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August 3rd, 2025
12:45 PM
Beacon Hills, California
Present time
"Stiles!" Scott hops off of the porch, a wide, carefree grin on his face. His teeth show with it, his eyes crinkling, his face so effortlessly welcoming. Stiles gets out of the car a little slower than needed, smiling with only half of the effort that Scott is putting in. If he sees the hesitance, Scott says nothing about it, reacts with nothing but the same bright, chipper attitude he is still presenting as he wraps his arms around Stiles' shoulders and squeezes. Stiles hugs back, his nose filling with moss and aftershave. He pats Scott's back with brotherly affection and smiles a bit more when they pull away.
"Hey, man," he greets, voice quieter than he intended to make it. "It's good to see you."
"Yeah, you too." Scott slaps his shoulder then moves over to Derek, who had made his way around from the passenger seat and was standing by the side mirror with his arms crossed over his chest. "Derek." Derek accepts Scott's hug, but it's much shorter and there is no back patting.
Scott pulls away from Derek and smiles at the two teens standing beside the left hand back door. "And you must be Valencia and Julio," he guessed.
"Please don't hug me," Valencia said, smiling with half of her mouth. Stiles rolled his eyes, giving her a look from over Scott's shoulder. "It's very nice to meet you, Alpha McCall. I'm Valencia Mayer," she offers a hand to him and he slides his palm against hers. Her fingers tightened around Scott's hand, eyes unfocusing and widening just the smallest amount.
"Scott, wait!" Claws pressed tightly against a pale, mole dotted throat, grey eyes staring up at him, glazed over with tears. A snarl slashed through his lips as he looked up, eyes glowing a sharp, blood red that could make the strongest of men cower in a second. Stiles stumbled over his feet in his haste to get closer, his face pale and worn with exhaustion. "Don't hurt him, Scott, I can help him!" Stiles pleaded, holding his hands before him as if not to spook a wild animal. At this point, that's exactly what he's doing. A vengeful werewolf standing over the body of his pup, holding the culprit by the clench of angry claws.
"He killed him, Stiles, I can't let him go," his claws tightened, blood seeping up around the point of contact.
"Scott, please, this isn't what you do. You give second chances, you-"
"There's no coming back from this!" Scott roared.
"Scott, no!" Stiles sprang forward, but the snap of claws was too quick for such human speed. Stiles was a few inches away still when that pale, mole dotted, throat was ripped out. Blood sprayed everywhere, painting those angry claws, spraying across Stiles' shocked face. He dropped to his knees, trembling hands hovering over the lifeless, violently dead, body of the boy.
