The letter to his mother was the hardest one to write, though Scott figured that he owed it to her by now. It wasn't the way he had ever imagined telling her. Scott had run the scenario in his mind over and over again, all the different ways he would try to tell the people in his life the truth about what had happened to him and where he had to go. He knew Stiles would come clean when Scott's mother eventually sought him out. With luck, Stiles would have had the chance to read his own letter by then. The realization of what Scott was doing would push him to reveal everything he knew. And Allison...Scott knew Allison would harangue her father for answers and Mr. Argent would give them, short and trite and to the point and not at all satisfying to her.

Especially since Scott did not plan on coming back.

Scott scrawled 'Mom' in his crooked handwriting on the last envelope and looked up. Mr. Argent was there, ready to take care of Scott's final correspondence. It was a promise he swore to the young man when negotiating his surrender. Scott slowly raised the stark white envelopes up for him to take, a white flag; it was the final free act he allowed himself.

It was guilt and the nightmares of that body, bloodied and ripped apart, lying face up next to Scott in the woods before the dawn after the last full moon, which led him to his willful submission to the Hunters. It had happened somewhere deep in the preserve, quite far from Beacon Hills. Though Scott was not sure exactly where he had found himself, he knew home was east. He wanted, needed to leave, but Scott could not bring himself to run from the carnage that was draped around him. He stayed, forcing himself to look at what he'd done, what he'd finally done, scattered among the dead leaves and branches of the forest floor.

It had been a man, older, grizzled and unrecognizable to Scott in any way. Maybe a drifter? Or a man on a solo hunting trip just unlucky enough to come across someone like Scott on a full moon. The blood caked on Scott's hands and face, and everywhere else; everything reeked of this victim. Bits of sinew were stuck in Scott's teeth, a nasty film coating his tongue and throat. For a fleeting moment, Scott remembered that it did not taste this bad the first time around.

After that full moon, his dreams relived that night, over and over again. But in the dream, the victim was always different. Sometimes it was his mother, sometimes Allison; a lot of times it was Stiles.

But, he reasoned, they were just dreams. They weren't hallucinations relayed to him from his alpha, who was dead and gone. He argued with himself, convincing himself that it was a onetime thing. It wasn't but a week later Scott ran for an hour, remembering where he woke up, ready to prove to himself that he never killed the stranger.

But he had. He really had. Scott was merely yards away from the site where he had awoken after the full moon when the scent hit him. Dead, rotting flesh beneath the soil and rocks. Traces of blood still left on tree bark and leaves acting as a map to the slaughter.

Scott could not go to Derek for help; he had left. The others were gone as well, to wherever Derek had taken them. Derek had tried to get Scott to come, to listen to reason. For safety, he said, we need to regroup and buy ourselves some time. But Scott had Stiles, who had drummed it into his head that he didn't need Derek or the rest of them.

Isaac, Erica, Boyd...Scott had not considered himself part of their Pack until they were no longer around. He found that their sudden absence did not leave the relief he thought he would have felt. No, it just left a weird empty feeling, like he was missing a limb. He never expected that feeling to come. One evening, Scott had even howled into the dark sky, only to hear his own echo call back to him.

Alone. Scott had lain down on the rocky precipice overlooking the city, defeated. He really was alone and it did not at all feel the way he thought it would. His human pack wasn't enough, nor would the werewolves alone have been enough. He needed both. He needed balance. Without the balance, Scott gave in.

Scott flinched slightly as Argent rested a hand upon Scott's shoulder, jutting him out of his thoughts.

Argent's gloved hand took the letters from him, his eyes glancing over each one, and a small scowl gracing his lips as he read his daughter's name on the last one.

"Don't read them," Scott warned. "I didn't give anything away, just like you said."

Argent's nostrils flared a little, a whiff of annoyance coming off of him. Scott didn't care.

"You're doing the right thing, Scott. Trust me."

Scott died a little inside. It must be right if it makes him feel so guilty.

"We follow the code. You haven't killed anyone."

Yes, I did, Scott thought, I killed a man. A man with no name or history. A man who was now buried deep under the dirt in the middle of an overgrown forest. Scott let his eyes close as he remembered the earth seeping up underneath his claws as he dug frantically in the predawn hours that morning after the full moon.

Argent took his hand away from him and Scott felt the cool smoothness of metal encircle his wrists and ankles. The cuffs clicked into place and Scott could tell they were far stronger than anything Stiles had ever misappropriated from his father's supply.

Standing, Scott let himself be led to the door that opened up to the outside world that he probably would never see again. The back of a bulletproof van with no windows lay open before him, a black hole whose gravity wasn't willing to give him up. Scott instinctively jerked backwards as the hint of wolfsbane wafted over him. Argent's own set of instincts ignited and his grip on Scott tightened.

"It's just a precaution. There's not much of it in there." Argent paused. "You know, its standard procedure."

Scott steeled himself and let Argent lead him inside, sitting him down and chaining him to the restraints. Everything told him to run, fight, get away. Yet, in the van he remained, his feet unable to move, not even to shuffle the manacles around his legs. Scott leaned his head back on the hard panel of the inside of the van.

"H-How long?" Scott asked.

Confident in his handiwork, Argent looked up at Scott and shrugged. "A few days. Maybe more. Depends on traffic. Depends on where they want you." Before Scott could ask who they were, Argent backed out of the van. "There will be pit stops, they'll feed you." Argent gave Scott a look, as if he was trying to decide if anything more needed to be said. Scott was trying to decide if he wanted to hear it.

"You did the right thing. It's what I would've done." The door to the van slammed closed.

Scott killed someone. Someone who was human. That is not what Argent would have done.

The man's mangled face insisted on flashing in Scott's mind.

Scott stared up at the roof of the van, trying to blink away tears faster than they wanted to seep out. He wouldn't cry, not now, not after everything that happened. It would only make it worse. But, why? What did he ever do to deserve this lot in life? He -

Scott started to tremble, sweat beading at the nape of his neck. Oh God, it's really happening. He felt the van's engine roar to life as it rolled out of the driveway. They're taking me AWAY. Panicked regrets washed over him as he tried to accept his fate, tried to tell himself over and over again that what he chose was the right thing. He repeated Argent's words in a desperate whisper to himself. The right thing, the right thing...

Fulfills Angst Bingo Card Square - Road Trip

Thanks goes to Lady Silver, as per usual.