Archive of Our Own ^beta

The woods always feel scarier at night, they’ve got that eerie quality, plugged into almost complete darkness, that just makes a chill crawl up her spine - still, they said half a body, and Stiles isn’t going to miss the most interesting thing that happened in this town since forever just because she’s a little scared. 

“Dude” Scot gasps, trying to keep up with her “maybe the severe asthmatic should be the one with the flash light?” And yeah, okay. Stiles should have probably thought about that. “Oh, come on,” she huffs, side eyeing her best friend “Didn’t you say you wanted to try for first line? This is an excellent exercise! And, you got your inhaler, right?” Scot nods, and then he actually has to use the inhaler - Stiles may or may not feel a bit guilty about the nightly trek now, but Scott will forgive her. 

Stiles hears something. It’s probably just a twig snapping or adamned owl, but she’s in the woods at night, so it scares the crap out of her - so she sprints, making sure that Scott is still following her. She turns around, sees him stumble and get up, she turns back and she’s falling down. There’s a root under her hand, she feels it on the skin of her palm - It buzzes, in a weird way, calls her. Then there’s a flashlight blinding her, and her father’s voice “This delinquent belongs to me, stand down.”

“Stiles” her father says, his disapproving face on “do you listen to all of my calls?” Stiles looks at him, from under her lashes and pouting a bit - it’s her best innocent expression, the one that stopped working a while ago. “Not the boring ones?” she answers, even daring a smirk. Dad arches an eyebrow, crosses his arms on his chest and gives her his best seriously, Stiles? Expression - It’s a work of art, honestly. “Where’s your usual partner in crime? Scott?!” he screams, pointing the flashlight into the trees. 

“He’s not here” she stutters quickly - her dad was going to spot Scott in a minute, and she really doesn’t want to get him into even more trouble - “said he wanted to sleep, something about making first line or something? I don’t know.” “Scott!” her father tries again, shouting and moving the flashlight “Scott! Are you out there?” When he doesn’t get an answer, he gives up  and turns to Stiles, pointing an accusing finger at her. “Get the hell out of-” “Going” stiles says, already walking towards where she thinks she parked the jeep, skipping a little “love you, Dad.” 

So, her jeans are probably ruined, her favourite batman shirt probably needs a hundred washes and she didn’t even see the half body; at least she got Scott out of it unburned, probably. A sudden wind makes her shiver, she feels it right inside her bones - she pulls the hood of her red hoodie up, and walks a little faster. The trees around her seem to come alive, leaves rustled by the wind - totally creepy.  

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By the time John gets home, the sun is already starting to shine on Beacon Hills and he feels dead on his feet. Honestly, dead people, half dead people, in Beacon Hills: this feels pretty far from his job description, even if it actually isn’t. The house is strangely quiet, and that’s only possible because Stiles is sleeping - that girl is a tornado: she bumps into things, and falls down, and then screams; and if none of that is happening, then she’s already downstairs chatting his ears off. The Sheriff thanks God every day for that girl, for how much space she takes and how much love she gives him: he knows damn well she’s the only reason he even survived Claudia’s death. 

It’s so late that it's almost early, so John has just the time to take a shower before he has to make coffee and wake sleeping beauty up. Stiles’ door is closed, and the Sheriff has to resist the urge to peek inside to check on her: she is in no way a heavy sleeper, and her alarm is going to wake her up in less than fifteen minutes, so he can manage the parental worry for that long. Even if his daughter does her damn best to challenge his poor nerves: like going for a walk into the woods at night, allegedly alone, looking for a fucking dead body. She’s just as smart as she is stupid sometimes - reckless in her youth, Claudia would say. 

John gets back into the kitchen, dressed and freshly showered, just in time to greet Stiles’ stumbling figure with a cup of coffee. “Morning” she mumbles, yawning and stretching in her seat. John smiles a bit, she’s a mess in the morning: her hair are resembling a bird’s nest, the department t-shirt she’s wearing is several sizes too big, and she can’t even keep her head up. “Morning, little girl” he says, remembering that he’s supposed to be mad at her - again: he loves her to pieces, but she is a lot to deal with. 

“I’m thinking no videogames all week and no car on the weekend” she looks up at him, confused for barely a second and then ready to argue her way out of it. Or try to. “Unless you prefer not stepping out of the house and not having Scott over for a week? Weekend included.” Stiles is quick to accept the former terms of the deal, and then she rushes up the stairs screaming about how late she is. She’s not, she probably just wants to tell Scott about last night - Scott was there with her thought, the Sheriff just knows it. 

“Dad, there’s chicken salad in the fridge, and your vitamins on the counter” she screams, running back down the stairs just minutes after she got up. “You’re going in after noon, right? So no donuts, or muffins, or any baked goods. And no coffee after six.” She’s sitting on the last steps, with her incredibly long hair down and a rubber band between her lips; jeans, spiderman t-shirt, and an open plaid shirt that had probably been Scott’s - sometimes, she reminds him so much of her mother that he has to look away. “Also” she gets up, words muffled by the rubber band still between her lips “did you find the body?” Yes, definitely a lot to deal with . 

“Stiles” he says, fighting to keep his stern face even when she makes puppy eyes at him “school. Now.” “Alright” she uffs, even daring to sound annoyed “love you, Dad! Stay away from the carbs!” John chuckles, shaking his head at Stiles overall weirdness “breach the terms of your punishment and you can say goodbye to Scott!” - he sees her stumble on her own feet, finally winning the fight with her own hair, and getting in the jeep. She’s a mess, just like Claudia. 

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“Scott!” she shouts as soon as she spots him, jumping up and down on the balls of her feet - she can feel her hair slipping out of the hair tie;  it will probably hold, her bun will just get even messier. “Dude!” Scott doesn’t look too hot honestly, but it’s probably just the less than enough hours of seep catching up with him “What happened last night? Did you get caught?” 

“Actually” Scott says, raising his shirt “I was attacked by a wolf.” “Wow” Stiles actually reaches to touch the medication on the boy’s hip, but Scott slaps her hand away - rude! Is on the tip of her tongue; but then Scotty actually whinces. There’s something there, beneath the medication, something that makes her shiver for no apparent reason - she shakes her head, ignoring the weird sensation.

“Wait” Stiles backs up for a second, frowning up at Scott “That’s impossible. A wolf can’t have attacked you, there are no wolves in California. They haven’t been for the last sixty years, or something.” Scott looks confused for a second, but then he seems to accept Stiles datas for good - as he should: no one remembers obscure, useless facts better than Stiles. “And” he goes on, pulling down his shirt “I found the body.” 

“Shit! That’s amazing!” Stiles is kind of jumping up and down again, she can’t help it.  Scott scoffs, rolling his eyes “yeah, tell that to the nightmares I'm going to have for the next month.” 

“No, really. This is the most exciting thing that has happened in this town since, I don't know -” then Lydia Martin is walking towards them, and Stiles almost loses the train of her thoughts entirely “since Lydia Martin’s birth. Hey, Lydia! You look -” and of course the love of her life walks past them, without as much as a glance “like you’re gonna ignore me. Like always.”

Scott is smiling at her, with that exasperation traced with immense fondness, as he often does - he’s kind of making fun of her, she knows; but she can forgive him, it’s not his fault he never fell in love. Her crush on Lydia Martin has been going on for as long as she knew what a crush was. Actually, probably way before that: Lydia is a girl, and the inherent heteronormativity of the society they live in kept her from realizing the weight of her feelings until almost the end of middle school - not that her admiration, mild obsession really, hadn’t been full on way before that. Enter bisexual freak out, enter awkward coming out to her dad, enter explaining the entire concept of bisexuality to Scott - her last year of middle school had been a blast, really. 

“You know,” she says, punching Scott’s shoulder “this is all your fault! Your nerdiness is ruining my rep.” Scott winces at the punch, even if it isn’t remotely possible that she hurt him, and then scoffs “what rep?” Stiles just makes a horrified face, gasps too, just for good measure, and starts walking towards the entrance - they may or may not be already late for chemistry, but whatever, Harris is the worst anyway. 

They walk in just in time to see Jackson, plastered all over Lydia against the lockers, giving her a last kiss goodbye - as attractive as he may be, Jackson is way to much of a jerk to be considered any good at all. And they’re officially late, Harris is gonna be a pain in the ass and she didn't even get the chance to check Scott's alleged wolf bite -  What a way to start the day, really. 

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Scott is going crazy, and not in Stiles’ I definitely took too much adderall crazy kind: His asthma is gone, he can do shit that 's definitely beyond his normal possibilities; but he feels off the brick of losing it, all the time. Stiles told him, she told him right away and he just didn’t listen: because, honestly, werewolves? They just can’t be real. But apparently they are, and apparently he is one, and just when he thought that everything was turning good for him - Shit. He was in so much shit. 

He finds himself on Stiles’ doorstep without realizing it, but it’s definitely good instincts. He rings the bell and she opens the door immediately; he must really look like shit, since she takes him directly to her room without saying a word. She sits him on the bed, and waits patiently for him to start talking. For exactly five seconds, then she starts fidgeting.

“You were right” he starts, because that’s definitely the right thing to start with “I’m a werewolf.” And that’s apparently too much for Stiles, she can’t shut up anymore. “No? Really?” she says, eyes wide in fake shock “What gave it away? Was it the glowing eyes? The sudden appearance of facial hair? No, wait. It may have been the claws and fangs that you suddenly have?”

Okay, he deserves all the sarcasm. She had told him what he was, how dangerous he was, and that he should have stayed away from Allison - but he didn’t listen. And now there’s so much more crap he has to deal with, so much that he can’t even wrap his head around it, and he needs his best friend: he needs Stiles. “Ugh” Scott looks up, and he sees that Stiles isn’t angry anymore - and he honestly thanks God for that.  

“Okay, okay.” she says, as she sits beside him on the bed “Apology accepted. Now, what happened? Why do you look like shit?”. Her tone is calm and soothing, his favourite - the one she only uses when she’s really worried, or when he’s crying. She’s sitting really close, gently rubbing the space between his shoulders - the touch, paired with her gentle tone, works like magic on Scott’s nerves.  

“Derek Hale is a werewolf” he starts, and Stiles almost interrupts him before he pulls a hand up “but he says he’s not the one who bit me.” Stiles starts talking then, way too hyped to be stopped. “Derek Hale? Hotter than hell and just as creepy Derek Hale? This is private property Derek Hale? ” She asks, and Scott knows that’s not even half of the questions she wants to ask - he can admire her restraint, even if he knows it won’t last.  

Scott can only nod, the dude is creepy with all his appearing from thin air and pushing him into trees; even if he did save his life tonight. Shit, he saved his life. “Yes. But that’s not the worst part” he swallows loudly, he can’t even believe this is happening to him “There’s hunters. Werewolves hunters. And I’m pretty sure one of them was Allison’s dad.” Stiles might be in shock too now, because it takes a couple of seconds for her to speak another word. “Allison’s father?” she starts. “He shot me -” “he shot you?!” “- with a crossbow.”

“Wow” that’s all she says, after a time that could be considered biblical for Stiles’ standards. “I’m sorry, Scotty. I know you really liked her” Stiles gets up, pulls her covers up and lays down under them “call Melissa, borrow a pair of your own gym shorts, and get in here.” She pats the bed beside her, and then closes her eyes “you clearly need some cuddles, after the night you had.” Scott actually feels a whine escape his throat: yes, he definitely needs some cuddles. 

He puts on the gym shorts, leaves a message to his mom and gets in bed - he hopes the Sheriff doesn’t come too early tomorrow, he doesn’t like him sleeping over very much. He likes Scott, he knows that; but it seems that the mere idea of a boy in his daughter’s bed is enough to put him in a bad mood. He has nothing to worry about, of course: he and Stiles see each other more like brother and sister than anything else - Stiles is beautiful, and hot too; but he remembers when her boobs first made an appearance: they did nothing for him back then, and they still don’t. 

Stiles cuddles up against his back, and Scott takes a deep breath - Werewolves, Derek Hale, and now hunters. He should have known when he got into first line; or when Allison agreed to go out with him: something had to go wrong, his life is never that easy. He closes his eyes, exhoustation catching up with his body - “Wait” Stiles’s voice is sudden, but it doesn’t surprise him “Derek Hale is a werewolf, was Laura Hale a werewolf? Did a werewolf kill her?” Scott grunts, hiding a smile in the pillow - “tomorrow, Stiles” he mumbles, before falling asleep. 

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Stiles has an almost comatose Derek Hale in the passenger seat, and she’s going to faint any minute now: the guy looks like he’s going to die, and she would seriously prefer he didn’t. Well, not in her Jeep at least. “Stiles”  he whispers, and then he has to take deep breaths - god, he is going to die: how will she ever explain the body of a suspected murder in her car? Dad will kill her this time, no doubt. “Deaton’s.” God Stiles has a number of dog jokes for that, but she goes for “the vet? Really?” Because confusion always wins on jokes - Yes, it does; even if she doesn’t always remember it.

“Stiles” he repeats - what’s about her name anyway? It seems like he’s wasting a lot of energy that he could be using for, like, breathing just to make things more dramatic - “drive. Now.'' Since Derek Hale apparently possesses the utterly useless ability to look scary even on the brink of death, Stiles starts the car. 

“Scott!” she screams, when he finally picks up - no, she couldn’t care less about his delicate ears right now: she’s not having anyone die in her Jeep, ever. “Do you have it?” “Not yet” Scott answers, and Stiles honesty wants to punch him “I’m working on it.” Stiles stops the car, and gets out of it in a rush “Scotty, I love you, but if he dies in my presence, you’re explaining it to my dad. So you better get on with it, buddy.” Scott hisses - the Sheriff is not someone you want to explain anything to; let alone a body, and let alone if his daughter is involved “Yeah, okay. I’m on it.” ''Good” Stiles says, finally noticing that Derek hasn’t gotten out of the car - because he can’t, since he’s dying “and make it quick.” 

Dragging Derek’s basically dead weight from the car to the back of Deaton’s is a challenge, to say the least - he’s double her size and covered in muscles, where she doesn’t even have enough of those to lift her own weight. Now she could really use some muscles, honestly - if this supernatural bullshit goes on, she might have to consider starting to exercise. So next time she has to drag an almost dead guy to the vet’s she’ll be better at it - No, she can’t believe her own thoughts either. 

“Okay” she gasps, when they finally get into the freaking building, almost dropping Derek Hale straight into the floor - it doesn’t happen just because even almost dead, the guy manages to grip onto the table. Werewolves, really. Then the guy decides he wants to take a look at the wound, and puts his arm on the table. “Woah” Stiles has to look away, there’s a hole wider than her big toe on his forearm, gushing with some honestly disgusting back goo “Oh my God, that’s disgusting.” She doesn’t even have to fake the gag, it’s all too real. 

After a couple of deep breaths, and some necessary voluntary dissociation - Ponys, rainbows, Lydia Martin in a swimsuit: any happy thoughts she can think of, just to avoid vomiting and add that too to the disgusting situation she’s in. “Okay” she says, still trying to avoid looking at the guy’s arm “what happens if Scott doesn’t find the bullet?” 

Derek looks up at her, from where he’s crunched on the vet’s table - and, honestly, even red rimmed and half dead, those eyes are seriously something. “I have a plan B” he says, voice broken and really low. And that’s it, he doesn’t elaborate - Stiles can’t believe this guy: first he drops dead, almost whatever, in front of her car; and then he doesn’t even want to talk. He was the one asking for help here, not the other way around. 

“Okay” she says, doing her best and failing not to either panic or getting angry “That’s cool, you have a plan B. in opposition to plan A, I suppose: dragging two teenager into your shit, traumatizing me for life, and sending Scott in a mad search for a magical bullet. Plan B! It must be amazing! But just to check, not questioning your planning ability in the slightest - that’s sarcasm, if you hadn’t noticed - what’s plan B?”

Derek gives her the king of killing glares, even if she doesn't deserve it at all - this whole, entire situation it’s his fault, not hers. “You” he starts, after he finally get tired of silently glaring his disapproval “cut my arm.” Stiles gasps, shocked and horrified in equal measures; Derek turns around, and grabs a terrifying medical saw or something. Stiles almost faints, for real. 

“No” she says, decisive and final “I’m not chopping your arm off. No way, just no.” Derek has the courage to growl at that, like this was an honestly normal request and she was just being difficult “do you faint at the side of blood?” 

“No” she answers, and now he’s seriously pissing her off “but the idea of cutting into flesh and bone, pooling blood on the floor, kind of disturbs me. Why would you think that strange?”

Derek growls again, butting his head on the table, but then he whines - he’s in pain, has been since the beginning, Stiles knows this. Derek is in pain, and she might not know the guy, and she might also be a bit terrified of him - but he’s in pain, in a shit ton of pain it seems, and there’s nothing Stiles can do about it. “Stiles” he whimpers, and Stiles hates the whole situation a little bit more “if the infection gets to my heart, I die.”

He’s basically telling her: either you chop my arm off, or I die. Stiles is going to kill Scott as soon as she sees him, if he doesn’t appear on the doorstep, with the magic bullet, in a second. She looks at Derek, and suddenly the possibility of his death seems very real and very close - she doesn’t want him to die, she doesn’t want anyone to die. Derek Hale, werewolf guru, so hot he’s unreal, leather lover, driver of sexy sports car - she can’t see him dead, she just can’t.

“Stiles!” Scott’s voice, echoing in the empty rooms, makes her shiver in relief. He gives Derek the bullet, that cures himself awesomely fast but also in a disturbingly painful way, and everyone goes back to their life. Derek doesn’t die, no one does - but Stiles knows, she feels it into her bones and in the air around her, that this isn’t over. No one’s safe yet, not Derek and not Scott - she may have to start exercising, after all. 

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Jackson is already at the lacrosse field, because early is on time and on time is late - Dad’s words, verbatim. He takes lacrosse very seriously, and coming early sends one clear message: I’m not slacking off, so I can get better and kick all of your asses . He likes lacrosse as he likes any other sport, but it’s the competition that gets him - also, the companionship. If for team mates you mean Danny, capable and dependable, and honestly good at the sport. Not Scott McCall, not at all. 

There’s something really weird going on with McCall and Stilinski, and Jackson is going to find out what exactly that is: no one gets so much better at something he previously sucked at basically overnight, and certainly not McCall. Honestly, that loser shouldn’t be able to pull that acrobatics shit ever, not even if he trained all fucking summer. It’s ridiculous, that’s what it is: McCall is on drugs, and the freaking Sheriff’s daughter is covering for him. Typical. 

Scott McCall is an idiot, and one of the worst kinds. Jakson has no problem at all admitting that he’s an asshole because he is: all he wants is to make sure he is the best, and that everyone knows exactly how much better than them he is. Shallow as it may seem, he never bothered trying to hide any of it. But McCall is on an entirely different plane of assholery: because, really, he might just be the shallowest of them all; but he doesn’t say it, he doesn’t own up to it. 

For example, the idiot basically grew up with Stilinski by his side - and while Jackson understands platonic relationships as anyone else, letting that kind of chance go by is just idiotic. Stilinski had been the kind of girl you can’t look away since kindergarten: she used to talk teachers into circles and barely spare other kids disgusted glances; while kids like Greengerg were still too busy eating glue - and he deserved all the disgusted glances, still does honestly. 

Then middle school happened, and she and that idiot McCall were already joined to the hip. Around the time every girl in school had a crush on him , Stilinski had an obvious crush on Lydia Martin. So, since people are assholes, and in middle school they just get worse, she kind of got a ton of weird looks for that. Apparently their parents didn't teach them that homofobia is one of the worst kinds of stupidity, and Stiles took the burn from that - by that time Jackson had made friends with Danny, so Stiles' crush definitely bothered him for another reason completely. 

High school cleared any doubt about what that reason may have been pretty quickly: Stiles grew up, and she did it all too beautifully. She keeps wearing what looks like borrowed or passed down clothes - men's clothes to be exact, so they never really did anything to highlight the fact that she has curves now. And nice ones. 

She keeps her hair up constantly - in messy buns, sometimes with pencils, and on some pretty memorable days even hidden under beanies or baseball caps. Jakson is pretty sure she doesn’t even own makeup, and that’s an alien concept for him, since the only girl he’s close to is Lydia Martin - Stiles breaks all of Lydia’s rules about being a girl, like, everyday. 

So she became hot, if you paid attention enough to actually notice it; but she still dresses as a boy, talks teachers into circles, and spares idiots barely disguised disgusted glances - she’s amazing, not that Jackon would admit this ever, even under death threat. But she is attached to the hip to Scott McCall, and has a crush on Lydia Martin - she goes out of her way to defend that idiot from Jackson, and tells anyone who’s willing to listen that he doesn’t deserve such an amazing girl as Lydia. 

In first year she decided that it was absurd that girls couldn’t be on the lacrosse team, so she started a campaign - that she obviously ended up winning - against the whole administration and the overall school policy on gender; just to be warming the bench for almost a season. Not because she’s a girl, just because she sucks at lacrosse. The worst bit: she didn’t even like the sport, she did it on principle and, obviously, because McCall was on the team. 

Jackson realises he’s been running for fifteen minutes straight, because the coach arrives along with some of the team. Stiles is on the bench - she quit the team in second year, since she didn’t even care to begin with - scribbling on some notebooks, munching on the end of a pen and  glancing at the field costanty. On the field, directly on her line of sight, there’s Scott McCall - Jackson hates that idiot, the oblivious tool is the bane of his existence. He is on drugs too, so Jackson is going to find out on what exactly and then he is going to expose him: after his unplanned meet up with his probable dealer, he has no doubt that the whole thing is trouble - so he’s just being a concerned citizen, nothing else. 

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Who’s the Alpha?

She’s in Harris’ class, and maybe ignoring the lesson completely doesn’t seem like a good idea on first thought; but then she’s actually working on life or death problems here - so chemistry, and Harris too, can go fuck themselfs. Her first priority is solving the riddle - who’s the Alpha? Sounds ominous on his own already, but if you link it to a series of bodies it gets even worse.

Laura Hale

The first body, for some reason, was cut in half. Official report states that she was killed by an animal, and wolf’s hair was found on the body. The hairs connect her death to a werewolf, obviously, but that’s where it gets tricky: if a werewolf killed Laura Hale, then why was the body cut in half? That’s not a wolf thing. Not an animal thing at all, and since Derek thinks the wolf - the Alpha - might be feral, it certainly wouldn’t go out of his way to cut a body in half after killing them. Right? 

The bus driver

She writes just under Laura Hale’s name, even if that connection escapes her completely. 

Video store guy

Is the next on the list. Three deaths, the Alpha killed three people: if she can figure out the connection between the three of them, she can maybe know who the hell the Alpha is. But there’s something missing, like, a whole set of data: Stiles feels like she’s trying to solve a puzzle with just half of the pieces. 

So, one is an incident, two is a coincidence and three's a pattern - Sheriff’s words, not hers. And she has three already, but the pattern is nowhere in sight. Conclusion: there must be a variable she can’t see, something she hasn’t accounted for yet. 

And for a second, a split second or maybe even less, she sees the link. The ropes posed in a spiral around Laura Hale’s body, touching the same earth of the burned Hale’s house. The weird buzzing beneath her skin, when Scott showed her the bendaged bite. The same buzzing, eerie sensation she felt the first time they met Derek Hale. And suddenly, the odd variable is there, just in front of her eyes: Werewolves. 

She keeps thinking at the series of murders like she would do for any other case, at the killer just like any other psychopath - but that’s not how it is: the killer is an Alpha werewolf gone feral, and his victims are chosen by instinct? Revenge? Something that is tightly connected to them as a wolf, more than a killer; and something tells her that all of that is somewhat connected to the Hales. 

Her mind goes to the Hale House fire and its case file, laughably thin and officially reported as accidental, caused by a wiring problem - that doesn’t sound right, it’s not right and she knows it. The Hale fire, Laura Hale, Derek Hale - what is she missing?

“Stilinski!” Harris’ voice makes her jump, pencil falling from between her lips “I have no intention of cutting you any slack, since you can’t even try to pay attention in my class.” Stiles would argue that he wouldn’t anyway, since he’s a jackass, and that she won’t need it, since she’s actually pretty good in chemistry - but she has a bigger fish to fry, and she doesn’t need a detention. So Stiles nods, trying to look apologetic and most definitely failing, and looks back at the page - and it hits her: if she considers werewolves, she can’t leave out hunters.

Hunters: Chris Argent, Kate Argent. Allison Argent?

She looks back at her scribbled notebook page and it looks like she has all the puzzle pieces now, all the victims and perpetrators - now: who's who exactly? 

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When Allison started the term in Beacon Hills High School she was nervous as hell, the school with all the pressure of being the new kid in town, and the social awkwardness it would entail, made a bubble of anxiety grow in her throat. Now, the walls and corridors of Beacon Hills High scare her for an entirely different reason. 

“Scott!” Stiles keeps screaming at them, at Scott mostly; but they’re fighting for their lives here, so they’re not going to stop. “Guys! Really?” She sounds annoyed, but the entrance is finally blocked. “What?” Scott shouts, and he’s angry - Allison has never seen him like this: okay, she hasn’t known him for a long time, but Scott is always smiling, happy around her. 

“You blocked the door! Amazing guys, good job!” Stiles has that sarcastic tone that usually makes her smile a bit, but right now it’s infuriating. “Now: how do we block the twenty feet window covered wall?” She has a point, they’re all going to die, and she doesn’t even know what they’re running from. This is a nightmare, her palms are sweating and her heart is basically threatening to jump out of her chest. 

Scott screams, his voice deep and winded, and he punches a desk - an angry, scared Scott is not something Allison wants to see. Stiles walks towards him, she puts a hand on his shoulder and Scot turns towards her immediately - they’re close, Allison knew this from the beginning. But, sometimes - like right now, with their faces way too close and talking to each other in hushed tones - she thinks they’re hiding something. 

“Scott” it’s her own voice, but Allison barely recognises it “what’s happening?” Scott looks at her, and his eyes look broken, exhausted and scared. “Someone killed the janitor” Stiles voice answers - it’s unmotivated jealousy, but a part of Allison wants to point out that she didn’t ask her. “Who?” Jackson sounds angry too, on edge “who killed the janitor?”

Stiles looks at Scott, and Scott is already looking at her - wide eyed and pleading, like Stiles has all the answers. Allison kind of hates it. She likes Stiles, she really does: she’s smart, and incredibly funny, and she cares about social rules and expectations in the measure that she rarely even knows they exist. She would be an awesome friend, if she let anyone that isn’t Scott McCall get to know her. 

“Derek Hale!” Scott says, and Siles looks at him with so much shock and betrayal that Allison knows to question everything that gets out of his mouth from that sentence on. “He’s here, he killed the janitor and he will kill us too, if we don’t get out of here immediately.” Scott talks, and Stiles looks at him with raised eyebrows, basically oozing disapproval - not one word, of what Scott just said, is the truth; Allison knows this like she knows the sun will rise in the east tomorrow. 

“Derek Hale?” Jakson asks, and then he stops in his trak, almost freezes - he knows something too, and he’s not sharing with the class either. The only other one in the blind seems to be Lydia, but that’s a gumble too: she doesn’t know her enough to judge either, but she seems like the kind of girl who can keep a secret. Better than the other three, obviously; but that’s not surprising. 

“Yes!” Scott is almost shaking, clutching at his hands maniacally “Now: how do we get out of here?!” Lies, lies, lies. No wonder he’s so nervous and jumpy, now that even Stiles doesn’t seem to approve of his liar methods. “Should we call the police? Stiles, you can call the Sher-” Lydya gets interrupted, before she can finish the sentence. 

“Chris Argent” Stiles says, and Allison freezes over - What? What does her father have to do with anything? “No!” Scott says, baring his teeth at Stiles in a weird, but disturbingly scary way. Stiles, not bothered in the slightest and seemingly even angrier than Scott, actually snarls out her next words “Yes! Since you decided to throw the cavalry under the metaphorical bus, he’s the only other option we have.”

“Stiles!” Scott says, getting closer to her - he looks scary, too angry, and Allison almost steps between them. Scott isn’t going to hurt Stiles, she knows this on a rational level; but he looks big and scary so angry, next to her tiny figure. “Allison” Stiles says, tone glacial, as she steps even closer to Scott, her eyes fixed on his “give me your phone, please.” She has her phone out, and in Stiles’ hand, before she even realizes she’s moving.

Scott bares his teeth, he growls - but she must have heard wrong, that's not what he did. Stiles clicks on her father’s number, and goes back to staring up at Scott with murder in her eyes, as her phone rings. Allison has no idea whatsoever what the hell is happening; but she’s scared, Scott is scary and Stiles seems to be the only one who has any idea of what’s happening and what are they going to do. 

“ Allison? Sweety?” Allison barely hears her father's voice, even in the eerie silence of the school. “Hello, Mr. Argent” Stiles answers, voice sweet but face still fired with rage “I’m with Allison, at the school. We hid in the laboratory on the first floor, since we’re having an animal problem.” She emphasized the word animal for some reason - an animal makes way more sense than Derek Hale actually, since she’s pretty sure she heard growling and howling before; but the whole sentence still doesn’t make any sense. 

“ An animal?” But from the tone of his voice, her father seems to understand enough. “Of the Alpha kind” Stiles says, raising a daring eyebrow at Scott when he tries to take the phone “you better hurry.” She cuts the call at that, sure that her father must have understood what she said - sure that he will come? To save them? From some animal, and not from Derek Hale like Scott said?

“You better calm down, Scotty,” Stiles says, glaring at Scott fiercely “there’s no one to save you from the flying arrows, this time.” Scott hisses at that, for whatever reason, and he also starts answering her; but she turns around immediately, holding a hand up. 

Minutes later her father's truck gets in the parking lot, seconds after Chris Argent blasts into the room with an armed crossbow; he hugs her tightly and for a long time, like he had been scared for her life too. Allison looks up at her father, but he’s not looking at her: his eyes, cold and filled with a foreign kind of rage, are trained directly to the other side of the room. At Stiles, her father is looking at Stiles like he wants to kill her. 

Stiles is leaning to the window, her hair down for once. Stupidly long, slightly curly hair falling on one shoulder - the moon shines on them gently, making her pale skin look even paler; but her eyes, usually a quiet amber, are liquid fire. Her face is stony, her gaze firm. 

Her father is looking at Stiles like he wants to kill her - Stiles is looking back at him like she's daring him to try. 

__________________

Stiles wonders what her life has come to, staring down at her best friend, pathetically chained to the radiator in his own room and snarling at her. Yes, she chained him to a radiator - but it’s not like he didn’t deserve it: he has been acting like the worst kind of jerk lately, and not just on full moons. 

“Scotty” she says, trying to make her voice sound as calm as she can - even if she’s probably never been angrier her whole life, and given the last months’ adventures that’s something “I want you to take deep breaths, and listen to me, for once.” She waits a few minutes, listening to Scott’s growls and snarls; at the third “ let me go, Stiles!” she barely contains the urge to punch him. Or hit him with the bat, since he deserves it. 

“No” she says, crouching down on the pavement at a safe distance “you are dangerous, and I won’t let you hurt anyone. Well, anyone else .” Scott stops his trashing for a second, and Stiles sees the guilt in his eyes. She huffs out in exhaustion, switches to sitting cross legged, and even gets her hair down - they get in her way a lot when they’re down, but keeping them constantly up gives her headaches. 

“It’s not even that you tried to kill me” she starts, looking at Scott  in the eyes “twice, now. It’s all the shitty stuff you keep doing, when there’s not even the full moon to blame.” Scott’s eyes get a little shinier, and not with werewolf mojo. “Like, that night at school?” she has to take a deep breath, because they definitely don’t need more anger right now “you threw Derek under the bus, even if we knew he was innocent. He saved your life, Scotty. He might look shady and scary, and he totally still gives me the creeper vibes; but all he has done since we met him is trying to help us, and we accused him of murder. Twice.” Scott whimpers, eyes cast down - but if he thinks their talk is over, he’s dead wrong.

“And” she has to close her eyes, she can’t recall the memory and look him in the eyes “you knew that they would want to call the police. The Sheriff, my father. You know he would be in danger, and you went along with it, just because you didn’t want to spill the beans to Allison.” This, the tragedy of growing up with a single parent, is something that she and Scott share - she still can’t believe he would put her dad in danger. For a girl. 

“I get it” she is looking at him now, and Scotty looks so much like a kicked puppy that she almost wants to hug him - almost, she’s still angry at him “You don’t like being a werewolf, you didn’t ask for it.” She sighs and hugs her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them. “But you are. So, you can’t snap at me if I point out that you could be dangerous. Since it’s the full moon, and you are.”

There’s tears in Scott’s eyes, but he’s not out of the woods yet - also, he’s not entirely himself either. She feels it: he may look like he is, but the moon is pulling the threads. “And” she feels her lower lip tremble, she hides her face in her knees, hair falling over them “Scott, you kissed Lydia.” it's stupid, she's stupid, she knows - but of all the things to be angry about, this is the one that hurts the most, in a way. 

“You were the one who listened to me ranting about her the most, but also the one who actually saw me crying when she asked me who I was first year of high school” she may be crying a bit right now, but this time she doesn’t want Scott to see “you’re the only one I told, how it really makes me feel. That I love her and she doesn’t even know I exist, that I love her and she won’t ever even consider me. Because I’m not a guy, but you are.” 

Her shoulders are shaking, and Scott has been whimpering for a while - she hopes he’s listening, because this hurts . “You are a guy, but you’re also my best friend” she has to count to three, she can’t start ugly sobbing now “and she’s the only person I ever liked, Scotty. You let me cry all over your shirt when I told you how much it hurt me, that I wished I could like someone else.” She counts to ten, and finally finds enough courage to look up. 

“And you kissed her” she’s crying, she feels the tears pooling on her knees “the only- the only person I ever liked. You made out with her, her lipstick was smudged. Why? You don’t even like her, you’re totally lost on Allison. Why this, Scotty? Of all the things you could do, you choose the only one that -” Her voice breaks, ugly sobbing can’t be avoided, apparently. 

“I’m sorry” It’s a whisper, but Stiles hears it all the same. She looks at Scott, tilting her head to look at him. “I’m sorry. I-I wasn’t thinking” Scott is looking at her - the moon is pulling the wolf’s threads, but Scotty is holding his own - and he looks guilty as hell, and kind of destroyed.

“I wasn’t thinking about you” he admits in a tiny voice, like his own words hurt him “all I was thinking is that I lost Allison, and that I was angry.” he keeps his eyes closed, his head down “I didn’t even care that it was Lydia, I wasn’t thinking about her.” He stays like that for a couple of seconds, then he takes a deep breath and looks up “I never wanted to hurt you, ever, but I did. Many times, and I’m sorry.”

Stiles has to take a couple of seconds too: Scott is her best friend, even if he’s been the worst lately; but in his defense, he did get bitten by a feral werewolf while she dragged him on a stupid quest in the woods. And he seems to regret it, a lot. And he said he was sorry, a thing that she can’t ignore. But, reason of reasons, Stiles loves him: he is her brother, and her best friend, and her first companion. He can’t give up on him, not that easily. 

“Okay” she says, and his eyes widen comically “I forgive you. But! I’m not forgetting, Scotty. I’m not forgetting any of this, so you better clean up your act ‘cause I can’t take anymore of this.” Scott seems on the verge of saying something, but then he stops himself and just nods. “Also” she looks at him, trying to smile even if she’s pretty sure she looks awful - all red splotches and puffy eyes, and hair and tears everywhere “let’s not ever talk about the Lydia Incident again, please. That I want to forget sooner than ever.”

Stiles waits for Scott to nod, and then she gets up. She gets a blanket, her favorite movies - coincidentally also movies that Scott hates, because she’s not above petty vengeance - some chocolate snacks that she won’t share and she plops down on Scott’s bed. He smiles up at her, when she lightly kicks his Scott dog bawl when she passes - one way or another, it’s gonna be a long night. 

__________________

Derek knows that his life has gone to hell, when the only place he can go is the room of the very teenager that got him in trouble in the first place - well, the best friend actually, Scott is the one that sold him out apparently. “ Jackson Whitmore,” Stiles had said when it became apparent that the whole thing was going to be a problem “decided to take Scott’s words at heart, and told the police. That asshole.” So, the police are out to get him, he has the whole Argent family on his tail, and his only allies are a puppy who cares more about his girlfriend than his own safety, and an excessively chatty girl with a talent for getting herself in trouble. Deadly trouble, on a regular basis. 

Stiles doesn’t notice him when she enters the room, she looks tired and anxious, as she huffs and puts down her backpack - she gets rid of a couple of the layers she’s wearing then, the red hoodie she seems to always have with her and the plaid shirt. She’s left with a t-shirt, a faded gray thing with some kind of quote on it - “ It's not who I am underneath, but what I do that defines me,” Derek is pretty sure it’s from Batman.

She struggles with her hairband for a second, and then a cascade of curls falls on her back - it’s longer than he thought it would be: they reach the small of her back. When she arches, arms above her head to stretch, it reaches the curve of her ass; a sliver of skin, between the hem of her t-shirt and her baggy jeans, gets exposed by her stretch, and Derek realizes his mistake. He’s in a girl’s room, standing in a corner while she slowly undresses: it’s absolutely creepy. Also criminal, since she’s seventeen. 

He clears his throat, and she literally jumps - Derek would laugh, but he also notices a hint of fear in her scent. He never wanted to scare her, but she apparently always is around him. A part of him wants to link that to the fact that they always meet in dangerous, deadly situations; but she smelled a bit like fear the first time they met, too: she had smelled like worry most of all, and coffee, and ink, and book dust; when she saw him, her heart rate skyrocketed and his nostrils flared with her fear - then he smelt attraction tinted with lust for barely a second, then understanding, then suspicion. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she saks, in the angrier whisper Derek ever heard. He raises an eyebrow at that, crossing his arms on his chest. “You’re a fugitive!” she gasps out, hands flailing “and my father. Is. The. Law.” - she even pauses after every word, putting a lot of effort into stating the obvious. Derek scowls, huffing a bit. He isn’t going to give her a straight answer, first because he doesn’t have one - hiding in the Sheriff’s house could be a good idea? Who would look for him here , right? - and second because he doesn’t want to admit that she and her puppy friend are his only choices. 

“Okay, okay” she whispers, taking a couple of calming breaths “last place they would look for and all, right? Okay. I can work with that, but you’ll have to be careful.” Derek has to raise an eyebrow again, since she seems to have a thing for stating the obvious. She huffs, then grunts in anger; she crosses the room in a couple of nervous strides and then back, at least three times. She stops in front of him, really close - he can smell her skin, the faint smell of soap and sweat mashed together - and looks him straight in the eyes with determination. 

“If my father ever catches you, in any other place - say the middle of the woods, in a car park, anywhere - he will arrest you” she takes another dramatic pause, and Derek just wants to tell her to get to the point “if he catches you in my bedroom , he will shoot you.” Stiles isn’t lying, Derek doesn’t need to listen to her heart beat to know that - also knowing that the Sheriff would shoot at a stranger in his daughter's room is not surprising at all. “So” she says, arching her own eyebrow at him “if you don’t want to get shot, and consequently getting the wolf out of the bag when you inevitably heal, you have to be careful. ”

Dereck huffs indignantly, but then nods; Stiles may be infuriating and naive most of the time, but this time she’s also right. She seems to be satisfied, she breathes out in relief and walks away from him muttering a startled “good!” She goes to her closet, opens it and then stares at it for a good nine minutes - either she’s thinking about something else, or she’s very picky about her home clothes? That’s weird, since she doesn’t seem to be picky at all about her outside clothes. 

She huffs a bit, puts a hand on her side and tilts her hips - she’s got a tiny waist, and it looks even tinier when compared to her flaring hips. She’s tall, taller than most girls, and lean; her curves are perfectly proportioned, even if she could use a little more of muscle all over - not for aesthetic reasons, she looks fantastic; but for all the trouble she gets in. She looks fantastic - Derek has to ban that thought immediately, if he starts checking out sixteen year old girls, he might as well surrender himself to the Sheriff right now. 

Stiles seems to settle on something and grabs what seems to be a pair of black sweatpants, she turns around with her mouth open, words almost already out of her mouth, when Derek hears something. “The Sheriff” he says, and her body goes rigid immediately “is downstairs.”

Stiles clears her throat, nodding frantically; she puts the sweatpants down on the bed, and goes to the body mirror on the dresser. She passes her hands in her hair frantically, getting them even massier; she pinches her cheeks  a bit, and bites her lips. 

“On the stairs” he whispers, quiet enough that Stiles can barely hear him. She squares her shoulders, turns to the door, and puts a wide smile on. “Stiles?” The Sheriff's voice booms in the tense silence, accompanied by a couple of knocks on the door. “Coming!” she answers immediately, sounding hurried and breathless. She gives him a meaningful room, stay hidden and be careful probably, before opening the door just enough to put her head out, body out of sight. 

“Hey, Dad” she says, her tone unsure and still breathless - when the Sheriff’s smell flares with embarrassment, Derek finally gets her plan: red cheeks and lips, fake breathlessness and embarrassment; It’s enough to make Derek almost gasp in shame. “Hey, little girl” the Sheriff’s tone sounds calm and forced, the scent of his embarrassment everywhere - Derek can’t blame him, he believes he just interrupted his daughter while masturbating “everything okay?”

“Mhn, mhn” Stiles nods, biting her lips, fidgeting enough that it must be obvious even for the Sheriff “I was- just got here! Right now!” The Sheriff must be blushing, too - Derek certainly is, and Stiles’s ears also look kind of red. “Alright” Mr. Stilinski seems to be done with the whole situation, he probably wants to run as fast as he can - Derek hears him turn around, sees Stiles’ shoulders relax, but then he stops. The Sheriff turns around again, facing his daughter “You’re alone, right? Scott isn’t in there?”

Derek can feel the flare of embarrassment in Stiles' body, like a wave crashing into her. “Dad!” she almost screams, affronted “That’s- that’s ew! It’s incestus, that’s what it is!” Mr. Stilinski breathes out in relief, but then he seems to reconsider. Again - Derek is going to die before this conversation is over, simply from secondhand embarrassment. “Not Scott. Anyone else in there?”

“Mhn” Stiles, for all the teatrics, apparently sucks at lying - if she doesn’t get her act together, the Sheriff is going to shoot him. And then again, and again until it sticks. “Please, Dad!” she apparently decided to use her own shame as a way to get away, Derek hopes it works “I’m chronically single and you know it. Sadly. Can we cut this short? This is awkward as hell.”

The Sheriff seems to be satisfied, finally - Derek can’t even remember the last time he blushed this hard, not ever he thinks. Stiles finally closes the door, and breathes out in relief leaning against it. She stays like that, her face aflame and eyes closed, munching on her reddened lower lip - she just faked getting her alone time interrupted by her dad, with Derek witnessing the whole scene: in her place, he would be digging his own grave in shame. 

“Okay” she says in a hard breath, when her face is almost back to her usual palenes - her lips look almost bruised in comparison, even more attractive. “The other night, the attack at the school” it’s such a dramatic change of subject Derek’s head almost spins, but it’s probably the only way to manage the situation - ignore everything that just happened altogether, he can do that. “Allison got a message from Scott, but Scott never sent it.”

“You think the Alpha sent it? Why?” Derek asks, tone more subdued than he thought it would be - it must be some lingering embarrassment, mellowing him a bit. “Maybe? I don’t know?” she slumps in her desk chair, two fingers pinching the space between her eyes “but, it’s the only lead we have.” And, since Derek didn't even know they had that one lead before this conversation, he decides to simply go with it. “Okay” he says; Stiles’ answer is a grunt - followed by an eyeroll and a tiny smile, and a muttered “Sourwolf.” Derek doesn't like the nickname one bit, not at all. 

__________________

They get to the hospital just around the time Scott’s game should be starting, and in fact he phone starts ringing just as she parks the jeep. “Scotty” she picks up quickly, just in case it’s an emergency - not far-fetched, given the last months' events. “Dude, where are you? The game is starting, Jackson is being creepy and Allison's family keeps staring at me.” Scott’s voice is nervous and franting, but for how much she wants to be there for her best friend- bigger fish, and all that. “Sorry, Scotty” she says, feeling Derek’s glare on the side of her face “I’m onto something, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She hangs up before he can answer, Derek’s not the only one getting impatient. 

“You’ll go in alone, but you’ll stay on the phone the whole time” Derek is staring at her, all dramatic and without blinking - scary and a little creepy, okey; but also hot “the whole time, Stiles.” She raises her hands in surrender, shaking her head a bit “Okay, okay, big guy. Whatever you want.”

Derek nods, and Stiles turns around to open the car door; “and also” Derek’s voice stops her, but before she even turns around he slaps the back of her head - he didn’t hurt her, she actually barely felt it, but it’s the principle of the thing. 

She gasps, affronted and turns to look at him with wide eyes and parted lips. “Mhn, mhn” he says, shaking his head lightly “you know damn well what that was about.” Okay, maybe objectifying him and making him get his shirt off a couple of times to get Danny to work wasn’t so cool - okay, not at all, if someone tried to make her do that, she could probably charge them with sexual assault. She actually cringes at that. “Sorry” she says quietly, not faking her regret at all. Derek stares at her for a couple of seconds, all serious and unmovable, and then he nods almost imperceptibly. “Okay” he says, looking back at the hospital entrance “go.” 

Stiles hates hospitals with a passion, after what happened to her mother it was inevitable. “Okay” she says, for some reason whispering “the nurse isn’t here.” Derek huffs in the phone, and Stiles can clearly hear the irritation “what do you mean she’s not there? She’s my uncle's nurse, she has to be there.” Stiles snorts, rolling her eyes so strongly she almost gives herself a headache; she walks through the corridor, and rounds to Derek’s uncle’s room. “Uhm, Derek?” she asks, voice a bit shakier “Uncle Peter isn’t here either.”

“Wha-” Derek’s voice falters, and Stiles tenses all over immediately “Stiles, get out of there! It’s him! He’s the Alpha! Get out!” Derek’s screams are appreciated, but ultimately useless since allegedly comatose Uncle Peter is standing right in front of her. Sporting a creepy smile and a rather impressive burn scar on the side of his face, Stiles is so fucked. “You must be Stiles” he says with a disturbing silky voice, as his smile gets even creepier. Stiles turns around to run, following Derek’s awesome advice; but of course creepy nurse is blocking her way. It takes a second, but then she finally figures out that the nurse must have been helping comatose Uncle Peter all along - “Oh, my God, I’m gonna die.” she realizes. 

Just as creepy Uncle Peter takes a step towards her, Derek appears in a roar, knocking the nurse out. “That’s not nice” Peter says, making Stiles shiver right in her bones “she’s my nurse.”

“She’s a psychotic bitch helping you kill people” Derek says, then he turns to face Stiles for barely a second “get out of the way.” Stiles slides on the floor, eager to get as far away as possible from the werewolves fight that is inevitably going to happen “oh, damn.”

Then she does her best not to get hurt - while creepy Uncle Peter justifies killing his own niece while in a coma? How does that work? Apparently the healing process needed a kick, and becoming Alpha was indeed the right one, since he got back to health; but he was totally running on instinct when he killed Laura Hale, feral really. Needless to say, Stiles doesn’t believe him; but she’s too busy being surprised they made it out alive to worry - well, at least, they know who’s the Alpha now. 

__________________

“Don’t frown, Lydia, someone could be falling in love with your smile” Allison says, smiling devilishly at her as she walks away. Her eyes set back in front of her, and she has to take a deep breath to calm her nerves. She’s going to the school dance with a girl, with Stiles Stilinski - it’s insane, and Lydia doesn’t even know how she ended up in this situation. 

Stiles is staring down at some mascara on promotion, looking decidedly confused and maybe a bit intrigued - okay, maybe Lydia can work with that. “Stiles” she says, tone even and decisive. Stiles actually jumps, and then proceeds to stare at her with wide eyes for at least ten seconds. “Hey, Lydia?” she says, making it sound like a question “what’s up?”

Stiles is taller than her, has bigger boobs from what she can see from her horrible t-shirt, a tiny waist and wide hips. The moles scattered on her face make her look intriguing, her face has no imperfections needing makeup, her lips are naturally plump - and she has big, amber eyes that make her look like bambi. Lydia has never seen actual reasons behind her whole inferiority complex - except for her taste in clothes, that’s horrifying. 

“You’re going to the formal with me” she tells her, without giving her a chance to back out - not that she would, Stiles' crush on her is legendary “now come, I still need a dress for it.” She starts walking and Stiles follows her immediately. “Mhn” she says from behind her, while Lydia observes a lilac gown attentively “Lydia? Why am I coming to the formal with you? I mean, I don’t want to question it; but you don’t even like girls. Right?”  

Lydia takes a deep breath, this might be the worst punishment Allison could choose: because Lydia really, honestly doesn’t like girls at all. She likes Stiles, in the way that everything about her infuriates her: she’s objectively beautiful, but she doesn’t do anything about it; she’s smart, and she’s not afraid to let anyone know it; she’s outspoken, and loud, and independent. She’s a girl, but she never cared to conform to all those unspoken social rules that make Lydia’s life what it is. Stiles is braver than Lydia will ever be, and she hates her a bit for that. 

“I don’t” she says, turning around to look at Stiles “but nothing will make Jackson angrier than seeing me arrive at the ball with you .” Stiles’ eyes widen, she frowns in confusion, and then she just shrugs. It’s not a lie either, Jackson will be furious; but not because he ever perceived Stiles as a threat, or anything like that - but because he has a crush. On Stiles. 

That’s the other reason Lydia hates her: Jackson Whittemore, the guy she spent years seducing and ended up having actual feelings for, has a years-long crush on a girl that considers him a total dounce. A girl that has been in love with his girlfriend for as long as anyone remembers, and it breaks Lydia inside a little bit: he can see enough beauty in Stiles, that dresses as a boy and often even acts like one; but he can’t see enough of her to care about her, to actually want to get to know her for real. 

Lydia is starting to pile dresses on her arm, almost unconsciously. “Here” Stiles says, taking half of them from her arm “let me help you.” Lydia frowns at that - the thing she hates the most about Stiles, is that she can’t really hate her. Her feelings, for how exaggerated and dramatized they must seem from the outside, seem genuine - and that breaks her heart, unrequited love is never fun for anyone. 

“Stiles” she says, enjoying the way Stiles’ cheeks tint everytime she says her name - being wanted, desired, is always fun “what are you wearing for the formal? It must be something good, decent at least. I’m not walking beside someone dressed like a hobo.” Stiles laughs at that, surprising Lydia again - and again, and again at every interaction they ever had; another reason that made Lydia start ignoring her. 

“Relax” she says, leaning into her and making their shoulders brush - on accident apparently, since her face flames up right after “I have the outfit, and it’s not a tie-tuxedo printed shirt. I swear.” Lydia raises an eyebrow, not quite believing her words. Or general taste. “No jeans either, but I’m not wearing makeup.” Lydia nods, satisfied enough. For now. 

When she feels that the perfect dress might be in the pile of clothes they’re carrying, she heads for the dressing rooms; Stiles faithfully on her heels, wearing a confused and slightly scared expression. “Are you trying all of those? Is this a twenty-four hour Macy’s?” Lydia’s answer is a raised eyebrow and a scoff; “perfection” she says, opening the cubicle curtain “takes time.”

It takes ten dresses - way more than Jackson ever achieved, and even more than her mom ever resisted - for Stiles to make her first complaint. “You know,” she says, talking to her from the other side of the curtain “I was wondering: why do you have to be perfect?” That’s not what Lydia was expecting, not at all - she’s done a great job avoiding her, for years, and now she’s in this situation. “I mean you always look good, almost perfect. But, why? You’ll look beautiful anyway, and this quest for perfection seems stressful as hell.” Stiles is ranting, not actually expecting her to answer - it’a relief, Lydia has no idea what to say. 

“I mean, maybe it is my biased perception about anything fashion - you know, my inability to actually dress myself? You have no idea how much time it took assembling my formal outfit, I dragged Scott and my Dad to the mall twice. Each .” she huffs a tired breath out, making it sound stressed - Lydia knows that feeling, intimately. “But, you’re the smartest person in school. If not the city, the county even. And you actually know how to do this! Dress up well and sexy, without making it seem like you’re trying too hard, or not ending up looking like a clown. Or just like shit.” Lydia gasps, quietly enough not to get caught - small mercies, at least. “Like, you actually are already perfect. So, why bother?”  

A weird silence follows her last words, and Lydia has to look at her face - she’s so red even her ears haven’t been left out, and she’s looking at her with panic in her eyes. She must be embarrassed for what she said, but she wasn’t lying - and it hits Lydia like a punch in the stomach. “The smartest person in the county?” she asks, her voice quieter and more vulnerable than she ever wanted to hear. 

“Yes?” Stiles asks, after a couple of seconds more of awkward staring back and forth “You have the best grades in school, even better than seniors. And I’ve seen you in math, it’s like a kid's play for you.” She shrugs, voice tentative and shoulders raising - Lydia is stunned, Stiles is doing it again; throwing her the last thing she’d expect, something that Lydia has no idea how to deal with. “I mean, I don't know your I.Q. but it must be high, surely higher than most. And, actually: I don’t get why you hide it? If it was me I would flaunt it! Hell, I flaunt it: everytime I’m the tiniest bit smarter than anyone, I do all in my power not to make them forget it.” 

Lydya Martin, standing outside Macy’s dressing rooms with what is probably the dress on, doesn’t know what to say - how to react, how to even process all the new information. Time passes, and it must have started to bother Stiles, since she starts rambling again. “... they’ll be all stuck in their sad, little home town. And you’ll be in a big city, probably winning the Nobel.”

“Field Medal” she hears herself whisper, before she even realizes it “you get the Field Medal for mathematics.” Stiles stops in her trucks, looks at her with wide eyes. Then she smiles widely, her whole body relaxing into it; “See?” she asks, her head tilting to the side “smarted person I know. And, by the way, that dress is awesome.” 

Lydia ends up buying the dress, she wears it to the formal actually. When Stiles’s Jeep pulls up in front of her house that night, she can’t help but smile a bit - she knows her: Lydia isn’t into girls, not at all; but Stiles Stilinski is in love with her, she pays enough attention to know things she never told anyone, and Lydia can’t hate that. Stiles gets out of the car to open the passenger's door, and Lydia ignores her mother’s stunned look as she steps outside her house. 

“You look good” she tells Stiles, doing her best to sound more detached than amused. She’s got her ridiculously long hair in a high ponytail, and she’s wearing a woman’s dress suit, all in black: the pants are kind of baggy on her sides, but tight at the ankles; the jacket is a bit longer than usual, but just tight enough at the waist. “Thanks!” she says, opening her jacket a bit “I changed the shirt, so now we’re matching!” The silky, pale pink button up she’s wearing is, in fact, the same exact shade of her dress. “Good job” she says, giving her sincerest smile in a while, while getting in the car - Stiles actually first bumps the air, before getting in herself. 

And that’s the moment Lydia notices the ratty converse Stiles is wearing. For the formal - she takes everything back: she’s hopeless. 

__________________

One moment she was dancing with Lydia - Slow dancing, with Lydia Martin. Stiles herself, slowly rocking back and forth with Lydia Martin in her arms, how crazy is that! - and the other, Lydia disappears to search for Jackson . Then that jackass appears, looking like he just looked death in the eyes, and Stiles is going to kill him. Anything happens to Lydia, and she’s going to kill Jackson.

“Jackson?” she asks, trying not to tear him apart on the spot - she’s spending way too much time with Derek, she never thought of pulling people apart before “Jackson, what did you do?”

Jackson looks lost, and scared out of his mind; and Stiles may understand fear, but right now she’s furious: only Jackson would be stupid enough to spill the beans to the Argents , psychopaths running around with rifles on a daily basis. 

She starts running, looking for Lydia everywhere she can think of - she’s got a bad feeling about this, it’s not the time to be alone at night. When she reaches the Lacrosse field, it’s already too late. She screams her name, she screams at her to run; but Peter has got his fangs into her neck, and Stiles is running like her life depends on it. There’s a buzzing, it starts where her feet touch the grass and goes directly in her bones - she saw him bite her, in slow motion like in movies, and she heard a scream. Muted, but high, just as Peter’s fangs pierced skin, and Death, so close and so real that she swears she can see it. 

“Tell me how to find Derek,” Peter whispers, crouched on Lydia’s bleeding body “or I’ll kill her.”

Stiles wants to scream, she wants to cry - she wants fangs, and claws, and she wants to rip his throat out. She wants to call her father, the police, an ambulance, because Lydia is bleeding out and fast, and she can’t let her die. “Tell me” Peter says, looking straight into Stiles' eyes - he’s crunching on Lydia, and all Stiles can do is stare at him and being useless “how to find. Derek Hale.”

“I don’t know!” she shouts, but his claws get closer to Lydia’s neck - he is going to burn, he is going to burn in flames. Again. “You’re the clever one, aren’t you?” he asks, smirking deviantly down at Lydia’s face “and deception has a particularly acrid scent. Tell me the truth, Stiles.”

“I have no idea, I swear to god I have-” Peter scream, but not exactly; he uses his Alpha voice and Stiles feels like her eardrums are bursting - the buzzing beneath her skin is not a buzz, it’s a drum and it gets louder every time Peter’s heart beats.  

“Alright” she says, looking into the monster's eyes with all the hatred and the anger she feels “I think he knew that he was going to get caught.” Peter’s hands are on the ground, both of them, at Lydia’s sides “by the Argents” Stiles barely nods, her eyes glacial “He took Scott’s phone, it has a gps. If he still has it, if it’s still on, I can find him.” She’s scared, she’s scared out of her mind, but Lydia is beeding: she’s going to do whatever she has to stay alive, so she can call help and save Lydia - there will be time for fear later, if she survives. 

__________________

Peter’s plan wasn’t perfect, but he knew it would work, simply because it had to: he didn’t spend years in a coma, suffered the reality of having killed his own niece, gave an undeserving and ungrateful child the gift of The Bite, just for his plan to fail. The accessories to the crime were all gone, and it was time for the main dish - tonight everything will come to an end, and the innocent lives of everyone he loved will be avenged. 

“Okay” Stiles says, turning the screen towards him “that’s the coordinates. My job is done, now I’m going to Lydia, hoping you didn’t kill her.” He stops her on instinct, grabbing her forearm - he likes her: she’s fierce, and smart, and brave in that stupid way only young people can be. “Relax” he says, feeling her tense all over “if she wakes up, she’ll be a werewolf.” Stiles' answer is a glare, filled with all the hatred and the anger he smells on her. “Yes” she says, staring at him with challenging eyes - oh that’s spunky, she’s done it twice already: he really likes her, or he would have torn her throat already - “and once a month she’ll get crazy and try to kill me!”

“Well” Peter starts, smirking even more “if you consider that she’s a woman, twice.” he’s an asshole, he always has been; even before the fire, and coma, and all that. Crazy is a new thing, but asshole? That’s old news. Stiles’ scent catches him off guard: there’s anger in an amount he felt very few times in his life, and something else. She clenches her fist, he feels the tendons under his hand getting tight and tense, her shoulders drop, her stance widens, her face gets stony - he feels wind brush on his skin, inside his bones; he feels leaves rustling in it, swirling in circles with its force. He lets go of her arm on instinct, feeling a spark of fear he doesn’t want to acknowledge. 

“I like you, Stiles” he says, trying to make his words sound even - there’s something in this girl, something that’s better under his control “since you’ve helped me, I want to give you something in return. Do you want The Bite?” Her reaction is instant, her scent flares with uneasiness and, of course, temptation. “If it doesn’t kill you, and it could, you’ll become like us. That night in the woods I bit Scott by chance, it could have easily been you.  You would be every bit as powerful as him, no more standing by his side watching him get stronger. Faster, quicker, more popular, watching him get the girl.” he can do this, Peter can give her the bite and she will be the more astounding addition to the pack he could ever wish for: there’s power in her, he can feel it, and if he harvests it now, she would be amazing. His Pack would be unbeatable. 

“You’d be equals” he whispers, taking her arm again and bringing her wrist close to his mouth “or maybe more.” Most definitely more, he has no doubt. “Yes or no?” he asks, and she doubts enough that he can already taste it, her blood in his mouth; he brings the fangs down, and in that moment she pulls her arm away. Peter can’t accept it, he wants to grab her arm and bite her anyway - he feels the wind swirling, he knows it’s not there but he feels it all around him. 

“No” she says, and for just that exact moment her words don’t falter, her heartbeat stays the same - then it jumps with the lie: because it is a lie, there is a part of her that wants it, he can smell it on her. “Lie” he states, turning towards the car - she doesn’t answer, just stares at him in that challenging way that he liked so much. He doesn’t like it now, because she is something but he has no idea what , and that scares him. “I’m not the bad guy, Stiles” he says, face as sincere as he can manage it - the wind, loud and strong, is making him shiver. 

__________________

She gets to the hospital with her heart beating out of her chest,  and the first thing she sees is Lydia, in a hospital gown looking too pale. “Stiles” she hears, and then her father is hugging her “are you okay? Jackson said you went to the dance with her, what happened?” Her ears are ringing, she can feel the adrenaline and the fear of the last hour crushing down. “How is she? Is she going to be okay?” Her voice is thin, broken and filled with fear. With guilt. “They don’t know,” her father says gently, but when she looks at him, his eyes are sharp with suspicion.

“Stiles” he says, tone grave “she was with you, do you know who or what did this to her?” Her answer is late, and she can hear her own heart falter “no, I have no idea.” the Sheriff doesn’t look convinced, but he also looks like he is glad his daughter didn’t get hurt too. “And Scott? Has Scott seen anything?” he asks, and Stiles freezes. 

“What do you mean? Isn’t Scott here?” the Sheriff frowns, shaking his head “no, we keep calling him but his phone goes straight to voicemail.” Oh no, that means that Scotty either got caught by the Argents, or worse, by Peter . She lifts his eyes and Jaksnon is looking at her, guilt written all over his expression - he spilled the beans on Scott after all, he deserves the guilt. “Stiles, if you know what’s going on, you have to tell me. This is an investigation for assault, probably even attempted murder: this is serious.” Stiles almost wants to laugh, Dad has no idea how serious this is. 

“Wait” she says, the clogs in her mind turning furiously “you know all of this has to do with Derek, right?” The Sheriff frowns at that, dragging her along the corridor “I thought you said you barely knew him?” he asks, deadly serious. “Alright, we might know him a little better than that,” she confesses, hoping her Dad doesn’t freak out too much. “And why do you know a 22 year old fugitive? Mhn? He is a man Stiles, I don’t like you knowing him at all.” 

“Dad, please” she grunts out in frustration “Derek Hale, Laura Hale’s body. What did you find out?” the Sheriff visibly deflates, his shoulders dropping “You know, Stiles? I don’t think a six years old arson case has anything to do with that girl in there.” Stiles grunts again, she knows that they’re connected damn it! “When did you decide it was definitely arson?”The Sheriff shakes his head, looking tired and scared. “We have a key witness. It was probably organized by a woman In her early twenties.”

“Okay” she takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself “what else?” Dad huffs, visibly getting impatient “Stiles what is it with all this question? Come on!” She gives him the look, the one that clearly conveys you already went this far, and he caves. “There was a pendant of some kind” Stiles raises an eyebrow, losing the meaning “a pendant! Do you even go to school? A necklace of some kind. The only identification we got, or a lead to it.”

Her father keeps talking, but Stiles isn’t listening anymore: the necklace, Laura’s lead, Allison’s necklace, a woman in her twenties - It’s so obvious, that Stiles almost can’t believe it took her this long to figure it out!

__________________

Chris Argent considers himself an honorable man, and that thought was the only reason he didn’t hunt down the Stilinski girl after the attack at the school. He and Kate had suspected her to be the werewolf before then, but after he had no doubt. Of course, it turned out the werewolf had been Allison’s boyfriend the whole time; but that didn’t mean the girl wasn’t dangerous: she had known the whole time, he was sure, and not only kept the secret; but also forced his hand into going to the school that night. Using his daughter. 

He is an honorable man, but he won’t let a teenager put his own family in danger. “Did Scott try to kill you on the full moon?!” he screams in her face, when it becomes obvious that his words aren’t scaring her - she’s a girl his daughter's age, he would never hurt her; but he does need to scare her “did you have to lock him up?!” 

“Yes, I did” she says, voice trembling - but her face is expressionless, calm in a way that irks him deeply “I had to handcuff him to a radiator.” Her face shifts for a second, and Chris sees anger before she puts on a disturbing smirk. “Why?” she asks, her voice silky but full of rage “would you prefer I locked him in the basement and burned the whole house around him?”

Her face is getting red with fury, she looks seconds from spitting on his face. 

“I hate to dispel a popular rumor, Stiles” Chris is trying to stay calm, the Hale fire incident always gets to him for some reason - a werewolves house, burned to the ground, with children and humans in it, while they were in town. It fucks him up to think about it, always has. “But we did not do that.” Stiles scoffs at that, her smirk turning down in disgust. 

“Oh, right,” she says, and her words sound as ragefull as calculated “Derek said you guys had a code, I guess no one ever breaks it.” he takes a second to answer, for some reason “never.” He’s looking at the Whitmore boy, while keeping Stiles blocked with a hand on her shoulder. “What if someone does?” she asks, and Chris feels the world slowing down around him. 

“Someone like who?” he asks, keeping his poker face in place; but his throat is closing in on itself, suspicion eating him up from the inside - you know who, you have always known. “Your sister,” Stiles says, looking at him like she dares him to dispute her. She dares him with her eyes, while she grabs his wrist with a hand. 

“Now” her voice, just like her face, is calm and collected “you will let go of my shoulder, have your gorillas step away from Jackson, and then we’ll walk out of here. And I suggest you do it quickly, because my father is in the building and I would love to see you trying to explain this. ” she points at the hand he has on her shoulder, at the gun in his hand, and he lets her go immediately. She steps around him, grabs Jackson by the arm, and gets out of the room in seconds. 

“Kate? Where are you going? it’s not even seven” Kate shrugged, a devious smile appearing on her lips “Oh, you know. Just playing with a puppy.”

“Why do you smell like gas?” Kate snorted, shaking her head “don’t you worry, brother”

“Those animals” Kate snarled, her face contorted in disgust “I’ll be happy when they get wiped out from the face of earth completely.”

Kate burned the Hale House down six years ago, and now she is going to kill Derek Hale and Scott McCall - Chris pales, Allison is with her. 

__________________

“Will you be fucking careful?!” Jackson shouts - only an idiot like him would worry about his stupidly expensive car in a moment like this; but all Stiles has to do to shut him up is give him her worst glare Jackson’s answering silence is a testament to how scared he actually is; she’s never been able to actually intimidate anyone, let alone Jackson. 

She’s scared, too. For Scott, mostly, and for poor Lydia, unconscious in a hospital bed. And Derek, who has to fight the last living member of his family; and Allison, that she may not know that well, but can’t help but be sad about. And Jackson, sitting beside her with trembling hands and covered in cold sweat. And herself, damn it. 

She knows this is the epilogue, that the horror movie she’s been living in the last few months is in the last chapter - she doesn’t see a happy ending for them, and she doesn’t think any of her friends have that Last Girl appeal to them. Lydia had, but she’s out; maybe Allison, if she hadn’t turned to the dark side. Stiles is not the Last Girl, Scott is not a hero, and neither is Derek Hale. 

Derek Hale - not a hero, but not the villain they thought in the beginning. He was younger than Stiles when he lost everything. An image flashes in his mind, something that she hadn’t thought about too deeply before: Kate Argent commenting on Scott's eyes, Kate Argent glancing at Scott, Kate Argent moving and walking like some kind of predator . 

She’s been keeping Derek, probably torturing him, underneath the house where she burned all his family alive - Stiles can’t even imagine what the hell he’s been smelling, what kind of memories that’s bringing up. He was her age at the time, Kate was older than twenty - Stiles makes a thought that disturbs her profoundly, feels her own stomach turn up. 

Oh, no. She hopes she’s wrong, she hopes her twisted mind is making her come up with insane theories. Think worst case scenario, breacuse- “that’s probably what is going on” she whispers, gripping the wheel so strongly her knuckles go white. 

She feels Jackson’s gaze on her, but he doesn't say a word and she’s glad for that. “Damn it!” she almost shouts, hitting the wheel a couple of times to channel the anger out - she’s furious, she can’t believe it. He was too young, and she is a predator; she used him, abused him, and then murdered his family. 

Stiles hopes she’s wrong, but she has a feeling she’s not - she thinks about Peter for a second, about the guilt Derek must have been carrying, about Scotty. Kate Argent has to die. Peter Hale has to die too, obviously; but she can’t get away with this, she can’t keep breathing a minute more. 

Stiles takes a deep breath and speeds up - fear, she finds out, has nothing on anger.  

__________________

Kate dies with her eyes trained on her niece’s eyes, and a mutt’s claws in her throat. She thinks of Allison just before the claws pierce her, and makes sure she’s looking: she may go out now, but her legacy is safe. Her father taught her well, and she learned - not like her pussy brother, little pathetic wolf lover. 

She learned well that beasts are beasts, and the only good they can be is dead . She learned that killing them is a sacred duty, a service to humanity, and also really fun - it had been fun playing with little heartbroken Derek all those years ago, it had been fun burning the Hale house down, and it would have been fun killing that puppy Beta and Peter Hale too. 

Destiny had other plans apparently, but Kate isn't worried - Allison is looking. Allison is looking, while a beast takes her beloved’s aunt’s life: she won’t be able to shake that, she won’t be able to ignore reality. The horror, the pain, and the fear - those are wonderful bases to build hate. 

Hate the beasts, kill the beasts - her father taught her well, and she learned. 

The claws pierce the skin, and suddenly she’s burning. The world is falling around her and she can’t breath, she can’t get up and even if she could, escaping is impossible. There’s kids, she can hear the screams, the cries, the desperation. She sees hands trying to reach out from a basement - It’s the Hale House, she’s feeling the fire. 

One side of her body is burning, she feels the incredible pain and the sadness. Smoke, fire, no air, the screams - when it stops, Kate almost welcomes death. 

She liked burning the Hale House down, she’s not sure she liked seeing what it was like from the inside - and yet: hate the beasts, kill the beasts. The only good werewolf is a dead one. Her father taught her well, and she learned. 

__________________

When she and Jackson arrive at the Hale House, hell is already breaking loose: the disgusting monster Scott is facing must be Peter Hale, and he looks positively deraged. So she throws him the hand made bomb they scraped together, it doesn’t hit; Allison hits the bottle with an arrow, Peter’s arm takes fire; Jackson throws his bomb, and he hits. On fire Peter tries to hurt Allison, Scott kicks him in the face. And then he ends up looking like a burned to a crisp body, and Derek rips his throat out. Cathartic, really. 

Scott wants to blame Derek for stealing away his chance for the cure, but Stiles knows it wouldn’t have worked. Plus, the whole “I’m the Alpha now” was kind of hot. Chris Argent is pulling his daughter away, with a firm hand on her shoulders; when Stiles jumps to her feet. “Wait” she says, looking straight at Chris “you can’t go yet.”

Chris looks exhausted, drained physically and emotionally, but he stops and turns to her. “Her body” she says, voice clear “Kate’s. We have to burn it.” She can feel Derek tense up at her words, but she isn’t going to break the stare contest she’s having with Mr. Argent. “Because she deserves it” is her answer, clear and loud - honestly she has no idea why they have to burn the body; she just knows they have to, and she’s going to follow her instinct on this one .

“No, she-” Chris' voice is weak, broken with despair. “Do it” Derek’s voice is filled with authority, unchallengeable command. “You can have an empty coffin funeral” he goes on, glaring at Chris “just like my family.” Allison sobs, Chris’ face tightens and then nods - this is good, the body will be burned. 

“Not in the preserve,” she says, both her voice and motives escaping her “nowhere around the house at all. This is Hale territory, and you have done enough to disrupt it. Burn her outside Beacon Hills, tonight. And don’t try to trick us, or we’ll know.” She’s been talking in a pluralia majestatis that doesn’t really make sense; but her whole request - better, demand - doesn’t and Derek is still making Alpha eyes at Chris to reinforce it, so she guesses it’s not a bad thing. 

At the end of the night two cold blooded murderers had faced justice, Allison had learned uncomfortable truths about her family, and little Scotty had faced the unchangeable reality of his new nature. Stiles thinks about Lydia, who got drugged into this without even knowing anything; and Jackson, who dug his own hole but still got way too much shit to deal with. Stiles is jugged, still buzzing with adrenaline, when she gets home - for some reason, the thought of Derek having to kill his last remaining family member, doesn’t leave her head. 

__________________

That night, Jackson Whittemore asks Alpha Derek Hale the Bite. Stiles dreams of scales, and a tail, and venom. She doesn’t remember anything, when morning comes.