Magic Bullet 1x04

Magic Bullet 1x04

Episode 5

“If Derek isn't the Alpha... if he's not the one who bit you... then who did?” Stiles questions as their teacher passes out the graded tests they all took. Fallon rubs her eyes tiredly, exhausted from how late she stayed up going to see Derek. She doesn’t necessarily regret going, but now she feels an unnatural anger towards the man. He told her to stay out of the way. It’s unbelievable. All she wants to do is help and make sure no more people die, and yet he makes it seem as though she’s the problem.

“I don’t know,” Scott answers.

Stiles sighs and sits back in his seat for the briefest moment before thinking of another question and leaning forward, gently smacking Scott in the back with the back of his right hand. “Did the Alpha kill the bus driver?”

Scott whispers, “I don’t know.”

“Yes,” Fallon answers at the same time, a small yawn escaping her lips.

The two boys turn to look at her. She’s sitting next to Stiles in the row over. She freezes, realizing she just answered a question she shouldn’t even have any context to. Stiles narrows his eyes at her, “How do you know?”

She shrugs, trying to cover it up. “Just a hunch, I guess.”

“You’re lying,” Scott furrows his eyebrows. “I just heard your heart beat. It went up. How do you know?” He reiterates the question.

The brunette sighs. There’s no point in keeping it a secret, “I saw Derek last night…” she admits. “After the bus driver died, I wanted to know what was going on. So I went to hear it from him.”

“Are you stupid?!” Stiles scoffs, throwing his pencil at her. “What if he killed you, huh? Then what?”

“Well, I’m sitting right next to you so, I wouldn’t know,” she replies sarcastically.

“You shouldn’t have gone alone,” Scott scolds.

“You did,” Fallon points out incredulously, baffled by his hypocrisy.

“But I can protect myself in ways that you can’t,” he insists.

“Y’know I’m getting real tired of everyone assuming Stiles and I are useless just because we don’t have magical werewolf abilities,” she glares at him.

“I never said you were useless.”

“Okay!” Stiles whisper yells, stopping the argument from moving forward. “Moving on…” he turns his attention back to Scott. “Does Allison’s dad know about the Alpha?”

Scott, feeling overwhelmed by the mini argument with Fallon, along with the incessant questions from Stiles, loses his temper. “I don’t know!” He replies in a loud voice causing the teacher and pretty much every student in the class to look back at the three of them. He tries to play it off by looking out the window while Stiles sinks down into his chair. Fallon simply smiles fakely at the onlookers who turn away from the awkward situation.

Stiles is handed back his test first out of the three and is satisfied by the "A" he received. Fallon gets hers next, a small smirk on her face as she reads “A+” with a one-hundred percent written next to it. However, Scott sighs loudly when he's handed his, which has a “D-” written on it, Stiles leans forward to look at it and mutters sarcastically over Scott's shoulder, “Dude, you need to study more!”

Scott slams his test down on the desk, shooting Stiles a menacing glare. Stiles scoffs defensively, pushing himself away from Scott. “That was a joke, Scott,” he explains. “It’s one test! You’re gonna make it up. Do you want help studying?”

“Yeah, we can meet at my place tonight if you want,” Fallon suggests kindly, despite their previous argument. “We can make our own personalized pizza’s and stuff.”

Scott sighs, “No, I’m studying with Allison after school today.”

Stiles grins suggestively and pats Scott on the back proudly, “That’s my boy!”

Fallon rolls her eyes, kicking Stiles from across the way. “I said it once, and I’ll say it again. Boundaries.”

Scott nods along with Fallon, sending Stiles a pointed look, “We’re just studying.”

“Uh, no, you’re not,” Stiles scoffs, rubbing his shin where the angry brunette just kicked it.

Scott frowns in confusion, “No, I’m not?”

Stiles rolls his eyes in exasperation as though it’s obvious to what he’s referring to. “Not if I’m forced to live vicariously through you!” He exclaims. “If you go over to her house today and squander that colossal opportunity, I swear to God, I’ll have you de-balled.”

“You seriously need to get laid,” Fallon says to Stiles, taking out her book and burying her nose in it. Their teacher gave them the rest of the period off to do homework anyway.

“I’m well aware of that, thank you,” he replies as if what he said is a good comeback.

“Okay,” Scott looks at them with annoyed eyes. “Just... stop with the questions.”

Stiles nods with a grin, “Done. No more questions. No more talk about the Alpha, or Derek…” he trails off, his eyes going unfocused as he remembers the intimidating man. No doubt recalling their last interaction in the back of the police cruiser. “Especially Derek… who still scares me…”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Fallon makes her way over to the girls locker room after the last bell of the day. She likes being able to change in her own space for lacrosse practice because no one’s ever in here after school. The only time she usually has to share is with the off season soccer girls who only use it to get ready for training. The brunette walks over to one of the stalls, using the restroom before changing into her gear. She still has a headphone in, listening to her playlist to keep her mind occupied. She flushes the toilet before exiting the bathroom and washing her hands. She hums under her breath, watching as the water trickles down her skin.

“Holy shit!” She screams loudly when she looks into the mirror and sees a pale, almost dead looking Derek Hale standing behind her. He sways back and forth on his feet, his blue eyes looking more gray by the second. That’s when she notices the gaping bullet hole in his arm. Derek stumbles, almost falling to the floor, but Fallon rushes forward, wrapping his arm around her shoulder to hold him up. He’s a lot heavier than she thought. “What happened?” She asks, her voice laced with concern.

He grunts in pain, squeezing his eyes shut. “I was shot,” he manages to get out. Blood drips down his arm and off of his fingertips, leaking onto her shoes. She grimaces, but knows that her shoes are not the priority right now.

“I’m sorry, you got what?!” Her eyes widen as she moves frantically to have him sit down on one of the benches in the locker room. “By who?” She runs over to her locker, grabbing a spare shirt and a pair of scissors from her backpack. Her father’s words come into mind on how to take care of a gunshot wound. She cuts a long piece of fabric out of the material before going back over to Derek and creating a makeshift tourniquet. “By the way, this is gonna hurt, so brace yourself.”

“Wha–?” He lets out a low growl as she ties it as tightly as she can. The bleeding slowly slightly, but the wound still looks nasty. His eyes flash a bright blue for a moment before turning back to their normal color.

“Why aren't you healing?” She asks, looking over his form. A wound this small should’ve been nothing for the werewolf.

“I can’t,” he groans in pain. “It wasn’t a normal bullet. It’s different.”

“Like wolfsbane different?” She asks worriedly, remembering the different things she read in the book Stiles gave her.

Derek looks surprised by her second question, impressed by her knowledge. His head lulls forward and onto her shoulder, “Wolfsbane,” his voice turns into a whisper. “Need to find Scott. Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Fallon answers, lifting him off the bench with a grunt. “We don’t have the same last class.” She manages to get them over to the door and out into the hallway. She eyes him sadly, trying her hardest to get him outside. Her arm wraps around his waist as another method to keep him up and secure. He’s trying to help hold his own body weight, but it’s no use. He’s fading, and fast. “C’mon Derek, stay with me,” she mumbles.

They barrel out of the exit doors and Fallon stops, looking over all the heads of the students to try and find Scott. She huffs as the line of cars is long and completely backed up. There’s no way she can get him anywhere safely on her bike, but her eyes brighten when she notices the blue Jeep sitting at the front of the masses of cars.

“Okay, I’m not seeing Scott, but Stiles is right there,” she assures him, starting to drag his limp body over to the vehicle.

“No. Absolutely not,” Derek denies, trying not to go in the direction Fallon’s forcing him in. “I don’t want help from your spaz head of a boyfriend.”

Fallon sighs, rolling her eyes as she continues hauling him. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she corrects. “And unless you wanna brave it out on my motorcycle, this is the best option.”

Derek doesn’t have time to protest as Fallon stops them right in front of Stiles’ car. She puts her hand up to stop him from going and her best friend slams on his breaks. He throws his hands up in annoyance, mumbling something under his breath as he moves to get out of the car. Horns blare from every direction and that’s when Fallon feels Derek start swaying again. “No, no, no, no, don’t fall! Derek, don’t fall!”

“I’m falling,” he whispers. His body starts leaning backwards, too far backwards for Fallon to keep up. She tries to use one last surge of strength to force him up, but it’s too late. His body's stature is no match for her. They fall into the asphalt with a loud thump. Both of them groan in pain and Fallon gets up, lifting his head to put on her legs so he has some way of sitting up.

Scott apparently saw the whole ordeal from the bike rack. He rushes over to Stiles’ jeep where his two best friends are taking care of Derek. Stiles is clearly the most pissed one out of the three of them, peeved Derek stopped him from going to play video games.

“What are you doing here?” Scott asks, blocking Derek’s view from the agitated students. They don’t need to see a dying werewolf in the middle of the school parking lot.

He tries to move himself away from Fallon’s lap, but his limbs are all too limp to get very far. “I was shot,” he gasps out, pointing to the hole in his arm.

“He’s not looking so good, dude,” Stiles looks at him warily.

“I wonder why,” Fallon says sarcastically.

“Okay, you know what? Now is not the time,” Stiles narrows his eyes at her.

Scott frowns in confusion, inspecting the injury. “Why aren’t you healing?” He asks the same question Fallon did

“I can’t,” he huffs tiredly, giving up and collapsing fully into Fallon. Blood seeps from his arm and into her blue jeans and she has to look up in the sky to prevent herself from being disappointed at her now stained clothing. “It was- it was a different kind of bullet.” He repeats the same story he gave to Fallon.

Stiles perks up, all of his supernatural dreams coming true. “A silver bullet?”

“No, you idiot,” Derek snaps irritatedly.

Scott looks as if he just put together something super important, “Wait, wait– that's what she meant when she said you had forty-eight hours…”

Derek’s eyes widen in alarm, “What? Who-who said forty-eight hours?”

“The one who shot you,” Scott answers.

Suddenly, Derek is hit with a powerful wave of pain that causes his eyes to flash bright blue, the same way they did when Fallon put the tourniquet on him. He grimaces in agony. When he opens his eyes again, they're continuing to flash back and forth between his werewolf blue eyes and his human green eyes. Scott looks horrified, his eyes darting around to make sure no one is watching before he mutters at Derek forcefully, “What are you doing? Stop that!”

“Scott, I don’t think he can,” Fallon whispers urgently. “He can’t control it.”

The boy looks at Derek, placing his hands on his shoulders, “Derek, get up.”

The line of cars start to get more impatient. As soon as they see people starting to get out of their vehicles to approach them, they realize that they need to get out of there. Now. Scott pulls Derek to his feet, the man wobbling from the sudden force. He latches onto Fallon once more, the brunette grunts but wraps her arms around his midsection anyway to keep him steady. Once she was sure they could move without collapsing again, she got him inside of Stiles’ jeep, placing him gently in the passenger seat. She huffs, realizing she’ll have to leave her bike here, but there’s no way she’s going to let Stiles handle Derek in the jeep alone. He’ll just have to take her back for her motorcycle later.

Fallon sits comfortably in the back, Stiles getting into the driver’s side. Derek sticks his head out the window, “I need you to find out what kind of bullet they used.”

Scott scoffs, “How the hell am I supposed to do that?” He asks, throwing his arms up.

“Because she’s an Argent,” he says. “She’s with them.”

Scott narrows his eyes, “Why should I help you?”

Fallon looks at him with an exasperated expression. Now is not the time for vendetta’s or looking for reasons to help someone. She sends her friend a begging look, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Because, you need me,” Derek answers in a weak voice.

Scott looks over and sees a confused Allison walking toward them and decides to wrap up this scene as quickly as possible, “Fine,” he sighs. “ I'll try.” Scott turns to look at Stiles, who's expression makes it clear that he's feeling very put-out at the moment. “Hey, get him out of here.

Stiles shoots Scott a death-glare, “I hate you for this, so much.” Stiles puts the car into drive and sets off just as Allison comes up. They’re speeding out of the parking lot, happy to get away from the angry crowd that started forming around them.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Stiles drives the injured wolf and Fallon in his jeep. There’s a tense silence surrounding them, Derek grunting in pain while Stiles shoots him angry side glances. Fallon taps her foot impatiently as she stares at her text message thread with Scott. She has to have texted him at least eight times in the past twenty minutes. She doesn’t mean to rush, but this situation seems pretty dire. Like go there, find it, make up an excuse and leave kind of situation. Not go have a whole dinner with her family.

“What the hell is taking him so long?” Fallon grumbles, tossing her phone to the seat next to her. Her frustration is evident which only gets worse when Stiles smirks at her through the rear view mirror.

“Maybe he’s busy…” he wiggles his eyebrows. “Y’know gettin’ busy.”

Fallon cringes at the innuendo, “Are you serious right now?” She scolds him.

“Stop talking,” Derek seethes, closing his eyes tightly. They stopped flashing between blue and green which is a good sign, but the low growl in his voice is enough to make her sink back into her seat.

“I’m just saying,” Stiles defends himself. “Maybe he hasn’t done anything because he’s having fun. Which is what we should be doing rather than lugging dead wolf meat around,” he chides. That stupid smile appears on his face again, “I mean, I could totally see him and Allison–”

“Stop!” Derek shouts at the spastic boy, dangerously close to striking him in the back of the head.

“Okay, you don’t need to be yelling,” Fallon directs at Derek, staring at him through the mirror. “So why don’t you stop talking and sit there squirming in pain.”

He looks back at her, fury in his irises. “Shut up.”

“Hey, you need us a hell of a lot more than we need you,” Fallon narrows her eyes. “You came to me to save your ass, remember that? You’re the one bleeding out.”

Stiles nods, “Yeah, and uh speaking of that, try not to get it all over my seats, kay? We’re almost there anyway.”

“Almost where?” Derek hisses, turning his attention away from the brunette in the back. His hand is still covering the wound, blood slowly seeping onto his fingers. The tourniquet is still doing its job of slowing down the bleeding, but judging by his half-lidded eyes, it’s not going to do any good for much longer.

“Your house,” Stiles says, his voice calmer than it was a second ago. He slows to a stop when the traffic light ahead turns red. There’s no one else on the road with them which makes having Derek in the car less difficult. No one to explain their actions to.

“What?” Derek’s head snaps over the boy. “No, you can’t take me there.”

Stiles looks at him incredulously, “I can’t take you to your own house?”

“Not when I can’t protect myself!” Derek argues.

Stiles huffs angrily before turning his wheel roughly. He pulls off to the side of the road, turning off the jeep as he faces Derek fully, his nostrils flaring. “All right. What happens if Scott doesn't find your little magic bullet? Hmm? Are you dying?”

“Not yet,” Derek shakes his head.

“I’d really prefer it if you didn’t,” Fallon mumbles.

“I have a last resort,” he reveals, groaning loudly when another wave of pain hits him.

“What do you mean? What last resort?” Stiles yells.

Derek pulls his sleeve up fully, exposing the wound in all its glory. Fallon hadn’t seen the whole thing, only what his ripped shirt permitted. Stiles flinches violently from the sight while gagging, “Oh, my God. What is that?” He averts his gaze, looking out the window. “Oh, is that contagious?” He gasps. “You know what, you should probably just get out.”

“Stiles start the damn car!” Fallon yells at him. “He’s dying, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t need you making a bigger deal of it.”

“Listen to your girlfriend,” Derek adds menacingly.

“Again, not dating,” she points between her and Stiles.

“Hey! Alright, I don't think you should be barking orders with the way you look, okay? In fact, I think, if I wanted to, I could probably drag your little Werewolf ass out into the middle of the road and leave you for dead.”

Silence.

“Start the car… or I’m gonna rip your throat out… with my teeth,” Derek growls menacingly.

The two boys stare at each other for a solid minute or so before Stiles finally reaches for the keys, sliding them into the ignition. Fallon exhales softly, melting into her seat as she thanks whatever force out there stopped a fight between Stiles and a man twice his size.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Fallon bites her nails anxiously as she and Scott text back and forth. Derek’s not looking too good, Scott. Have you found anything?

His response comes back short. Need more time. She puffs out an irritated breath. That’s the only response she’s gotten from him in about two and a half hours. The sun is already set and it’s starting to become dark out. The sky was an ombré of red, orange, yellow, and blue as the night approaches. Fallon feels terrible for Stiles and the fact he had a full tank before this fiasco started. They’ve been driving around all day. They had no idea where to take Derek. Stiles’ house was obviously a no go as his dad is the sheriff and would probably lose his mind if he found out Derek had been there. They can’t take him to Scott’s either as Melissa would freak out if they snuck in unannounced again.

“Why can’t we just take him to your place?” Stiles suggests.

Fallon shakes her head, “My dad’s off tonight.”

“But he’s fine with Scott and I being there all the time,” Stiles shrugs.

“Because he knows you both,” Fallon counters. “We could probably get away with it if your dad didn’t tell him about all the crime life here,” she sighs. “But he does. So my dad knows what the almost dead werewolf here looks like,” she says, eyeing up the man in the passenger seat. “And let’s just say he wouldn’t exactly be keen on having an almost murderer in his house.”

“Thanks,” Derek shoots a glare her way.

“I’m not the one who reported you to the sheriff,” she reminds him. “Your issues are with him,” she points to Stiles, “and your bestie beta who’s currently finding the magical bullet to save your life.”

“I am going to claw your eyes out if you don’t keep your mouth shut,” his eyes flash blue in her direction.

“Take my ears off while you’re at it,” she suggests sarcastically. “That way I won’t have to hear you complain about everything.”

“I’m so confused whether you like each other or not,” Stiles furrows his eyebrows.

“Not,” Derek answers while Fallon says, “It’s complicated,” at the same time.

The two passengers jerk to the side as Stiles rapidly pulls over once more. He picks up his phone too fast, almost dropping it in the process as he brings it up to his ear. “Oh thank God,” he breathes out. “Did you find anything… Well, what are we supposed to do with him?” He groans.

Fallon leans forward, gripping Stiles’ chair, “What’s he saying?”

Stiles swats her away like a mother would her child. Fallon scrunches her eyebrows, leaning back in her seat offended. “And, by the way, he’s starting to smell,” there’s a short pause. “Like death.”

Derek sends Stiles a withering glance before turning to look at Fallon, “Do I really smell like death?” He questions.

“Are you sure you want me to answer?” She snarks with a quirked brow. “Wouldn’t wanna make you claw my eyes out or anything,” she mocks his previous statement. Derek clenches his fists as he stares at her and she just smiles fakely. “And yes, you do smell like death.”

“Yeah, and they won’t stop arguing like freakin’ children. I feel like I’m running a daycare here. They got along for like the first hour and then all hell broke loose,” Stiles complains. Both Fallon and Derek resist the urge to physically harm the boy in some way. The crease in Stiles’ forehead deepens at whatever Scott says, “What about your boss?”

Stiles throws his head back into his chair before holding the phone out for Derek to take, “You’re not gonna believe where he’s asking me to take you.”

Derek ignores him, taking the chance to talk to Scott. “Did you find it?” He waits for Scott to explain what he’s been doing for the past almost three hours. “Look, if you don’t find it, then I’m dead, all right?… Then think about this-- the Alpha called you out against your will. He's gonna do it again. Next time, either you kill with him, or you get killed. So, if you wanna stay alive, then you need me. Find the bullet.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

The jeep rolls up to the animal clinic, taking one of the many empty parking spaces by the back entrance. Fallon tells Stiles to go find the key to unlock the building and that she’ll get Derek. She runs around to the passenger side, opening the door for the man. They resume their position from earlier at the school, his arm haphazardly draped over her shoulders and her arms securely fastened around his waist . She drags him towards the door, Stiles holding it open as his phone buzzes with another message from Scott.

“Please tell me he found something,” she begs, panting heavily as she goes to set him down in the back room.

Stiles furrows his eyebrows, “Maybe…” He looks up from his device to glance at Derek, “Does Northern Blue Monkshood mean anything to you?” He asks.

Derek nods, his head flopping slightly so Fallon lifts it up. “It’s a rare form of wolfsbane. He has to bring me the bullet.”

“Why?” Fallon queries as they finally reach the table. She pushes his body against it so she’s not holding him up entirely on her own.

Derek looks up at her weakly, “ ‘Cause I’m gonna die without it.”

Fallon’s heart drops into her stomach, “Crap…” she mumbles with a shaky exhale. She turns to look at Stiles, “Tell him to get here. Now.”

The threatening sound in her voice has Stiles scrambling to send Scott the message, informing him of the scary look on Fallon’s face. Derek begins tearing off hit clothing, ripping off his leather jacket smoothly before pulling his shirt with one hand over his head. He discards them by throwing them across the room before collapsing against the table once more. He lays his arm out for display, the bullet hole being a strange blue color, no doubt a reaction from the wolfsbane that’s slowly inching towards his heart. The blood dripping out of him is now black while the same color veins stretch up his arm from the wound.

Stiles bites his fist at the sight, gagging as he tries not to vomit all over the place. “Okay, you know, that really doesn't look like anything some echinacea and a good night's sleep couldn't take care of,” he waves off optimistically, wanting to get out of here as quickly as possible.

Fallon smacks him, “We are not leaving him, Stiles. He’s dying.” She shuffles through Destin’s things, trying to find some sort of surgical tool. “What we should do is get the bullet fragments out and try to stitch it up.” Working in the hospital has some perks. She might not legally be allowed to perform such a procedure, but nothing about this screams concern for legality.

“That won’t work,” Derek shakes his head which stops her from looking. “It’s already in my system. When the infection reaches my heart, it’ll kill me,” he breathes out.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Positivity just isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?” He snarks sarcastically.

“Why don’t you try being shot in the arm,” Fallon quips back at her friend.

Stiles throws his hands up with an exhausted scoff, “Who’s side are you on?! One minute you’re arguing with him and telling him to die, the next you’re yelling at me! Make up your damn mind!”

Derek rips off Fallon's tourniquet, interrupting their argument as he attempts to replace it with a blue elastic band. She watches as he goes to tie it with his mouth and stops him. He glares at her as she takes it from him, a glare which she reciprocates before helping him put it in the same spot the other was. “If Scott doesn’t get here with the bullet in time– last resort,” he pants while looking through the drawers.

“Which is what?” Fallon questions.

He pulls out a small saw making her and Stiles grow paler than him. “You’re gonna cut off my arm.”

“Me?!” Fallon shouts, about ready to go along with Stiles’ plan and run out of there.

“No,” he denies before glancing at freckles. “Stiles.”

“What?!” He screams the same way Fallon did. “No. No, no, no, no, no, that’s not fair! Why do I have to do it? She’s more heartless than I am, she can do it,” he points.

Fallon scoffs and goes to rip him a new one, but Derek cuts her off. “No, Fallon needs to hold me down.”

“Why can’t I do that?” Stiles throws his arms up.

“Because looking between the two of you, I can tell her arms won’t snap if I start to push back,” Derek insults. “I need someone with muscle to be able to keep me from squirming.”

Stiles looks more than offended, “I- I have muscle,” he counters.

Derek sends him a pointed look which makes the boy shrink in on himself. Fallon takes a nervous step forward, standing next to Derek as she gets ready to hold him down. I’ll just close my eyes, she tells herself. I won’t get nightmares. This’ll be fine.

“What if you start begging me to let go and it’s too late?” She asks him, her concerns growing with every second she stares at the saw.

“That’s not gonna happen,” he answers.

“How do you know?” She scoffs. The black veins in his arm are starting to become much more prominent. “What if you try to tell me to let go because you’re bleeding out and I don’t hear you? Then you die from getting your arm sawed off. I don’t want to watch you die.”

Derek leans further into the table, “It’ll heal if it works.”

Stiles eyes the saw with a sickly expression. He swallows thickly, shaking his head. “Look, I don’t know if I can do this,” he admits, his overactive imagination not doing him any favors.

“Why not?” Derek says impatiently.

Stiles looks at him like he’s stupid, “Well, because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood!” He lists off exasperatedly.

“You faint at the sight of blood?” Derek asks incredulously.

“No, but I might at the sight of a chopped-off arm!” Stiles screeches in response.

“All right, fine. How about this– either you cut off my arm, or I'm gonna cut off your head,” Derek threatens.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Okay, you know what? I'm so not buying your threats any–” Derek cuts him off by yanking him forward by the collar of his shirt. Stiles’ eyes widen as he tries to get out of his hold. “Oh, my God!” He gasps. “Okay. All right. Bought. Sold. Totally. I'll do it. I'll do it.”

Derek let’s go of him, the boy pushing himself away from the older werewolf. He turns to say something to Fallon, but she can see the distant look on his face. “Derek, what’s wrong?” She asks attentively. Instead of answering, his cheeks puff out and he lurches forward. Her eyes widen and she tries to take a step back, covering her face with her arms. His mouth flies open and black projectile vomit comes out of his mouth, splattering all over her. She gasps as the hot liquid drips down her body.

Fallon exhales with a small whimper. She shakes her hands, some of the vomit flinging off of her fingers. “It’s fine…” she tries to convince herself. “Everything’s fine… I didn’t even like this shirt anyway.”

Stiles' jaw hits the floor, his own bile rising in his throat. “Holy God, what the hell is that?!”

Fallon turns to Stiles, her facial expression is blank. “Stiles,” she wipes her cheek. “Do what he says.”

“But–” he goes to point at the saw.

“Now!” She screams at him. Despite the vomit all over her, she walks behind Derek and gets a good grip on him. She holds his arm in place and glares at Stiles, “Do it, now.” She orders, nodding towards the saw.

He grabs the saw for a moment before looking up to protest, “Look, honestly, I don’t think I can–”

“Just do it!” Derek and Fallon yell at the same time.

Stiles jumps at how scary their symphony of voices sound together. “Oh, my God. Okay, okay…” He starts the saw, a loud sound accompanying it. He starts putting it towards Derek’s arm, “Oh, my God.... All right, here we go…”

“Stiles! Fallon!” Scott’s voice rings through the clinic.

“Scott?” Stiles looks hopeful, glancing away from the death tool in his hand.

When Scott runs in, the first thing he sees is Fallon practically pinning Derek down while Stiles holds a miniature saw to his arm. His lopsided jaw goes slack, “What the hell are you guys doing?”

Stiles turns the saw off, stepping away from it with a relieved smile. “Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares,” he thanks his best friend.

Fallon steps away from Derek, every step she takes coming with a small ‘squelch’ sound. “Speak for yourself,” she grumbles.

The older man looks at Scott eagerly, “Did you get it?” He asks, searching for any sign of the bullet.

Scott reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small bullet and handing it to Derek. “What are you gonna do with it?” The brunette girl asks, wiping her face off with a towel she found near one of the kennels.

Derek holds the bullet up, “I’m gonna–” he stumbles, his speech much weaker. “I’m gonna–” Out of nowhere, the cure Scott worked so hard to find falls out of his fingers. Derek collapses, hitting the ground roughly as Scott and Stiles try to go after the bullet.

Fallon drops to her knees, eyes going wide as she stares at Derek’s unconscious form. She cups the side of his face with her right hand, shaking his shoulder with the other. He doesn’t move. “Derek! Derek, come on, wake up!” She pleads. Scott and Stiles are babbling in the distance, but she can’t understand a word they’re saying as her entire focus is on the almost dead man below her. Her eyes scan his body and her breath hitches when she notices his chest isn’t rising. She puts her fingers to his neck trying to find any sign of a pulse. It’s there, but not very strong. The weakest pulse she’s felt. Fallon wracks her brain for any kind of medical information she’s learned from the hospital to wake him up.

Her eyes lighten up as she leans forward, opening his mouth to see if there is any blockage. She notices chunks of the black vomit he spat at her earlier blocking his airway. She sticks her pointer and middle finger in his mouth, swiping out the liquid. She then quickly turns him on his side before putting her hand into a fist and hitting him in the back as hard as she can. His eyes shoot open, blue flashing across them as he coughs more blood on Fallon. She cringes but keeps patting his back to make sure all of it leaves his system.

“I got it!” Scott screams. “I got it!”

Stiles looks at Fallon with shock on his face, “Where did you learn how to do that?”

“The hospital,” she utters out quickly, bringing Derek to his feet. “I’ve seen Melissa do it on a choking baby. Obviously with much less force, but same principle.”

“Give me–” Derek gasps in pain as he takes the bullet from Scott’s hand, biting off the tip to expose where the gunpowder is. He empties it into his hand before pushing it forcefully into the wound. He howls loudly as blue smoke starts floating up from the gunshot hole. His face turns red as he falls back to the floor, writhing around in pain. His back arches upwards as he tries to fight against screaming anymore than he already has. Fallon watches in awe as his wound begins to heal at a rapid pace, the black veins slowly disappearing until the injury is completely gone.

“That… was… Awesome!” Stiles exclaims with a clap of his hands. He pumps his fist in the air as if they just got off of an amusement park ride. “Yes!”

“I’m gonna hit you,” Fallon tells him blatantly. Stiles’ face falls, but he knows better than to continue testing her. She walks closer to Derek, sticking her hand out to help him off the floor. “Are you okay?” She asks genuinely.

Derek accepts her offer, using her to get himself up. “Well, except for the agonizing pain…” he says sarcastically.

“I’m guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health,” Stiles comments, crossing his arms. Derek sends a death stare his way making Fallon rolls her eyes as she moves away from him and over to where Stiles is standing.

“Okay, we saved your life, which means you're gonna leave us alone. You got that?” He instructs Derek. “And, if you don't, I'm gonna go back to Allison's dad, and I'm gonna tell him everything–” the threat is cut off by Derek who looks absolutely appalled by what he just said.

“You’re gonna trust them?!” He narrows his eyes. “You think they can help you?”

Scott shrugs his shoulders, “Well, why not?” He yells loudly. “They’re a lot freaking nicer than you are!”

Derek surges forward angrily, “I can show you exactly how nice they are.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Fallon sighs tiredly as she parks her motorcycle in front of her house. Her eyes are practically closing as she trudges through the front door. Stiles had taken her back to the School to get her bike after Derek took Scott to show him how “evil” the Argents are. She closes the front door, a small click echoing behind her.

“Where have you been?”

Fallon flinches as the light to the living room suddenly flicks on. Michael is sitting in his chair in the living room, a book in his lap with a reading lamp sitting beside him. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.

“I asked you a question,” he says. “Where have you been? It’s two in the morning.” His voice is more than just concerned or worried. He’s disappointed.

Fallon places her helmet on the kitchen counter before turning back to her dad, “I was out with Scott and Stiles,” she answers.

“Doing what?” He continues questioning. “You all know there’s a police enforced curfew, right? None of you should be out this late, especially on a school night,” he crosses his arms as he walks over to his daughter. “You didn’t text, call, nothing. I had no idea where you were. Now, normally I don’t care because I know you’re responsible, and ninety percent of the time you’re with the boys. But with everything that’s going on, the murders, the dead bodies, you need to start being more communicative.”

“Dad, all we did was drive around,” she defends. “Stiles wanted to go get food and stuff after school, so we went and did that and just hung out around town.”

“Really?” He asks, disbelieving every word coming out of her mouth. “Just eating and driving around?”

“Yes,” she shrugs.

“Then why not shoot me a text?” He lifts an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s too hard, do you?”

“No,” she sighs, getting tired of this conversation already. “I’m sorry. Next time I plan on being out late, I’ll let you know what I’m doing.”

“Oh no,” Michael shakes his head. “There will be no next time. From now on, you will be home by the enforced curfew time. If the boys want to come over and stay the night, you know I have no problem with that. But you will not leave this house anytime after that, do you understand me?”

Fallon scoffs, “Dad, are you serious?” She says upsetly.

“Dead serious young lady,” he nods. “I don’t want to leave my shift at the hospital getting a call from Noah saying that they found my daughter's dead body somewhere in the woods. It’s dangerous out there, Fallon. I’m not going to allow you to engage in reckless behavior. I’m your father. It’s my job to keep you safe. You might hate me now, but it’s for the best,” he shuts his lamp off, setting his book back on their shared bookshelf in the living room. “You can complain about me all you want to the boys, but I’ve made up my mind,” he walks over towards the stairs before glancing back at his daughter. “Now go to bed. You still have school in the morning. You get to deal with the consequence of being tired.”

She watches after her father, shock written all over her face. She just saved a man’s life and pretty much got grounded at the same time. Michael is a very easy going parent. She got lucky in the dad department, and she knows that. Seeing and hearing him talk to her like that isn’t common. They usually don’t have issues to this extent. They have a mutual trust. But if he’s really that worried that he’s willing to confine her to the house, she’s going to have to listen to him.

Or get a lot more creative on how to sneak out.

Second Chance At First Line 1x02

Episode 3

     Fallon waits patiently outside, sitting on the bleachers at the lacrosse field. She was the first one ready so that gave her time to sit and think. Her best friend since the third grade… is a werewolf, and apparently so is Derek. He’s the reason Scott ended up in the woods and found out that Allison’s father is a hunter. 

Her leg bounces up and down as her mind runs at a million miles a minute. She tries to focus on getting ready for practice, but it’s almost as if her entire world has shifted off its axis. The only thing consuming her every waking thought is that she’s actually living some people’s worst nightmares. She can’t even imagine how Scott feels. Trying to live a normal teenage life, only to find out that it’s now impossible to do so. 

Her anxiety is through the roof. She left the Argent’s house after breakfast the day after she slept over, not knowing how to act around the family after what she found out. She didn’t want to make it seem weird, but her abrupt exit might’ve done enough damage for her. Allison had been texting her all weekend since then and all Fallon could do was tell her she thinks she got a stomach bug from the food at Lydia’s. While the brunette wants to become friends with the new girl, there’s a worry in the back of her mind that Allison knows about the supernatural. Fallon’s not sure if there’s a possibility that Allison might be interested in Scott just lure him into a trap. 

A tap on the shoulder pulls Fallon out of her thoughts. She looks up and sees Coach holding two of the longer lacrosse sticks. “Donovan, why don’t you take one of these today, and get your ass out on the field!” He commands, placing the stick in her hands. 

She nods obediently, “Yes, Coach.” 

Her legs carry her out to the grass and that’s when she sees Scott and Stiles running out. Stiles sends her a thumbs up, silently asking if she’s okay. The girl sends him one back, assuring that she’s fine. Once Scott makes it closer to her, she migrates towards him, worried about his mental state after the events of the weekend. 

“You alright?” She asks quietly. 

“You mean after finding out that the girl I like’s dad is trying to kill me?” He replies, sick to his stomach. “Yeah, I’m great.” 

Fallon pats his back, sympathy written all over her face, “I’m sorry, Scotty.”

“Yeah, me too.” 

Coach’s whistle echoes loudly around the field. “Let’s go! One-on-one from up top!” 

Fallon’s partner for one-on-one’s is Danny. She grins at the boy before the red whistle is being blown again. Jackson scoops up the ball for his team and everyone starts to play. They all run around the field, passing the ball to each other and shoulder-checking their opponents as they try to score a goal. Danny grunts as Fallon plows into him, forcing him out of her way as she goes after the ball. Coach follows their movements closely from the sidelines. 

Fallon runs in between Jackson and one of his teammates, intercepting the ball he just barely threw from his elongated stick. She sticks hers up in the air, catching it effortlessly. Jackson’s jaw clenches when Fallon winks in his direction before taking off to her team's goal, scoring the first point of the afternoon. 

“That’s how you do it, Fallon!” Coach praises, “That’s how you do it!” 

After a few more minutes of game play, Coach yells at Greenberg to take a lap around the field for messing up the play. He drops his stick and his helmet, running towards the track with his head hung low. As he’s verbally abusing Greenberg, he instructs the others to get in line for goal practice. Fallon lines up right behind Scott, but she can see his eyes are more focused on something in the distance rather than on the field. 

“Scott, do you hear something?” She whispers. “Like y’know… w–with the werewolf hearing?” 

He shakes his head silently, still staring off into space. At least until Coach catches his attention, “McCall, what are you waiting for? Let’s go!” 

Coach points at Jackson who is blocking for the goalie. Fallon will be blocking for the second half of boy’s at Coach’s behest. The blonde boy looks smug, almost as if he’s  only doing this to show up Scott. The brunette boy clenches his jaw, charging towards Jackson. Fallon and Stiles, who happens to be behind her, wince as Scott is launched to the ground by a harsh shove from Jackson. Coach wastes no time in marching over to him mockingly, not even giving Scott time to stand from the mossy grass. 

“Hey, McCall!” Coach crouches down and Scott grimaces from pain and embarrassment as he struggles to stand up straight. “My-my grandmother can move faster than that-- and she's dead! You think you can move faster than the lifeless corpse of my dead grandmother?” 

Fallon and Stiles watch worriedly as Scott’s anger and frustration is what’s keeping him doubled over. They glance at each other, beginning to get ready for a werewolf intervention if needed. The last thing that needs to happen is Scott wolfed out on the field. 

“Yes, Coach,” Scott replies through clenched teeth. 

Coach, still trying to goad Scott into a more competitive mindset, “I can’t hear you!” 

“Yes, Coach,” this time he sounds more than just angry. His hard glare is focused on Jackson who is watching him with a smug smile. 

Irritatedly, Coach Finnstock bends down further, moving his mouth inches from Scott’s ear, “The do it again!” 

Scott’s grip around the lacrosse stick grows impossibly tighter as he runs back in line. Fallon whimpers quietly as his eyes briefly flash gold in her direction. How can one thing be so terrifying yet captivating at the same time. 

“McCall's gonna do it again! McCall's gonna do it again!” 

Jackson gets back to his position just a few feet in front of the goal as Scott returns to the front of the line-up for one-on-ones; though his eyes are no longer glowing gold, he still looks furiously determined. After a moment, Coach blows his whistle to have them start. 

“Let’s go!”

Scott runs at full-speed towards Jackson, much faster than he ran last time. Fallon hears a small snap as the two boys collide with one another. Scott rams his shoulder into Jackson’s collarbone, knocking him flat on his back. He clutches his shoulder in pain and Fallon assumes the snapping sound came from his body. 

The entire team, minus Stiles and Fallon, surround Jackson. The two of them look at each other, completely panic stricken as they rush towards Scott’s side. Everyone seems too distracted by their knocked down captain to notice Scott with bright golden eyes and fangs poking out of his mouth. Scott groans loudly, desperately trying to keep himself from fully turning. He clutches his head tightly. 

“Scott? Scott?” Fallon tries to get him to look at her. “Are you okay?” She gets nothing in response so her and Stiles sling his arms over their shoulders. 

Scott pants heavily, finally finding the strength to talk, “I can’t control it,” he wheezes. “Guys, it’s happening!” 

“What? Right here? Now?”

“No, Stiles, ten years in the future,” Fallon snaps sarcastically. “Yes, obviously it’s happening now. “We gotta get him out of here,” she says.

They start trekking across the field, passing the bleachers to get inside the school. The trio though is too preoccupied with Scott’s current predicament to notice Derek watching them from behind said stands. He has a focused expression as he follows their movements closely. 

All three of the teens pant loudly, carrying Scott’s weight being a lot more than they originally anticipated. They barely make it through the locker room door before setting Scott down. Stiles slides in front of the shifting boy while Fallon crouches down behind him. He’s got support in the back and in the front. 

“Sit down. Sit down,” Stiles coaxes. “You okay?” 

Their friend is practically hyperventilating, clutching the stone bench next to him. Fallon knows they can’t help him if they don’t know what’s going on with him. She moves around to crouch down at his side and places her hand on his bicep, “Scott, talk to us,” she begs.

The sixteen year old werewolf, now completely overwhelmed, finally looks up at his friends and screams at the top of his lungs in a desperate panic. His eyes returning to their golden shade. 

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” 

The shock from Scott’s roar causes both Stiles and Fallon to stumble backwards. The girl's heart is beating out of her chest as she watches Scott start stalking towards Stiles. She barely gives herself a chance to blink before she’s spear tackling Scott into the floor. They crash into a row of lockers causing a loud boom to emanate through the room. 

Stiles yelps before yanking Fallon off of Scott who has now set his sights on her. “Why the hell would you do that?!” Stiles screams as they run to hide behind a row of lockers. 

“To save your dumb ass!” She yells back, throwing her hands in the air. “Thought it was obvious!” 

Both of them screech at the same time as Scott mounts the top of the lockers. Stiles is a tad bit more high pitched than her, but he would never say that. He flails around, trying to grab her wrist as they weave through the already crowded area. Scott continues following after them, his urge to kill unrelenting as he bares his fangs at them. He jumps across the rafters, leaving the duo on the ground with no room to hide as he can see everything from above. 

Stiles protectively throws Fallon behind him as Scott goes to jump down from the high ground. She grunts as her back collides with the fire extinguisher that’s hanging on the wall. A lightbulb goes off in her head as she grabs the tool off its hook. 

“Stiles!” She grabs his attention, handing him the nozzle. He slowly realizes her plan and takes the black end gratefully. Fallon closes her eyes in fear as Scott jumps directly at them, pressing the button to release the carbon dioxide. The white substance shoots out of the nozzle, coating Scott’s body in it. Stiles and Fallon exhale shakily as their friend collapses to the floor, his breathing slowly evening out. They still take cover outside of the room, just in case he still hasn’t turned back. Stiles clutches onto Fallon’s hand, the two of them hoping to hear Scott’s normal voice.

Thankfully, they do. “Fall…? Stiles?” He calls out weakly. 

The two of them relax slightly, willing themselves not to bolt in the other direction. Stiles peeks his head around the door frame to look at Scott, Fallon standing on her tiptoes to look over Stiles’ head. He’s covered in sweat, sitting on the bench with his head in his hands. They squint at him, trying to decipher if his fangs have retracted. 

Scott notices them staring, “What happened?” He asks weakly. 

Both friends are still panting heavily from the chase they just endured. They look at each other, silently deciding to walk in together. Fallon drops the fire extinguisher on the ground as she stares at Scott with an exhausted and exasperated expression. Stiles stays by her side, both of them removing their lacrosse gloves. 

“You tried to kill us,” Stiles tells him seriously. 

Scott’s face fills with immense guilt. Stiles crouches in front of him while Fallon leans on the lockers across the way. They both stare at Scott softly, not wanting him to beat himself up over this. They just want to help him control it. 

“It’s like we tried to tell you before,” Fallon begins. “It’s your anger, your pulse rising. It’s a trigger for all of– that.” She waves her hands towards his body to emphasize her point. 

Scott huffs out a quiet laugh, “But that's lacrosse. It's a pretty violent game, if you hadn't noticed…” 

Fallon’s voice is firm, a lot more firm than the boys are used to. “Well, it’s gonna end up being a lot more violent if you end up slaughtering someone on the field because you don’t know how to control yourself.” She’s not trying to be blunt or rude, but she needs Scott to understand the severity of the situation and how seriously it needs to be taken.

Stiles sighs deeply, looking into Scott’s eyes. “She’s right, dude. You can’t play Saturday. You’re gonna have to get out of the game.”

Scott immediately tries to protest, “But I’m first line–”

“Not anymore.” 

         · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     Fallon sits on her bed, book in her lap as she patiently awaits Stiles’ FaceTime call. Her laptop is open, stuck on the screen of her finished essay. She made sure to get the essay for English done as soon as she could so she didn’t have to worry about it later. Many people make fun of her or ask her how she gets her work done so quickly. Truth be told, it’s not that she’s smart or motivated, she’s just determined to do less work afterwards. Her philosophy is the sooner the work is done, the sooner she can be lazy. 

The moon shines brightly in the sky, casting a comforting shadow into her room. She snuggles under her blanket as she turns the page to chapter twelve of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. The candle in her room provides a certain warmth. She loves the smell of cedar wood and spice. It reminds her of the soon to come fall days that she so dearly misses when summer drags on for too long. The brunette finds herself mindlessly folding a certain black leather jacket over her torso. She doesn’t know why, but this has been her go to coat since the day Derek draped it over her shoulders. And he hasn’t creepily stared at her from a distance yet to get it back, so she plans on using it while she can.

It was already ten o’clock. She didn’t realize it had already been two hours since starting her book. She had eaten dinner around six-thirty before cleaning the dishes and setting aside a plate for her dad who still had yet to return from work. She exhales, checking for any messages from Scott or Stiles. 

Nothing. 

She didn’t know how much longer she could wait. Her eyes already started drooping slightly the moment she turned away from the invigorating pages in front of her. That’s when a knock on her door sounds. She glances up and sees a tired looking Michael standing in front of her. The bags under his eyes are more prominent than ever. 

“Hey sweetheart,” he greets groggily. “I’m home.” 

“Hey,” she smiles softly, putting her bookmark in its rightful place before closing it. “How was work?” 

He shrugs, a small yawn erupting from his lips. “It was alright. We had a three car pile up. No fatalities thankfully, but a piece of the windshield did puncture a major artery in one of the victims thighs. So that took up most of my night. But, other than that, it was a regular Monday afternoon,” he explains, his daughter listening tentatively. He always appreciated the fact she cared so much about his work. He didn’t have many people to talk to, so it was nice having Fallon. 

“But you saved her,” she encourages. “Like you always do.” 

“I don’t know about that,” he laughs breathily. “I unfortunately don’t have a perfect surgical record.” 

“You still try,” Fallon argues. “You’re good at what you do dad. You save people. Not many others could do what you do.” 

Michael’s heart warms, “Thanks kiddo. I appreciate that.” 

Fallon nods, noticing he must’ve literally just gotten home. He’s still in the clothes he left in this morning since they have to scrub in at the hospital. “I made taco salad for dinner,” she tells him. “I saved you a plate in the fridge if you're hungry.” 

Michael walks over to his daughter, kissing the top of her head. “You’re the best. Don’t stay up too late,” he points at her. “You still got school in the morning.” 

“I know,” she playfully rolls her eyes. “I’ll go to bed in a minute.” 

“Okay, goodnight,”  He waves. “I love you.” 

“Love you too,” she waves back. Right as her door shuts, the ringtone on her laptop begins to play as Stiles and Scott’s name pop up. She smiles, plugging her earbuds in before accepting the call. 

“What’s up, losers?” She greets, flipping on her stomach to get in a more comfortable position. Stiles smirks when he notices her fuzzy socks peeking out above her head. 

“Nice footwear,” he nods sarcastically. “I didn’t know Cookie Monster changed his occupation to sock model.” 

“Shut up,” Fallon snarls, but self-consciously hides her feet from view. 

Stiles laughs victoriously, shooting his fake nerf gun in the air. Scott exhales, stressed out about everything going on. He doesn’t have the patience to play games. “What’d you find out?” He questions, getting straight to the point.

Stiles sets his toy down, “Well, it’s bad. Jackson’s got a separated shoulder.” 

Fallon winces. While she hates that Jackson can’t seem to get along with her two boys, she didn’t want him to get that injured. She is still kind of friends with the blonde. 

Scott’s face is covered with immense guilt, “Because of me?” 

Stiles scoffs as if Scott’s statement isn’t true, “Because he’s a tool.” 

“But is he gonna play?”

Fallon looks at Scott’s corner of the screen, “I think it would be better for you if he didn’t,” she points out logically. “Seems like you two can’t play together for five minutes without trying to knock each other clear across the field.”

“Well, they don’t know yet,” Stiles cuts in. “Now, they’re just counting on you for Saturday.” 

Scott sighs deeply, shaking his head. He’s conflicted on what to do. He’s always dreamt of being a lacrosse star but he understands where Fallon and Stiles are coming from. He doesn’t want to risk hurting anyone. As they sit in silence, Fallon tilts her head, leaning in closer to her computer. She furrows her eyebrows, swearing that she just saw a shadow in Scott’s room. A big, burly shadow moving in the background. Stiles seems to be doing the same thing, trying to see exactly who or what is behind their friend. 

Scott notices their incessant staring, “What?” He asks them. 

Not wanting to tip off the possible intruder, Stiles begins typing in the messaging feature. A big yellow bubble pops up, It looks like– 

The message cuts off making Scott even more lost, “It looks like what?” 

Fallon watches nervously as both the boys on her screen freeze, which only means that she and Stiles are frozen on Scott’s screen. She bites her bottom lip out of nervousness, tapping a plethora of buttons to get the screen moving again. Once it does, the second half of Stiles’ message sends. 

Someone’s behind you. 

As soon as the text pops up, Scott is yanked from his chair by the looming figure behind him. The young boy is shoved against his bedroom wall angrily making Stiles and Fallon call out for their friend. The laptop falls to the floor with a small crash. They can’t hear anything that’s being said. Only incoherent whispers make their way through the speakers. Fallon turns her volume up all the way, trying to hear any hint on who the furious person could be. 

After a few moments, Scott returns, picking up his laptop. Fallon and Stiles examine his face, trying to see if he’s injured in any sort of way. Scott slumps down in his chair with a shaky breath, “It was Derek,” he reveals, still reeling from the experience. 

Fallon’s eyes widen, “What’d he say?” She asks curiously. “What happened?” 

He runs a frustrated hand over his face, “I can’t play in the game on Saturday.” 

         · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     Fallon puts in her locker combination, opening the metal door with ease. She places her math notebook in her locker, having just finished getting out of the class. She also slides the homework her teacher assigned her in there, not seeing a point in dragging it around with her since she finished it in class. Sometimes she wishes her teachers would provide more challenging material. She and Lydia have to be already two weeks ahead in that class. Not that Lydia told her that. It’s just something Fallon picked up on. Lydia’s extremely smart. It’s almost intimidating. 

Fallon yelps as Stiles smoothly slides his hand into hers before dragging her down a few feet to grab Scott. “What the hell are you doing?” She asks him as he laces their fingers together.

Stiles ignores her before snagging Scott and pushing his two friends against the wall by the stairs. “What?” Scott questions him calmly, despite all of the manhandling. Stiles points upwards where Noah Stilinski and a couple of his deputies are talking to some of the school administrators. 

“Tell me what they’re saying,” he gestures. 

Scott rolls his eyes but nonetheless peeks around the corner. Fallon pushes Stiles away from her, “Why did I have to be involved?” 

“Because I involve you in everything,” he answers obviously. 

“Shhh!” Scott snaps, not able to hear everything over their bickering. 

Fallon pouts, crossing her arms over her chest. She shoots Stiles a nasty glare to which he responds by jabbing her side with his long pointer finger. The two almost start going at it again, but thankfully Scott turns around with a grim expression which stops them. “Curfew because of the body,” he reveals. 

Stiles scoffs in exasperation and smacks Fallon on the arm to emphasize his point. And to also get her back for their altercation a few moments earlier, but that’s not relevant. The girl retaliates quickly, socking his shoulder roughly, causing him to grunt and clutch the sore spot. 

He rolls his eyes when all she does is smile obnoxiously. He shakes his head, “Unbelievable. My dad's out looking for a rabid animal, while the jerk-off who actually killed the girl is just hangin' out, doing whatever he wants.” 

“The jerk-off?” Fallon says unamused. “You mean Derek?” 

Scott speaks up, being the voice of reason for once, “Well, you can’t exactly tell your dad the truth about Derek…”

“I can do something,” Stiles counters with a newfound purpose. 

Like what?” Carver asks, fixing her gaze on the boy with a buzz cut. 

“Like find the other half of the body,” he shrugs before walking in the other direction. 

Fallon and Scott are left stunned by his conviction. She blinks, “Are you kidding?” She calls after the boy. He doesn’t look back and she huffs in frustration, turning back to look at Scott. Unfortunately, his attention is placed further down the hall where Lydia is introducing Allison to Marshall Cole, one of the guys on the lacrosse team. 

Scott’s face contorts with jealousy and Fallon loops her arm through his. She pokes his chest, “Keep your head up,” she encourages. “If you apologized and made it up to her, I wouldn’t worry about it.” She begins walking him over to the dark-haired girl, “Come on, glaring daggers at the guys she’s talking to won’t solve anything.” 

Allison notices them coming and quickly wraps up the conversation she’s having with Marshall. She grins widely at the sight of Fallon and Scott. “Hey,” she immediately hugs the brunette girl. “I was actually wondering if you wanted to come over again this weekend after the game to hang out?” She asks. “My dad felt bad for not being able to formally introduce himself so he was wondering if you wanted to come play some board games with us. We’re having tacos,” she wiggles her eyebrows. 

Fallon smiles back, but feels Scott tense at the sound of Allison’s father. She reassures him by rubbing his bicep in a friendly way. “Yeah, I’d love to.” 

“Great!” Allison says excitedly. “We can talk about the rest of the details later.” 

“Fall!” Lydia calls out, summoning her with her freshly painted fingers. “Come on.” 

“I’ll be right there!” She hugs Scott quickly and then moves to kiss Allison on the cheek before chasing after the redhead. 

As soon as Fallon is by her side, Lydia dismisses Marshall like he never even existed in her world. The brunette shakes her head with a chuckle, “You’re really only doing this to get under Scott’s skin?” 

“I’ll stop once he agrees to play on Saturday,” she states matter-of-factly. “Rather simple terms in my opinion, especially since he almost killed my boyfriend.” She applies a new layer of lip gloss before linking her pinky with Fallon’s, “You’re still playing, right?” 

“Yes,” Fallon confirms. “I wouldn’t miss it.” 

“Good,” Lydia hums approvingly. “Then all isn’t completely lost. Just let your little friend know that if he doesn’t play, he doesn’t get the prize,” she threatens, referring to Allison who just stormed away from Scott with an upset look on her face. 

        · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     After school, Stiles rapidly barges into the McCall household, forgoing knocking on the door. Fallon shakes her head as she walks at a normal pace across the house after closing the front door behind her. Melissa doesn’t need her neighbors peeking into her home simply because Stiles didn’t think about shutting the door behind him. 

She stifles a laugh as Stiles manages to trip up the stairs without losing his momentum. It’s a miracle how he hasn’t knocked out any teeth yet. He flings Scott’s room door open and barrels in just as Fallon finishes her journey up the stairs. 

They both walk in to see Scott restringing the net on his lacrosse stick after it appears to be almost ripped in half by something. Stiles breathlessly and manically begins asking Scott question after question. 

“What did you find? How did you find it? Where did you find it?” He spits out like rapid fire. 

Scott, who has been sitting calmly, looks up at Stiles curiously, leading Fallon to answer his un-asked question. “Yes, he’s taken a lot of adderall. I couldn’t stop him. By the time he came to pick me up, he was already vibrating in the driver's seat.”

“I found something at Derek Hale’s,” Scott tells them. 

Stiles gasps excitedly, “Are you kidding? What?” 

Fallon jumps on Scott’s bed, starfishing across the whole mattress as Stiles continues to harass Scott for information. “There's something buried out there. I could smell blood.” 

The brunette girl sits up on her elbows. She stares at him in shock, “Seriously?” She asks with a slack jaw the same time Stiles shouts, “That’s awesome!” 

Fallon slowly turns towards him, shaking her head at his idiocy. Stiles feels slightly self-conscious at her judgemental expression and reconsiders his sentence. “… I mean, that’s terrible. Whose blood?” 

Scott stands from his spot, “I don’t know. But, when we do, your dad nails Derek for the murder. And then, you help me figure out how to play lacrosse without changing, because there's no way I'm not playing that game.” 

Scott tosses his lacrosse stick on the bed next to Fallon. The girl frowns, “Hold on, how do we even know if Derek did it?” She questions as she follows them down the stairs. They clearly plan on going somewhere and Fallon is only along for the ride. “We can’t just assume he’s the murderer just because you’re mad he told you not to play. Which is some good advice by the way,” she adds, hopping in the back seat of the Jeep while the boys take the front seats. 

Both Stiles and Scott turn comically slow to look back at her. They have identical judgemental looks in their eyes. It makes Fallon shrink in her seat. Stiles gesticulates wildly, “Read the room.” He scoffs. “God. I mean, he smelled blood, Fallon. What else could that mean?” 

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “He’s half wolf, isn’t he? Maybe it’s the rabbit he ate for dinner.” 

Neither of the boys say anything, deciding not to encourage her terrible humor. Stiles speeds off to the hospital, informing Fallon of what they’re doing on the way. Apparently Scott’s decided to smell the dead corpse of the girl they found to see if it matches the scent he found on Derek’s property. 

Fallon crosses her fingers, hoping that her father isn’t anywhere near the morgue. She doesn’t need him questioning why she and Stiles are just randomly waiting in the hospital. She could say she’s there to see Jackson, but Stiles hates him and Michael knows that. So he wouldn’t believe that for a second. 

They just walked through the two sliding doors, the two boys looking for the correct direction to walk in. Fallon huffs, grabbing both of their arms. “This way,” she grumbles, guiding them past the signs that lead straight to the morgue. After working here in her spare time, Fallon’s become rather accustomed to walking the confusing halls, which Scott and Stiles are now extremely grateful for. 

“Here,” Fallon stops directly in front of the door that leads to the expired bodies. “Be quick. The medical examiner is on lunch so I’d say you’ve got like fifteen minutes.” 

“Okay,” Scott nods. He takes one last look around, making sure no one’s watching them before slowly backing into the door towards the morgue. Fallon and Stiles are left behind as his look-outs. 

“Good luck, I guess…” Stiles trails off, slightly offended Scott didn’t even offer for them to accompany him. 

The two of them walk back to the lobby, not wanting to make their presence obvious. Fallon checks around the corner to make sure Melissa or Michael isn’t there. She sighs, relieved at their lack of presence. Once they make it to the receptionist desk, Fallon goes to take a seat but is stunned when Stiles slaps a hand to her chest, stopping her from going anywhere. 

It’s like the breath has literally been stolen from his lungs. She looks at him as if she wants to kill him for slapping her, but he doesn’t seem to notice her murderous desires. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water causing Fallon to look in the direction he is. Suddenly his little outburst makes sense. Lydia is sitting less than five feet away from them, most likely waiting to see her boyfriend. With how nervous and excited Stiles is, Fallon’s surprised he doesn’t combust on the spot. He leans all of his body weight on Fallon before groaning.

“Oh my God…” He tries to surreptitiously look at the strawberry blonde, licking his bottom lip. He glances at Fallon, “Should– Do you think I should go talk to her?”

“Absolutely not,” Fallon replies bluntly, trying to pull Stiles to the other side of the room. 

He looks at her, baffled by the response, “Wha– Why not?” He scoffs. “You’re her friend, wouldn’t it be normal for us to go talk to her?”

“You said ‘should you go talk to her’,” the brunette recalls. “Not should we. And even then, I still wouldn’t recommend it.” 

“It’s not like I’m gonna sit there and cut off a lick of her hair,” he defends himself. “I just wanna have a light conversation y’know? Like the weather.” 

“You’re gonna regret it,” she says in a sing-song voice. “And the moment she rejects you, you’re gonna come crawling back to me and I’m gonna have to sit here and listen to you complain for the next two days.” 

“You love it when I complain,” he teases. 

“Correction, I love you so I put up with your complaining.” 

“Then if you love me, you won’t mind me doing this–” Stiles removes his hand from Fallon’s grasp before smoothly sliding into the seat beside Lydia. His best friend groans, tugging the hood to her jacket over her face and taking shelter in a chair a few down from Stiles. She couldn’t completely abandon him. He’d die on his own. So she keeps her face hidden beneath the cotton polyblend and her knees up to her chest. 

“Hey, Lydia... You probably don't remember me. Um, I sit behind you in biology,” Stiles begins awkwardly.

“Oh dear God,” Fallon mumbles, face turning bright red from second hand embarrassment.

Lydia makes a confused face, but doesn’t say anything which encourages him to keep talking. “Uh, anyway, I always thought that we just had this kind of connection.” Lydia makes a face as though this surprises her, which gives Stiles the motivation he needs to continue. “Unspoken, of course. Maybe it'd be kind of cool to... get to know each other a little better…”

All of the sudden, it becomes obvious that Lydia has been on a phone call using a Bluetooth headset this entire time and hasn't been listening– her facial expressions were in response to the phone conversation. Fallon stares at Stiles, wanting to go over to him and pull him away from the situation. She might complain about his complaining, but he’s right. If he needed her to, she’d sit there for hours and listen to him drone on about his heartbreak. That’s just what they do.

“Hold on, gimme a second,” Lydia says to the individual she’s on the phone with. She puts the person on hold before turning her attention to Stiles. “Yeah, I didn’t get anything you just said. Is it worth repeating?” 

Stiles, visibly embarrassed and feeling awkward, tries to get out of this situation by chuckling nervously and going to sit down directly next to Fallon. “No. Sorry, I’ll just sit…” He collapses into the uncomfortable cushion, a defeated look on his face.

Fallon slowly puts her knees down and Stiles huffs, “Alright, you can say it. You told me so and I should’ve listened to you,” he says rather snappy. 

Instead of saying anything, Fallon simply lays her head on his shoulder, looping her arm under his to connect their hands. The left side of Stiles’ body warms at the feeling and he stares at her, a bit surprised. She squeezes his bicep, “I’m sorry, Sti.” 

He tries to act unbothered by waving it off, but she can see the weight it has on him. He snuggles closer to her, laying his head on top of hers. This is as much solace as he’ll be able to get. “It’s okay. Thanks for not rubbing it in.” 

“I might be an ass, but I’m not a complete jerk,” Fallon half smiles. “I am proud that you lasted more than two minutes though. Even though she wasn’t paying attention to anything you said.” 

“You win some you lose some,” he shrugs with a sigh. “And I’ve lost all of them.” 

Scott then finally makes his way around the corner, having escaped the morgue without anyone detecting him. He notices Stiles and Fallon having a quiet conversation and raises an eyebrow at the fact they’re not bickering. He was sure one of them would be in a headlock by the time he got back out. He almost doesn’t want to disturb the scene in front of him, but they don’t exactly have unlimited time. 

He quickly walks over to them, causing the duo to stand up, redirecting their attention to him. “The scent was the same,” he tells them, not even trying to sugar-coat it.

Fallon looks down. There’s no way Derek is a killer. A creep, sure. But he doesn’t seem like a murderer. She glances at Scott, “You’re sure?” 

He nods, “Yes.” 

“So, he did bury the other half of the body on his property?” Stiles scoffs, shaking his head. 

“Which means we have proof that he killed the girl.” 

“Okay, but do we really think it’s a good idea to just blindly accuse the guy? I mean, Scotty, what if your sniffer is off or something? We don’t exactly know how this whole werewolf scent thing works,” Fallon says. 

“I know what I smelled,” Scott assures her. “It’s not just similar, it’s the exact same.” 

Stiles begins walking towards the exit, “We have the evidence we need to put him away. I say we use it.” 

Scott furrows his eyebrows, “How?” 

Stiles sighs and stops, turning to face his two friends. He sends them a serious expression to make sure what they’re about to do is for the right reasons. “Tell me something first–” he focuses on Scott. “Are you doing this because you want to stop Derek, or because you want to play in the game and he said you couldn't?” 

Though it's clear by the look on Scott's face that both of the offered options are true, he goes with the first one to appease Stiles and Fallon who are staring at him expectantly. “There are bite marks on the legs, guys– bite marks.” 

The two of them aren’t fully convinced, but the thought of that poor girl getting ripped apart overpowers their suspicions of Scott’s true priorities. “Okay,” Stiles nods. “Then we’re gonna need a shovel… Or three.” 

         · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     Night has officially fallen over Beacon Hills, causing an eerie feeling to creep up Fallon’s spine as they wait for Derek to leave the burnt up Hale house. She nervously bites her nails while simultaneously tugging on the sleeves of her hoodie. Stiles and Scott are quietly conversing up front, careful not to make too much noise just in case Derek can pick up on their presence. 

After a few more moments, Derek, who is in a tight white t-shirt and separate black leather jacket from the one he gave Fallon. He opens the door of his slick black Camaro and jumps in, starting the engine before driving off the property. She doesn’t know if this classifies as stalking, but watching him from a distance in the dark, waiting for him to leave his house seems pretty criminal to her. 

As soon as Derek is far enough away, Stiles immediately pulls his Jeep closer to the house. He parks with a little too much excitement to be looking for a dead body. Scott hops out of his side before opening the door for Fallon, helping her out of the car. She shoots him a tight-lipped smile, grabbing her own shovel and flashlight. 

They meet Stiles at the front of the Jeep before venturing off to the side of the house where the recently overturned patch of earth is located. Fallon waves her flashlight around the area, trying to make sure no other creatures of the night have the opportunity to pounce on them. 

Scott sticks his nose in the air, “Wait, something’s different.” 

“Different how?” Stiles asks, voice uneasy. 

“I don’t know…” Scott trails off unsurely. 

The three of them finally reach the supposed gravesite and Fallon aims her shovel towards the ground. “Let’s just get this over with,” she says, trying to hold back the bile threatening to rise up her throat. “Before I decide to bury one of you instead.”

She jams the head of her shovel into the ground, stomping the spade-end with her foot to push it in further before scooping up some dirt and throwing it aside. The boys follow her lead, both sharing a scared look at her empty threat. They know she wouldn’t do it, but it still doesn’t make her any less scary. 

The three of them work in silence for several minutes, the only sound being heard is their heavy breathing and the different birds singing in the distance. Fallon wipes a bead of sweat off her forehead, wishing that she was in the comfort of her own bed by now. Getting up for school is going to be a challenge tomorrow. 

“This is taking way too long,” Scott speaks up nervously, pausing his digging to voice his concerns. 

Stiles rolls his eyes, not deterring from his quick pace, “Just keep going.” 

Fallon stops as well, understanding Scott’s worries. “He’s right. What if Derek comes back and we’re sitting here digging a six foot grave in his backyard? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s kind of intimidating.” 

“Okay, first of all, Derek’s the one who already dug the six foot grave when he put the body down here. We’re just digging it back up. Second of all, since when are you intimidated by anyone?” Stiles scoffs, chucking more dirt to the side.

“Since he’s a six foot tall werewolf who could probably crush my windpipe with his index finger,” she quips back without missing a beat. 

Stiles shrugs nonchalantly making Scott and Fallon look at him exasperatedly. Stiles groans, “Look, if he comes back, we’ll just get the hell out of here,” he answers as if it’s just that simple.

“What if he catches us?” Scott continues to question him as they resume digging. 

“I have a plan for that.” 

Fallon raises her brows, “Which is what exactly?” 

Stiles stops his movements, leading his friends to do the exact same. He stares at them both with a straight face, “You run one way, Fallon runs over there, and I run that way. Whoever he catches first? Too bad.” He shrugs once again like it’s no big deal and gets back to the task at hand. Fallon grumbles lowly, threatening to hit him on the back of the head with her shovel if it comes to it. 

“I hate that plan,” Scott huffs. 

Scott dumps another scoop of dirt to the side and is about to dig in again when Fallon's shovel hits something solid, causing Stiles to raise his left hand and hold it out in front of Scott to keep him from moving. “Oh, stop, stop, stop.” He flails around, trying to prevent any more movement. 

Fallon’s throat drops into her stomach. Her heart has to be beating at a million miles per second. This could be a literal dead body. When they all look down, they see several twine rope strings poking out of the earth, and the three of them kneel down so they can brush the dirt away with their bare hands. They eventually uncover what looks like a bundle of rough fabric, like burlap, which has been tied closed with the twine rope. Stiles starts to try to untie the bindings, while Scott and Fallon sit still because they are still on edge with fear that Derek is going to come back and catch them. 

Impatiently, Scott tries to urge Stiles on, “Hurry!” He commands. 

“I’m trying,” Stiles responds, irritated by Scott’s nerves. “Did he have to tie the thing in, like, nine-hundred knots?” He curses Derek’s existence through the sardonic question. 

“I’ll do it,” Fallon snaps, gripping the rope with her own hands. Scott also reaches down to help. Stiles is on the far right end, Scott on the left, while Fallon works in the middle. After a long moment, they manage to get it all unknotted, and they open the bundle to find what looks like a severed head of a black wolf. This scares the teens so badly that they all scream loudly and leap out of the grave, Stiles and Scott land on their butts while Fallon lands on her back. They get up as fast as they can, trying to scurry away from the half of the wolf corpse. In the foreground, a flowering plant with purple petals is sprouting out of the ground. Fallon’s eyes are drawn to the gorgeous flower. Its color glowing in the pale moonlight. She fights the urge to touch it as Stiles’ voice pulls her out of her thoughts. 

“What the hell is that?” He exclaims loudly. 

“It’s a wolf,” Scott answers.

“Yeah, I think we can see that,” Fallon says sarcastically. She looks over at Scott, “You told us you could smell blood. Human blood. And that it matched the girl at the morgue. This,” she points to the dead wolf, “doesn’t look like it matches her, let alone any human for that matter.” 

Scott shrugs before throwing his hands up, not knowing what else to say. “I told you guys something was different.”

Stiles, completely dumbfounded, throws his hands up incredulously. “This doesn’t make sense.” 

“Okay, we really gotta get out of here,” Fallon says urgently. She can’t explain it, but she can’t help feeling that Derek is going to return any minute. 

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes out. “Okay, help me cover this up.” 

Stiles moves to start pushing the dirt back into the grave with his hands, Scott and Fallon following suit. The brunette girl cringes when looking at the dead wolf body below her. The poor thing. She’s just curious as to why Derek buried it in the first place. 

Stiles’ movements suddenly stop causing Fallon to look at him weirdly. She follows his line of vision back to the purple plant she was looking at a few moments prior. “What’s wrong?” She asks him. “Is there something up with the flower?” 

Scott furrows his eyebrows in confusion, “Why would there be something wrong with a flower?” 

“I think it’s wolfsbane,” Stiles reveals cautiously. “So it’s not necessarily what’s wrong with it, but what could be wrong with what it does.” 

Their werewolf friend frowns, “What does that even mean?”

Fallon picks up on what Stiles is putting down. She remembers reading about wolfsbane in the book she did her research in at Stiles’ house. Freckles scoffs at Scott’s blatant ignorance to his situation, “Uh, haven’t you ever seen The Wolf Man?” 

Scott shakes his head, “No.”

“Lon Chaney, Junior? Claude Rains?” He spits out the actors names, trying to jog any sort of memory out of Scott. 

Scott denies ever seeing the movies once more, but more impatiently this time. Stiles grows even more exasperated as Fallon watches with amusement. “The original, classic Werewolf movie?” 

Growing tired of the incessant questioning, Scott sighs loudly. Not wanting anyone to start yelling, Fallon puts her hand on Stiles’ arm, “I think it’s safe to say he hasn’t seen it,” she tells him. 

Stiles makes an almost disgusted face when looking at Scott. The boy across from him loses his patience, “What?!”

Stiles scoffs, completely appalled by Scott’s lack of knowledge in classic films. “You are so unprepared for this.” He pushes himself up to his feet, walking over to the flower. “I try to invite you to movie nights with Fallon and I, but no, you never come. Which is why we know what’s going on and you don’t.” He takes a hold of the purple flower, pulling the entire thing up by its roots. They all gasp when seeing that the base of the plant has more of the twine rope tied around it, which is also buried underground. Fallon and Scott watch as he gently continues pulling the twine out of the ground in a spiral. She honestly doesn’t believe it’s going to end with how many circles he’s made and how much of the rope is spilling out of his hands. 

There are randomly placed wolfsbane petals attached at various points along the length of it, only to find it is connected to the bundle of burlap around the wolf's head. Scott and Fallon look at Stiles with a skeptical expression, confused as to why they're wasting their time with this, when suddenly, they look down and are startled back onto their feet by what he finds in the grave.

Fallon covers her mouth to prevent the shriek that threatens to escape her lips. She immediately clutches onto Scott, her lip quivering as she glances over to Stiles who still has no idea. “Sti…” she whispers, her voice trembling.

Stiles turns around, alarmed by her sudden change in demeanor. He sees her and Scott staring into the grave with nothing but shock and horror written on their faces. He walks over to where they are so he can see from their vantage point. When he follows their line of sight, a loud yelp leaves his mouth as he jumps backwards. He clings onto Scott and Fallon, trying to steady himself. 

“Oh!” 

Where there once was a half dead wolf, now lays the top part of a human female body. The same body they went searching for just mere nights ago. She stared up into the sky, lips parted as if she’s silently screaming for help. Fallon feels the need to do the same as the woman’s lifeless eyes bore holes into her soul. 

“Leave. Now. Please?” Fallon taps Scott’s arm repeatedly, unable to form full sentences. He nods his head and the three of them run over to the Jeep, getting as far away from the scene as possible.

She couldn’t believe it. There’s no way Derek Hale could be a murderer. Could he?

         · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     The following morning, Stiles was quick to barge into Fallon’s room, not bothering to knock on her house or room door. Her father must’ve already been at work or Stiles would not have been able to come in so easily. Michael would’ve already tried to feed him breakfast and ask him his plans for the day before he could even reach the stairs that led to Fallon’s room. 

She groans loudly as he jumps on top of her, repeatedly telling her to get up and get dressed. Reluctantly, she throws her warm covers off of her body, but not before smacking Stiles upside the head, eliciting a string of complaints from the boy. She smiles cockily before moving to get ready for whatever adventure he’s dragging her out to. 

“Scott’s already in the car, so hurry up.” 

And that she did. She threw on a navy blue turtleneck and black jeans, tucking her shirt in. She puts her hair up into a quick ponytail and brushes her teeth. She doesn’t bother grabbing food or anything else, figuring she could force the boys to treat her to breakfast after breaking into her house and forcing her to leave. 

It's not long before Stiles pulls up to the Hale house property which is now surrounded with Sheriff's deputies and many other on duty cops. Fallon scoffs, “Okay, you did not tell me we were coming back here.” 

“You didn’t ask,” Stiles shrugs. “Now come on,” he only grabs Fallon’s arm, forcing Scott to stay by the jeep to be the lookout. No doubt some form of payback after the morgue incident. 

He guides them to the side of the house, hiding them from plain sight. She smacks his arm, “You owe me pancakes after this,” she growls. “At this rate, we’re gonna be the ones in the back of that cop car, not Derek.” 

Right as she says this, Derek gets marched out of the house in handcuffs by one of the Beacon County deputies. Derek looks over at Scott with a scowl that causes the young boy to look down at the ground with an expression of mixed guilt and shame as Derek is pushed into the back of a deputy's cruiser. 

“You have no idea how true that statement actually is,” Stiles retorts before once again dragging her across the front yard. Her eyes widen when she realizes that they’re approaching the exact cruiser Derek was just put in. 

She shakes her head, trying to rip her wrist from his grip, “Sti– Stiles, no! Let me go! Sto– Stiles!” 

She struggles but ultimately gives up as he slides into the front seat, forcing her to guard the window so no one could see him talking to Derek. The window is slightly cracked so she puts her face as close as possible to mutter, “I am going to murder you the second you step out of this car.” 

The boy swallows thickly at the deadly look in her eyes. Derek’s own gaze flickers between the two, an ungodly annoyance filling his system at the sight of Stiles. But there’s a hint of amusement behind his eyes when he hears Fallon’s words. 

“She’s telling the truth,” Derek reveals, causing Stiles to jump. 

“Yeah, I know,” he mutters, shuffling away from the door. Fallon sends him one last withering glare before turning around and doing what he wanted in the first place. 

“I really need to stop enabling his behavior,” she grumbles. 

Stiles turns around so he can face Derek fully. He places his face close to the cage that separates the front seat from the back. Fallon can hear how nervous he is just by his rambling. Her threat to his life probably didn’t make this confrontation any easier. 

“Okay, just so you know, I'm not afraid of you.” Derek's head is tilted down, but his eyes move up to look at Stiles through his eyelashes with a scowl that immediately terrifies Stiles. “…Okay, maybe I am. Doesn’t matter. I just wanna know something.” He shifts nervously in his seat making Fallon tap impatiently on the glass, signaling for him to start wrapping things up as the cops are starting to head to their cars. “The girl you killed? She was a werewolf.” 

No response. Derek’s scowl remains in place, his glare only becoming more heated the longer Stiles continues. “She was a different kind, wasn't she? I mean, she could turn herself into an actual wolf, and I know Scott can't do that. Is that why you killed her?”

Derek finally decides to speak, his tone is understandably irritated given the current situation. Fallon would smack Stiles if she could reach him. “Why are you so worried about me, when it's your guys’ friend who’s the problem?” There’s a small pause and Fallon hears a bit of movement which she assumes is coming from Derek. “When he shifts on the field, what do you think they’re gonna do, huh? Just keep cheering him on?” 

“I can’t stop him from playing, but you can…” Fallon isn’t able to hear the rest of Derek’s sentence as Sheriff Stilinski approaches her with a knowing yet disappointed smile.

“Fallon,” he greets fondly.

“Sheriff,” she replies with her own nervous smile. Her tone is sickly sweet, trying to deter any suspicions from Stiles who is only hidden by the fact she’s leaning on the window. “Uhm, how’s your shift been? Long I’m assuming, y’know… ‘cause all the murder and stuff.” She was unsure of how to proceed, deducing by the look on his face that he knows Stiles is directly behind her.

He sighs before looking between Scott and his own son, “You know they’re just dragging you down right?” He tells her with a serious expression. “You’ve got so much potential. Don’t let those two idiots ruin it,” he practically begs her. 

Fallon exhales before stepping out of his way, “I think we’re already past that point,” she replies glumly watching as the man yanks his son out of the cruiser. 

Noah drags Stiles off to the side as far away from Derek as possible, leaving Fallon by herself next to the soon-to-be person of interest. She goes to walk away, but Derek’s voice stops her. “You need to help your friend.” She looks back at him and then to Stiles. Derek rolls his eyes, “Not that one. Scott,” he clarifies. She nods in understanding, moving closer to the window. She crouches down to eye level, their faces a bit too close, but it’s for discretion. “Out of the three of you, you seem to be the one with the brain. So do the smart thing and find a way to help him.”

“I’ve been trying,” Fallon says honestly. “He doesn’t exactly listen to me. I’m not a werewolf expert. I don’t really know how to help.” 

“Just keep him from playing on Saturday,” he commands her. 

She nods understandingly, “I can try to convince Coach,” she says. “But I can’t promise he’ll go for it.” 

“I don’t care what you have to do,” Derek shrugs. “If you don’t want to see someone dead on that field, keep him away from the game.” 

“Okay,” Fallon agrees. A moment of silence passes between them. Derek just stares at her expectantly, waiting for her to do something. She fidgets with her fingers before voicing her thoughts, “And for the record, I don’t actually think you killed anyone,” she admits meekly. 

Derek’s face contorts into surprise for a fleeting second. He covers it up by just raising his eyebrows, “And how can you be so sure?” He asks, trying to keep his intimidating facade up. 

“I just have a feeling about you,” Fallon says honestly. “You don’t really strike me as the murderer type,” she smiles slightly. “Despite the big brooding man thing you have going on.” 

“You’d be surprised to find out what people are capable of.” 

“Well, if you’d like to inform me more on people,” she emphasizes the last word to show that she’s referring to just him. “My bedroom window is on the left side of my house, second story. Y’know since apparently you have a thing for sneaking into people’s rooms,” she teases, bringing up what he did at Scott’s. 

Derek has no words. His frown is still plastered on his face as he stares at the girl who he can only describe as an enigma. It’s baffling how she can go from timid and shy to confident and bold within seconds. She doesn’t wait for him to respond, walking over to where both of the Stilinski men are. 

“So, you lied to me,” Sheriff crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes at his son. 

Fallon freezes in her spot, suddenly feeling very awkward. Stiles is quick to pull her next to him, needing a physical representation of someone who is on his side. Which she is, unless Noah gives her his disappointed dad look. Then she’ll abandon her best friend in a heartbeat. 

Stiles awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, “Well, that depends on how you define lying…”

Sheriff Stilinski is quickly running out of patience, “Well, I define it as ‘not telling the truth.’ How do you define it?” He says sassily.

“Um… ‘reclining your body in a… horizontal… position?” The way he phrases it makes his statement sound more like a question. But Fallon has to admit, he’s not wrong. She covers her mouth politely to cover the small giggles leaving her lips. 

Sheriff just waves his hand in the air, completely over his son’s antics. “Get the hell out of here.” 

Eager to get out of the tense situation, Stiles grips Fallon’s hand before darting back over to the jeep, “Absolutely.” 

“Bye Sheriff!” Fallon waves. 

         · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     “I really don’t understand why I’m always in the back seat,” Fallon complains as Stiles speeds out of the woods. “Why can’t Scott and I switch every once and a while?” 

“Because, you were the newbie in this friendship, remember? The OG’s get the front. You’re like Scott and I’s adopted child that we picked up from the side of the road,” Stiles explains. “Abandoned and in desperate need of attention.” 

“I’ve been friends with you both for seven years,” she deapans. “And if anyone is desperate for attention Stiles, it’s you.” 

The muscle in Stiles’ jaw ticks before aggressively pointing back at her without tearing his eyes from the road. “And you’re mean. Did I mention that? You’re mean. That’s why you sit in the back. So I’m not forced to throat punch you.”  

Fallon rolls her eyes, sinking into her seat. He’s not wrong, hence why she can’t come up with an argument against it. Scott sighs, his head pushed against the window of the jeep. He throws his phone down in his lap, “I can’t find anything about wolfsbane being used for burial.” 

“Just keep looking,” Stiles encourages. “Maybe it’s like a ritual or something? Like, maybe they bury you as a wolf,” he suggests, trying to come up with his own explanation for what they found. 

“It could also be a special skill or something,” Fallon chimes in, leaning forward. “Like something a werewolf has to learn how to do.” 

Scott rolls his eyes, getting overwhelmed with all the werewolf business. He grits his teeth before muttering under his breath, “I’ll put it on my ‘To Do List’ right underneath ‘figuring out how the hell I’m playing in this game tonight.’”

The more Scott speaks, the breathier he becomes. Fallon notices him wincing slightly with every movement. She furrows her eyebrows, placing her hand on his shoulder. He tenses under touch which never happens. The brunette goes to ask if he’s okay but is stopped by Stiles speaking. “Maybe it’s different for girl werewolves…” he proposes, still distracted by his own hypothesis. 

Scott’s irritation has seemed to reach an all time high. He loses his patience entirely and snaps at Stiles, “Okay, stop it!” 

Stiles frowns in confusion, “Stop what?” 

“Stop saying werewolves! Stop enjoying this so much!” Scott yells loudly, ripping his shoulder from Fallon’s hand. 

Neither Fallon or Stiles knows what caused this sudden change in behavior. He was calm before they got in the car. “I don’t think any of us enjoy trying to keep you from killing someone,” Fallon mumbles. 

Stiles however looks at his friend with concern, “Are you okay?” 

“No!” Scott’s tone shifts to a much darker aggravation making both Stiles and Fallon share a wary glance. Scott out of nowhere doubles over in his seat as if he’s in excruciating pain. “No, I’m not! I’m so far from being okay!” 

The werewolf begins to hyperventilate, clutching at his own chest. Stiles gets an idea as to what this sudden outburst could be about so he goes to reassure Scott, “You know, you’re going to have to accept this, Scott. Sooner or later. 

“I can’t,” Scott’s face contorts with pain as he writhes wildly in his seat. 

“Well, you’re gonna have to,” Stiles scoffs.

“No!” Scott shakes his head, correcting him. “I can’t breathe…”

Fallon surges forward, her overprotective instincts kicking in. “Why? Are you having a panic attack? Asthma attack? Do you need me to get your inhaler?” Scott simply shakes his head at all of her questions. She genuinely doesn’t know what could be wrong with him. She hasn’t seen him struggle to breathe like this any other time. 

“AHH!” Scott screams, making both of his friends flinch as he pounds his hand against the roof of the jeep. There is definitely strong werewolf undertones in his voice as it deepens multiple octaves. “AHH! Pull over!” He commands.

Stiles, who is completely alarmed, swerves the car out of shock. The sudden jerk makes Scott grimace in even more pain. He faces Scott fully, trying to figure out how to help. “Why? What’s happening?” 

Scott instinctively opens the backpack between them and is horrified to see that the wolfsbane plant and the rope with the flowers attached to it are inside. He looks at Stiles incredulously, “You kept it?” He seethes.

Stiles starts freaking out as well, not knowing how to handle the stressful situation. “What was I supposed to do with it?” He yells back.

“Leave it at the crime scene!” Fallon screams, obviously.

The close proximity with the poisonous plant only makes Scott sicker as time goes on. He forces his hands into fists, his claws starting to pierce the skin of his hand. He’s about to shift. “Stop the car!” 

Both Fallon and Stiles are petrified as Scott’s eyes turn into a golden yellow. Fallon slaps her human friend's arm, “Pull over!” She begs him. 

“Okay!” He exclaims, pulling the car off to the side, slamming on the brakes as he does so. As soon as the car is in park, Stiles grabs his backpack and throws himself sloppily out of the Jeep, running toward the edge of the woods. He uses what little strength he has to toss the bag as far as he can to get as much distance between it and Scott as possible. Once it's out of eyesight, Stiles throws his head back and sighs deeply before turning back toward the Jeep.

“Okay, we’re good, you can–”

He looks up and is completely horrified to see only Fallon sitting in his Jeep, her face a pale white. She looks at him, the only emotion evident on her face is concern. “He’s gone…”

Stiles wastes no time before clambering into his jeep and slamming the door shut. He allows Fallon time to jump over the center console, joining him in the front. She buckles the seatbelt in the passenger seat as he immediately takes off from his parked position. 

“We need to find him,” Fallon looks at the side of his face. “Before he tries to have an early dinner.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles fumbles around in his pocket for his phone. Once he gets a grip on it, he hands it to Fallon. “Dial the number for the Sheriff’s station. If he’s done any serious damage they would’ve gotten a call by now.” 

She nods her head, fingers shaking as she looks for the number in Stiles’ contacts. She presses the button, putting it on speaker for him to talk to whichever dispatcher answers. As soon as the woman hears his voice, she’s immediately annoyed with the first sentence that escapes his mouth. 

“Stiles, you know you can’t call the dispatch line when I’m on duty,” she says from the other side of the phone. 

Stiles huffs loudly, “I just need to know if you’ve gotten any odd calls…?”

“Odd how?” 

“Uh, like, an odd person, or…” Stiles struggles to come up with an example that doesn't sound like he's trying to find out if anyone has seen a Werewolf running through Beacon Hills. “A dog-like individual roaming the streets…?”

“That happens to look oddly similar to Scott,” Fallon suggests to the dispatcher. “Just a tad more facial hair that he’ll never be able to have.” 

The dispatcher runs out of patience for the two, putting an end to their conversation. “I’m hanging up on you now.” 

“No! Wai-wai-wai-wai-wait!” 

“Goodbye,” and with that the line goes dead. 

Fallon watches as Stiles clenches his fists around the steering wheel, hitting it out of frustration “Damn it!” He exclaims. 

“Hey,” Fallon stops him, grabbing one of his hands. She rubs a finger over his bright red knuckles. “We’ll find him, Sti. He’ll be okay.” 

The boy sighs, allowing her to calm him down. “Let’s just hope it’s before we find another dead body.” 

         · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     The nighttime air is crisp, sending a comforting chill down Fallon’s back as she sits on the bench with Danny, retying her shoelaces before going out onto the field. It's finally game night. The brunette is slightly nervous watching Scott and Stiles walk out to join the rest of the team. Luckily, Scott hadn’t tried to kill anyone on his latest rampage around town. He apparently just ended up jumping onto Chris Argent’s car after creepily staring at Allison through her window. 

“You okay?” Danny nudges her shoulder. “You look upset or something.” 

She shakes her head with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “Yeah, I’m good. Just super excited to play,” she tries to convince.

By the look on his face, he doesn’t buy it in the slightest. “You know you can talk to me, right?” He reminds her. “I know you classify those two as your best friends,” he points to Scott and Stiles, “but you still got me if you ever need a break from… whatever that is.” She follows his gaze, grimacing as Stiles continuously berates Scott. 

For a moment, a genuine smile takes over her face. She nods in appreciation, “Thanks, Danny. I appreciate it.” 

“Of course,” he pats her back affectionately before standing up and walking over to the goal. 

Fallon takes her own leave, standing up and traveling over to Scott and Stiles who have just joined the rest of the team on the sidelines. The bleachers are full of spectators excited for the Beacon Hills Cyclones' first real game of the season, and both teams are milling around on their respective sidelines as the referee gets in position on the field. She smiles when she notices Melissa and her dad sitting next to each other on the bleachers, engaged in what must be a very entertaining conversation. 

Allison and her father also enter the stands, the former waving enthusiastically at Fallon, holding her popcorn in her other hand. Chris smiles and nods at the girl as well, making Fallon’s nerves skyrocket as she pictures him with an automatic rifle in his hand. Then she remembers she’s going home with them after the game, her overnight bag shoved inside her gym locker. 

“Scott!” Lydia’s voice rings out causing the trio to look in the direction she’s coming from. There’s a certain confidence in her step, a plethora of threats no doubt about to leave her lips as she grips the boy by the collar of his jersey. 

Fallon watches as a jealous expression takes over Stiles’ face. She takes a step forward, leaning into his side. “Down boy,” she whispers. He bites the inside of his cheek but simply wraps his arm around Fallon, pretending the sight doesn’t irritate the living hell out of him. 

“I just want you to remember one thing for tonight…” 

Obviously uncomfortable by Lydia's close proximity and aggressive tone of voice, Scott looks down at her hand, which is still gripping his jersey, and responds nervously, “Uh... w-winning isn't everything?” 

Lydia chuckles sarcastically before letting go of his jersey and smoothing out the wrinkles, straightening his shirt sleeves before answering him. “Nobody likes a loser.” She patronizingly pats his chest before turning to take her seat with Allison and her father. 

Scott shakes his head from the encounter, going to sit down with Fallon and Stiles. He blows out a puff of air, “She’s scary,” he tells them, eyes blown wide. “If Derek doesn’t kill me for playing, she’ll definitely kill me for not playing.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles nods, his eyes following after the redhead. “But she’s hot so it doesn’t matter.” 

“You’re disgusting,” Fallon says with a grossed out expression. 

“At least I don’t find a murderer who buried the body on his property attractive,” he spats back, referring to her comment about Derek in the woods. 

“Why are you acting like you didn’t find him hot too?” She quirks a brow. Stiles opens his mouth and closes it, not able to find a good retort. She smirks, readying her lacrosse stick, “That’s what I thought.” 

The referee blows his whistle causing both teams to charge out onto the field from their respective sides. Loud cheers emanate throughout the crowd as the starting players get into their assigned positions. Fallon takes her spot near Jackson, the two fist bumping as they get ready to play. She keeps a close eye on Scott, watching as he mumbles something under his breath. 

“You’ll be okay,” she whispers, knowing he’ll hear her. “Just try to keep your heart rate down.”

He barely glances in her direction, but she doesn’t miss the grateful smile he sends her. His stature becomes slightly more confident as the crowd continues to whistle and cheer loudly. It’s not long before the referee steps forward, placing the ball between Jackson and one of the players on the opposing team. 

“Down!” He orders them into position. Jackson and the other boy do as they’re told, crouching with their lacrosse sticks touching the ground. “Set!” The ref gives the final warning before the game starts, then the whistle blows. 

Jackson easily scoops up the ball, barely giving the boy in front of him a chance to blink. Fallon follows after the blonde boy, blocking for him as the other players try to knock him down. She manages to lose the player guarding her, freeing herself up for a pass. 

“Jackson!” She yells out at the same time Scott does. 

Scott’s wide open as well with no one coming after him. Fallon swerves to the side, trying to avoid another oncoming player that’s after her. She hopes Jackson takes the opportunity to pass to Scott as she now has more people blocking her. To her dismay, Jackson completely ignores Scott and tosses the ball to her. She grunts before managing to maneuver her way out of the trap the opposing player put her in. The ball lands in her net perfectly. Fallon turns to pass to Scott, but is stopped by player twenty-six on their team, taking the ball from her. 

She furrows her eyebrows, not understanding why he would do that. She shakes off her confusion before continuing her fast pace. Scott once again shouts for them to hand him the ball, but is completely ignored. Suddenly it makes sense to Fallon. They’re doing this on purpose as revenge for Jackson. She rolls her eyes, determined to get Scott the ball at least once during this game. 

Twenty-six throws the ball to another player who has at least three guards on him. Understandably, he misses the catch, giving the other team a perfect chance to swoop up the ball and head in the other direction. 

Scott throws his arms up frustratedly, “Are you kidding me?!” 

The Cyclones manage to get the ball back with number twenty catching the ball and passing it to Jackson. However, Jackson ends up getting slide-tackled, hard, which causes the ball to fly out of his lacrosse stick. Fallon and Scott seem to have the same idea as they see the white ball sitting idly on the grass. She nods at him, silently communicating that she’ll block for him if he wants to go for it. Unfortunately, Jackson sees the small interaction which causes the blonde to shoot up and dart for the ball himself, not wanting Scott to have any of the glory. 

The three of them all begin running towards the ball. Right as Scott is about to scoop it up, Jackson shoves him aside so that he’s able to regain possession of the ball. Scott falls to the ground with enough force that he rolls over several times. Fallon watches angrily as Jackson runs to score the first point of the game. She scoffs at his behavior, but diverts her attention over to Scott. She walks up to him, helping him on his feet. 

“Don’t worry,” she grumbles. “We’ll kick his ass.” 

The crowd in the bleachers starts to stand and cheer, while Stiles watches apprehensively, afraid that the unfair treatment towards Scott will cause him to inadvertently shift on the field. Coach, however, is thrilled by the fact that they scored the first goal of the game and screams from the sidelines, “That's it, Jackson! Get fired up! Fired up!”

It seems now that the rest of the team is purposely ignoring Fallon as well, seeing as she tried to pass to Scott. She waits patiently to hear what Scott has to say as he’s the one who can hear what they’re talking about in the huddle. 

Fallon can hear Lydia loud and clear from the stands. She’s standing on her feet, forcing Allison to hold up a sign that says We Luv U Jackson. Watching Scott’s reaction made her frown. She rubs his back, “Ignore her. We’ve got this. Seriously, don’t let it bother you,” she warns. “We have bigger fish to fry.” 

Scott grumbles under his breath but goes back to listening to the other players. Fallon stays quiet to allow him to hear and isn’t surprised by the information he reveals when he turns to face her. “They were keeping it from me on purpose. And now, they’re doing it to you too.” 

She glares in Jackson’s direction who doesn’t even seem to notice her death stare. They’ve always gotten along as teammates so it makes her furious to see he’s icing her out just because he has a weird need to be in the spotlight. When she glances back at Scott, his eyes flash yellow, and his fangs slowly begin to poke out beyond his lips. She tries to grip his shoulders to calm him, but he’s already storming away from her, getting into formation. 

“Crap…” Fallon huffs. She shakes her head, running back to her own spot as well. Her eyes constantly travel over to Scott, her nerves at their peak at watching him in the process of shifting midgame. 

Allison and Lydia once again hold up the sign, cheering on Jackson. Fallon shakes her head as Scott’s eyes flash yellow again. Lydia really knows how to get under people’s skin. 

“Down! Set!” 

The whistle blows making everyone get ready to try and gain possession of the ball. The two players at the ball come to a stalemate, neither one able to push past the other to grab the ball. The force of having two lacrosse sticks with pressure from opposing sides causes the ball to fly haphazardly into the air. Fallon takes this as an opportunity to help Scott. She darts forward, somehow managing to jump over the heads of the other players, using her smaller stature to gain more height. She makes eye contact with Scott and both of them immediately start running as fast as they can towards the goal.

She deftly dodges a few players, smiling as she hears her father, Melissa, and Sheriff Stilinski cheer in the distance. Seeing a few more players chasing after her, she throws the ball towards Scott who continues the journey. He ducks, weaves, and spins around the other players. He easily slides the ball into the net causing the crowd to jump on their feet ecstatically. 

Fallon runs up to him, the two chest bumping confidently. He wraps his arm around her as they run back to the center of the field, high-fiving their teammates who congratulate them on their play. Both of them find it rather amusing as they were just conspiring against them moments ago. 

“McCall and Donovan!” Coach screams. “Pass. To. McCall and Donovan!” 

The brunette girl smirks smugly seeing how furious Jackson is over the attention being shifted from him to Scott. Everyone returns to midfield, getting in position as the referee gets ready to blow the whistle. Once he does, another stalemate ensues before number forty-three on the opposing team snatches the ball and heads towards their goal. 

Unfortunately, he gets right into Scott’s line of sight. Fallon watches as the boy terrifiedly tosses the ball deliberately into Scott’s net. She can only assume some of his werewolf-itude is what caused the sudden change in ferocity from the other player. She doesn’t take enough time to question it though, focusing on helping Scott make another goal. 

Scott rushes down the field, ducking to avoid any incoming blows from the other team. He runs in a zig-zag pattern, his newfound confidence and skill starting to border the line between natural and supernatural. He takes his shot, throwing the ball so hard that it tears directly through another player's net and flies straight into the goal. Fallon’s jaw drops. How on earth could they explain that? 

With the past two goals, the score is now five to five with only thirty-nine seconds left in the final quarter. Tensions and spirits are high as both teams are desperate to bring home this win for their individual school. Fallon isn’t quite sure if Scott is going to make it through this game without fully shifting. Her and Stiles exchange worried looks, which seems to be the only look they’ve been able to send each other recently. He nods at her, encouraging her to continue playing. She sighs, getting back into her starting position. She tries to ignore Scott’s heavy breathing, not wanting to draw too much attention to the fact that his canine teeth are now actually as sharp as an animals. 

The chirp of a whistle causes Jackson and the opposing player to fight for possession, which ends up with the latter getting the ball. However, his journey down the field is short as he drops the ball. Scott manages to snag it and starts running the other way but suddenly stops. He freezes in place causing everyone in the team and in the stands to start shouting at him. 

“No, no…” Fallon starts inching towards him. “Scott, come on.” 

The clock ticks down to seventeen seconds and the other team starts circling Scott like sharks, trying to get the ball back. “Scott!” She shouts. “Pass the ball! Look at me! Pass the ball!” 

Time is fleeting fast as the girl bounces around the field. She prays that something inside Scott’s mind snaps and he gets back into the game. And somehow, her prayer is answered. His eyes snap up, the golden tint gone as he throws the ball over the heads of the oncoming players and directly into Fallon’s net. 

She acts quick on her feet, knowing that they don’t have much time left. She approaches the goalie, the boy looking slightly terrified by her determined demeanor. Fallon spins, using all of her might to throw the ball into the net. The goalie actually flinches at the amount of force applied to the ball. His net comes nowhere near her shot, missing it completely as it makes it perfectly into the goal. 

The referee blows his whistle just as the buzzer sounds that the game has timed-out, leading all of the supporters of the Beacon Hills Cyclones to leap to their feet and cheer ecstatically, thrilled to see the final score is six to five with Beacon Hills winning the game

Fallon wants to focus on the fact she just scored the game winning point, but her mind is immediately drawn to Scott. She looks over her shoulder and through the masses of people trying to find her best friend, or maybe Stiles. When she finally finds the boy she’s looking for, he’s darting off towards the school. The need to go after him is strong, but if he’s about to shift it would be a better idea if she had some backup.

“Stiles!” Fallon shouts, politely thanking people who congratulate her on the game. She weaves in and out of the crowd, finally reaching the bench where he is. “We need to go,” she tells him with a serious expression. “Now.” 

“Hold on,” the boy mumbles, looking at his dad curiously who is on the phone. 

The girl huffs frustratedly, but knows better than to stop Stiles’ snooping. She waits patiently, hugging her dad and Melissa who have come up to tell her how great she did. She’s a tad surprised though when Chris Argent approaches her with an almost calculated smile. 

“That was some impressive stuff,” he compliments. “Allison wasn’t kidding when she said you were good.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Fallon says appreciatively. “I’m glad you could come.” 

“Yeah, me too,” his voice sounds almost distant. “So, your teammate, McCall is it? He had some pretty interesting moves…”

Fallon swallows thickly, “Uh, y-yeah. Scott’s pretty good at what he does.” 

“Yeah,” his eyes are still focused on something in the distance. “Well, I’m looking forward to having more of a formal introduction with you this evening. That is if you still plan on coming over? I know Allison was really looking forward to it.”

His blue eyes are piercing through her soul. She chuckles awkwardly, nodding her head. “Yeah, I’m really excited. I’ll be there, just after I change and stuff. Don’t wanna stink up your guys’ house,” she jokes in attempts to gain some oxygen back that’s been stolen from her lungs by the tense conversation. 

“Perfect,” he pats her back. “Congratulations again, by the way. I look forward to seeing more games.” 

And with that, he walks away from her. Fallon lets out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. When she finally turns around to talk to Stiles, his face represents how she feels on the inside. She furrows her eyebrows, “What’s wrong?” 

Stiles hesitantly makes eye contact with her, not really sure how to say his next sentence. “They let Derek out of jail…” he trails off, his mind still trying to process all of the information. 

“What?” Fallon tilts her head. She didn’t necessarily think he did it, but finding the body on his property was pretty damning evidence. It shouldn’t have taken just a few short days to get him off that easily. 

“Yeah,” he shakes his head. “And the real kick to the nuts is that my dad ID’d the dead girl. Laura Hale. His sister.” 

Fallon’s mouth goes dry as she tries to find the right words to say. “That would kind of explain the makeshift burial,” she says weakly. 

Stiles just narrows his eyes at her, not knowing if he’s more appalled learning the dead girl was Derek’s sister or the fact his best friend just tried to justify it. He decides it can be both. “C’mon,” he grabs her hand. “We’ve gotta tell Scott.”

Undercover Heat

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

TW: Regular Criminal Minds violence, mentions of blood, death, and gore, suggestive content at the end (no smut), a bit of foul language, enemies to lovers, Hotch is kind of a meanie.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Sitting in the Los Angeles police station for the third day in a row has the entire team from the B.A.U stretched thin and exhausted. They’ve been dealing with a serial killer who targets couples with large age gaps in upscale, luxury clubs. He’s taken out three couples in the past three weeks. Tension was thick in the air, the exhaustion from long hours spent hunting a brutal unsub weighing on each of them.

Y/N runs a hand over her face in irritation as she leans on Morgan’s shoulder. They’ve been driving themselves crazy trying to figure out who this killer is. They’ve gone to multiple different clubs asking if anyone has seen a man between ages 35-50 who tends to sit at the bar people watching rather than engaging in the night’s festivities. But the regulars and employees said they hadn’t seen anything. Their unsub has been strangling his victims in the luxury clubs before dumping their bodies exactly two miles away in very particular positions. They’ve all been found in public spaces. But so far, they were missing something.

Hotch stood at the front of the room, flipping through the latest crime scene photos as Rossi and Morgan finished pinning the map with the last locations of the attacks. Y/N sat across from Reid, skimming through her notes as she analyzed the patterns. With an IQ of 179, a doctorate in criminology and psychology, two master’s degrees in chemistry and law, and a B.A. in history and human resources, her mind rarely rested. She could also fluently converse in four languages—French, Russian, German, and Spanish—which had come in handy countless times in the field. Despite her vast knowledge and sharp instincts, this case had left her unsettled. Something was off, and they hadn’t cracked it yet.

Rossi broke the silence. “We’ve been over this already. The unsub is hitting clubs that cater to the upper class, targeting couples with large age gaps. But there’s still a piece we’re missing. Why these clubs? Why these victims?”

Morgan crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “This guy knows how to pick his victims, that’s for sure. But he’s not choosing randomly—there’s gotta be something more connecting these places.”

Y/N frowned, glancing between the case files and the map. “It’s not just about wealth. These clubs aren’t the most high-profile ones in the city, and they’re spread out across the area.”

Reid tapped his pen against the table. “It’s true. They’re not clustered in one neighborhood, and they don’t have a shared ownership group or any overt connections that we’ve found.”

Emily Prentiss nodded from her spot at the edge of the table, deep in thought. “What about the victims? They’re all couples with significant age differences. That’s part of his ritual, but it doesn’t explain why he’s picking these clubs.”

Y/N was staring at the list of clubs they’d canvassed earlier: Ascend, Bourbon Room, Cielo. She narrowed her eyes, something beginning to click in her mind. “Hold on…”

“What is it?” Hotch asked, noticing her shift in focus.

Y/N sat up straighter, her voice thoughtful. “The clubs… they’re in alphabetical order. Look—Ascend, Bourbon Room, Cielo. He’s not just picking random spots. He’s following a sequence.”

Reid’s eyes lit up in realization. “You’re right. It’s subtle, but it makes sense. This kind of obsessive order suggests a particular form of OCD—a need to control every element of his actions. It’s not about the clubs themselves; it’s about the order they fall into.”

Morgan rubbed the back of his neck, impressed. “Damn. This guy’s not just a killer—he’s a full-on control freak.”

Hotch nodded, his expression serious. “If he’s following an alphabetical pattern, we can anticipate his next move. What’s the next club in line?”

Y/N flipped through the files, pulling out the next likely target. “‘DeVane.’ It’s upscale, fits the profile of where he’s been targeting couples. If he’s keeping to this pattern, that’s where he’ll strike next.”

JJ stepped forward, pointing at the map. “Alright. So we’ve got the next location. Now we just need to draw him out.”

Rossi’s eyes light up with an idea as he looked between Y/N and Hotch, “Well, we know the unsub’s got a thing for couples with big age gaps. Looks like we need a decoy.”

Before anyone could react, Morgan’s gaze landed squarely on Y/N, mischief dancing behind his eyes, “And we’ve got the perfect couple right here.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned. “Wait, hold on, what?”

Emily, catching onto Morgan and Rossi’s plan, chuckled. “He’s right, you know. You and Hotch fit the profile. It’d be perfect.”

Y/N stared, incredulous, before glancing toward Hotch. The man was stone-faced, as usual, but she could feel the tension rise between them. “You want me to pretend to be in a relationship with him?”

Morgan shrugged, his smile widening. “Well, you’re 23, Hotch is… not 23. The age gap fits perfectly.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, frustration building. “You’re seriously suggesting that Hotch and I—two people who can barely tolerate each other—pretend to be a couple?”

Hotch didn’t even look up from his files. “We’re professionals. We can set aside our differences for this.”

Y/N let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Set aside our differences? Hotch, we can’t even get through a team meeting without arguing over strategy. How do you expect us to pull off a believable relationship?”

Prentiss leaned in, smirking. “You two do argue like an old married couple already.”

Y/N threw her a sharp look. “That’s not funny.”

JJ chimed in, trying to defuse the tension. “Look, I know this is uncomfortable, but we need to catch this guy before he kills again. You two are the best option we have.”

Y/N shook her head, frustration bubbling over. “This isn’t just about being uncomfortable. We have to convince the unsub that we’re a legitimate couple—he’s going to notice every detail. And we’re not exactly… compatible.”

Hotch finally spoke up, his tone calm but firm. “We don’t have to like each other to do our jobs, L/N. We just have to be convincing enough to lure the unsub in.”

Y/N stared at him, arms crossed tightly. “Convincing? You and I can barely stand to be in the same room. How do you expect us to sell a romantic relationship?”

Morgan chuckled from the side. “Come on, L/N, you’re one of the smartest people I know. With that IQ and all those degrees, you can figure this out.”

Y/N shot him a glare. “I have a doctorate in criminology and psychology, a master’s in law and chemistry, and a B.A. in history and human resources. None of those degrees cover ‘pretending to like your boss who you can’t stand.’”

Rossi stepped in, his tone more diplomatic. “Look, we wouldn’t ask you to do this if we didn’t think you could handle it. This guy’s escalating, and we need to act fast. You and Hotch are the best team for this.”

Y/N sighed, clearly frustrated but recognizing the urgency. She looked over at Hotch, who met her gaze with that same impassive expression. “Fine,” she muttered. “But for the record, I still think this is a terrible idea.”

Hotch gave a curt nod. “Noted.”

»»————-　➴　————-««

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, eyeing the skimpy red dress that Emily had insisted she wear for this undercover mission. The fabric clung to her figure, accentuating every curve. The slit on the side revealed a generous portion of her thigh, leaving just enough room to conceal her gun but not much else to the imagination. The sweetheart neckline plunged dangerously low, exposing far more cleavage than she was used to. She felt exposed, vulnerable—but Emily had been insistent.

“Trust me,” Emily had said with a wicked grin. “You’ll knock them dead.”

Y/N took a deep breath and adjusted the neckline again, trying to reconcile the professional part of her brain with the woman staring back at her in the mirror. She wasn’t usually the type to use her looks to her advantage, but tonight was different. Tonight, the mission came first.

She stepped out into the hallway where the rest of the team was waiting. The moment she appeared, Morgan’s eyes widened, and he let out an appreciative whistle. “Damn, Y/N, you trying to kill the unsub or us?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “It’s not that bad.”

Morgan grinned, his gaze trailing over her in a playful, non-threatening way that only a close friend could get away with. “If this guy doesn’t fall for the bait, Lord knows I will,” he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth making Y/N slap his chest.

Emily stepped up beside Morgan, her eyes lighting up with approval. “See? I told you that dress would be perfect. You look like a total bombshell.”

Y/N glanced down at herself, smoothing the fabric over her hips. “Yeah, well, I feel like I’m about to flash someone.”

Emily shrugged, unfazed. “That’s kind of the point.”

Morgan shot her a wink. “You’re gonna break hearts tonight, sweetheart. Just make sure it’s the right one.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered toward Hotch, who had been silent since she entered the room. His gaze was locked on her, but he wasn’t saying anything. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the way he looked at her that made her stomach tighten.

He quickly glanced away when she caught him staring, clearing his throat. “We need to focus on the mission.”

“Right.” Y/N nodded, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in her chest. She wasn’t here to impress anyone—least of all Aaron Hotchner. He was too serious, too controlled. While Y/N on the other hand tends to handle the job by hiding behind a wall of humor and sarcasm, something Hotch hates. They’d never gotten along. This was strictly business.

Still, as they walked out to the car, she couldn’t help but feel Hotch’s presence looming next to her. He hadn’t said a word about the dress, but the way his eyes had lingered on her—particularly on her cleavage—hadn’t gone unnoticed. It was like he was trying not to look, but failing miserably.

By the time they arrived at the club, Y/N’s nerves had settled somewhat. The loud thrum of music pulsed through the walls as they approached the entrance, and she straightened her spine, trying to adopt the confident persona they needed for the night.

“Okay,” she murmured as they stepped through the door. “We need to sell this. So maybe try not looking like a statue,” she grumbles lowly.

Hotch, staying ever stoic, gave a curt nod. “I know.”

But Y/N wasn’t convinced. Hotch’s body language screamed discomfort. His shoulders were rigid, his movements stiff, and he had the expression of someone being dragged to an event they wanted no part of.

She leaned in closer to him, keeping her voice low. “Hotch, you’re going to blow this if you don’t relax. We’re supposed to be a couple.”

“I’m relaxed,” Hotch said, though the tension in his jaw told a different story.

Y/N huffed in frustration. “You look like you’re about to interrogate someone, not go dancing with your girlfriend.”

Hotch shot her a look. “I’m here to catch the unsub, not dance.”

“You’re here to catch the unsub by pretending to be my boyfriend,” Y/N whispered fiercely. “Right now, you’re not doing a very good job of that.”

Hotch’s expression remained impassive, but Y/N could sense the faintest hint of annoyance in his eyes. “What do you suggest?”

“Start by putting your arm around me,” she said through gritted teeth. “Couples don’t walk into clubs two feet apart.”

Hotch hesitated, then slipped his arm around her waist. It was awkward at first, his hand hovering as if he wasn’t sure where to put it. But Y/N pressed into him slightly, encouraging him to pull her closer. After a moment, his grip tightened, and they moved deeper into the crowded club.

They found their way to the dance floor, where couples swayed and ground against each other in the dim, pulsating lights. Y/N turned to Hotch, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of their target. They had to blend in.

“Follow my lead,” she said softly.

Hotch nodded, though the tightness in his posture remained.

Y/N began to move to the music, her body swaying in time with the beat. Hotch tried to follow her movements, but he was stiff, almost robotic. She bit back a sigh and leaned into him, pressing her body against his as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“We’ve got eyes on us,” she whispered in his ear, her lips brushing against the skin just below. “Black hoodie, sitting alone at the bar. You need to make this believable. Stop acting like I have some incurable disease.”

Hotch’s hands found her hips, his grip firm but hesitant. Y/N could feel the tension radiating off him, but she kept moving, her body fluid and sensual as she ground against him. Their bodies remain close, she spins around pressing her ass against crotch, and for a moment, she felt his breath hitch.

“You’re too stiff,” she murmured, leaning her head back, her lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Relax.”

Hotch’s hands tightened on her hips as he tried to match her rhythm. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders began to ease, and he pulled her closer, his breath now becoming warm against her neck.

“That’s better,” Y/N whispered, her voice low and teasing.

Hotch’s hands moved more confidently now, gripping her hips with a possessive strength that sent a shiver down her spine. Y/N’s heart raced as she tilted her head slightly, brushing her lips against the skin of his neck. She trails kisses up and down his skin, nibbling at the soft spot that connects his shoulder to his neck. She turns back around, running her hands through his raven black hair, tugging on the strands which ends up pulling a small groan from Hotch’s lips. The music and atmosphere of the club seems to have pulled them in much deeper than they thought. It’s getting harder to breathe the closer they stay.

“We’ve got his attention,” she murmured, her lips ghosting along the curve of his jaw. She fights off every urge to leave a mark. “He hasn’t looked away for the past five minutes.”

Without warning, Y/N moves her attention from his neck and kisses him, her lips pressing against his in a way that was both soft and urgent. Hotch froze for a split second, but then his hands gripped her waist, pulling her even closer as he deepened the kiss. He’ll probably scold her for the unprofessional action later, but they need to keep this guys attention if this is going to work.

It was electric, the tension between them igniting in a way neither of them had anticipated. Hotch’s hand moves upward, gripping the back of her head. If her eyes were open, they’d be rolling into the back of her head with the way he’s dominating her. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she kissed him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. For a moment, it didn’t feel like an act.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their eyes locked. Hotch’s expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—something Y/N couldn’t quite place.

“He’s hooked,” Y/N whispered, her voice breathless. “We need to get him somewhere more secluded. Before he hurts someone else.”

Hotch nodded, his grip on her waist still tight as they made their way toward the exit. Once outside, the cool night air hit them, and Y/N quickly scanned the area, her heart still racing from the adrenaline of the moment. She can’t see if the unsub followed them. The only light illuminating the area around them being the moon.

“We need to keep making this look real,” Y/N murmured as they moved toward a shadowed alley. “Just in case he’s still watching.”

Without warning, Hotch spun her around and pinned her against the wall, his body pressing into hers. One of his hands is still tight on her hip, the other one shooting up to her neck, squeezing it slightly to hold her in place. Y/N’s breath catches in her throat as Hotch’s eyes visibly darken.

“Is this believable enough for you?” Hotch whispers, his voice low and rough in her ear.

Y/N swallowed hard, enjoying the tiny amount of pressure on her throat. “Yeah… that’ll do.”

They stood like that for a few moments, their bodies pressed together in the darkness. Hotch plants open mouthed kisses from her cheek all the way down to her neck and across her chest, the neckline allowing him much needed access. Y/N sucks in a shaky breath, still waiting for any sign of the unsub. She could feel the tension between them, the heat radiating off Hotch’s body as he held her against the wall.

Suddenly, movement caught her eye. The unsub stepped out of the shadows, his gaze locked on them. Y/N’s instincts kicked in immediately. She shoved Hotch to the side, spinning around to face the unsub as he lunged at her.

In one swift motion, Y/N ducked under his arm, grabbing his wrist and twisting it behind his back. The unsub let out a grunt of pain as she swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground.

Hotch was by her side in an instant, helping to restrain the unsub as they waited for backup to arrive.

When it was all over, Y/N stood there, breathing heavily, her heart still pounding from the adrenaline. She glanced over at Hotch, who was watching her with an unreadable expression.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft but steady.

Y/N nodded, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Hotch’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he looked away, his expression unreadable once again. “Good work.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile, despite the tension still thrumming between them. “Thanks. You weren’t so bad yourself.”

As they waited for the team to arrive, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. The mission might have been over, but the tension between her and Hotch was far from resolved.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Y/N barely made it through the door of her hotel room before she kicked off her heels with a sigh of relief. Her feet ached from the hours spent in the club, and all she wanted was to peel off the red dress that clung to her like a second skin, take a long shower, and crash for the night. The team had successfully apprehended the unsub, and they’d earned a few hours of sleep before their early flight back to Quantico.

As she reached for the zipper at the back of her dress, a commanding knock on her door stopped her mid-motion. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was late, far past the time she expected anyone on the team to come knocking. Confusion settled in her chest as she moved toward the door, wondering if someone had an emergency or a last-minute update about the case.

When she opened the door, the sight that greeted her sent her heart racing.

Hotch stood there, but not like the composed, stoic team leader she was used to seeing. His tie was loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his usually slicked-back hair had a slightly tousled look, as if he’d been running his hands through it. But it wasn’t just his disheveled appearance that threw her off—it was the way his dark eyes flickered with something raw, something he was barely holding back.

He looked… frazzled, but not in a scared or anxious way. No, this was different. It was the kind of frazzled that spoke of barely-contained desire, the kind that made her feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff.

Her heart skipped a beat as his eyes swept over her, lingering on the red dress she was still wearing. His gaze darkened, his jaw tightening for a split second before he quickly looked back up at her face. But not quickly enough.

“Hotch?” she asked, her voice uncertain, her brows knitting together in confusion. “What are you doing here? It’s late—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Hotch stepped forward, forcing her to take a step back. He shut the door behind him with a firm push, the click of the lock sending a shiver down her spine. His entire presence was overwhelming, the space between them growing smaller with each passing second.

“Why are you still in that dress?” he asked, his voice low and rough, his gaze once again dipping to the neckline of her dress. It wasn’t a question borne out of curiosity; it was an accusation, a demand.

Y/N blinked, completely thrown off by the intensity in his eyes, the tension radiating off him in waves. “I—I just got back. I didn’t have time to—”

But before she could explain further, Hotch took another step forward, backing her up against the wall. His hands were braced on either side of her head, caging her in. The heat of his body was intoxicating, the scent of his cologne filling her senses.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice a low growl, “what the hell were you thinking?”

Y/N’s heart was racing now, her breath hitching as she stared up at him. His face was inches from hers, his breath warm against her skin. “What are you talking about?”

“The kiss,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “The way you touched me. What were you trying to do?”

Y/N’s lips parted in shock, her mind spinning. This wasn’t an interrogation—not really. This was something else, something charged with an energy she couldn’t ignore.

“I was trying to sell the cover,” she replied, her voice faltering slightly, though she stood her ground. “We had to be convincing.”

Hotch’s eyes flashed with something dangerous. “Convincing? You were doing a hell of a lot more than that.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as his words hung between them, thick with implication. The way he was looking at her, the way his body pressed so close to hers, sent heat pooling in her stomach. She could feel the tension crackling between them, making it harder to breathe, harder to think.

“What are you trying to say?” she asked, her voice quieter now, her heart pounding in her chest.

Hotch’s gaze bore into hers, his voice dangerously soft. “You know exactly what I’m saying.”

Y/N clenched her fists at her sides, trying to regain control of the situation, of herself. But the way Hotch was staring at her, the way his body was crowding her against the wall, made it nearly impossible to think straight.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“You didn’t do anything wrong?” Hotch’s voice was thick with disbelief, and he leaned in even closer, his lips hovering near her ear. “You kissed your superior, L/N. You pushed yourself against me like a dirty whore. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Y/N felt her pulse quicken, her skin tingling where his breath brushed against her ear. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to push him away or pull him closer. The heat between them was suffocating, and her body reacted in ways she couldn’t control.

“You kissed me back,” she shot back, trying to hold on to some semblance of control, even as her voice wavered.

Hotch’s hand slid down the wall, his fingers brushing against her arm, sending a shockwave of electricity through her. His lips were so close to her neck now, she could feel the warmth of them, but he didn’t touch her—at least, not yet.

“You want to talk about what I did?” His voice was a husky whisper. “Or do you want to talk about why you did it in the first place?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart racing. “What are you trying to get at, Hotch?”

“I’m trying to figure out what was going through your mind,” he said, his eyes dark with intensity. “You could’ve made it believable without kissing me like that. But you didn’t.”

Y/N’s skin flushed, and she fought to stay composed. “I did what I had to do to keep the cover intact. That’s it.”

Hotch’s lips twisted into a smirk that sent a ripple of heat through her. “Is that what you’re telling yourself?”

Her pulse was in her throat now, and she couldn’t ignore the way her body responded to his nearness, the way her mind spun every time his breath ghosted over her skin.

“You’re trying to act like you don’t care,” Hotch murmured, his voice low, predatory. “But you can’t stand it, can you? You’re as affected by this as I am.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, and she pressed her palms flat against the wall behind her, trying to ground herself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You may be able to lie to yourself,” Hotch said softly, his hand brushing over her side, sending a shockwave of heat through her. “But you can’t lie to me.”

Y/N’s heart was pounding in her chest, her breathing uneven as the tension between them became unbearable. Every inch of her body was attuned to his, and the more they fought, the stronger the pull between them became.

“Maybe it’s you who can’t handle it,” Y/N shot back, her voice shaky, but defiant. “Maybe you’re the only one who’s affected.”

Hotch’s eyes darkened even further, and without warning, his lips crashed against hers, all of the tension, all of the pent-up frustration between them exploding in that moment.

Y/N gasped into the kiss, her body melting into his as his hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him. A certain wetness pools between her legs as his thigh spreads her legs apart. She grounds herself against him as the kiss builds. It’s fierce, heated, and Y/N can’t stop herself, her hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervor.

It was overwhelming—the way his body pressed into hers, the way his lips moved against hers, demanding more. She could feel the heat between them building, igniting something deep within her that she couldn’t suppress.

For a moment, everything else faded away. The mission, the team, the rules—they all disappeared, leaving only the fire that burned between them.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to regain control.

“This is a bad idea,” Y/N whispered, her voice breathless.

Hotch’s hand slid up her arm, his fingers brushing against her neck. “I know.”

But neither of them made a move to stop.

No Place Like Home

Derek Morgan x reader

TW: Mentions of sexual assault on reader, murder, blood, violence, regular criminal minds stuff, angst with a happy ending, this gets very dark at some points so please read at your own discretion, I think that’s it. Lmk if I missed anything.

₊‧ʚ ﹆・︵︵ ₊˚๑ ᕱ🌿ᕱ ꒱✦ ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

Baraboo Wisconsin.

Y/N L/N’s hometown. The one she left the second she turned sixteen and never looked back. Baraboo is a quaint little place, beautiful views and fun places to go if someone knows where to look. It’s a tight-knit community that’s for sure. Where everyone knows everyone and whatever secrets someone has also belong to the rest of the town. It can be endearing at times but also make an individual feel claustrophobic.

She never planned on coming back here. She graduated college at fourteen and worked her ass off to save enough money to leave by the time her sixteenth birthday rolled around. In fact, that was her birthday present to herself. To get the hell out of there.

Y/N’s father died when she was six years old. He was a hero, a firefighter. He died saving a family of six from a burning house. He was the only one who didn’t make it out alive that day. He managed to get every person out with minimal injuries. Just couldn’t seem to save himself.

After he died, Y/N’s mother, Lisa L/N, was a mess. Completely ignored her daughter after her husband’s, started drinking. Y/N practically raised herself. Until her step father came into the picture. Adrian Cole. The name itself gives her sickly chills just thinking about it.

Y/N continued her studies after getting her first bachelors degree at fourteen. She ended up with a doctorate and three masters under her belt by the time she turned eighteen. The girl is what most specialists would consider a “high potential intellectual.” She has advanced cognitive abilities that contain superior pattern recognition, enhanced situational awareness, an eidetic memory, advanced deception detection, superior deductive reasoning, mental simulation/scenario building, and advanced problem solving.

She’s rather valuable to say the least.

Y/N has had the world at her fingertips since she was born. She’s smart, cunning, calculated. She knows exactly how to get what she wants. Unfortunately, she doesn’t screw up from time to time.

Hence why she got arrested for petty theft when she was eighteen.

She had been working odd jobs for her entire life. Bouncing around from city to city, trying to find a place she could make her home. She somehow ended up in Quantico Virginia, a random bus stop on a long list of places she could go. But it had been a couple months since being there, and one week she didn’t make enough to get herself some basic grocery supplies, so she thought it wouldn’t be the most terrible thing to snag a loaf of bread on the way out of one of the many grocery stores in the city. She didn’t think they’d truly care about one loaf.

Clearly, she was wrong. They apparently needed that bread way more than she did.

And that’s how she ended up the in police station. It wasn’t the most pleasant experience at first. Most of the officers just thought she was some punk kid who got a kick out of stealing. She didn’t even bother trying to explain why she did what she did because they wouldn’t believe her in the first place. And it’s not like they could put her in the system, she was eighteen.

However, as they were processing her, she noticed some of the detectives talking about a murder investigation. They had a man who was found dead in his living room, and the prime suspect was the wife who mysteriously disappeared after it happened.

The thing about having advanced cognitive abilities, is that it’s easy to get stuck inside the many wrinkles of the brain. She also has a compulsive need to correct everything she sees is wrong, and that is why she interrupted their conversation by yelling across the station that the wife is actually a second victim, not the perpetrator.

Of course, most of the detectives thought she was full of crap and didn’t have any idea what she was talking about. The commander however, seemed to have a different opinion. She asked Y/N what made her think that the wife could be a victim in the case.

That led to her explaining that the photos in the crime scene board indicate that there was a third part, and that’s who killed the husband and kidnapped the wife. She pointed out how there were microfibers on the legs of the chair in the photo and that shows how someone had been tied to it with duct tape. And it clearly couldn’t have been the husband with the way there was no ligature marks or redness on his skin.

Needless to say, they found the wife and the person who killed the husband. Turns out it was his best friend who was having an affair with their son’s school teacher. The husband knew to much and threatened to tell his best friend’s wife which led to his demise. Who would’ve thought?

After that case, the commander offered her a position as a consultant on their cases. It gave Y/N the first feeling of stability she’s had in a very long time. She was even able to save enough to buy herself an apartment in the area, and put herself through the FBI academy. Her coworkers at the station were sad when they found out she had been recruited to one of the most elite units in the agency, but they knew her potential was to great to be stuck at the precinct for the rest of her life.

That’s why she’s currently back in Baraboo, the ripe age of twenty-five, with the rest of the Behavioral Analysis Unit team. The leader, Aaron Hotchner, and the rest of the group: David Rossi, Jennifer Jareau, Emily Prentiss, Doctor Spencer Reid, and the one and only… Derek Morgan.

From the moment Y/N met Derek, they clicked. They both have very similar traits but differ in the most important ways. They somehow manage to understand each other on a level that the rest of the team can’t comprehend. The two of them share flirty and playful banter constantly. Everyone in the office thought Penelope and Derek were bad, at least until Y/N sauntered in. She distinctly remember Spencer having to leave the room, his face flushed red after hearing a conversation between Derek and Y/N.

The two always brushed it off as a joke, or something they do to cope with the darkness of the job, but there’s always been a little something more lying underneath it. Neither of them have been able to acknowledge it out loud, but it’s not hard to see.

“How does it feel to be home, Princess?” Derek asks with his signature golden smile, full intention of getting a flirty reaction from her. He cracks his back as the rest of the team gets off the jet, getting ready to split up and head to the station or to the most recent crime scene.

Y/N keeps her eyes trained in the distance, her face cold, hard almost. “This hasn’t been my home for the past nineteen years,” she replies stoically before walking off to join Hotch and Rossi by one of the SUV’s.

Derek is taken aback by her demeanor. She’s never been one to turn down an opportunity to flirt or be witty, especially with him. Y/N has always been a bit closed off, but in the same way Derek is. She doesn’t tell anyone about her past, and she’s never asked him about his. It’s one of the many things he loves about her. She didn’t push when she knew not to. In fact, the most they knew about where the other came from was home towns. Now he did share some about his family because they’re important to him, and so is Y/N, but he never delved too deep. That is until about last year when he was arrested for murdering three boys back home.

Y/N was the only one who tried to help without digging to deep into the things Derek didn’t want found. It killed her a little bit to see how Derek broke down when confronting the real perpetrator, Carl Buford, who also molested Derek as a child. That particularly made it a rough case for her, for more than one reason.

“Reid, JJ,” Hotch calls out to the two. “I want you guys to head to the station with Rossi, see if you can nail down a geographical profile.” The trio nods before heading over to their own SUV. “Prentiss, you come with me to talk to the most recent victims family. Morgan, L/N, head to the crime scene. Sheriff Mills will meet you both there to discuss the rest of the details.”

Y/N nods silently before turning back to Derek. She gestures towards the third black car waiting for them, walking past him and over towards the driver’s seat. Derek grabs her wrist gently as she tries to open the door, “Babygirl, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Following orders,” Y/N answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Uh-uh,” Derek shakes his head. “Get your cute little ass in that passenger seat right now.” He demands.

“Derek, we don’t have time to argue over who’s gonna drive the damn car,” Y/N snaps, completely out of character. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

His eyebrows shoot up into his nonexistent hairline, “Whoa,” he puts his hands up. “I didn’t mean to upset you, sweetheart. I just like driving you around, that’s all. I thought it was like a little silent agreement we had. You being my passenger princess.”

Y/N’s face softens, but he can still see the anger behind her eyes. There’s definitely something wrong. She’s never been like this without a reason. A small sigh escapes her pink lips, “Okay…” she mumbles, very cutely in Derek’s opinion. “You can drive.”

Without another peep, Y/N climbs into her designated spot besides Derek. He casts her an unsure glance, wondering if maybe she’ll open up to him on the way to the scene, but unfortunately the entire ride was quiet. Apart from the playlist playing in the background. They both had created it for when they were partnered together on a case.

They pull up to the scene, no words uttered between them. Y/N stares out the window, sucking in a deep breath. Her knuckles are a pale white as she clutches onto the door handle. He wants to ask her what’s going through her mind, but knows better than to push when she’s like this.

She steps out of the vehicle, the gravel crunching beneath her feet, Derek following closely behind. As soon as they near the crime scene, she spots Sheriff Mills standing by the perimeter tape, arms crossed but eyes bright when he recognizes her.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Y/N L/N!” Mills calls out with a smile, his voice booming across the lot. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. How long’s it been?”

Y/N offers a small, genuine smile, feeling a rare sense of warmth. “Hey, Sheriff. It’s been a while. Nine years, I think.”

“Nine years,” he repeats with a shake of his head. “You disappeared on us, huh? Look at you now.” He glances over at Derek, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

Y/N glances between the two men. “This is Derek Morgan, one of the best profilers at the BAU.”

Derek steps forward and extends his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise,” Mills replies, shaking Derek’s hand firmly before turning back to Y/N. “You always had it in you to do something big.”

Derek watches the brief exchange with interest, noting how Y/N seems more at ease around the sheriff. There was history here, but also a quiet sense of trust. The sheriff gave Y/N a comforting nod before stepping back to let them work.

They cross under the yellow tape and into the scene, where the victim’s body lay partially covered. Derek’s voice is low but steady. “What are we looking at?”

Y/N knelt beside the body, her jaw tightening as she takes in the brutal injuries. “Ligature marks on the wrists and ankles…looks like she was tied up, maybe tortured before…” She let her words trail off, her eyes lingering on the deep gash across the victim’s neck. “The unsub wanted control, dominance. But there’s rage here too.”

Derek nods, crouching down next to her. “The way he escalates...it’s personal. There’s something he’s trying to prove with each kill. Could be revenge or a power trip.”

Y/N swallows hard, her breath hitching for a moment as she takes in the scene. She stands, brushing her hands on her pants as if trying to rid herself of the heaviness in the air.

Derek stands too, noticing the slight shift in her demeanor. He narrows his eyes, stepping closer to her. “You alright?”

Y/N hesitates, casting a glance back at the body. The familiarity of it all—the victim, her face—was a knife in her chest, twisting cruelly.

“I knew her,” Y/N finally admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “Her name’s Claire. We…we went to high school together.”

Derek’s brows furrow, concern flashing across his face. “You didn’t mention that at the briefing.”

She shrugs her shoulders, jaw clenching. “I didn’t think it would be relevant. I haven’t spoken to her in years.” Y/N turns away, looking out into the distance as if trying to find something to balance herself, her mind.

Derek’s hand gently rests on her shoulder, his touch grounding her in a way she wasn’t expecting. “If this is too much, you don’t have to–”

“I’m fine,” she snaps, though the sharpness in her tone is more for herself than him. She looks at Derek, the vulnerability showing through her usual hard exterior. “I just didn’t expect this.”

Derek softens. “You don’t have to be fine, Y/N. Not here, not with me.”

For a moment, their eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between them. But Y/N quickly broke away, determined to stay focused. “Let’s just…get back to work. We have to find this guy.”

They both turned back to the crime scene, their focus shifting back to the task at hand. But the air between them was heavier now, weighed down by the past that had resurfaced with a vengeance.

“Whoever did this,” Derek says quietly, “they knew how to get close. Claire trusted them.”

Y/N nods, her jaw clenched tightly. “He’s not a stranger to any of these women. He’s someone who knows how to blend in. And he’s getting more comfortable.”

Derek meets her eyes, a silent understanding passing between them. They have to catch this unsub before anyone else suffers the same fate. But now, more than ever, Y/N had a personal stake in it. And Derek was going to make sure that, whatever happened, he’d be there for her.

₊‧ʚ ﹆・︵︵ ₊˚๑ ᕱ🌿ᕱ ꒱✦ ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

The police station is humming with quiet intensity, the kind of buzz that always fills the air when the team is piecing together fragments of a case. They’ve been working nonstop, and the weight of the victims is hanging over all of them. Every detail matters now, every tiny revelation could lead them closer to the truth.

Hotch stands at the head of the room, looking over the maps, notes, and pictures strewn across the table. JJ, Reid, and Rossi are gathered around, quietly talking through the geographical profile they’ve been working on. Emily leans against the wall, flipping through her notes from the victimology interviews. Derek and Y/N, just back from the most recent crime scene, stand a bit apart, their body language tense but focused.

Hotch looks up from the map, his expression sharp and business-like. “What did you find at the crime scene?”

Derek steps forward, his eyes catching Y/N’s briefly before he speaks. “The victim was restrained before she was killed. Ligature marks on her wrists and ankles. She was tortured—cut up pretty bad across her torso. He took his time with her. Cause of death was strangulation, but the wounds came first.”

Reid frowns, looking over at the crime scene photos pinned to the board. “That suggests control. He didn’t just want to kill her, he wanted to inflict pain, assert dominance.”

Rossi nods in agreement, his tone grim. “He’s trying to break them down before killing them. Likely projecting some internal conflict, something personal.”

Y/N stands a little off to the side, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She hasn’t said much since they got back, but Derek knows that look. She’s running the details over and over in her mind, trying to process everything.

Derek glances at her again before continuing. “He’s gotta be in his late 40s or 50s. Strong enough to overpower, but methodical enough to take his time with them.”

Emily pushes off the wall and approaches the table. “We’ve seen it before. Someone with deep insecurities who compensates by dominating their victims. There’s probably a sexual element involved, even if it’s not immediately obvious.”

Hotch is quiet for a moment, taking in all the information. Then he asks, “Was there anything else? Anything personal about her?”

There’s a pause. Derek hesitates, his eyes flicking over to Y/N again. He’s been waiting for her to say something, but she’s been holding back. She looks tense, almost like she’s somewhere else entirely.

Y/N clears her throat, feeling the weight of Hotch’s attention on her. “The victim... her name was Claire.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow. “And?”

Y/N shifts slightly, her voice a little quieter. “I knew her. We went to the same high school.”

That draws everyone’s attention. Reid, JJ, and Emily all look at her with surprise. Rossi’s eyes narrow in thought. Hotch’s expression shifts from curious to stern in an instant.

“You knew her?” His tone is sharp, almost accusatory.

Y/N nods, though it’s clear she’s uncomfortable. “Yeah, but... we weren’t close. I hadn’t seen her since high school. I didn’t even realize it was her until we were at the scene.”

Hotch’s jaw tightens, clearly frustrated. “And you didn’t think that was something we should’ve known?”

Before Y/N can respond, Derek steps in, his voice firm and protective. “She didn’t know until we got there, Hotch. This isn’t something she was hiding. It just hit her at the scene.”

Hotch’s gaze shifts to Derek, his expression still hard, but he doesn’t argue. There’s a beat of silence, the tension palpable in the room. Y/N looks down at the floor, her jaw clenched, clearly battling with the emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

Reid, ever the analyst, chimes in. “If Y/N knew the victim, that could mean the unsub has a connection to her past as well. It’s possible he’s targeting women from the same community.”

JJ nods thoughtfully. “If the victims are all from the same area, it might explain how he’s able to blend in so easily. He knows them, at least in passing.”

Y/N swallows hard, feeling the pressure of everyone’s eyes on her. She’s never liked being the focus of attention, especially not when it comes to something this personal. She hates how it feels like she’s under a microscope right now.

Derek steps a little closer to her, his hand brushing her arm lightly, a silent reassurance. His voice softens, just for her. “You okay, babygirl?”

She forces a tight smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine.”

Rossi taps the edge of the map in front of him. “If this unsub is blending in with his victims, he’s not the type to stand out. He’s attending social gatherings, getting close to them before striking. He’s comfortable in these environments.”

“That’s how he’s avoiding detection,” Emily adds. “He’s slipping under the radar, appearing harmless.”

Sheriff Mills, who’s been standing quietly in the back of the room, finally speaks up. “You think he’s been attending community events?”

Rossi nods. “It’s likely. He’s integrating himself into their lives without raising suspicion.”

The sheriff frowns, thinking for a moment. “Well, Diane Cole—one of the most prominent women in town—she hosts a weekly Sunday luncheon. Half the community shows up after church.”

Y/N’s entire body goes rigid at the mention of the name. Her breath catches in her throat, her heart pounding suddenly in her chest. The rest of the team doesn’t miss the way her expression changes, the way she seems to freeze in place.

Hotch notices it immediately, his sharp eyes narrowing. “Y/N? Why does that name mean something to you?”

Y/N tries to keep her composure, but it’s slipping. She feels exposed, vulnerable, like the walls she’s spent years building are crumbling around her. Her voice comes out strained, barely above a whisper. “Because Diane Cole is my mother.”

The room falls silent. No one says anything for a moment as they process what she just said. The different last names had kept them from connecting the dots until now, but the revelation is staggering.

Rossi’s eyes soften with understanding, but Hotch’s expression grows darker. He takes a slow breath, his frustration evident. “You didn’t think to tell us that your mother hosts one of the biggest events in town? One that our unsub no doubt plucks his victims from?”

Y/N shakes her head, her voice cracking slightly. “She and I... we haven’t spoken in years. I left home when I was sixteen, Hotch. It’s not like I’m going out of my way to connect with my mother. She’s not—” She stops herself, not wanting to open that door. “She’s not apart of my life. We’re not close.”

Hotch is clearly irritated, but before he can say anything else, Derek puts his hand on Y/N’s back, his voice low and calm, but with a protective edge. “Look, Hotch, this isn’t easy for her. She’s not keeping things from us on purpose. Let’s just focus on what we know and move forward.”

Hotch stares at Derek for a long moment, clearly weighing his words. Finally, he nods, letting the issue drop for now. “Alright. The luncheon is our best lead. Y/N, Derek, Emily—you three will come with me and we’ll see if anyone stands out. We need to be cautious. We don’t know what this guy looks like yet, but he’s dangerous.”

Y/N swallows hard, nodding along with the rest of the team. She feels Derek’s steady presence beside her, his hand on her arm again, grounding her. She meets his eyes for a brief moment, grateful for his unwavering support.

“We got this,” Derek murmurs, just for her. His voice is soft but full of confidence.

Y/N takes a deep breath, steadying herself. “Yeah. We do.”

As the team breaks off to prepare for the next steps, Y/N lingers for a moment, the weight of what’s to come settling heavily on her shoulders. She’s about to walk back into a part of her life she thought she’d left behind for good, and the thought terrifies her. But with Derek by her side, she knows she can face it. She has to.

₊‧ʚ ﹆・︵︵ ₊˚๑ ᕱ🌿ᕱ ꒱✦ ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

The drive to Y/N’s childhood home is filled with a heavy silence. Derek occasionally glances over at her, but she stares straight ahead, her face unreadable. He knows she’s shutting down, retreating into herself as the memories she’s been trying to bury claw their way to the surface. The tension in her body has been there ever since they received word that the unsub might be attending her mother’s Sunday luncheon, and it hasn’t left her since.

As the car pulls up to the house, Y/N’s stomach knots. The familiar two-story building looms in front of them, looking almost exactly the same as it did the day she left nine years ago. The white picket fence, the flower beds her mother used to tend to religiously—everything looks frozen in time, untouched by the years she’s been gone.

Derek cuts the engine and turns to her. “You sure about this, princess?”

Y/N swallows hard, forcing a small nod. “Yeah.”

She isn’t sure. Not even close. But she’s here for the case, and that’s what matters. She can’t afford to let her emotions get in the way of the investigation, no matter how much being here is already tearing her apart.

They step out of the car, and Derek moves beside her, a steady presence as they walk up the path. Hotch and Prentiss are already ahead, scanning the area as they approach the front door. Y/N’s eyes flick around, taking in the familiar sights—the swing set that used to creak with the wind, the porch steps she used to sit on every evening, staring at the stars. All of it feels distant, like a life that belongs to someone else.

As soon as they step onto the porch, the front door swings open. Diane Cole, Y/N’s mother, stands in the doorway, her face lighting up in a wide smile. “Y/N!” she exclaims, her voice filled with warmth and hospitality as if no time has passed at all. “Oh, my goodness, it’s been so long!”

Y/N’s body tenses as her mother wraps her in a tight embrace. The scent of her perfume—familiar, suffocating—fills Y/N’s nostrils. She stands stiffly, arms at her sides, not reciprocating the hug. She can feel Derek’s eyes on her, the weight of his concern palpable, but she doesn’t move.

Diane pulls back, her hands still on Y/N’s shoulders, beaming at her. “Look at you! You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman.”

Y/N forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Hi, Mom.”

Diane doesn’t seem to notice her daughter’s coldness or, if she does, she ignores it. “Come in, come in!” she says, ushering them inside with a wave of her hand. “Everyone’s already here. We were just about to start lunch.”

Y/N steps inside the house, the familiar creak of the floorboards under her feet making her stomach turn. The smell of roast chicken wafts through the air, mingling with the sound of chatter coming from the dining room. It’s all so painfully familiar, like stepping back into the life she left behind.

Hotch and Prentiss follow them in, their eyes scanning the room, already analyzing the guests milling about. Derek stays close to Y/N’s side, his presence grounding her, but even that isn’t enough to quell the anxiety bubbling up inside her.

As they move into the living room, Diane can’t seem to stop talking. “It’s so wonderful to have everyone here. We do this every Sunday, you know. Just a little gathering after church. Keeps the community close.”

Y/N nods absently, her eyes flicking around the room. She’s searching for something—someone—though she’s not entirely sure who she’s looking for. The unsub is here. That much they know. But standing in this house, surrounded by people she hasn’t seen in years, feels like walking through a minefield.

Diane turns to Derek, her smile still plastered on her face. “And who’s this?”

Diane’s smile widens. “Oh, it’s so nice to meet you, Derek. Please, make yourself at home. We’ve got plenty of food, and if you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Derek replies politely, though his attention is already back on Y/N. He can see how tense she is, the way her eyes are darting around the room, scanning faces, assessing the crowd. She’s in work mode, but there’s something deeper, something more personal eating away at her.

As they move further into the house, Diane continues to chatter, offering drinks, asking about their work, pretending as though she hasn’t been estranged from her daughter for nearly a decade. Y/N barely listens, her mind racing as she takes in every detail, every face.

As they began to split up, Y/N felt a wave of relief wash over her. She’d always preferred to keep her distance from the noise and chaos of family gatherings, and today was no different. “I’ll check the backyard,” she suggested, hoping to create some space between herself and the tension inside.

“Be careful,” Derek said quietly, watching her with concern as she slipped outside.

Once she stepped into the backyard, the sun was almost too bright, illuminating the vibrant flowers in the garden but doing nothing to warm the coldness settling in her bones. She leaned against the wooden railing of the porch, breathing deeply, attempting to ground herself.

For a moment, it was quiet. The chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves filled the air, allowing Y/N to momentarily escape the chaos inside. But just as she started to relax, the back door creaked open. She turned to see Adrian, her stepfather, stepping onto the porch. The brightness of the day dulled as he approached, his confident demeanor wrapping around her like a shroud.

“Y/N,” Adrian said, his voice dripping with feigned warmth. “It’s been a long time.”

Y/N stiffened, her pulse quickening. “What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to keep her tone steady despite the rising tide of panic.

“I came to check in on you,” he takes a silly step closer to her. “You’ve grown up so much,” he said, his eyes scanning her with a mixture of familiarity and something more invasive. “You know, your mother is worried about you. You should visit more often.”

Y/N felt a wave of discomfort wash over her. “I’m fine. I don’t need checking on,” she replied firmly, trying to keep her tone from betraying her nerves. “And I have a busy job. I don’t have time for trivial visits.”

“Really? You’re fine? Because you look like you’re about to bolt. I thought we were past this.” Adrian’s voice turned sharper, an edge of annoyance creeping in as he crossed his arms over his chest.

At that moment, Derek stepped out onto the porch, instantly sensing the tension in the air. He glanced between Y/N and Adrian, picking up on the shift in Y/N's posture—the way her shoulders were tense and how she seemed to shrink back.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Derek asked, concern lacing his voice.

Adrian turned his gaze to Derek, sizing him up as if trying to gauge his intentions. “And who might you be?” he asked, feigning curiosity but with a hint of challenge.

“I’m SSA Derek Morgan with the BAU,” Derek replied, his tone neutral but his stance protective. “We’re here to investigate.”

“Investigate?” Adrian scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “What do you need to investigate in a place like this? It’s just a house.”

“Everything in here could be important,” Derek replied evenly, maintaining eye contact. He felt the tension simmering in the air, aware that any hint of aggression could escalate quickly.

Adrian took a step closer to Y/N, invading her space. “Well, Y/N and I have a lot to discuss, don’t we? Family matters are important. So I think it would be best for you to continue your investigation inside.” There was an underlying threat in his tone, one that made Derek’s instincts flare.

Derek shifted forward, placing himself between Adrian and Y/N, his presence a solid wall. “She doesn’t seem to want to talk,” he said firmly, glancing back at Y/N, searching for reassurance in her eyes. “I think you should give her some space.”

Adrian’s demeanor shifted slightly, his confidence cracking as he tried to reassert himself. “Space? I’m her stepfather. I have every right to speak to her.”

“That doesn’t mean you have the right to make her uncomfortable,” Derek replied, his voice steady but edged with authority. He wasn’t here to play games—he needed to protect Y/N, especially if something felt off.

Adrian’s smile faded as he took another step forward, his eyes darkening. “You’re just some guy, aren’t you? An FBI agent trying to play hero. What do you know about family?”

Derek squared his shoulders, refusing to back down. “I know that family should support one another, not intimidate. And from what I can see, you’re not doing that.”

Y/N felt the tension spike, her heart racing as she sensed Adrian’s irritation boiling beneath the surface. Derek was standing his ground, but she could see the way Adrian’s demeanor shifted—his posture becoming more aggressive.

Adrian’s gaze flicked between Derek and Y/N, and she felt the weight of his scrutiny. “You don’t know her like I do. I’m trying to help her,” he said, his voice lowering as he leaned closer to Derek, trying to assert dominance.

“Help her?” Derek echoed incredulously, his tone clipped. “By pressuring her? You’re not helping anyone but yourself.”

“Watch yourself,” Adrian warned, his voice turning low and menacing. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with here.”

Derek’s jaw tightened, and he took a step closer to Adrian, matching his intensity. “And you don’t know who you’re threatening. Back off.”

Just then, Y/N felt the walls closing in around her. Adrian’s words were wrapping around her like a vice, squeezing her heart and pushing her instincts into overdrive. She could feel herself being pulled in two different directions—Derek’s protective stance grounding her but also reminding her of the past she was trying to escape.

“Y/N,” Adrian said, his tone shifting again as he turned back to her, that familiar manipulation creeping into his voice. “You don’t have to listen to him. I’m just looking out for you.”

She shook her head, the memories crashing over her like a wave. “I don’t need you to look out for me,” she said, her voice firm but low, trying to keep it steady as her hands trembled at her sides. “I’m done with that.”

Derek shot her a glance, noticing the shift in her demeanor. “Y/N, you okay?” he asked, concern thick in his voice.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, but the strain in her tone betrayed her.

Adrian smirked, the kind of smile that sent a chill down Y/N's spine. “Look how protective you are of her,” he said to Derek, his voice dripping with mockery. “Isn’t that sweet?”

“Enough,” Derek said sharply, stepping further in front of Y/N, his body a shield. “You’re crossing a line.”

Adrian’s demeanor darkened, his posture becoming more aggressive as he looked back at Derek, trying to assert his dominance. “You think you can just waltz in here and play protector?”

“Believe me man, I’m not playing,” Derek replied, his voice low and steady.

That was when Y/N felt the weight of everything pressing down on her. She couldn’t stand it. Adrian’s presence, the memories flooding back, and the way Derek was standing up for her—it was all too much. Without another word, she turned and walked briskly toward the front door, needing to escape the suffocating atmosphere.

“Y/N!” Derek called after her, but she was already moving, her heart pounding in her ears.

She rushed through the living room, her mind racing. She felt a wave of anxiety surge as she stepped outside, the sunlight hitting her face, but it felt distant, almost cold.

“Y/N! What happened?” Prentiss shouted, following her outside. The concern in her voice echoed in Y/N’s mind.

“I just... need a minute,” Y/N replied quietly, trying to control the tremble in her voice.

Hotch stepped outside, his brow furrowed as he assessed the situation. “What’s going on?” he asked, his tone serious.

“Nothing,” Y/N breathes heavily, her chest heaving from anxiety and anger. “Nothing, I-I I’m fine.” She didn’t want to relive it; she didn’t want to talk about Adrian or the past. “I don’t want to discuss this.” She shakes her head rapidly.

“Why are you upset?” Prentiss pressed gently, her eyes filled with concern.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!” Y/N finally snaps, her voice slightly rising as she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She turned away from them, needing to find a way to breathe, to think without the weight of their gazes on her.

“Y/N, please,” Derek said softly, stepping closer but remaining respectful of her space. “Talk to us. We’re here to help.”

She shook her head, feeling the panic rising within her. “I can’t do this right now,” she said, her voice breaking. “I just– I cant. I’ll jeopardize the case if I go back in there. And I can’t do that to those women. I can’t mess this up.”

With that, she turned and strode toward the SUV parked at the curb, the need to retreat overwhelming her. She climbed into the back seat, shutting the door firmly behind her, pressing her forehead against the cool glass, desperately trying to find calm in the chaos that had erupted.

“Y/N!” Derek called again, but she didn’t respond, her heart racing as she stared out the window, willing the memories to stay buried and the present to fade away.

The team gathered outside, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern as they exchanged worried glances. “What do we do?” Prentiss asked, glancing from Hotch to Derek.

“We give her space,” Hotch replied, his voice steady. “She’ll talk when she’s ready.”

Derek clenched his fists, frustration coursing through him. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but he knew that pushing would only make things worse. “I hate this,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the closed door of the SUV.

As the minutes ticked by, Y/N closed her eyes, willing herself to breathe, to find calm in the chaos swirling around her. She couldn’t let Adrian’s presence ruin everything she had worked for, everything she had fought to build. But deep down, she knew the shadows of her past wouldn’t let her go so easily.

₊‧ʚ ﹆・︵︵ ₊˚๑ ᕱ🌿ᕱ ꒱✦ ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

Walking back into the police station, Y/N managed to get the entire teams attention without even speaking. The unfortunate part about working with such observant people is that even if she breathes a little too heavy, they can tell exactly what she’s thinking. And let’s just say her breathing is way different than what they would consider her “normal.”

Spencer, JJ, and Rossi all watch with concerned eyes as Y/N practically storms into the designated room they have for the case, slamming the door behind her. The glass windows shake from the force and she places her hands on the table before zeroing in on the case board in front of her.

Hotch, Emily, and Derek walk in, their own cautious gaze setting everyone on edge. Rossi looks at the trio, pointing back at the fuming agent in the other room. “What happened there?”

Hotch states after his younger agent, tilting his head as he tries to gauge whether she’s more upset or angry from beyond the window. “Something set her off at the house,” he answers.

“Not something, someone,” Emily corrects with a worried sighs. “As soon as her stepfather showed up, it was like her entire world stopped. And not in a good way.”

“Stepfather?” JJ furrows her eyebrows.

“Adrian Cole,” Reid answers for them, causing everyone to look at him confused.

“And how did you know that?” Hotch questions flatly.

“When she mentioned Diane was her mother, I did some digging and asked some of the other officers about her,” Reid admits with a harsh swallow as he notices Morgan glaring in his direction. No doubt for probing into Y/N’s life. “Diane got married to Adrian when Y/N was eight years old. Three years after her father died. He’s currently fifty-two, eight years older than Diane. I guess everyone was pretty surprised to find out they were seeing each other,” Reid reveals. “Sheriff Mills told me that it was the talk of the town when it originally happened. Adrian was kind of a recluse, not approached by many, kind of a ‘creep’ as described by the deputies,” he gestures over in the other direction. “So it was surprising to find out that Diane ended up with him, especially since she married her high school sweetheart, Y/N’s father, Daniel L/N.”

“So she kept her father’s last name,” Rossi points out, glancing back over to Y/N. “Shows how much she truly wanted to distance herself from her mother. Not taking her new husband’s last name.”

“Or maybe she was just closer with her dad,” JJ suggests.

“Or maybe her stepfather never got over his ‘creep’ reputation,” Emily scoffs out. “Gotta admit, if he was my stepdad, I wouldn’t want his last name either. I mean, the way he walked up to Y/N… it was almost predatory.”

Derek stands off to the side, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He listens to the conversation but doesn’t say anything yet. He’s been watching Y/N closely ever since they walked into her mother’s house, noticing every shift in her demeanor, every tell-tale sign that she was far from okay. Now, hearing the others discuss her like she’s some puzzle to solve only makes his jaw tighten.

“We can’t just sit here and talk about her like she’s not in the other room,” Derek’s voice breaks them out of their conversation. “We shouldn’t be discussing and probing into her life without talking to her first.”

“She doesn’t exactly look like she wants to talk, Derek,” Emily points out. “She kind of bit our heads off when we originally tried to get something out of her. We’re just trying to get an idea so we can help.”

“Well maybe instead of talking about her we should be talking to her,” Derek says snippily. “Then we might actually be able to get her to open up.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow, “You think she’ll open up?”

“To me? Oh, I know she will,” Derek nods his head confidently. “She trusts me. If anyone is going to get through to her, it’s me.” He says, his voice steady, though there’s an edge of protectiveness in his tone.

Without waiting for anyone else to respond, Derek heads toward the room where Y/N disappeared. The others exchange quick glances, knowing Morgan has a point. He’s closer to Y/N than anyone else on the team, and if she’s going to talk to anyone, it’s him.

Inside the room, Y/N stands in front of the caseboard, her eyes scanning over the photos and files without really seeing them. Her mind is racing, and it’s written all over her face. Derek walks in quietly, closing the door behind him. He watches her for a moment, his eyes softening as he sees the tension in her shoulders, the way she’s gripping the edges of the table like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

"Princess," he says softly, using the nickname he knows she responds to when she’s upset. "You okay?"

Y/N doesn’t turn around, her voice coming out strained. "I’m fine, Derek."

He takes a step closer, his tone gentle but firm. "No, you’re not. Talk to me."

She lets out a shaky breath, still not looking at him. "It’s... it’s nothing. I just—there’s too much going on. I need to focus."

Derek’s not buying it. He steps closer until he’s standing next to her, he gently places his pointer finger under her chin, lifting her head up to him. "Y/N, look at me."

Reluctantly, she allows him to lovingly adjust her head, her eyes meeting his. The moment their gazes lock, Derek can see it—the fear, the anger, the confusion. She’s holding it all in, trying to keep herself together, but it’s a losing battle.

"You don’t have to do this alone babygirl,” Derek says softly, his voice full of concern. "Whatever’s going on, you know I’ve got your back."

For a second, she looks like she’s going to say something, but then she shakes her head, turning away from him again. "It’s just... I don’t know, Derek. I don’t know what to do, what to say,” she huffs frustratedly. “Things are a lot more complicated than everyone thinks they are.”

He watches her, giving her the space she needs but staying close, his presence solid and unwavering. "You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Just talk to me."

Y/N’s breath hitches, and she suddenly steps back from the caseboard, running a hand through her hair as she starts to pace. "It’s not just about Adrian, okay? There’s... there’s something else."

Derek watches her carefully, his eyes tracking her movements as she starts to unravel. "What is it?"

Y/N’s mind is moving a million miles a minute, pieces clicking together as she starts connecting the dots. She stops pacing and stares at the board again, her heart pounding. "I found the connection," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

Derek’s brow furrows. "What?"

Y/N swallows hard, her hands trembling slightly as she starts flipping through the files. "It’s me,” she admits shakily. “I’m the connection,” she rushes out, throwing files left and right. “The girls. I know all of them. I guess I haven’t been processing faces until now, trying to block out the memories I have here, but I can’t do it anymore. These women…” her hands tremble as she moves. “They’re dead because they knew me.”

“Whoa, whoa, sweetheart, slow down,” Morgan places his hands on her shoulders gently to get her to stop rambling. “What do you mean you’re the connection? You haven’t been here in over nine years.”

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, letting the warmth of Derek’s hands try to slow her mind. It works momentarily, but does nothing to slow her racing heart at the realization that she could be the key to this entire case. And she did exactly what she promised she wouldn’t. She jeopardized it. Ignored the fact she faintly recognized each victim. Ignored the nagging feeling in her brain that something was off. Thats why the team has been struggling to track the unsub, because they’ve been missing one key element. The connection between the victims. Why he picks them.

“They were all part of the same support group I was in when I was a teenager.” She swallows thickly, rubbing her now sweaty, nervous hands on her slacks. “All of them. That’s why I recognized Claire... and the others.”

Derek steps closer, his voice low but urgent. “A support group? For what?”

Y/N’s chest tightens as the memories flood back, memories she’s tried so hard to bury. "For survivors of abuse. Sexual abuse."

There’s a beat of silence as Derek processes what she’s just said. His jaw tightens, his protective instincts kicking in even harder. "Y/N..."

She doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else. Her eyes dart across the files, her mind racing as she speaks faster. "This isn’t just random. He’s targeting them, Derek. The girls from the group. I don’t know why, but he’s going after them. And now... now it’s happening again. They went through something so evil and vile as kids and now… now they’re being killed for it.”

Derek takes a step forward, his hand reaching out to gently grab her arm, grounding her. "Hey, slow down. We’ll figure this out, okay? You’re not alone in this."

“Derek, what if that means I’m next?” She asks him. “We have five victims, and there was only six people in the group. I’m the only one left.” She moves back to the case board, trying to see if any new information will reveal itself after this epiphany. “And it-it’s not like a lot of people knew about it…” she mumbles. “It was a private group, very secluded. It was us and whoever we chose to tell about our experience.”

“Babygirl…” The way Derek calls out to her, she can already tell exactly what question he’s going to ask next. Which is the main reason why she didn’t tell him sooner. She’s been trying to avoid the answer to this question for her entire life.

“Who did this to you?”

Y/N freezes, her eyes traveling down to her feet. She fights off the tears welling behind her eyes, needing to stay strong. This can’t have a hold over her anymore. She can’t keep living like this. In terror of returning to the place she used to call home.

“Adrian,” she says, her voice cracking. She doesn’t even have to turn to Derek to know his fists are clenched. She can feel the anger radiating off of him at the revelation. It all makes sense to him now. Why Y/N’s been acting off since getting to Baraboo, why she was uncomfortable in her childhood home, why she looked like she wanted to run and hide the second Adrian approached her. He violated her in a way no person should ever be violated. In a way that he understands all too well.

He manages to get ahold of his fury, walking closer to her. He sits down in the chair directly next to her body. He reaches out, grabbing her hand and rubbing his thumb over her soft skin. “How long?” He asks, a pained tone in his voice.

She keeps her eyes trained on her shoes, “Ten to fourteen,” she says barely above a whisper. “I went to the support group until I left for college at sixteen.” Y/N sits down next to him, almost hiding within herself. “Most of the other girls were older than me,” her eyes barely graze over the crime scene photos.

“Babygirl, this went on for four years? Did you tell anyone?” Derek wonders, not judging because he didn’t say anything either.

“I tried–” her voice cracks again as she chokes back her tears. She clears her throat to regain her composure, “I told my mom,” she admits quietly. “But she didn’t believe me. She told him I told her and that’s when things went downhill. She called me a liar, told me no one would believe me. Adrian played the victim throughout the whole thing, but the same night he came into my room and–” she sucks in a deep breath. “He told me it was my fault. That he was being so nice to me for doing what he was doing. Told me I wouldn’t make it without him or his help. And I was just a kid,” she sniffles. “I was scared out of my mind. I couldn’t defend myself because I believed him. And my own mother didn’t even think I was telling the truth. How could I tell the police?”

Derek doesn’t say anything but moves forward to pull her in for a hug. He holds her tightly and she slowly melts into his chest. They both can feel the eyes of the team on them, but choose to ignore it. “That’s why I went to the support group.” She continues, slightly muffled by Derek’s chest. “Because they were feeling the same way I was. Even if the people who did it to them were caught and put away, they still understood what it felt like.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t want you to have to relive this, but I gotta ask… Who else knew about these meetings?” He lifts her head up, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Anyone that you can think of. If you truly believe you are the key to this case, you’re the only one who would know.”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Y/N says honestly. “Whenever I would go I would say it was for tutoring or book club. I didn’t want them to know I was looking for help. But the other girls could’ve told someone. I don’t think they did though. When we went it was for us. To help us cope. We didn’t feel the need to tell anyone else because we had each other.” Her forehead creases as she tries to think of someone who could’ve been aware. “I guess the only other person who would’ve known is the girl who facilitated it. She graduated five years before I even got there. Got a degree in psychology. I think she actually became a therapist here.”

“Would she have told anyone?”

“No,” Y/N shakes her head. “She was big on confidentiality. That’s why we all trusted her.” She thinks back to try and remember any detail she could. “Her name is Candy Brown. Dark hair, a couple inches shorter than me, real organized, had set schedules and certain ticks. Like borderline OCD. She would have to click her pen three times when moving onto a new person while taking notes.”

“She kept records?” Derek’s face suddenly morphs into one of extreme concern. “Y/N, if she wrote down everything you guys ever told her, someone could’ve easily found the notes and that’s how our unsub got his information. That’s how he could’ve figured out who was in the group.”

“We need to tell the team,” Y/N looks out the window towards the group of people who haven’t moved since Derek came to talk to her.

“Baby–”

“No,” she shakes her head, using her right hand to cup the side of his face. She looks him in the eyes genuinely for the first time since arriving in Wisconsin. “It’s okay,” Y/N reassures him. “This is information that pertains to the case and can help catch our unsub. They need to know.”

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After telling the team all about her past, Y/N felt embarrassed but overall relieved. She could tell they were heartbroken for her, but none of them went too overboard with it, knowing it would make things worse if they coddled her over it. She was grateful to have Derek with her. She wouldn’t have been able to get through it without having a panic attack if he wasn’t holding her hand all the way through it.

Hotch sent her and Derek to find Candy and ask if she had lost her notes in recent months while him and the rest of the team delivered the more updated profile. Now that they had all the information, they could get a better idea of who this guy is.

Y/N was almost in awe of how large Candy’s building was. Sheriff Mills had given her and Derek the directions to get there, and it was almost refreshing seeing someone from that time in Y/N’s life flourishing. Especially since the other girls didn’t even get the chance to.

Walking into the office, Derek and Y/N flash their badges at the receptionist, informing her of who they are and why they’re here. She quickly guides them to Candy who is fervently writing down information.

“She just got done with a patient,” the receptionist whispers. “She’ll be done any second now.”

Suddenly the dark haired woman’s head shoots up, but not before clicking her pen three times. The same thing she needed to do when trying to move on from person to person.

“Candy Brown,” Derek begins, walking up to the woman to respectfully shake her hand. Y/N follows after him, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “I’m SSA Derek Morgan, and this is–”

“Y/N L/N,” Candy finishes, a mixture of shock and confusion in her voice. A small smile crosses her face as she takes in the now adult woman in front of her. “Wow,” she breathes out. “I haven’t seen you in–”

“Nine years?” Y/N finishes.

Candy nods, “Yeah.” She furrows her eyebrows, looking in between her and Derek, “What’s going on? I know your guys’ team is here investigating the murders, but why are you here?” She asks curiously.

“You remember the support group you created when I was here?” Y/N immediately jumps into the conversation, not bothering to beat around the bush.

“Yes?”

Y/N takes another step forward, analyzing the room around her, “I don’t know if you realized, but all of the victims were participants in the group.”

“Of course I realized,” Candy says. “That’s why I was so surprised to hear that you not only came back but are also working on a case where you could be a potential target.”

“And you weren’t worried about being a target?” Derek asks, brow quirked.

“No,” Candy answers with a small shrug. “After he killed Laura-”

“The second victim,” Y/N adds for clarification.

“Yeah,” Candy nods. “After I found out she was killed, I knew it was a matter of time before the others went.”

“And how exactly did you come to that conclusion?” Derek folds his arms, not understanding how she has so much intel on the case.

She swallows thickly, looking around and avoiding eye contact with the two agents. Y/N tilts her head, narrowing her eyes which makes the shorter woman squirm. “Candy…?” Y/N says expectantly.

“I thought they would’ve told you by now,” Candy starts. “I had a different office before this one. My old one burned down after it was burglarized.” Her explanation makes Y/N’s stomach twist in multiple different directions. Her and Derek make eye contact, knowing exactly where this is going.

“Let me guess, this all happened around two months ago?” Derek sighs when he watches Candy nod her head.

“Yeah. So someone did tell you?”

“No,” Y/N corrects. “That’s just when our unsub started killing.” She looks at Candy with a serious expression, “Listen, I need you to think long and hard about who could’ve had access to your office. Who also might’ve taken too much of an interest in the work you do with sexual abuse survivors.”

Derek elaborates more on the profile, “He should be a white male, late 40s to early 50s. He acts confident as a way to overcompensate for his past failures. He can be a bit of a creep sometimes but tries to cover it up with a facade of charm. He’s become an influential member of the community, but he wasn’t always that way. He had to claw his way up.”

Candy’s brows are furrowed in thought as she thinks deeply about what they’ve said. Her mind goes over the different people that were employed with her, those who spoke to her about her work, who showed interest. That’s when her eyes light up. She looks at Y/N, her lip quivering.

“What?” Y/N asks, immediately noticing the shift. “Candy, what is it?”

“The only other person who could’ve had access to my office in the other building was the cleaner I hired,” she answers. “I hired a third party to come later at night so my day janitors and custodians could go home earlier during the day.”

“Do you remember who this third party is?” Derek asks urgently, getting ready to phone Hotch.

Candy’s face falls, “It was Adrian,” she reveals quietly. Y/N feels like she’s been shot in the chest when the words leave her old friend’s lips. “He’s had this free lance cleaning business for some time now. It’s been pretty successful with all the small businesses around here. He was always asking questions after my meetings, but I would never tell him much. You know I wouldn’t betray Doctor-patient confidentiality like that.” Y/N nods along with the statement. “But after you left, the girls continued to see me. We met in group settings until I built my practice and then they started coming individually. Just for someone to talk to.”

“Did you still keep handwritten notes?” Y/N questions.

“Yeah,” Candy nods. “It’s the most efficient way for me to keep my thoughts organized. But there was one evening I remember that Claire came in and she was telling me how she felt isolated from the community. It was something all the girls had been hinting at, but I didn’t take it seriously until I realized all of them had said it. I was frustrated that I didn’t see them all asking me for help. So when Adrian came in that night, I just said that some of my clients felt alone.” She mentally facepalms, “I know I shouldn’t have even engaged in conversation, but he was just being so involved and nice about it. That’s when he told me to invite them to your mom’s luncheon.”

“And did they go?” Derek questions.

“Yes,” Candy nods. “I encouraged them to go together as emotional support. They all went to the same one.”

Y/N sighs, realizing they’ve already spoken to their unsub and let him get away. “And let me guess, it was the Sunday before your office was burglarized?”

Candy rubs a hand over her face, “And their files were the only ones unaccounted for.”

“Y/N, we need to call Hotch,” Derek tells her seriously. “We’re gonna need backup.”

She nods, a more than determined expression on her face. “Let’s go.”

₊‧ʚ ﹆・︵︵ ₊˚๑ ᕱ🌿ᕱ ꒱✦ ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

Rolling up to her mother’s house twice within the span of a day was unexpected for Y/N, but she’s determined now more than ever to make sure this visit leaves an impact. The woman is the first one out of an SUV, darting towards the door with her gun ready in her hands. Derek follows closely behind, accompanied by Hotch and the rest of the team.

Diane’s car is in the driveway, so Y/N knows this isn’t going to go as smoothly as she desires. If she could just go in and take Adrian down, she would. But she knows her mother is going to try and fight it.

Hotch gives the signal, and Derek pushes the door open, stepping in first with Y/N close behind. The rest of the team fans out, guns at the ready, but Y/N’s focus is singular: Adrian.

Diane is in the living room, flipping through a magazine. She looks up, startled to see them. “Y/N?” she says, her voice warm with surprise. She stands, smiling tentatively, “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”

Y/N’s throat tightens as she looks at her mother. The warmth, the confusion in Diane’s eyes—it almost feels like any other visit, except this time, it’s not. “We need to talk to Adrian,” Y/N says, her voice steady but distant.

Diane frowns, glancing at the rest of the team behind her daughter. “What’s going on? Why do you need to talk to him?” Her smile fades slightly, but there’s still an air of disbelief as if this can’t possibly be serious.

Hotch steps in, his voice professional, calm. “Where’s Adrian, Mrs. Cole? We need to speak with him.”

Diane looks between Y/N and the team, her confusion deepening. “He’s in the bathroom. But what’s this about?”

Y/N feels the familiar dread creeping in, the same doubt her mother always carried. She avoids Diane’s gaze and nods toward the hallway, signaling to Derek and Rossi. “Go get him.”

As Derek and Rossi head toward the hallway, Diane’s tone shifts, becoming more defensive. “Wait, Y/N, what’s going on? You can’t just barge in here—”

Y/N feels a knot form in her chest, but before she can respond, Derek’s voice calls out, sharp. “Adrian! We know you’re in there. It’s over!”

There’s a clatter from the bathroom, followed by silence. Y/N’s eyes dart toward the hallway, tension crackling between them all. She can’t breathe, waiting for the door to open, for Adrian to step out.

Diane’s face hardens now, the warmth fading. “Wait, you think Adrian had something to do with these murders you’re here for?” she asks, her voice incredulous. “This is absurd. He hasn’t done anything!”

Derek reappears at the doorway, his eyes locked on Adrian as he exits the bathroom. Adrian’s face is calm, too calm, but there’s an edge to his voice as he looks from Derek to Y/N. “What’s this about?”

“We know what you’ve been doing,” Y/N says, her voice breaking the silence, though her throat feels like it’s closing in on itself. The weight of her past is crashing down all at once. “We know you found out about my old support group and have been preying on the women.”

Diane’s eyes widen in shock, her voice turning sharp. “Wait—what? This is what you’re accusing him of?” She turns to Y/N, disbelief clear in her expression. “You can’t be serious, Y/N. You’ve always had it out for Adrian—”

“Mrs. Cole, stop,” Derek interrupts, his voice firm as he steps between Y/N and her mother. His protective instincts kick in, but there’s a bite in his words now as he faces Diane directly. “You didn’t believe her then, and I get that you don’t wanna believe her now, but this isn’t a game. He’s connected to multiple murders.”

Diane’s face turns pale as the words sink in, but she shakes her head, her hands trembling slightly. “You’re wrong,” she says, her voice breaking. “Adrian wouldn’t—he didn’t do anything.”

Y/N feels the sting of her mother’s disbelief. After everything, Diane still won’t accept it. Derek glances at Y/N, his voice lowering but full of fire. “She’s your daughter. You should’ve protected her. Instead, you’re defending him.”

Adrian looks like he’s about to speak when Diane steps in front of him, as if shielding him. “Y/N, this is insane. You’re arresting him for murders? You’re destroying our family—again!”

Y/N snaps, emotion flooding into her voice, “Do you even hear yourself? Do you understand what’s happening right now?” She doesn’t want to raise her voice, but it’s like years of anger are bubbling to the surface. “He hurt me. He manipulated me, and now other women are dead because of him!”

Diane looks at Y/N with wide eyes, as if she can’t process what she’s hearing. “You’re lying,” she says quietly, her voice shaking. “You’re making this all up. You always blamed Adrian for everything—”

Y/N’s heart twists painfully in her chest. Even now, her mother doesn’t believe her. Derek’s jaw clenches as he steps forward, practically growling now. “She’s not lying. She’s been through enough, and it’s time you started listening to her instead of defending this monster.”

Adrian, sensing that things are slipping out of his control, sneers at Derek. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Derek’s eyes are sharp as he glares back, full of unspoken anger. “I know enough.”

Hotch steps in then, signaling Spencer, Rossi, and Prentiss. “We’re taking him in,” he says, his voice calm but decisive.

Diane stumbles backward as Morgan pulls Adrian’s arms behind his back to cuff him. “You can’t do this!” Diane cries out, her hands shaking as she reaches for Adrian.

“Ma’am I’m going to need you to step back,” Prentiss warns, her voice firm but not unkind.

Diane turns to Y/N, desperation in her eyes. “Please, Y/N. Don’t do this.”

Y/N’s throat tightens again, the pain almost unbearable as she looks at her mother. “I didn’t do this. He did.”

As they haul Adrian toward the door, Derek stays by Y/N’s side, his hand gently resting on her arm. He leans in, his voice softening just for her. “You alright?”

Y/N can barely nod. “I just… I need this to be over.”

Derek squeezes her arm gently, the tension between them unspoken but palpable. “We’ll make sure it is,” he says quietly. “He’s not gonna hurt you anymore.”

As Adrian is led out, Y/N watches him disappear through the door, the weight of everything she’s carried for so long finally starting to lift. Derek stays close, his protective presence like a shield around her.

“I should’ve seen this sooner,” Y/N whispers, her voice full of regret.

Derek looks at her, his eyes full of something deeper, something he hasn’t said yet. “This isn’t on you,” he says, his voice steady. “We’ve got him now.”

Y/N takes a deep breath, her heart pounding, but there’s a strange sense of relief starting to creep in. Maybe, finally, this part of her life is coming to an end.

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In the interrogation room, Adrian Cole lounges in his seat, his cocky smile never wavering as Hotch and Derek sit across from him. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a cold, sterile glow, but Adrian is undisturbed, clearly enjoying himself. His eyes flick between Hotch and Derek, and there’s something calculating in the way he looks at them, like he’s already planning his next move.

Hotch keeps his voice steady, professional. “Adrian, we know about your connection to the women in the support group. Candy Brown confirmed that you used to work for her, that you were asking questions about the survivors. You were studying them, weren’t you? Figuring out how to get close.”

Adrian leans back in his chair, chuckling lightly. “Questions? You mean me being polite? Curious, maybe? Come on, Agent, that’s hardly a crime.”

Derek’s jaw tightens, but he remains composed. “You fit the profile. We know you’ve been stalking these women. We know Y/N was your real target all along.”

Adrian’s smile grows wider, his eyes shifting to Derek. “Oh, Agent Morgan. I see why you’re here now.” He leans forward, the playful tone in his voice turning darker. “This isn’t about the profile, is it? It’s about her. You’re here because of Y/N.”

Derek’s gaze hardens, but he doesn’t take the bait. “I’m here because of what you did.”

“What I did?” Adrian raises an eyebrow, mockingly confused. “You mean what you think I did. You’re just mad because you know I got to her first.”

The air in the room seems to thicken with tension as Adrian watches Derek’s reaction, clearly enjoying the game he’s playing. Hotch tries to redirect. “This isn’t about Y/N. It’s about the six women you killed.”

But Adrian’s eyes stay locked on Derek. “Six women… sure, that’s bad. But you know what’s worse, Derek?” He leans forward, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Knowing she’ll never be yours. No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try to protect her, you’ll always be too late. You can’t fix what’s already broken.”

Derek clenches his fists under the table, the muscles in his jaw working as he forces himself to stay calm. Adrian’s words are cutting deep, hitting exactly where he intended.

“You’re wrong,” Derek growls, barely keeping his composure. “She’s stronger than you think. And you’ll never touch her again.”

Adrian’s smirk doesn’t falter. “Strong? Sure. Strong enough to get away from me last time. But the thing is, Derek… people like her? They always come back. It’s just a matter of time.”

Derek leans in, his voice deadly quiet. “You’ll rot in prison before you ever get that chance.”

Adrian sits back, casually crossing his arms over his chest, his grin widening. “We’ll see.”

Hotch, sensing Derek’s rising anger, stands up. “We’re done here.”

Derek hesitates for a split second, his eyes still locked on Adrian, but then he rises as well. Adrian chuckles lowly and his eyes follow Derek as he moves toward the door. “Leaving already, Derek?” Adrian’s voice drips with mockery. “Y/N must have told you everything by now. How she couldn’t resist, how much she used to like it when I—”

Derek spins back around, his anger breaking through for just a second. “You need to shut your mouth.”

Adrian’s smile only widens as he leans forward, reveling in Derek’s reaction. “Touched a nerve, did I? Guess it’s not just Y/N’s mind I wormed my way into, huh?”

Before Derek can step closer, Hotch holds out an arm, signaling him to back down. He knows Adrian is trying to bait Derek into losing control. “We’re leaving,” Hotch repeats firmly.

As soon as the door to the interrogation room shuts, Derek finally lets the anger show on his face. “That guy is a real piece of work,” he mutters under his breath. He paces, trying to rein in his emotions. Rossi, JJ, Prentiss, and Spencer are waiting, their expressions tense.

Hotch nods, his expression grim. “He knows how to manipulate, how to get under people’s skin. That’s why he’s dangerous. But we need a confession.”

Derek shoots him a look, his voice hard. “You’re not seriously thinking about sending Y/N in there.”

“She’s the only one he’ll talk to,” Hotch replies, his tone even, though there’s clear discomfort in his eyes. “He’s too focused on her. He won’t crack for us, but with her, he might.”

“She doesn’t need to be anywhere near that psycho,” Prentiss adds, backing Derek up.

Rossi nods, his arms crossed. “He’ll try to manipulate her, Hotch. He’ll push all her buttons. You know how dangerous that could be.”

Hotch looks around at the team, his face unreadable, but resolute. “He’s not going to talk to anyone else. Y/N’s the reason this is all happening—he’s fixated on her. If we want a confession, we need her.”

Derek is still pacing, shaking his head in frustration. “Hotch, you know what he’ll do. He’ll tear her apart mentally.”

“Derek…” Y/N’s voice cuts through the tension as she steps forward, her face calm but determined. “I need to do this.”

Derek looks at her, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. “No, Y/N. You don’t have to do this. Let someone else handle it.”

Y/N meets his gaze, her voice steady. “It has to be me. He won’t talk to anyone else, and you know it. I’m the one who has to end this.”

Derek runs a hand over his face, still conflicted, but he knows she’s right. He can see the resolve in her eyes, the same determination that’s been driving her since this case started. After a long moment, he nods, though it clearly kills him to do so. “Fine. But I’m right outside the door. The second you need me, I’m coming in.”

Y/N gives him a small, appreciative smile. “I know.”

With a final glance at the rest of the team, Y/N walks into the interrogation room. Adrian’s eyes light up the moment he sees her, his grin returning.

“Well, look who it is,” he says, leaning back in his chair like he’s just been handed a gift. “I knew you’d come.” His eyes flicker with amusement as he takes in her demeanor. She’s calm. No sign of fear on her face, making his fists clench. “You always were a clever girl, Y/N. Smart enough to know what you wanted but never strong enough to follow through. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You think you’ve won.”

Y/N narrows her eyes. “I didn’t come here to win anything, Adrian. I came here to end this.”

He scoffs, leaning forward again, his tone dropping to a darker pitch. “End what? You think locking me up will change anything? You’ll still be thinking about me. You’ll always be connected to me. You and I, Y/N, we’re the same.”

Y/N’s lips curl into a tight smile. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not like you, Adrian. I’m stronger because I don’t need to control anyone to feel powerful. You? You’re nothing. You never were. You thought you had control over me, but really, you were just a pathetic coward trying to feel important.”

Adrian’s jaw tightens, but Y/N can see the flicker of anger behind his eyes. She presses on, her voice dropping to a cold, cutting tone.

“You couldn’t control me, Adrian. That’s why you went after those other women. You thought by killing them, you’d finally feel like you had power over something. But deep down, you knew the truth. You’re impotent. You can’t control anyone, least of all me.”

His hand twitches on the table, and his smirk falters. Y/N knows she’s hit a nerve.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” Adrian hisses, his voice venomous. “You think you’re untouchable? I killed those women because they were weak! They were nothing compared to you! But I did it for you. Every one of them, Y/N! Every one was for you, to remind you of what I can do.”

His face twists with fury as he leans in, practically spitting the words now. “I did it because I knew it would bring you back to me. And guess what? It worked. You’re here. And when this is over, you’ll never forget me.”

Y/N doesn’t flinch, her eyes cold and unwavering as she meets his gaze. “You’re right about one thing, Adrian. I won’t forget you. But not because I’m scared or because you have any hold over me. I’ll remember you as the pathetic, cowardly man who couldn’t even face his own failures. You killed those women because you couldn’t handle the fact that I got away from you. That I beat you.”

Adrian’s face is red with rage now, his fists clenched as he glares at her. He’s lost his cool completely, no longer the charming manipulator he was trying to be. He’s exposed.

Y/N stands up slowly, looking down at him with calm, cold eyes. “You wanted me back in your life? Well, congratulations, Adrian. You’ve got a one-way ticket to prison, and the only time you’ll see me again is when you’re rotting behind bars.”

She leans in just a little, her voice dropping to a near whisper, her words like ice. “I won. You lost. And the worst part for you? You’ll spend the rest of your miserable life knowing I never belonged to you.”

Adrian’s face twists in a snarl, but he doesn’t say anything. Y/N doesn’t need him to. She’s already shattered his delusions.

As she turns to leave the room, she pauses in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder one last time. “Enjoy prison, Adrian. You’ll be surrounded by men just like you. Maybe they’ll remind you of what real powerlessness feels like.”

She walks out without looking back, leaving Adrian sitting there, fuming and defeated.

Outside, the team watches through the observation window. Derek’s eyes never leave Y/N as she steps into the hallway, her expression unreadable but victorious.

As soon as she’s out, Derek moves toward her, his voice low and full of quiet admiration. “You were incredible in there.”

Y/N gives him a small smile, but it’s bittersweet. “It’s over.”

Derek steps closer, his voice softening. “You did it, Y/N. You took him down.”

She nods, but before she can respond, her mother’s voice cuts through the moment. Diane, standing at the end of the hall, her eyes wide with shock and regret, had heard every word of Adrian’s confession.

“Y/N…” Diane’s voice trembles, her face pale as she takes a tentative step forward. “I didn’t know. I didn’t believe you and I’m—”

“Stop,” Y/N says, her voice sharp but not raised. She turns to face her mother, eyes hard. “I forgive you, Mom. But I’ll never forget what you did. Or didn’t do.”

Diane’s face crumples as she stares at her daughter, tears welling in her eyes. “Please, Y/N. I didn’t understand. I didn’t know how to—”

Y/N cuts her off again, shaking her head. “It’s too late. You had years to believe me. Years to help me. I’m done waiting for you to care.”

Diane reaches out, but Y/N takes a step back, her face unreadable. “Take care of yourself, Mom. I don’t need you anymore.”

With that, Y/N turns and walks away, the weight of years of pain finally lifted from her shoulders.

Derek watches her go, admiration and sadness flickering in his eyes. He catches up to her and without a word, pulls her into a tight embrace, holding her like he never wants to let go.

“You did good babygirl,” he murmurs into her hair, his voice thick with emotion. “You did real good.”

Y/N lets out a shaky breath, leaning into him. “It’s really over,” she whispers, and for the first time, she truly believes it.

₊‧ʚ ﹆・︵︵ ₊˚๑ ᕱ🌿ᕱ ꒱✦ ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

Y/N stood in her kitchen, stirring the lavender tea she had made for herself, hoping the soothing scent would calm her nerves after the intensity of the past few days. The warmth of the mug seeped into her hands as she glanced at the clock—it was late, and for the first time since they wrapped the case, she was alone. It was a rare, precious quiet. She wore her comfiest pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, her hair thrown into a messy bun as she padded over to the couch.

She sank into the cushions with a sigh, trying to let the exhaustion slip away. Just as she curled up, ready to embrace the quiet, a knock came at the door.

Her brow furrowed. Who could it be at this hour? A part of her tensed, but when she peeked through the peephole, her face softened.

Derek.

A smile immediately spread across her lips as she quickly unlocked the door and swung it open. "Derek," she said, warmth filling her voice. "What are you doing here?"

He stood there, dressed casually in jeans and a fitted t-shirt, but the warmth in his dark eyes was what made her heart flutter. He held a small box in his hands, the edges of a smile tugging at his lips.

“I couldn’t let you be alone after everything,” he said softly. “And... I brought you something.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, eyeing the box with curiosity. “Oh? And what’s that?”

Derek stepped forward, holding the box out to her. “Carrot cake. Figured you could use a little sweetness after the last few days.”

Y/N’s smile brightened, and she laughed softly, the tension of the case beginning to melt away. “You remembered it’s my favorite.”

“Of course I did. I remember everything about you,” he said, his voice low and teasing, but there was an underlying sincerity in his words.

She took the box from his hands, shaking her head in amusement. “I think I need something sweeter than carrot cake, though.”

Derek cocked an eyebrow, that signature smirk playing at his lips. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Y/N met his gaze, her voice soft but playful. “You.”

The smirk on Derek’s face softened into something more tender as he watched her, his dark eyes flickering with a mixture of admiration and something deeper. “Is that right?”

She stepped aside, motioning for him to come in. “Come on, might as well share the cake if you’re here. I’m not letting you leave just yet.”

Derek chuckled as he stepped inside, glancing around her cozy apartment before his eyes landed back on her. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

They moved to the living room, and Y/N placed the cake on the coffee table, her heart lighter now that Derek was here. The weight of the last few days seemed to lessen in his presence.

“So,” Derek said as they sat together on the couch, their knees brushing. “How are you holding up?”

Y/N exhaled, leaning back against the cushions. “I’m... okay. Honestly, I’m better now that you’re here. But it’s been a lot. I didn’t think I’d ever have to face him again, let alone...”

She trailed off, and Derek reached out, placing his hand gently on top of hers. “You don’t have to explain. What you did back there? Y/N, you were incredible. You stood your ground. You faced him head-on, and you came out stronger.”

Y/N looked at him, her heart swelling at the tenderness in his voice. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” she said quietly. “You were right there the whole time, and knowing that... it made it easier.”

Derek’s hand slid up from hers, his fingers lightly brushing her cheek before he cupped the side of her face. His touch was warm, grounding. His voice lowered, filled with awe. “Y/N, I’ve always been in awe of you. Always. But after this... what you just went through? You’re the strongest woman I know.”

Her heart fluttered as his thumb softly stroked her cheek, his eyes searching hers. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the space between them charged with something unspoken but undeniably strong.

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly, and she let herself lean into his touch. “Derek...”

Before she could say more, Derek’s eyes flicked to her lips, and in a soft, almost tentative movement, he leaned in and kissed her. It was tender, a kiss filled with emotions that had been building for so long. Her hand found its way to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her palm as she kissed him back, letting the warmth of him pull her in.

When they pulled away, their foreheads rested together, and Y/N smiled softly. “That was...”

“Long overdue,” Derek finished for her, his lips brushing hers again in a whisper of a kiss before he pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. “You’re amazing, you know that? I’m proud of you. And I’m not just saying that because of this case. I’ve always been proud of you.”

Y/N’s chest tightened with emotion, and she bit her lip to keep her smile from spreading too wide. “You’ve always been my rock, Derek.”

“And you’ll always have me,” he said, his voice low and certain, like a promise.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Derek still holding her close, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace she hadn’t felt in days. She rested her head against his shoulder, her fingers still lightly touching his hand.

Derek wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer as they sank deeper into the couch. Neither of them felt the need to speak anymore, the warmth of their closeness enough.

Eventually, the exhaustion from the case caught up to them. Their breaths evened out as they lay together, bodies intertwined on the couch, the world outside fading away as sleep overtook them.

For the first time in days, Y/N finally felt at peace, knowing she was exactly where she was meant to be—in Derek’s arms, where everything just felt right.

Scott: I dare you to kiss the next person who walks into this room.

Stiles: Screw that, I’m not kissing any of you.

*Y/N walks in*

Stiles: Fine, I’ll do it. Rules are rules you know.

Night School 1x07

“Lock it! Lock it!” Scott screams as he holds the left door shut for dear life. Fallon sits in between the two boys as panic sets in for all three of them.

“Does it look like I have a key?!” Stiles snaps.

“We’re gonna die,” Fallon mumbles, still staring off into the distance.

Stiles leans down, grabbing her hand, “Hey, look at me.” He forces her to meet his gaze by gently lifting her chin with his finger. “We’re not gonna die… At least not right now.”

“We will if you don’t grab something!” Scott screams at Stiles.

“What?” He looks around the area, trying to find something to lock the door with.

Scott waves his hands wildly, “Anything!”

Stiles huffs, completely overstimulated. He stands up and looks outside the window in the door and notices the bolt cutters they left outside. His eyes light up and Fallon can automatically tell what he’s thinking. She shakes her head, “Stiles… no.”

He looks down at her, “Yes!” He opens the door and shimmies his way out.

Scott scrambles to try and grab him, “No! Stiles, don’t–”

The door shuts, leaving Scott and Fallon inside as Stiles tries to sneakily grab the tool. The brunette girl struggles to get onto her good leg, barely peeking over the bottom of the window. She watches nervously as her friend analyzes the area, making sure the Alpha isn’t coming from another direction.

“Come on, Stiles…” she whispers nervously.

Stiles bends down, grabbing the bolt cutters and that’s when Fallon sees it. The Alpha crawls out from behind Stiles’ jeep, sights set on the spastic boy who still hasn’t noticed his presence. Fallon and Scott both start pounding heavily on the door, trying to get his attention. He turns to look at them, confused by the sudden commotion coming from them. That is until he follows their line of vision and sees the large creature bounding straight for him.

“Stiles, run!” Fallon screams.

He stays stunned for a moment until he realizes that his life is in imminent danger. He scrambles to his feet, tripping over himself slightly as he jumps back into the school, slamming the door shut behind him and sticking the bolt cutters in between the handles to hold it shut.

All three of them pant heavily before slowly moving to check outside again. Nothing. He’s gone. Their nerves spike again as they realize a gigantic werewolf has managed to disappear from view. “Where is it?” Scott asks breathily. “Where did it go?”

Stiles lifts his large LED lantern, flashing it through the window and partially blinding himself because of the reflection. They all continue looking for a moment, glancing in every direction but not seemingly able to find him. Her face is pale. She hates feeling terrified like this because she knows that the Alpha can sense it. He sensed it the night in the video store, and he sure as hell can sense it now.

“That won’t hold, will it?” Scott asks skeptically as he looks at their makeshift lock.

“Probably not,” Fallon replies grimly.

A loud howl causes them to jump out of their skin. Scott is quick to grab Fallon, putting her on his back as they run through the school. She clings onto him tightly, this ride being more bumpy than when she goes through the woods on her motorcycle. Stiles crashes into a classroom, Scott following closely behind with the previous cargo. He sets her down on a nearby chair, her crutches having been abandoned by the front doors to the school. Stiles grabs one side of the teacher’s desk, Scott grabbing the other as they go to move it towards the door.

“Shh! Stop, stop,” Stiles commands as the desk screeches loudly across the tile. He glances back at the door with a defeated sigh, “The door’s not gonna keep it out.”

“I know,” Scott huffs, removing his hands from the desk.

Stiles shakes his head, looking at Scott, “It’s your boss.”

“What?”

“Deaton? The Alpha? Your boss.” Stiles repeats, trying to make him realize the reality of their situation.

“No,” Scott denies.

“I mean, maybe,” Fallon mutters. Scott turns to her with narrowed eyes and she shrugs, “Come on, Scott. He was tied up in the back of the Camaro, then suddenly disappears? Only for the Alpha to show up ten seconds later and toss Derek across the freaking parking lot. Seems to add up, doesn’t it?”

“It’s not him,” he says determinedly.

“He killed Derek, Scott,” she reminds him, her heart beating faster as she replays the image of Derek’s body hitting the brick wall of the school. It’s also rather hard to forget as her once clean shirt is now covered in his blood.

“No,” Scott shakes his head. “Derek’s not dead. He can’t be dead.”

“Blood spurted out of his mouth, dude!” She exclaims. “I’m literally covered in it. The Alpha’s claws literally stabbed him through the back. He was thrown into a brick wall,” she lists off with a scoff. “And you think he’s not dead? He’s gone, Scott. And if the Alpha can take out a werewolf like Derek that easily, what do you think he’s gonna do to us, hm?”

Scott knows she’s right, “Okay just–” he sighs, “What do we do?”

“We get to my Jeep. We get out of here. And you seriously think about quitting your job,” Stiles rattles off his plan. “Good?” He doesn’t wait for a response before traveling over to the windows. Scott follows him while Fallon hops her way over. She pauses behind them as Scott tries to fiddle with the latch, the window not budging.

Stiles grabs his arm, “No, they don’t open. The school’s climate-controlled.”

“So break it,” Fallon says exasperatedly.

“Which would make a lot of noise,” Stiles counters logically.

“It doesn’t matter how much noise we make!” She exclaims. “He can hear our heartbeats and us talking right now anyway! He also has Scott and my scent,” she argues. “I don’t think smashing a window is going to make our situation any worse.”

Stiles goes to continue arguing but Scott stops him, “Stiles, what’s wrong with the hood of your jeep?” He questions, looking out the window with wide eyes.

Stiles furrows his eyebrows, “What do you mean?” He asks defensively, going to look out the window himself. “Nothing’s wrong…”

“It’s bent,” Fallon breathes out, tilting her head as she gazes out the window as well.

“What, like, dented?”

“No, Stiles, I mean bent,” Fallon insists. “Like half of it sticking in the air bent.”

The boy gasps when he sees what they’re talking about, “What the hell…?”

Their curiosity is cut off by the window above them shattering. They all scream, ducking down on the floor to take some sort of cover as a large object flies overhead and lands only a few feet in front of them. From the looks of it, none of them were hit by any falling glass, but the night is still young.

Fallon’s jaw hits the floor, pointing forward, “…That’s your battery,” she says to the boy next to her.

A small whimper leaves Stiles’ mouth as he thinks of how expensive replacing that part is going to be. He stares at it upsetly for another few seconds before shuffling forward to leave. Scott grabs him with a pointed look, “Don’t.”

“We have to move,” Stiles insists.

“He could be right outside!”

Fallon looks at Scott like he’s dumb, “He is right outside! And I don’t know about you, but I’m not gonna sit here and wait for him to come and eat me.”

Scott sits up slightly, sighing, “Just let me take a look.”

They wait as he scans over the parking lot once more, the Alpha absent from sight. Stiles glances up, “Nothing?” He wonders.

“No,” Scott shakes his head with a trembling breath.

“Move now?” Fallon requests, already using the desk next to her to get on her feet.

Scott nods, “Move now.”

Him and Stiles sling both of Fallon’s arms over their shoulders as they walk out into the hallway. They look down both ways, checking to see that the pathway is empty. “This way…” Scott starts pulling them.

Fallon’s body moves with Scott until she’s jerked back by Stiles. She grunts, sending the boy a small glare. He mumbles out an apology before explaining his abrupt motion, “No, no, no, no… Somewhere without windows.”

Fallon furrows her eyebrows, “Every single classroom in this building has windows,” she points out.

Stiles rolls his neck, tired of her arguing with him, “Or somewhere with less windows,” he corrects.

They all pause in thought, trying to think of somewhere in the school. Fallon takes another glance down the hall, taking another deep breath when there’s no sign of the Alpha. Scott’s eyes light up with an idea, “The locker room.”

Stiles nods rapidly, getting ready to move Fallon again. “Yeah.”

She winces, looking between the two, “Is it gonna smell in there? Because if it is, we should go to the girls.”

“Seriously?” Stiles looks at her as they run down the hallway. “Were being chased by Scott’s psycho, murderer boss and you’re worried about the locker room stinking?”

Fallon rolls her eyes, fighting off the urge to kick him because he’s right. “Just keep running.”

They manage to run down the hallway without making much noise to their surprise. Well, not much noise in their opinion. Some shoes were scuffled as well as a certain cuss word leaving Stiles’ mouth as he managed to almost drop Fallon on the way there.

Once they walk in, they set Fallon down on the bench and she looks around with an impressed nod. “Not bad,” she comments. “I only smell a faint stench of sweaty socks.”

The boys ignore her. Scott turns to Stiles, panting from running. “Call your dad,” he instructs.

Stiles scoffs, “And tell him what?”

“I don’t know!” Scott says urgently. “Anything! Gas leak. A fire. Whatever! If that thing sees the parking lot filled with cop cars, it’ll take off.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Stiles challenges, considering the opposite scenario. “What if it goes completely Terminator and kills every cop in sight, including my dad?”

“They have guns!” Scott exclaims.

Fallon leans forward, sending Scott a pointed look, “Yeah, and Derek had to be shot with some rare form of Wolfsbane to even be slightly slowed down, remember that? What do you think the Sheriff department’s peewee guns are gonna be able to do?”

Scott starts to get frantic, clawing for any escape plan from his brain. “Then we-we have to-we have to find a way out and just run for it.”

“There’s nothing near the school for at least a mile,” Stiles points out. “And we can’t keep lugging Fallon around everywhere. No offense,” he nods at her.

“None taken.”

“When does that thing get taken off anyway?” He questions, getting tired of the big bulky cast.

“I’m hoping by the end of next week,” she says, just as irritated with it as he is. “My dad said my X-rays looked good at my appointment yesterday so, fingers crossed.” She gets up from her spot, tired of being the one sitting. “Why don’t we just wait for the Alpha to come into the school?” She suggests. “Then we can just book it back to the other classroom and sneak out of the broken window.”

“Are you dumb?” Stiles narrows his eyes at her. “He already knows we were in there. Why would we go back? Haven’t you watched any sort of horror movie?”

“Yeah,” Fallon scoffs. “And everyone always dies after trying to find some elaborate way to escape. We have an easy opening in that classroom, we should take it.”

“Guys!” Scott interrupts them. “Why don’t we just take Derek’s car?”

“How the hell are we gonna get out to the car genius?” Fallon quirks a brow.

“That could work…” Stiles brushes over her comment. “We go outside, we get the keys… off his body… and then we take his car.”

“And him,” Fallon adds. “I’m not exactly down to just leave his body here.”

Stiles rolls his eyes like that’s a big ask, “Fine. Whatever.”

They all walk towards the door, Fallon more so hobbling. Stiles reaches forward to grab the door handle, but just as he’s about to open it, Scott reaches forward and stops him. His hand wraps around Stiles’ wrist. Fallon and Stiles look at him wildly, wondering what caused the sudden action.

“What?” Stiles lifts his eyebrows.

“I think I heard something,” Scott whispers.

“Wait, what?” Fallon whips her head to him in concern.

Scott slaps a hand over her mouth, “Shh, quiet.” He must hear something else as he slowly starts backing away from the door. He keeps Fallon behind him, turning Stiles’s flashlight around so it doesn’t give away their location. “Hide.”

Stiles acts fast, loudly opening one of the locker doors next to him and shoving himself inside. Scott winces at how much noise it made, but nonetheless grabs Fallon and brings her over to the lockers across from where Stiles is. He shoves her in one, shutting it gently before enclosing himself in the one next to her. The brunette girl covers her own mouth with her arm, trying to minimize the amount of sound her breathing makes as she hears footsteps approaching the locker room door.

The door opens slowly, the creaking sound it makes only increasing the tension that was already there. Fallon pushes herself as far back into the locker as she can, not wanting the Alpha to see her through the small slits in the locker.

Suddenly, the door to Scott’s locker swings open making Fallon’s fight or flight kick in. Despite her leg, she jumps out of her own locker, tackling whoever it is to the ground. “Go, run!” She shouts until she registers who exactly she just body slammed. It's the janitor. Her eyes widen as guilt and embarrassment flood her system. She pulls herself off the man, struggling to get to her feet, “I am so sorry, I–”

“Son of a bitch!” The man yells, rubbing the back of his head where he hit the ground.

“Quiet!” Stiles snaps, not wanting their location to be revealed.

“Quiet my ass!” The man scoffs. “What the hell are you trying to do, kill me?”

“Sir, I really am so sorry–” Fallon tries to get out.

“All three of you, get out! Now!” He points towards the door, his tone leaving no room for an argument.

“Will you just listen for half a second, okay–” Stiles starts in an attempt to calm the man down.

“Not okay,” the Janitor cuts him off, not interested in any excuse or story they have to offer. “Get the hell out of here right now.” The man grabs Scott and Stiles by their necks, glaring at Fallon harshly to get her to follow. She hops on her good leg, using the wall for support as they are all three tossed out of the locker room.

Stiles tries again, catching his balance before falling, “God, just one second to explain–”

“Just shut up and go!”

A loud scream leaves the janitor’s mouth as the door is slammed shut. The three of them watch in horror as he’s pinned against the wall, blood spurting out of him and onto the glass window of the door. The janitor pounds on the window, begging for them to save him from the monster attacking him. Scott moves to open the door, Fallon following closely behind until Stiles yanks them backwards.

“No, no, no,” he pushes them in the opposite direction. “Go! Go!” He scoffs over at Fallon who’s about to jump on Scott’s back, “What were you gonna do? Kick him to death with your cast?”

“You know what sounds like a fantastic idea? Me doing that to you.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Fallon dismounts off of Scott’s back, practically tossing herself at the side doors to the school. She uses all of her body weight to get herself out, but bounces back slightly when the doors don’t give way like she was expecting. The boys grunt loudly as they try to push along with her, but nothing works.

There’s enough of a crack for Scott to push his head through. He sighs when he notices exactly what’s blocking them in, “It’s a dumpster.”

“You’re telling me that this killer werewolf took the time to lock us in here with a freaking dumpster?” Fallon stares at the door with a slack jaw.

Stiles stares ahead, baffled. “Yeah. He pushed it in front of the door to block us in,” he scoffs unbelievably. A surge of anger courses through the boy as he charges towards the door, once again trying to move the blockade, “Come on! Help me!”

Fallon grabs his arm, “Stiles!” She calls out. “It’s no use. We gotta find another way,” she mumbles.

He reluctantly allows her to pull him away from the doors as they start walking back down the hallway in search for another escape route. Stiles shakes his head rapidly, “I’m not dying here. I’m not dying at school,” he says anxiously.

“We’re not gonna die,” Scott reassures as they round a corner.

“What is he even doing?” Fallon asks out loud, trying to figure it out herself as well. “What does he want?” He didn’t attack her at the video store. He hasn’t tried to kill any of them. He hasn’t even really been violent with Scott. Just chasing him. Like a game of cat and mouse.

“Me.” Scott sighs frustratedly. “Derek says it’s stronger with a pack.”

“Oh great!” Stiles comments sarcastically. “A psychotic werewolf who’s into teamwork. That’s-that’s beautiful.”

Scott slaps a hand across both Fallon and Stiles’ chest. They both look at him, confused as to why he just soccer-mom’d the both of them. However, his eyes are stuck out the large window they are now standing in front of. Stiles and Fallon follow his line of vision, both of them turning a pale white as they see the Alpha on the roof across from them.

“Holy fu–” Fallon goes to scream, but is cut off by Scott swooping her up bridal style.

They bolt in the other direction, hearing the smashing of glass as the Alpha begins chasing after them. She grips onto Scott’s neck tightly as they open the door that leads to the staircase. Little grunts leave Scott’s mouth as he tries not to drop her while also maintaining his pace. She silently hopes he doesn’t drop her. She doesn’t want another cast for at least the next four years.

“Over there!” She whisper yells, pointing towards a random hallway. “There‘a a bunch of old beaten up lockers around that corner. We can hide behind those.”

The boys do as they’re told, rounding the corner and speeding towards the lockers she was talking about. They stop, pressing their backs against the cool metal which heavily contrasts their sweating bodies. Each of them holds their breath as to not give away their location. Fallon can hear the low snarling coming from the Alpha who’s only a mere few feet away. Scott barely looks around the corner, letting out a relieved sigh as the creature goes the other way.

“Go,” Scott mouths quietly.

“What?” Stiles tilts his head.

Fallon pushes him forward, “He said go,” she mumbles.

The three of them run forward for a moment, finding an area they deem far enough from where they just spotted the Alpha. They all stare at the entrance, anxiously waiting to see if they’ve been followed.

“Okay, we need to do something,” Fallon insists, backing towards another wall to ease some pressure off of her leg.

“Like what?” Scott asks exasperatedly.

“I don’t know!” She scoffs. “Kill it, maybe?! I am not above seriously debilitating that thing. Hell, we could sit here and mentally assault it for all I care!”

Stiles and Scott inch towards the door on the other side of the room. Fallon stays pushed against the wall, feeling slightly guilty that they’ve had to carry her around the entire night. She freezes in her spot as a distant growling fills her ears. The pipes in the school squeak eerily the longer they sit in silence.

Stiles reaches in his pockets, pulling out a pair of keys that begin to make a rather loud jangling noise. Fallon wishes she could smack him, but Scott seems to have that covered. “Wait a minute, no–”

“Shh,” Stiles hushes him. He finishes pulling them out, shaking them while doing so to create more noise. The growling grows closer and Fallon gets prepared to book it on her own. Out of nowhere, Stiles tosses the keys out of the door into the spare room. The room shakes violently as the Alpha comes barreling towards their location. Stiles slams the door in the things face before jolting backwards.

“What did you just do?!” Fallon screams.

“The desk!” Stiles yells at Scott to help him. “Come on, the desk!”

Scott surges forward, helping Stiles move the large table. They manage to scoot it in front of the door, locking the Alpha out, and also trapping him in the other room. They used the same “dumpster” tactic he used. Fallon exhales, putting her hands on her knees to calm herself down.

She jumps over to Stiles wrapping her arms around him, “God, I love that stupid brain of yours,” she says, relieved.

That relief only lasts a few seconds as the door jolts forward roughly. They all jump at the sound of metal clanging as the Alpha continues to try and break through. The desk separates Stiles and Fallon from Scott as it’s pushed against the door long ways. Stiles gestures for Scott to come to their side, “Come on, get across… Come on!”

Scott jumps over the metal table, standing with his friends on the other side as they look through the small window to where they’ve trapped the Alpha. Stiles cranes his neck in different directions to try and spot it.

“What are you doing?” Scott asks him incredulously.

“I just wanna get a good look at it…” Stiles trails off, practically pressing his face to the glass.

Fallon looks at him flabbergasted, “Are you crazy?! The last thing we should do is antagonize him.”

“Look, it’s trapped, okay? It’s not gonna get out,” he reassures them. The Alpha snarls once more, making Stiles jump on the desk to look at it dead on. He shines his light directly at the werewolf, “Yeah, that’s right, we got you…”

Fallon slaps his back, “What did I just say?” She seethes. “Don’t antagonize it! You’re just gonna piss it off even more than it already is.”

Stiles squares his shoulders, “I’m not scared of this thing–”

He’s swiftly cut off by the Alpha slamming its paw right in Stiles’ face where he was looking. The boy falls off the desk and into Scott’s arms with bated breaths. He scoffs slightly, trying to straighten his posture, “I’m not scared of you,” he calls out, his voice trembling slightly. “Right, ‘cause you’re in there, and we’re out here. And you’re not going anywh–”

A loud crash is all they hear as parts of the ceiling come crashing down from where the Alpha was previously trapped. The three of them slowly look up, hearing the heavy footsteps of the creature who is now crawling over them, inside of the roof. Stiles flashes his light up to the ceiling tiles which are bending under the weight of the werewolf.

Fallon pats Scott’s chest as they start backing away, “Run. Go. Now. Please,” she says in her broken up language. Scott nods his head, the trio taking off around the corner in search of another room to lock themselves in.

They run through random areas of the school that even Fallon didn’t know actually existed. She holds onto Scott’s shoulder as she hops alongside the two of them. Their pace is quick, but not too quick to where they’ll knock her over. She’s not sure how long they’ve been running around for, but it’s been long enough that she definitely needs her pain medication. Unfortunately, she left that in her backpack, which is at Stiles’ house. He insisted she leave her stuff there, saying they’d be back in no time. Look how that turned out.

“Wait, do you hear that?” Scott asks them, abruptly halting his movements. His brows are furrowed as he listens to something that Stiles and Fallon can obviously not hear.

“Not all of us have supernatural hearing, Scott,” Fallon reminds him. “So no, we don’t hear it.”

Scott shakes his head, “It sounds like a phone ringing…” Both of his friends look at him confused. They should be the only one’s in the school, and it’s none of their phones that are going off. Suddenly an alarmed look crossed his face, “I know that ring– it’s Allison’s phone.”

“Wait, are you sure?” Fallon asks him, worry filling her gut at the thought of Allison being stuck in the school with a psycho killer roaming around.

“Yes!” He exclaims, panic lacing his voice. “I-I need to find her. Do either of you have your phone?” He sticks his hand out, his anxieties skyrocketing. He needs to make sure she’s safe.

Fallon nods, grabbing her phone from her pocket and opening it. She pulls up Allison’s contact, pressing the call button before handing it straight to Scott.

She can see his shoulders visibly relax just the tiniest bit as he hears Allison’s voice. She sounds fine. He puts her on speaker so that Fallon and Stiles know what’s going on. “Fallon?” Allison asks, confused.

“No, it’s me,” Scott tells her as he and his two friends move with a new sense of urgency, trying to find Allison before something bad happens. “Where are you?”

“I’m in the school looking for you,” she reveals. “Why weren’t you at my place?” She queries, a bit of hurt in her voice.

“Where are you right now?” He questions her, needing a precise location.

Fallon can hear how lost Allison is, “On the first floor…”

Scott huffs loudly, clenching his fists at how vague her answers still are. “Where? Like where are you exactly?”

“The swimming pools.”

“Get to the lobby,” he instructs strictly, not giving her a chance to ask questions or protest. “Go. Now.”

“Okay. Okay,” she replies. “I’m coming.”

The three of them rush out towards the lobby, hoping to still find the girl in one piece. Fallon uses Stiles for support as they pick up the pace. Scott pushes through the lobby door, a sense of comfort filling him as he sees his girlfriend running towards him.

“Why did you come? Why-what are you doing here?” He rushes out, quickly oncing over her body to make sure she’s not hurt.

Allison furrows her eyebrows, “…Because you asked me to.”

Scott looks just as confused as she does, “I asked you to?”

Allison pulls out her phone, going to the texting thread between her and Scott. Delivered straight from him is a message that says, “Meet me at the school. URGENT.”

Fallon and Stiles share a disturbed look. Does that mean the Alpha has Scott’s phone? Allison picks up on the sudden fear filled tension the trio is sharing. She lowers her phone, “Why do I get the feeling that you didn’t send this message?”

A grim expression takes over Scott’s face, “Because I didn’t.”

Fallon hobbles forward, moving to stand next to Allison. “Did you drive yourself here?” She asks her friend worriedly.

Allison shakes her head, “Jackson did.”

“Jackson’s here, too?!” Scott exclaims, not wanting to have more people be exposed to the dangers of the supernatural.

“And Lydia,” Allison adds quickly. A frown etches its way into her face. All she wants is answers as to why they’re all three acting so odd. “What’s going on? Who sent this text?” Before anyone can think of a lie to answer her questions, her phone starts to ring. She sighs, pressing the device to her ear, “Where are you?”

Simultaneously as Allison asks that, Lydia and Jackson burst in through another door. The strawberry bl made throws her hands up, hanging up the phone she used to just call Allison. “Finally!” She huffs. “Can we go now?”

Allison looks to Scott for confirmation, but the only thing she’s answered with is a heavy thud from above. Stiles, Scott, and Fallon all look at each other, knowing exactly what’s causing the noise. The other three look confused but they definitely weren’t getting an explanation anytime soon. The creaking grows louder and that’s when they know they don’t have much time to get out of there.

Scott grabs Allison’s hand, “Run!” He shouts.

Stiles grabs Fallon, the two of them taking up the back of the group as they dart up the stairs. The heavy panting from the Alpha echoes close behind, thankfully no one dares to turn around, too afraid of being slowed down. They run straight across a long hallway before bursting into another empty classroom. Stiles and Fallon stop, the girl wincing as she plops down in the teachers chair. There’s no way she’s getting this cast off by the end of next week.

When she glances up, she notices the large wall of windows ahead of her. Stiles gapes at the same thing, both of them having the same thought. They would be sitting ducks if they stayed here. The sound of bolts clicking and the door locking causes them to turn around. Jackson and Scott are hurriedly locking and trying to block them in with desks and different arrays of items.

“Help me get this in front of the door.”

Fallon shakes her head, “No, Scott. Wait, we can’t stay–”

“What was that?” Allison talks over the brunette anxiously. She tries to get her boyfriend to answer her, “Scott, what was that?”

“What came out of the ceiling?” Lydia piles onto her friend’s questions, shuffling in her feet nervously.

Jackson and Scott ignore the two girls, piling more and more things in front of the door. Fallon puts her head in her hands, not being able to watch the train wreck unfold. They’ve basically just locked themselves in their own coffin. The Alpha can easily get to any of them.

Her leg is throbbing along with her head. She’s wishing more than anything that she had taken her pain pills before coming here. Not that she’ll need them for very much longer. At this rate she’ll end up dead and not have to worry about broken bones.

“Will you just help me?” Scott calls out to the girls. “The chairs– stack the chairs,” he instructs in a panic.

Allison and Lydia do as they’re told, stacking and moving the chairs where everything else is. Stiles starts to get irritated that no one is listening to him and Fallon, “Guys– can we just wait a second?” Everyone continues moving in a frenzy, not paying any mind to the only two people not assisting. “You guys, listen to me, w–” He frustratedly runs a hand through his buzzed off hair. Fallon feels her own anger bubbling at them just being blatantly ignored. “Can we just wait one second? Guys? Stiles talking,” he comments sarcastically. “Can we hang on one second, please?”

“HEY!” Fallon screams, sick of being talked over. “Would you all just shut up for like ten seconds and listen? Holy crap,” she breathes out, standing up from her seat. All eyes turn to her. They all look spooked, never having heard the brunette raise her voice like that, especially not at them. She limps over to Stiles, her frustration preventing her from sitting still.

“Thank you…” he mutters to her. When his gaze meets everyone else’s he begins to clap sarcastically, “Okay, nice work. Really beautiful job, everyone,” he points to their mountain of furniture mockingly. “Now... What should we do about the twenty-foot wall of windows?” He turns his back to them, presenting the large window pane like it’s an expensive car at a dealership and he’s the salesman.

They all just stare at him awkwardly. No one thought of that, and it shows. Instead of coming up with a solution, the only thing that can be heard is the hysterical breathing of Allison. “Can somebody please explain to me what's going on, because I'm freaking out here. And I would like to know why.” No one answers her so she walks over to her boyfriend, looking at him expectantly, “Scott…?”

Scott looks lost. He doesn’t know what to tell her without completely exposing the truth. Fallon shakes her head, telling him to make up a creative lie. They can’t risk dragging other people into this mess. The werewolf storms away from Allison who keeps looking at him for answers. He braces his arms on a desk a few feet away, his mind running a marathon. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Somebody killed the janitor,” Stiles blurts out.

Fallon spins her head to him so fast. Her eyes look as though they are about to pop out of her head. Everyone is already freaked out enough and he just went and told them that there’s a dead body in the school. He notices the way Fallon’s eye twitches and takes a small step away from her. She fights off the urge to strangle him as Lydia screams from her spot.

“What?!”

“Yeah, the janitor’s dead,” Stiles continues. His heart is in the right place trying to help Scott, but this is the wrong way to go about it.

Allison shakes her head, like denying it will make it go away. “What’s he talking about? Is this a joke?”

“What? Who killed him?” Jackson asks.

Lydia exhales, her whole body trembling, “No, no, no, no… This was supposed to be over… The mountain lion killed–”

“No, don’t you get it?” Jackson snaps, cutting her off. “There wasn’t a mountain lion.”

“Who was it?!” Allison demands. “What does he want? What’s happening?” She asks in a whisper. Scott stays quiet, his mind reeling with possible explanations and people he could blame. “Scott?!” She screams at him.

The boy turns around, stammering, “I-I don't know. I-I just– If-if we go out there, he's gonna kill us.”

“Us?” Lydia’s voice goes up an octave out of anxiety. “He’s gonna kill us?”

“Who?” Allison reiterates. “Who is it?”

Her doe eyes land on Stiles and Fallon who she thinks should also have the answers. Fallon glares at Stiles for bringing up the dead body in the first place. “Fallon?” Allison whispers.

The brunette sighs, rubbing her hand over her face frustratedly. “We don’t know–” She tried to answer in a half-truth but is cut off by Scott.

“It’s Derek,” he lies. “It’s Derek Hale.” Fallon’s face falls as she hears the false accusation. She narrows her eyes at him, disgust being the only readable emotion on her. The poor man might be dead and Scott’s trying to pin another murder on him? One they know for sure he did not commit.

“Derek killed the janitor?” Jackson furrows his eyebrows skeptically.

Allison’s mouth opens and closes, “A-Are you sure?”

“I saw him,” Scott insists, voice raising out of both irritation and desperation.

Lydia shakes her head, “The mountain lion–”

“No!” Scott yells. “Derek killed them.”

“All of them?” Allison asks fearfully.

“Yeah. Starting with his own sister.” This lie is what does it for Fallon. She grips tightly onto the desk next to her so she doesn’t lunge forward and kill Scott. It makes her sick to her stomach how he can say something like that.

“The bus driver?”

“And the guy in the video store.” Scott confirms. “It's been Derek the whole time. He's in here with us. And if we don't get out now, he's going to kill us, too.”

Fallon could only stare at Scott in disbelief. She thought he’d come up with a creative lie, not pin three murders on someone who has already been released as a person of interest. She glances at Stiles who looks just as baffled as she does. They both clearly think it’s a terrible and immoral idea to throw Derek under the bus for this, but Stiles won’t argue against it like she will.

“Call the cops,” Jackson orders.

“No,” Stiles replies.

Jackson looks at Stiles angrily, “Wh-what do you mean, ‘no?’” He asks incredulously.

“I mean, no,” Stiles glares at the jock. “You wanna hear it in Spanish? ‘Noh.’” He puts on his best Spanish accent to accentuate his sarcasm. “Look, Derek killed three people, okay? We don’t know what he’s armed with,” he says, playing into Scott’s lie.

“Your dad is armed with an entire Sheriff’s department,” Jackson argues loudly. “Call him!”

Lydia pulls out her phone, not even bothering to ask Stiles. She takes a step forward, “I’m calling.”

“No, Lydia, would you just hold on a sec–” Stiles tries to follow after her, not wanting to put his father or other lives in danger. Jackson pushes Stiles backwards making Fallon jump forward despite her leg.

“Hey–” she smacks Jackson’s arm away from Stiles’ body. “Touch him and I break it,” she threatens.

“Yes, we’re at Beacon Hills High School,” Lydia tells the operator. “We’re trapped, and we need you to–” she’s stopped by the person speaking to her. Her perfectly manicured brows raise in shock, “But–” she tries to protest, but it’s no use. A distressed and shocked look overtakes her face as she removes her phone from her ear, “She hung up on me…”

“The police hung up on you?” Allison asks bewildered.

“She said they got a tip warning them that there are gonna be prank calls about a break-in at the high school. She said if I called again that they're gonna trace it and have me arrested,” she explains, tears forming at her waterline.

“Okay, then call again,” Allison instructs.

Stiles shakes his head, “No, they won't trace a cell, and they'll send a car to your house before they send anyone here.”

Allison stutters, bringing her hands up to her temples to rub her head frustratedly, “What the– what- what is this?” She laughs humorlessly. “Why does Derek wanna kill us? Why does he want to kill anyone?” She asks, making everyone's head turn to Scott who still looks like he’s trying to get his story straight.

“He doesn’t…” Fallon mumbles lowly enough that only Stiles can hear. He sends her a pointed look, one in which she returns.

“Why’s everyone looking at me?” Scott says defensively.

“Is he the one that sent her the text?” Lydia interrogates.

“No,” he shakes his head exasperatedly. “I mean, I don’t know.”

“Is he the one that called the police?”

“I don’t know!” Scott finally snaps at Allison’s last question which makes her frown and look away, hurt by his harsh tone.

While Fallon does want to smack Scott upside the head for the web of lies he just created, she does feel bad that he’s receiving all the heat. He’s in the exact same position they are all in, and probably has some questions of his own about what’s going on. He doesn’t have the answers for everything. The rapid fire questioning is starting to get on her nerves, so she can’t imagine how he feels.

Scott realizes he took his anger out on the wrong person. He looks down at the floor, ashamed of how he talked to Allison. Stiles places his hand on Scott’s chest, “All right, why don’t we ease back on the throttle here, yeah?” He pulls Scott off to the side, dragging Fallon behind him. “Okay, first off– throwing Derek under the bus? Nicely done.”

Fallon scoffs with a venomous smile, “Yeah, great work,” she nods sarcastically. “Y’know for blaming a most likely dead dude for three murders, one in which he’s already been exonerated for. You’ve been relying on him to teach you how to control yourself, Scott. You both also have already gotten him arrested, so if he did survive that, I guarantee he’s not going to be so forgiving this time around,” she lectures.

“I didn’t know what to say!” Scott defends himself. “I had to say something, and like you said, if he’s dead, then it doesn’t matter, right?”

“I said most likely,” Fallon crosses her arms. “He’s still a werewolf who survived a bullet wound and being almost burned alive in his home.”

Scott’s hope for Derek being dead dwindles. He groans at his own temper, “Oh God, I totally just bit her head off.”

“And she’ll get over it,” Fallon rolls her eyes. “Love you both but the last thing any of us are worried about right now is your teeny weeny fight. If she stays mad, then let her. Got more important things to focus on here.”

“Agreed,” Stiles nods. “Biggest issue we got right now is how do we get out of here alive?” He asks.

“But we are alive,” Scott points out logically. “It could’ve killed us already. It’s like it’s cornering us or something.”

“So, what? He wants to eat us all at the same time?” Stiles questions mockingly.

Scott scoffs at the overdramatization, “No. Derek said it wants revenge,” he brings up.

“Against who?” Fallon ponders. “The Argents?” She suggests. The only people she remembers having any negative reputation with werewolves is them simply because they’re hunters.

“That's what I’m thinking,” Scott nods.

“Maybe that’s what the text was about,” Stiles snaps his fingers as he tries to connect the dots to each other. “Someone had to send it.”

“Okay, assheads! New plan–” Jackson interrupts their conversation causing the trio to look over at him. Fallon chooses to ignore the rude nickname seeing as everyone is on edge. “Stiles calls his useless dad and tells him to send someone with a gun and decent aim. Are we good with that?” He gestures to the two girls with him.

“You don’t have to do that, Sti,” Fallon whispers to him, rubbing his back with her hand.

Stiles looks troubled as Scott sends him a look that says the opposite of what Fallon just said. “He’s right. Tell him the truth if you have to. Just… call him.”

Stiles shakes his head, leaning over to whisper, “I’m not watching my dad get eaten alive.”

“Which is completely justified,” Fallon agrees, glaring at Scott. “Would you put your mom’s life at risk with the Alpha wandering around the halls?” She quips.

Jackson grows angry at the lack of action being taken. He lunges forward, reaching to forcefully remove the phone from Stiles’ hand. “All right, give me the phone!”

Fallon has tried this whole evening to keep her anger at bay. But her fear and frustrations are coming to a boil. So when she feels Jackson shove Scott and her to get to Stiles, her resolve finally snaps.

One moment, Jackson’s arms are outstretched to push her to the side, the next Jackson is groaning in pain and retreating back over to Lydia and Allison. “Damn,” Fallon grumbles, shaking her now swollen, bright red hand. Jackson’s face is sporting the shame shade of red right where her fist collided with his skin.

Stiles and Scott wish they could say they were shocked, but this has been a staple for Fallon since they met her. Stiles smirks proudly, recalling the time she defended them against Tony in the third grade. She’s never been a fan of bullies, even if she’s on good terms with them herself. Defending Scott and Stiles has always been her priority and that’s why she ignores the slight dirty looks from Allison and Lydia.

“Dad, hey, it's me,” he greets until he realizes his father didn’t actually answer. “And it's your voicemail. Look, I need you to call me back now. Like, right now. We're at the school. Dad, we're at the school.”

Stiles hangs up the phone, ending the voicemail to his dad. Fallon massages her knuckle, shrugging over to Jackson who glares at her. That might put a bigger dent in their so-called “friendship.” Out of nowhere, the doors to the room start to shake. All of them jump with a yelp as the Alpha bangs on them trying to get through to the group of teens. Despite the high tensions, they all huddle together in attempts to protect themselves.

“The kitchen. The door out of the kitchen leads to the stairwell,” Stiles says, keeping his eye on the door that’s shaking.

“Which only goes up,” Scott reminds him.

“Up is better than here,” Fallon adds, slowly inching her way to the stairwell.

“Jackson, how many people can fit in your car?” Scott asks urgently, hoping that can be there escape plan rather than having to explain stealing Derek’s Camaro.

“Five, if someone squeezes on someone’s lap.”

Allison turns to him with a scoff, “Five?!” She exclaims. “I barely fit in the back.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles reality checks the situation. “There’s no getting out of here without drawing attention.”

“What about this?” Scott starts, walking over to the door on the other side of the room. “This leads to the roof. We can do gown the fire escape to the parking lot in, like, seconds.”

“That’s a deadbolt,” Stiles points out as he goes to examine the lock.

“The janitor has a key.”

“You mean his body has the key,” Fallon clarifies as she joins the two boys, further away from the rest of the group.

“I can get it,” Scott tells them. “I can find him by scent, by blood.”

“Well, gee, that sounds like an incredibly terrible idea,” Stiles criticizes quickly. “What else you got?” He crosses his arms, waiting for a better plan.

Scott looks to Fallon to see if she’ll back him up. To his misfortune, she has the same defiant look as Stiles. “Don’t look at me,” she shrugs. “I’d rather not have to explain to our parents why you got murdered going to fish some keys off of a dead body. I prefer you alive despite how stupid I think you are.”

The boy looks at her determinedly, “I’m getting the key,” he persists.

Fallon rolls her eyes at his superhero complex. She does appreciate his effort and need to save everyone, but sometimes it’s too dangerous. She really doesn’t want to see him get hurt, or kidnapped, or killed. There are many different ways this could go with the Alpha watching them.

“Are you serious?” Allison asks him aghast.

“Well, it’s the best plan,” Scott admits. “Someone has to get the key if we wanna get out of here,” he explains.

“You can’t go out there unarmed.”

Scott agrees, scanning the room to look for some kind of weapon. He reaches over, grabbing a long pointer stick the teacher who occupies the classroom probably uses for lectures. They all look at him warily. He shrugs, “Well, it’s better than nothing.”

“There’s gotta be something else…” Stiles frowns, Turing on his heel to find something more useful for his friend to defend himself.

Lydia searches as well, her eyes landing on the cabinet full of different chemicals behind her, “There is,” she smirks. Fallon follows her sightline, tilting her head as she picks up on what Lydia’s getting at.

Stiles throws his hands up when he notices what they’re looking at, “What are we gonna do? Throw acid on him?”

Fallon sighs, “No– it’s kinda like a fire bomb,” she tries to explain in terms Stiles would understand.

Lydia nods, “In there is everything you need to make a self-igniting Molotov cocktail.”

Stiles squints his eyes, still dumbfounded by what they’re saying, “Self…igniting…”

“…Molotov cocktail,” the strawberry blonde finishes snidely. She notices the odd look from her boyfriend, “What? I read it somewhere,” she covers, still trying to act dumb.

“We don’t have a key for that either–” Stiles tries to point out, but is cut off by Fallon walking forward and shoving her jacket clad elbow through the glass. It shatters and she steps away, brushing off the small pieces that stuck to the cloth. “Nevermind…” Stiles mutters.

Fallon rummages through the cabinet, getting all of the chemicals and items needed while Lydia works on combining the right amount of ingredients. They all watch the two girls work, Jackson handing Lydia the materials Fallon puts down.

“Jackson,” Lydia calls out for the blonde who’s standing closest to her. “Hand me the sulfuric acid.”

He mindlessly grabs a bottle and hands it to her. The bored look on his face makes Fallon roll her eyes, but he quickly becomes intrigued when he hears Allison become hysterical as she speaks to Scott.

“No. No, this is insane,” she looks at him with tear filled eyes. “You can’t do this. You cannot go out there.”

Scott sighs, trying to find the best way to comfort her, “We can’t just sit here waiting for Stiles’ dad to check his messages,” he argues softly.

Allison leans over the desk, “You could die,” her speech starts to become more frantic. “Don't you get that? He’s killed three people.”

“And we’re next. Somebody had to do something,” Scott says persuasively. Fallon understands that Allison is just worried, but if they just sit here and do nothing, they’ll have way less of a chance at surviving.

He goes to walk towards the door to leave the classroom, but Allison gets in his way, “Scott, just stop,” she begs him. “Do you remember-do you remember when you told me you knew whether or not I was lying? That I had a tell? Well, so do you. You're a horrible liar, and you've been lying all night. Just-just please, please don't go. Please don't leave us. Please.”

Fallon has never felt more awkward in her life. She knows how serious this is, but the over emotional-ness of the conversation is making her extremely uncomfortable. She rubs the back of her neck, looking anywhere but at the couple. However, there is one person who’s seemingly enjoying the little quarrel. Jackson. The brunette rolls her eyes, moving as far away from the blonde as possible.

Scott gives her a regretful look before trying for the door again, “Lock it behind me,” he breathes out. Allison doesn’t let him get far before pulling him back to her by his arm. She connects her lips to his, making everyone else glance in another direction. Fallon doesn’t understand their relationship. One minute she’s mad at him for leaving, and now this. It’s giving her whiplash and she’s not even involved.

Once the door shuts behind Scott, Fallon walks over to it and locks it. “Good luck, Scotty,” she whispers, hoping he hears her. Now it’s all about waiting. The brunette slides into a spot besides Lydia who is watching Jackson comfort Allison from afar. She nudges the strawberry blonde, “You okay?”

Lydia scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest, “No, obviously I’m not okay. We are all stuck in the school with some crazy killer out to get us and our only hope of getting out is if Scott manages to hit Derek with that cocktail.”

Fallon sighs, “I know. But I have faith in him. Scott’s resourceful. He won’t let us die here.”

Lydia doesn’t respond, a frown etching its way into her features as she watches Jackson hold Allison’s hand. Fallon glares in his direction. He has a girlfriend who needs him too, and yet he’s over there preying on Allison. “I never understood why you pretend to be dumb in front of him.”

Instead of pretending she’s clueless to what Fallon’s talking about, Lydia just shrugs, “The same reason you’ve never accepted the co-captain position,” she answers simply.

Fallon lifts an amused brow, chuckling slightly, “Touché.”

“Men’s egos are a fragile thing,” Lydia mutters almost disgustedly.

Fallon nods in agreement, “Especially ones like Jackson.”

Lydia hums quietly, wanting to say something but holding back for the sake of her relationship. She slowly ventures out from behind the desk and towards Jackson. Fallon doesn’t try to stop her because there is no convincing Lydia to break up with him. There never has been. She just hopes that the shorter girl realizes her worth and how much more she could do if she didn’t hold herself back for him. Or any guy for that matter.

“So the Incredible Hulk made a special appearance tonight, huh?” Stiles’ voice pulls her out of her thoughts.

Fallon looks down at her feet to hide her smirk, “I didn’t mean to…” she mumbles. “I just saw Jackson coming at you and it kinda just… came out, I guess.” She admits.

“Well, not that you need me to tell you, but I thought it was super badass,” he nudges her shoulder with his own smile. His small grin fades when he notices her messing with her fingers. A habit she has when she’s nervous. “We’re gonna be okay, Fall,” he whispers, lacing his fingers with hers.

A sense of warmth fills her chest. She squeezes his hand, mindlessly rubbing her thumb on the back of it. “I know…” she says unsurely. Stiles shoots her a pointed look. “Or at least I hope so,” she gives in to her insecurities about the situation.

“We’ll get out of here,” he reassures her, kissing the side of her head. She sighs, nodding her head before leaning onto his shoulder. He wraps his arm around her waist to hold her close. As much as he wants to say he’s comforting her, having her next to him like this is doing more for his anxieties than hers. “And then by the end of next week, you’ll have this stupid thing off,” he pats her cast, “then this will all feel like some stupid, distant memory.”

“I don’t know about distant,” she jokes quietly. “But definitely something we can trauma bond over.”

“Dead bodies and Alpha werewolves,” he nods, his lips in a thin line. “Nice.”

“Jackson, you handed me the sulfuric acid, right?” Lydia’s voice pulls their attention over to where she, Jackson, and Allison are standing. “It has to be sulfuric acid– it won't ignite if it's not.”

“I gave you exactly what you asked for tonight,” Jackson snaps tensely, glaring at Lydia for no reason.

Lydia looks taken aback, almost flinching at the sound of his voice. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure you did.”

Silence falls over the room, no one really knowing what to say to one another. The tension is high as they wait for any sign of Scott or safety. A few minutes later, a loud growl comes from somewhere within the school. Everything in the building felt like it was shaking. Fallon covers her ears, the loud noise becoming too much to handle. Everyone else has the same reaction, cowering away from whatever it could be… except for Jackson. He falls to his knees, clutching the back of his neck.

Lydia and Allison rush to his side and try to help him up, but all Fallon and Stiles could focus on is the marks on the back of his neck. Marks that look vaguely similar to werewolf claws. Fallon’s eyebrows furrow. It couldn’t have been from the video store. The Alpha didn’t even touch him then.

“No, I’m fine,” Jackson brushes the girls off. “Like, seriously– I’m okay.”

“That didn’t sound okay at all,” Allison argues.

Stiles goes to reach for the claw marks, “What’s on the back of your neck?”

“I said I’m fine!” Jackson slaps Stiles’ hand away with a withering glare.

Fallon grabs Stiles, pulling him back. They both know exactly what’s on his neck. Lydia glances at the two friends, “It’s been there for days,” she explains. “He won’t tell me what happened.”

The blonde scoffs harshly, “As if you actually care,” he says snidely.

“Woah,” Fallon puts her hands up. “She wouldn’t be asking if she didn’t care, asshat. So why don’t you try responding respectfully this time before I punch you so hard that I actually break something?” She takes a menacing step towards Jackson but is yanked backwards by Stiles.

“Calm down,” Stiles scolds her. “Can we not argue for like half a second here?” He begs everyone.

Allison glances to the door worriedly, “Where’s Scott? He should be back by now.”

Suddenly there was a small click at the door. Almost like the sound of it being unlocked from the outside. Allison’s eyes widen as she shoots towards the door, “Scott! Scott!” She screams. She frantically tries to turn the door knob, but it doesn’t budge. He must be holding the handle still from the outside. She continues yelling for him, desperate to make sure he’s okay.

“Stop! Stop!” Lydia yells, catching Allison’s attention. She stops screaming and wriggling the door handle. “Do you hear that? Listen.” Everyone stays silent and that’s when they hear the heavenly sounds of police sirens. Noah got Stiles’ message.

They all walk towards the window, sighing in relief as they see police cars pulling up to the school one by one. Fallon leans into Stiles’ side once she realizes that what he said was true. They are all going to be okay. Stiles smiles softly, leaning his head on top of hers, happy to accept the affection.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Fallon sits on the edge of an ambulance, the EMT’s doing a bit extra than what they did for the others due to her broken leg. Stiles sits next to her, not wanting her to be alone while Scott stands at her other side. Doesn’t leave much room for the paramedics to do their job, but she doesn’t want them to leave her side.

“You sure it was Derek Hale?” Noah Stilinski asks skeptically to the three teens.

“Yes,” Scott answers confidently.

“I saw him too,” Stiles adds.

Noah narrows his eyes, still not totally convinced. He glances at the brunette, “Fallon?”

The girl wasn’t sure what to say. Derek wasn’t guilty of anything they were accusing him of. She couldn’t just throw him under the bus… again. But she also can’t go against Scott and Stiles. She groans, hiding her face in Scott’s arm, “I need a nap,” she replies. Hopefully this response is neutral enough to not warrant any more questions.

The sheriff doesn’t push for any more information, assuming the brunette is just exhausted and frightened after the long night they’ve had.

“What about the janitor?” Scott questions, wanting to know if they found the man’s body.

Sheriff Stilisnki nods apprehensively, “We’re still looking.”

“Did you check under the bleachers? Under them?” The werewolf continues to push for a more solid answer, emphasizing every word.

Noah sighs, “Yeah, Scott, we looked. We pulled them out just like you asked. There’s nothing.”

Fallon closes her eyes as she leans against Stiles. So not only is the Alpha a killer, but he also knows how to cover up his crimes… comforting.

“I’m not making this up,” Scott says defensively, knowing that no one here besides the people next to him believe him.

“I know. I believe you, I do.”

“No, you don’t,” Scott says sadly. “You have this look like you feel bad for me. Like you want to believe me, but I know you don’t.”

“Listen– we’re gonna search this whole school. We’re gonna find him, okay?” He places a hand on Scott’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “I promise.”

Fallon isn’t exactly sure how far this promise is going to go. With how many unexplainable things that happened tonight, they’ll be lucky to even find a logical explanation for the werewolf sized holes in the ceiling.

A deputy calls out for Noah, making him sigh. He’s reluctant to leave the three teens to their own devices. He gives them all a strict look, “Stay. All three of you.”

He walks away, leaving the trio to their own devices. Fallon’s blinking becomes much slower, sleep threatening to take over her body. Stiles puffs out a breath of air, “Well, we survived, guys. You know? We outlasted the Alpha.” Scott looks a bit unsure which makes Stiles furrow his eyebrows. “It’s still good, right? Being alive?”

Scott sends them a serious look, “When we were in the chemistry room, he walked right by us. You don’t think that it heard us?” He points out the reality of their situation. “You don’t think it knew exactly where we were?”

“Then why wouldn’t it come after us?” Fallon frowns. “Why would it waste an opportunity to kill? It hasn’t before.”

“It wants me in its pack. But, I think, first… I have to get rid of my old pack.”

Stiles tilts his head, “What do you mean? What old pack?” He asks, confused.

Scott’s face shows nothing but regret and Fallon knows why. She sits up, taking her head off of Stiles’ shoulder. “Us,” she answers. “He means us.”

Stiles looks at Scott, shock covering his face. Their werewolf friend nods morosely. “The Alpha doesn’t want to kill us…” Stiles realizes.

“It wants me to do it,” Scott huffs loudly. “And that’s not even the worst part.”

Stiles’ jaw hits the floor. He groans exhaustedly, “How the holy hell is that not the worst part, Scott?”

“Because when he made me shift… I wanted to do it,” he admits shamefully. “I wanted to kill you. All of you.”

“Y’know, I appreciate the honesty,” Fallon begins. “But I would feel a whole lot better if you kept your murderous thoughts to yourself for the next forty-eight hours,” she squeezes her eyes shut. “Or at least until my headache goes away.”

“Fallon!”

The girl groans and forces her eyes open. Her father is barreling towards her, worry and anger the primary emotions he’s expressing. “Hey dad,” she greets groggily.

“I thought you said you were sleeping over at the Stilinski’s,” he bends down in front of her, checking her more thoroughly than the EMT’s did.

Scott and Stiles hold back their laughter at Michael’s overprotectiveness. Fallon rolls her eyes, “I was,” she defends herself. “But I accidentally left my phone in Mr. Harris’s class after detention and I didn’t realize until we got to his house,” she nods over to Stiles. “So I asked him to take me back and that’s when everything went downhill.”

Her lie is effortless, and it works very well with their situation. She has her phone on her now so it just looks like they found it and we’re on their way out when they got cornered. Scott walked off after seeing Allison, but Stiles just watches in awe. He would’ve believed every word that came out of her mouth if he didn’t live the experience with her.

Michael sighs, seemingly believing the fabrication. He leans forward to kiss her forehead, “All right, kiddo. I think it’s time to get you home.” She nods, letting Stiles and her father help her up. The surgeon nods, silently thanking the paramedics for their help. “You ready?” He asks her.

Fallon nods, “Yeah. I’m probably gonna sleep until I’m dead,” she says gruffly.

Michael cracks a small smile before patting Stiles’ back, “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“Of course Mr. Donovan,” he nods. “Couldn’t let anything bad happen to her, now could I? My life would be pretty boring.”

Michael smiles as his daughter hobbles over to his car, “You and me both, kid.”

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