Chapter 6: Episode 5
BEACON HILLS – LYDIA'S BEDROOM – EARLY MORNING
Blake awoke to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, his body still entwined with Lydia's. He could feel her warm breath on his chest, her leg draped over his, and a satisfying ache in his muscles from their night of passion. He reached down, touching her gently on the hip, his fingers tracing the curve of her body. Lydia stirred slightly, a soft moan escaping her lips. Blake leaned in, brushing his lips against hers.
"Morning," he whispered, his voice low and husky.
Lydia opened her eyes, a lazy smile playing on her lips. "Morning," she replied, her voice still heavy with sleep.
Blake began to trail kisses down her neck, his hands exploring her body. Lydia giggled, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Blake," she said, her voice a playful warning.
He looked up at her, a mischievous grin on his face. "What?"
Lydia sighed, her gaze softening. "You know what you do to me, don't you?"
Blake chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "And what's that?"
Lydia rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine. "You're insatiable. And you're so good at it."
Blake's grin widened. "Is that a compliment?"
Lydia nodded, her cheeks flushing slightly. "It is. But Blake, I'm sore. You really took me for a ride last night."
Blake's expression softened, his hand gently caressing her cheek. "I'm sorry, Lydia. I didn't mean to hurt you."
Lydia shook her head. "You didn't. It's just... you're intense. And I love it. But I need a break."
Blake leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, lingering kiss. "Alright. We can take it slow today. Just kisses."
Lydia smiled, her eyes closing as Blake began to kiss her again, his touch gentle and tender. His hand trailed down her body, cupping her breast, his thumb circling her nipple. Lydia let out a soft gasp, her body arching slightly into his touch.
"You know how to touch me, Blake," she whispered, her voice breathless.
Blake smiled against her lips, his hand moving lower, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip. "And you know how to touch me too, Lydia. You drive me wild."
Lydia laughed softly, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I think we make a good team."
Blake agreed, his lips capturing hers in a deep, passionate kiss. He could feel her body responding to him, her hips pressing against his. He broke the kiss, his lips moving to her ear, his voice a low murmur.
"You taste so good, Lydia. I could kiss you all day."
Lydia let out a soft moan, her body melting into his. "And I could let you."
Blake grinned against her skin, his lips trailing soft kisses along her jawline as he held Lydia close. Her soft moans had his heart racing, and for a moment, it felt like they could stay wrapped up in each other forever. But then, Lydia's hand gently pressed against his chest, slowing his movements. She pulled back, her breath still a little uneven, her gaze meeting his.
"Blake," she whispered, a smile playing on her lips. "We... we need to get ready for school."
He smirked, his hand sliding down to rest on her waist as he leaned in to steal one more kiss. "School can wait," he teased, his voice low and playful. "I'm not in a hurry to leave."
Lydia laughed softly, but her eyes sparkled as she pulled away just enough to give him a knowing look. "I know you're not," she said, tracing a finger along his collarbone. "But my mom is definitely downstairs by now, and I'm not exactly sure she'd be thrilled to find you here." Her lips curved into a smirk as she added, "You're not exactly dressed for breakfast, either."
Blake chuckled, glancing down at himself. "Fair point," he admitted, though his eyes flicked back up to her, the mischievous glint still there. "But are you sure I can't convince you to stay in bed just a little longer? I mean, if I have to sneak out, might as well make the most of it."
Lydia rolled her eyes, though the warmth in her gaze betrayed her amusement. "As tempting as that sounds, we need to get moving. I don't feel like explaining to my mom why there's a half-dressed guy in my bedroom."
Blake sighed dramatically, sitting up with a grin. "Alright, alright. I'll play along... for now." He ran a hand through his tousled hair, catching Lydia's gaze as her eyes trailed over him. The way she was looking at him—admiring, curious, almost like she was trying to memorize every detail—made his chest tighten a little.
He reached out, gently cupping her face. "You look beautiful," he murmured, his voice softer now.
Lydia's breath hitched for a moment before she quickly composed herself, flashing him a teasing smile to mask her sudden fluster. "You're just saying that because you don't want to get kicked out the window."
Blake chuckled. "Maybe. But I'm serious." His thumb brushed over her cheek. "You look amazing."
Lydia's cheeks flushed slightly, and for a moment, she didn't say anything. Instead, she reached over to grab his shirt from the floor and tossed it at him. "Get dressed, Romeo," she teased, her smile widening. "We need to figure out how you're getting out of here without running into my mom."
Blake grinned, catching the shirt mid-air and pulling it over his head. "Sneaking out, huh? I'm pretty good at that."
Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Good enough to sneak out of here without being seen by my mom? Because she's got eyes everywhere, Blake."
Blake shrugged, standing up and stretching his arms. "I'm up for the challenge," he said confidently. "What's the plan?"
Lydia leaned back against the pillows, clearly thinking. "Okay, here's what we'll do. My mom usually leaves for work around this time, so we'll wait for her to head out. Once she's gone, you can sneak out through the back door. It's less obvious than the front, and the neighbors won't see you."
Blake nodded, glancing around the room. "And if she catches me?"
Lydia smirked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Then you're on your own, Grey. I'm not saving you."
Blake chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed his shoes. "Alright, sounds like a plan. But if I get caught, I'm blaming you for keeping me here so long."
Lydia laughed softly, sitting up and smoothing her hair. "Deal," she said, standing up to grab her clothes as well. "Now, let's get ready before we're both late."
As they hurried to get dressed, the playful banter between them felt effortless, natural. Their connection had deepened overnight, and though they weren't officially together, there was an undeniable pull between them that neither could ignore.
Blake couldn't help but glance at Lydia one more time as she fixed her hair in the mirror. He felt a warmth spread through his chest, realizing that this—whatever it was between them—was growing into something more.
And for now, he was okay with that.
BLAKE'S HOUSE – MORNING
Blake slipped through the back door of his house with the ease of someone who had done it before. The early morning light streamed through the windows, casting a soft glow across the kitchen as he crept inside. His werewolf senses made the task easy—he could hear his mom moving around upstairs, likely getting ready for the day, giving him a narrow window of time to sneak back in without detection.
He moved quietly through the house, hoping to make it to his room without raising any suspicion. His plan was going smoothly until he reached the foot of the stairs and heard a familiar voice from the hallway.
"Blake?"
Blake froze, closing his eyes in brief frustration. He turned slowly to see his mom, Karen, standing at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed with a knowing smile playing on her lips.
"Hey, Mom," he said, trying to sound casual, but he knew he was busted.
Karen raised an eyebrow, descending the stairs with a bemused look. "What time did you get in?"
Blake scratched the back of his neck. "Uh... a little while ago."
Karen reached the bottom of the stairs and crossed her arms, giving him a playful but concerned look. "You didn't wake me up this time. But I guess that means you weren't out doing anything too reckless, right?"
Blake gave her his best innocent smile. "Nothing reckless. I promise."
Karen looked him up and down, noticing the slightly disheveled clothes and the hint of mischief in his eyes. She wasn't buying it completely, but she also knew Blake was responsible—at least most of the time.
"You know, I worry about you," she said, her tone softening as she brushed some hair off his forehead. "I get that you're growing up, but sometimes I wonder what goes on in that head of yours."
Blake shrugged with a grin. "Just trying to figure things out, I guess."
Karen studied him for a moment longer before letting out a sigh. "You're just like your father," she said, her voice laced with fondness and a touch of nostalgia. "Always wandering off, doing things his own way."
Blake's smile faltered briefly, the mention of his father always a sore topic between them. But he quickly masked it, not wanting to bring the mood down. "I promise I'm not like him."
Karen's eyes softened, and she pulled him into a hug, surprising him a little. "I know, sweetheart. I didn't mean it like that."
Blake hugged her back, feeling the warmth of her embrace. His mom was his anchor in so many ways, especially with everything happening in Beacon Hills.
After a few moments, she pulled back and playfully nudged him toward the stairs. "Go on, get cleaned up before school. You look like you've been out running through the woods all night."
Blake chuckled, knowing she wasn't far from the truth. "I'll be quick."
As he headed up the stairs to his room, Karen called after him, her voice tinged with light-hearted humor. "And next time, don't think you can sneak in without me noticing. I've got eyes everywhere."
Blake smiled as he closed the door to his room. His relationship with his mom had always been close, and moments like this reminded him just how lucky he was. She worried about him, but she also trusted him to make his own choices. He showered quickly, getting the dirt and sweat off his skin from the long night, feeling rejuvenated by the hot water. His mind wandered back to Lydia and the events of the night before, but he knew he had to shift gears. School awaited, and with it, another unpredictable day.
When he came downstairs, freshly dressed and ready for the day, Karen was in the kitchen, making breakfast. The smell of coffee and toast filled the air as Blake grabbed a piece of toast from the plate she'd prepared.
"Planning on staying out late again tonight?" Karen teased, pouring herself another cup of coffee.
Blake grinned, biting into the toast. "I'll try to be home earlier this time."
Karen laughed softly, shaking her head. "You know, as much as I give you a hard time, I do trust you. Just... make sure you don't forget that I'm always here if you need to talk, okay?"
Blake nodded, appreciating her words. "I know, Mom. Thanks."
He grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before heading for the door. "See you after school."
Karen waved, watching him leave with a smile. "Have a good day, Blake."
As Blake stepped outside, he felt the familiar warmth of the morning sun on his face. He smiled to himself, knowing that no matter how crazy things got in Beacon Hills, his mom would always be there for him. It gave him the strength he needed to face whatever the day had in store.
ON THE ROAD – SCHOOL BUS - DAY
The bus hummed as it sped down the highway, the late afternoon sun casting long streaks of light through the windows. Inside, the Beacon Hills cross-country team sat scattered throughout, the atmosphere a mixture of quiet conversations and the steady thrum of the engine. Blake sat near the middle, his large frame crammed into the seat between Scott and Stiles. The bus wasn't exactly built for someone of his size, but after being roped into the team by Coach, he had no choice.
A few rows behind them, Isaac and Boyd were deep in their own conversation, their tones low but serious.
"Stop thinking about it, man," Isaac muttered, staring out the window, his fingers tapping restlessly against his knee.
Boyd, his arms crossed over his chest, shot Isaac a skeptical look. "Like you're not thinking about it too?"
Isaac let out a sigh, shaking his head. "Well, stop thinking about it."
Boyd turned to fully face him, his voice dropping a notch lower. "I can't."
Isaac's gaze flicked toward him. "There's nothing you can do about it either."
Boyd didn't respond immediately, his eyes dark with contemplation. "You sure about that?"
In the front of the bus, Danny glanced at Ethan, who had been checking his phone constantly since they boarded.
"Everything okay?" Danny asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ethan glanced at him briefly before looking back down at his phone. "Yeah. Why?"
Danny gestured toward Ethan's phone. "You've checked your phone like three times in the last five minutes."
Ethan shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Waiting on a message."
Danny leaned back, folding his arms. "Anything important?"
Ethan shook his head. "No. Nothing."
Just a few seats back, Blake sat next to Stiles and Scott, catching parts of the conversation ahead but staying quiet. The mood on the bus was tense, everyone lost in their own thoughts, but there was something more pressing in the air between Scott and Stiles.
Stiles, ever the chatterbox, was the first to break the silence. "Yo, Scotty! Hey, yo! Scotty, you still with me?"
Scott blinked, breaking from whatever was on his mind. "Yeah, sorry. Uh, what's the word?"
Stiles didn't miss a beat. "Anachronism."
Blake, sensing something off with Scott, glanced over but stayed quiet, his sharp gaze catching the unease on Scott's face. Something had happened, and it was serious.
"Something that exists out of its normal time," Scott answered, his voice sounding far more tired than usual.
Stiles raised an eyebrow, clearly noticing it too, but kept going. "Nice! Okay, next word—'incongruous.'"
Scott hesitated, his eyes drifting out the window. "Uh... can you use it in a sentence?"
Stiles shot Blake a quick glance, as if to say, can you believe this guy? Then he leaned in, more serious. "Incongruous—it's completely incongruous that we're sitting on a bus right now, on our way to some stupid cross-country meet, after what just happened. Incongruous."
Scott sighed, the weight of his thoughts evident. "Out of place, ridiculous, absurd."
Blake shifted in his seat, his curiosity piqued. Something was clearly up, and he wasn't going to stay in the dark much longer. "Alright," he finally said, his deep voice cutting through the tension, "what the hell's going on with you two? You've both been acting weird since we got on the bus."
Stiles glanced at Scott, as if waiting for him to answer, but when Scott stayed silent, he sighed. "Next word—'Darach.'"
Blake's brow furrowed. "Darach? What does that even mean?"
Stiles shrugged. "It's a noun, apparently." He gave Scott another pointed look. "We have to talk about it sometime, okay? And we're gonna be stuck in this thing for, like, five hours, so why not?"
Blake leaned back, his arms crossed, clearly not satisfied with the half-explanations. "You're both being cagey. Spill it. What's really going on?"
Scott hesitated, not wanting to drag Blake into the mess any more than necessary, but Blake's eyes were sharp, his Alpha instincts telling him there was more to this than they were letting on.
Stiles sighed and leaned in. "Alright, next word... 'Intransigent.'"
Scott's response was weaker this time. "Stubborn... obstinate."
Blake wasn't buying the diversion. "Come on, man. Stubborn isn't gonna cut it. What's wrong with you, Scott?"
Stiles finally gave up the charade. "We shouldn't have come," he muttered, clearly frustrated. "I knew it—we shouldn't have come."
Scott shook his head, though his expression was pained. "We had to. There's safety in numbers."
Blake narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, but only if you're at full strength. You look like you're about to pass out."
Stiles nodded, the concern in his voice rising. "Yeah, well, there's also death in numbers. Ever heard of a massacre? Bloodbath? Carnage? Slaughter? Butchery? Need me to keep going?"
Blake stared at him. "Alright, chill with the dramatics."
"Dramatics?" Stiles shot back, eyes wide. "Look at him!" He turned back to Scott. "You don't look alright. Let us see."
Scott hesitated, clearly not wanting to show them.
Blake leaned forward, his voice firm. "If something's wrong, we need to know. You're not helping anyone by staying quiet."
Finally, Scott relented, lifting his shirt slightly to reveal the deep, barely healed claw marks along his ribs. Blake's eyes widened at the sight of the ugly gashes. They weren't healing nearly as fast as they should have been.
"Dude..." Stiles whispered, horror in his voice. "That's bad."
Blake shook his head. "That's not normal, man. What happened?"
Scott winced slightly, his voice weak. "They're from an Alpha. It'll take longer to heal."
Blake's eyes flickered with understanding. He hadn't been around long, but he knew what an Alpha's attack could do. He glanced over at Stiles, sharing the same concern.
"How come Boyd and Isaac are fine, then?" Stiles asked, glancing at the others.
Scott's face darkened, and he leaned back against the seat, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I can't believe he's dead..."
Blake frowned, his voice low and serious. "Who?"
Scott closed his eyes, the pain clear on his face. "I can't believe Derek's dead..."
ON THE ROAD – ALLISON'S CAR (FOLLOWING THE BUS)
The road stretched ahead of them, the bus carrying Scott, Stiles, and the others just in view. Allison gripped the steering wheel, her thoughts clouded as she kept her eyes on the road ahead. Lydia sat next to her, tapping her fingers lightly on her knee, but her mind was clearly elsewhere, a smirk playing on her lips.
"God, last night..." Lydia said with a dreamy sigh, leaning back in her seat.
Allison glanced over, her eyebrows raised. "What happened last night?" she asked, curious.
Lydia chuckled, her expression turning mischievous. "Blake happened. We had a... study session, but let's just say, not much studying was involved."
Allison's stomach twisted, a flicker of something she couldn't quite place. "You and Blake?"
"Mm-hmm," Lydia nodded, a wide grin spreading across her face. "Let's just say it got... heated. Very heated."
Allison's grip on the wheel tightened, her knuckles turning white as she forced herself to stay focused on the road. "Wait, so... you two...?"
Lydia leaned forward, her voice lowering conspiratorially. "Yeah, and it was... incredible. I mean, Allison, he's... amazing."
Allison blinked, unsure of how to respond. She tried to push down the unexpected feelings bubbling up inside her. "Wow, okay... That's, um..."
Lydia let out a soft laugh. "Trust me, you don't want to know the details, but... let's just say, I'm still feeling it today. Blake knows what he's doing, and he's not shy about it."
Allison let out a nervous laugh, trying to shake off the awkwardness. "Well, I'm glad you had fun."
"Fun?" Lydia laughed. "It was more than fun. Blake's confident, Allison, but not in an arrogant way. He's just... in control, and it's really, really hot."
Allison glanced over at Lydia, a strange feeling settling in her chest. She didn't expect Blake and Lydia to get that close, especially not so quickly. "Different, huh?"
Lydia nodded, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "Yeah, he's different. But in a good way."
Before Allison could respond, Lydia's expression shifted. "But enough about me. What about you and Scott? You've been watching him like a hawk. What's going on?"
Allison sighed, her eyes shifting back to the bus ahead. "I don't know... I guess I'm just worried about him. After everything that's happened, I feel like I need to be there for him."
Lydia gave her a sympathetic look. "I get it, but maybe you should give him some space. Focus on yourself, too."
Allison bit her lip, her thoughts drifting between Scott and the things Lydia had just told her about Blake. "I don't know, Lydia... I don't know where I fit anymore."
Lydia reached over, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. "You'll figure it out. And hey, if you ever need a distraction... Blake's available."
Allison rolled her eyes, though she couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips. "I'll pass on that."
Lydia laughed. "Your loss. He's... well, you know what he's like."
Allison's grip on the steering wheel loosened, though her mind still felt conflicted. She had a lot to figure out—about Scott, about everything that had happened. But Blake... Blake was lingering in her thoughts more than she wanted to admit.
After a moment, Lydia's voice cut through the quiet. "So... am I getting too close?"
Allison blinked, pulling herself out of her thoughts. "What?"
Lydia gestured to the bus in front of them, her eyebrows raised. "Am I getting too close?"
Allison shook her head, realizing she had, in fact, drifted a little too close to the back of the bus. "Oh... yeah. I should probably back off."
Lydia's smirk returned. "Depends. Are we talking about the bus, or your ex-boyfriend?"
Allison shot her a look, backing off the gas slightly. "The bus."
Lydia laughed. "Sure, if you say so. But after what happened, I get why you're following so close."
Allison sighed, her mind once again drifting to Scott. "Yeah, well... after everything, I'm not letting him out of my sight."
Lydia raised an eyebrow, her smile softening. "Yeah, but don't forget about yourself, Allison. You've been through a lot, too."
Allison nodded but didn't respond, her eyes once again locking on the bus ahead.
FLASHBACK—DEREK'S LOFT, LAST NIGHT
The loft was bathed in the cool glow of moonlight, casting long shadows across the room. Derek stood near the window, his silhouette sharp against the pale light. Cora and Boyd were nearby, both tense and ready for whatever was coming. The atmosphere was thick with the weight of what lay ahead. Scott had just arrived, his face tense, eyes dark with concern.
"I know where they are," Scott said, breaking the silence that had settled over the loft.
Derek turned slowly, his eyes narrowing. "Same building as the Argents," he replied, his voice low and filled with grim certainty. "We know."
Boyd, standing close to Cora, added, "Cora and I followed the twins."
Scott frowned, his mind racing. "Then they want you to know. They wouldn't just let you follow them unless—"
"They don't care," Peter's voice chimed in from the corner, where he leaned casually against the wall, his smirk barely visible in the dim light. "Isn't it obvious? The schemers are scheming, coming up with a coup de main—better known as a pre-emptive strike."
Scott shot Peter a frustrated look. "You're going after them?"
Derek met Scott's gaze, his tone steady and determined. "Tomorrow night. And you're going to help us."
Scott paused, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. Derek's voice left no room for argument—this was already set in motion. There was no turning back now.
ON THE ROAD – DAY
The bus rattled along the highway, the hum of the engine barely masking the tension in the air. Blake leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed, his sharp eyes occasionally drifting toward Scott and Stiles. He'd been sitting quietly, observing the way Scott kept wincing, his hand pressed against his side. It was obvious something was wrong, and the uncomfortable silence between them only deepened Blake's suspicion.
Up front, Coach barked at a couple of students. "The two of you—back in your seats! Jared, again? Carsick? How do you even get on the bus? Look at the horizon! Keep your eyes on the horizon."
Blake ignored the noise from the front, focusing instead on Scott. He could tell that whatever had happened was serious. The subtle exchange of worried glances between Scott and Stiles hadn't gone unnoticed. Blake might not have known the full story yet, but his instincts were screaming that something wasn't right.
"McCall, not you too?" Coach called out, noticing Scott's pale face. "You look like you're about to pass out."
Scott forced a tight smile, shaking his head. "No, Coach. I'm good."
Blake didn't buy it for a second. He could see the sweat forming on Scott's brow, the pain etched into every line of his face. He knew that look—Scott was struggling to hold it together.
Stiles leaned in, his voice quiet but urgent. "Scott, you're bleeding again."
Blake's eyes flickered down to where Scott's hand was pressed against his ribs. The dark stain of blood was spreading through his shirt. Blake's jaw tightened. "Still not healing?" His voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge to it.
Scott shook his head, his voice a low mutter. "It's taking longer."
"That's not normal," Blake said flatly, his tone laced with concern. He wasn't just going to sit there and watch this unfold without saying something.
Stiles's worry only grew. "And don't tell me it's just taking longer to heal, okay? Because 'still bleeding' means 'not healing,' like, at all."
Scott glanced toward the front of the bus where the Alpha twins sat, their eyes fixed ahead but their presence impossible to ignore. "He's listening."
Blake's gaze followed Scott's, locking onto Ethan and Aiden. He wasn't scared of them. In fact, the challenge in his eyes was clear. If they wanted to start something, Blake was more than ready. "And if they do something?" he asked, his voice calm but filled with authority.
Stiles glanced between Scott and Blake, his anxiety spiking. "What if they do try something? Are you gonna stop them?"
Blake's voice cut through the tension, steady and assured. "I'll stop them." His confidence was unwavering, a stark contrast to the worry etched on Stiles's face. As an Alpha, Blake wasn't about to let anyone, especially the twins, threaten his friends.
Scott glanced at Blake, clearly grateful for the backup. He nodded, his voice quieter now. "They won't make a move here. Not in front of this many people."
Blake's eyes didn't leave the twins, though. "If they do, they'll regret it."
Stiles, ever the pessimist, couldn't help but mutter, "Yeah, well, let's hope you're right."
FLASHBACK—DEREK'S LOFT, YESTERDAY NIGHT
The darkness outside Derek's loft windows was thick, with only the faintest hint of moonlight seeping in through the cracks. The dim glow of an overhead lamp cast long shadows across the industrial space, amplifying the tension that filled the air. Derek stood in the center, his posture rigid, his eyes focused on the others around him.
"They're one floor above them," Derek's voice cut through the silence. "In the penthouse right above Allison."
Scott stood nearby, his arms crossed, skepticism clear in his expression. "So, kill them first? That's the plan?"
Boyd, leaning against a steel pillar, cracked his knuckles in response, his tone calm but resolute. "They won't even see it coming."
Scott sighed, his frustration growing. "Why is the default plan always murder? Just once, can we try to come up with something that doesn't involve killing everyone?"
Peter, perched on the edge of an old couch with his usual smirk, glanced at Scott with a sarcastic smile. "You never get tired of being so blandly moral, do you?" His smirk widened as he added, "Not that I disagree with him, though."
Cora, who had been pacing restlessly, stopped and shot Peter an irritated look before turning to Derek. "I do! Why do we even need this kid?" She threw a pointed glance at Scott, her tone sharp.
Derek, unbothered by her tone, stood tall and unwavering. "This kid helped save your life, Cora," he reminded her firmly. His gaze shifted across the room, landing on Scott for a brief moment. "And we can't just sit back and wait for them to make the first move."
Scott shook his head, his concern evident in his voice. "You can't beat a pack of Alphas, Derek."
Cora, her eyes narrowing in determination, stepped forward. "That's why we're going after Deucalion—just him."
Boyd, standing beside her, nodded, his voice low and steady. "Cut off the head of the snake, and the body dies."
Peter, always the voice of bitter wisdom, interjected with a scoff. "Only this isn't a snake, it's a Hydra. And like Scott says, they're all Alphas."
Derek's expression hardened, his eyes locking with Peter's. "Deucalion's still the leader."
Peter raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading into a more serious expression. "Let's hope so... Because you know what happened when Hercules cut off one of the Hydra's heads?"
Scott's voice, heavy with realization, filled the quiet loft. "Two more grew back in its place."
Peter chuckled softly, clearly impressed. "Somebody's been doing their summer reading."
The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of their plan sinking in as the reality of facing the Alpha Pack loomed over them.
ON THE ROAD – DAY
Lydia sat in the passenger seat, sunglasses perched on her nose as she glanced sideways at Allison, who was gripping the steering wheel with focused determination. The sunlight streamed through the windshield, reflecting off the winding road ahead as they followed the bus at a steady pace.
"So, is that whole 'not letting them out of your sight' thing literal, or more like a general rule?" Lydia asked, her tone laced with casual curiosity.
Allison sighed, her grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Why?"
Lydia smirked slightly, her gaze dropping to the gas gauge. "You're running on fumes."
Allison groaned, slumping a bit in her seat. "Ugh."
"Yeah…" Lydia continued, tilting her head towards the gauge. "And I'm pretty sure that bus holds a lot more gas than this Toyota."
"What if we stop?" Allison asked, frustration clear in her voice.
Lydia shrugged, her voice light. "Is it really that big of a deal? I mean, so we lose them—we know where they're headed."
Allison shook her head. "You didn't see what happened."
Lydia sighed, leaning back in her seat. "I know who started it."
Allison shot her a quick look. "You think it was the twins?"
Lydia raised an eyebrow behind her sunglasses. "Who else would it be? They've been trouble from the start."
Allison glanced at Lydia, a bit more relaxed now. "Nothing going on between you and… anyone?"
Lydia rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Please. Do I look like I'm interested in them?"
Allison grinned. "Just making sure."
The two shared a brief smile, the tension easing as they continued down the road, the bus still in sight but the anxiety of the chase slowly fading into the background.
FLASHBACK – ARGENT APARTMENT, LAST NIGHT
The dim lighting in the Argent apartment heightened the tension between Scott and Deucalion, the air thick with unspoken menace. Scott stood firm, his muscles coiled, but Deucalion's smirk showed nothing but amusement.
"Come on, Scott—put those away," Deucalion scoffed, his voice dripping with condescension. "I'd have to be blind, deaf, and a quadriplegic for you to be an actual threat."
Scott's fists clenched tighter, but his breath remained controlled, his heartbeat steady despite the provocation. Deucalion took another step closer, tilting his head as if to hear something only he could sense.
"Or maybe..." Deucalion mused, his voice lowering into a murmur, "you should take a chance? Your heartbeat's steady. You might be afraid of me, but you're controlling it. Maybe you'd rise to the occasion—become an Alpha by killing one?"
Scott's jaw clenched, the weight of Deucalion's words hanging heavy. "I'm not like you. I don't have to kill people."
Deucalion's smirk darkened, a hint of something sinister behind his words. "Not yet," he said coldly. "But situations arise, Scott. Situations where you realize the only way to protect one person is to kill another."
Scott's frustration boiled over, his voice sharpening as he stepped forward. "You're here to threaten me?"
Deucalion's smile deepened, his eyes glinting. "Threaten you?" he mocked, his voice smooth and confident. "Blake's not here to protect you this time, is he?"
Scott's eyes flickered at the mention of Blake, but he didn't waver. Deucalion continued, sensing the tension. "Your Alpha friend isn't lurking around to jump in and save you now."
Scott's face tightened, but he held his ground, his body language screaming defiance. Deucalion chuckled softly, the sound almost like a predator toying with its prey.
"I live here, Scott," Deucalion said, leaning back with a cold smirk. "It's a great building… and the neighbors? Surprisingly friendly."
Scott's fists stayed clenched, but his voice remained steady. "What do you want?"
Deucalion's smirk faded slightly, his tone becoming more serious. "I want to see what you're made of."
The quiet ding of the elevator interrupted the silence, and the doors slid open, breaking the tension momentarily.
"Could someone hit the button for the penthouse?" Deucalion said, his mockery returning as he stepped inside. The doors closed with an eerie finality, leaving Scott alone with the lingering threat.
Scott remained standing, the echo of Deucalion's words circling his mind, knowing this confrontation was only the beginning.
ABANDONED MALL – DAY
The dim, flickering lights of the abandoned mall cast eerie shadows across the floor as Peter's voice echoed through the empty space. His footsteps were deliberate, slow, as he emerged from the darkness, a smirk playing at his lips.
"It's just me! Your uncle... Uncle Peter..." His voice carried a note of false warmth, the kind that barely concealed the tension beneath.
Cora's eyes narrowed as she stepped forward, her posture stiff with disdain. "Uncle Peter who killed Sister Laura."
Peter winced slightly, though more for show than remorse. "Mmm, not my finest hour, no." He waved a hand dismissively. "But, I'm hardly the only dysfunctional family member! Did Derek mention that he killed me, too? Slashed my throat, ear-to-ear."
Cora's expression hardened, unimpressed by Peter's casual tone. "So, that means I should trust you?"
Peter's smirk faded into something more thoughtful, his eyes sharp as he regarded her. "Actually, I'm wondering if I can trust you."
Cora let out a frustrated sigh, crossing her arms as she took a step closer. "You've known me for seventeen years, Peter."
"I knew you for seven," Peter corrected, his voice lowering as he reminded her of the years lost. "Leaving the last six unaccounted for. And I'm not particularly fond of things unaccounted for."
Cora's patience was wearing thin. "What are you doing here?"
Peter paused, his eyes glancing around the empty mall. His voice dropped, becoming more serious. "Same as you—wondering where the bodies went."
Cora's gaze shifted slightly, her own suspicions rising.
"Wondering if they were carried out, or..." Peter stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "maybe, if one of them managed to find enough strength to push himself up off the floor and walk out... leaving the two of us standing here to answer the all-important question."
Cora's eyes met Peter's, her voice cold and steady. "Which one?"
The question hung in the air between them, unanswered, as the weight of the mystery pressed down on both of them.
THE ROAD – MIDDAY
The bus rumbled down the road, the hum of the engine mixing with the nervous energy inside. Blake sat next to Stiles and Scott, his sharp blue eyes tracking the tension that had settled between them. It was clear something big had happened, but Scott and Stiles were keeping their cards close.
From a few seats over, Boyd suddenly stirred, his muscles tensing. Blake noticed the shift immediately, his Alpha senses picking up on Boyd's heightened aggression. He leaned forward slightly, watching as Scott reached out and grabbed Boyd's arm.
"Let go," Boyd growled, his voice low and threatening.
Scott didn't release his grip. "You got a plan? Tell me your brilliant plan, and I'll let go. What are you gonna do? Kill him? Right here? And then what? What are you gonna do after that?"
Boyd's eyes flashed with fury. "I don't care."
Blake, sensing the rising tension, leaned in. His voice was calm but carried the weight of authority. "You care more than you're letting on. Don't do something you'll regret."
Boyd hesitated, his jaw clenched as he glared at Blake. The presence of another Alpha, even one as new as Blake, was hard to ignore. Scott took the moment of hesitation and pressed on. "Give me a chance to figure something out—something that doesn't end with someone else dying."
Boyd's shoulders finally relaxed, and he let out a heavy sigh. "Okay," he muttered, clearly not happy about it.
Isaac, who had been watching the exchange, leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he noticed Scott's pained expression. "Whoa, whoa! You're still hurt?"
Scott brushed it off, shaking his head. "I'm fine."
Blake's eyes lingered on Scott, his instincts telling him otherwise. He didn't say anything, but he made a mental note to keep an eye on him. Scott was hiding something, and it wasn't healing as quickly as it should have been.
A FEW SEATS BACK
Stiles leaned over, clearly relieved that the situation with Boyd had been defused. "Crisis averted?" he asked, giving Scott a quick look.
Scott nodded, though his expression was still tense. "Yeah."
But Stiles wasn't done. "Okay, good, 'cause we got another problem," he said, lowering his voice as he leaned closer. "Ethan keeps checking his phone, like, every five minutes. It's like he's waiting for something. I don't know what, but it's giving me serious evil vibes."
Scott's eyes darted toward the front of the bus where Ethan was sitting. "I don't like this," he muttered.
Blake, who had been quietly observing, chimed in. "It's not just the phone," he said, his voice low. "There's something off about those twins. I've felt it since the first day I met them."
Stiles nodded, glad that Blake was picking up on the same vibes. "Yeah, exactly. And I've got a very perceptive eye for evil, you know that."
Blake chuckled, shaking his head. "Go on, then. What's your plan?"
Stiles grinned. "I'm gonna see what he's waiting for."
Blake raised an eyebrow. "You're just gonna ask him?"
Stiles shrugged. "Why not? Sometimes the direct approach works."
AT THE FRONT OF THE BUS
Ethan sat with Danny, his phone in hand. He glanced at it every few minutes, his fingers tapping restlessly against the screen.
Danny, ever observant, noticed the tension in Ethan's posture. "Something wrong?" he asked, his tone casual but concerned.
Ethan forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "No. Just waiting on something," he replied, his voice tight.
Danny raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to it, but didn't push. "Actually, I was wondering the same thing about you..." Danny muttered, more to himself than Ethan.
BACK WITH SCOTT, STILES, AND BLAKE
Stiles returned to his seat, plopping down next to Scott and Blake with a sigh. "Well, that wasn't very subtle," he muttered.
Scott was staring out the window, his expression suddenly alert. "Ennis?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Blake frowned, turning to Scott with a confused look. "Who's Ennis?"
Stiles' face paled, his usual snark gone as the gravity of the situation hit him. "Ennis... One of the Alpha Pack."
Scott nodded grimly. "Yeah. He's not dead."
Stiles let out a long breath. "Not yet."
ON THE ROAD – MIDDAY
The bus rattled down the highway, the hum of the engine almost drowned out by Coach Finstock's endless complaints from the front.
"Jared, I'm warning you," Coach growled. "I'm an empathetic vomiter—you throw up, I'm gonna throw up right back on you, and it will be profoundly disgusting."
Jared groaned weakly, turning pale. "Please don't talk about throwing up... it's not good..."
"I might throw up on you just to make a point, Jared," Coach snapped irritably. "Now, the rest of you, don't think we're gonna miss this meet because of a slight traffic jam... a minor tornado warning... Jared... We're gonna make this thing. Nothing is gonna stop us!"
A few rows back, Blake sat with Scott and Stiles, half-listening to Coach's rant while keeping an eye on Scott, who was clearly still hurting from his injuries. Scott hadn't said much, but the way he kept wincing said everything.
"Stilinski, put your hand down," Coach barked suddenly.
Stiles, hand halfway up in the air, gave Coach a deadpan look. "You know, there's, like, a food exit about a half mile up. I don't know, if we stop, and then maybe—"
"We're not gonna stop," Coach snapped back petulantly.
"But if we stop—" Stiles tried again.
"Stilinski!" Coach's tone was sharp. "Shut it! Seriously! It's a little bus! Stop asking me questions!"
Stiles groaned, dropping his hand in defeat. "I hate him."
Blake smirked at the exchange, but his attention quickly shifted back to Scott. The tension between them was palpable. Blake didn't like how quiet Scott had been since they got on the bus.
Stiles turned to Scott, his voice lower now. "Did you call Deaton?"
Scott shook his head. "I keep getting his voicemail."
Stiles rubbed his temples, frustration clearly building. "That's it. I'm calling Lydia and Allison."
Scott frowned, glancing at him. "How are they gonna help, back in Beacon Hills?"
Stiles huffed, glancing out the window. "They're not—they've been following us for hours." His tone dripped with sarcasm. "Pathetic."
Blake raised an eyebrow. "Wait, they're following us? Why?"
Stiles ignored the question as his call went through.
IN ALLISON'S CAR – MIDDAY
Lydia leaned back in the passenger seat of Allison's car, fiddling with her phone as they continued to follow the bus from a distance. Just then, her phone lit up with Stiles' name. She sighed and hit the speaker button.
"Hey, Stiles!" Lydia said, trying to sound casual. "Yeah, we're just about to walk into a movie! You know, the popcorn, and—"
"I know you guys are right behind us. Put me on speaker," Stiles cut in, not buying her lie for a second.
Lydia rolled her eyes and hit the speaker button. "Okay, you're on."
Stiles didn't waste time. "Okay, look, Scott's still hurt."
Allison's eyes widened, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. "What do you mean, 'still'? He's not healing?"
Stiles' voice came through the speaker, sounding even more anxious now. "No, he's not healing. I think he's actually getting worse. The blood's turning, like, a black color."
Lydia straightened up, her casual demeanor slipping away. "What's wrong with him?"
"I don't know, Lydia!" Stiles snapped. "Do I have a Ph.D. in lycanthropy? How am I supposed to know that?"
Allison's voice was tense. "We need to get him off the bus."
Lydia frowned. "And take him where? A hospital?"
"If he's dying, yeah!" Allison shot back. "Stiles, there's a rest area about a mile up. Tell the coach to pull over."
Stiles' groan could be heard through the phone. "Yeah, I've been trying."
"Well, reason with him," Allison urged.
"Reason?" Stiles sounded incredulous. "Have you met this guy?"
Allison sighed. "Just try something!"
ON THE BUS
Stiles snapped his phone shut, turning toward the front of the bus with renewed determination. "Coach, it's five minutes for a bathroom break, okay? We've been on this thing for, like, three hours—"
Coach, irritated as ever, cut him off. "We're not stopping!"
"Coach," Stiles pleaded. "It's sixty miles to the next rest stop—"
"Stilinski, get back to your seat!" Coach barked, not even looking back.
Stiles, now more desperate, tried again. "Being cooped up for hours isn't good—"
Coach's patience had clearly worn thin. "Get back to your seat, Stilinski!"
Stiles threw his hands up in exasperation. "Okay!" He slumped back into his seat, defeated. Turning to Scott and Blake, he muttered, "I swear, dealing with Coach is like dealing with a brick wall."
Blake, watching the exchange with an amused look, leaned over to Stiles. "At least you gave it a shot."
Stiles sighed dramatically. "Yeah, well, I don't think anything short of divine intervention is gonna get us off this bus."
Jared groaned again from the front, prompting Stiles to shoot him a sympathetic look. "Hey, Jared… How you doing?"
ROADSIDE REST STOP – MIDDAY
The bus pulled into the rest stop, the screech of the brakes barely covering the sound of Jared's retching. Coach was already barking orders from the front, his voice carrying over the sound of people getting off the bus.
"Jared, you suck!" Coach yelled, standing at the front of the bus. "Hey, somebody grab some towels, or a mop... or a new bus."
As soon as the bus came to a halt, Blake stretched his legs and hopped off. He hadn't realized how cramped he felt until they finally stopped. The sight of Allison's car pulling in behind the bus caught his eye. He nudged Scott gently. "Looks like they finally caught up."
Allison and Lydia stepped out of the car, both looking worried, with Lydia offering Blake a sly grin as their eyes met. Blake smirked back, a flirty yet subtle exchange passing between them, unnoticed by the others.
Lydia leaned closer to Blake as she approached, her voice low. "So, this is what happens when I take my eyes off you for a day?"
Blake chuckled. "You should know better by now."
Allison, however, went straight to Scott, her face etched with concern. "Why didn't you tell us?" she asked, crouching beside him as he sat on a bench near the bus.
Scott, looking weaker than ever, gave her an apologetic look. "Sorry..." His voice was barely a whisper.
Allison's hands trembled slightly as she examined the deep, barely healed gashes on his side. "This shouldn't be happening. I've seen you heal from worse than this."
Blake stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Scott. "You've got to push through it, man. What's stopping you?"
Stiles, standing beside them, was pacing anxiously. "What do we do, then? Call an ambulance?" His voice carried the edge of panic.
Allison shook her head, her brow furrowing. "What if it's too late? What if they can't help?"
"We've gotta do something," Stiles insisted.
Lydia, ever the voice of reason—or something like it—tilted her head thoughtfully. "You know... it could be psychological."
Stiles turned to her, frowning. "What do you mean? Like, psychosomatic?"
Lydia sighed, rolling her eyes at Stiles' lack of understanding. "Somatoformic."
Blake raised an eyebrow at the term, glancing at Lydia. "Somato-what now?"
"Physical illness from a psychogenic cause," Lydia explained, her tone slightly patronizing. "It means it's all in his head."
Stiles blinked, then it seemed to click. "All in his head? You mean... because of Derek. He's not letting himself heal because Derek died."
Allison's face fell, worry deepening. "So, what do we do?"
Lydia shrugged, though her tone was serious. "Stitch him up."
Blake frowned, crossing his arms. "Stitch him up? That's your big plan?"
"I'm serious," Lydia insisted, shooting Blake a glance that was equal parts challenging and playful. "Maybe all he needs to do is believe it's healing. Sometimes the mind can block the body from doing what it needs to do."
Blake chuckled softly, leaning closer to Lydia. "You know, you might actually be on to something." His voice was low, teasing, but there was a seriousness in his eyes as they locked with hers.
Lydia smirked, her lips barely curving up. "Don't sound so surprised."
Allison and Stiles, oblivious to the brief moment between them, exchanged glances. "So, we stitch him up," Stiles said, trying to process the plan. "And hope for the best?"
Blake nodded. "Better than sitting around waiting for something worse to happen."
Scott, clearly in pain but listening, gave a slight nod. "Let's do it," he said weakly, his eyes closing as he leaned back against the bench.
Blake, catching Lydia's eye one last time, smiled subtly before turning his attention back to Scott.
ROADSIDE REST STOP – CONTINUED
Allison's hands shook as she rummaged through the first aid kit, trying to keep her focus on the task at hand. Scott sat in front of her, barely conscious, his breathing labored. Blake stood off to the side, watching with concern, though he knew this wasn't a situation where brute strength would help. Stiles had already dashed off to grab Scott's bag, leaving Allison, Blake, and Lydia to figure out what to do next.
"He's gonna need another shirt," Allison muttered under her breath. "Where's his bag?"
Stiles, halfway to the bus, turned back briefly. "Uh, I'll get it! I hate needles anyway, so... I'm on bag duty!" He shot a half-hearted grin before disappearing inside the bus.
Blake moved closer, his usual confident demeanor softening. "You got this, Allison," he said quietly. His eyes flicked to Lydia for a moment, sharing a brief but supportive glance. Lydia stepped forward, offering to help.
"I can assist," Lydia said, her voice calm despite the tension in the air.
Allison nodded but didn't say anything, her focus entirely on Scott. "Stay with me, Scott. Stay with me," she whispered, her hands trembling as she fumbled with the needle.
Scott's voice was weak, barely above a whisper. "I'm tired…"
Allison bit her lip, tears threatening to spill, but she kept herself together, barely. "Scott, just look at me, okay? Keep looking at me. We'll get through this."
The trembling in her hands worsened as her mind flashed back to a different time. A different place.
FLASHBACK – ARGENT APARTMENT
Victoria's voice echoed in her mind, sharp and commanding. "Unbelievable. One simple little task? You can't thread a needle?"
Allison, her eyes wide with fear, tried to hold back her tears. "I'm trying."
Victoria's gaze was cold, mocking. "What, you want my sympathy? Because you're just a seventeen-year-old little girl and this is all too much for you to handle? Well, get over it! Thread the needle."
Her hands shook, the needle refusing to cooperate. "My hands won't stop shaking," she whispered.
"Breathe, Allison. Breathe," Victoria commanded, her voice cutting through the panic. "Try it again."
Allison's frustration boiled over, an exasperated scream escaping her lips. "AHHH!"
Victoria remained calm, unbothered. "Okay. How do we approach a situation like this?"
Allison stammered, her fear evident. "Clinically…"
"And?" Victoria pressed.
"And unemotional... and unemotionally," Allison managed to say, trying to regain her composure.
"Then stop crying and do it," Victoria snapped.
BACK AT THE ROADSIDE REST STOP
Allison snapped back to the present, her mother's harsh words still ringing in her ears. She took a deep breath, calming herself as much as she could. "Okay. Stay with me, Scott," she repeated, her voice steadier now. "Stay with me."
Blake stepped a bit closer, ready to intervene if needed, but knowing this was something Allison had to handle on her own. He gave her a nod of encouragement, his eyes locking with hers briefly. Lydia, meanwhile, kept a hand on Scott's shoulder, trying to keep him alert.
"Let's go! Back on the bus!" Coach's voice boomed in the distance, but Allison barely registered it.
She finally managed to thread the needle, her hands no longer trembling. She carefully began stitching Scott's wound, her movements swift but precise.
Scott's eyes fluttered open as he winced in pain. "Scott? Scott?" Allison called out, her worry rising again as his head lolled to the side.
"Scott, it's okay, I've got you," she murmured, her fingers brushing his hair out of his face. She worked quickly, hoping it would be enough. "Scott?"
Scott's eyes opened again, barely focusing on her. "It's my fault," he muttered, guilt weighing heavily in his voice.
Allison leaned in, her heart racing. "Scott, look at me. It's okay. You're okay."
Scott blinked, his vision clearing slightly. "Did you do that?" he asked, his voice faint but impressed.
Allison smiled, despite the tension. "Yeah…"
"Nice," Scott whispered, giving her a weak smile.
"Can you stand?" Allison asked, helping him up slowly. Scott nodded, though his legs wobbled beneath him.
Blake, watching from nearby, moved to Scott's side, offering support. "Let's get you back to the bus," he said, his voice steady but filled with concern.
Allison grabbed Scott's spare shirt from Stiles, who had just returned, and draped it over his shoulders. "Put this on," she urged, her relief palpable as Scott managed to stand on his own.
Together, they helped Scott back toward the bus, with Blake casting one more glance at Allison, silently admiring her strength under pressure.
FLASHBACK – MCCALL HOUSE, LAST NIGHT
The night air was still and quiet outside the McCall house, with only the faint hum of crickets in the background. Scott stood at the front door, hand resting on the doorknob as he prepared to head out.
"Whoa..." Scott muttered under his breath, turning to find Isaac standing in the hallway, casually munching on a bag of chips.
Isaac, always the curious one, raised an eyebrow. "Where are you going?"
Scott shifted uneasily, glancing back at the door. "Uh, I was just gonna go get some food to eat..."
Isaac's face brightened. "Oh, cool! I'll come with you."
Scott quickly shook his head, trying to keep it casual. "Nah, dude. It's okay. I can eat alone."
Isaac didn't seem to catch the hint. "What are you getting?"
"Uh... Mexican...?" Scott replied, his voice a little hesitant.
Isaac's grin widened. "Dude, I love Mexican."
Scott sighed, his hand tightening on the doorknob. "Isaac, it's fine. I can eat alone. Really."
Isaac wasn't having it. "You're not going alone. Come on, let's go."
Before Scott could protest again, Isaac was already grabbing his jacket, ready to follow him out the door.
The cool night air whipped past them as Scott and Isaac sped through the empty streets of Beacon Hills on Scott's motorcycle. The town's lights blurred into the darkness, the sound of the engine roaring louder than the tension building between the two of them. Isaac clung tightly to Scott, still unaware of the real reason they were rushing through the night.
"Man," Isaac muttered over the rush of wind, "this better be some damn good Mexican food."
Scott didn't respond, his focus set straight ahead. The truth was, this wasn't about dinner. Not even close. They were headed straight into a meeting with the Alpha Pack, a summit to try and negotiate a truce. But how could he explain that to Isaac without everything spiraling out of control?
As they neared the outskirts of town, the looming shadow of the abandoned mall came into view, shrouded in darkness. It was the perfect setting for a conversation with the Alpha Pack—isolated, eerie, and full of threats that lay just beneath the surface.
FLASHBACK – ABANDONED MALL, LAST NIGHT
The two of them stepped into the cold, vacant space of the abandoned mall. The sound of their footsteps echoed through the empty hallways, the weight of the moment settling in as they approached the meeting spot.
Scott, visibly tense, took a deep breath and turned to Isaac. "We're just gonna talk to him, okay? Try to reason with him. That's it, all right?"
Isaac gave him a side glance, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"
"Nothing," Scott replied quickly, clearly avoiding something.
Isaac's stomach growled, and he let out a dry chuckle. "It's just that, uh… I'm actually kind of hungry now."
Scott let out a small, humorless laugh, tension still hanging between them. "So am I."
They exchanged a look, both realizing that dinner would have to wait.
ROADSIDE REST STOP – CONTINUATION
Lydia glanced nervously at Scott as they helped him to his feet. He was still weak, his injuries barely held together by Allison's makeshift stitches. The bus was already filling up, and the coach was impatiently shouting for everyone to get back on board. Stiles was doing his best to stall, keeping Coach distracted with questions about the next rest stop and random complaints.
"Is he okay?" Lydia asked, her voice tinged with concern as she hovered near Scott.
Scott gave a weak nod, though the pain was evident on his face. "Yeah. Where's Stiles?"
"Still trying to stall Coach," Lydia replied. "But we don't have much time. We need to get back to the car."
"We don't have enough gas," Allison pointed out, her brow furrowed as she finished adjusting Scott's shirt over the stitches.
"And i'm not leaving him," Allison added firmly.
Lydia sighed, rubbing her forehead as the weight of the situation sank in. "Then we'll have to leave the car..."
"Sounds good," Allison said, her tone decisive as she moved to support Scott.
Lydia blinked in surprise, her eyes widening. "Wait, what? That wasn't an actual suggestion!"
But Allison was already helping Scott toward the bus, determined to stay by his side. Lydia hesitated for a moment, then muttered under her breath, "Aw, screw it," and hurried to follow them.
Blake, who had been standing nearby observing the group, caught Lydia's eye as they walked toward the bus. He stepped closer, his tall, muscular frame exuding confidence as he offered a hand to help with Scott. Lydia shot him a look, a mix of gratitude and a hint of flirtation in her gaze, their connection undeniable even amidst the chaos.
"Thanks," she murmured, briefly meeting his eyes before turning her attention back to Scott.
FLASHBACK—ABANDONED MALL, LAST NIGHT
The abandoned mall was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the scattered beams of moonlight that filtered through the broken windows and crumbling ceiling. The air was thick with tension, and every sound echoed ominously through the empty halls.
Deucalion stood in the center of the room, his posture calm yet imposing. Scott, with Isaac by his side, faced him, their nerves on edge. The faint rustling of movement behind them indicated Derek's presence, lurking in the shadows.
"You didn't come alone," Deucalion said, his voice smooth yet laced with an eerie certainty.
Scott hesitated, his gaze flickering briefly to Isaac before returning to Deucalion. "Yeah. This is Isaac."
Deucalion's lips curved into a smile, but it wasn't directed at Isaac. "I'm not talking about Isaac."
Scott's heart skipped a beat. Deucalion had anticipated his move, expected the backup. Scott's voice was filled with frustration as he tried to keep his growing sense of dread in check. "You knew I would do this?"
Before Scott could say more, Derek's growl rumbled through the stillness, his presence now fully known. His eyes locked onto Deucalion with a singular, violent focus. "Derek, don't!" Scott pleaded, desperation creeping into his voice. "You can't do this so no one gets hurt. If someone else dies..."
Derek's muscles tensed, his eyes flashing. His growl deepened, filled with the weight of his decision. "Him. Just him."
Deucalion raised his head slightly, as though he could see every movement despite his blindness. "Just me?" He chuckled darkly, his voice carrying a mixture of amusement and cold, calculating malice. "Now, how's a blind man find his way into a place like this, all on his own?"
His question hung in the air, sinister and mocking, as Derek and Scott stood frozen, both realizing that Deucalion had the upper hand in more ways than one.
ROADSIDE REST STOP— MIDDAY
Blake, Scott, and Allison made their way back toward the bus, their footsteps heavy on the gravel as they moved through the dimly lit rest stop. The tension was palpable, hanging thick in the air after everything that had happened. As they approached the bus, Stiles suddenly appeared, rushing toward them with wide eyes and panicked breaths.
"Stiles, what's happening?" Scott asked, his voice laced with concern, though he was still clearly recovering.
"They went after him!" Stiles blurted out, barely catching his breath. "I told them what was happening with you, and they just went after him!"
"Who?" Blake's voice was firm, his eyes narrowing. "Boyd?"
Stiles shook his head, his expression grim. "No, Isaac! He's beating the hell out of one of the twins!"
Before anyone could react, they heard Coach's voice booming in the distance. "Isaac! Isaac! ISAAC! Back off! Stop!" His shouts echoed across the lot, filled with the sharp edge of authority and frustration.
Blake's jaw clenched, and without hesitation, he bolted toward the commotion. He was faster than Scott or Stiles, his athletic build propelling him forward with powerful strides. As he neared the source of the chaos, he spotted Isaac, his fists flying in a flurry of anger, pummeling one of the Alpha twins—Aiden, pinned to the ground, barely able to fight back.
"Isaac!" Blake barked, his voice booming with a force that rivaled Coach's. Isaac's werewolf instincts reacted instantly, his body freezing mid-punch, the power of Blake's Alpha presence demanding submission.
Blake rushed over, grabbing Isaac by the collar of his shirt and pulling him off Aiden with surprising ease. "Enough!" Blake's tone left no room for argument. Isaac growled low in his throat, but the fury in his eyes simmered down as he looked at Blake, recognizing the authority in his voice.
Aiden, still dazed from the beating, groaned on the ground but didn't move to attack.
Blake turned to Scott, who had just caught up, breathing heavily from the effort. "We've got to get him out of here before this gets worse," Blake muttered, keeping his grip firm on Isaac, who now seemed to be regaining some semblance of control.
Scott nodded, glancing between Blake and Aiden. "Coach is losing it... Let's go before things get ugly."
Blake gave Isaac a stern look, making sure the younger werewolf was calm enough to follow them back to the bus without another outburst. They quickly moved away, leaving Aiden to gather himself as the rest of the students started to realize something had happened.
As they walked back to the bus, Blake kept a hand on Isaac's shoulder, his presence a calming force, but his mind raced with everything that had just transpired. His Alpha instincts were on high alert now—this wasn't just a fight; things were escalating quickly, and they were running out of time to stop it.
FLASHBACK—ABANDONED MALL, LAST NIGHT
Isaac's pained screams echoed through the dark, decrepit space of the abandoned mall as he writhed on the ground, clutching his side in agony. The fight had gone wrong—terribly wrong. Scott, who had already taken a severe beating, struggled to push himself up, his body shaking from the wounds that weren't healing as quickly as they should have.
Across from them, Deucalion stood tall, his presence looming over Derek and his pack like a shadow. His voice was calm, almost unnervingly so, as he commanded Derek, "Kill him. The others can go."
Derek's heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the decision pressing down on him like a vice. He was breathing hard, sweat dripping down his forehead as his eyes flickered between his fallen packmates and the enemy in front of him. A surge of anger and helplessness washed over him, but he knew what Deucalion was asking of him: the first step into darkness, into becoming just like him.
Kali sneered, stepping forward, her sharp eyes never leaving Derek's face. "Are we serious with this kid?" she scoffed, her voice filled with disdain. "Look at him! He's an Alpha? To what? A couple of useless teenagers?"
Derek clenched his fists, the weight of her words striking deep, but he remained silent, his jaw clenched in frustration. He was an Alpha, yes, but could he lead? Could he protect them?
Deucalion's voice slithered back into the fray, dripping with his usual manipulative charm. "Some have more promise than others..." His tone was a twisted mix of praise and judgment, daring Derek to prove himself.
Kali, sensing the conflict in Derek's eyes, taunted him further. "Let him rise to the occasion, then!" she spat, her voice full of venom. "What'll it be, Derek? Pack or family?"
In that moment, everything seemed to slow down for Derek. The choice was suffocating—his pack, the teenagers he had tried to protect, or his family, his legacy. His breath hitched in his throat as Deucalion's words echoed through the cold air once more.
"Ahhh! Ahhh!" Deucalion suddenly clutched at his face, his voice strained, his hands covering his eyes. His sunglasses were knocked askew, revealing the startling white blindness underneath. "Your eyes... cover your eyes!"
FLASHBACK—ARGENT APARTMENT, YESTERDAY NIGHT
Allison paced the length of the living room, her face flushed with frustration. Her father's words echoed in her mind, but the weight of them didn't sit right. The reality of what was happening outside their door, in Beacon Hills, gnawed at her. Her friends were in danger—Scott, Stiles, Isaac, Boyd—and the Alphas were growing bolder with each passing day. How could they stay out of it? How could they ignore the threat looming over them?
"Someone needs to help them," she said, her voice firm but edged with desperation. She turned to her father, expecting him to rise to the occasion, to step up like he always did.
Argent, however, remained unmoved. His face was calm, but his words were sharp and resolute. "Not us," he replied. "I'm getting the consulting business back up and running again, and you need to graduate." His voice was steady, as if he had already decided. "That's a normal life, and it's what we agreed to."
Allison stared at him, disbelief creeping into her features. "So, we just ignore it?" she asked, her voice rising slightly. "We just turn our backs on everything and everyone?" Her heart raced, anger bubbling beneath the surface.
Her father stood his ground, crossing his arms. "We stay out of it."
Allison took a step toward him, her eyes wide with incredulity. "There's a pack of Alphas trying to kill my friends!" she exclaimed, the words hanging heavy between them. "How do I stay out of that?"
Argent sighed deeply, his expression softening, but his resolve remained. "There's a saying for these kinds of situations—the kind you have to navigate carefully." He paused, searching for the right words. "It's called 'threading the needle.' It's finding a safe path between two opposing forces."
Allison shook her head, frustration coloring her tone. "Sounds like saving your own ass," she shot back, her voice laced with disappointment.
Argent frowned, but didn't argue. Instead, he leaned against the kitchen counter, his posture tense. "They're not your family," he said quietly, though his voice was firm.
Allison's heart sank. His words cut deep, and the truth of them stung. She had lost so much—her mother, her aunt, her connection to a normal life. The weight of those losses pressed on her chest, and she struggled to breathe for a moment. Her voice softened as she spoke, but the conviction was still there. "With all the family that I've lost," she whispered, "I could use a few friends."
The silence that followed was thick, the tension between father and daughter palpable. They stood at an impasse—two opposing forces trying to find their own way through the chaos that surrounded them. For Allison, her path had become clear. She couldn't turn her back on her friends, no matter the danger.
ON THE ROAD — BACK ON THE BUS
The dim lighting inside the bus felt stifling as the tension from earlier lingered in the air. Blake sat beside Stiles and Lydia, glancing out the window, but his attention was soon drawn back to the conversation at hand. Stiles had been running theories in circles, trying to make sense of everything that was happening.
"All right," Stiles said, his voice carrying that familiar edge of exasperation, "let's go over this one more time..."
Blake shifted in his seat, turning to give his full attention as Stiles began piecing the puzzle together again.
"So, it's the sacrifices, right?" Stiles continued, his gaze bouncing between Lydia and Blake. "Everything has to do with them and someone who thinks he's, like, a dark Druid of some kind..."
Lydia chimed in, her voice calm but with a hint of seriousness. "Or actually is a dark Druid."
"A Darach," Blake added, leaning forward. The word felt foreign on his tongue, and the weight of it settled uncomfortably in his gut. He was still piecing together the supernatural puzzle that Beacon Hills threw his way, but he wasn't going to let that stop him from helping where he could.
Lydia nodded. "You know... some ancient cultures sacrificed people in preparation for battle."
Blake's brow furrowed. "Wait, are you saying all of this is just... prep? For something worse?"
Stiles grimaced, running a hand through his hair. "So, we've got Alpha Werewolves against a dark Druid?"
Blake could feel the gravity of the situation settling in. "It's not just about the Alpha Pack anymore, is it?" he muttered, mostly to himself. His blue eyes locked with Lydia's, and for a moment, there was a shared understanding—this was bigger than anything they'd faced so far.
"Yeah," Lydia said softly, her eyes lingering on Blake before turning back to Stiles. "This is war... or something close to it."
Meanwhile, across the bus, Allison and Scott sat together, their conversation quieter, more intimate. The tension between them had always been complicated, and the weight of everything they'd been through hung in the space between them.
Allison, her voice soft but firm, tried to offer some comfort. "You know... if he's really dead, it's not your fault."
Scott sighed, his eyes distant, but her words seemed to cut through some of the weight he carried. "Maybe..." he said, though the doubt was clear in his voice.
He glanced at her, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "But remember that whole thing that we talked about? Where I wasn't accusing you of being there, and if you were there, you shouldn't be?"
Allison's expression softened, a faint smile appearing as she met his gaze. "Thanks for not listening."
Scott chuckled lightly, a rare moment of levity breaking through the heaviness of the moment. "What?" he asked, noticing her staring.
Allison leaned in slightly, her voice barely above a whisper, but there was a spark in her tone. "I was just looking at your eyes."
Blake, sitting a few rows back, caught a glance of the two, but his focus returned to Lydia and Stiles. They were preparing for something much bigger than any of them anticipated, and though Blake had only been in Beacon Hills for a short time, he knew this was just the beginning.
BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL — LATE AFTERNOON
Jennifer Blake had just finished a long day of teaching, the weight of papers and lesson plans still lingering in her mind. She sighed as she slid into the driver's seat of her car, grateful for the end of the school day and eager to head home. The engine rumbled to life, and she pulled the seatbelt across her chest, ready to leave the parking lot.
But just as she reached for the gearshift, a sudden, harsh sound shattered the momentary calm—a loud thud against her car window. Jennifer gasped, her heart leaping into her throat as a bloody handprint smeared across the glass. Panic surged through her, but when her eyes darted to the figure outside, shock took over.
Derek Hale.
He was barely standing, his once powerful frame hunched over in agony, blood soaking through his shirt. His face was pale, his eyes unfocused, and within moments, his body gave way, collapsing to the pavement with a dull thud.
Jennifer's breath caught, and without thinking, she flung open the door and rushed to his side, her heart pounding in her chest. She knelt down beside him, her hands hovering over his body, not sure where to touch first—he was bleeding everywhere.
"Derek?" she whispered, her voice shaky. "Derek, can you hear me?"
There was no response. His body was completely limp, his chest barely rising and falling as he fought to stay alive.
Jennifer's mind raced. She needed to get help.
**************
Question:
Do you guys want the smut to be written out, or would you prefer a clear indication that it will happen without showing the actual scenes? Like the way it was in the last chapter's ending, or more like how it was at the start of this chapter?
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Gangnem
Gangnem Had some stuff to do, so the chapter came a bit late, but enjoy.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone