding back.

Forcing himself to follow a morally right lifestyle.

It had been right.

And yet—

It was also wrong.

It was impractical.

Especially with all the battles that they had experienced in the past and are currently facing in the present.

There was no morality in war.

No goodness.

No purity in survival.

And this time, Scott knew—if abandoning that mindset meant protecting his pack, he wouldn’t hesitate.

Theo’s voice cut back in, trembling, “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

Scott closed his eyes, his lips pressing together as he reigned himself in.

“You should hear it from him,” Theo added.

Scott exhaled a shaky breath, “Tell me.”

Behind him, Theo’s mouth twitched.

It was just for a split second.

There was a smirk, small and satisfied, before it vanished immediately, replaced by forced worry.

Scott never saw it.

Theo began again with a slow and measured voice, “I saw Donovan go down… Stiles hit him with the wrench, and then…”

“He just…” he hesitated for a moment before continuing, “he just kept hitting him.”

Hitting him.

Scott wanted to hit him.

Not Stiles.

But the person behind him.

His nails dug into his palms.

The skin split open.

Droplets of blood dripped onto the floor of the animal clinic, the dark drops hitting against the concrete.

Theo noticed.

His shoulders tensed—but he kept going.

“Uh—maybe it was because Donovan threatened to kill his dad,” Theo said quickly. “Or maybe Stiles thought he had to keep going to defend himself.” 

His voice wavered but he continued. “But he just… he just kept hitting him…”

Scott frowned faintly.

It didn’t sound like Stiles.

But then again, Scott couldn’t judge.

No one knew the monstrous potential inside him either.

The thing he kept chained down.

The thing that separated him from Peter, from Deucalion, from every alpha who had given in.

From the power that was always there.

Just waiting—

Waiting for him to give in fully to it.

“That’s not possible,” Scott murmured.

However, he didn’t mean it as a reply to Theo’s previous words.

He wasn’t responding to him.

Instead, he was arguing with himself—with his thoughts.

But Theo didn’t know that.

His voice kept urging—like a needle pressing into Scott’s mind—almost like he was pushing Scott to believe what he was saying.

“Stiles crushed that kid’s skull,” Theo added. “I heard it cracking… splintering. And by the time I pulled Stiles off him, half of Donovan’s head was caved in. He was dead.”

Theo’s breath shuddered, becoming uneven, “It didn’t even look real. I kept telling myself that it was self-defense… It was self-defense… But—”

“Scott, I’m sorry,” he continued. “I’ve never seen anything like that. And I’ve never seen anyone that angry.”

Scott finally closed his eyes, letting the words sink in.

He turned around slowly.

But his gaze stayed on the wall behind Theo instead of directly at him.

Even in his peripheral vision, he could see Theo’s shifting expressions—the fleeting panic behind his forced composure.

“You,” Theo started, then hesitated. 

His eyes darting briefly to Scott’s crimson-colored eyes.

“You should talk to Stiles,” he said finally. “You have to talk to him.”

Scott said nothing.

His mind churned—almost calculating—as if he was weighing his options.

Thinking of different solutions.

Theo stood there, unmoving.

“You saw him,” Scott said at last.

It was not a question, but rather a statement.

Theo nodded once. 

It was too quick. 

“Yeah,” he replied.

“How long,” Scott asked, “were you standing there?”

Theo’s lips parted, then pressed together again.

A calculation flickered behind his eyes.

Like he was thinking about what to say and what not to say.

“A few seconds,” he finally answered.

Then he added, “Long enough.”

Scott hummed softly, his throat vibrating lowly.

That sound made Theo’s spine straighten.

“Long enough to stop him?” Scott continued, his voice even. “Or long enough to continue watching?”

Theo’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I—”

Then he paused.

Scott moved his gaze then, meeting Theo's.

Not sharply.

Not aggressively.

Just enough.

His eyes were steady.

Cold.

Not angry—but worse.

They were assessing.

Theo felt it immediately.

He felt the shift in the atmoshpere.

The small inkling that things weren’t going the way he wanted.

Like it was no longer within his control.

The way Scott wasn’t reacting anymore—was not like he expected.

It was almost like he was calculating.

Theo remained frozen.

Then he added, almost softly, “I should go… That’s all I wanted to talk to you about.” 

Scott didn’t say anything.

Theo pushed off the wall, giving Scott a look that was probably meant to be sympathetic.

As he walked closer, he continued speaking. 

“For what it’s worth,” he said, his tone was almost like he was giving warmhearted advice. “I don’t think Stiles is right for this pack. So… I think this situation is an opportunity to cleanse the pack of those who don’t follow your moral compass.”

But his words hit with a calculated bite. 

Scott’s jaw clenched. 

His eyes flared an even brighter red. 

His claws elongated at his sides.

The warning inside him suddenly snapped into clarity.

And finally—

Scott understood why his wolf had been restless for weeks.

It wasn’t blood lust.

It wasn’t anger.

It was instinct.

A predator’s warning.

Theo wasn’t confessing to Stiles mistake.

He was testing.

Testing the limits.

Testing the boundaries of Scott’s pack and how much he could push them before breaking—or bending—them.

Testing how much Stiles would curl and hide away from his pack.

Testing how far Liam could go for love.

Testing the control of Kira’s powers.

Testing how much Malia could go for, when she gets faced with danger.

Testing the limits of Lydia’s power and weaknesses.

And testing how far he could push Scott before he broke—or stepped aside.

Theo wasn’t a mistake anymore.

He was no longer welcomed.

He was a countdown.

And a threat to his pack.

Then, Theo brushed lightly against Scott’s shoulder as he passed by.

“You’re right,” Scott suddenly said, his voice low and steady.

Theo paused, his feet coming to a stop. 

“I should get rid of those who don’t fit in my pack,” Scott continued carefully, his voice turning into something deliberate.

Almost dangerous… and threatening.

Theo’s lip curled up into a smirk as he lifted his head confidently.

“Then…” he started, his voice tightening.

Theo slowly turned around.

His expression turned more subtle. 

But anyone who looked closely, could see the excitement hiding behind it—could see how much he was looking forward to what he thought might be the end of Scott’s pack.

But he underestimated Scott.

“What will you do—”

His words cut off abruptly. 

Scott’s hand shot up, wrapping around Theo’s throat with unrelenting force.

The remains of Theo’s confident smirk faltered.

Scott’s crimson eyes bore into Theo, with an obvious wrath in them.

Wrath towards who?

Theo wouldn’t believe that the anger was for anyone else but Stiles.

But the scene in front of his eyes say otherwise.

Theo’s eyes widened, his breath getting caught.

He looked down, his hands moving to grip Scott’s wrist—scrambling to pry off the tight hold.

But he was powerless.

It was no use.

Scott’s hold barely shifted. 

Theo didn’t expect him to still be this strong—not when he had done all he could to get rid of his pack.

And pack meant more power.

“Let—go—of me!” Theo’s words stumbled out, panic overtaking every ounce of his usual calculated control, especially when he currently struggled to breathe.

Scott cocked his head to the side, his eyes cold.

“Why should I?” Scott asked with narrowed eyes.

“I’m—” Theo rasped out. 

“—why—you—can’t do—this,” he stammered, his voice cracking.

A mix of panic, confusion, and dread emitted from his body.

“I can,” Scott said evenly. “And I should.”

He stared at Theo with pinpoint focus.

Then, he stated with certainty, “You’re working with the dread doctors.” 

Theo’s eyes widened. 

“How—” he breathed, shock and fear sharp in his voice.

Scott’s eyes narrowed.

At first, he didn’t even think of that possibility at first.

His wolf instincts hummed beneath the surface, dark and patient.

He had always wanted to believe in everyone.

Always wanted to give second chances.

Always tried to give everyone the benefit of the doubt.

Tried to push down his animal side and let the human side lead.

But—

Now, he saw the truth.

He realized that hiding that part of him would only end up causing more problems.

It would endanger more than just himself.

It would endanger the ones he cared about.

There were also things that he never even realized was an issue, until he gave in.

Like now.

When he combined his senses with the wolf within him.

He noticed all the inconsistencies.

Every flaw, every misjudgement—it was all laid bare.

Not only with Theo, but with the whole situation.

And yes… Theo was one of the main causes of it. 

He was dangerous.

But so was Scott’s own rigid morality.

His too black and white sense of right and wrong that had blinded him.

Nothing was that simple.

Theo… Scott let him in the pack.

He infiltrated it. 

Manipulated their trust.

Embedded himself among his friends.

Scott should’ve believed Stiles in the first place.

Even though later on, Theo was able to successfully sneak up on everyone’s good side and gain their trust.

But Theo wasn’t like Isaac. Or like Ethan and Aiden.

He was selfish.

Deluded.

And yet—

At this moment, he underestimated Scott.

“You were planning to kill me, weren’t you?” Scott asked, his voice quiet and precise. 

Much like a predator savoring the moment as he welcomed the assistance of his wolf.

His vision kept pulsing red as his senses were magnified.

Theo froze, realizing the answer didn’t matter anymore.

Every micro-expression betrayed him now.

Scott was able to detect any slight changes in Theo’s chemosignals, even more than usual.

The rapid heartbeat in his neck.

The tightening of his fists as he tried to move his grip.

The tiny flicker of dread in his eyes.

The mix of anxiety, fear, and hatred that were emitted from his body.

This time, Theo didn’t bother to act.

His eyes narrowed as he struggled to get out of Scott’s grip.

His claws and fangs became visible, the sharp claws digging deeper into Scott’s arm.

Scott’s grip didn’t falter.

He didn’t flinch.

Not even one bit.

“You don’t—deserve that—power,” Theo said as his eyes flashed gold. 

Scott’s eyes glared at him, his grip tightening even more.

“That’s why you were so close to Liam,” Scott said steadily, “And Malia.”

He continued, “You were planning on letting Liam kill me. So you could take his power.”

Theo let out a sound that was a half laugh and a half choke as he hung a few inches off the ground, “That power—should be—mine.”

Then—

He shifted, moving one hand from Scott’s wrist to reach up to the part that was crushing his throat, his fingers clawing as he tried to loosen the grip.

Theo’s nails scraped uselessly against Scott’s skin.

His pulse thundered beneath Scott’s palm—fast and panicked.

“You feel that?” Scott murmured quietly. “Your heart is racing.”

Theo’s eyes flickered.

“For someone who had planned this so carefully,” Scott continued, his voice becoming lower. “You’re scared.”

Theo snarled, using the moment that Scott adjusted his grip to twist his body just enough to get leverage.

When he managed to lean back to release some of the pressure, he sucked in a sharp breath—

His lips peeled back and he bared his teeth at Scott.

“I will take your power and kill you,” Theo spat out, his eyes flashing. “All of you.”

Scott tightened his hold—

And that’s when Theo’s gaze flicked to the side—to where he caught a glimpse of something earlier.

Scott felt it a split second too late.

Theo lunged sideways, his fingers snapping around a glass jar perched on the metal shelf beside the door.

Mountain ash.

Scott’s eyes widened.

Theo slammed the jar against the wall.

The glass shattered.

The black powder exploded into the air between them.

Scott instinctively recoiled as the mountain ash burned against his skin and his lungs, his grip breaking.

He stumbled back, his chest heaving as the invisible barrier snapped into place around him.

At the same time, Theo collapsed to the foor.

He was coughing—but laughing.

It was a raw and breathless sound.

Scott straightened slowly inside the circle, his eyes locked onto Theo.

Theo pushed himself up on one elbow, ash dusting his clothes—his skin.

And that was when Scott noticed it.

Theo wasn’t burning.

He wasn’t repelled.

He wasn’t weakened.

He slowly stood up, taking his ankle—which was partially placed inside the circle—and carefully moving it away until it was now outside the barrier.

Scott’s breath hitched.

Theo lifted his head up, a crooked grin spreading across his face as he realized that Scott had noticed.

“See?” Theo said hoarsely. “That’s the difference between the both of us.”

Scott stared at him.

“You’re not—” Scott started, then stopped. He didn't bother continuing his sentence.

Theo took one deliberate step forward towards the edges of the barrier, but immediately pulled back before his foot could actually go inside the circle—not wanting to give Scott any chance.

But it was already clear to Scott.

The barrier didn’t react.

“I’m not like you,” Theo finished for him. “Not a werewolf. Not human either.”

“A chimera,” Scott stated in a whisper, but his face was calm.

The surprise that was there earlier was gone, replaced by acceptance and subtle realization.

Theo wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with his thumb, his eyes bright with something that was close to triumph.

“I’m the first chimera,” he said with unmistakable pride in his tone. “It’s the coyote part you don’t notice. It’s why Malia trusted me first, even though she probably didn’t know it.”

He grinned with a hint of malice, “You found the perfect word though, Scott… Because a chimera isn’t just a monster with different parts.” He paused for a moment. “It can also mean something impossible to achieve—an unrealizable dream.”

Scott cocked his head slightly to the side, a calm but dangerous expression still on his face, “And they realized you?”

“They came close with me. But… we can’t all be perfect,” Theo replied without hesitation. “We can’t all be True Alphas.”

He shrugged his shoulders without care.

“But I don’t follow your rules,” he said softly, looking down at the barrier surrounding Scott.

“Your mountain ash,” he continued. “Your lines. Your morality.”

Scott’s wolf stirred—uneasy now.

But it wasn’t furious.

It was alert.

Theo straightened fully, standing tall.

“That’s why I’ll win,” Theo added. “Because you’re still pretending that there are lines you won’t cross.”

Scott said nothing.

But something in his expression changed.

Not fear.

Understanding.

Theo wasn’t just a traitor.

He wasn’t just a manipulator.

He was an anomaly.

A weapon.

And Scott finally understood what his wolf had been warning him about all along.

Theo was dangerous.

He was a threat that didn’t belong in any pack.

And Scott would have to become something else entirely to stop him.

Scott stood still inside the circle.

Not pacing.

Not struggling.

The mountain ash hung in the air between them, settling slowly.

Theo’s grin lingered on his face—until it didn’t.

Because Scott didn’t look like he was trapped.

He didn’t look panicked or anxious.

He looked… calm.

Scott lifted his head.

His eyes burned brighter than before.

Not wild.

Not feral.

But focused—and controlled.

Theo frowned, “You—”

Scott inhaled.

—Deep.

And then, he stepped forward.

The mountain ash flared brightly—then faltered.

Cracks rippled through the invisible barrier.

Almost like stress fractures in glass.

Theo’s breath hitched.

“That’s not possible,” he whispered.

Scott took another step.

The ash burned—but he didn’t stop.

Power rolled off him in waves.

Heavy and deliberate, pressing down on the room itself.

“You think rules stop me?” Scott said quietly, before continuing.

“They don’t.”

The barrier shattered.

It didn’t even take half a minute.

Theo staggered back a step, genuine fear flashing across his face now.

Gone was the excitement.

Gone was the anticipation.

What replaced it was ffear.

Scott tilted his head slightly.

“You made one mistake,” he continued. “You thought I wouldn’t become the thing you were most afraid of… You said you’ll kill me?”

Scott slowly shook his head.

“Not if I do it first.”

Theo’s eyes widened.

There was real, unfiltered surprise on his face.

He clearly did not expect that.

Doubt flashed across his face as he stared at Scott—watching him stand unharmed within the broken mountain ash barrier.

Watching the wolf and the human now move as one.

His face paled when Scott didn’t take his words back.

“You—wouldn’t…” Theo said, his voice thinner now.

Scott didn’t respond.

He didn’t look away.

Theo had underestimated him, and now…

Now he knew.

He was about to pay the price.

Scott’s eyes flared an even brighter red.

“Try me.”

Theo lunged.

He was fast—but not fast enough.

Definitely not for a True Alpha who had succumbed to his senses.

Not fully animal.

Not fully human either.

But a balance—between both sides.

Scott caught Theo effortlessly by the collar and slammed him into the wall.

The impact rattled the shelves.

Theo gasped out, his hands flying up on instinct—but the hatred was still written on his face. Only now, it was accompanied by his fear.

Scott leaned in close, his voice low—almost like there was a hint of regret.

“I gave you a chance,” he said. “I chose to believe you.”

Theo’s eyes darted wildly now, calculation scrambling into desperation.

“You need me,” he rasped out. “You don’t know how many of them are out there—”

“I know enough,” Scott replied. “And I can’t take any more chances with you.”

Then—

He twisted Theo’s neck.

The snapping sound echoed sharply throughout the room—clear and final.

Theo’s body went limp instantly.

Scott released his grip.

Theo collapsed to the floor in a boneless heap, mountain ash drifting around him like snow being blown away. 

The thump was so loud that it blocked the sound of his rapid heartbeat.

Then silence followed.

Scott stood there for a long moment, his chest rising slowly and his eyes still glowing.

Then—

Gradually, they started to dim.

Scott looked down slowly at Theo’s body.

He didn’t feel triumph.

He didn’t feel relief.

Only resolve.

Like cutting a wire of a bomb before it detonated.

It wasn’t exactly vengeance. But it was containment.

And now, he understood.

It was what protecting his pack looked like.

His brows twitched for a moment before he moved his gaze towards his other hand—the one that still held the wrench.

His grip on it tightened as he closed his eyes.

It wasn’t about the weapon.

It was about the situation that Theo had tried to weaponize.

He turned away.

But he didn’t run.

He wasn’t shaken so badly.

But he was changed.

Outside, the night was still. And somewhere deep inside Scott, the line that he had been so afraid of crossing finally disappeared.

He extended his neck backwards and slowly exhaled through pursed lips, trying to calm himself down.

Then—

The bell at the entrance sounded out, indicating that someone entered the animal clinic.

Scott immediately opened his eyes, noticing the familiar scent.

He slowly walked over until he was by the doorway, standing between the room he was currently in and the front lobby.

“Hey, sorry,” Stiles started as he fumbled around at the entrance, his jacket sleeve catching on to a hook in the door frame.

He cursed under his breath, trying to get it untangled.

His breathing was harsh and heavy.

His pulse was irregular.

Most likely due to the fact he ran. 

“I had trouble starting the Jeep again,” Stiles dramatically let out a huge breath. “That thing’s barely hanging on.”

He then ran a hand through his hair after getting out the string that was caught.

He turned back and headed a few steps towards Scott. 

“I couldn’t get in touch with Malia or Lydia…” Stiles finally looked up at Scott.

Then, he froze.

His face paled.

His gaze quickly moved from Scott’s face to his right hand.

It was the hand that was visible, due to Scott’s body being half-hidden by the door frame.

It was the hand holding on to the wrench.

The familiar wrench that Stiles thought was gone.

The wrench that he used to kill Donovan.

His breath paused.

Various expressions flashed onto his face.

“Scott,” his voice came out like a whisper. “Where did you get that?”

Scott tilted his head, the corners of his eyes creasing slightly—not in glee or worry, but just calmly, and a bit questioning.

But there was a strange calmness.

One that Stiles was not quite sure about.

Scott slowly lifted the wrench up, bringing it into view, enough for Stiles to see it more clearly. 

His eyes never left Stiles as he gave it a little wave.

“This yours?” he asked, although it was more like a statement.

And Stiles knew it.

He didn’t respond.

Scott continued to stare at him while Stiles looked back, his breathing becoming slow but deep.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Scott’s voice was steady and calm—like the sea turning dark as the storm clouds rushed above the sky.

Stiles opened his mouth to speak, then closed it back again.

Scott stood still where he was, patiently waiting for Stiles to say something.

After who knows how long, Stiles finally opened his mouth to respond.

“I—” Stiles started. “I was going to…”

Scott studied him.

The way his pulse spiked up slightly.

The way he fidgeted his fingers.

The way he unconsciously shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“No, you weren’t,” Scott said calmly. “But why didn’t you tell me when it happened?”

Stiles' expression showed a resigned look. 

“I couldn’t,” he said in what was barely a whisper.

“You killed Donovan?” Scott asked, making sure he understood it right.

“Well,” Stiles swallowed. “He was going to go kill my dad. Was I just supposed to let him?”

Scott’s eyes drooped slightly.

“You… could’ve told me…” he trailed off in a low voice.

Stiles exhaled harshly.

“You think I had a choice? Yeah, well. I can’t do what you can, Scott.” Stiles exclaimed, frustration clear in his tone. “I know you wouldn’t have done it—you probably would have just figured something out, right?”

“Stiles—” Scott started to speak, but he was cut off.

“Because you’re Scott McCall!” Stiles gestured vaguely towards him. “You’re the True Alpha!—But guess what? All of us can’t be True Alphas. Some of us have to make mistakes—some of us have to get our hands a little bloody sometimes.” 

His breath became harsh as he continued, “—Some of us are human!”

Silence filled the clinic.

“No—Stiles,” Scott carefully spoke up. 

He shook his head with intention.

But his eyes never left Stiles’ gaze.

“I would’ve helped you,” Scott replied calmly.

There was no hesitation in his voice.

“What—” 

Stiles jerked his head back.

A confused expression appeared on his face, “What are you talking about?”

But Scott’s stare was resolute.

Almost like it tried to dig deep into Stiles’ soul—trying to convince him.

He lowered the wrench and stepped closer, his voice softening, “I would’ve made sure that he wouldn’t have had the chance to hurt you ever again.”

“What do you mean—” 

Stiles also walked closer towards Scott, the both of them meeting midway.

Until he finally got a glimpse of his whole figure and the room behind him.

The smell hit first.

But Stiles didn’t pay it much attention.

Then—

Something caught his sight from the corner of his eyes.

His gaze moved downwards.

It was Theo.

Or rather, his body.

It was twisted at an angle from his neck—making the world feel wrong and unreal.

He was too still. Too quiet. 

And his eyes are open, staring at nothing.

Stiles froze in his spot.

He doesn’t scream.

He doesn’t move.

His jaw dropped open as he turned to look at Scott.

“Scott—you—he—” he stumbled over his words.

His chest tightened painfully, his breath coming shallow as his brain raced to assemble the pieces.

Then he stopped.

Stiles saw Scott’s face.

“Oh,” he breathed out.

He knew that look.

It was kind of different, not exactly the same.

But it had something similar that brought him back to what happened in the library.

His expression right before Donovan stopped breathing.

The realization landed heavily—but not sharp.

Not like fear.

Not like betrayal.

Almost like recognition.

Stiles swallowed hard, his hands trembling at his sides.

“Did you do this,” Stiles paused, his brows furrowed. “Because of me?”

Scott hesitated, but replied carefully, “No.”

Stiles didn’t respond right away.

* * * * * * *

Over an hour had passed.

Scott washed his hands for the third time.

The water ran clear now, but he still kept scrubbing.

Like it might change something.

Like it might show that this wasn’t reality.

The sink was cracked.

The lights hummed softly overhead, now switched on.

Behind him, footsteps came closer until it stopped right behind where he stood.

Scott stiffened, just slightly. 

But he didn’t say anything.

“Scott.”

Stiles' voice was quiet.

It was not accusing.

It was not afraid.

Scott finally finished washing and turned off the faucet.

Then—

He turned carefully until he was facing Stiles.

Stiles wasn’t looking right at him.

But his gaze scanned Scott from head to toe, until it stopped to right where his arm was.

And as if he immediately noticed something, Stiles stepped even closer before Scott could pull away.

“You missed a spot,” Stiles said, his voice calm and gentle.

Scott looked down.

There was a smear of dried blood at the edge of his sleeve.

Then he nodded.

Stiles immediately reached out without bothering to ask, his fingers brushing Scott’s wrist as he rolled the sleeves up.

The touch is steady—and deliberate.

As if Stiles had already decided something and this was just… 

Some type of usual maintenance.

But for the moment, neither of them spoke.

“I keep thinking and waiting,” Stiles finally spoke, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “That I should probably be horrified. And wait for the part where I completely lose it.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

Scott’s jaw tightened, his gaze drifting away towards a random spot on the floor.

Stiles kept going, “Like—full meltdown—full Beacon Hills classic.”

“Hyperventilating, screaming, probably possessed by something ancient and evil again.”

His words continued as he kept listing out whatever popped up into his mind. “Like curled up into myself, shaking, dry-heaving, mentally replaying this for the next fifty years.”

He huffed lightly. 

“The kind of trauma that gets its own chapter in Lydia’s psychology textbook—” he rambled on, “—that she probably already finished writing ever since she started walking.”

Stiles paused for a second. 

“But I’m not,” he said with certainty. “And none of those things happened.”

His eyes bore into Scott.

Scott looked directly at him then.

“I’m scared,” Stiles admitted quickly, as if the word itself might bite. 

But he added after a moment, “Because this is Beacon Hills and something is always about to get worse.”

Then, with a softer voice, “But I’m not scared of you.”

That’s when Scott’s shoulders relaxed—just a bit.

It eased, almost like he had been holding himself upright by sheer will.

Stiles noticed.

“And I think,” he added softly. “I think that’s how I know I can live with this.”

Scott’s gaze stayed on Stiles.

They just sat there, unmoving and not speaking.

“I didn’t feel good doing it,” Scott finally said.

Then, after a few seconds, he continued.

“But now that I think about it, I don’t feel bad about it either.”

Stiles nodded once, absorbing what Scott just said.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s understandable.”

Silence filled the room yet again.

Stiles swallowed hard.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” he said suddenly, bringing up Donovan like the words clawed their way out.

Like he had to let it out.

His eyes drifted away for a split second before it went back and met Scott’s.

“I swear—I didn’t wake up that day thinking that I would end someone’s life.”

Scott’s chest tightened.

“Neither did I,” he whispered.

Stiles nodded as they shared similar expressions.

He slowly walked towards the front lobby of the clinic with Scott following after him.

“There was a pin,” Stiles continued, not looking at Scott when he spoke.

Scott’s expression shifted immediately—his attention sharpened, almost instinctively protective.

Then, Stiles stopped by a small chair in front of a side table.

He turned around and crouched down so he could sit on it.

Scott took a nearby chair and silently dragged it closer, stopping just beside the table where Stiles sat.

“Just… one stupid little pin holding the scaffolding together,” Stiles explained, his arms waving in the air as he gestured vaguely.

His eyebrows furrowed together as he looked straight at Scott.

Scott listened intently, his gaze focused.

“He was dragging me down, Scott. I couldn’t breathe,” Stiles said. 

“I couldn’t think.” His voice cracked.

“I didn’t plan anything. I just… reacted. And…” Stiles' shoulders sagged down. “I pulled it.”

Scott gave a slow nod as he closed his eyes, absorbing all of the chemosignals emitted by Stiles, like he was trying to replicate the scenario in his mind.

The hatred that Donovan arrived with at the library—probably even more than what hostility he displayed during their meeting at the Sheriff’s station.

The panic that Stiles must have felt.

The fear that appeared as he was cornered with no other way out.

The struggle.

The blood.

The close to death scenario.

And…

To think that if it weren’t for that pin—and for Donovan dying—Stiles might not have lived to see another day.

Scott’s fist clenched tighter. 

He opened his eyes again, looking at Stiles with a look that was neither judging nor sympathetic.

Stiles wouldn’t want that.

He wouldn’t want to be pitied.

“He was trying to kill you,” Scott confirmed.

Stiles nodded.

“The metal braces came down with one of it going through him,” Stiles said as he got a faraway look in his eyes. “I didn’t even realize what happened until everything stopped.”

He paused for a while.

“When I didn’t hear him coming up,” Stiles went on. “I looked down and saw it… But you know what? I remember thinking—just before it happened.”

He blinked and stared back at Scott.

“That this was it,” he added. “It was either him or me. And then it was over.”

Scott closed his eyes for a split second and opened them again.

This time, they were a bit glassy from unshed tears that he couldn’t let out.

“The conversation we had a few days before that,” Stiles said quietly. “About Kira and Malia. When they were about to kill people—or planning to, rather. You had a look on your face. You probably didn’t realize it.”

Scott’s throat tightened.

“But I knew then,” Stiles gave a sad smile. “That I would never want to be in that situation.” 

“And that’s why I didn’t tell you,” he added quickly, his voice soft and fragile. “Because of how you might look at me.”

Scott frowned, guilt and sadness appearing on his face as he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Stiles shook his head slowly.

He lifted both his legs up on his chair and wrapped his elbows around his knees.

He rested his chin on them as he carefully observed Scott’s reactions.

“I thought you would realize that I had crossed a line—that I had crossed something sacred, and that you would never forgive me,” he continued. “And look at me like I… wasn’t me anymore.”

Scott winced.

“I thought I would lose you,” Stiles admitted. 

Scott immediately stood up and knelt down right in front of Stiles.

The chair Stiles was on was shorter. So earlier, it seemed like Scott was looking down at him.

But this time, they were on the same eye level.

Scott placed a reassuring hand on Stiles' arm and gave him a gentle smile.

“I know the difference,” he said.

Stiles partially rolled his eyes and scoffed weakly.

“Between what?” he said. “Being a good guy and—”

“—Between murder,” Scott interrupted him, his voice breaking just slightly. “And surviving.”

Stiles froze.

Scott took Stiles' hands—which were tightly clenched—almost to the point of his nails digging into his palms.

He moved carefully, focusing on extending his fingers one by one.

His thumbs slowly brushed over the nail marks that dug deep.

“I know what self-defense is,” Scott continued, then looked back up at Stiles. “And I know what fear looks like.”

Stiles exhaled shakily, his hands trembling in Scott's hands.

“I still lied,” he whispered.

Scott nodded, “Yeah.”

Then after a few seconds, he added.

“So did I,” Scott said. “When I didn’t let myself understand.”

“That’s why Theo…” Stiles said slowly.

Scott didn’t deny it.

“I kept replaying it,” Scott admitted. “Trying to find the moment where I could’ve done something else.”

He clenched his hands together.

“And every time, it just ends in the same way.”

Stiles watched him carefully.

“You were right. Theo wasn’t done,” Scott said, his lips curling downward. “He was escalating. He was testing how much damage he could cause before someone stopped him. He was working with the Dread Doctors.”

Scott looked at Stiles. “It used to be you. The one who stopped others. You were right all along. He couldn’t be trusted. But…”

He shook his head slowly, a regretful expression appearing on his face. “Because I let my guard down, he was able to steer his way inside the pack. Until he finally got your trust. The last lifeline of the pack.”

“He was going to use you,” Scott said. “Or Liam. Or both. Definitely Malia and Lydia. He didn't need me, aside from my status as an alpha.”

Stiles’ breath hitched.

“So I made a choice,” Scott continued. “I crossed a line so that none of you would ever have to. Not anymore.”

A frown appeared on Scott’s face as he continued, “I just wish I could’ve done something earlier. I didn’t want it to ever happen like this.”

Stiles tilted his head, curiosity flashing across his face. “Like what?”

Scott hesitated for a moment before replying, “I knew that sooner or later, one of us was going to get a little too much blood on our hands.”

He let out something that was a mix between a scoff and a huff of grim amusement, “I half-thought it would be Malia.”

Stiles shrugged his shoulders, clearly understanding why.

“Well,” he started. “She definitely seemed like she was working on it.”

Scott gave a nod, “I just always thought that if it were to happen, then it should be me.”

Stiles frowned and opened his mouth to say something.

But Scott quickly added, “I’m the one who’s constantly putting you guys in danger and risking your lives… for people you don’t even know! And I tell you guys to fight…” 

He frowned and continued, “…not to kill, but to detain—now that I think about it, I basically placed you guys with a disability. Almost as if you guys had one hand tied behind your backs.”

He let out a sharp exhale as he reached his hand up through his hair and ruffled it.

“And like you said…” Scott bit his lip. “You’re human too.” 

It was almost like he was ashamed of his past actions. 

“Yet you were still able to survive despite all of my impractical rules,” Scott’s brows furrowed as he scanned him in just a second. “But… not without harm.”

Stiles' breath hitched, his hands clamming up together.

Scott whispered, staring at him with focus, “It should’ve been me.”

Stiles stared at him then gave him a small smile—his expression a mix of comfort and relief.

The silence stretched between them.

And after a few moments, Stiles raised a hand and gave Scott an affectionate pat on the shoulder.

“Well,” Stiles started. “You didn’t cross my line.”

Scott blinked.

Stiles inhaled softly through his nose.

“You ended something that was already in motion,” Stiles added. “I knew Theo was trouble—called it from the start.” He rolled his eyes. 

Then he looked at Scott with a serious gaze. “But you didn’t do it for fun. And certainly not for enjoyment, not for greed or power. What you did—that’s not the same as becoming Peter.”

Scott exhaled shakily, not surprised that Stiles knew him so much.

“But I don’t regret it,” Scott admitted. “And that scares me. Because I have the potential to be like him. I know it. And feel it.”

Stiles put down his lower limbs on the floor and placed an elbow on top of his thigh.

Then, he leaned in—resting his chin on his palm as he tilted his head to the side.

“It shouldn’t,” he said. “Because regret would mean that you would hesitate next time.”

Scott’s eyes flickered.

“And there will be a next time,” Stiles continued. 

Scott closed his eyes and exhaled a deep breath. “I already learned.”

He opened his eyes and continued, “That sometimes protecting someone means getting blood on your hands. And it doesn’t make you a monster.”

Stiles sighed, a faint look of pride settling into his face.

“Good,” he muttered. “Because I really didn’t want to be alone in that.”

Scott met his eyes, “You won’t be anymore.”

Stiles let out a small huff, “Yeah, cause that’s the world we’re currently living in,” he continued, blinking his eyes slowly for a second. “The difference is that—”

His eyes opened again and met Scott’s directly.

“—you won’t let me carry it alone.”

Scott’s voice dropped to almost nothing.

“Never.” he said firmly, certainty obvious in his tone.

Stiles held his gaze.

“Good,” he said with a smile. “Because if the world is going to get darker, I would want to know that you’re still choosing us.”

Scott nodded once.

“Always,” he said.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty.

Instead, it was full of things forgiven without being spoken aloud.

Stiles nodded once. 

“I still wish I had told you sooner though,” he told Scott with a soft tone. "I spent so long bracing for something that never came."

Scott answered just as softly, “I wish you never had to.”

He leaned closer towards Stiles—not crowding, just present and steady.

“I would’ve stood between you and the world,” Scott said, his voice low but certain.

“Every time,” he quietly added.

Stiles swallowed.

“You won’t carry any of this alone,” Scott continued. “Not now. Not ever.”

Then—

Stiles smiled, wider this time. The tension hadn’t vanished entirely, but the warmth was unmistakable. Real. And grounded.

Scott returned it.

And it was real.

They were alright.

Scott had crossed a line. 

But he didn’t erase it.

He had chosen it—given it weight, given it meaning, given it a purpose.

And in doing so, he relearned what it meant to live in this dangerous town. 

To survive in a town like Beacon Hills.

Sacrifices would always exist here.

But not like that. 

Not for his pack.

Not anymore.

He would burn the world before he would ever let it take Stiles.