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It had been a blasted school trip that thoroughly and royally fucked up Stiles' precariously balanced life.

Scott had always had asthma, they'd spent most of their time in doors as they grew up together. Never trying to push Scott's body too hard. Always keeping his inhaler close by, just in case.

The trip was a week-long camping trip that was organized for every junior class. Even a medical note couldn't get Scott out of it. Harris had been absolutely gleeful about it, taking every chance to expound on how creepy and scary the woods were. Which. Was just great. Really, really, great.

Stiles had started the trip off optimistically. Scott was having a good lung day, and they had spent most of the bus ride talking about the economics of Skyrim and the impact Skooma might have had on the local economy of Riften. Which was a lot of words to say they were discussing fake digital drug trade. Something that Stiles had grown more and more aware of as he rode the line of legality between being his father's son and keeping an eye on the Hales.

But the bus had broken down, so they'd gotten to the campground late. Almost sunset. It wasn't far from Beacon Hills proper, but the roads weren't helpful so it took an inordinate amount of time to reach it by car. Stiles was convinced he'd probably be able to make it home in half the time if he just had a map.

Getting to the campground late meant setting up late, which meant eating late.

Which meant, it was pitch black outside by the time they ended up heading back to their tents from the 'mess tent'. The campground was set up amongst the trees. It was very idyllic. Most of the paths were appropriately manicured and even well lit. But being the very bottom of the social totem pole among both the students and Harris, meant that the tent that Stiles and Scott shared was the furthest from the group.

On a path that blended in with the surrounding forest.

"Shit." Stiles muttered, tripping again on a loose stick as it caught between his ankles.

"Are we still going the right way?" Scott whispered, hands clenched around Stiles upper arm. His eye sight wasn't the best on top of the asthma thing, so the hands were understandable.

"Yeah." Stiles responded, looking at the trees in the beam of the flashlight. "I think so."

Scott whined. "Get your dad to complain to the school board. This is insane!"

"Uh huh, yep. I'm sure that Harris will really take that to heart." Sarcasm dripped from his words.

"It's better than this." Scott grumbled, his uneven weight on Stiles' arm causing him to stumble once more.

"I don't know, Scotty. I'm really enjoying this moonlit stroll. It's all very romantic." Stiles flashed a grin, annoyance flashing bright before it drifted away on the ties of friendship. "Maybe I trip and you fall on top of me and we share a kiss."

Scott released his arm in a flurry, pushing Stiles further off balance. Stiles giggled and snorted at the look on Scott's face.

"You wouldn't" Scott grumbled, hands coming back to capture Stiles' upper arm. He still needed his Seeing Eye Stiles after all.

"But Scott," Stiles said in a wheedling voice. "We grew up together, what if our feelings are complicated and have grown into deep meaningful connections."

"Jesus," Scott grumbled. "Stop reading yaoi, man. It's rotting your brain."

"I couldn't get enough lightsabers from Star Wars, so I have to look elsewhere. You wouldn't understand the need." Stiles placed a hand over his heart, squinting into the dark. Had they passed that particular tree before?

He didn't catch what Scott mumbled next, his attention caught by a disturbingly large rustle of the underbrush. Stiles stopped, bringing a hand up to silence Scott. The silence in the night seemed absolute. Nothing showed in the light of the flashlight.

Forests rustled at night. It was a normal sound.

But.

That rustle sounded malicious. Stiles didn't really want to think about how a rustle could sound malicious. He felt it, a seeping feeling in his chest. Because the shadows he'd read about, that were never far from his thoughts, were springing dangerously forth in his mind.

Another rustle, quieter. Almost inaudible, Stiles would've missed it if he hadn't been paying attention. With careful hands he positioned Scott in front of him. In a low voice he spoke into his friend's ear.

"There's something out here with us. On the count of three you take the flashlight and you run." Stiles said, voice tight and tense. He cut Scott off from saying anything, shoving the flashlight in his friend's hand.

"One."

"Two."

He pushed Scott sharply forward, almost sending him tumbling

"Three!" Scott awkwardly burst into a run and Stiles followed. They ran noisily forward, neither of them were known for being particularly athletically inclined. The rustling behind them burst from the thick underbrush. All of Stiles' fears awoke at once. It was something inhuman. They were coming at the pair of kids at an angle, and heading straight for Scott. The flashlight.

Stiles cursed. Of course it would go for the prey it could fucking see. He tried to put on a burst of speed, but it didn't matter. He didn't make it in time. Scott was bowled over in a snarling tangle of limbs. They tumbled down a short incline and landed with Scott on top, raining blows down on the assailant below. The flashlight making cracking noises with each impact.

Stiles slid down messily after them, heart pumping.

The impacts were mere annoyances to this beast. Stiles looked around and came upon a rather perfectly sized branch. He hoped to hell it wasn't wood rotted. It felt firm enough in his hand.

"Scott!" He bellowed, running towards the pair. The beast was beginning to claw back, no longer dazed by the fall. Stiles could only catch glimpses of what was happening before he saw Scott leap up and jump to the side. Leaving a perfect opening for Stiles to bring the branch down. He mercilessly brought it crashing down onto the beast's esophagus.

It tried to let out a strangled noise, pawing at its neck. Stiles swung up and then back down. He clipped the beast's chin, the harsh blow cracked into the air and exposed more of its neck. Another swing up, then back down, and Stiles focused all his intention on the base of the skull. He hoped to hell it would sever the skull from the spine.

It was a dislocation that in humans resulted in a 70% chance of death.

A sickening crack resounded as the branch shattered on impact.

The beast was silent. But still breathing. They wouldn't have much time.

"Come on!" Stiles reached for Scott, "Lets go!"

Scott gasped, his lungs failing him. Stiles cursed and swung the boy onto his back and reached for the dimming flashlight. He didn't know where they were, but he scanned the forest and set out in a direction when he felt a tug behind his sternum. Stiles didn't question that tug. Scott's pained, drowning, pants in his ears were the background noise of the next few terrifying minutes as he stumbled and ran through the underbrush.

Soon, Stiles spotted lights through the trees. The campground had finally come into view.

"Help!" He bellowed, yelling with all his might. He kept yelling as he made his way to the nearest teacher's tent. Heads began poking out, and soon one of the teachers actually stepped out of their tents to take a look at what was happening.

"What happened?" Ms. Morty asked, face turning serious as she took in the pair.

"A man attacked us on our way to our tent." Stiles gasped, falling to his knees to let Scott off his back. "Scott had an asthma attack, his inhaler- it is at the tent - but we were lost. I don't know how long I've been running around the forest."

Ms. Morty nodded and stepped back in her tent, only to step out a few moments later with an inhaler. At this point a crowd had gathered. Both Scott and Stiles were covered in blood and dirt, Stiles mostly covered in Scott's blood. A commotion on the edge of the group pulled Stiles' attention away from his best friend. Harris was pushing through the thin crowd.

"What's going on? What's happening?" He bellowed, face angry.

"These students were attacked on their way to their tent." Ms. Morty said smoothly. "Call the cops, Mr. Harris."

"Are we sure they were attacked?" Harris hedged, glancing down at Scott.

"Mr. Harris." Ms. Morty said, face cold. "Call the cops."

Stiles held his breath as the man grimaced and turned, heading towards the main office. Now there was no choice but to involve his father. He thought back to the face of the beast and glanced down at Scott. There had been red eyes in those sockets. He hoped to hell that his friend had made it out sans bitey wounds.

"Jesus," Ms. Morty muttered. "Everyone, return to your tents. Stiles, help me bring him into my tent. It doesn't seem as though he suffered a spinal or internal injury."

A few protests from the most curious had her hardening her expression and calling those people out by name. Sending them off with shame blushing them red. Stiles was in quiet awe of her tenacity. He helped her move Scott into her tent and settled him gently on the cot there.

Scott was still breathing roughly, but he was breathing. Thank god for inhalers. His eyes were wide and vacant.

"He's showing signs of shock." She said calmly. Stiles cursed and made to move towards his friend, only to be blocked by Ms. Morty. "You are not a medical professional, Mr. Stilinski."

"No shit, sherlock." Stiles bit out. "But I can at least loosen his clothes and raise his feet while you look over his injuries."

She nodded in response and they did just that. Stiles leaned against the cot as soon as his portion of the duties were done. Harris burst into the tent not long after.

"What were you doing out in the woods?" He asked Stiles acerbically.

"Oh, I don't know." Stiles tossed back, arms braced against his bent knees. "Finding the fucking campsite you assigned to us. Or did you forget the glee you had when you told me, and stop me if I get this wrong, 'and for Scott and Stilinski, you two can bunk out in the forest together. Maybe a bear will find you.'"

Stiles heard Ms. Morty's sharp inhale. He didn't know why she was so upset now, she'd been standing next to Harris as he read out the campsite assignments. But it wasn't his problem now. Cops would appear soon enough, thank god he was a sheriff's son or Harris might try and get him arrested.

"I gave you a map, the campsite was well within the Campground's limits." Harris retorted.

"A map!" Stiles barked a cruel laugh. "Gosh, Mr. Harris. What map, exactly, did you give us?" Stiles spread his hands apart. The bigger man went to open his mouth.

"Enough." Ms. Morty said, tone cruel. "Mr. Harris, please leave my tent until the authorities arrive."

Stiles snorted.

Harris spun on his heel and left as dramatically as he entered.

"Now, sashay away." Stiles muttered under his breath, earning a choked off almost-chuckle from Ms. Morty. A grin flickered across his face for a moment, before it vanished as he listened to her disinfect and bandage the wounds.

"Whoever attacked you guys must be crazy." Ms. Morty muttered.

"I'm not going to argue with that statement." Stiles said, turning to look at the nurse. "Why'd you say that?"

"He's got several bite marks on his arms." Ms. Morty said sadly. "He'll need proper cleaning and maybe some stitches. And a serious round of antibiotics, the human mouth is vile."

Cold splashed against his heart.

He did not want to hear that. Out of everything that could've happened on this car crash of a trip, this had been at the very bottom of his list of potential outcomes. Scott had always been separate from Stiles' obsession with the shadows and the things that lurked in them.

Well.

That particular compartmentalization wouldn't work anymore.

"Yea." He said weakly in response, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. Letting the feeling of deafening defeat swamp his senses for a little while.

Sirens echoed in the distance. Bringing him out of his mire, he could put off this particular existential crisis for a little longer, it seemed.

"Calvary is coming." Stiles said, standing.

"Wait outside, I'm almost finished." Ms. Morty said, Stiles nodded and stepped through the tent flaps. Harris was absent from the area. Slowly, he made his way over to the parking lot. Two cruisers pulled in, cutting their sirens but leaving the light show. Way to draw attention.

A deputy stepped out with a serious look on her face.

"'Y'ello." Stiles waved one hand at the austere woman. "I'm the person you were called out for."

She approached apprehensively, hand resting on her belt. A little too close to the gun. "I was told that there were students who attacked each other in the forest."

Stiles snorted despite himself. "Ah, no. We were attacked by a man. Not each other. There's a teacher, the school nurse, patching my friend up now. If you wanna follow me?"

"Can I get your name?" The deputy, Hoffield, asked.

"Stilinski." He replied with a crooked grin, he watched with sick satisfaction as her face paled in the light of the cruiser's headlights. He made his way back to the nurse's tent just as Ms. Morty was exiting. "Coppers are here."

"I can see that." Ms. Morty said, nodding to the two deputies. "Mr. Stilinski and Mr. McCall were attacked in the forest on their way to their campsite."

The next few hours were filled with agonizing recaps and a decidedly aggravating call to his father. They found the clearing where Stiles had downed the beast, the ground torn up and a little bloody. But it showed a clear progression of events and further backed Stiles recounting.

Scott came back slowly, but he was still out of it.

His statement, delirious as it was, coincided with Stiles'.

Eventually, the two of them were given the all clear by Ms. Morty and a campground medic who'd been roused out of bed to look over the boys. As soon as they got the go-ahead after strict instructions to take Scott to a hospital, Stiles begged and they were given a ride back to the school. Stiles wanted to pick up his Jeep, because he damn well wasn't going to leave it at the school.

Also. There was something he had to do now that more of his life was covered in shadow. He could recite pages upon pages of how the Bite may or may not affect humans. He could explain in detail the potential symptoms associated with a change occurring. Symptoms that his very dear friend was beginning to exhibit now. But all that book knowledge did fuck all on the off chance any bit of it was wrong.

Being wrong could cost him his friend. A piece of himself tucked away in someone else before he'd grown up enough to learn just how dangerous it was to keep pieces of his heart in other people.

"Come on Scott." Stiles said tiredly, tugging his friend from the back seat of the cop car. It was 4 am, and he was exhausted. The first grey wisps of morning were beginning on the edges of the horizon. Far away, still only a figment of reality. The quasi-realness of it made the whole situation less solid, less certain.

Over the peaking greyness sat the fat full moon. Hazy in the early morning fog, but no less powerful and blinding. It was just another reason on a growing list of reasons to get Scott out of the cop car.

His father and Melissa had okayed them to come home on their own. The Sheriff was on an overnight call on the other end of the county. It seemed one of his deputies had a baby on the way and was currently in the hospital. He'd made sure Stiles was fine before telling him that he'd stay at work and start on the investigation into the crazy man's appearance.

Melissa was on a long 48 at the hospital and Stiles may have fudged the details a bit. May have. To make it seem like Scott was shaken but not injured. So she didn't leave work and she trusted Stiles to take care of her son, as he always had.

So, it was expected that Stiles would probably stay at Scott's anyways. Coming home to an empty house made him feel so damn lonely. Stiles still spent days over at Scott's sometimes when his dad was wrapped up in something.

Which meant. Now was the perfect time to introduce himself to the people he'd been watching for six years. No big deal. And he'd bring along a potentially brand new baby wolf. Which. After looking at Scott's reaction, was looking more and more probable with each passing second.

Scott stumbled against him as they made their way through the school parking lot. The deputy had let them out with a concerned look on her face. Scott wasn't doing so hot, his body was on fire. Feverish.

It had taken some fast talking and serious lying to get the deputy on her way and Scott out of the cruiser.

Stiles took a better grip of his friend's arm and dragged him over to his Jeep, all but pouring Scott into the seat. He slammed the door and went around to the driver's side. Scott was losing his tenuous grasp on reality and consciousness. In the cruiser he'd been able to sit up and even form short sentences.

Now? He sat panting soft, hot, breaths that were over wet.

Anxiety sparked up his spine and down his hands when he looked over at his friend. His chest burned in the same way it did when he was having nightmares. He chewed on his lips and metal bloomed on his tongue when he ripped off a particular piece of stubborn skin.

He slid behind the wheel and turned the Jeep towards the road.

He had spent the last years almost avoiding the Hales, ashamed of how he'd gone about protecting them. But not willing to give it up, because his methods did work. They were alive and numerous others were sitting in prison. It just so happened that, in the process, he'd developed a habit of keeping tabs on every member of the Hale pack. Even now, he knew roughly where Derek and Laura were.

Peter hadn't left the country or New York. Maybe.

Neither had his kids.

Derek had graduated from Columbia, Summa Cum Laude with a degree in Organic Chemistry. Laura had recently won her pro bono case, and they gone out to celebrate her success at a dive diner that served greasy food. Stiles only knew that last bit because Derek's location had pinged, otherwise that particular establishment was cash only with no online cameras or presence. Similar to Frost's Diner here in Beacon Hills, closer to the station.

Talia had taken the fire to heart and had stepped up to her role as protector for Beacon Hill. In the years since, she'd formed many powerful alliances with various neighboring packs, pods, and parliaments.

The various people and kids that lived in the house alongside her blood-family were tracked by Stiles as well. Similar to Peter's kids, however, they had almost no social media presence. Most attended a private school, which, after further digging, was a local supernatural school. Not to mention the pack members who lived in Beacon Hills proper and only participated in pack events.

Packs were incredibly complex social structures that were living breathing things fed by the bonds that formed them.

So Stiles had an idea of what he was driving into. He hoped Scott would be okay until he made it. Every few miles he'd glance over to his friend as he laid curled against the Jeep's door. As far as his notes said, it was a good reaction. But the incredibly heavy moon sat on his rapidly beating heart. Fear spiked through him like shooting stars.

The Bite wasn't commonly known, wasn't very well documented. It was rare as shit because it didn't often leave the person bitten alive. Due to that, lycanthropes had been deeply persecuted whenever hints that they may exist cropped up. So Stiles wasn't going to take any chances with his best friend's life. Regardless of how little he wanted to walk up to the people he'd built his own life around.

Kinda hard to meet your reason to live.

The road stretched out in front of him. He listened to the silence, broken only by Scott's low moans. Which did nothing to quell his anxiety. The gravel road that had taken him to a new kind of future so long ago, did the same thing once again and led him unerringly towards the new Hale house. This time the road was a little bit wider. It and the house had been rebuilt a few years after the fire, after the insurance and investigation had finally gone through.

Stiles glanced at the clock. 4:23am glared back. He sighed.

He pulled in next to the various cars. All very high end and very expensive. Literal status symbols left out in the open alongside a plain white 15 passenger van that just exuded practicality. The whole mechanical ensemble made his baby blue 1980s jeep stand out even more than it normally did. Stiles ran a hand down his face in exasperation. Fuck, he didn't want to do this right now, but he also didn't want Scott to die.

Which. Still was a possibility. A very. Scary. Possibility.

With his heart fluttering like a hummingbird he patted his friend's shoulder and told him to wait in the car. Scott didn't even respond. He was caught in the heat of the change fully now. Stiles took a deep breath, hopped out, and walked towards the front door. Time to get this over with.

The house was different than it had been. Gone were the gabled roofs and wooden siding. Now it was all sleek, modern, and very predatory looking. The front door was a large wooden slab that sat defensively in the sheet metal. He took another steadying breath and rang the doorbell.

Talia herself answered seconds later. She hadn't aged much, only a few grey hairs at her temples and frown lines around her mouth spoke to the work she'd put into the last few years. She stood barefoot in soft earth toned clothes that wrapped around her and tied loosely at her waist and hips. Clothing that she could tear off and swiftly change in if needed.

Stiles spoke before she opened her mouth.

"There's a rogue alpha wandering in Beacon Hills, and I have a boy who was bitten and is in the process of turning." Stiles grinned at her, showing teeth. "Perhaps you'd be interested in looking after a lost pup?"

Talia stared at him a moment before casting her gaze over his shoulder. He watched her scent the air, her hackles were already raised. They had been from the moment she opened the door. Stiles didn't have time for this. But he also didn't really have a choice.

"How are you so certain it was an alpha?" She said carefully, tone flat.

"Golly gee," Stiles said, voice trembling slightly, complicated fear rode him hard and he pushed through it. "The red eyes and the fact that my friend is two shakes of a lamb's tail away from growing his own. That? Kind of gave it away."

Talia stepped out onto the porch, closed the door firmly behind her, and regarded him coolly. She kept her hands loose at her sides, ready to tear either the clothes off her own body, or claw into him. Everything about the motion spoke of wariness.

"You're the Sheriff's son." She stated.

"Aye aye, captain." Stiles saluted her. "The one and only hellion. Excellent nostril work."

She made a non-committal noise before turning back to face his jeep.

"Why," She took a deep breath. "Did you bring him here?"

"Well." Stiles drew the word out and turned to face his Jeep as well. "As the local Alpha and current leader in the northern Californian alliance, I'm inclined to believe you have the ability to take in, and look after, wayward pups."

He heard the sharp inhale of breath, but he kept his eyes forward, locked on his jeep.

"How did you come by that knowledge?" Her voice was ice cold, chilling him with fear. Stiles took a deep breath.

"Talia." He turned to look her directly in the eye. A direct challenge. "There is a wounded wolf in the throes of a change, which has your jurisdiction written alllll over it. You have a rogue alpha wandering your territory. What, or who, I may be is only of consequence if I mean you and yours harm."

"You say." She bit out, eyes bleeding to red. "As you challenge me directly."

Stiles nodded, keeping eye contact. "Yep. Because I am not part of your pack, nor am I a supernat. I'm plain old human, so keep your fangs to yourself, Alpha. I haven't physically threatened you or yours."

A line had to be drawn in the sand. For her to take in Scott. He hoped to hell she'd take him in. Because this wasn't just him bringing Scott. This was waving his knowledge like the neon banner it was. Showing his hand to anyone savvy enough to be looking for it.

Fear rode him. He knew she could scent it. Lycanthropes still had access to the Jacobson's Organ and could accurately perceive more complicated scents that regular old humans couldn't. But whatever respect he could earn now, would hold him in good stead later. Which meant grabbing a hold of the stick up her ass and giving it a swift jerk.

It was that burning sensation in his chest that was guiding him now. He hoped to hell it wouldn't steer him wrong. Damn thing hadn't before, but who the hell knew anymore.

She glared at him a moment more. He'd called her bluff. She could do nothing to him. Human and sheriff's son, he was an untouchable entity. He took a quiet breath, deliberately broke eye contact, turned away from her, and started down the steps, walking to his Jeep.

"His mother is a nurse at Beacon Hill Medical." He tossed back over his shoulder. "She's on a long 48, so we have time for you to do whatever it is you need to do until he has to be back home."

"We?" She asked, voice calmer now that he wasn't directly challenging her.

"Aye aye captain." Stiles waved a lazy salute as he opened the passenger door and reached in. "He's my best friend, brother. Nothing states that he has to be left alone, and other than a bad case of hospitality, you shouldn't kick me out."

Stiles heard her curse under her breath. He smiled and tucked Scott's arm around his neck. She moved swiftly and slipped under the other arm so they could carry him into the house. The interior felt a sight more homey than the cold, modern, exterior. With textiles and wood covering most surfaces in warm tones and textures.

"Let's drop him in the guest room." She said softly over Scott's head. No strain in her voice as she was obviously not feeling the weight of the teen against her shoulders. She led the way down a wide hallway that branched off the rather impressive main room. Stiles knew the floor plans for the house, but walking among them was a different story. The guest room she led them to was modestly furnished in flat grey tones, with a small en suite bathroom.

They unceremoniously dumped Scott into the bed. Stiles took a moment to take off his friend's shoes and loosen his belt and pants. There were lines he wouldn't cross, and undressing his brother was a very wide one. Talia lent over the prone boy and pressed her hand to his forehead. She grunted once and Stiles watched as her eyes flashed red once before fading back to a deep umber.

Scott's face evened out. Black lines crept up her arm, a few more minutes and she disengaged, shaking her arms. It was a good sign, it fell in line with what Stiles had read. Relief flooded him briefly. Quietly, he followed her out of the room and into the large, open, great room. Couches littered the floor with plush softness.

"I do believe." She said dryly. "It's time for introductions."

Stiles snorted. "Sure."

"I'm Talia Hale, Alpha of the Hale pack." She held out one, well manicured, hand. Stiles stared at it and then took it with a grunt. Fucking werewolf strength.

"Stiles Stilinski. Son of the Sheriff." He flashed a smile. Talia snorted and nodded.

"Tell me what happened." She demanded, Stiles raised his eyebrows at the tone. "Please."

The begrudging politeness only served to stretch his grin wider. He couldn't push this too far, but it was fun. He flopped down on one of the couches, dropping his arms along the back. Spreading his bulk as much as possible, something made him want to blanket this place.

A couple of faces appeared from one of the hallways, concern flooding their features.

Talia shook her head and turned her attention back to Stiles. He waved jauntily.

"It's good to see Terry's kids are growing up so strong." He said absentmindedly, before turning his attention back to Talia fully. "I'm gonna give you some context on the incident, so you can fully comprehend what happened."

Talia glared silently, nodded, and motioned for him to continue.

"Every junior class at Beacon Hill High goes on a camping trip when they first come back from summer vacation. This lucky year, it's my classes' turn. Kicker being Harris, who is the teacher in charge, hates my guts."

"I couldn't imagine why." Talia said demurely, the sarcasm so dry he was impressed it didn't creak.

"Exactly." Stiles pointed happily at Talia. "See, you understand. Anyway. He is in charge of assigning campsites. Our campsite was the furthest away from the campgrounds proper, on a path that wasn't maintained."

Talia nodded, understanding. "You were attacked on the way back to your campsite."

"Gosh," Stiles gushed. "Brains and beauty? Wowzers, you won the lottery there Mrs. Hale."

She glared red eyes at him and he bobbed his head, rushing on with his explanation. "Yes, I heard a rustle in the undergrowth on our left, I sent Scott off with the flashlight hoping he'd follow me. But he went after Scott."

"How'd you get an Alpha wolf away from your friend?" She asked, a blatant disbelief ringing in her tone.

"He was rogue, you have to remember. There's not a thought behind those eyes." Stiles shrugged. "Scott went on a tumble with him and landed on top, he was able to beat him with the flash light as a distraction while I found a branch."

"You beat on him with a branch?" She asked, trying to clarify, but obviously disbelieving his heroics. "Playing a little piñata in the forest for fun?"

"Yepper de diddly, I did." Stiles nodded, the corners of his mouth quirking at her soft jab. "I crushed his esophagus and gave him a touch of the ol' atlanto-occipital dislocation. No candy fell out, though."

She regarded him with a new respect. At least, he hoped that's what that look was.

"He didn't die, but I had enough time while he was coming to his senses to get the fuck out of there. Scott got bit while playing whack-a-mole with the furry heathen. You're the only pack I trust nearby. So, as soon as Scott was given the all clear by the school nurse, I came here." Stiles sighed, twisting his head, groaning slightly when one angle cracked his neck. He'd re-told the story so many times already, it was making him dizzy.

"Where is the campsite?" Talia asked, head cocking as her eyes looked over his shoulder. She mouthed something to someone before looking back at him.

"It's the campsite up on Beacon Hill summit, in the national forest. So roughly, I don't know, 25 miles? From here?" Stiles leaned his head back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. Nope, he couldn't see anyone behind him. "Only thing that borders that forest is your territory, or the unclaimed land that's currently boiling over with baby hunters."

"Boiling over with, what?" Talia asked, confused as her eyes flitted between him and whatever was behind him. Stiles pushed back into the cushions, it really was a soft couch.

"No, no, you're supposed to say 'I'll take What is the newest group of homicidal Gestapo wannabes?'" Stiles snorted, at least he made himself laugh. Talia growled and Stiles stilled. "Oki doki, have you had breakfast? You're not you when you're hungry."

Stiles tipped his head forward, following it with his body until his forearms were braced against his knees. He rolled his shoulders. The tension of sitting bathed in fear and having his adrenals pumping constantly was wearing one him. He rolled his shoulders again and cleared his throat.

"Baby Hunters." Stiles started before Talia could think better of killing him. He waved a hand in the general direction of where those baby hunters might be. "Recently it's become a fad to buy into the dogma of anti-supernat, the optics are great for it since there's no one to come out against them like racism or homophobia. It's delivered under the guise of human superiority, so it's quite palatable amongst the most heavily militarized groups in the US of A. You know. Political party extremists. End of worlders."

Talia stared at him, her nostrils flaring. He grinned cheekily when they did.

"Bouquet de Stilinski really doin' it for ya?" Exhaustion was wreaking havoc on his ability to not attempt to royally piss off literally anyone in front of him. But she didn't glare at him.

Instead she just looked at him for a long moment, eyes assessing as she periodically scented the air. It was rather unnerving and suddenly made Stiles acutely aware of the shit that was spewing out of his pores.

"How'd you know he was changing?" She asked finally. Stiles chewed at his lips a little more.

"Hazarded an educated guess, you could call it." Stiles finally hedged. Not a lie.

"Is that what you call it? An educated guess? Educated by who?" Talia's eyes were like lasers pining him.

"Uh, personal study." Stiles kept his hands still, he could prevent further tells from showing. Silence stretched again before she glanced over her shoulder towards the room Scott was in. Stiles almost jumped and ran to it, but he held his breath.

"You're not asking what is going to happen." She finally said thoughtfully. "You aren't asking me if he's ok. Because you already know that he'll make it. You knew to bring him to an Alpha."

Stiles swallowed and smiled cheekily. He kept his eyes on her through sheer force of will. His heart made him feel sick with it's thudding. His chest was a plume of heat and he wondered what he smelled like to the wolf in front of him. Because he felt scared. Scared for Scott, scared for the years spent hiding, scared she might keep asking questions and being right.

"You're hungry." She stated. Which. Threw Stiles for a loop, he squinted at the non sequitur. "I'll deal with the 'Baby Hunters' as you put it, in my own way. And you've told me about the rogue alpha. And I've taken in your friend. So now."

Talia stood, staring down at him. "You will come and eat."

Stiles looked up at her, lost. The road map he had for any and all conversations didn't fucking include 'Alpha feeding him.' He didn't even know that was an option. He felt suddenly lost, a new feeling. "Uh."

Talia grinned, wide and full, showing every single one of her teeth.

"You aren't the only one who can make others feel unbalanced, Szczęście." Stiles face paled at the perfect pronunciation of his god awful first name. His chest blazed brilliantly, it was an almost nostalgic feeling. He didn't know whether to feel touched, or scared. It was unnerving either way, how she went from actively engaging in antagonizing him, to offering to share food.

Food. It was an important thing to any supernat. Wolves especially. It was sacred and good. There were so many spiritual and religious rites around the damn stuff, half his notebooks were taken up with documenting them alone. He had more recipes for spiritual meals than anything else.

Which, had been a bonus, since those meals were often incredibly healthy. So when his dad needed a new lifestyle change, Stiles had a rather well documented set of recipes on hand to reference and build grocery lists off of. He also silently carried out the simplest of rites, because if he was going to steal their recipes, he might as well honor their ancestors.

Dumbfounded, and a little lost still, he silently followed her into the kitchen. She pulled out a flat of 36 eggs and shooed him to one of the stools that sat against the bar. It was a huge island kind of thing that separated the space between the living comfort area and the hot dangerous kitchen. There were numerous stools that sat under the lip of the bar, designed so that people could sit and be served directly off the hot line in the kitchen proper.

"I'm behind this morning because of you. So stay out of my way." Talia said, before turning away and completely ignoring him. He didn't know what to make of it. He replayed the conversation over in his head, and it still didn't make sense. Absently he started to chew on his lips.

His life tended to revolve around expectations. So having her completely dash them was really throwing him for a loop.

From the hallway he heard the sound of children trying very hard not to make noise. The faces he'd seen in the hallway earlier filtered slowly into the kitchen area, starting with one of the youngest. Who ran up to him, only to stop a few feet away. The rest walked at a normal speed up to Talia and hung off her a moment before moving around the island to hop up on stools.

Startlingly adorable, the kid who'd come running stared at him with huge multi hued hazel eyes. They glowed in the early morning light, it was unsettling to be the sole attention of such a vivid stare. They had a huge mop of dark brown hair and a flush of freckles that skittered across their face from running outdoors under the sun.

"Isaiah, blink." Said an older kid, they were all dressed out in white button downs and khaki pants. It was the uniform of the private school they went to. The shirts were still unbuttoned and loose, probably because they were about to eat breakfast.

Isaiah obediently blinked. Took a huge breath through their nose.

"You're 'ooman." The kid said. Isaiah was one of Terry's kids, about 6 years old and very cute.