☾

I follow Stiles into his room, ready to enact his plan that he hasn't enlightened me about. He drops his backpack and immediately goes to his computer while I go to sit on his bed, doing a double-take when I see Derek standing in the corner menacingly. I shouldn't even be surprised by his abrupt entrances by now.

"Hey, Stiles!" Mr. Stilinski calls out from the hallway.

"Yo... Derek," he says, turning around and spotting Derek with wide eyes. Derek puts a finger to his mouth, telling him to shut up and pointing to the door. "I, um..." He gets up and rushes to his door, slightly closing it as he greets his Dad, loud enough for us to hear.

I stand from the bed and quirk an eyebrow at Derek, my arms crossing over my chest. All I get is a glare from the older man. Yeesh, talk about being grumpy.

"What'd you say?" Stilinski asks, confused.

"What?" Stiles asks, feigning innocence. "I said 'Yo, Dad'."

"Listen, I've got something I've got to take care of, but I'm gonna be there tonight. I mean, your first game," he clarifies.

"My first game. Gosh, great, Awesome. Uh, good," Stiles says awkwardly.

"I'm very happy for you," Mister Stilinski says, genuinely. "And I'm really proud of you."

"Thanks," Stiles says. "Me, too. I'm happy and proud of myself."

I can't help but snort at that; my boyfriend is too awkward for his own good. But I like that about him.

"So they're really gonna let you play, right?" Stilinski asks.

"Yeah, Dad. I'm first line," he answers. "Believe that?"

"I'm very proud," Stilinski repeats.

"Oh, me too," Stiles repeats as well. "Again, I'm... Oh. Huggie... Huggie, huggie."

"Is Mary Anne in there with you?" Mister Stilinski asks. "Because if she is, please use..." My face goes red, jaw dropping.

"Dad!" Stiles says, embarrassment coloring his voice.

"Okay," Stilinski relents. "See you there."

"Take it easy," Stiles advises, a thump on the door following it before Stiles comes back in and just as he shuts the door, Derek pins him there by his jacket and pointing a menacing finger at him.

"If you say one word," Derek starts to threaten.

"Oh, what, you mean, like, 'Hey, Dad, Derek Hale's in my room. Bring your gun'?" Stiles cuts him off, rendering Derek silent. "Yeah, that's right. If I'm harboring your fugitive ass, it's my house, my rules, buddy." He hits his shoulder, making me smile. His confidence is rather sexy.

Derek lets him go, fixing his jacket and Stiles does the same to him. As my boyfriend walks past him, Derek feints at him, making Stiles flinch back and mutter, "Oh, my God."

"Scott didn't get the necklace?" Derek asks.

"No," Stiles answers. "He's still working on it. But there's something else we can try. The night we were trapped at the school, Scott sent a text to Allison asking her to meet him there."

"So?" Derek asks, eyebrows furrowed.

"So it wasn't Scott," I say in a 'duh' tone.

"Well, can you find out who sent it?" Derek asks.

"No, not me," Stiles replies. "But I think I know somebody who can."

"Who?"

☾

"You want me to do what?" Danny asks Stiles and I. I had figured out that Danny was the one who Stiles was talking about since Danny is tech-savvy, so Stiles called him under the guise of doing lab work. Now it's not going so well. Great, just awesome. Peachy.

"Trace a text," Stiles and I answer in unison.

"I came here to do lab work. That's what lab partners do," Danny says, annoyed.

"And we will," Stiles promises, "once you trace the text."

"And what makes you think I know how?" Danny counters.

"I... I looked up your arrest report, so..." Stiles trails off. I look at Danny, surprised. He got arrested? Danny's a nice guy, I can't really see him being arrested.

"I... I was thirteen," Danny defends himself. "They dropped the charges."

"Whatever," Stiles mutters.

"No, we're doing lab work," Danny says stubbornly.

"Oh, my..." Stiles mutters in exasperation. Danny pulls up a chair while I move to sit on the bed, giving Stiles a peck on the head as I pass by.

"Who's he again?" Danny asks, talking about Derek who is sitting in a chair by the bed, reading a dictionary.

"Um, my cousin... Miguel," Stiles lies.

Derek glances up at Stiles with a glare, a giggle slipping from my lips at his disdain. Derek turns his glare to me, which I return with a quirked eyebrow, knowing he can't do anything to me.

"Is that blood on his shirt?" Danny asks, making me look at Derek's shirt and see that there is blood on it. What the hell?

"Yeah. Yes," Stiles answers honestly before continuing to lie about Derek's identity. "Well, he gets these horrible nosebleeds. Hey, Miguel." Derek looks up with a sour expression, making me think back to the nickname Stiles gave him. Sourwolf. It fits him perfectly. "I thought I'd told you could borrow one of my shirts."

Derek snaps the book shut and tosses it onto the bed next to me, getting up while glaring at Stiles as he heads for his dresser. But then he takes off his shirt, revealing his muscular back and his tattoo. Holy Hale...

"So, anyway, I mean, we both know you have the skills to trace that text, so we should, probably," Stiles attempts to persuade Danny.

"Stiles?" 'Miguel' asks, turning around with a small shirt in his hands and the two other boys turn to look at him.

"Yes?" Stiles replies, a little annoyed.

"This... No fit," he says, annoyance bleeding into his voice.

"Then try something else on," Stiles says simply.

"Or nothing," I mumble, but Stiles heard me who gives me a look. I shrug, mouthing, "What?" He's hot but I'm only really attracted towards Stiles. And besides, Derek's too old and broody for me.

I notice Danny staring at him, making me smirk. "Hey, that one looks pretty good, huh?" Stiles asks as Derek pulls on an orange and blue striped shirt on that's way too small for him. "What do you think Danny?"

"Huh?" Danny says, breaking out of his trance.

"The shirt," I clarify for him.

"It's... It's not really his color," Danny answers, and Derek takes off the shirt. Damn, this is too much for me. It's bad enough Stiles is in here and I'm already starting to feel a little sexually frustrated with him, now I have two hot guys in close proximity.

"You swing for a different team, but you still play ball, don't you, Danny Boy?" Stiles teases him.

"You're a horrible person," Danny informs him.

"I know," Stiles replies. "It keeps me awake at night."

"I thought that was Mary Anne's job?" Danny asks with a small smirk.

Stiles becomes adorably flustered so I say, teasingly, "Don't worry, Stiles, it's your job for me, too."

"Anyway, about that text," Stiles changes the subject.

"Stiles! None of these fit," Derek says, extremely vexed. Oh, Stiles is gonna get it later.

"I'll need the ISP, the phone number, and the exact time of the text," Danny lists, making Stiles pump his fist in the air discreetly in victory.

After a while, I can't really tell how long, Danny was still not done with tracing the text. Gosh, how long does this take?

"Is it almost done?" I ask, growing impatient. During the time Danny was doing his thing on my boyfriend's laptop, I've moved to stand behind Stiles with my arms around his neck, leaning my head on my arm. Derek is also standing behind the two boys, watching the screen intently.

"There," Danny declares. "This text was sent from a computer. This one."

My face pales, I can literally feel the color draining as I look at the name. No, no, no this can't be right. Danny must've made a mistake. It's not possible, no way in hell.

"Registered to that account name?" Derek asks, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

"No, no, no, no," Stiles repeats, not believing it. "That can't be right."

The reason we were all in a state of denial is that on the screen is:

Account registered to:
Beacon Hills Hospital - Melissa McCall.

☾

"Did you get the picture?" Scott asks Stiles through the phone.

Stiles, Derek and I are in the jeep, parked outside the long-term care unit of the hospital. I still can't believe that Scott's mom sent the text, she's too nice and she doesn't know about the supernatural.

"Yeah, I did, and it looks just like the drawing," Stiles answers, Derek grabbing his wrist to pull the phone towards him.

"Hey, is there something on the back of it?" He asks. "There's gotta be something. An inscription, an opening, something."

"No, no, the thing's flat," Scott says, dejected. "And, no, it doesn't open. There's nothing in it, on it, around it, nothing. And where are you? You're supposed to be here. You're first line."

"Where the hell is Bilinski? Huh?" I hear Coach ask Scott. Bilinski?

"Man, you're not gonna play if you're not here to start," Scott tells him.

"I know," Stiles retorts. "Look, if you see my dad, can you tell him... Tell him I'll be there, I'll just be a little bit late, okay? All right, thanks."

"You're not gonna make it," Derek says flatly, making me poke my head a little between the seats to glare at him.

"I know," Stiles says, a little sad.

"And you didn't tell him about his mom, either," Derek says.

"Not till we find out the truth," Stiles replies.

"By the way, one more thing," Derek announces.

"Yeah," Stiles says, turning his head to look at him.

Derek then grabs the back of his neck and slams his head into the steering wheel and his head bounces back almost comically.

"Oh, God! What the hell was..." Stiles asks, holding his face.

"You know what that was for," Derek replies, pointing his index finger at him. "Go. Go!"

As Stiles gets out, I grab Derek's shoulder and glare daggers at him. "Lay another hand on him again and I'll break it," I threaten, hoping my eyes are glowing. A protective instinct washed over me so I couldn't help but threaten him.

Throwing him one last withering glare, I follow Stiles out the car and shut the door behind me, jogging to catch up with him.

Damn my short legs.

"You okay?" I ask as we walk through the door.

"I will be," he answers, rubbing his forehead. "God I hope he didn't do any damage."

"Well, the blow wasn't hard enough for there to be a hemorrhage," I explain.

As we walk further into the unit, I notice that it's empty. Isn't there supposed to be nurses and orderlies here twenty-four seven?

"Call Derek," I order, unable to hear anything that indicates there's someone else here. I have a bad feeling about this...

"Yeah, I said I can't find her," I hear Stiles say, breaking me from my thoughts.

"Look, ask for Jennifer," Derek instructs. "She's been looking after my uncle."

We get to his uncle's room, only to find it empty, as well as the wheelchair, like the rest of the area. Okay, now this is definitely bad.

"Yeah, well, he's not here either," Stiles informs him.

"What?" Derek asks, confused.

"He's not here," I say, knowing he can hear me. "He's gone, Derek."

Derek pauses, but what he says next makes my stomach twist. "Stiles, Mary Anne, get out of there right now. It's him! He's the Alpha! Get out!"

I take Stiles hand and we move back instantly, a heartbeat making me stop. I turn my head and see a tall man with a black leather trench coat leaning against the wall. Peter Hale. He must have been handsome when he was younger, but not now; half of his face is covered in burn scars.

"You must be Stiles," he says with a sinister smirk, eyes shifting over to me as I move to stand in front of Stiles protectively, the instinct to protect him taking over me again. "Mary Anne, it's nice to see you again after all these years. And look, you're protecting your mate, how sweet."

See you again? Protecting my mate? I have no idea what the hell he's talking about, but I know I have to get Stiles far away from him.

I take Stiles' hand and start walking backward, turning to run when we're stopped by a redheaded woman in a nurses uniform. Jennifer.

"What are you doing here?" She asks ominously. "Visiting hours are over."

"You..." Stiles says, pointing at her. "And him. You're the one who... Oh, my... And he's... Oh, my God. We're gonna die. We're gonna die."

Just then, Derek appears out of nowhere, elbowing the bitch in the face and knocking her unconscious.

"That's not nice," Peter scolds. "She's my nurse."

"She's a psychotic bitch helping you kill people," Derek corrects. "Get out of the way."

"Oh, damn," Stiles mutters, sinking to the floor and taking me with him.

"Stiles, no, let me help," I hiss but he ignores me.

"You think I killed Laura on purpose?" Peter asks. "One of my own family?"

Derek growls, using the wall to jump at Peter, but the older man pushes him against the wall easily, cracking it, throwing him to the wall right next to us.

Stiles scrambles away, going for my wrist and taking me with him, not letting me go despite my whispered protests. I want to help Derek and I can, I'm stronger than a human now and hopefully strong enough to take on an Alpha. Instead, I watch the fight, getting ready for a chance to join in.

Peter picks Derek up by the throat, making a little speech as he drags him. "My mind, my personality was literally burned out of me. I was being driven by pure instinct."

"You want forgiveness?" Derek asks, punching Peter's jaw. He goes for him again but Peter grabs him, headbutting him.

"I want understanding," Peter corrects, kicking him away. "Do you have any idea what it was like for me during those years? Slowly healing, cell by cell. Even more slowly coming back to consciousness. Yes, becoming an Alpha, taking that from Laura pushed me over a plateau in the healing process. I can't help that."

As Derek slashes at him, the Alpha dodging them and taking each of his hand, crushing one of them. I take the opportunity, running from Stiles and charging for Peter, jumping on his back and attempting to use my elbow to hit his head but he easily throws me off.

My back hits the wall, pain shooting through me as my vision goes blurry for a few seconds and I hear Stiles whispering my name, hoping I could hear him. And I can, clearly as I lay on the ground. "I tried to tell you what was happening," Peter continues his speech. "I tried to warn you." He then picks up Derek and throws him into the glass wall of the receptionist desk.

"As for you," he turns around to look down at me. "You've certainly grown up gorgeous." He gives me a creepy smile and I let out an animalistic growl, rage rushing through me and I jump up. I can feel my eyes flashing, hoping it'll tell him I'm not human and that I will fight him.

"And I can see you haven't."

I move to punch him but he catches my fist effortlessly, so I use my other to punch him in the ribs. However, he starts to crush my hand, a cry of pain leaving my lips. I can hear and feel my bones snapping, blood pouring out and coating my hand, dripping down the appendage and down my arm below my sleeve.

"You can't beat me, little girl," he taunts, tossing me away like a rag doll. I hit the floor, hard, groaning in pain as my hand goes limp. I hear him walking away, my vision a little blurry so I can't exactly see him. Then, I feel a hand on my shoulder, shaking me.

"Mary Anne, please get up," Stiles whispers, his tone pleading. I look up at him, letting him help me up as my vision focuses a bit. "Come on, we have to get out of here," he says, dragging me towards the exit.

"What about Derek?" I mumble, not resisting him because I can't, the pain in my hand is almost too much.

"He can handle himself, now come on!" He yells, helping me through the door and to the jeep. "Come on, come on," he mutters as I get into the passenger seat, him hopping in and putting the keys in the ignition and twisting it and peeling out the parking lot, away from the hospital.

"Oh, my Gods," I whimper, holding the wrist of my bloody hand and leaning my head back, eyes screwed close in pain. I press the injured hand against my chest lightly and I already know the blood is staining my shirt. "He crushed my hand."

"Can't you heal like Scott?" Stiles asks frantically.

"I don't know!" I struggle to get out, only a few tears flowing down my cheeks. "I can heal, but I don't know about a crushed hand! Just, just get to the school. Get to Scott. We need to warn him about Peter."

☾

By the time we get to the school, my hand is about eighty-five percent healed, the pain faint now and the blood dry. Stiles and I run for the locker room, him in front of me and he makes it inside the dark locker room before me.

"Dude, we have a huge problem," he breathes out. Scott is sitting on the bench in only a towel, sweat coating his skin. What happened to him?

"Trust me... I know," Scott informs us without looking back.

Ah, Hale.