Chris and Deaton raced through the damp, humid tunnel under the forest hill. Flashlights held high, they fought through tree roots and avoided a dozen sinkholes. The two men were using a handsaw to get through a particularly dense mess of roots and fungus when they heard three booms that rattled the ground. "We're too late," Deaton whispered. The knowledge didn't stop them from doubling their efforts.
A minute later they reached an iron ladder that went up a shaft. Deaton climbed it first. Chris heard the scraping of wood, a couple grunts, and suddenly the shaft filled with a dense fog of dust and a violet smoke that Chris instantly recognized as wolf's bane. "Oh my God," Deaton gasped.
Chris didn't know at what point he actually stated giving a damn about Scott and the other werewolves' lives, but his heart tied itself in a knot. "They're already dead, aren't they." Deaton's boots disappeared into the cave and Chris followed him up the ladder.
He emerged through a rusty hatch at the bottom of a coffin-sized wooden crate. Past Deaton's knees were dim outlines of five people – three bleeding, coughing werewolves draped protectively over two humans. Desperate, Chris grabbed the female hand and pulled. Lydia slid out from under the literal dog pile. She was alive, but unconscious. Chris carried her down the ladder, set her down, and returned to find Deaton handing Stiles off to him. "Where's Allison?" he demanded, his voice cracking on his daughter's name. When Deaton didn't answer, he cursed and put Stiles down next to Lydia. Scott was speaking when he returned. The beta lay sandwiched between Isaac's back and Derek's stomach.
"It's Gerard," he whispered to Deaton. "And Peter. Peter Hale." His eyes slid shut. "Allison..."
Derek suddenly rolled off of Scott's back and kicked him towards the shaft. "Get them out of here," he pleaded to Deaton. Coughs burst from his throat as the wolf's bane vapor constricted it. Unable to speak, Derek focused on helping Deaton and Chris get the unconscious Isaac and Scott down the shaft, away from the cloud of poison. Derek lasted only a moment more and when Deaton returned for him he found the Alpha passed out, face down. It took until dawn for the two men to drag all five dead-weighted bodies through the tunnel and into the waiting Jeeps.
•••
"Stiles? Stiles, sweetie..."
Stiles couldn't remember the last time someone stroked his hair like... like...
"That's it, wake up," a crisp, light voice urged him. "Wake up, Stiles."
The way she ran her fingers through his hair... it had to be...
"Mom?" Stiles whispered. His brown eyes peeked through swollen eyelids. "...Mom?"
There was a mother there. She smiled down at him looking sad but relieved. Her fingers felt cold against his skin. "It's me, Stiles," Melissa McCall said. "You're all right. You're okay."
Stiles would've fought the brief burst of tears if he had the energy. "What happened?" he whispered. "What's... what's going on?"
Melissa stood up straight. A filing cabinet crouched at her side and a wooden cabinet towered behind her. Familiar smells tickled Stiles' nostrils. He was in the hospital – no – the animal hospital. Deaton's veterinarian office. He lay on one of the metal tables, cushioned on all sides by pillows and blankets, fresh new clothes on the lower half of his bathed, clean body. "What happened is I stitched you up," Scott's mom explained. She fingered her handiwork from his bellybutton to his kidney. "You lost a lot of blood, Stiles."
"I remember..." he licked his dry, chapped lips. "The cave. Derek, Scott – is everyone else all right?"
Her fingers returned to his damp hair. "That's right. That was two days ago, Stiles. Everyone else is safe, they're fine... all things considered."
"Two days?" Stiles frowned. A million urgent things scratched at the inside of his head. "My dad, you have to call him, he'll freak out—"
"We did," Melissa assured him. "I told him that I took you and Scott on a spontaneous road trip to visit family. He agreed that with all of the weird stuff going on, it's a good idea." Melissa's jawline throbbed and she yanked her hair behind her ears. "I'm considering actually doing it, honestly. I wonder how many werewolves I can fit in my car..."
"Mom? Stiles?" Scott rushed into the room and straight over to his best friend's side. "Hey! You're awake!"
"Apparently," Stiles agreed. "You okay?"
Scott shrugged. "Almost healed. We're all still weak from the wolf's bane. Did you tell him yet?" he asked his mom.
She shook her head. "I was waiting for you. I thought you'd—"
"Good. Yeah. Um..." Scott sat on the table beside Stiles. "Give us a minute, will you, Mom?"
Melissa nodded. She squeezed Stiles' shoulder and then walked out the door, closing it behind her. Stiles adjusted his weight into a more comfortable position on the table. "Scotty? What is it?"
Scott looked everywhere but in his best friend's eyes. "We couldn't wake you up," he said, his voice so very quiet. "You were dying, Stiles. Derek siphoned so much pain out of you that he passed out. I knew, then, that I had no choice."
"No choice about—" Stiles didn't need Scott to say another word. He forced himself to sit up and started exploring his body. It didn't take him long to find the bite. It was right on the inside of his left arm.
Water hovered in Scott's eyes. "I couldn't let you die," he whispered.
•••
If Allison held her breath, closed her eyes and focused on nothing but the ear pressed against her locked door, she could hear the conversation in the living room beyond. Peter Hale's voice was smooth, soft-spoken. He was harder to hear but even if he did speak up, it would still be near impossible to hear him over Gerard's rant. "It should've worked by now!" her grandfather bellowed. "After the third virgin I felt twice as strong as before. Taking the powers of three werewolves – one who was an Alpha – that should've increased my strength by ten!" Gerard coughed and spit. Allison imagined the black sludge draining from his nose.
"Hope that hurts," she whispered. Allison lay flat on her stomach and held perfectly still so that even the shuffle of clothing couldn't distract her.
Gerard answered an unheard question: "It means that they aren't dead! How could they get out of that cave alive?"
Deucalion's slithering voice spoke up. "Two could be dead. Perhaps only one of them survived." Allison wasn't sure, but it sounded like Deucalion found that possibility amusing. "I hope it's Scott," he said, emphasizing the "tt"s. "He could still be of use to us."
"I think," said Peter, "that this is what you deserve, Gerard, for reneging on our deal."
"What you deserve is to die for killing my daughter," Gerard snapped. "Consider anything other than that a luxury. Remember your place, Hale. You're only alive as long as you're useful to me, so I'd mind my manners if I were you."
"I'll send the boys to check on the cave." Allison heard the hollow sound of Deucalion's stick scratching across the floor as he walked down the hall. "They'll dig up the bodies... if there are any."
Allison couldn't contain a smile or a tear. Scott was alive.
No, she reminded herself. Scott, Derek and / or Isaac were alive. And what about Stiles and Lydia...
Allison took a deep breath, reined in her thoughts and emotions, and returned her attention to her grandfather's voice.
•••
Stiles stared at the bloody bandage around his left forearm. Part of him wanted to rip it off, part of him wanted to put on a long sleeve shirt and never take it off again. He almost forgot Scott was still standing there beside the table when his friend said, "Stiles, say something, dude. Anything." Scott took Stiles' wrist and forced it flat into his lap. "Are you... are you mad? I'm sorry but I had to. Your heart stopped — I didn't know what else... I'm—"
"Don't!" Stiles snapped. He winced at the tone of his voice, as did Scott. "I mean... Don't apologize, Scotty. Thank—" Stiles would've said "you" but Scott wrapped him in a bear hug so tight that all of Stiles' words were forced back down his throat. "How long ago did you do it?" he asked when Scott finally released him. "I mean, would the bite be healed by now?"
"Should be," Scott said breathlessly. "It's been about a day. Do you want the bandage off?" Stiles nodded, and Scott gently slid his fingernails between Stiles' skin and the adhesive tape holding down the bandage.
"Ow!" Stiles hissed.
Scott chuckled warmly. "Sorry, buddy. Can't help but take a few arm hairs out."
"No it's not that it's..." Stiles frowned at his arm. "I don't think the bite's healed. It kind of... it kind of stings."
Scott's frown matched Stiles'. "It shouldn't," he said. "I don't think it should..." He ripped the dressing off the rest of the way and both boys gasped.
The bite didn't heal. It was still there, and thick black blood oozed out of it. Scott sprinted to the office door and, his voice breaking, shouted "Derek!"