The pack had come by car. It belongs to Derk and is new, less flashy than the old one and with more seating. Stiles didn't realize how little stuff they'd accumulated until he saw how easily the four of them could fit with only a few bags in the trunk and his bat propped on the floor by his feet. Derek had insisted that Isaac and Boyd could take the train, though Allison's strained smile spoke pretty clearly on her travelling preferences. Stiles just hoped for Lydia's sake that Peter wouldn't be part of the welcome home party when they arrived.

It ends up being Scott, of course. They're meeting at the school, a central spot that's empty on the weekend, and he barely waits for them to get out of the car before he's jumping off the sidewalk to tackle them with hugs. Stiles feels himself swept up and suddenly can't suppress the mental image of an overgrown puppy. He'd missed his friend.

Mr Argent is there too, catching Allison when she runs to him and holding her tightly. Lydia joins them after a moment, and he wraps a protective arm over her shoulder. He scans Stiles over for damage, and gives him an approving nod. It's warm, and Scott's still got his arm draped around his shoulders. Even Derek is smiling a little. But something's missing.

It's not until he's offered a ride home that he realizes what it is.

His Dad isn't there, and the hollow space in his chest that Stiles has been ignoring for the last four months is suddenly gaping.

The three of them are perched on a sidewalk in front of the school. Mr Argent was waiting in the car, telling them to take all the time they need.

Stiles had told Scott that they were fine, they'd go home and sleep and eat and show up when the fight was ready to happen. It was strange to know exactly where they were. Stiles had walked on this pavement almost every day for three years, when the whole world was small and familiar, packed into the back of his mind like a map. He could trace the steps to each classroom in his head, through to the backfield to where they'd played lacrosse and sparred a very long time ago.

They were home. There was no bus to catch, no scramble to find a hotel or safe corner for the night. They could place their enemy on a map - roughly - and had a reasonable expectation of where and when their next meal and bed would be.

Stiles skin suddenly feels too small. He gets up, paces, and flops down again.

"What do we do?"

"We're going to beat Kali, if she comes for us." Allison says, quite simply "We stop running, and we do what we have to do to get rid of the Alphas."

"And then?"

They sit for a long moment.

"Go home." Lydia tells him, "We're safe for now."

He nods, standing slowly. His muscles are sore, aching.

"You'll call. If anything goes badly?"

"Yeah."

If he'd had his jeep he could have been home in minutes. Instead he turns down the offered ride and walks, tracing steps he'd forgotten he knew. It's night but the pavement is hot beneath his feet, and he's sweating, and shaking, and suddenly Stiles is running, full out sprinting, his footfalls matching the pounding in his ears. He reaches the familiar front porch and stops, freezing with a hand raised over the doorframe.

What if he's angry?

Something hits the pavement behind him.

Stiles turns, slowly, feeling as though his feet might have been turned to lead. The Sheriff is frozen a few steps from the porch, dressed in civvies and empty handed. Two bags of groceries are lying on the pavement. Milk leaks from a crushed carton, wetting the bottom of his running shoes.

"Stiles?"

"…Hi Dad."

So ...yes. There we go, the humans are back in Beacon Hills, family and pack are reunited, and the story is complete. Thank you so much to everyone who stuck around to read the whole thing and left comments/kudos - you were a huge support and I loved hearing your thoughts! I hope you enjoyed the story 3

School is starting up, but I want to try and keep writing regularly here, so please feel free to send me prompts and reminders to post :)