Saving Stilinski

Choosing Sides

When the school bell rang, announcing the last call for students to get to their first period class, Ethan barely heard it. He stood at Danny's locker like a puppy waiting for its owner. Danny hadn't shown up yet, or answered Ethan's texts. And the werewolf wasn't a hundred percent sure, but he thought that the barely perceptible scent of fear hovering near that locker was Danny's.

"Hey!" Aiden called from the other end of the hall. The twin stood outside the classroom door with his backpack over one shoulder and a suspicious look on his chiseled features. "Come on!"

"I'm coming," Ethan said. "Just... I'll be there in a minute."

Aiden stepped away from the door so that their classmates wouldn't hear. "Ethan, he's probably just home sick."

"He'd text me."

"Then he's really sick, whatever. Why are you so worried?"

Ethan looked at the double door that led to the sunlit parking lot.

Aiden took two more steps closer. "Ethan, seriously, this has gone too far. Get down here right now or I'll tell Deucalion how attached you've gotten to this guy and you know – you know he won't be happy about that."

Ethan sensed it, then. Deception. An off-color smell, if there was such a thing, combined with a heart flutter. He faced his brother and didn't bother to keep his voice down. "You already did, didn't you?" On numb legs he marched right up to Aiden's face. "You told him about me and Danny."

Aiden's nostrils flared and his jaw muscles twitched. He didn't deny it.

Ethan heard his own heart beat faster. "Gerard and Peter took him, didn't they? He – he could be dead already!"

No regret showed on Aiden's features. "Forget him!" he growled. "You should be focusing on tonight, on the showdown with Derek and his pack."

Ethan's eyes were red. He bared his teeth, took a deep breath and pivoted around. He punched his fist through a locker as he walked down he hall.

Aiden didn't chase after him but called, "Ethan, if you turn your back on the pack – on me – don't bother coming back. If you're not on our side, you're on theirs!"

"I'm on Danny's side!" Ethan busted through the doors and left.

•••

Isaac hated being the bearer of bad news. Especially bad news that concerned the Alpha who sired him and the True Alpha he was loyal to. All things considered he'd rather be at math class, where he was supposed to be on a Friday morning. Of course, if he was wishing for things he'd start with his brother and his father alive, well and happy.

He found everyone in Scott's bedroom. Stiles was still comatose in the bed and Lydia had curled up with him for the night. She slept, snoring softly, spooning against Stiles' side. Scott's hair was still damp from the shower he took after he returned from the Hale house. He needed a nap, having spent the whole night with Chris Argent creating the mountain ash trap. Derek sat in a chair at the head of the bed, his face in his hands and an open newspaper at his feet. Not knowing how else to break the silence, Isaac said, "I'm sorry about Jennifer."

Derek looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Did you find Cora?"

Isaac shook his head. "I looked everywhere for her, I swear. Whoever took her must have masked her scent."

Ironic timing, Isaac's sentence, because right then the three werewolves picked up a new smell. They straightened up at the same time. They extended their claws at the same time. Hair sprouted, fangs descended, eyes changed color all at the same time. Derek crouched by the bed and put his hand on the sleeping Stiles' shoulder. The movement awoke Lydia. She asked what was going on and then, smartly, kept quiet when Scott shushed her. The True Alpha approached the window while Isaac guarded the bedroom door.

"Who is it?" Derek whispered.

"One of the Twins," said Isaac. He sniffed at the air and frowned. "Just one."

"I think it's Ethan." Scott reached the window, opened it and looked down at the front lawn. "Definitely Ethan."

The Alpha was kneeling in the grass with his hands behind his head. Submissive, surrendered. "I just want to talk!" he yelled at the McCall house. "Please! I need your help."

•••

Peter had washed his hands three times but, still, he smelled Cora's blood on them. Not just from when he kidnapped her as she walked to the McCall's house, but from when he pierced her neck to see her memories. Gerard and Deucalion were interested only in logistical information: where the Hale pack was, how they escaped the cave, what they planned and who was involved. Peter, however, fixated on another fact.

Scott, a True Alpha, had bitten Stiles, who seemed to be both dying and transforming into a werewolf at the same time.

The Alphas didn't care. Gerard didn't care. Peter didn't care about Stiles, but he was curious. That curiosity was why he spent most of the night reading through the pile of Druid texts he'd rescued from the cave. In the fourth leather-bound, decaying old book, he read this:

Although True Alphas rarely if ever bite a human unless the situation is life or death, Emissaries discourage them from siring any Betas because the survival rate is zero. What is born of a True Alpha's bite is not fully understood, but observant Druid Priestesses have come to one very important conclusion and subsequently coined the term "Optimal Alpha" (Optimalpha). The Optimalpha, born of a True Alpha, is infused with the five most treasured powers of Virgins, Warriors, Healers, Philosophers and Guardians. The few Optimalphas who survived the transformation were soon hunted down and scarified by Dark Druids eager to kill five birds with one stone. By murdering an Optimalpha the Darachs become virtually invincible.

Peter left the Alphas' penthouse without a word. He was on his own mission, now.

•••

Allison woke up in the dark, confined rear of a van. She didn't remember leaving her bedroom under her own power, so the only explanation for how she ended up there was the bump on the back of her head. She wore a tight, long-sleeved black t-shirt, jeans and black boots and the hair tie she usually wore around her wrist was still there. Allison focused on it – on what was familiar. Then she tied her hair back, took a deep breath and sat up.

She wasn't surprised to see Cora Hale in an unconscious heap on her left. On her right, though, was Danny Mahealani wearing that classic, cartoonish "am I dreaming?" expression. The left shoulder of his cross country uniform was soaked in blood. Danny was poking at it, and Allison had to say his name half a dozen times before he finally heard it.

"Allison?" Danny's skin was pale, sweaty, cold.

"Did they hurt you?" Allison gestured at his shoulder.

Confused, Danny looked back and forth between Allison and Cora. "Where are we?"

"I don't know. I'm so sorry, but I don't know." Allison approached him like he was a rabid animal. "You're bleeding, Danny. Let me see."

"Allison, I think..." Danny winced when he peeled back his uniform. "I think something bit me."