Stiles watches Scott walk off with Deucalion and wonders if this is what Scott felt like when he walked off with Peter.

"He's gone?" Allison reaches him seconds too late. "He's seriously gone? He's seriously sticking to the plan?"

"I don't where he's gone. I mean it's not like he can get off the roof that way." Stiles tries for dry humour and fails, voice coming out quiet and so, so small.

"My dad…" Allison breathes, but she already knows the answer.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispers, "I'm sorry…"

"No," she says, "No, no, stop treating them like they're already dead. They're not. We still have time… we have to still have time…"

But they don't know how much time and they're running out of options.

It's dark. Dark and cold and even underground the winds howl. They never say that in the stories, that underground the wind howls and bites colder than it could possibly ever do above ground.

It's a cold air. A dead air. It lacks the fresh taste of the clouds and rolling sky and instead is dusty with soil and years upon years of dust and plant matter. It clings to his throat and his skin and his pores. He coughs. It's a dry, hacking sound that doesn't help to alleviate his aches and hungers.

The Sheriff isn't alone. He was. For about six hours or so he was alone, head trickling blood and hands tied behind his back all while he cursed himself for not taking more precautions, not listening to Stiles more, not doing his job and working everything out before the teenagers had to deal with the mess and clean-up.

The teenagers - oh god - he tries to fight down the rising panic at the thought of his son. He knows what happened the last time someone threatened John. He knows his kid's broken himself already trying to do what he thought was best and now he's not just looking at his son with blue eyes and werewolf claws and morals that slip a little more every day. He's looking at a girl who has lost three members of her family within six months and has an alarming knowledge of weaponry. He's looking at a boy desperate to do the right thing, even if it kills him.

Stilinski's heart beats a little faster and he wonders if he'll ever see his son again. He tries not to imagine what Stiles' face will be like when he finds his dad's body with his skull broken, throat cut and strangulation marks around his throat.

He tries not to imagine the disaster that will follow when Scott and Allison find their parents dead too because if Scott's not there to act as a moral compass for them, then what's to stop them?

There is a groan from the nearby pillar. Melissa wakes slowly.

The Sheriff is there to watch it happen. She wakes first, but it's slow. It's blinking in a dazed manner, it's rolling her neck and suddenly realising her hands are tied.

In comparison Chris wakes up almost straight away. The hunter's senses jump into alertness, and for a moment he's still, processing everything.

"You okay?" the Sheriff asks, his voice dry, and Melissa cranes her neck, spotting him. Her eyes are wide and frightened.

"Where are we?" she whispers.

Chris is peering around and the Sheriff shrugs, "I don't know. But I think he does."

"I've been here before," Chris says, gazing with far more fascination at a tangle of roots than it deserves, "It was years ago but you never forget a place like this. It's called a Nemeton."

Derek is still unconscious when they get to him. "What did they give him?" Stiles frowns at him, "She must have whammied him pretty hard."

Allison slaps Derek's cheek gently. It doesn't do anything. Stiles curls his hand into a fist with almost gleeful delight and brings it down. It must be the threat of danger more than anything else, because Derek's eyes snap open and he catches Stiles' punch with an alarmed, "What the hell?"

Stiles rears back, almost falling on his ass. Derek shoves himself up, blinking in a dazed manner.

"Where's Jennifer?" the alpha asks, but there's already a note of desperation in his voice.

Allison thinks she's past desperation. She's past all of the panic and worry and she's reached a deadly calm, "Gone," she says, "With my dad and Scott's mom."

"She has all three sacrifices?" Derek exclaims, "Where's Scott?"

"With Deucalion."

"You're kidding."

Stiles glares back and it's pretty obvious he isn't. Derek drags himself to his feet and neither Stiles nor Allison offer him any assistance as he looks around the deserted hospital, "Where's Cora?" he asks instead, "What happened to my sister?"

"She got out," Allison says, "I think the others took her back to your loft…"

There is a wail of something that might be a police siren in the distance.

"Come on," Derek says, "I can give you a lift…"

"It's okay," Stiles says, voice sounding dead. There's no tone to in, none of his usual inflictions or wild flailing. He's still and quiet and Allison thought Scott had been terrifying when he had stood holding a lit flare, coated in gasoline and an expression in his gaze of complete and utter hopelessness. But she thinks that Stiles with no stupid sarcastic phrase, no flailing, and no emotion in his tone or body language might be just worse.

Or maybe there's something still more terrifying, she thinks, and that's a Stiles without Scott; a Scott without Stiles.

They watch Derek leave, and they've just thrown Derek under the fucking bus. He's going to have to pass on everything that happened to the others, he's going to have to explain how they might have already lost.

Derek's car drives off and like that Stiles is no longer standing next to her. Instead he sinks down like a puppet with his strings cut, no longer able to keep standing. He leans on a nearby desk for support, his breathing deepening and becoming shallower and shallower-

"Stiles?" she asks, stepping around to look at him, "What's wrong?"

"They're gone," he chokes out, "They're all… they're all gone…" his eyes flaring blue gives her a split second warning to get out of the way. He whirls around, claws out and swiping at the first thing he can lay a hand on. Piles of papers and pencils go scattering off the desk in a mess of ink and folders. "They're gone, hell they're already dead!" Stiles snaps out. The look in his eyes scares her, and she takes a step back, reaching for one of her blades.

"Not yet," she whispers.

"Practically…" he forces back the shift, the wolf receding from his features as he gazes at her, his breathing still that uncomfortable rhythm that must be painful. Letting his grip on the desk loosen, Stiles slides to the floor, chest heaving.

"Stiles?" she asks, "Stiles, what's wrong… Stiles…?"

"Panic attack," he mumbles, eyes glassy and unfocussed, gasping for air.

"Panic att- I don't even know what that is, Stiles," Allison drops to the floor next to him, "Oh god, Lydia would know… I don't…"

He blinks his eyes open, "It's like… like a sense of impending disaster…" his breathing is speeding up and if she could hear it his heartbeat would probably be through the roof. "Like I'm going to faint… lose control… even die…"

"But you're not, you're fine…"

"We're not though," he chokes out, "We're not, we haven't been, we won't be…"

"Try to slow your breathing," Allison says, "You're going to pass out if you don't get enough oxygen…"

"Wouldn't be the first time," if Stiles could laugh, she would imagine he would be right now. Hysterical, broken laughter.

Instead he's still struggling to breathe.

"Needle," Allison whispers, and the look Stiles' gives her makes her feel slightly crazy. He's sitting in front of her, struggling to draw in more than a half mouthful of air and she's talking about needles, "Something Cora told me. About navigating between two forces in a war zone. Threading the needle. About how we can get through this. We can, I know you don't believe it, but we will get through this."

He huffs, but beyond that it doesn't help, his chest jerking up and down and-

"I need you to breathe, Stiles, count your breathing. Now count. One…"

"Two…" he chokes out, and the sound of him gasping for air is torture.

"Three," she keeps going, and his ragged hiss of released air follows, "Four…"

"Five…" It's a broken sound, the sound of her friend trying to find oxygen, "Six…"

"Seven…" she keeps going, holding his shoulders because that's all she can do, "Eight…"

"Nine…" there's a hitch, a sob in his voice but he keeps going.

There's another choking gasp around twelve. Seventeen finds Allison realising that she's crying. Twenty-four finds Stiles finally beginning to breathe normally, but they keep counting.

They get to forty-nine when Allison collapses onto Stiles' shoulder, trembling with the effort not to cry. They keep going, keep counting up and up and up and-

"I think the panic attack's finished," Stiles murmurs, when they're at about seventy-three. Their breathing is in sync now, in and out with the sound of each new number.

"Seventy-four," Allison says, just to be petulant, "Seventy-five…" she pauses, peering around Stiles' shoulder at something.

"Seventy-six," he says, turning to follow her gaze, "Seventy… You know I've always wondered where your family get the henchmen that lurk behind them," Stiles mutters, "Do you pay them? Is there a hunter's union? Or do they have internships of stalking your family around, assaulting the Sheriff's son and other prominent teenagers of the community and - oh - you have to get them coffee as well, but at least you don't have to clean Mr Argent's car windows, he does that himself."

"Stiles… what are you talking about?" Allison's gaze slides from the police arriving to her friend.

His shrug is loose, hiding the tension in his muscles, "I'm just wishing we had a few more guns on our side."

Behind them there are footsteps. People are shouting down the corridor and someone clears their throat.

She stands, and Stiles stays sitting, still oxygen deprived as they wait for the police to swarm in to inspect the reason the hospital looks like a war zone. From where she's standing she hears Stiles' muted curse as he looks up at the guy looming towards them. He's tall. That's the first thing she realises. He's really tall and intimidating.

"You kids okay?" the man says, and then he notices Stiles, "Stilinski," he recognises the boy, even half draped in shadows and collapsed on the floor, "Should have known you'd be in the middle of this."

"We got trapped," Allison lies through her teeth, "In the elevator when the power died."

"So the broken windows, the smashed equipment…" the man turns pointedly to where the papers and pens Stiles had flung off the desk lie scattered.

"I'm not quite sure I know who you are," Allison narrows her eyes at the man, staring him up and down. He's familiar, but she knows she's never met him before, but there's something about him…

Stiles stands in what was probably meant to be a smooth, fluid motion but ends up with him half leaning against the wall. Allison catches sight of claws scratching the hospital tiles seconds before he curls them away out of sight, "He's an FBI agent. At least, he pretends to be," he snorts, "Did they call you in to investigate the murders? What are you doing at the hospital?"

"I heard about the disturbance," the man says, "If you'll recall my wife works here…"

"Your ex-wife," Stiles sneers.

The man - agent - sighs, "Can you please try to keep the sarcasm to a minimum?"

"If you can keep the level of stupid down too, that would be brilliant," Stiles says, and there isn't even a smile in his voice. It's all cruel words and rough edges.

The agent gestures around, rocking back on his heels, "Where's your dad? Shouldn't he be here?"

"He's working," Stiles shrugs, "Long hours. Busy. I think he had a lead or two he was following."

"Is he drinking again?"

"Again?" Stiles says defensively and Allison tenses in case claws appear in this unfriendly conversation, "He never had to stop."

"He had to slow down."

"Like you?" If Stiles were a real wolf then this would be him, going for the tendons at the back of the ankle to hobble his prey. "You know what, next time I see him I'll give him a field sobriety test. We'll do the alphabet, start with "F", end with "U"."

The agent looks frustrated, if not seconds away from visibly ringing Stiles' neck. Allison almost wants to see him try, "You don't change, do you, Stilinski? Still 90% sarcasm and witty remarks, but nothing to back it up."

"We're all works in progress." Stiles' smile is like a razor blade and his words sound stilted. If Allison didn't know better, she'd have thought they were Peter's.

Maybe they are.

"Guess some of us are further along than others," she adds, and she doesn't even bother hiding her stare as she looks over the supposed FBI agent.

"You know I don't think I actually know who you are," the agent turns to Allison, glancing up and down sceptically at her, "You actually found a girlfriend, Stilinski?"

Allison bristles at the implications. Both that Stiles isn't good enough, and that she's got low standards, but before she can say anything Stiles speaks, "She's Scott's ex."

The man stiffens, gaze growing critical. And Allison thinks she might just know who this man is and why Stiles knows him so well.

"Allison Argent," she says, and she doesn't offer her hand to shake.

"Argent," the agent narrows his eyes. He probably recognises the name, "Got any enemies?"

"You have no idea," she drawls, suddenly unafraid and completely unrepentant.

"Any idea why someone would want to scrawl your name across the doors?"

She blinks, pausing mid shake of her head, "What name?"

And the agent looks past them, jerking his head towards the elevator. Allison spins around, trying to work out what he means…

"Allison?" Stiles breathes, "What… who did that?"

The doors to the elevator that one of the wolves must have forced open earlier look like they're broken. They're on a loop of opening and closing and opening and close-

The metal doors slam shut and Allison finally sees the letter emblazed in red across them.

ARGENT.

"She took your knife," the Sheriff deadpans as Chris Argent tries to reach for his ankle. With a grunt Argent just readjusts himself, "And the one in your sleeve. And the switchblade in your pocket."

Chris makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, beginning some new sort of contortion.

"She took your gun before she knocked me out," Melissa says, and Chris sags for a moment against the ropes.

"And your taser," the Sheriff adds, before Chris can start trying to escape again, "You came prepared, but not prepared enough."

"I wasn't expecting to get kidnapped!" Chris snaps, twisting his hands as if he could rub the ropes straight off his wrist.

The Sheriff winces, because he's tried that already. All it achieved was some severe rope burn, "I know you're a hunter, and apparently this is some part of your messed up initiation, but I don't think you're going to get out that way."

Chris' jaw clenches, and he probably bites back a dark comment about something. Instead he shakes his head, eyes closing almost in defeat but Stilinski knows there is nothing but hold hard steel and determination there as he tries to plan a way out. "I should have guessed," Chris says, voice sounding so, so tired. It's just how the Sheriff feels. "I knew the signs, she was even using mistletoe…"

"What's so special about mistletoe?" Melissa frowns, "Danny vomited that out, but… how is it important?"

"Oh," a new voice chimes in, and for a moment the dead air around them wails a little harder. She steps down the stairs, looking perfect and not a hair out of place, "Mistletoe is the most important thing. Don't you know your myths?"

The Sheriff has done a lot of reading into myths the past few months, but this isn't one of them.

"It's Norse," Jennifer says, tone dry and obviously unimpressed with their lack of culture, "Baldur, son of Odin, was the most beloved of all the gods. He was shining and beautiful and perfect and everyone loved him. Frigg, his mother, wanted to protect him from all the harm in the world. Most mothers do, don't you find, Melissa?" her tone grows cruel, simpering…

Melissa doesn't answer.

"So Frigg travelled. For over a year she sought out every living thing and extracted a promise from it to never hard Baldur. Fire, stone, metal, water, every living thing, dangerous or not. When finally she was done, the gods all celebrated. They threw whatever weapons they could at Baldur and laughed when none could harm him. But there was one god who wasn't so enamoured with Baldur. Loki, the Trickster, the one they call the Sly One, found out through tricks and lies that Frigg hadn't bothered to ask mistletoe. It was harmless, Frigg insisted, a seemingly innocent plant and completely overlooked. Loki fashioned a dart out of mistletoe, and used it to kill Baldur. Didn't you ever wonder why we hang it up during the holiday season?"

When nobody answers she continues.

"It's so that nobody ever overlooks it again," Jennifer's voice grows hard, "We were the overlooked. The emissaries. Deucalion thought he could rip us to shreds and leave us to die but that was their mistake," she releases a hissed breath and chuckles slightly, "But it will be okay. Surely you can see why I'm doing this? By killing the alpha pack; I'm saving your children."

"You're killing people," the Sheriff says, voice low.

"But I'm stopping them from hurting so many more," the woman's voice grows strong. She's dedicated to her cause.

"They'll stop you," Melissa says, her voice sounding tougher than she probably feels, "You think you're the first big bad to roll into town? They might be kids, but they're better than you can even imagine."

"Oh," Jennifer laughs, "I'm counting on it," she whirls around, looking between the three of them, "I'm not afraid of three teenagers," she sneers, "They're not a threat. Arrows, claws, fangs… none of those three can hurt me."

The Sheriff's not prepared to count on that.

Jennifer almost appears to realise his scepticism, "Oh, Sheriff, you don't believe me, do you? You think because Scott's a True Alpha it will help him save you? You think just because Allison knows how to shoot a gun she can save the day? You think because Stiles already has blue eyes that he'll just entrench that colour deeper in blood? The alpha pack have been in town for four months; why do you think I waited until now?"

"The lunar eclipse," Chris whispers, and the Sheriff and Melissa turn to him, "It's the lunar eclipse tomorrow night. And during a lunar eclipse the moon is blocked out and so the wolves…"

"Won't have any power," the Darach finishes, "No glowing eyes, no fangs… it won't matter if they're beta, alpha, omega. It won't matter is their eyes are red or blue or gold. Tomorrow night they'll all be human. It's appropriate, I think," she muses, "The mistletoe killed Baldur. Baldur's death precipitated Ragnarok and the end of all times. Now I will end the alpha pack once and for all."

"You're telling me that Jennifer is gone?"

"Yes."

"And that she kidnapped Melissa and Chris?"

"Yes."

"So now she has all three sacrifices that she needs?"

"Yes."

"And Scott went with Deucalion?"

"Yes."

"And Lydia and Allison and Stiles and Malia are…?"

"Do I look like I know everything?" Derek whirls around, and both Peter and Isaac flinch back. Anger bubbles in Derek's veins, but he doesn't let it force out the shift. With the full moon tomorrow control is the most important thing to think about.

Scott went with Deucalion. Scott actually went with-

Derek shakes his head violently. This is giving him a headache. And Cora-

Nearby Isaac sits there holding her hand and taking her pain. He's looking at Derek, but he doesn't appear like he wants to move from Cora's side. "Is she dying?" Isaac asks, as Peter dabs at her forehead with a damp towel.

Peter doesn't answer. Derek's uncle looks grim.

"Do you know anything?" Isaac glares at the two Hales.

Derek knows about a plan. A rough, crudely constructed plan that was more of a theory but it appeared to be what they were running with.

It's awful.

"You don't know much, do you?" Isaac sneers, "Do you want to figure something out? Because while Scott and Stiles are trying to stop people being killed; I don't see you doing anything!"

He doesn't respond. Because he doesn't know what's going on anymore. He's meant to be an alpha, and this is meant to be his pack. His murderous uncle, his sick sister and a beta who glares at him like he isn't even his. Derek has thrown Isaac away again and again yet he's back here now, and it's not for Derek.

"We're running out of time!" Isaac snaps, tension brimming to the surface in the young beta, "Soon Scott, Stiles and Allison are going to lose their parents and Jennifer is going to murder the alpha pack!"

"No," Peter says, slowly, "She's not. She's going to wait."

"Why should she?" Isaac bristles, "She's got her sacrifices lined up. All she needs to do is kill them."

"Even an emissary powered up with some dead humans isn't enough to take on a pack of alphas," Peter sounds like he's contemplating how that fight would go, "But tomorrow is a lunar eclipse."

Isaac frowns like he's remembering a conversation, "Erica thought we might get more powerful," he says, "But that's… what happens to us during the lunar eclipse?"

"Our power comes from the bite and the virus. But we're affected by the moon reflecting the sun's light back down to earth. During the lunar eclipse the earth casts a shadow between the sun so that no light reflects back. As a consequence, we have no power during that time."

"None?" Isaac asks, "None at all?"

"We'll be as good as human for those fifteen minutes," Peter shrugs, "If I was her, I'd strike then."

"What about Cora?" Isaac asks, desperately, "Couldn't she heal Cora?"

"If she was going to heal Cora, then I'd wager she'd have done it already," Peter drawls, "But that kind of healing drains magic. She'll be saving herself for her grand finale."

"So there is nothing we can do?" Isaac asks, wide-eyed and bitter, "Nothing at all?"

"I don't know of a way to heal Cora," Derek says tiredly and there's a pause as Peter takes a breath as if he's going to say something.

Isaac and Derek turn to look at Peter, who blinks innocently at them. Whatever idea he's going to have, it's not going to be good.

"What?" Derek asks, "Do you know of something?"

"I've heard of a way," Peter shrugs, "But it…" he falls silent, narrowing his eyes and frowning, "It's dangerous."

"What is it?" Isaac leans forwards in anticipation, "I'll do it."

"Unfortunately it's not something you can do," Peter dismisses Isaac, turning to his nephew. Derek feels the full weight of Peter's gaze, "This is something only Derek can do but it comes at a cost."

"What cost?" Derek says, vividly remembering the last words shared between him and Cora: angry accusations and proportioning the blame for those they had lost.

Peter's lips curl up into a smile.

"It must have been Morrell," Allison insists, her fingers tapping on the cold wood of her French teacher's desk, "Who else would do something like that? Who else would spray paint our name on the elevator? Who else would try to help?"

"Is that why we're going through her office?" Malia asks from where she's rifling through filing cabinets and papers. "She's obviously not here… she wasn't here yesterday either…"

"She's with Deucalion," Stiles says from where he's slamming through drawers. A school bell rings and they all ignore it. She's missing school, she thinks, but she can't bring herself to care. Allison isn't sure what time it is. All she knows is that she hasn't slept at all. She barely managed to grab a change of clothes from her apartment.

"I don't like this," Allison says, "Why wouldn't you let me take my dad's .45?"

"So you could what?" Stiles deadpans, "Blow her skull in half? She's already half-mauled to death, what exactly is a bullet going to do to hurt her?" he digs into his pocket and holds out something shining and gold. Allison takes in the crushed and battered Sheriff's badge in Stiles' hands, "I don't think lead pellets are going to intimidate her that much."

Allison growls under her breath, fingers twitching. She wants to shoot someone. Stab something. Impulses she should control considering she's in the middle of the school.

She wants her dad.

"They could already be dead," she whispers.

"No," Malia appears right behind her and she jumps. "Isaac sent me a text. Apparently she's waiting for the lunar eclipse. We lose all our powers then."

"All our powers?" Stiles asks, sounding surprised but also fearful. Allison tries to think how that might be bad. She tries to imagine what it's like if she had super hearing and super strength and the instincts of a beast and then lost it.

She knows she can't even begin to imagine it. She's only human.

The only human.

But she's just as tough as any of the werewolves, and she can do this, she can find her dad, rescue him, it will be okay…

A warm hand slips into hers and Allison blinks back tears just in time to give Lydia a weak grin. The banshee smiles like nothing is wrong, like there isn't a bruise of purple ringing her throat, like she wasn't almost killed last night.

What they're doing now is trying to find out why.

"What about Scott?" Malia asks with wide eyes.

"What about Scott?" Lydia sneers, "He left."

"He might phone," Allison shrugs, "Keep your phones on and fully charged."

"Are we going to look for your parents?" the coyote asks, "Because I have the maps and we must be able to narrow down where they could be sooner or later…"

"We don't have time," Stiles shakes his head, "We can't cover that whole area alone."

"She uses the currents," Lydia says from where she's pouring over said maps, "All the bodies have been taken and found at places where the currents are strongest, so wouldn't it make sense that the last three will be as well?"

"But what if she split them up?" Stiles asks, "Or if she's killed them already…"

"Aiden's not responding to my texts," Lydia whispers.

"I still can't believe you have his number," Stiles mutters, just as the door opens.

The four of them freeze. Stiles is rifling through a desk drawer, Allison is paging through books, Malia and Lydia are looking at a map on the floor.

"You here for Ms. Morrell?" Lydia asks the dark skinned girl that has just walked in. She blinks at them in surprise.

"No, I thought this was gym class."

Malia pauses, "This isn't the school gym."

"Is she for real?" the girl asks. Danielle, Allison seems to remember her name is. "What are you doing? Where's the teacher? I have an appointment and she's never late…"

"Hey, I found your files…" Stiles says from where he's gone straight back to being buried in the drawer, "Huh, she's got all our files… Allison… Malia… me… Lydia…

"Those files are private," Lydia says, snatching hers out of his hands, "Give that here… I don't see how something in her office will help us find her, or our parents."

"She was an emissary," Allison argues, "Maybe she understands what this other emissary is going through or something, or maybe she's just trying to do her job. I don't know! She's the only one who might know about what's going on, the only one who might have some clues…"

"Hang on…" Stiles freezes, grabbing something from where Lydia is paging through her file, "That's your tree."

"You were drawing that the other day," Allison recognises it, "It's good."

"Thank you…"

"Yeah," Stiles' eyes flash blue and Allison can't blame him for being tense, "She was drawing it the other day. And the other week. And yesterday. And…" he reaches into his pocket and tugs out a drawing that is crumpled and creased and Allison takes it from him, holding it up next to the other drawing.

It's identical.

"Okay," the black girl makes a quick turn around, "I'll leave you too it - you obviously have bigger issues."

The door slams and Allison stares at the trees that are identical, "This is it," she whispers, holding the drawings side by side, "This is why she tried to hurt you."

"Well… that and I'm apparently a human Geiger counter for death," Lydia adds.

"What's a Geiger counter?" Malia frowns.

Stiles is staring at the drawing in Allison's hands. He's looking at it upside down, but his eyes are widening, and Allison expects it when he takes it from her, "It's not a tree," he says, "Allison, it's not a tree…" he looks up at the three girls, holds up the picture upside down, "It's roots," he tells them, "The roots of the Nemeton. I think Lydia's already found where they are."

"But we don't know where the Nemeton is," Allison says, "Do you know how big the Preserve is? It would take us weeks to find the right tree and this isn't even a normal tree: it's a magical tree that for the past months has been having ritual sacrifices made to it."

"I don't know where it is," Stiles says, "But I might know someone who does."

The woods are dark and deep, Scott recites in his head, and I have far to go before I sleep.

It's like a storm is starting to brew just over the forest, dark clouds making it seem like late evening already, even though he knows it's only the afternoon.

He doesn't like this. He doesn't like walking at Deucalion's side like he's meant to be there. Like he's special or something precious or…

A wolf howls. They're catching their prey and even this Scott can't handle.

A firefly buzzes, thinking the impeding storm is the night drawing in closer. It's not even meant to be in this region, but it's drawn to the magic of the sacrifices. It's drawn to the dark druid like a moth to a flame. None of the animal behaviours were because of the alpha pack - not the deer, not the cats, not even the birds throwing themselves against the window.

Had Scott payed attention then, had he turned to look at the new teacher standing in the front of the classroom would they even be in this situation?

They couldn't have known.

Could they?

"There seems to be a lot on your mind, Scott," Deucalion says.

"Animals can predict disasters, can't they?" Scott sticks with a safe topic, "Can they predict supernatural disasters as well?"

"Quite possibly," the alpha says, not really seeming that interested. He's more focussed on where the twins and Kali are hunting.

Hunting down a human…

Scott and Deucalion emerge in a clearing where Morrell stands. For a moment Scott can't work out why none of them can get to her, but then he sees the thin line of black. Aiden, not spotting it, throws himself forwards.

It's like a force field. He hits it and bounces straight back into his brother. Morrell lifts up his chin, gazing defiantly at them, "I knew you'd come for me," she says to Deucalion and Scott shifts on instinct away from the man next to him.

"I was willing to let you live, Marin," Deucalion sounds almost reasonable, but Scott thinks this man is more insane than Peter ever was, "But now you're in my way."

The teacher - emissary - in front of them shakes her head, sadly, "You've always hated us, haven't you? Hated and feared us."

"With good reason," Kali paces the other side of the circle, her face twisted in a snarl, "You sent the girl to help that beta escape. You tried to warn the hunters."

"I try to keep the balance," Morrell snaps, not looking at all intimidated by the alphas circling her like a… well… like a pack of wolves.

"Do you know where's she taken my mom?" Scott interrupts, meeting her gaze, "Do you know where the Sheriff and Argent are?"

"You're standing on the wrong side, Scott," Morrell doesn't answer, "Where are your friends? Where is your pack?"

"He has a pack, now," Deucalion sounds almost smug.

"Does he know everything?" Morrell snarls, "Did you tell Kali how Ennis died? How he survived the flash arrow, but then you paid him a visit? Do they know how many bodies you've waded through to get here today?"

Scott anticipates Deucalion's action before he actually moves. Before the alpha can even move his cane, Scott is sidestepping into the way, "No," he says, feeling the brunt of Deucalion's sightless gaze on him, "She's not worth it."

"She's a danger, Scott, and you don't let dangerous people walk away."

Like Gerard, Scott thinks, but Gerard crawled. Gerard crawled away to die, and even if it didn't come quickly it caught up to him eventually. "She knows where they are," he argues.

"So let's motivate her to talk," Kali sneers.

"Or let's ask," Scott snaps back, feeling his eyes flare and Kali frowns at him for a long moment. He wonders what colour his eyes are, but one glance at Morrell and she shakes her head, subtly.

They're not red yet.

Yet.

But they will be.

They could be.

"The Nemeton," Morrell says, "She's using the Nemeton as a power source. She'll wait until the last minute and then use the Nemeton."

Deucalion looks mildly intrigued that she actually answered. Scott's shoulders slump in relief, "Okay. So where is it?"

The emissaries' smile is thin, "That is where we have a problem."

"Stilinski."

It's one man who keeps Stiles from doing anything. It's one man who drags them into a classroom to talk when they should be finding their parents.

"Where are your other friends?" Rafael McCall asks Stiles. Allison, he thinks, stayed mostly to keep him company, but he appreciates it. She sits beside him on the desk and Rafael tries to ignore the fact she is there.

"You mean Scott?"

"Your whole little clique - none of you showed up for classes. You're in school, but not in lessons. What's going on?"

"Clique?" Stiles blinks at the word choice.

"Yes. Isaac Lahey. Malia Tate. Cora Hale. Lydia Martin. Scott. None of them showed up for school today."

"We prefer the term 'Pack'," Stiles didn't answer the question. He exchanges a grin with Allison.

"Funny," McCall says, "Your dad didn't show up for work today. In fact… his car is still in the car park from last night."

"I told you," Stiles says, "He's following leads."

"So why isn't he answering his phone?" McCall sighs, "He's already been declared missing, Stiles. You know it; I know it, now just tell me what you know."

Stiles sighs, "Why do you think I know anything?"

McCall sighs, "You and your friends have appeared at several crime scenes in the past month. And that's not even counting the animal attack business last year involving Kate Argent."

Allison flinches, and then strikes back. "You're Scott's dad, aren't you?" she asks with wide eyes, "You know it's funny. I don't think he ever mentioned you."

Stiles can't stop the grin from spreading across his face as Rafael flinches. "Stiles, if you know anything at all…"

"If I knew, then why wouldn't I not tell you? I would tell you if I had anything I thought telling you would help you to help me help my dad that was worth telling you. Personally I don't know how to help you help me tell you something that would help you if I don't know it."

Allison stifles a giggle. McCall frowns, "You're doing this on purpose."

"No," Stiles sighs, "I don't know anything that can help you. But I know that Allison and I have somewhere to be, and it isn't here, talking to you."

"What do you mean you don't know where it is?"

"I mean…" Peter says through gritted teeth, "That after some… less than cheerful experiences mucking around beneath the roots of that thing, my sister took the memories from us."

"She took the memories," Malia deadpans.

"Yes," Peter meets her gaze with a flash of blue eyes, "It's a thing that alphas can do. You and Lydia, I thought, were aware of that after that wonderful afternoon we spent together."

"I remember it fondly," Lydia says, smiling, "Allison left you paralyzed and electrocuted on the floor. We should do it again, sometime."

Peter looks mildly offended while Derek just frowns, face creased in worry, "So you know where she's keeping them, but not how to get there?"

"What about Malia?" Isaac asks, from over by Cora, "You spent years in the woods, right?"

"As a coyote," Malia looks wary, "I don't… I never came across any large tree trunks. Not that I remember."

"And the Nemeton has a way of hiding itself. It's a magical tree sitting on the convergence of power and magic and supernatural forces beyond our comprehension."

"Great," Lydia says, "So we're back where we started."

Malia's phone buzzes and she tugs it out of her pocket, "Not quite."

Scott meets them at the animal clinic.

Allison is huddled next to Isaac. Stiles is standing next to Lydia and he won't meet Scott's gaze as he enters. Malia perches on one of the operating tables, her feet swinging, head snapping up as he enters.

"Good," Deaton says, "You're here."

Scott swallows and his throat is so, so dry. "They're at the Nemeton," he says.

"We know," Lydia responds, "But nobody knows where it is."

Scott shakes his head, feeling despair overwhelm him.

"Luckily for you," Deaton says, slowly, "I know of a way you can find it. It's dangerous. And I need Stiles, Allison and Scott. That's why you're here."

Scott takes a deep breath, "I'm in."

"How dangerous?" Lydia asks.

Deaton looks around the room at the six teenagers, "The three of you will be surrogate sacrifices for your parents. By taking their place, even if only for a moment, you'll establish a bond with the Nemeton."

Isaac looks up, and glances to Allison as if she's slightly crazy for even considering this, "Sacrifices?" he queries, "So they'll…"

Deaton nods slowly, "They'll be dead, yes."

"But he can bring us back," Stiles adds, then pauses, "You can bring us back, right?"

The vet nods, but it's slow in coming, "Hopefully you'll only be dead for a few seconds. Just enough to establish a bond. A connection. But it's dangerous. The connection runs both ways. You gain knowledge from the Nemeton, but it will gain power from you. It's been dead for years, and while it was once a protection for this town, if it regains power it will have the strength, but not the protection."

"So you're saying we're going to have a nuclear reactor of supernatural power?" Lydia asks. For once, Malia doesn't even bother to ask what a nuclear reactor is.

She just asks, "We'll find them, though, right?"

"The Nemeton has been dead for years. Reigniting it's power… it's like igniting a fire. Like…"

"Lighting a beacon," Allison whispers.

"You'll be linked to it, even after," Deaton says, "It won't be fully alive, it will still be partially dead."

Stiles blinks, "So we'll be partially dead?"

The vet winces, pulling a face, "More like… the Nemeton's tainted now. With a darkness. You'll feel it too, because of your link to it. It will be like… a permanent scar around your heart."

"That doesn't sound too bad," Scott says, glancing at his tattoo, "Can't be much worse than what we've already seen, huh?"

Allison nods, and Stiles turns to Deaton, "We'll do it. What do we need to do?"

"You said I could help her," Derek whispers, once everyone's gone and it's just him and Peter, "How?"

"In actual wolf packs, the pack will care for sick members. They bring injured wolves food, groom them, provide emotional and physical comfort…"

"How is this relevant?" Derek snaps, "Just tell me what you know!"

"It's something only an alpha can do," Peter says, casually, "You have more power than other werewolves. When we take pain we take the pain into our body to heal it. With the extra power an alpha has, you can take that pain and just a little bit more, taking the illness itself."

"How do I do it?"

"Carefully. Like everything, it has a cost. You can only do it once, because once you've done it, you lose that alpha spark inside of you."

"So I wouldn't be an alpha anymore," Derek realises, gaze drifting up to Peter and the only thing he can think is that at least then he can stop worrying about his uncle murdering him in his sleep.

He's not been much of an alpha anyway.

"How do I do this?"

"Wait a minute," Peter sounds rushed, "The alphas are still coming after you and you wouldn't be able to face them as a beta."

"I could," Derek says, "If I had to."

"You'll die."

"But at least Cora will be alive!" he snaps, and he can't bear it, seeing his vibrant, fierce sister so still and near death. It's agony.

She's already died once.

He won't let her die a second time.

They dig out troughs from the back of the vet clinic. Deaton fills them with cold water and Lydia and Malia pour in ice cubes by the dozen. Deaton digs out a jar of white fruit and leaves, sprinkling them in. Stiles recognises the plant.

"Why the mistletoe?" Isaac asks, narrowing his eyes at the flows of ice and bone white berries floating in it.

"The druids esteem nothing more sacred than the mistletoe and that tree on which it grows, provided only that the tree is an oak." They all turn to look at Lydia who just shrugs, "What? I did my summer reading. Didn't you?"

"You're not actually going to die," Deaton says, as if that news is reassuring to the three who are standing at the edge of the tubs, shivering before they've even got in them, "But if we slow your heart rate down enough, the three of you will slip into a trance-like state, and in that state you'll be able to connect to the Nemeton. The three of you will take the place of your parents as the final sacrifice."

"How slow will their hearts have to be?" Lydia asks.

"Very slow."

"How slow is very slow?"

"Nearly dead."

Lydia shakes her head, "I don't like that. That doesn't sound safe; there are too many risks…"

"This is the only way," Allison pleads, "Please, we have to find them. My dad… he's all I have left."

"I'm with Allison," Stiles says. Malia just looks grim behind him.

Stiles can't imagine losing his dad.

Or maybe he can. He remembers the teetering madness and claws in his head and he thinks he might not know what it will be like, but he can guess at the end result.

In his hand he curls his fingers around his dad's badge. Allison has a silver bullet. A real honest to god silver bullet. Scott has a watch, and it's not ticking.

Not anymore.

It feels ominous. Stiles wonders if they've already run out of time.

"You'll need someone to hold you down," Deaton says, "But that someone needs to be able to pull you back. A sort of… emotional tether."

There are three teenagers about to die and three not. Stiles looks up, gaze meeting Lydia's for a moment before he turns to the girl right next to him.

"Okay," Malia whispers, her eyes wide and sad, "For your dad."

He swallows down a lump in his throat.

Lydia steps over to Allison and Isaac offers Scott a weak smile. "I trust you," Scott says to Isaac.

"Really?" Isaac laughs weakly, "Because I wouldn't trust me."

Stiles tugs off his jumper, leaving himself in just his t-shirt and jeans. He leaves it on a counter top, and hopes to god that Deaton has some towels for after this experience.

The water ripples slightly, green sprigs of mistletoe in shards of ice. It looks cold. Uninviting.

But he has to do it. And he has to believe he will come out of the other side in one piece.

It will be okay.

It's not the first time he has drowned.

Malia doesn't like the idea of the water. Or the drowning.

"It's okay," Stiles tries to reassure her as he stands in front of the tub, as if drowning isn't his worst fear.

"It's not."

"No," he admits with ease and a tiny laugh that catches in his throat and chokes him, "No, you know when you're drowning you don't actually inhale until right before you black out? It's called voluntary apnea."

"But you inhale in the end?"

"Only right at the end. Even through the panic and the freaking out, you won't until the last second. And then it… it stops hurting. It guess it will be kind of peaceful."

Stiles shouldn't be drowning, Malia thinks. Stiles is fire, alive and vibrant and burning.

He shouldn't be extinguished so easily.

Humans, Malia thinks, they're just sparks, waiting to be lit. They're potential, for something, for anything. Once bitten they change. Stiles sparks to life, becoming fire blazing across the forest. Scott's more solid. Reassuring. The earth beneath her paws. Allison stays smooth and calm and fluid like water.

Lydia's the ice to Stiles' fire. The cold chill of death and the frost in the dead of winter. The pair are both volatile elements. They're lethal alone, two extremes and together…

They're explosive.

She turns to look at where Lydia is standing behind Allison. The banshee meets her gaze with a weak smile.

A year ago Malia was still in the woods. A year ago she was still a coyote.

She had wanted to go back. She had wanted to shift and to run around in her fur coat like nothing had changed.

She doesn't want that anymore.

She feels Stiles' shoulders under her palms, warm and vibrant and alive.

No, she thinks, she doesn't want to go back.

The three in the water lose their breath in a rush as the cold hits them. Allison's hands shake, and she barely manages to keep hold of the shining silver bullet with the Argent seal embossed into it.

"By the way," Stiles says, as if he has to have the last word. He turns to look at Scott, "If you make it back and I don't…" he pauses and Scott's expression is one of alarm before he keeps talking, "You should probably know something. Your dad's in town."

Allison thinks he has really rubbish timing, but she's finding it hard to breath. Her lungs keep hitching as her shoulders sink into the cold, and she feels Lydia behind her.

For one terrible, awful moment she's scared. She's terrified.

She's dying.

She's going to drown in ice and mistletoe. She's going to die.

She's going to let her best friend kill her.

She wants to scramble out of there. She wants to run and hide and pretends that everything is okay.

But at home, the apartment is cold and empty. Her dad is gone. Cora is sick. Her friends are here.

So she stays.

Allison is an Argent, a warrior, carved out of silver and jet.

She can do this.

She lets Lydia push her under.

Lydia just watched her best friend, her equal and her (dare she say it) alpha… die. She watched them sink beneath the water, she watched the bubbles drift upwards until the moment they began to struggle, trying for that last gasp of air.

She remembers the feel of Allison's shoulders as she held the huntress down. The way her friend had struggled and lashed out, water splashing everywhere until it wasn't and she went limp. Limp and lifeless and for all purposes, dead.

Sixteen hours.

The trio had been dead sixteen hours. Sixteen hours of Lydia, Malia and Isaac huddled around the troughs. Sixteen hours of Malia tilting her head to check her anchor's heart was still beating, however faintly. Sixteen hours of sitting in the same room as to what essentially amounted to three corpses.

They weren't breathing. It wasn't possible - their bodies should have been starved of oxygen hours ago but yet still none of them breathe.

"How long should we wait?" Isaac asks, as if he's scared to, "How long before we call someone and watch them put them in a morgue drawer?"

"We wait," she says.

"We're not putting them in a…" Malia pauses, "What's a morgue?"

"A place where they put dead bodies," Isaac says, voice sounding like he's complaining but Lydia knows that's only to hide the fear, "Like the three dead bodies floating in water that started out icy but it's Luke-warm now, it's been that long. Like those three dead bodies that we killed, oh god, we're going to be arrested. Well… we would be arrested if Stiles' father hadn't been kidnapped by a Darach."

"Imagine waking up in a morgue drawer," Lydia whispers, "No, we have to wait. We give them as much time as they need."

"The lunar eclipse is tonight. What if…"

"Don't. Say it," she says through gritted teeth. "They will wake up."

Someone has to believe.

Scott dies with ice cold water pressing down on his lungs.

Scott dies, feeling like his head is about to explode, like he's suffering the worst asthma attack ever.

Scott dies.

That's meant to be it.

He's not meant to wake up again, but wake up he does. His eyes fly open and he lurches upwards, gasping for oxygen. The water swirls violently around him as he grasps onto the edge of the tub, his vision greying and black. He's aware of Stiles and Allison doing the same next to him, trying to suck air back into their oxygen deprived lungs.

It didn't work, is Scott's first thought. He didn't see anything while trapped under the water. Surely this can't be it?

Then he looks around, realising that he's not in the animal clinic. He can still feel the faint impression of Isaac's hands holding him down, but there is nobody else there.

The room is large and white. The floor, the walls, the ceiling… it's all white. It goes on as far as he can see, forever and ever and…

Scott's eyes focus on something in the distance, and without really thinking he climbs out of the tub, water dripping off him and onto the floor. His feet are bare and the floor is cool to the touch. It sends shivers down his spine as he sends concerned glances to where Stiles and Allison look half drowned next to him as they follow his example, dripping pools of water onto the floor. Stiles' t-shirt is brown, but it's so water sodden it's turned black. Allison's hair drips down her back as they look around, taking in the room.

At regular intervals bright square lights are built into the ceiling. There are pillars of white holding the roof up.

If this is death, Scott thinks; then at least it's peaceful.

They turn slowly, and he's not sure who sees it first, only that it's there. In the distance roots break through the white and grey tiles is the brown bark of an oaken tree trunk.

He's seen it before, he thinks, walking towards it. The trunk seems miles away but as he walks it looms closer. It's massive, with weeds and dried twigs growing around it. His gaze traces the rings and whorls of the trunk going around and around in circles and he feels the tattoo banding his arm tighten, like a chain binding him to this tree trunk.

Stiles and Allison linger behind silent, just watching him. So he takes the first step, moving forwards, and reaching out. Laying his palm flat on the trunk, he feels the warm pulse of something beneath it. His eyes drift closed and he feels, more than sees the world change around him.

Dead is dead is dead is dead.

Scott's palm touches the trunk and the air around him shudders and he opens his eyes to a dark forest.

There are voices drifting through the trees. Scott turns around, catching sight of a teenage boy in a dark red hoodie stumbling through the trees, shouting down to someone at the bottom of a steep bank, "Stiles! You okay? Answer me…"

It's him.

It's him with long hair and soft eyes and features still youthful and innocent. He trips his way over, murmuring something about a lost inhaler and flinching from the deer that crash out of nowhere.

Scott remembers this night. Scott dreams about it sometimes, the way his phone lights over Laura Hale's wide glassy eyes and the way his voice trembles as he calls down to where his friend is.

"Stiles. Stiles, I think there's something else out there…"

That's when the monstrous form of Peter tumbles out of the wood with fangs and claws and Scott's life changes forever.

He stumbles back, away from the memory, and he almost walks right into it. His legs are knocked out from under him and he reaches over, grabbing onto the large tree trunk to steady him.

He grabs onto the Nemeton.

Behind him, the scene changes. In the distance there is a howl, and behind him Stiles crouches over him, his clawed hands slick with Scott's blood.

"You have to understand, Scott," the shadow of Stiles whispers earnestly, "I'm doing this for us. It's for all of us. No more hunters. No more threats. We can be strong. We can be pack."

"You're already my pack," the past Scott chokes out, "But not… Not like this. Never like this."

Next to him the Nemeton pulses, whispers of power trickling through into him, and he knows where this is. He can find this again, he can remember…

For a moment he can see the tree. He can see what it would have looked like; fully grown with branches reaching into the sky.

But it's dead and gone and Scott's dead and in his chest his heart stutters back to life.

Scott touches the tree trunk and it's like a rollercoaster where Stiles' world falls out from beneath his feet. He's sent stumbling and tripping his way into shadows and darkness. He grabs onto a tree for support, looking up and trying to work out where he is.

He's in the preserve. It's dark and he's soaking wet, dripping water down onto the forest floor. It's cold out, sometime in winter and his breath steams in front of him.

"Dude, come on, we have to go, we have to run…"

Through the trees he sees himself, pale and skinny with short, buzzed hair. He sees himself cradling his arm to his chest with the dark shadow of fangs tattooed into the skin in a bloody, messy wound. He sees himself limping, Scott dragging him as they run, limp, hop their way out of the woods.

"It bit me," his memory says, sounding disgusted, "It bit me…"

"Yeah?" past Scott laughs, sounding hysterical, "I think it tried to take a chunk out of my side. I feel like a chew toy."

"Maybe you didn't taste nice?"

"Maybe, but it was almost like it didn't want me dead."

"Oh yeah? It seemed to want me dead pretty badly. That's was terrifying. Cool, but terrifying. Dude, promise me, next time I want to look for a dead body in the woods, you're saying 'no' okay?"

"Oh trust me. I'm never listening to any of your ideas again."

Stiles turns away from where his past self is limping away, knowing already what he's going to see. Now he knows what to look for, he's seen it before. The tang of oak and ozone sits there, innocuously hidden amongst the trees and leaves strewn around the forest, but he knows now what it is.

"You're the one who dragged us into the woods looking for a dead body!"

Stiles flinches as he looks back to the clearing, to where Scott takes a threatening step forwards with a syringe full of ketamine in his hand, eyes flaring gold with anger.

"So it's my fault?" He looks ill. Pale skinned with dark shadows under his eyes and his hair a mess as he tries to get Scott to see reason, "You blame me for your little hunter girlfriend? For letting first Lydia, then Jackson, and then Allison find out about us? And now? Now her aunt knows. Her sociopathic bitch aunt is going to shoot us. She's going to kill us, Scott, and if she can't get us, she'll go after my dad. She'll go after Melissa. Don't you get that?"

Death is the end, Stiles thinks, but this? This is the beginning. This was the very start of it all.

Life isn't a straight line with a beginning and an end. Life is infinity. Life is an ourobouros, eating its own tail, constantly rebirthing and dying and it goes around and around and-

Stiles thinks they've finally come around in a full circle.

Behind him, the tree trunk rings around and around and it hums, like it knows they've been there since the start.

Stiles lives, Stiles dies, and Stiles lives again in one never-ending circle.

"Wait," Allison pauses, reaching out a hand to try and slow down Derek who hovers impatiently. There isn't time to waste; they have to get to the Hale House, they have to get to Kate before Peter does.

"What is it?" he stresses, "We need to go! Now! Before the hunters get here!"

"No…" Allison whispers, tilting her head to one side like she's listening, "I heard something…"

"Allison, I'm a werewolf, and I didn't hear anything."

"No, that's Scott. It's Scott!" she doesn't wait before taking off through the trees. She doesn't look back, doesn't turn around to see what becomes of Derek. She just keeps moving towards where she knows in her bones her companions are.

She bursts out of the trees just in time to stop Stiles tearing Scott into smaller pieces than he already has. She bursts out of the trees just in time to distract a desperate Stiles with a mad look in his blue eyes.

Soaked to the bone and wearing nothing more than thin underwear, Allison stumbles backwards away from the clearing. She turns and almost walks straight into the Nemeton that sits there, almost smugly.

"Allison!" her mom grabs a past version of her, dragging her away and dropping the inhaler in the dirt, "Allison, we didn't run anything over, okay? Now let's go: you have school tomorrow, I'll drive you in if you're going to stop for every poor animal on the side of the road…"

It's been here, Allison thinks, the Nemeton has been here all the time, right from the very start.

And for the first time since last night, she lets herself feel hope. They stand a chance now of finding their parents. They know where they are, they can still save them…

Allison lets the flame of hope burn brighter as her heart starts beating again.

Being dead is a natural state of being. It's the end of the cycle, the last page of the book. It is the conclusion everywhere hurtles towards no matter how tragic. Dead is dead is dead is dead.

Coming back to life, though?

That's where things get tricky.

As Peter Hale will tell you, you don't come back the same.

The night draws in, the moon rises nearly full, and somewhere three teenagers die.

Peter watches as Derek sits down besides Cora, grits his teeth and takes her pain. He lets out a pained cry at it hits him, then falls silent as his veins turn black. Cora's eyes fly open and she meets her brother's gaze in startled bewilderment as his eyes flare red. He takes the pain until there is nothing left and he keeps taking it.

His eyes flare red like a raw, open wound, and then the fierce hue bleeds out of it until they're violet, then blue. The open wound heals, becoming nothing more than an old scar, emblazed across Derek's eyes.

The last alpha power of the Hales dies just like that. With red eyes turning blue and Cora gasping back to life. The last alpha power of the Hale line dies and Peter turns away, a dark smirk on his face.

It's like a miracle.

Lydia has seen her friends die. Now she watches it in reverse.

Malia notices first. According to her Stiles' heart beat picks up half a pace. Then moving closer there is a visible change. Their skin - pale and white and dead - gains a flush of colour. It's like someone is breathing life back into them.

Seconds later Scott's eyes fly open and for a moment Lydia thinks she sees vivid crimson red, but then with a splash and a gasp of air, his eyes are brown and he's pulling himself up.

There is another swell of water from Allison and Stiles, their hands tugging themselves out of the water. The mistletoe is still swimming around, a piece sticks in Allison's hair. The ice however has long since melted.

The three sucking in air, their heart racing, just spent sixteen hours dead, Lydia thinks.

"I saw it," Scott says, moving and clambering out of the trough and full of life, "I know where it is…"

"We've been there… the same night we got bitten by Peter… the same night Kate died… we were right there…"

"I've been there too… that night Scott tried to knock Stiles out with the ketamine. I found them both there, and on my way into town I made my mom stop to look for something she'd almost run over…"

All three of them are moving and living and breathing and Lydia can't quite believe it. It's like Schrödinger's Cat - at what point does something have to be dead to be dead?

"Why are you looking at us like that?" Stiles notices first, her expression of horror.

"You were dead," Malia goes the blunt way.

"Not for long," Allison reassures.

"Yes, for long," Isaac says, "Sixteen hours."

"Sixteen hours?" Stiles repeats, turning his gaze to where Deaton is, "You said we'd be dead for a couple of seconds!"

Scott who had been all movement and adrenaline freezes, "How much time?" he whispers, "How much time do we have left?"

Lydia glances first to Isaac, then to Malia. Deaton is the one who says it, the one who tell them how much time they've lost. "Four hours," he says, and Lydia doesn't know if this was worth it.

They know where their parents are, but they might already be too late.

The wind howls around them, persistent in it's presence.

A little bit more earth crumples down onto the Sheriff's face and he coughs it away, feeling the dry taste stick to his tongue. He's lost track of time, but he's been here for over a day. Maybe longer. They haven't seen Jennifer since she was last here, and he knows in his heart the next time he'll see her it will be to kill them.

Chris is grunting and has his head craned around to his back pocket, tugging something out with his teeth. He's been working on that for the past hour and it looks painful, but Melissa just eyes him executively, "What is that?" she asks.

"Ultrasonic emitter," Chris spits it out and moves his bound hand to the small silver thing, sliding it in the dirt so he can get to it more easily. It's not a weapon, or anything that looks remotely useful.

"That was dramatic," Melissa deadpans, her voice unsteady. The Sheriff wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around her to comfort her, to tell her they won't die down here but that… that would be a lie.

"What does it do?" he asks, not even trying to pretend that he knows what an ultrasonic emitter is.

"It's a smaller version of what we use to corral werewolves. It's like a high pitched dog whistle."

"Expensive dog whistle," the Sheriff says, "Will the werewolves hear it?"

Chris grunts as he pushes the button, "Let's find out, shall we?"

Allison shivers as Isaac pulls up her car outside her apartment block. Scott pulls up just behind them on his bike and he doesn't look cold at all. She doesn't know how he can't feel it - the cold, bone deep ice that pierces through to her very soul. Maybe it's because he's a werewolf. Or maybe it's because he's Scott McCall. She doesn't know. She just tugs the towel still wrapped around her shoulders around her tighter, wondering if Isaac would mind lending her some of his werewolf warmth.

Isaac looks worried. Stressed. Somewhere Cora is apparently ill. Maybe not, if the endless frenzy of texts from Derek keeping Isaac in the loop is anything to go by. The beta werewolf next to her looks twitchy, like he wants to go and make sure Cora is okay.

And they will. But first Allison has to pick up weapons, and Isaac needs to pick up a scent.

"And me?" Malia leans forwards, sticking her head between the seats curiously. She's got Stiles' jacket on; despite the fact the werewolf had looked almost as frozen as Allison is. It's possibly because the moon is rising and even Allison can't miss the way Malia's claws have curled out already in anticipation. Stiles' jacket is the best they can do, Stiles' scent there to keep the coyote somewhat tethered as the full moon rises.

"Check out the alpha pack's condo," Scott says as they climb out towards the elevator, "I doubt they'd leave anything incriminating around, but just check it out… there might be some clue or something up there. If there isn't, just come back down and we'll meet Stiles and Lydia in the preserve."

"Or, y'know," Isaac shrugs, "You'll meet Deucalion, Stiles and Allison will find Jennifer and-"

"That's an awful plan," Malia says.

"Yeah," Allison just agrees, "It really, really is."

The elevator door opens and Malia runs her fingers through her long hair, looking slightly desperate but she lets them go. Allison has her keys already in her hand, unlocking her apartment door and letting them in. "Just grab one of my dad's shirts," she tells Scott, "He should have plenty around. Where's Stiles?"

"Trying to get me to smell his dad's boxers," Scott wrinkles his nose, "Just grab some socks, dude…" he says, typing out messages into his phone, "Lydia's already grabbed a scarf of my mom's and-" Scott freezes, looking up past Allison and she whirls around, the study door open behind her.

It's not empty; three people stand there, three strangers and - oh, no, that would be a lie because she knows who the one tall guy is, even if his gaze didn't go straight past her to where Scott stands.

"Argent," he says, then with his voice a little hoarse, "Scott…"

"Dad," Scott says, because while Stiles had warned him, he obviously didn't expect this meeting right here, right now.

Rafael McCall clears his throat, "You too, Isaac."

Allison steps into the room, feeling Scott follow and hearing the footsteps as Isaac sidles into view. "What are you doing here?" Allison demands, voice tense, "This is my father's apartment and if he knew you were here…"

"Your dad hasn't been seen since the recital the other night," McCall says, stiffly, "And certainly not since your name was spray-painted on the elevator doors. Care to tell me about that?"

Allison doesn't say anything. She takes a seat as McCall lounges back in her dad's desk chair like he owns it. Scott settles the other side and Isaac creeps into the middle seat. Obnoxiously, Isaac pulls out a box of mints and pops one into his mouth. He doesn't offer anyone else one, but Allison snatches the box from him anyway. She hasn't eaten in over twenty-four hours and she's been dead for sixteen of those.

McCall looms over them, gesturing at where all her father's weapons are laid out on the desk. She spots Scott eyeing up the flash arrows, and Isaac seems to be leaning away from the assault rifles. "I have a desk full of weapons," McCall sighs, "Your house is like a personal armoury, and your father is nowhere in sight. Not to mention I can't track the Sheriff down, nor can I find your mother," his gaze rests heavily on Scott.

"Well," Isaac says, chewing on his mint, "At least you don't have to worry about my parents, since both are dead."

McCall doesn't quite seem to know what to do with that.

"Mom's fine," Scott lies, "Maybe she just doesn't want to see you again."

"She missed a shift at work today, Scott. She hasn't been seen since the evacuation at the hospital two nights ago."

"My dad's out of town," Allison shrugs, "I can give you his number but he turns his phone off. As for the Sheriff: Stiles told you. He's investigating leads."

"For two days?" McCall sounds sceptical, "You know I might not know an awful lot, but I think you do."

"You can't keep us here," Allison challenges, "Not without a warrant."

The FBI agent smiles. It's thin and he isn't enjoying this. He's just trying to do what he thinks is right, and if it means dragging them through the mud then so be it, "I have a desk full of weapons. Enough to arm a small gang."

Pack, Allison thinks, but doesn't say anything. From somewhere over there heads there is a small crash. Allison just closes her eyes as the FBI agent's eyes drift upwards. She wonders what Malia knocked over. She wonders if the coyote found anything.

"My father is a high respected private security consultant," she says, to distract them, standing up and pacing over to the end of the desk, "He's a federally licensed firearms dealer, he has to own a few weapons." She leans over, pointing them out, "Like this 175-pound draw tactical crossbow. Or this carbon steel marine combat knife. 50ae Desert Eagle." She looks up to where the agent is staring at her tiredly, then her gaze flickers to where Scott is watching her.

Her fingers tap once twice thrice on the table in warning before she decides just to go for it, picking up the silver cylinder.

"Huh," she says, showing it to McCall, "Smoke grenade with a pull ring igniter," she explains, seconds before she yanks out the pin and throws it at the agent's feet. She darts out of there, hearing the hacking coughs behind her.

There is a frantic, "Scott, wait," from Scott's dad, but nobody listens. Scott and Isaac are on her heels, Isaac even managing to grab her dad's shirt as they slam her apartment door closed.

The elevator opens as they get there, Malia already inside. "You stink," she says, in greeting.

"Did you steal my dad's flash arrows?" Allison accuses Scott who is stuffing said flash bombs in his pocket.

"Maybe," he said, "You stole his crossbow."

"It's my crossbow. Not that I'm going to tell your dad that."

"Your dad is kind of a dick," Isaac says, "No offense."

"None taken. Was there anything upstairs?" Scott asks Malia.

"Yeah," she says, tugging out a map, "I know where Deucalion is going to be."

"Where's that?" Scott asks.

"Same place it all started. The same distillery where Gerard blinded him."

Cora stares at her brother.

He looks like he's sleeping, but his heartbeat is just slightly too erratic, suggesting he's still awake.

She wants to ask him. She want to know so many things, the first of many being 'why did you do it?'

But instead she keeps silent, and she allows him to understand how grateful she is by the silent forgiveness shining in her eyes. "The fire wasn't your fault," she whispers. It seems to settle him as his eyes drift open, watching her, "It wasn't," Cora said, "So don't ever let yourself think that. Okay?"

"This is touching," Peter says from where he's sitting on his favourite perch on the staircase, "Now do either of you have a plan about dealing with the alphas that are coming here for your head?"

"I don't," Derek admits, and he's different. Now he's not an alpha, it's like there is a weight off his shoulder. "But Scott does. And I trust Scott."

Cora notes the spark of irritation in Peter's eyes, but she doesn't comment on it. Instead she checks her phone. "Isaac and Malia are heading to look for the parents. Scott's going back to Deucalion."

"Still want to trust Scott?" Peter's tone is not pleasant.

"Yes," there isn't a single hesitation in Derek's voice, "Yes, I trust Scott."

"Are you crazy?" Peter snaps, "If you don't join them, then Kali is going to rip you apart, not to mention those twins who look like they'd enjoy ripping you limb from limb!"

"So what are you saying we do?" Cora challenges her uncle, and his pale blue gaze meets hers for a moment before Peter is the one who is forced to look away.

"Leave," he says to Derek, "Run. Crawl. Skip your way out of this town."

"I've already left once," Cora says, even though Peter wasn't talking to her, "I'm not leaving again."

"I'm with Cora."

"I'm not going to hang around to watch you die," Peter says, as if he cares.

"Then don't stay," Derek says, shoving himself up. He stumbles and Cora grabs onto his arm, holding him until he gets his balance back. He shoots her a grateful smile and she returns it.

She'd missed her brother.

"Fine," Peter spins around, "Fine, die. See if I care."

The loft door slams closed and Cora turns to Derek. She doesn't do something as stupid as ask if he's okay with this. But she meets his gaze, sees her own resolution reflected back at her and she nods at his own unspoken question.

The alphas are coming.

And they're going to be there to meet them.

"Running a little late, aren't you, Scott?"

The moonlight falls through the ragged metal at the one side of the old distillery, scattering in a spiral of light on the floor. Deucalion is already there, waiting for him, like he already knows that Scott will find him. He doesn't answer, just shrugs and steps forwards towards the older man.

Once, he thinks, if what Peter or Gerard said was true, then once Deucalion was a great man.

But he can't see that now and even great men can fall.

Scott can't stop Jennifer without the alpha pack, but he and Deucalion are the only ones there. "Where are Kali and the twins?" he asks, looking around, but there isn't a sight nor scent of them.

"Occupying themselves," Deucalion says, evasively.

Scott doesn't like the sound of that.

Isaac watches as Scott vanishes between the trees to look for Deucalion. Next to him Malia shifts anxiously, already scenting the air. "Stiles said it was about here," she says, hopping forwards slightly, "I can't smell anything… the storm is too much…"

Somewhere a branch falls down with a loud crash making both shifters jump. Isaac starts forwards, thinking that Stiles or Allison should be the ones doing this. They, after all, know where to look. Isaac is trying to work from their instructions.

It's still more than they had one day ago. Malia goes first, picking her way through the trees with an ease that has come from years of living here as a coyote. Her footsteps are light as she moves through the leaf litter, pacing forwards on the balls of her feet.

Isaac follows, casting one last look at his phone and hoping that Scott knows what he's doing.

"Which way now?" he asks, almost walking into where Malia has paused, glancing up and down the forest track.

"I'm not sure!" she says, spinning around.

"Hang on-" Isaac says, "I think I hear something…"

There's a high pitched whine that sounds like one of Argent's whistles. He turns, trying to work out where the sound is coming from.

"This way!" he says, because they're so close now. Malia can hear it too, and that means that Chris is nearby. And where Chris is, so will Melissa and the Sheriff and the Nemeton and-

"Little betas shouldn't be out here alone," Kali sneers, stepping straight into their path. Malia skids to a halt and Isaac once again almost crashes into her. Kali's eyes are red and she's barefoot, her claws extended.

Malia snarls, a visceral and violent thing.

Kali doesn't look the least bit intimidated, "So the way I hear it," she croons, "Is that the only alphas in Beacon Hills are us." She laughs, but the sound gets blown away by the wind, "I guess that means that I can clear up the mess."

"I thought you wanted Derek!" Isaac challenges, glaring at Kali. He backs away, making as if to go another way around but with a crunch of twigs and leaves, the twins step into his way.

"Derek?" Kali scoffs, "Why would we waste our time with Derek? The last of the Hales. The end of an era. He can't even hold onto his own pack or power." Her gaze rakes across them, "And as for Scott… well… either he succeeds or he doesn't. It's not a big loss."

"We're not your enemy," Malia snaps to the twins, "We're on the same side… we're trying to stop Jennifer from murdering three more people! Let us go! We still have time to save them!"

"If Jennifer completes her sacrifices, then nobody can stop her," Aiden snaps, "So we're going to stop her from completing the sacrifices."

"So are we," Isaac says, but something tells him that's not what the others are talking about. "We're going to save them," he emphasises.

Kali scoffs, "Save them? Oh, no. What's to stop her still using them later? No. We've got a better plan than that: we're going to kill them."

"We weren't expecting you."

"Who were you expecting? Do lots of people visit you on the night of a full moon?"

"We were looking out for the alpha with the psychotic foot fetish," Cora deadpans.

Stiles tugs open the loft door. It slides open and he's half expecting dead bodies. It's a relief to look at the floor of the loft and to see it looks normal: dusty and unbloodied.

From where she's standing serenading Cora and Derek with whatever sob story she's come up with now, Jennifer turns slowly around to look at them. She looks like she just walked off a catwalk with a leather jacket and her hair artfully scattered over her back. She looks relaxed, and not at all threatened in the fact that she's clearly outnumbered five to one. "Ah," she says, gaze skirting over the three teenagers, "Here comes the banshee, right on time. I hope it's because you've foreseen several deaths in the near future."

Lydia doesn't answer, her lips pressed together as if trying to hold back a scream. She glances sideways towards Stiles, gaze triumphant. She's found them the Darach, now it's up to Stiles and Allison to do the rest.

"So where are they?" Cora challenges, "Where are the alphas?"

"Not here," Lydia says with the conviction that it is a clearly stated fact. Maybe for her it is, maybe that's how her powers work and Lydia just knows things like that now...

Nobody can know with the same certainty that a banshee has about something.

"They'll come," Jennifer says, confidently, "And when they do you'll need me."

"They won't," Allison says, skipping down several stairs towards the emissary. "They worked out where the Nemeton is. They're going there right now."

"They'll be too late," Jennifer doesn't seem bothered, "They will all die, sooner or later. They can't run," she glances around the loft at everyone, "I thought they'd be here, but I guess plans change."

"What's your plan?" Stiles challenges, "Kill them all? Why bother waiting until now?"

"You know why, Stiles," Jennifer laughs, "I have an eclipse shining down on me tonight. I have a fifteen minute window of darkness when the moon is in the earth's umbral shadow and not one of you wolves, or coyotes, hunters or even a banshee can lay a finger on me then. And then I win."

"You need to find them first!" Allison snaps.

Jennifer narrows her eyes, but doesn't say anything.

Allison takes a deep breath, and then glances at Stiles. He nods and she turns back to Jennifer, "We know where Deucalion is," Allison shrugs. "We can take you there."

Jennifer arches one eyebrow, "And why should I trust you?" she asks.

"Because if you don't we'll kill you right here," Allison snaps, "The eclipse hasn't started yet."

"Will you? Girl?" Jennifer sneers, "Argent," she draws the word out as she examines Allison, "The French word for silver. Over time myths and legends have changed it, so that it's the metal, not the family that harm werewolves. I find it fascinating how history can change over so little time."

"Yeah, well, we're still waiting for the vampire family called Soleil to turn up," Stiles snaps, drawing her attention back to him, "But right now our enemy is the alphas. Not each other. Not unless you make us your enemies."

Jennifer looks interested despite herself. Derek shakes his head in the background, "Guys, don't…" he says.

"Shut up, Derek," Stiles snaps, turning to glare at Jennifer, "You took our parents as sacrifices, but they're not dead yet, are they?" He waits for her to shake her head slightly and sparing a moment of pure, blessed relief he continues, "You have the power from the nine people you've already killed which means you have the power to end Deucalion. You don't need to kill our parents to do it."

"Why shouldn't I kill them?" Jennifer shrugs, "I finish what I started and if I kill them then killing Deucalion will be easy. They'll be the last piece of the puzzle."

Allison steps forwards, "We'll help you kill Deucalion," she announces, and Jennifer blinks in genuine surprise, "He bit my mother. He's tried to kill us all already. He's the real enemy here. So if we help you, you help us. You let our parents go."

Derek hisses between his teeth, "Allison, Stiles, don't…"

"And what's to stop you turning around and killing me with your arrows or claws?" Jennifer says, "And don't tell me you won't. I know how Gerard Argent really died."

Stiles grits his teeth, and he curls his claws even further where they are already digging into his palms. "I want my dad back," he bites out, "And right now you're the only person who knows where he is. If I kill you then I'll never find him."

"There's another reason though," Jennifer's smile grows triumphant, "Isn't there? Where's Scott?"

"Scott went with Deucalion," Allison tries not to let the bitterness into her voice, "He's with Deucalion and so we… we're with you."

Derek meets their gaze over the Darach's shoulder, eyes shadowed. He doesn't say anything.

Jennifer smiles, "I was going to ask Derek," she admits, "But now his eyes are blue, well… I guess we have a deal."

Stiles can't help but think it sounds a lot like a deal with the devil.

"Won't that just qualify as a sacrifice anyway?" Isaac asks, backing away from Kali and the twins who are stalking forwards, "All you're doing is killing them for her."

Kali scoffs at him, as if he's five years old and she's trying to explain something really, really obvious. "Interrupting the sacrifices with three murders will disrupt her power. In theory. Let's put that hypothesis into practise and see, shall we?"

Malia snarls, eyes flaring blue and Isaac knows his own eyes are glowing gold with the power of the moon. "We won't let you kill them," Malia snaps, looking like she wants to run, but also like she wants to rip out Kali's throat with her teeth. Isaac has seen the same expression on Derek's face before.

"Who's going to stop us?" Kali laughs, "You? Two betas who don't even have an alpha? Hell… you're practically omegas. A broken shifter who can only turn into a coyote and a boy who has nobody to turn to. It would have been kinder for you if Derek had actually killed you, but oh well. It makes no difference. You're still going to die."

"Ethan… Aiden…" Isaac glances around to them. Aiden ignores him.

Ethan pulls a face that is almost apologetic, "She's right," he says, "It's us or them, and we don't really have much choice."

"Stay and die, or run and live?" Kali asks, "Which will it be?"

"We're not letting you kill them," Isaac decides, because if he had wanted to run, he would have left with Erica.

"Then I'm sorry," Ethan says.

"I'm not," Aiden spits out, yanking off his shirt and punching his brother in the shoulder. Isaac's got a working theory that they need skin to skin contact to fuse, because the punch goes straight through Ethan, Aiden's fist merging into his twin's back as their shoulders slide together.

"That," Malia says, "Is disgusting," seconds before she is forced to duck a kick with a clawed foot from Kali. Malia skids to the side and Isaac dances backwards, trying to work out how to do this. Last time it took five of them to even hold their own.

How are they going to cope with just the two of them?

Malia grabs his arm, pulling him and herself out of the way of the two alphas, as if she's making to run. Kali's swipe misses and the female alpha skids in the dirt, spinning around and setting her red alpha eyes on them. She starts forwards, feet slamming in the dirt and leaping towards them.

That's about the moment a car erupts out of nowhere and slams into her.

"Do you even know how to drive?" Lydia shouts, as Derek goes off road.

"Thank god you're not wrecking Laura's Camaro!" Cora screams at her brother, as Derek takes his SUV over one particularly violent pothole, "You better still have that car, I want the keys and insurance and there better not be a scratch - mind the tree!"

Derek spins the wheel, jamming the gas and they miss the tree. Just.

"Is this your idea of 'do something'?" he snaps.

"Left!" Lydia says, "The Nemeton is to the left."

"Are you sure?" he asks, but he does so anyway. Lydia's going on what Stiles and Allison have told her, and her own knowledge of the forest. The car teeters slightly, but then rights itself and finds some sort of forest path to drive along. Lydia can feel it, like a pulsing wave in the corner of her head and the closer the sacrifices get to being completed, the louder and more vibrant the wave is becoming.

"Right," she says, and Derek turns. Her eyes fly open when she realises he's turned the wrong way, and that's the second he slams on the brakes as something slams into the windshield.

Cora swears. Lydia stifles a scream, clutching her seat belt for dear life.

"Are we there?" Lydia asks, even as Derek and Cora fumble to get out of the car. Lydia follows, making sure to grab the baseball bat she hasn't let go of all night. She trips her way out of the car, almost walking straight into a wide-eyed Isaac.

"Well you took your time!" Malia says, and oh, Lydia thinks, they're not there. They're not there because Isaac and Malia needed help.

Big help, if the looks of the windscreen is any indication.

"Where the hell were you?" Isaac actually finds time to question them, but seconds later he is forced to duck under the giant alpha twin's form as it lashes out at him. Lydia skids to a halt. All she has in her hands is the metal baseball bat she had borrowed from Stiles, and she is not cut out for this.

"We had to stop for gas," she shrugs, "And then you know me, I saw this deal I couldn't not buy, had to pick up some pedicure vouchers for she-wolf over there…" Lydia glances to where Kali looks slightly dead. Slightly more than dead. The car had hit her with the force of a… well… a car. Lydia remembers Jackson had climbed straight up after the same had happened to him, but she's pretty sure Jackson has never been impaled by a tree branch going through the windscreen at the same time.

Her throat is thick and clogged up but she doesn't scream, she holds it down.

"I don't think she's gonna need those vouchers," Isaac says.

A hysterical laugh escapes Lydia's lips. "Go!" Derek shoves her backwards out of the way of the fighting, "Go get the parents!"

She casts one look back, but the twins, although large and currently in the process of throwing Malia across the clearing, they're outnumbered now.

She spins around, her sweaty palm clutching a baseball bat that isn't even hers and running towards where she knows the Nemeton will be. There is no question in her mind, she knows with absolute certainty. She doesn't stop, doesn't falter lest it slip away.

Right now the Nemeton wants to be found.

And she's going to find it.

Cora can't get the damn car door open.

She bets Derek left the child lock on. Or maybe it's the tree the SUV is leaning against. There is a branch going through the windshield, the same one that a dead alpha hangs off like some sort of barbaric sacrifice. "Do you think that counts?" she asks nobody in particular, "As killing an alpha?"

"I don't think so!" Derek shouts, ducking a blow from the twins and punching them in the chest. His eyes are the blue that Cora has always known them to be. It's nice. Reassuring. It's very Derek and it feels like home.

The punch does nothing: the fused form barely flinches, just grabs Derek with ease, flipping him over so her brother ends up flat on his back, a clawed hand descending.

Isaac crashes into them, but despite the force he hits them with, they barely move. Cora growls, giving up on her door and slides across to Derek's side, throwing herself out. The car's not looking too good right now. Cora is just glad it's not the Camaro.

Malia is shoving herself up, blood trickling from her head and her whole shoulder wrenched out of its joint. Cora makes her way towards the girl to help her when Malia's eyes widen on the twins and Isaac behind her. "Look out!" Malia screams, as the giant twins let out a roar and swipe out, Isaac directly in their path.

Derek knocks Isaac out of the way. And Cora's moving before she even realises it. She jumps on them mid-lunge, and on instinct she digs her claws into the thick necks of the two twins and rips the double spine in two.

They separate with a sick crack and it's almost too easy.

"That," she says, "Was for Boyd. And because I've been dying to do it since you decided locking Isaac in a small space was a fun idea." She lets go of them, tumbling clear as they drop to the ground. By the time they hit the ground it is as separate people again. Cora doesn't care. Shaking blood from her claws, she turns away from their fallen bodies. "Isaac?" she asks, racing over to him, "Isaac, are you okay?"

Isaac shoves Derek off him, much to Derek's consternation, "I… I'm fine…" he blinks at her, "How are you?"

"I…" she pauses, trying to think, "I'm good, yeah. Really good."

"I'm great," Malia pipes up, from where she's really not looking good, "Thanks for asking."

"You… you uh…" Isaac peers past her to the twins, "You saved me," he blinks, "Wow… I think… I think I was just the damsel in distress."

Cora laughs. It's weak and it's like a spring bubbling up inside her, but it's genuine. "Are they dead?" she gestures to the twins.

Derek shrugs, as if their health is really the last thing on his mind right now. He actually appears to be more concerned on whether Cora and Isaac are going to start making out in front of him, "I think they're healing."

"Are you sure?" Malia looks sceptical, "I'm pretty sure I heard their spine snap. But we can always rectify it…"

"Well, y'know," Isaac says, shoving himself to his feet as Derek helps Malia up. "The bigger they are…"

"What comes next?" Cora asks when the phrase just stops.

"Uh… I don't know. Coach just likes to say it."

"Come on," Derek says, and he doesn't even warn Malia as he clicks her disloacted shoulder back into place. Malia flinches away from Derek with a snap of teeth, but at least her arm is no longer hanging limply at her side. "We need to get moving…"

"What about the twins?"

"Leave them. There's no time! We need to go help Lydia with the parents and I need to check on Scott."

"Which way?" Cora says, because she doesn't know where to find a dead tree and Lydia's scent is already fading fast.

That's when Malia tilts her head, spinning around, "Do you guys hear that?" she asks.

And Cora listens. There's a whining in the distance, and she remembers running from it under a full moon and-

"An emitter," she says.

"Not just any emitter," Malia takes off, shouting back to them, "One of Argents!"

"Maybe we should send her a message," Scott suggests.

"Why encourage her? She already wants me dead. What more motivation could she need?" Deucalion doesn't tap his fingers or fidget impatiently. He just stands there, his sightless gaze staring out over the distillery. He holds his cane between his fingers, and his gaze flickers unnervingly to where Scott stands, watching the moon rise.

"The eclipse is coming," Scott says, pointlessly, "Maybe she's going through the rest of your pack," he spins around, walking back to Deucalion.

"I'm sure they can handle themselves," he doesn't sound worried, "And as for me… well I've got you, haven't I?"

"And what if she doesn't come?" Scott says, just to be petulant.

"Oh, she'll be here," Deucalion says, "You found me after all…" he pauses, "How did you find me, Scott?"

Scott's breath catches in his throat, because it's not like he has the guy's number programmed into his phone, nor does he want his number. It's bad enough he still has his English teacher turned Darach's number. He tries to think of an answer that isn't 'we were sneaking around your apartment' but that's the moment Deucalion turns, hearing something.

Scott turns too, but slower. Jennifer is striding forwards, a dark smile on her face as she takes in Scott standing next to Deucalion.

And either side of her, lingering slightly back, Stiles and Allison meet each other's gazes once.

Scott's aware of Deucalion's sightless eyes falling on him, "Did you plan this out, Scott?" he laughs, sounding a little surprised, "Did you tell your friends where to find us?"

Scott ignores Deucalion, gazing at the pair standing next to Jennifer, "What are you doing here?" he hisses.

"She knows where our parents are," Stiles shrugs as if in reply.

"She's going to kill them," Scott snaps.

"Not if we help her," Allison argues.

"Not much of a pack now, are they?" Deucalion murmurs in his ears, voice low.

Scott flinches away from the alpha werewolf.

"You're not much," Jennifer sneers, "A demon wolf, hiding behind a teenage boy?"

"Finished sacrificing people?" Deucalion parries back, "Maybe it's time to show us what killing nine innocent people gained you. Is it even enough?"

"For you?" Jennifer sneers, "It's plenty…"

Scott barely gets a warning. Just the druid's eyes flaring bone white as she slams out her hand. The power radiating from her crashes into him, knocking him backwards. He finds himself flung half way across the distillery before he even realises it.

Pushing himself to his feet it's to see Allison lunge at Deucalion with her pair of ring daggers. Deucalion bats her away like it's nothing but she does succeed in getting one dagger in across the alpha werewolf's chest.

With a snarl Deucalion's face shifts. And for a moment, one terrible, awful moment, Scott thinks Deucalion's human form is going to fall away to something furred and monstrous.

It doesn't. But what stands there is almost worse. His face is distorted, mouth slightly lengthened into a muzzle and skull half-shifted between human and wolf. His eyes flash a deep red and when he steps forwards, it's to fling his cane out like a spear. Allison rolls, and it pierces the ground where she had been lying seconds before.

Stiles lunges. His friend lashes out but Deucalion is faster. He catches Stiles' arm, using his grip to unbalance the teenager. With power Scott didn't know a wolf could possess, Deucalion throws Stiles to one side, flipping him around as he does so. Stiles crashes down the other side of the distillery, gasping for breath.

Jennifer's face twists into a snarl and she steps forwards, shoving out her hands as if to throw Deucalion backwards like she had done to Scott.

Scott feels the wave of power. He even sees it ripple through the air but Deucalion…

Deucalion doesn't even move. He just looks amused. "Cute," he says, voice a cross between a wolf's growl and his usual human. "Is that all you've got?"

And then he backhands Jennifer, sending her crashing down at the entrance to the distillery.

The tree trunk is massive.

Lydia could lie on it, and still have room for Scott, Stiles, Malia and Allison to all lie down beside her. She finds the trapdoor just beyond it, tugging it open and clambering down the stairs.

She is met with three, dust-streaked and tired glares that soften almost instantly, "Lydia!" the Sheriff says, in pure unadulterated relief, "What are you doing here? And is that Stiles' baseball bat?"

"What does it look like?" she says, half sliding, half climbing down to the floor. Outside the wind roars, tugging her down into the hole in the ground, "I'm on a rescue mission! And yes, it is, I call her Betty."

"Where's Stiles? Where's my son?"

"And Scott?"

"Allison…?"

"They're dealing with Jennifer and Deucalion. Isaac and Malia were with me but the alphas turned up. We need to get away from here…" she stops talking as she begins to untie the Sheriff's hands. The rope is thick and it barely moves as she tugs at the knots. With a silent scream Lydia digs her nails uncomfortably into it, tearing at it until it comes undone in her hands. The Sheriff tugs his hands free, moving to his legs so Lydia moves on to Melissa.

"Are you all okay?" she asks, looking around. Chris is impatiently waiting to be untied, and the Sheriff is making short work of his own bonds.

"We're alive," Melissa says, "I guess that's something."

"More than they were," Lydia mutters, because she's going to have nightmares about her friends being dead for sixteen fucking hours.

For sixteen hours, her friends had been connected to what is left of this tree. She turns to look at the roots that had haunted her without her even realising it. The path they trace is familiar, and her hand twitches to draw it out, to map it down on paper. The roots run deep, soil trickling loose around them as there is a particularly loud howl from outside.

With a crash the trap door slams and Lydia spins to it, Melissa tugging the last of the rope off her.

"We need to go!" Argent snaps out, and Lydia is in agreement.

That is, naturally, the moment the stairs leading down wobble, and then crash down as part of the ceiling caves in. Lydia and Melissa shield their heads, ducking away from it. The Sheriff lurches to tug them away as the roof begin to crumple down, with them still trapped inside.

"I think this kill should be yours, Scott," Deucalion grabs Jennifer by the back of the neck, dragging her up to where Scott has pushed himself into a standing position near the back of the distillery, "It's only appropriate, don't you think?"

"But…" Scott shakes his head, "No…"

"This storm?" Deucalion presses, "It's her doing. She's connected to the telluric currents. And right now? Right now she's using it to bury your parents alive. They're dying, Scott. You can save them, but only if you kill her."

"You think killing me will end it?" Jennifer laughs, her gaze meeting Scott's, "You think he'll leave you alone then? He won't. He won't leave you alone until he's dragged you through the dirt, bleeding and broken with nothing left to lose."

"Come on, Scott," Deucalion snaps, "I grow impatient. Become the alpha you were meant to be."

And just like that, Scott knows what he's doing.

As if he'd ever forgotten.

"If I kill her," he says, "Then I won't be an alpha."

Deucalion laughs, "You're not an alpha yet, Scott."

Scott shakes his head, "You're wrong," he says, because it's so damn obvious, "I'm already an alpha."

"Not much of an alpha without a pack," Deucalion laughs. He drops Jennifer onto the floor, stepping forwards with a growl that teases Scott's shift out of him. He blinks, his eyes glowing and he doesn't know what colour, but at Deucalion's expression he thinks he has some idea.

"But that's the thing," Allison steps forwards to stand next to him, knives glinting, "He has one."

"Anyway," Stiles steps up to his other side, "Scott tends to leave the killing to us."

"But you…" Jennifer gasps out, "You were meant to be helping me! If you don't your parents are as good as dead!"

"Scott…" Deucalion growls at him. Scott steps forwards, as if trying to shield Stiles and Allison from the demon wolf. It doesn't work. They just end up standing shoulder to shoulder. "I thought we had a deal!"

"Uh… we kind of… we lied?" Scott almost asks it, hesitantly.

"We lied through our teeth," Allison, says, triumphantly, the hint of a laugh in her voice, "We're not on either of your sides."

"It's adorable just how wrong you were," Stiles laughs.

"This isn't our fight," Scott emphasises, "We weren't even ten years old when this started, and we're not letting you come into our town, murder people and just let you get away with it. You wanted a fight! So here you are! You get your fight!"

"Gerard always said," Stiles laughs, "The best way to defeat an enemy is to let somebody else do it for you." His grin is wolfish, bared and almost primal as his usual dark eyes pale to blue, "Such a shame he couldn't be here to see this."

"But we'll give you a little help," Scott says.

"Y'know," Allison says, "Because you did bite my mother after all."

Scott tosses something small and silver to Jennifer, where she lies sprawled on the floor. She catches it, taking it in, and Scott says the same thing Gerard said to him, "Deucalion isn't always blind."

And before Deucalion can move, with a triumphant grin Jennifer flings the flash arrows onto the ground.

Isaac takes off after Malia with Cora next to him. The wind is like claws, tearing through the trees as they cross the small expanse of distance left to take them to the giant tree trunk in the middle of the woods.

Really, it's a miracle they haven't found it before. But Isaac doesn't have time to contemplate the scenery, his gaze searching for a trap door.

There isn't one.

At least… there clearly was one. Now there is only a pit where it used to be.

"Ah, screw this," Isaac says, going first before the girls. It's a drop to the ground but he lands, sliding over and appearing next to where Chris Argent is scrabbling with his ropes and the Sheriff is trying to shelter Melissa and Lydia from the flurry of sliding dirt and rock.

The roof is collapsing.

Isaac swears because the large slab of earth directly above them is slowly but steady trying to crush them to death and he doesn't even think as he grabs hold of it with a growl.

"Isaac?" Chris blinks, "Cora?" seconds later the two girls are there, eyes glowing as they assist him in supporting the roof.

"Can you get out?" Cora says.

"Out where?" Lydia snaps, "The stairs are gone and we're not werewolves!"

Chris joins Isaac in straining against the roof threatening to crush them. "Is it just me?" Isaac says, fighting off impeding panic, "Or is this place getting smaller?"

Cora meets his gaze, and the moment that Isaac was tempted to close his eyes and curl up tightly comes and goes. He fights off his claustrophobia, shoving upwards, even as the sky drops down on them. It's getting heavier. He's not sure why that's possible.

"Well we're all going to be a lot thinner," he tries to joke.

"Really?" Cora snaps, "A Star Wars reference?"

Isaac doesn't even bother apologising.

"The eclipse," Cora says, and her eyes are brown, "Our strength… we can't hold it…"

And no wonder Isaac is struggling. He's a human trying to hold up several tonnes of rubble and dirt pressing down on a rocky plate.

He wants to laugh, because he's pretty sure there is irony somewhere in there, but he has neither the time, nor the English skills to search for it.

Stiles tugs Allison to one side and Scott, their overprotective alpha, shoves them both out of the way as a brilliant white light flares out in the distillery. Slamming his eyes closed, Stiles concentrates on Allison curled against his chest, and Scott with his arms around the both of them.

When Stiles finally opens his eyes it's to silence and shadows. Scott peers down at them in concern, which is quite an accomplishment considering Stiles is actually taller than him. Scott's un-shifted, and Stiles is as well.

Stiles is un-shifted and for the first time since he was bitten, he can't hear the wet, bloody thump of beating hearts.

He never would have thought that he'd miss it.

"The eclipse," Scott chokes out, twisting his body around to look at where Deucalion and Jennifer had been standing. Stiles blinks little white flares from his eyes, and Allison staggers out from next to him to join Scott in looking around the distillery.

Deucalion is there, human once more and turning around with panic. He can't see. He is, for once, a blind man. He has no wolfy senses, no red glowing eyes, nothing. He's as blind and deaf as Stiles feels, if not worse.

"Where's Jennifer?" Allison asks, and Stiles' stomach just sinks because she's no longer lying on the distillery floor. She's nowhere to be seen.

"Look out!" Scott shouts, as with a ripple of the storm outside rolling off her in waves, Jennifer appears in the doorway. Except this is not Stiles' English teacher. Not this torn, pale skinned slashed up person. She's barely recognisable. It's like her face is made from wax and it's been melted, blurred into this monster before him.

Deucalion turns, but not quickly enough. Jennifer's pale gaze roves over the three of them standing there, but she thankfully ignores them, going straight for the demon wolf. She grabs the man by his shirt, and even though he's larger with a thick, corded muscular body, she picks him up like he's made of straw and then slams him down.

Deucalion lets out a pained cry as his head smashes against the stone. The Darach crouched over him bares her teeth in a feral grin, lifting him up and slamming him down and down and-

"She's going to kill him," Allison whispers in horror. Stiles doesn't think it's the killing part that's bothering her, as much as the way Deucalion's skull keeps cracking on the cement.

"Jennifer!" Scott snaps, "Jennifer, stop!"

She pauses, but doesn't let Deucalion go from where the man is hanging like a rag doll from her fingers. He's healing, but without the moon it's slow. A few more hits in the right place and she'll break something vital and this time he won't be coming back.

Stiles shoots his friend an 'are you crazy' look but Scott misses it, too busy stepping forwards trying to placate the Darach. "He can't see you!" Scott says, "He can't see what you've become!"

"See me?" Jennifer says, and even her vocal cords are distorted.

"He's the reason you're like this. He's the reason you spent so many years planning revenge. Do you really want it to be over like this? Do you really want him to die not knowing the full consequences of his actions?"

The argument sounds weak in Stiles' ears. But Jennifer appears intrigued. Well… as intrigued as someone whose expression bleeds into their face with scarred, distorted claw marks. "No," she muses, turning to where Deucalion's sightless eyes search in vain for something to see. Something… anything… With a laugh Jennifer lays her hand over his eyes.

And then Deucalion screams.

Malia is the first to drop, her shoulder twinging.

"I can't hold it!" Cora snaps, still straining upwards, "Malia… help…"

"I can't…" Malia says, gasping for breath and searching out the Sheriff. He's next to Lydia and Melissa, all of them trying to hold the roof up but with all of them human, none of them can hold it for very long.

Maybe, Malia thinks, they don't need to.

If she were Stiles she would find a solution to the problem. And looking towards Lydia, she thinks she just has.

"Lydia!" she shouts, "Use Betty!"

"Betty?" Isaac repeats, with a frown, but Lydia knows what she means. Grabbing the metal baseball bat lying on the ground, Lydia darts forwards to the largest part of the rocky platform and shoves the metal bat in as a support.

Cora slumps, and Chris drops down, and there is an awful pause as the wind howls and earth shifts but the rocky roof threatening to crush them… just steadies, less than half a metre over their heads.

There's an awful pause in which Isaac asks, "Is that wood?" sounding horror struck as he stares at their saviour.

"Aluminium," Lydia says, "I hope."

"You hope?" Isaac says in disbelief, "Yeah, you better hope."

"Stiles called his bat 'Betty'?" Cora says in disbelief.

"I like it," Malia says, because it's the one thing keeping them alive right now.

The Sheriff lets out a laugh, staring at her in wonder, "You're my favourite adopted daughter ever," he admits, and it's the best thing Malia has ever heard. She crashes into him with as much care as she can trapped underground. She thinks she might be crying. He laughs, full of joy and happiness and lets her cling to him.

Allison watches as the man who killed her mother writhes in agony.

She hopes it hurts, she thinks, even as he stops screaming. He blinks like… well, like a blind man seeing light for the first time in years. His head rests back onto the bloody concrete, gazing towards where Scott stands with Allison and Stiles to his left and right hand respectively. There is wonder in his gaze that is torn away as Jennifer grasps his chin, tugging the alpha's gaze to her. "Now do you see?" she mocks, and Deucalion lets out a weak moan, trying to close his eyes against the sight of her, "No, look at me! Look at what you did!"

Deucalion looks, unable to turn away. With her eyes flaring white with power, Jennifer brings back her fist, as if to bring it crashing down on the alpha's skull when a shudder goes through her. She gasps, and her form shimmers back into that of Allison's English teacher.

"What-?" she asks, trembling as her hand uncurls from the fist, "What is this?"

Allison glances sideways, meeting Scott's gaze as he explains, "You healed him. You used up your power to do that, you don't have the strength to kill him now."

Jennifer falls back onto the ground, away from where Deucalion lies, still healing painfully slow. Her gaze looks up to the three of them, "Then you kill him," she says, and Allison doesn't know which one of them she's talking to but she doesn't care, "You kill him. End this now and your parents will live."

Allison wants to kill him. She does, and maybe in another world she could be that person. Maybe in another world she would become her worst nightmare.

Less like herself. More like Gerard.

More like Kate.

She sees the same thoughts in Stiles' eyes, because if she's Kate's shadow, shouting "Come on!" to monsters in the shadows; then he's Peter with blue eyes and blood soaked claws. There is only one difference.

They have Scott.

"No," Scott says, and there's a light in his eyes. At first Allison thinks it's his usual gold beta glow, but then… "There's been enough killing," he says, stepping forwards, "Let them go."

Jennifer's gaze widens. Allison is too busy looking to where Scott's eyes glow brighter and brighter and it's not gold. Not with that flush of orange that now she thinks about it, she's been seeing for months now.

Stiles is looking at Scott too, and they both see the moment that orange finally eclipses the gold, sparking into red. Scott blinks, and she wonders if he can feel it.

"No," Jennifer scrambles to her feet, because Scott's eyes are red, and the eclipse outside is over. The golden glow that had permeated the air ends, the night returning to its usual greys and blacks and the full moon beams down on where she stands, "If you won't do it, then I'll just finish this myself," she sneers, not looking intimidated at all as Scott steps forwards.

He almost walks straight into the black dust Jennifer throws down. It shimmers blue under Scott's hand and Jennifer laughs.

"You're not getting across that," she sneers, "In a few minutes I won't need a lunar eclipse to finish what I came here to do."

"Mountain ash," Stiles skates the edge of the line, his fingers trailing the blue shield that springs up from where he touches it. He can't get much further, but Scott, when he pushes, actually succeeds in bending the shield slightly.

"Wow," Allison deadpans, "However am I going to get over that?" And she grins as Jennifer startles, just as she toes a foot through the line.

The blue shield collapses with a small wave of sound and power. Scott steps over it and Jennifer stumbles back, falling to the cold hard ground. She scrambles back away from them, but she's too weak to actually do anything. "Going to kill me?" she asks, "If you kill me you'll lose those pretty little red eyes."

"If you don't stop the storm," Stiles says, voice eerily calm, "Then I'll kill you myself."

"I'm an alpha," Scott says, looking down on her, "And this is my pack. This is my territory. And I really don't want to have to let Stiles kill you, but you're not giving me many options here."

"I'll give you another one," Deucalion announces from behind them. Allison turns, knives out but the British man is too quick, sliding past Scott with his claws out and she's too late.

Jennifer drops to the ground, her throat ripped open. Deucalion freezes, Allison's ring dagger to his throat.

"Allison," Scott says, and she pauses.

"You bit my mother," she says, meeting Deucalion's gaze. He stares at her, actually seeing her for the first time, but he doesn't say anything. It's probably safer for his continued existence.

"Allison," Scott says again, "Allison, leave him."

"He's not worth the effort," Stiles drawls, and she presses her blade down hard enough to draw blood, then steps away.

"Spread the message," she says to him, stepping away from where he stands over Jennifer with her clawed out throat, "Beacon Hills is protected."

"Yeah," Stiles moves around to join her, and their last piece, Scott, moves to stand with them. Stiles' eyes are dancing with a new light that Allison hasn't see for a while, "This town already has an alpha."

Scott looks like he would probably blush if it wasn't for the seriousness of the moment.

The storm abates suddenly. It's like someone turned the switch off, like the connection to the storm was broken abruptly. Still clinging to the Sheriff, Malia pulls away, meeting the dirt streaked gazes of her friends.

Of her pack, she thinks, and coyotes usually live alone so there must be more wolf in her than she thought to revel in the feeling of everyone being there.

Lydia tugs out her phone, and nobody asks who she's calling.

"Yeah?" their alpha says, picking up almost straight away, "Lydia? Is everyone-"

"We've got them. They're all safe. They're fine, they're alive-"

"Dad?" Stiles' voice comes over the receiver, and then it's snatched away by Allison.

"Dad, are you alive?"

Chris laughs, "Allison, I'm fine…"

"Stiles?" the Sheriff calls, "Are you and Scott…?"

"Oh thank god," Stiles says over the line and Scott's voice echoes back, strongly now.

"We're great. We're brilliant, actually."

"Yeah, so are we," Lydia laughs weakly, "We'll just… wait here then. Under a dead killer tree… with a ceiling that is being supported by Stiles' baseball bat…"

"We'll be right there," Allison says.

Derek pulls up his slightly battered car outside the distillery.

"What happened?" Stiles asks in genuine disbelief as he takes in the Camaro with the hole through the windscreen and the blood splattered glass. "Did you run someone over?"

"She was in the way," Derek says, as if that's an arguable defence in court. "Where's Deucalion?"

"We let him go," Scott says. "With warnings."

"I quite liked your 'he'll never see us coming'," Allison says, as if it's a compliment, "He looked suitably cowed."

Derek blinks at them, "You three are crazy," he says, as if that sums everything up.

Scott grins, his eyes flashing red and he looks at his two best friends, "Yeah," he says, "I know."

And he wouldn't want it any other way.

"Is it over?"

They don't have a ladder, but with werewolf strength and a set of ropes dug out of the back of Derek's slightly smashed up SUV they get everyone out in one piece. Stiles clings to his dad as if he's scared to let go. Scott hovers nervously until Melissa sweeps him up into her arms because at the end of the day, alpha or not, he's still her son.

Allison sobs into her dad's chest because Deucalion might not be dead but she feels more accomplished than she probably would if she had killed him. Revenge is a nice plan in theory, but after revenge what do you have? She's seen Kate: a woman who pretends to be fine but on the inside is worse than the monsters she hunts. She's seen Peter: a broken, flawed thing who not satisfied with killing those responsible, will continue killing until his bloodlust is sated.

But Allison isn't Kate and Stiles isn't Peter and they have Scott.

And she has her dad, and he holds her close, breathing in the smell of her hair. For a moment her chest aches, and she can't breathe. For a moment she's drowning all over again but then it's gone and she's okay.

They're all going to be okay, Allison thinks in amazement. They are all alive.

Something in her mind twists like an old wound and no, she thinks, not really, but it will be okay.

"It's over," she answers her own question, "It's over."

The darkness isn't a physical thing. Stiles almost wants to capitalise it to The Darkness, but it's not that important. He won't let it be.

He feels the same.

He's not sure if that's good or bad.

His thoughts still trip along the same pathways, and he worries for his friends and his father and for school and life in general. He finds himself wondering where Jennifer got to. He finds himself wishing Scott had let him follow her fading scent, instead of turning away, satisfied that both Deucalion and Jennifer were alive, but broken. So he had followed Scott, allowing himself to believe that it would be the last they saw of either of them.

But a part of him, a part that if he's brutally honest, has always been there, wants to make sure. A part of him wants to chase down those who have threatened his friends, his pack, and wants to rip them into shreds. He wants to make sure they are very, very dead.

He can't blame that on the darkness. That instinct was always there.

He's aware of it more when he looks at Scott or Allison. There are moments when he meets their gazes and then he's drowning again with that suffocating feeling shoving down on his chest. It feels like his head is going to explode. It feels like there are shards of ice and mistletoe digging into his heart, worming their way deeper…

Then it's gone. He can still feel its imprint, and he knows that this was the price. This was the cost they had paid.

And he'd pay it again, every single day if it gets him this.

"We did good," Malia says, curling up next to him on his bed when they finally, eventually, crawl back home. They've showered, washing away the dirt and grime and Stiles is listening to his dad's heartbeat, loud and reassuringly alive as he makes various phone calls to his deputies. Malia sounds half-asleep, and Stiles resigns himself to having a coyote blanket taking up half his bed sometime soon. He doesn't have the heart to kick her out, and she seems to sleep better here than she does when she's staying at her dad's. "We did good," she says again, voice pleased, "Didn't we?"

"Well," he corrects her, idly.

"What?"

"It's did w… you know what never mind. And we were the best. That's us. Team Wolf."

"And coyote."

"And coyote."

"And hunter. And banshee. And…"

"Okay, I get the point," he concedes the argument.

She grins, that slightly sheepish, but absolutely adorable grin. "You going to stay up all night?" she asks him.

There is a pause in which the Sheriff appears in the door, checking on both of them, "You two okay?" he asks, gently.

"We're good," Stiles says, exchanging a grin with Malia, "How about you?"

His dad considers the question for a while, "Been on the phone to Rafe McCall. That's a headache. I'd thank you for covering for me, but now he thinks I spent the past few days camping in the woods when in actuality I got kidnapped by a Darach. What the hell a Darach is, I'm still not clear on. Maybe it's time for me to bail… this town is so messed up."

Stiles' gaze drifts down to his phone, "Yeah, well we won't have to worry about her anymore," he says, dropping it on his desk. What Scott didn't know wouldn't hurt him - he hadn't complained about Gerard, after all.

"Tomorrow I'm having bacon and eggs for breakfast," the Sheriff announces.

"Dad, no."

"Dad, yes. Now go to sleep. You've still got school on Monday, and I don't care if you were dead, you're still going."

The Sheriff wanders off, muttering under his breath about supernatural children. Stiles collapses on his bed besides Malia. She sniffs at him, pressing to his side as if reassuring herself that he is alive, "Don't die," she murmurs, falling asleep on him already.

"Hey," he teases her hair under her ear, "I'm still alive, okay? And we're gonna stay that way."

"Good," she declares, burying her face in the spare pillow Stiles has started to think of as hers, "But if you do die, I'm having your bed."

"We do actually have a spare bed for you, y'know."

"But yours is so much more comfier."

Stiles doesn't even bother arguing the logistics of personal belongings with the coyote anymore. With a content sigh he shoves her over slightly and curls up in the middle of the bed. After make a noise of protest, Malia burrows against him, her breathing already deep and even.

Stiles falls asleep soon after, too tired to dream that night of the tree whose roots are buried into his head.

"I've got it."

"Got what?" Lydia asks her friend who is grinning, bright-eyed at her as they turn up at school the next week. There is a spring in all their steps, as if they didn't die, didn't fight off alpha werewolves, as if everything is normal.

It's a nice change and Lydia thinks she can get used to it.

"I mean… I've had it planned for ages, but I told dad. I actually told him and he agreed."

Lydia just raises one eyebrow, waiting for Allison to spit it out. Her friend takes a deep breath, then recites a sentence in flawless French.

"Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes."

Lydia translates it slowly in her head, her smile widening to match her friend's grin. "To protect," she says, "That's your motto, isn't it?"

"Basically it means 'don't fuck with my squad," Allison says, "But yes. Yes, I told dad. He's gonna finish training me and we're going to stick it out here. I don't have much left to learn but I'll be officially a hunter."

"Will you teach me?" Lydia says, without even really thinking about it, "Will you teach me how to fight?" Allison blinks, looking confused and Lydia tugs down her shirt collar to show the ring of bruises, "I don't want to be the victim," she says, "Not if I'm going to be attracted to dead bodies on a regular basis."

Her best friend smiles, nodding slowly, "You just want to learn how to shoot my bow."

"I don't want to touch that thing," Lydia threatens.

"Of course not…"

"I'm staying in Beacon Hills," Cora tells her brother.

"I know."

She takes a deep breath then pauses, because out of all the things she thought Derek would say, that was not one of them, "What do you mean 'I know'?"

He looks up at her like it's obvious. There is a hint of a smile to his lips, "I know," he says again, infuriatingly calm, "Where else would you go? You have a pack here, I can't ask you to leave that."

"It's not an official pack," she says, "I mean… Scott didn't bite me, he hasn't claimed either Isaac, Stiles or I, I don't think he even realises that, but he's got Allison and Lydia and I don't even think it matters. They all feels like pack. Maybe it's because Scott's a true alpha, or maybe it's because we don't go through something like that without being closer but it… it feels right. It feels like it hasn't felt since the fire."

"Also you're… involved. With Isaac."

"And you. Can't form. Whole sentences," Cora grins at him, "Yes, why? Is it a problem? I like him. A lot. And to be honest he's a lot better than the other options."

Derek shakes his head, "I'm glad," he says simply, smiling at her, gentle and warm and impulsively, she leans forwards to him. She doesn't hug him. She's not really the hug-sort of person and neither is Derek. She just stands there, breathing in his scent.

"You're leaving," she says, "Aren't you?"

"Just for a bit," he says, "I need to sort some things out in New York. And I'm going to check Erica is okay."

She doesn't ask if he's coming back. She doesn't think he even knows the answer.

"Here," she says, pressing a wooden box into his hands. He seems surprised, and then his eyes widen as he recognises what it is, "Laura gave this to me after the fire. Peter borrowed it for a bit for some reason, but I got it back because I wanted to give it to you."

"Is this…?" he gazes down at the triskele box with wide eyes.

"Mom's claws," she says, "Alpha claws. They didn't burn. Laura collected them and she told me to keep them safe and I… you should have them."

He looks like he wants to give them back to her. Like he doesn't trust himself with them, but she steps away from him before he can.

"It's not your fault," she says, "Never was, okay?"

She doesn't think she can stay there any longer. She heads for the door, pausing only to shout, "Phone me, you idiot!" before slipping out of the loft.

"Okay?" Isaac asks, leaning against the wall as she makes it outside. He's borrowed Melissa's car and flips the keys over in his hand as she emerges, "Derek didn't… I mean… are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she says, and for the first time in a long time she believes it, "So what's this thing we're doing?"

"Dinner," he drawls out, sarcasm lacing his tone, "With the Stilinskis. Stiles and Scott are cooking. I want to be there to see that disaster. We also need to pick up Melissa from the hospital first."

"Scott's already there?"

Isaac nods, and Cora slips into the passenger seat, "Well then," she says, eyes sparkling, "Let's go before Derek remembers you're dating his little sister."

It's amusing to watch Isaac lurch into action with a wide-eyed frantic expression on his face.

"I don't know what happened," the Sheriff admits to Melissa, "I have a daughter. God… Claudia always said about how much she wanted a daughter and she would have loved Malia."

"I wanted a daughter," Melissa says, wistfully, "How come I ended up with another son? Want to trade?"

The Sheriff watches Isaac snatch some food from Stiles' hands and bolt, his son squawking indignantly and Malia using his distraction to sneak her own taste of whatever it is Stiles is making. Scott's just standing there laughing, not much help at all. He's pretty sure the other girl with dark red-brown hair isn't either of theirs, but he's also pretty sure she's an orphan and at this point he's of the opinion: the more, the merrier. "Nah," he says, "I think I like them all together like this."

"We should get married," Melissa says, and the Sheriff almost chokes, but somehow manages to remain composed and doesn't spill his drink everywhere, "Then we could just have one house."

There is a pause for half a second, in which the Sheriff thinks that at least none of their supernaturally inclined kids - oh god, all his kids, adopted or not, are all supernaturally inclined - at least none were listening at that moment. After a moment: he and Melissa glance nervously at each other, Melissa letting out a nervous laugh and the Sheriff grinning, chuckling weakly as she shakes her head, "Yeah, no… that would never work… one house and four kids… yeah… no…"

"Stiles and Isaac would murder each other…" the Sheriff agrees, but he has to check he hasn't had an early heart attack.

"So the twins…"

"Are alive."

Stiles stares dubiously down the hall at where Ethan is flirting with Danny, and Lydia has gotten Aiden to carry all her books for her like a puppy dog that she's now ignoring, chatting comfortably with Allison.

"I thought Cora killed them," Isaac whistles, "Does she know-?"

"Yeah," Scott says, "It's hilarious - watch…"

Down the corridor Cora emerges from a classroom trailed by Malia. Spotting her, Aiden proceeds to drop all of Lydia's books and make an abrupt turn down a nearby corridor and up the stairs, leaving Lydia rolling her eyes and Cora looking really smug.

"She ripped their spines apart," Scott explains, "Deaton told me she broke their ability to fuse together. They're not alphas anymore and to be honest, I don't think they're much of a threat."

"Are you sure?" Isaac sounds wary.

"They're not a threat to us," Scott says.

"You know I finally read this," Stiles murmurs, waving Conrad's 'Heart of Darkness' as he grabs some books from his locker, "Marlow sure did like his rivets…"

"I think you missed the point of the book," Scott says.

"No, but, I get it. That quote you told me you liked."

"Looking into 'the heart of an immense darkness'," Scott says and Stiles nods, "But it's not that bad," Scott admits, "I feel it but it's…"

"Bearable?"

He nods, meeting Stiles' gaze, then looking to where Isaac is standing. Down the corridor Lydia and Allison are laughing together over something, and Cora and Malia have stopped to join them. "Yeah," he says, "Things are bad but… I look out for you guys and… they get better."

"Don't say that," Isaac mumbles, "You've cursed it now. Murphy's law."

"You're just being pedantic."

"In this town?"

"He's got a point. We've lit the Beacon for all things supernatural."

"Then we'll get through it," Scott says.

"Together?"

"Together." He likes the sound of that.

The forest is quiet. In the wake of the huge storm, the paths all lie strewn with branches and twigs. Rivulets of water run over the dry soil, and cracks in the earth run even deeper.

Beneath her hands the soil is mostly stable. Part of it has caved in, a large seeping sink hole the other side of the large, expansive tree trunk that she reaches for.

She's still alive. But barely. Scars ring her throat, just like they slash across her face. But she's survived worse, she can survive this if she just-

A clawed hand curls over her reaching wrist, tugging it back and twisting until she's on her back, looking up at a man standing over her. "You," she says. She's never met him, but she's heard of him. His sister had been the one with a pure wolf form. Talia Hale had been well known and widely respected. Her brother on the other hand… well, even before the fire he had a less than savoury reputation. "Everyone else suffers but you come out on top."

"Scott still doesn't clean up his messes," Peter Hale sighs, looking down at where the woman pleads with him, "At least someone's on the ball. At least someone noticed you'd crawled away, to come back another day and we can't have that, can we?"

"You're going to kill Scott," Jennifer gasps out, "You'll steal his alpha powers."

"Oh, for if I could," he sounds almost regretful, "Scott McCall will get what's coming to him. I'm in this game for the long term, sweetie. I'm a patient man - I waited six years for revenge. I can wait a little longer.

"It won't work," Jennifer falls back to the earth, laughing, "It won't work, not against them. Not while Scott's here. The Hale's are finished. You won't be an alpha again."

"My dear sister might be dead," Peter growls, "But my family's power lies deeper than blood, deeper even than the roots of this tree you worship so dearly. Hoping she might save you?" he laughs, "She can't save you because you're already dead."

She's expecting the claws that flash out. But it still hurts as Peter rips the life from her. He'd been alive. Then he'd been dead. Now he was alive again, biding his time and now-

His eyes flash an ice blue as Jennifer's blood trickles out onto the dry soil. Her power was his power now and, well, after his resurrection he'd been a bit low on power.