Scott leaned against the Jeep parked on the edge of Hale’s property, watching the scene, his eyes holding a heavy mix of dread and anticipation.
A few yards away, Derek Hale was being led out of the charred remains of his house, handcuffed by a deputy from the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department.
At that moment, Derek turned and fixed a sharp, angry gaze directly at Scott; a gaze that caused Scott to lower his head and look at the ground with an expression overflowing with guilt and shame, as the deputy firmly pushed Derek into the back of the police car and slammed the door shut.
Moments later, Scott raised his head to breathe a sigh of relief, but he noticed a familiar movement…
It was Stiles.
He was sneaking out from the shadows of the charred woods, heading with reckless bravado towards the now empty police car, while the rest of the deputies were busy examining the crime scene around the house.
Scott’s mouth fell open in shock and disbelief as he realized what his idiotic friend intended to do.
The moment Stiles turned and looked at him, Scott immediately tried to stop him in every way possible, waving his hands in desperate gestures as he stammered in panic:
“No!”
But Stiles, as usual, ignored him completely and recklessly rushed towards the front passenger door of the patrol car, quickly opening it to get in, causing Scott to let out a long, suppressed groan of frustration:
“Oh God…”
Scott turned his back completely to them, putting his hands in his pockets and unable to watch, trying to pretend to be cool so as not to draw more attention to the disaster his friend was creating.
Meanwhile, Stiles had already settled into the front passenger seat.
He turned his body completely to face Derek, who was sitting in the back, speaking to him through the mesh window separating the seats.
Tension radiated from every pore of his body, evident in his stuttering, rapid speech:
“Okay, just so you know, I’m not scared of you.”
Derek’s head was bowed in the darkness of the back seat, but his eyes slowly moved upwards, looking at Stiles from under his lashes with a stoic, terrifying frown that sent an immediate shiver down Stiles’s spine, making him recoil millimeters.
Stiles swallowed, fidgeted in his seat, and tried to gather his courage:
“…Okay, maybe I am. It doesn’t matter. I just want to know something. The girl you killed? She was a werewolf.”
Derek continued to stare in complete silence, his gaze devoid of any expression as if he were a stone statue, while Stiles continued his defensive rambling:
“She was a different kind, wasn’t she? I mean, she could turn into a real wolf, and I know Scott can’t do that. Is that why you killed her?”
Finally, Derek lifted his head completely to speak, his voice tense and heavy with threat due to the confined situation he was in:
“Why are you so worried about me, when your friend is the problem?”
Derek nodded sharply towards the outside, indicating where Scott was standing, pretending to be busy.
Stiles backed away slightly, pressing himself against the dashboard as Derek continued, his eyes widening with a terrifying glint:
“When he transforms on the field in the middle of the game in front of everyone… what do you think they’ll do? Will they keep cheering him on?”
Stiles swallowed with genuine anxiety, his fingers pressing into the seat; he realized at that moment that Derek was not wrong, and that a real disaster could happen at the American football game the day after tomorrow.
Derek continued, leaning slowly forward until his face was only a few inches from the mesh window – and Stiles’s face – lowering his voice to a sharp, blade-like whisper:
“I can’t stop him from playing… But you can. And believe me, you want to.”
Before Stiles could even process the threat or reply, the passenger door suddenly flew open violently, and a thick, strong hand reached in to grab his right arm, yanking him out of the car with force.
It was Sheriff Stilinski!
The Sheriff grabbed his son in an iron grip and began dragging him away from the patrol car, while Stiles groaned all the way with pained and comical expressions:
“Ow! Ow! Ow!”
Stilinski finally stopped in an area away from the other deputies, released Stiles’s arm, and then stood directly in front of him, his large body looming, hands clasped, ready to scold him in a tone burning with firm anger:
“There! Stand up! What the hell do you think you were doing?”
Stiles let out a loud sigh and shrugged his shoulders with childish sarcasm, as if he truly believed his father should give him a medal for his bravery:
“I was just trying to help!”
Stilinski replied with a mocking tone and obvious impatience:
“Well, how about you help me understand how you came up with that exactly?”
Stiles realized at that moment that he was completely trapped and in real trouble with the Sheriff, so he began to squirm out of the situation, waving his hands and stammering:
“…We were… we were looking for Scott’s inhaler…”
Stilinski interrogated him impatiently:
“When did he drop it?”
Stiles replied hesitantly, his eyes darting everywhere:
“About a week ago…”
“A week ago? When you were looking for the first half of the body in the middle of the night?”
Stiles nodded slowly, guiltily:
“Yes.”
The Sheriff continued, narrowing his eyes suspiciously:
“The night you told me you were alone and Scott was at home?”
Stiles answered automatically:
“Yes.”
Suddenly, Stiles froze as he realized his stupidity and that he had completely exposed himself and Scott.
He tried to backtrack quickly with a sullen expression:
“…No.”
Stilinski gave his son a sharp, fixed look, filled with disappointment and impatience.
Stiles realized that the lying train had completely derailed, so he lowered his hands and sighed in frustration:
“Oh, God…”
Stilinski said in a voice that sounded extremely tired of his son’s daily antics:
“So, you lied to me.”
Stiles tried to philosophize with an innocent expression:
“That depends on your definition of lying…”
His father interrupted him sternly:
“Well, I define it as ‘not telling the truth’. How do you define it?”
Stiles’s hand extended to gesture in the air, drawing a horizontal line, trying to play with the English words:
“Um… ‘to tilt the body horizontally?'”
Sheriff Stilinski gave him an extremely angry and annoyed look, a look that made all of Stiles’s attempts at joking vanish, and the Sheriff completely ignored him, gesturing with his hand towards the outside:
“Get out of here, right now.”
And solely to escape this suffocating conversation before receiving a greater punishment, Stiles didn’t waste a second this time, turning and running towards the Jeep, saying quickly:
“Sure!”
On the road, the sun was peeking through the scorched branches of the trees, casting broken beams of light onto the ground.
Stiles and Scott sped through the woods in the Jeep, the tires kicking up dry leaves under their wheels.
Stiles focused on the road, his grip tight on the steering wheel, while Scott sat beside him, his eyes darting between the road and his new phone, trying to find any trace of information about wolfsbane and its use in burials.
After a moment, Scott blurted out impatiently:
“I haven’t found anything about using wolfsbane in burials.”
Stiles replied, biting his lip in thought:
“Keep looking. Maybe it’s more like a specific ritual? Like, maybe they bury you as a wolf.”
Stiles paused for a moment, then added, more thoughtfully:
“Or maybe it’s a special skill, you know? Something you have to learn?”
Scott, who was so absorbed in the werewolf talk that he was lost in his own thoughts, rolled his eyes in annoyance before muttering something unintelligible:
“I’ll put it on my ‘to-do’ list, right below ‘figure out how to play a soccer game without killing anyone.'”
Scott’s words were mere whispers in Stiles’ ears, who was completely lost in his own werewolf thoughts, continuing to speculate:
But Scott’s patience snapped, and he exploded at Stiles:
“Okay, stop it!”
Stiles frowned in confusion:
“Stop what?”
“Stop saying ‘werewolves!’ Stop enjoying this so much!” Scott said grimly, his voice carrying a hint of anger mixed with fear.
Stiles didn’t understand the reason for Scott’s sudden annoyance, so he looked at him with concern:
“Are you okay?”
Scott replied in a heavy, silent tone, as if something inside him was screaming:
“No!”
“No, I’m not. I’m far from okay.”
Stiles noticed the change in Scott, his heart filling with unease, without immediately noticing the beads of sweat starting to form on his friend’s forehead, his breathing becoming ragged, as if the air itself was heavy on his chest.
“You know, you have to accept it, Scott. Sooner or later,” Stiles said, trying to ease the tension.
But Scott hunched further over the seat, starting to pant loudly and groan:
“I can’t.”
“Well, you have to.” Stiles replied calmly, but his voice trembled slightly with worry.
“No! I can’t breathe…” Scott’s voice came, laden with darkness, a tone akin to an angry wolf’s growl.
“Ahhhhh!” Scott suddenly screamed, slamming his hand on the roof of the car, his voice echoing into the surrounding woods.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa…!” Stiles yelled, trying to de-escalate, but he panicked as the car swerved from Scott’s shock.
“Ahhhhh!… Ahhhhh…!” Scott screamed, his voice laced with terror, and suddenly, instinctively, he opened the bag between them.
He gasped in shock at the sight of the poisonous wolfsbane tied with ropes adorned with flowers.
“You kept it?!” Scott asked, his voice trembling.
“What was I supposed to do with it?!” Stiles yelled, his voice boiling with fear and confusion.
Scott groaned again, as if the transformation was starting to creep up on him, then screamed again:
“Stop the car!”
Scott looked at Stiles with eyes glowing a bright gold, and as Stiles realized what was happening, his eyes widened in panic as he suddenly slammed on the brakes:
“Okay!”
The car screeched to a halt.
Stiles jumped out of the car, grabbed his bag, and ran towards the edge of the woods, throwing it as far as he could to get away from Scott.
Once the bag disappeared from sight, he turned his head back, took a deep breath, before slowly returning to the Jeep, his heart still pounding violently.
“Okay, everything’s fine, you can…” Stiles began, but froze when he looked at the car, the shock dawning on him.
The cabin was completely empty.
“Scott?” Stiles called out, his voice filled with sadness and fear.
He approached the car and saw the passenger door wide open, just like the driver’s door.
He knew then that Scott had fully transformed and had escaped in broad daylight.
Stiles’ heart tore between fear for his friend and what he might do while out of control.
“Scott???” Stiles called out one last time, his voice mixing with terror and a desperate plea for his friend who had lost control of himself.
In a state of panic, Stiles got back into his car and began to drive it rapidly through the dark forest road, trees flashing by like strange shadows on either side with every sharp turn.
The cold air pierced through his window, but he barely felt it, his heart pounding frantically, every fiber of his being on edge, alert for any movement behind him.
He grabbed his phone, trying to call the police on speakerphone, his voice trembling between fear and urgency.
[Meanwhile, at the Mystic Hills Sheriff’s Department.]
It had been a chaotic day for Elizabeth Forbes, as she had to work long hours without stopping due to the arrest of Derek Hale, who was a suspect in the murder and dismemberment of a woman.
The deaths of Darren and Monica Martinez still weighed on her.
The town council had met multiple times trying to intervene, but Elizabeth convinced them that the couple’s deaths were just an animal attack.
Elizabeth sighed again, tired and sad.
She had truly hoped that Darren and Monica’s deaths were just an animal attack and not what she suspected.
*Ring!*
Elizabeth’s phone vibrated softly in her pocket.
Elizabeth took out her phone and looked at it, frowning sadly.
On the screen was a text message from Caroline.
Caroline: Mom, where are you?
Are you coming for dinner?
Elizabeth slowly closed her eyes, then typed a reply to her only daughter.
I’m at the station, honey, working overtime today.
I’m not coming home tonight.
You’ll find dinner in the fridge.
Elizabeth waited for two minutes, then saw her daughter’s reply.
Caroline: Okay, Mom, I wish you luck.
Can I go out with my friends tonight?
It’s comet night.
Elizabeth smiled warmly and replied.
Of course, sweetheart, but remember not to be late and be home by ten!
Caroline: Yes, ma’am 🫡.
Elizabeth smiled warmly and closed her phone.
Then she sighed sadly.
She had neglected her daughter Caroline for a long time due to the accumulated work and the pressures on her.
Since she divorced her husband six years ago, Caroline had spent most of her time alone at home.
*Ring, ring.*
Then Elizabeth heard her phone ring again.
Elizabeth frowned in confusion.
Who could be calling her during her shift?
And how did they get the Sheriff’s deputy’s number in the first place?
She took out her phone and saw a name that immediately gave her a headache.
Stiles Stilinski.
Elizabeth huffed, then answered the phone and said,
“Stiles, you know you can call the duty officer if you want something, right?”
Stiles’ voice answered from the phone, “Hello, Aunt Lizzi! It’s been a long time since our last call.”
Elizabeth said impatiently, “Stiles, we’ve talked about this. You can’t call me during work hours. I’m working now and I’m not free. What do you want?”
Stiles: “I just wanted to know if you’ve received any strange calls…?”
“Strange how?”
Stiles: “Hmm, like, a strange person, or…”
Stiles paused, as if trying to phrase the example in a natural-sounding way, while the woods around him seemed to move as if watching him.
Stiles: “A dog-like person wandering the streets…?”
Elizabeth said irritably, “Stiles, I’m going to hang up on you now.”
Stiles, driven by panic and desperation, raised his voice, trying to convince her:
Stiles: “No! Wait, wait, wait!”
“Goodbye!” Elizabeth said, then hung up.
Elizabeth sighed in frustration.
“A dog-like person wandering the street?… Really, Stiles?”
Elizabeth thought to herself with annoyance and turned towards her desk, but froze when she thought of Stiles’ words again.
“A dog-like man? He doesn’t mean a werewolf, does he?!”
Elizabeth thought to herself in shock.
Then she immediately shook her head in denial.
“Stiles can’t know about werewolves. The Hale family is all dead, and they just arrested Derek. And the Argents haven’t reported any new werewolves in the area. And even if there was a werewolf in Mystic Hills, Stiles couldn’t possibly know anything about them.”
[Meanwhile, with Stiles.]
Stiles slammed the phone down in anger, tossing it onto the passenger seat, where stacks of his research were scattered.
The phone landed on a picture of a huge wolf-like creature, its eyes red, holding a young, unconscious woman in its arms, an image that perfectly matched what could happen to Scott if he wasn’t controlled.
Stiles nervously spun the car around, his eyes on the road, his ears tuned to the sounds of the forest, every part of his body tense with anxiety.
“Scott… I hope you don’t kill anyone…” Stiles muttered, his voice a mix of fear and desperation, but there was no reply except the sound of the wind and his own heavy breathing, and the shadows that flickered from the corner of his eye, as if the forest itself was watching what would happen next.
[At that time, at the Argent house.]
Allison sighed a long, tired sigh, and threw another bag onto the bed.
She turned to the scattered cardboard boxes around her new room, then muttered irritably:
“Mystic Hills… Of all the cities in the world, we had to move here?”
Outside, on the windowsill, Scott was panting heavily.
His eyes glowed gold in the darkness, and his claws scraped lightly against the windowpane.
His trembling hand reached for the handle, and he almost opened the window and stormed into the room, but the lamplight suddenly reflected off the glass.
Scott froze in place.
He stared at his fur-covered cheeks and protruding fangs.
He recoiled in horror, whispering in a choked, raspy voice:
“No… not me… this isn’t me!”
He leaped with all his might from the roof to the ground, landing on the asphalt at the same moment a black SUV swerved around the corner.
BAM!
A violent impact echoed, and the sharp sound of screeching brakes filled the street.
Scott’s body was thrown several meters before falling to the ground.
The car door was flung open forcefully, and Chris Argent, in his long coat, stepped out, his eyes scanning the area with extreme caution.
Above, Allison opened her window with a shudder of panic and looked down to see her father’s car and a body lying on the ground.
Allison ran down the stairs, opened the front door, and rushed into the street, yelling:
“Dad! What happened?! What was that noise?”
As she got closer and saw the face of the person lying there, she took a step back, shock paralyzing her tongue:
“Scott?! No… this is impossible!”
She turned to her father with a face full of anger and disbelief, and cried in a trembling voice:
“Dad! What is the meaning of this?! Were you trying to kill him?! Answer me!”
Chris looked at her with complete coldness and composure, then turned his gaze towards Scott, whose monstrous features were rapidly disappearing, returning to his human form, and said in a calm tone:
“Lower your voice, Allison. No… I wasn’t trying to kill him… not yet.”
Allison clutched her head and screamed:
“Not yet?! What do you mean by ‘not yet’?! You hit him with your huge car! You almost killed him!”
Chris replied as he took a step towards Scott with a stern expression:
“He suddenly appeared in front of me, Allison. He came out of nowhere, as if he jumped from the sky. Any driver would have hit him.”
At that moment, Scott began to groan in pain.
His body moved slowly on the cold asphalt, and despite the force of the impact, his body began to heal with strange speed.
He put his hand on the ground and tried to get up, stumbling.
Allison rushed to him and grabbed his arm to support him:
“Scott! Don’t move, stay down, you might be injured!”
Scott wiped his face with his trembling hand, looked around in confusion, trying to hide his shaky voice:
“I’m fine… I’m fine… just a scratch, don’t worry.”
Chris looked at Scott, his eyes narrowing with heavy suspicion.
He examined the boy’s torn clothes and rapid breathing, then said in a tone of subtle warning:
“Fine? You flew through the air for three meters, son. A normal person wouldn’t be on their feet this quickly after an accident like that.”
Scott swallowed nervously, avoiding looking into Chris’s sharp eyes:
“I… I’m an athlete, sir. My body is used to strong impacts on the field. Really, I don’t feel any pain.”
Allison turned to her father and said sharply:
“Dad, stop questioning him like you’re at the police station! He needs a doctor!.”
Chris replied, glancing at his watch, then fixed his piercing gaze back on Scott:
– I don’t think he needs a doctor, look at him, he’s standing perfectly fine.
Chris then added, changing his tone to a more decisive one that shook the place:
– It’s late now, and you know tonight is the comet night and everyone is gathering in the town square.
We won’t waste tonight in hospitals for no reason.
Allison looked at Scott with concern:
– Are you sure you can walk?
Do you want us to go somewhere else?
Scott shook his head quickly, trying to end the situation before her father discovered anything else:
– No, Allison, I’m really fine.
Going to the town square sounds like a great idea.
I need some fresh air anyway.
Chris nodded, walked over to the car door, opened it, then turned to them and said in a stern voice that ended any potential discussion:
– Alright then.
Get in the back.
I’ll drive you both to the town square myself.
Allison and Scott exchanged a quick glance filled with silent tension.
Allison walked beside him, slowly holding his arm, while Scott got into the car, feeling his heavy breathing gradually return, Chris’s eyes watching his every move through the car mirror.
Note : this is the first chapter i wrote it on my on, the first 15 chapters were written by Emo-Sama.